#crack || that's a rude...personal question...

Head in the fucking game, you tell yourself. Eyes on the target—you cannot fuck up in the middle of a procedure. Just because some guy can’t be bothered calling you back? People are literally dying in the walls of the hospital. You cannot afford to be so vapid that you’re more worried about unread text messages and zero call backs.

You refuse to fail anywhere else, hovering, anticipating the doctors’ needs before they verbalise it. This is what makes you valuable to the team. They’ve said it again and again—they need more nurses like you.

And especially in front of Jack. You admire him—respect him a lot. You never wanted to be a doctor, but you love working as a nurse. With him. Being useful to him and the night shift.

“Swap out with Tim in Trauma 1,” Jack says, eyes darting to you.

“You got it, boss.” You don’t even try to argue with what you think is his judgement call of getting you out of his way. Making you someone else’s problem.

The thing was, he noticed. Of course he fucking noticed. Nothing happened in the ED, to his staff, without his knowledge. It was his job as an attending to ensure he was on top of it.

He noticed it in your docile greeting, normally a little more upbeat. He noticed it in the questioning look that Parker shot him when you were quieter than usual, citing the fact that you were tired. When Shen picked up on your dour mood, offering some coffee that you flatly dismissed, telling him you weren’t in the mood. For coffee, or for him; you left it up to interpretation.

It was downright rude. Rude and you didn’t go together. It was why they liked having you on night shift.

It worries him. The not knowing. The questioning. The way everyone looks to him for answers and he can’t provide them. You’re usually the kind one, the one that’s happy to help. But today, there’s a cloud hanging over you. Something bogging you down.

“What’s going on?” Shen whispers, nodding his chin towards you. You’re at the desk in central, blankly staring at the screen more so than typing the notes you should be inputting.

“Don’t know,” Jack confesses, and he hates that he doesn’t know. So much for being the one that protects the hive. As much as he makes himself the reliable one that everyone, especially his night shift team, can depend on, someone always falls through the cracks. “Been weird all day.”

“There you are,” Lena says, walking up to lean against the desk. Hovering over you. “We need you in central 8. Patient barely speaks English. Wanna see if you know what language she knows?”

You shoot her a clearly unimpressed look. “Right, because I must speak every language under the sun,” you bite out.

Lena pauses, eyes narrowed at you. “Are you—?”

“Hey.” Jack steps in, frowning. Not that he thinks it’ll escalate into a fight, but he’d rather not entertain that possibility. Night shift was meant to be chill; have less personality clashes compared to day shifts. Less staff, as well, which was why it was essential everyone worked well within the team. “Lena asked for a favour.”

You look away from him, cowed. Chastised—again. “Central 8, yes sir.”

You scurry off to the patient in central 8—Indonesian, which happened to be a language that you taught yourself for the fun of it, years ago. This isn’t even the first time they’ve asked you to try and communicate with a patient in another language. Ridiculously, it’s the first time you’ve taken offence to it.

You and Princess have a bet on who could learn the most additional languages. It’s been a long 18 months since she and Perlah initiated the bet. You refuse to lose, and Princess is competitive. Between the two of you, you’ve got a conversational handle on a minimum of 15 languages right now. It’s circulated around the hospital like common knowledge at this point.

“Hey.” Lena follows you when you’re exiting the room. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply anything—”

“It’s okay,” you say, quick. You feel embarrassed by your earlier reaction. “Really. I’m sorry. I’m feeling really crabby today, and I took it out on you. I’m really sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You’re absently massaging the back of your neck in a self-soothing fashion, and it’s the only reason she sees.

“Whoa,” Lena gasps. “Hey, did someone hurt you?” Ever the medical professional, she steps close, reaching.

Really, it’s on you. The bodily flinch before she makes contact with your shoulder. You both know she’s done it before—calming, gentle touches. Reassuring. Maternal. Her and Dana, mother henning the hospital when they step into the role of the respective shift’s charge nurse. You’ve always accepted those.

Except this time, your skin feels like it’s burning and itching at the same time.

She stares at you.

You feel frozen, heart thudding too fast in your chest. A dramatic reaction to a familiar touch. A mountain out of a mole hill.

“Hey—” Lena starts, softer. Like you’re a wounded animal in need of comfort.

“South 16’s opened.” Jack’s voice, clear and sharp.

You wince, pivoting to the side, where his eyes are on you. “I don’t need—”

“Get in there.” And his tone brooks no room for argument. “Now.”

With a sigh, you march yourself into south 16. Jack follows after a few minutes, no doubt gathering whatever supplies he thinks he needs. Door closed, curtain drawn.

You’re both silent, waiting for the other to cave. You’re perched on the edge of the bed. He’s standing by the door.

He breaks first. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

His jaw clenches. Takes a seat on the stool. Wheels it to the foot of the bed. “I need to see how bad it is,” he says, carefully. Like he’s actively choosing every word.

“Nothing’s bad. Nothing hurts.”

Which, apparently, is the wrong thing to say, based on the breath released between his teeth. Maybe the right thing would have been to deny any source of pain.

He says your name, eyes analytical as he studies you. Something in his face softens. Pushing the stool back. “Would you be more comfortable if I got Dr Ellis or Lena to do the examination?”

You frown. “What examination?” You look—really look, this time—at the supplies he brought in. One of them is a white cardboard box, Sexual Assault Evidence Kit printed in bold letters among other black ink. You’ve catalogued enough of them to know you’re not mistaking it for any other kit. Have done a few on patients as well.

“I’m not—this, this wasn’t—” You take in a breath. Eyes boring into Jack’s, trying to impart the determination of your next words. “It was consensual.”

It’s silent in the room, with the door closed. With neither of you speaking. Jack doesn’t move; you barely breathe.

“Are you sure?” he asks, finally.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” And just like that, the weighted worry drops. He’s still concerned, of course. As soon as Lena had asked if someone had hurt you, everything in his mind jumped to a horrifying conclusion. He’s glad their shared assumptions aren’t correct. In his relief, he’s forgotten about your other symptoms—the moody countenance. “Can I still check you over? For my peace of mind?”

“Sure,” you sigh out. Shuffling further on the bed, back turned towards him, shucking your scrub top, then turtleneck beneath it. You know where the worst of it is.

“Jesus, kid,” he hisses. With you turned away, you don’t see the way his jaw ticks, compelling his fingers to unfurl from taut fists. He forces his attention to remain on the bruises and red wounds, and not the black lines of intricate artwork sprawling further down your back. Accentuating the lines of your body.

You hear the snap of the disposable blue gloves.

“It looks worse than it is,” you say.

“Bruising looks like it’s at least a day old.” His voice is clipped. Tight. Overcorrecting professionalism into cold and distant.

They must be purpling by now, you assume. “It’s been—uh, since Saturday night.”

You feel the cool swab of antiseptic on the bruises; the bite marks, the scratches.

“You know,” Jack says, and you feel his warm breath fan across your bare skin. That, alone, makes you shiver. “Even if you changed your mind part way through, it’s still sexual assault.”

You shoot a look over your shoulder at him.

He attempts a poker face. Do not react.

“I didn’t change my mind,” you say, firm. You turn back to face the wall. Stare down at the bed beneath you. “It’s—” And maybe it’s easier to admit when you don’t have to look at him. “I wanted it to hurt. For him to be rough.”

Jack breathes in. Do not react. He’s a doctor. He’s also tended to previous partners like this before. His own wife, even. Clinical hands; he’s seen this before. He cannot treat this like a new thing, just because it’s you.

“Where’d you even find the guy?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking. To twist the knife lodged between the fourth and fifth ribs, maybe.

“On an app.”

“What? Just a random dating one?”

“No. It’s—you know, specifically for hook ups of the non-vanilla kind.”

“The what kind?”

Oh my God, he’s going to make you say it outloud. Gaze resolutely stuck on the creases of the white, sterile bedsheets. “The kinky kind.”

A pause. “They have those, now?”

You can almost hear the beginnings of a ‘back in my day’ spiel. And isn’t that a thought? Dr Jack Abbot searching for his own BDSM partners—in his youth, maybe. You don’t want to think about his exploits in his current era. You’re already topless in front of him. You cannot bare yourself to him any more than this.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, a little breathlessly. Get it together. You can’t get all giggly in front of your boss. “They do, grandpa.”

“Hey. Careful now,” he remarks, amused. Something loosens in his chest, allowing him to breathe easier. It’s probably the first time he’s heard you express something akin to a laugh during this shift. He doesn’t realise how much he missed that today; how much he needs it to carry him through.

The ED can be a harrowing place, but it’s a lot less dark with you by his side.

You hum, letting the silence relax you. It must be past 3 AM, you think. There’s always that patchy, tranquil moment after the sporadic rush between midnight and 3 AM.

“So what?” he asks. Cotton swab dabbing ointment onto the wounds. “Your date just fell asleep and forgot to take care of you?”

You let out a huff, humourless. Head dipped. Embarrassed, again. It flushes down your neck. “He left as soon as he was done.”

Jack goes deathly still. The swab hovers, pinched tightly between his fingers. “What?”

“He, uh—left,” you sniff. Do not fucking cry over this. “And I’m pretty sure I got ghosted too, because I’ve been trying to—um, call him. Or text him. Which sucks, because, I…” You suck in a breath. “We took our time. Went on three separate dates before Saturday. Dinner. Movie. Museum. Four fucking months of talking and he dipped as soon as he got his dick wet.”

Jack is uncharacteristically silent over your shoulder.

You shuffle around, facing him.

He’s frowning. Lips downturned. Eyes stormy. Lines of his body wound tight. An older man outraged by the woes of modern dating, you assume.

“It’s fine,” you say, because you feel the sudden need to mollify that anger. To appease him. You try to covertly rub your eyes to wipe the tears that have collected. “Honestly, I’ve always been a bit bad about handling rejection, but I’m working on it.” It explains your shitty mood since Saturday. The dull awareness after he left.

Jack blinks, jaw unlatching at your words. Stares at you. “Is that what you think this is?” he asks, hollowly. “You feel hurt because of a little rejection?”

You make an obviously face. “I’ll feel better by next shift.”

“How much research did you do?”

“I read a few articles; people’s blog posts. There aren’t any peer reviewed journals on this.”

“I know,” he huffs out. He remembers his own reading journey, all those years back. “Did you read anything about dropping? Sub drops?”

Your forehead creases in thought. It sounds vaguely familiar. “Maybe?”

Jack doesn’t say anything, waiting.

You stare. The confusion eventually smooths out. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he echoes. “You’re in a sub drop.”

You have been, since Saturday. That’s—mortifying, you think. Your kinky extracurricular affairs brought forefront and centre to your attending because you weren’t a good judge of character.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Something humiliating thickens your throat; wells tears into your eyes. They avert from him, dropping somewhere low. “Fuck, I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s—hey. Look at me,” Jack says.

You’re not listening.

“Fuck. Hey. Hey, quit spiralling. Listen to me.” Jack yanks the gloves off his hands.

This is disgusting. You’re disgusting. This was something that was supposed to remain within your bedroom walls, far, far away from the hospital. Instead, you brought it right to the night shift’s front porch.

A rough palm slotted against your cheek.

The effects are near instantaneous—a shuddering inhale, a trembling whine. Glassy eyes shedding tears as they slide close. Cheek nuzzled against callused flesh.

His hand tipping your face upwards. “Open your eyes.”

And you do.

Shiny, blinking. Unfocused, then landing on him. Something registers, clicks in your mind. “Please,” you whisper. You don’t know what you’re asking for.

But he does. Something bittersweet in this throat. “I know,” he rasps. He wants this. Fulfilment delivered on a silver platter. But not like this. Not from someone else’s abymal attempts.

He’d seen the way you brightened when he passed by with a compliment. A well timed ‘great work in there’, and your shy smile followed him. Like a sunflower chasing the sun. Maybe it’s his ego stinging, now. Maybe it’s something else; something tender, something primal.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle.

Jack hushes you. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” If he could get his hands on the man that called himself your date, he wishes for once, he could take back the sworn oath to do no harm.

“I’m sorry,” you say again.

He manoeuvres himself onto the bed. Pulls you into his lap, chests aligned. His arms encircle your waist, avoiding the bruises decorating your upper back. Settling on top of the tattoos. “Breathe with me,” he instructs.

So you do.

In and out. In and out. Inhale, exhale. Again and again.

Just until the dizziness fades a little. Until you feel like you have a few fingers back on the ledge.

“I’m sending you home,” Jack says.

“I don’t want—”

“Do not,” he demands, tense, “argue with me.”

Your mouth clicks shut. Face buried into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“You go home,” he says, “you get yourself cleaned up. Eat. Rest. I’ll come by and take care of you when I’m done here.”

You suck in a breath. “No—”

“What did I just say about—”

A noise of complaint in the back of your throat, hand wrapped around his bicep, squeezing. “Red,” you utter.

It jolts him. Admittedly, it’s been a while, but the colours are ingrained in him as much as the safewords that he used. This isn’t a scene, but you’re so far down that you can’t tell.

“What?” he asks, around the thudding in his chest. He overstepped, somewhere. He doesn’t know you like this, can’t anticipate your needs like he would in the ED.

“I can’t,” you tell him, quiet. Small. “You can’t.”

“I can’t what?”

“Take care of me.”

Jack inhales gravel. Pissed off. “Did he tell you that? Is that why he left you alone?”

“No,” you say.

“Then what is it?” One of his hands lift from your waist, guiding your face away from where you’re hiding. Thumb brushes across tear stained cheek. “Talk to me,” he murmurs.

You peer down at him, positioned higher only because you’re straddling his thighs. You swallow against this heavy thing in your chest.

How do you even admit that the sole reason you started researching BDSM in the first place, is due to the man in front of you? Due to the way he doled out praises in the ED, unlocking something within you? You imagined it was him, pinning you down, hands around your neck, teeth sinking into skin, telling you to be good for him.

“I can’t have you mean nothing,” you whisper, eventually.

Jack swallows past the lump suddenly in his throat. “What does that mean?” A burgeoning of hope. “Sweetheart, what does that mean?” And maybe that’s the cruelty in him, a manipulative side that fools him into thinking that if he calls you as such, you can remain tucked inside his heart. Can convince you to stay there.

“You’re everything,” is all you say. Maybe it’s enough.

“Everything,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

Jack’s hand is a gentle thing against your cheek. No pressure, no guidance. Just slight pressure tracking your movements as you nose against his jaw. Scrape your skin against stubble.

His hand slides to the back of your scalp. “And that means I can’t take care of you?”

“Yes,” you say.

“Why?”

“I…” You’re not selecting words. Just trying to find them through the fog. “Because it’s only for today. Until I feel better.”

“And you don’t want that.”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“Everything,” you say again. And your lips land on his pulse point, You feel it thrum. “With you.”

He doesn’t know how much of this is the drop. How much of this is you. All he knows is that you wouldn’t admit any of this if you were in the right mind.

Fingers flex at the roots of your hair. He tugs you up to look at him.

Your hips buck on their own accord. You keen, thighs tightening around him. Teary eyed.

His other hand against your waist digs in. Stopping your movements. “Fuck,” he swears, hoarse. “Sorry.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, reassuring.

He can’t do this. Here. While you’re like this. He needs you up and out of sub drop before he can have this conversation with you. But you don’t want his help unless he can promise you everything. He can only hope he knows what that means.

“Please,” you utter.

“I know,” Jack soothes. His hand braced against your cheek again.

You lean forward, weight against him. Lips almost on his.

His fingers lead you away. “No,” he murmurs, sandpaper in his throat.

You let out a cracked whine. He doesn’t want to kiss you.

“No,” he says, sharp, like he can see what conclusion you’re reaching. “Not yet.” His lips against your forehead. “Not here.”

Jack doesn’t know how long it takes. He can’t spend the whole shift in there with you, as much as he wants to.

The contact helps. His touches, the soft susurration aimed into the soft flesh of your neck. At some point, you’re coherent enough to be functional. Turtleneck and scrub top on.

Jack tells you to go home. You do.

Lena meets Jack’s gaze. Worried. Questioning.

He shakes his head. It wasn’t what she initially thought, but he’s still concerned. Not completely out of the woods yet.

The final two hours of his shift stretch. All he can think of is you. By the time he sees Robby, he feels dead on his feet.

“You good, brother?” Robby claps him on the shoulder, frowning.

“Long story,” Jack says, scrubbing at his face.

“Yeah? You don’t got time?”

“I gotta head out. John can hand off.”

“Seriously?” Robby blinks, surprised.

Jack’s never passed on a hand off before. But he feels like Shen was probably more present, anyway. Less distracted.

“Robby, my guy,” Shen says.

Robby fixes the other attending with a deeply unimpressed look. “John.”

“See you,” Jack says.

“I better get the short version some time,” Robby says.

“Me too!” John adds.

“You don’t even know what we were talking about…”

Their voices trail away as Jack walks. No rooftop. No drinks in the park. Just over to your apartment, the address memorised from your staff profile. Probably a privacy concern, but Lena turned the other way when he said he wanted to check on you.

You’re asleep on the couch when he comes. You were cogent enough to text him your apartment number and a picture of your welcome mat, letting him know your key was under there.

Not the most secure hiding place, but by the time he arrived, it was still there.

The back of his hand pressed against your forehead, taking your temperature. Fingers brush through your hair.

You stir. “Dr Abbot?” Spoken softly, eyelids heavy.

“Hey, kiddo.” He shifts, handing you your water bottle you’ve left on the coffee table.

You sip from it, blinking yourself awake. Scrubbing at bleary eyes. “Are you wearing shoes?” you ask around a yawn.

Jack blinks, not having expected your question. He looks down at the shoes he’s wearing—one on his foot, the other on his prosthesis. “Yeah.”

“Shoes off,” you say. “There are guest slippers in the bottom cubby hole.”

“Bottom cubby hole,” he repeats. More so to remember, than mock you.

“Please,” you add.

He rumbles a laugh before he follows your instructions. He takes out the ointment from his backpack before depositing it near the coat rack at the door. He shuffles back towards you, now clad in the slippers. “Did you eat yet?”

You hum your confirmation. “I have leftovers in the fridge. And I showered. You can use the shower too. Towels are in the cupboard in my room.”

“Alright. When I’m done, I’m going to check your back again.”

“Okay.”

He lingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Feeling like yourself?”

You think. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay.”

When he’s done, you’ve relocated to your bedroom. It’s a strange situation for him to be in, invited into your apartment and encouraged to explore the place himself. Complete trust in someone else’s life.

He finds you curled under the soft blanket you have spread over your king single bed. Sprawled out, sleeping in a prone position. He pops his prothesis off.

Ointment in hand, he gently tugs the blanket down. Sees you in sleep shorts, no shirt on. The consideration of making your back easily accessible isn’t lost on him. He touches up the ointment while you remain asleep. Fingers applying pressure, massaging tense muscles even though you’re not awake for it. He feels you relax under his touch.

“What am I going to do with you?” he wonders aloud.

And he stays there, next to you, until he too, falls asleep.

When you wake up, you kind of forget what happened. It feels like a blur—something you could write off as a dream if you didn’t have any reminders. And in this moment, you don’t. Tiredly stumbling to the bathroom, then to your bedroom, wrapped in a towel.

You’re, somehow, too out of it to hear the noises in the kitchen. Once you’re in comfortable loungewear, you take your reusable water bottle with you. The intention is to fill it, grab some snacks, then head back into your room. Maybe pop on a show. Let your brain turn off.

“Hey.”

You startle, almost dropping the bottle. Pivoting to see Dr Jack Abbot in front of your stove. Cooking—something. Eggs, you think. It’s one of the things you always stock up in the fridge.

Yesterday in the hospital was not a dream. It was real. Very real. And he came to check in on you in your apartment. And stayed over.

“Hey. I…” you start. Trail off.

“Forgot?” Amusement lifting the corner of his lips. Trying to hide it for your sake.

“No,” you say, quick. You both know it’s a lie. Lips pressed into a line, heading to the water dispenser attached to the fridge to fill up your bottle.

Jack grins when you’re no longer looking at him. “Eat first.” The toaster pops with two slices. He’s made himself at home, studying your kitchen. Pantry, fridge, cupboard, drawers. He’s memorising the layout. Two plates, eggs, toast, slices of ham. You, apparently, didn’t have bacon. He searched.

Sitting at the tiny thing you call a dining table, Jack waits for you to tuck into your food. Despite the fact that you’re more lucid, he can tell you’re still off. As he eats, you’re not. Pushing food around. Tearing off pieces of your toast to nibble at.

Since Saturday, he remembers. Wonders if you treated all your meals like this before coming into the Pitt. You must have been running on fumes. Wonders how many times you’ve done this; if this is your first time, or just the first time it’s gone wrong.

Jack clears both the plates away. His empty; yours mostly full. Half your toast gone. He decides to glad-wrap yours, putting it in the fridge. Cleans his own plate in the sink, washing his hands after.

“You didn’t have to… be here,” you say. To stay. To make you food.

“I said I’d take care of you,” he responds, evenly. Leaning against the sink. Eyes on you.

And you both remember what happened after. What you said. Not unless you could have everything.

You feel—embarrassed. You meant it, of course you meant it. A stupid torch you’ve carried for two years. The humiliating realisation that it wasn’t going away. You tried to put those feelings onto someone else, tried to go out, go on dates. You were young. And yet.

The sinking knowledge that this wasn’t just some kind of silly crush born of proximity and praises.

“It’s not your responsibility,” you state. “You’re not my—” Mouth snapping shut, self-editing.

Even if you don’t finish it, the tilt of his head, the challenging tick of his eyebrow says he heard it. Arms crossing over his chest.

You can’t help the way your eyes fixate on the stretch of the short sleeves of his t-shirt around tensed biceps.

“I’m not your what?” Jack asks.

You clear your throat, moving to stand up. To get away, even if for a second. Even if he’s trying to do you a favour by being here.

“Stay down.”

You almost do. The chair scrapes backwards, instead. “Fuck off, Abbot,” you snarl, standing fully.

Hostility rearing its head again. Like with Lena, except this time, you’re not restraining yourself at an attempt at professional conduct. You’re biting. Pushing.

Jack knows there’s probably a few ways he can take this. Can respond. “Don’t do this.”

Gone is the sweet thing he held in his lap yesterday. Instead, you’re aching, scared of rejection and lashing out because of it.

“Quit patronising me. You’re not my—anything. And I’m not yours.”

His teeth scrape together, jaw squeezing. Jack knows this game. Can read you like a book. He can’t fall for the bait; if his temper wins, he proves you right.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, voice soft despite the urge to snap. He knows this is born of insecurity. One that was fed by some prick that abandoned you on Saturday. “I’m not like him—”

“Don’t,” you hiss out.

“—I’m not going to leave.”

It makes something ripple inside you. An age-old wound that tells you you’re unlovable. Something complicated passes over your face. You can’t decide if you want to believe him or squash it down. False hope.

Jack moves towards you. Three steps to close the distance between the sink and table.

Your eyes are wet, bright with tears. “Dr Abbot—”

“Jack,” he corrects. Chest twisting.

“Jack,” you say.

He nods, eyes darting between yours. Eye contact connoisseur. “Can you sit down?” He changes his approach. “Please?”

You do. Slipping into the dining chair. The backrest to your side. Legs facing him and not tucked under the table.

And Jack.

He sinks.

One of his knees makes contact with the floor. His other leg bent, foot on the ground. His hand resting on the flesh above your knee, balancing.

A tremulous breath releases from you. Shock. “What are you—?”

“You wanted everything,” Jack says. “Let me give you everything. Please.”

And hasn’t he been carrying a torch for you, too? Your first day with the night shift wasn’t anything special. It’s not that he was struck by you immediately—the consequences of being an attending physician, having a million things on his mind, and a hundred other things clamouring for his attention.

You were always quick. Responsive. Observant. At his elbow, two seconds before he asked, handing him everything he needed like you were a mind reader. It was fascinating, in a way.

He hadn’t even registered when the change happened. There was no adjustment period. One day you were that damn good nurse on his team, and the next day, he realised he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

Watching, always watching, when you pushed the gurney from the ambulance bay into the trauma room; when you playfully saluted Parker after she asked for an IV on her patient; when you adopted that childish voice to say Nurse Lena, Nurse Bridget is being mean to me again, just to make them laugh after a tough patient; when Shen tried to get you to learn Mandarin but that was already in Princess’ arsenal, and the only rule established was no repeats.

As time went on, he noticed the way your tightly wound shoulders would relax at his words. The way your gaze lingered, like you wanted to ask for more. You never did, and he never pushed.

How could he? He was an attending. Much, much older than you. Had skeletons in his closet that he would rather shove down than let anyone sign up for.

Somewhere, he fell. Softly, then all at once.

You reach out, fingers drifting across his cheek. “Jack,” you whisper, an incredulous sound.

“Right here, sweetheart.” He cups your hand, angling his head to kiss your palm. Eyes never straying from yours.

Tears knocked loose. “I’m sorry,” you say, wet. Once again, ashamed of your behaviour.

“You did nothing wrong.” If he could spend the rest of his life reassuring you, he would. Maybe he can. Everything, after all.

“But I… yelled.”

Jack grins, wry. “I get yelled at all the time.” By patients. By admin. It’s no skin off his back.

“I said…” You inhale, wobbly. “I said I wasn’t yours.”

And there, that darkening of his eyes. Studious. Trained on nothing but you. “Are you?”

“I want to be.”

“So you are. Mine.”

You wet your lips. His eyes track the movement, unabashed. “And…” you say.

He waits, patient. Lets you find your words.

“You’re mine?”

“Yes. Yours,” he rasps. Kneeling before you, whatever else could he be?

“Get up. Please.” A murmured plea.

He does. It’s not a swift movement, but you’re past paying attention. You stand, slot your body against his. He’s meeting you halfway. Your palm splayed against his chest; his hand cupping your cheek.

A soft capture of your lips. Jack’s thumb sweeping, tugging lightly at the corner of your mouth. Fingers digging into the sharp of your jawbone tucked beneath your ear.

You let out a stuttering breath at the pressure, something fuzzy clouding your eyes. He slips his tongue inside your mouth. A welcomed weight against your tongue, a spit slicked slide.

A drawn out noise, broken into pants.

His hands gathered at your waist. Walking you backwards into the table. It grates against the linoleum floor, thudding into the wall. Neither of you pay it any heed. You’re perched on the table. He steps between your legs, hitching one thigh against his side.

“Please,” you gasp into the infinitesimal space between you, “I’ll be good.”

“I know,” Jack whispers. Something gentle and soft and so, so sweet tucked against him. Honeyed and viscous, coating his throat. Choking, unbidden tears in his eyes. “I’ll give you everything,” he promises.

Your arms hooked around his shoulders, lifting your core, angling up. Pressing the heat between your legs against his growing bulge.

“Fuck,” Jack groans. A palm laid against the surface of table, the other keeps a bruising grip on the flesh of your side. Stabilising himself. His face tucked to your neck, kissing a line against your throat. Buying himself time. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says.

“Jack.” A breathy moan, as his lips trail down. Hips rolling up against him. You reach, fingers scrabbling against the waistband of his pants.

“Uh uh.” Digits wrapping around your wrist, pressing your hands against the cold wood beneath you. “Hands on the table.”

“I want—” Despite your protesting words, your palms remain flat on the smooth surface. “I want to make you feel good.” To get on your knees for him, to feel the heavy weight of his cock in your mouth, the stinging strain in the corners of your lips as you struggle to fit him, an aching in your jaw. You know he’d be big enough for that.

“I know, sweetheart.” His lips on yours again, a reassuring kiss. The problem isn’t you—it never is. It’s the fact that he’d finish within minutes if you got your mouth around him. He’s strung tight, and he knows his refractory period isn’t as short as it used to be. The reality is he’s old.

“Please,” you whine.

“Hands on the table,” he reminds, despite the fact that you hadn’t moved. He lowers himself to the ground, eyes on you. Watching you watch him. Roughened fingers tugging your pants down. Lips pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Kissing up further and further.

Air catches in your throat.

Jack leans forward, closes his mouth around your clothed core. Tongue finding the split between flesh.

You moan, breath hitching at his touch. Fingers twitch against the table. You want to bury them in his grey curls, but he told you to keep them where they are.

“Good,” he whispers, hot breath fanning across your skin. “You’ll be good, won’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

Jack pulls down your underwear. Rests his cheek against the side of your thigh. Stubble scratching against overheated skin. “Look at you,” he says, reverent. “You’re so wet, baby.”

You whimper. Your hands inch further behind you. Angling your body. “Jack.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Fingers around your calf, hiking it over his shoulder. Every touch, searing.

“Please.”

“So sweet,” he purrs. And then his tongue, finally, finally glides into the drenched heat. He hums through the wrecked sound you make, licking up. A brief kiss to your clit before his lips seal around it. Tongue lands, tip of the muscle working up and down repeatedly, then around.

You—shatter. No other way to describe it. Your hands are still somewhere behind you, maybe numb at this point. Your leg still hooked over Jack’s shoulder, heel digging into the stretch of his back. Hips rolling upwards, into his face. “Jack,” you cry, heavy with relief and something fractured, all at once.

His eyes are dark, captivated by you, preoccupied with taking in every reaction, every movement. His tongue never ceases. Fingers collect the slick from your opening, using his thumb to rub it along his middle and fourth finger.

Whining aloud. Fingertips digging into unrelenting wood. You want to touch him. You try to enclose your legs around him.

Jack pushes his free hand against your thigh, the one that’s not on his shoulder. Keeping you open. Then he sucks, tongue flicking against your clit at the same time.

Your hips grind upwards. “Jack—”

He presses his middle finger into you. He doesn’t take his time. Pumps it once, twice.

“Jack, please, please—”

He draws his finger out. Pushes his ring finger inside at the same time. You feel the stretch with two fingers, wider than yours. Longer than yours.

Jack doesn’t mean to rush, but he feels so lightheaded with want. Knows his knees will probably complain tomorrow morning. He needs you to come, wants to hear you fall apart. Crooking his fingers towards your belly, feeling around the wet insides. Pads of his fingers massaging.

You feel it building in your core. Breaths escaping. “I’m—oh, fuck, I’m—please—”

You can feel him responding, fingers moving faster. Working you from inside. And he keeps the suction on your clit.

“Jack, please, I need—” Almost there but not quite. You feel right at the precipice, but you can’t tip over. Chasing it, though, the way you grind into his face. Onto his fingers. Hands splayed on the table, head tipped towards the ceiling. Every sound punched out of you.

He hums, a deep thing that sends vibrations through you.

“Talk to me, please, Jack, please I want to hear you.”

Jack shifts, mouth opening, tongue pressed flat against your clit. The hand pushing your thigh moves, fingers rubbing against the sensitive nerve. Still fucking you with the fingers inside.

“Yeah?” he asks, and his voice is frayed. “Need me to talk you through it?” There’s spit and you on his chin, glossing his lips. Tongue swipes across petals, swallowing like it’s nectar. Cheek resting against your upper thigh. Stubble scraping against skin.

You shudder. “Yes, yes please, Jack, please.”

“Yeah. Need me to tell you’ve been good, honey?” A kiss pressed to your leg. Your sensitive skin burning, itching every time he moves. The scratch of his shadow. His eyes are lava on you, even if you can’t see him.

“Just like at work, is that it? I tell you you’ve done a good job and you walk around the hospital all wet and pent up? Tell me, baby, do you come home and think of me when you get yourself off? Hear me in your head?”

The nail knocked on the head. The hole-in-one.

You can’t be surprised, and yet, somehow, you are, that he figured it out. You’re clenching around his fingers, tight. Gasping. You don’t even need to verbalise that you’re coming. He can feel it. Your hips bucking up, his elbows digging into the meat of your thighs to keep your legs apart.

Wordless litanies of moans. High pitched and wrecked. Jack pushes his fingers in further, letting you ride yourself through it. And he doesn’t stop his ministrations over your clit. “Jack,” you sob.

“There you go, baby. This is what you wanted, right?” Jaw clenching, hips stuttering against air. He’s so painfully hard. It could almost be concerning, how ready he is. “Fuck me, you’re beautiful.”

He stands, knees cracking, back sore. Yet, he keeps his fingers moving. Inside and outside. Your thigh slides off his shoulder. He positions himself between them, your legs drawing up at his sides. He leans down towards you, hissing something ragged when his cock makes contact with your thigh. “Come here,” he says.

You weep with relief, arms moving from behind you, wrapping around his shoulders. You meet his lips. The fingers inside stop moving, but press insistently on that spot. He keeps rubbing your clit, just to hear you moan, to feel the tremors of your body, to feel the way you contract around his fingers. Imagining that it’s his cock.

“Jack,” you heave. “Too—ah, too much—”

“No, baby,” he says, “I say when it’s too much.”

“Jack,” you whine. “Please. Please, I need you.”

Oh, the unfair games you’re playing, begging like that. He huffs impatience through his nose, jawline ticking. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Not going anywhere.”

And you feel it—the way you’re falling into the second orgasm. One of your hands gripping his bicep. Harder than necessary, maybe. Complaining. Retaliating. “Fuck, mmm, Jack, I’m—oh, I’m coming—”

Your back arches upwards into him. Hips grinding down between his fingers again. Fingers crooked inside you, rubbing against the soft spot. Fingers rubbing your clit. Sensitive.

He grunts, head falling onto your shoulder. Hears the pathetic little sounds that you don’t even realise you’re making.

Your head’s fuzzy, your ears dulled like you’re underwater. And yet, so aware of where he’s touching you. Every point of contact ignited, like he’s leaving a brand on this mortal vessel that was created to contain nothing but love for him.

“I know, baby, I know,” he hushes. And finally, his fingers still. Small mercies as he removes the hand from your clit. Not yet sliding his fingers out.

Jack kisses you. Your chest heaving, craving air. Trembling, clenching around the fingers still inside you. “Fuck,” he breathes out. “There you are.” Observing those glassy eyes. The lazy limbs that cling to him. Lips pressed to your temple.

You cup his erection through the fabric of his pants.

He hisses, jerking into your touch. “Fuck,” he swears.

You stroke him, feeling the length.

“You—shit—you gotta stop, sweetheart,” he says.

You make a questioning noise. You want to make him feel good.

“You really want our first time to be in the kitchen?”

You’re slow to gather your words. “Anywhere,” you slur out. Too much effort to talk. “Whatever… you want.”

Jack huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah,” he whispers, tender at your deference. He kisses you again, sliding his fingers out of you. He parts momentarily, eyes locked on yours as he brings his fingers into his mouth. Licking, fingers splitting, tongue moving down the space between slick digits.

Your hips twitch, a lazy movement that brings you flush against his body. Smearing your come and his spit against the fabric of his pants. He’s still fully clothed, you realise.

“Bed,” you croak, even though you told him it was his choice, just moments before.

Jack laughs, a gentle thing. Nose bumping against yours. Hands lifting you. Legs wrapped around his waist. “Get your bottle,” he says.

You blindly grab for it before he walks you towards your bedroom. Door closing behind him, even though there’s no one else here. He deposits you on the bed. Tells you to take a sip of water before placing it onto the nightstand.

You don’t move. You’re exactly where he left you on the bed when he turns back to you.

He sits on the edge of the mattress. “C’mere,” Jack says.

You shuffle towards him. He’s expecting you to crawl into his lap, maybe. What he doesn’t expect, is the way you slide off the bed to kneel by his feet.

His breath hitches in his throat. Fingers twitching, as your cheek rests against his thigh. Digits threading into your hair. You angle your face to look up at him, blinking. Slow.

“Hey,” he says, fraught with something delicate. Raw and soft.

You nuzzle against him. Head feeling stuffy. Floating. Sinking. Contradictory, yet somehow. True.

“What do you need?”

Nothing. Everything. Wordlessly, you feel at his leg, calf down. Almost like you’re palpating it. Onto the next leg. You unbuckle the prosthesis, hearing him hiss at the twist, at the unlatching. Pained or relief, you can’t tell. Pressing a kiss to the bend of his knee when you remove it, prosthesis intentionally placed aside. You want him comfortable.

You’re slotted back against his thigh, like you didn’t just change his world, like you didn’t just show him the kind of tenderness he never thought he’d deserve after losing the leg.

Jack breathes, unsteady and ragged, but you blink up at him like you’ve never been surer of anything in your life. Complete trust.

You inch forward, nosing closer towards his crotch. Mouthing a long, lingering kiss to his dick. Slow and muted through layers of clothes. Sucking, wetting fabric. An unspoken request.

Jack groans, hips jerking. Fingers reach out, cradling. Callused pads against your jaw, thumb sliding across your lips.

You part them.

His thumb slips in, access easily granted, applying pressure against your tongue. Gliding down. Molten eyes on yours. Your brain is hazy with static. Blissful. Half-lidded eyes. Moaning as you swallow around his digit.

Jack laughs. You feel the reverberations of it, rather than hear the sound. His thumb lets up, still inside your mouth, but no longer pressing down. You blink your eyes opened, questioning, protesting.

“I asked what you prefer, baby,” he rumbles, corners of his lips lifting. Revelling in the way you’re so lost, so dazed. “Do you want me in here?” Thumb circles your tongue. “Or in here?” His good foot shifts, tucked under where you’re kneeling. Front of his ankle catching just right on your bare clit.

A hitched whine, hips grinding down. Sticky heat on his skin.

“I can only do one, sweetheart. You’re killing me, here.” He’s so gone on you, it’s almost devastating. Man made soldier, thickened skin to take on the sins of the world. And his Achilles heel is a precious thing by his knee.

You lap at his thumb, tongue flexing along the grooves of his fingerprint. For a second, he thinks this is how you want him, but you move. An obscene, wet pop as you back away from his hand. You treat it as if it were his dick, licking, tongue against nail and skin, like it’s the leaking seam of his cock.

“Jesus,” Jack groans. You’re going to be the death of him. Completely and absolutely. No differential diagnoses required.

You rise into his lap, nothing shy or uncertain in the way you straddle him and grind yourself against his clothed erection. Lips against his, kissing like you need it to breathe. Need him to breathe. Maybe you do. A low and quiet buzz in your head.

Fingers bracing against your jaw, then lips travel down your neck. You’re still rolling your hips against him. It feels heavenly, the graze of fabric against your already sensitive clit.

Jack lets out a pained noise, shifting. One moment to the next, you went from being in his lap, to facing the ceiling, back against the soft blanket. You rise to your elbows, blinking, eyes moving to the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t make a show of taking off his clothes. It’s quick, the way he removes his shirt, pants, and briefs. He’s pretty sure that if you continued moving on top of him like that, he was just going to come in his pants like he’s in college again.

“You’re killing me,” he says again. He crawls towards you. Body on yours. Divests you quickly of your top.

The slide of his palm to one of your breasts. Cupping. Squeezing. “Been thinking about this since your first scrub change.” Fingernails pinching the tip of your nipple.

You cry out.

Lips over your other tip, a mimicry of the attention he paid to your clit. Licking. Tongue slathering. Then, teeth, biting.

You rut up against him, one leg hooking over his back. Feel the length of him against you. “Please,” you whine.

His hips stutter. “Fuck me,” he groans. Inhales, then lets it out heavily.

“Trying to.”

He laughs, then, a sound that’s disbelieving, even though he should have expected nothing less from you. You’ve been hanging around the night shift too much. A hand in your hair, tugging, born of your insolence. Stealing the sound you make with a kiss. Fucks his tongue into your mouth again.

You feel like you’re losing your mind with the need to feel him. The slide of him, the delicious drag of him against your walls. To clench around and feel his dick inside you. Instead, you’re still empty.

Gasping when you part for air. “Jack,” you plead. “Please, I want to feel you.”

Jack smacks a kiss to your cheek. “Where are your condoms?” He has some in his bag—was part of his prepared care kit alongside the ointment he brought. But he’s left that by the doorway, and he doesn’t want to leave this bed with you in it, wrapped around him.

A hand smoothing over his chest, up his shoulder, clasping around his nape. “No, we don’t need—”

“Uh uh, no,” he says. “Not today.”

“But I’m—”

“No.” Stern. Lifting up, leaning back. “If you don’t listen to me about this, we’re not doing this today.”

“Sorry,” you hiccup, the easiest acquiescence. “Sorry. Nightstand. Bottom drawer. Sorry.” Tears in your eyes. Gripping at his arm, then letting go, undeserving. “Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

Jack lets out an agonised noise. You both know that if you were more cognisant, you would agree with him, would want this too. But it doesn’t make it any less hard to say no when you’re like this. “I’m not mad,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again. Soft. Apologetic. The last thing he wants to do is to let you believe that he could up and leave you so easily. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bottom drawer,” you say again.

Jack gets up, moving towards the nightstand to grab what he needs. The distance is close enough that one leg remains on the bed for balance. Tucked under rumpled towels, a box of condoms. And if he happens to see some toys, cuffs, other accessories you’ve clearly purchased for yourself, haphazardly hidden—oh, that’s something that he can use next time.

Packet torn, condom slipped on. Muffled groan at the relief of being touched, even if it’s just himself. Returning to the bed, to you. You’ve been watching him the whole time, eyes dragging over his skin, his body.

He doesn’t feel shy under your gaze. Exposed, though, is a different feeling.

“Can I go on top?” you ask.

He falters. He usually doesn’t. Usually surefooted. But this—you. You have a tendency to cleave apart his every defense. Every sure thing he knows about life. “You want to?”

“Yes,” you say. “Feels better.”

Tucked and saved somewhere safe. To keep and know about you. “Okay,” he says, and settles at the head of your bed, back against the wall. You draw close, slipping your pillow under his calf. Then you climb into his lap, a soft sigh releasing, like homecoming. Kissing him again, a silent addiction. His arms are warm and weighted around your middle. And he lets you take your time.

Once again, the slow rolling of your hips down to his. Your entrance flushed against the length of his dick. The torturous drag, up and down.

Jack grips your waist, lips against your collarbone. Harsh breaths of air. “Fucking Hell.”

And when you seem content to let it draw on like this, he bites at the flesh under your collarbone. Warning.

You downright mewl at the threat his teeth breaking through your skin. “Ah—mhm.”

“You gonna let me fuck you anytime soon?”

It takes a little to register that not only has he asked you a question, but you should probably respond as well. “If you want to,” is what you end up saying.

“If I want to.” Mocking, a dangerous scoff. He feels like he’s on fire. Lifting you, one hand around his cock, lining it up against your entrance. Tip catching between your folds.

And finally, you’re sinking down on him.

The hitched sounds coming from you, trapped in your throat. Arms hooked around his shoulders, keening into the side of his throat. The stretch of your walls making way for him. The soft insides, swallowing, welcoming. And it keeps going.

Your fingers digging into the corded muscles of his arm, his hands petting the sides of your stomach. Soothing. “You’re—you feel—oh—” Sinking further around his girth. Until you’re sure he’s completely inside you.

Jack lets out a low groan. “Fuck.” Breathes in deeply. Holds it. Then out.

You try to rise.

His arms immediately snap a tight brace around you, holding you in place. “Fuck. Give—give me a minute.”

“Jack—”

“You,” he grinds out, “have no idea how tight you feel. Just give me a minute, sweetheart.”

And of course, that involuntary spasm of your walls around his cock.

Jack swears. Forehead thuds against the space above your sternum. “Quit that.”

“Wasn’t on purpose.”

He notices the lack of apology. “Brat,” he says fondly, and kisses you again.

You don’t know how long you stay like that for. Lips and air. Arms refusing to budge around you. His cock inside you. You swear you feel him in your diaphragm. Your skin feels like fire. “Can I move?” you beg. “Jack, please, can I move? Please, I need—can we—I want to feel you—”

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. I got you, honey. You’re okay.” A hand reaches up to wipe a thumb across your cheeks.

It comes away wet. You hadn’t realised you started crying.

“Please,” you sob.

His hips snap upwards.

Your next breath comes trapped between a moan and a cry.

Both arms wrapped around you again. An iron band. Then he fucks up into you.

“Oh,” you whimper. “Oh, fuck, ah, ah—thank you, thank you thank you—”

The noise Jack releases is inhuman. He keeps an unrelenting pace, punching out moans from you. He’s flooded by the need to feel you come around him. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re doing so well, honey. Taking what I give you.”

You’re meeting him halfway. Grinding down against him, desperately keening. You feel his hand slip between you, thumb against your clit. You white out. Pressure, more so than stimulating you. Fucking yourself onto his cock, then up against his thumb, making you chase what you need. “Please, more, more, please.”

“Yeah? You want more? You want to come again? You want to come with my dick inside you?”

“Yes, please, I need it. I need you, please.”

“Yeah, you do.” Unmoored, slightly. His thumb rubs circles on your clit. “Come on, baby, I wanna hear you.”

Your chin hooked over his shoulder, angling your lips towards his ear. Discarding every notion of shyness. Every sound, every cry, every thought about him; needing him, wanting him, released. The burgeoning that starts in your belly. The fiery licks of something wonderful.

Jack hears it in your gasping breath, feels it in the velvet walls convulsing around him. “There you go, sweetheart. Give me another one. Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.” Tenderness in the way his lips press against your shoulder.

You whine. Close.

“Poor baby needs to hear my voice to come, is that it? So fucking obsessed with me. Be good and come for me, baby, let me hear you—fuck—there you go.”

Holding you in place, your hips riding through the orgasm that crashes into you. His thumb rubbing incessantly on your clit. He stops fucking his cock into you, but his hips still move. Rolling, grinding.

You’re outright crying, heaving in gasps of air. Overstimulated. His thumb never stops. Your walls spasming around him, again and again.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m almost there. Can we keep going until I’m done? Is that okay, baby?”

“Yes,” you sob. You’re so so gone. Floating. “Please. Use me.”

You’re flattened on the bed.

From one blink to the next, Jack had shifted up, pressing you onto the mattress. Legs around him. The pillow at his calf tucked under your hips. The angle slides him in deeper. “Fuck,” he grinds out, hoarse. “Fuck. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect, baby. So fucking good for me.”

“Yes, yes yes yes yes yesyes.” Litanies of yesses, completely overloaded with pleasure. With the feeling of him inside. Everywhere. The fingers digging into your thigh. Forehead shoved against your chest, somewhere above your heart.

Then, the broken groan. Low, ragged. “Fuck. Coming, baby, I’m coming.” His thumb back on your clit, circling once more. Fucking into you while your walls flutter around him.

You’re completely spent. Keening, whining, hiccupping.

He stops, eventually. Dragging his hand over your belly, stroking. Up your chest. Petting overheated skin. Then cups your face to kiss him.

You feel so faraway. Numb. On fire. Both.

He flips you both, somehow. Arms straining. You’re folded into his chest, his dick still inside you.

And he stays.

You’re too out of it to realise he’s reached over to the nightstand until the straw to your bottle is pressed against your lips.

“Drink,” he says.

You do. Eyes fluttering shut. Cheek against his chest.

“You did so good for me, baby,” Jack murmurs. “You were so perfect. You are perfect.”

His fingers trace the tattoo that sprawls along your back. You shiver, accidentally grinding against him again. You both hiss.

Tilting your head up, lips finding yours again. Kissing. Gentle. Soft.

“Love you,” you whisper.

Jack lets out a tremulous breath. Kisses you again. He’ll talk about this—say it back tomorrow after you’re coherent enough to remember. But for now, it’s just this sweet thing in his lap.

And then you all have to witness her limping back to her desk! The poor thing barely knows how to walk to begin with. it's like watching a baby deer take it's first step, but the deers born with a missing leg. this bitch is hopeless.

none of you know how she got the job. some say she used to be a stripper. others say she was born into a royal family and she's just cosplaying as a poor person to hide her true identity. you don't even care to know at this point, you just want to get through one NORMAL shift and go home.

"Oh, uh- hey, reader?" Mr. Gojo stops right before he walks past your desk and faces you.

"Yes, Mr. Gojo?" you ask reluctantly.

"Go ahead and cancel my meeting at 10:00, be sure to block the time off too," he says with a devilish smirk. He doesn't even try to hide it anymore, it makes you sick.

"Will do, Sir," you just smile and nod.

He gives you a wink and walks off, leaving you to mentally prepare for whatever unholy act he's planning on doing to y/n later. You're already dreading having to clean it all up. Yes. Clean.

To work for Mr. Gojo is to be abused.

The next hour flies by like it's nothing and your ears are soon met with the sound of y/n's heels elegantantly clacking through the marble floor. You try to avoid making eye contact with her at this point. She thinks it's because you hate her, but honestly, you could be a spider and Mr. Gojo would still get paranoid, thinking the said spider is out to take y/n away from him.

But still, she tries to greet you anyways.

She gives you a big fucking smile the closer she gets.

"Goodmorn-AAUUUUGGHHHHHHH"

The scream that rips out of her throat scares you and everyone else. You don't even know what happened, but now y/n's on the floor, again. Except this time? She's right next to your desk.

Mr. Gojo's office is directly behind you, and you startle once again from the way he dramatically slams the doors open. He's already staring everyone down, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Y/n?!" he frantically runs to her rescue, she's still on the floor holding on to her ankle. "What happened to you?! Did someone push you?"

You immediately straighten up after that last question, because he was looking at you when he asked it. Pupils blown out and everything.

"N-no, I-I," she starts to do this thing where she manages to laugh and stutter at the same time. "Nobody pushed me, Gojo-san. I swear! Ahh- fuck!! It hurts!" her face scrunches up in pain as she continues to hold on to her ankle.

"I can get you an ice pack-"

"SHUT UP," Mr. Gojo snaps at you, "Y/n, talk to me! What happened?!"

"No, it's okay!" she tries to diffuse to situation, clearly feeling at fault for the way he rudely yelled at you. "I just- ugh, I wasn't looking and hit the corner of the desk. It's fine!"

"No, it's not fine!" he yells at her this time, wondering why she doesn't care for herself as much as he does. "I almost fucking lost you y/n!"

Everything he says kinda goes in one ear and out the other. You're incredibly offended at the way he cut you off when you were just trying to help. It doesn't take long for you start fully listening again though, after hearing him make one ridiculous statement.

"No, no," he shakes his head, acting as if it were him that had fallen on his ass, not y/n. "This isn't going to work, we can't have this desk here, it's a safety hazard. Reader, move it to the corner."

You pause and blink at him a couple times. "I'm sorry?"

"I said move your FUCKING DESK TO THE CORNER," he yells at you again, pointing in a direction that doesn't even lead to the corner. "Do it now, or else I'm breaking your fucking desk and making you do your work on the floor."

part two

sighing, you leaned back against the counter, taking in the smell of brewing coffee and fluffy pancakes. the diner had fallen quiet, and you manager was on her break. staring down at your feet momentarily, you looked back up to see her eyebrows raised, like she was trying to guess what you were about to say. 

maybe she would just assume it was another late night studying—she was a grad student afterall, and she knew what nights like those were like. accept, this wasn’t a night like that. 

“i went to a party–” you quickly exclaimed. your mouth clamped up as soon as the words slipped your tongue. 

utahime looked shocked, his eyes widening, her mouth twisting into an unexpected smile. 

“you’re joking!” she giggled, “you’re all grown up now—where does the time fly?” she pretended to wipe away a tear, an unserious expression written all over her features. 

she got closer, arm wrapping around your shoulder, squeezing tight, as if she was an older sister teasing her younger sibling. you felt yourself getting hot with embarrassment, bracing yourself for more incoming questions. 

“so, how was it? did you drink a lot? oh my god, wait—you’re totally hung over hah!” she let out a heartier laugh at this remark, and you could feel yourself squirming out of her grasp, groaning. 

“i didn’t drink a lot, but i just—i had a long night.” your response seemed to elicit a bigger reaction out of her, as if you had spoken some code word that woke her up from a trance. 

you took a hold of the rag utahime had left on the countertop, taking over her dillydallying. 

scrubbing down, you tried to avoid eye contact with your friend, especially as she hovered closer to you. she definitely wasn’t going to be dropping the topic now, and if she didn’t get every single ounce of information out of you, she’d be damned. 

“who's the lucky guy?” she asked, a teasing tone coating her voice. she wiggled her eyebrows, resting an elbow against the very counter you were trying very hard to keep clean. 

“would you keep your voice down?” you asked, voice hushed yet harsh. you could feel heat crawling up your neck, searching the area to make sure that no customers were in earshot. you took a cautious step closer to her, accepting that you were about to spill your guts. 

you chewed the inside of your cheek, thinking about the mystery man you had slept with. tall, pinkish hair—not sure if it was natural or dyed—tattoos, muscular. it seemed as though he’d be very easy to pick out from a line up, but it would’ve been much nicer to know his name. 

the smallest ounce of shame washed over you. 

were you a slut? since when were you the type of girl to sleep with some random guy without even knowing his name? 

gulping, you tried to justify it—that he was just looking for the same thing as you: sex. it didn’t matter if you knew his name or not, what mattered was that you both left equally satisfied. 

“this frat guy,” you responded shyly.

“no fucking way.” she was in disbelief. “you slept with a frat guy—was it even any good—oh my god, please tell me he used protection, girl. the last thing you need is an STD.” 

she had said so many words at once, it was difficult to know what you should’ve been replying to first. 

“i’m not an idiot,” you hissed lowly, “of course he wore a condom— but that's not the point?” 

“oh so the point is little miss. innocent got laid,” she drew out the last word in a sing-song voice, her grin growing at the sight of your frustration. you wanted to huff out: ‘i’m not little miss innocent’ but she cut you off before you could even start talking. 

“was it good?” she repeated. “cause you know what they say about guys like that.” 

by that she meant guys who were apart of fraternities—that they thought only with their dicks, and had a particularly selfish nature. of course, they were easy to get to bed with, which was maybe why you had agreed to going to the house in the first place. 

yet, you were still skeptical, finding guys to hook up with wasn’t easy. it didn’t help that frats were notorious for being so judgemental. maybe you were a little weird, or rambled too much for a one night stand—who knew, there could’ve been countless reasons for you to face cold hard rejection, but nonetheless, you had to try. because as disgusting as guys in frats were, they were also great for no strings attached sex. your heart skipped a beat thinking about the pink-haired memory, and how his dick pulsed inside of you. it made you gush just at the thought of it. 

“utahime,” you said her name as if to ground her in your pressing tone. “i am not even exaggerating when i tell you this: it was the best sex of my life.” 

your statement astonished her, truly. 

it wasn’t that it was hard to believe that what you were saying was true, but she had only perceived you through the lens of the typical college nerdy girl—caught up in studying, a small group of friends, always sitting front row during lectures; no drinking, no partying, and definitely not an array of hook-ups. best sex of your life implied that you had been keeping a long and extensive tally. 

“damn, it was that good?” you nodded frantically at her question, making her ask a very crucial question: “did you at least get his number?” 

you felt frozen in your tracks, eyes blank, smile fading slowly. of course, you knew that you didn’t catch his name, but why didn’t you leave your number or something to get in contact with him again. 

“eh, no.” 

“girl…” her voice trailed off, disappointment  radiating off her. “have i taught you nothing?” 

“yes, you did—if the sex is ever good, leave your lipgloss in his room as an excuse to go back.” you recited as if reading from a textbook, putting on a monotone voice in order to tease her. “but if i’m being honest, that’s the worst piece of advice ever. why would i leave my favorite lipgloss in a frat house?”

you looked away quickly, quietly chewing on your lip. yet, utahime was able to catch on to your demeanour very quickly. 

“you left it there, didn’t you?” she interrogated, raising her eyebrows with a smirk. 

still looking away, you responded with a mutter: “mayebe.” 

“well then, more reason for you to try to talk to him again,” she explained, quirking up and putting her hands up in defense. “you need to get your ass back to that frat house ASAP–try to find out when their next party is or something.”   

“yeah, i highly doubt that would ever work out in my favor.” you turned around to collect another round of dirty plates, “i’m lucky enough i didn’t have to pay to get in this time, plus what are the chances he’ll even remember me.” 

utahime was following in pursuit, completely abandoning her other “i’m tell you, there’s nothing to loose. she tried to motivat you through her words:  “the worst thing he can do is not remember you, or turn you down. so what?” 

“easy for you to say,” you grumbled, pushing your glasses back up your nose. itching to get out of the conversation. you prayed someone would walk into the diner and give you an excuse to end it. 

“you have to stop being so hard on yourself,” utahime sighed, rubbing her cheek. the two of you trailed into te kitchen, leaving the plates with the dishwasher. “you’re a real catch, there’s no reason to think otherwise.” 

“even if i did think that way, i’m just not ready for any kind of serious relationship, you know that.” you felt yourself getting quiet and slowly starting to chew on your lip. you could feel your stomach churning, a sinking feeling in your gut that threatened to make your eyes glassy. 

she didn’t reply back, not right away, taking a moment to think and contemplate the advice she was about to dish out. you could see the way her lips pursed out, and her eyes narrowed in. her foot tapped against the checked board floor. 

“you could always do a friends with benefits thing.” she stated, gaging your reaction. she found another rag and started to head back to the very counter that didn’t need any more cleaning. “conditional sex—and just sex. it wouldn’t hurt to try.” 

“yes it would,” you quipped, but quickly correcting your attitude. “i mean, it seems like a pretty high risk situation, you know—frat guys aren’t nice.” 

your mystery man did seem a little bit better than the rest, but maybe it was because he was trying to get into your pants or something. who knew if he would even care about seeing you again, if he could remember anything from last night, anyways. 

utahime turned to face you head one, her hands finding your shoulders as she squeezed you tight. her eyes were fixed on yours, making you feel skirmish in her grasp. her mouth twitching as if she was about to give a half-time pep talk. 

“you need to do something out of your comfort zone—you’ll never know if you don’t try.” she stated, treating you like a little sister who needed guidance. “so, you’re gonna do the following: you’re gonna go home after your shift, take a nice long shower; shave every inch of your body, put on your most….sexiest—or i guess least sports-bra-ey bra, and head to that frat house.” 

she took a pause, waiting for you to nod along. when you did, she continued: 

“then, you’re going to knock on the door, and tell them you left something there. describe the guy, and say you think it might’ve been in his room. trust me, half of them will be too hung over to give a fuck. you find him, you talk to him. got it?” 

“okay,” you sighed, “i’ll do my best.” 

utahime saw how nervous you were, how your eyes had started darting all over the place, and how you had started playing with your hands. there was a shakiness in your exhale that made her sigh as well. 

“don’t be scared.” she reassured you, “just be yourself.” 

with that, you heard the bell ring again, a large party coming in eager to eat. you slipped away first, leaving utahime behind the counter. 

you put on a friendly smile, walking them over to a table, and sliding the menus to each of them. all the while, you pushed utahime’s words to the back of your mind, replacing any thoughts of being fucked with the daily specialcals—banana crepes and eggs benedict served with avocado and peameal bacon.

hours passed, and work overtook you completely. there were only a few minutes left in your shift, and as your eyes darted back and forth from the clock, you were itching to get home and wash the smell of breakfast-grease off you. 

utahime was going around and topping up a customer’s coffee, before she quickly rushed over to you. 

“remember what we talked about,” she reminded you, voice soft and all-knowing. “and have a good week at school.” 

“thanks,” you smiled weakly, your stomach starting to betray you. the anxiety was already starting to wash over your nervous system. you were moments away from spiraling, but you knew you had to control the urge to tug at all your hair. “i’ll let you know how it goes.” 

but, before you could dash off to the punch clock, you sneezed, your body shaken from the sudden outburst. 

“bless you,” utahime said with a giggle, making a little comment about how cute your sneeze was before adding: “you know sneezing means someone’s talking about you behind your back?” 

“that can’t be true,” you muttered, pushing your glasses back up onto your face and turning on your heels. you were sure it was just residue from some pepper that was lingering in the air after someone shook the shaker a little too hard. 

“you what?” it was way too damn early—even if it was a quarter to two— it was still too damn early to be hearing gojo’s shrilly voice. they’d been at it for a few minutes, after hearing a very disappointing update from their treasurer.

sukuna sat up in his bed, a frown plastered onto his still sleep-ridden face. the president of the frat stood over him and the vice-president by his side for emotional support. meanwhile the pledges creeped in on the conversation from the hallway, their nosy little faces peeking over the doorframe every so often. 

“i was a little drunk, okay? sorry i fucking forgot,” he grunted, trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “excuse me for not fucking askin her what her fucking name was. in case ya forgot, i didn’t wanna do this fucking bet in the first place.” 

“well you agreed to it,” gojo quipped, his face contorting into a childish pout. “you had one fucking job dude, like are you joking right now?” 

geto took a deep breath, not sure what to say, in disbelief at the sheer stupidity being displayed in front of him. he could not wrap his head around the fact that he didn’t even get your name. it seemed like the basic thing to do with anyone you interacted with, let alone someone you were supposed to seduce. maybe alpha phi was right—maybe fraternity guys were real jerks. 

sukuna’s revelation did not help them out, and now, trying to find you now would be like finding a needle in a haystack. not to mention, your little escape earlier that morning was maybe not the best sign either—maybe their brute of a treasurer had scared you off, or maybe you were under the impression it was just a one night stand. either way, they had to think of something and fast.  

“you’re unbelievable,” geto finally muttered, shaking his head. sukuna only scoffed, eyes narrowing in on the two guys that had infiltrated his bedroom just to nag at him. 

“i fucking forgot. okay? the hell was i supposed to know she was gonna fucking sneak out first thing in the morning?” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking to the side, feeling like a child being reprimanded for skipping his chores. 

gojo groaned loudly and dramatically, hiding his face with his hands as he looked up at the ceiling. frustration was not enough to describe the way he felt, picturing yorozu and her smug little face twisting into a victorious grin. he pulled at the root of his hair, feeling his eyes twitching with rage. 

“did you not, like, make her cum or something—the fuck was she creeping out of the fucking house for?” gojo asked out of anger, “or did you growl at her when you were fucking balls deep?! jesus fucking christ, of all people of course it had to be you!” 

his comments seemed to slightly offend the pink haired man, whose eyes widened, eyebrows raised, sneer being etched onto his expression. sukuna clenched his fists, ready to jump up and start a fight—the only thing that held him back was the practically debilitating headache that was pulsing at the back of his skull. 

gojo continued with his ramble: 

“fucking clawed up over here like he was being attacked by freddy kruger—like was she that deserapte to get you off her? fuck!” 

“fuck you,” he grumbled, “just so you fucking know i did make her cum—twice—something i know some of us can’t relate to.”

even though sukuna spoke with confidence, there was still an air of uncertainty inside of him. was it actually good? surely the answer to that was yes—he made you cum twice, and was knew you hadn’t faked it—you couldn’t fake the way you were squeezing around him like that. yet, why would you leave in such a rush? every other girl he’s spent the night always stays, wanting a quickie before they snuck off into the void of the world. 

you on the other hand, were like a ghost, slipping through the walls you had never been there to begin with. 

gojo stared blankly at sukuna for a split second, like he was trying to process all the different outcomes to this situation within a fraction of a millisecond. he started to charge towards his fraternity brother, but before any fight could officially break up, geto put his arm out, blocking the other man’s attempt. 

“you piece of shit—fucking bastard!” he retaliated, still stopped by geto’s arm. 

thankfully for all parties involved, geto was a little bit more sensible. 

the president began to calm down, face red with anger and a touch of embarrassment. gojo took a deep breath, trying to recenter himself in reality, pinching the bridge of his nose before exhaling the biggest 

“okay. you didn’t get her name or her number. is there anything you did learn about her?” he wasn’t trying to sound so passive aggressive, it just tumbled from his lips naturally. 

“um…” sukuna’s voice trailed off followed by yet another exasperated scream from president gojo. “would you shut the fuck up—she told me she was in bio, or like english or some shit like that.” 

“bio or english!” gojo exclaimed, “wow! what similar subjects! that narrows it down SO much, we’ll find her in no time!” 

the sarcasm dripped from his voice, and he started to poison the air around him with the deadly way he was staring down sukuna. of course, there was also the lingering threat of one os sukuna’s deepest secrets being revealed if they didn’t meet their end of the bargain, not to mention the thought of having to clean a sorority house of a year—that too, was heavy one everyone’s minds. 

sukuna tried to think, to remember what you said, but he was hungover and his memory was foggy—events mixing together like paint on a pallet. he could recall the moonlight, your eyes, your lips moving faster than his brain could process your words. you had been awkward and shy, but loosened up a bit when some alcohol finally hit your system. what was it that you were taking?...all that reading you had to do? 

“i actually cannot believe that you didn’t even get her number—” gojo continued. “unless you have a fucking glass slipper at this point—jesus fucking christ.” 

“fuck! it was both—fucking double majoring.” he finally remembered, rubbing his temple and wincing due to the high vibration of gojo’s pitchy complaints. 

“nerd,” one of the pledges muttered under his breath from the hall, and a cluster of them listened intently. they were pleasantly entertained by watching their big, scary upperclassmen get a slap on the wrist. 

gojo placed his hands over his face, dramatically pulling down his cheeks, distorting his eyes. his frustrated groan ringing against the walls of sukuna’s bedroom. geto pinched his nose simultaneously, both of them trying to figure out how the hell they’d make this work. sukuna wasn’t necessarily giving them much to work with. 

“okay,” geto finally said, his hands clapping together as if he was trying to light the spark of a new idea. “we should throw another party, and that way she could come back. if the sex was good maybe she’ll want more. right?” 

“if the sex was good,” gojo muttered, arms folding over his chest. “but there’s no guarantee that she’ll bother coming back. she didn’t really seem like a real party animal.” 

“it was—you fucking dickhead,” sukuna confirmed, but he was quite obviously being ignored. 

“yeah, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. what’s a couple more parties?” geto responded, bringing a fair point that none of the frat brothers could deny—worst case scenario it was just another excuse for them to get drunk.

sukuna pressed his lips together, staring at the floor haphazardly. he could feel his posture getting worse, a clear sign that he was ready to fall back asleep and not wake up until it was time to eat dinner. 

he couldn’t deny that he had started zoning out. he had drowned the sound of gojo and geto bickering about what theme the party would be until finally coming to the conclusion that they would resolve it at the next chapter meeting. his eyes felt heavy, and his bed was right there, why couldn’t these fucking morons just fuck right off? 

“is it really worth all this fucking trouble?” he asked, although it sounded like a confession, like he had been holding it in this whole time. “who gives a fuck, you think alpha phi is gonna give a shit about it by the end of the year?” 

both gojo and geto were taken aback, looming over him, their faces turning to stone with how still they had become. sukuna braced for another one of the president’s outbursts. yet, there was no screaming, no screeching, no nothing. it sent a chill down his spine. 

“listen here,” gojo started, and for a moment, his blue eyes seemed to turn red. “you should know better than anyone that yorozu holds onto grudges like a fucking elephant. if you don’t suck it up, i swear to god i will personally make you scrub their bathroom tiles with a toothbrush, and then when you’re done with that tooth brush i’m gonna stick it up your—” 

“okay,” geto interrupted before gojo could finish that thought. the white haired man took a deep breath, before exhaling loudly. 

he flashed sukuna a look that reminded him of the expression he made the night before—threatening. the secret that was locked away in the darkest part of his memory was obviously at the front of gojo’s mind. 

“so, if by the grace of fucking god she somehow shows up to one of the parties we throw, you best believe you’re gonna fucking charm her pants off.” gojo was stern, but his choice of words was so childish, it was hard to take his little declaration earnestly. 

“i already did.” his sarcastic little jokes did not help the tensions between him and the president, causing yet another outburst. gojo’s arms thrashed in the air, only being held back by geto, whose expression also showed just how tired he was of this bickering. 

“listen here,” gojo hissed, pointing an accusatory finger, “if and when you run into that chick again you’re gonna be like a fucking knight in shining armor or some shit like that. got it? none of your fucking around and refusing to double dip your dic–” 

“hey!” 

“--oh don’t act like i’m making shit up right now.” gojo narrowed his blue eyes in, watching the treasurer very closely. “you’re gonna be nice, i know your robot brain isn’t programed to do that, but you’re gonna be a decent fucking human being for once.” 

“fuck you,” sukuna replied, almost offended by the words of his fraternity brother. he leaned back on his hands and rolled his eyes. “i can be nice.” 

“oh yeah? prove it?” gojo crossed his arms over his chest. stepping closer. “just try not to be a complete asshole. okay? be a little sensitive to her feelings—chicks like it when guys are sensitive.” 

“okay, now you’re just talking outa your ass,” geto deadpanned. it was now the vice president’s turn to lecture sukuna. he turned his head to the man sitting on the bed: “all you have to do is show interest—you don’t even have to actually care, just fucking fake it if you have to. offer her food and kiss her forehead. then you’re set. trust.” 

“male manipulator over here,” gojo grumbled, starting to head towards the door before giving his closing remoarks to sukuna: “don’t fuck this up, fuckface.” 

geto, though, didn’t waiver his glare, waiting for him to nod in agreement before joining gojo in leaving the room. there seemed to be tension that needed to be cut, and as their standoff continued, it was clear that geto wasn’t letting up on this. as much as sukuna wanted to find any excuse to weasel himself out of his end of the bargain, he couldn’t. 

begrudgingly, sukuna agreed, slowly nodding but not before airing his grievances once more: 

“i hate this fucking fraternity.” 

geto didn’t say anything else, slipping out and shutting the door behind him, leaving him alone within the confines of his own room. there was a buzzing irritation that was growing inside his brain, one that was starting to cause a major headache. he groaned outload, frustration seeping through his veins as he dragged his hands over his face. 

ironically, the bet was already on the fringes of being lost—you were like an urban legend now—the girl he was supposed to seduce but disappeared into thin air. his fate was already sealed, and not only would he be stuck cleaning up after alpha phi, but the secret he kept deep in the darkest pockets of his brain would probably slip into the public world, destroying him completely. 

sukuna fell back into his bed, letting his head fall against the side you had been sleeping on just hours ago. he wondered when exactly you had left, if you didn’t wake him up because you were embarrassed, or regretful of the night spent together. he didn’t know, and he shouldn’t’ve care as much as he did—espeically when he should’ve had more important things on his mind. 

like the pre-season practice he had that evening, or how he was still hungover. yet, there he was, contemplating a mystery girl—one that he would never have batted an eye at in any other circumstance. maybe it was the pressure from gojo and geto that made the situation so much worse, he reasoned—it wasn’t you, it was them coupled with the anxiety of potentially loosing his scholarship. 

he turned to his side, ready to fall back asleep when he felt something pressed against his temple. he tried ignoring it, trying to rest his eyes and sleep off his hangover but he couldn’t—not when whatever it was under there was digging into his skull. 

impatiently tearing away the pillow, he was surprised at what he found. 

“stupid utahime,” you muttered under your breath, blaming her for ending up in this situation. face-to-face with the door of the fraternity you had just snuck out of. now, in broad daylight, the building seemed more intimidating. there wasn’t a crowd of party goers to hide behind, nor was there a deafening ringing from a loud speaker blaring music—you were completely vulnerable to whatever was hiding behind the entrance—with the potential rejection from the stranger from last night. 

the porch was still a wreck from last night’s party, and it was evident that in the hours you were away at work, none of the boys had bothered to get to it. clearly, that would be a task for today, most likely delegated to the first year students. 

solo cups were scattered everywhere, with an array of beer cans, all varying in size and brand. a couple of cigarette butts had been stomped out against the ground, plus the occasional pizza crust. it made you cringe how a whole house of boys could live like this, and not be bothered to do anything about it. yet, it wasn’t actually that surprising. 

what was hard, though, was that you had actually followed the advice that utahime left for you because now, everything seemed like a terrible decision. you could’ve—no should’ve—turned around at any point; you should’ve spun right around on your heels a block ago when you got off the bus stop—you should not have gone on that bus at all. heck, you should have just locked yourself up in your apartment and gotten a head start on your course readings. but no. 

it was like she was in your head, subconsciously guiding you throughout the journey, her words ringing in your mind. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

your veins pulsed and surged with adrenaline. you hand hovered over the door bell, the space between your finger and the button was dangerously close, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ring it. there was a shakiness in your thighs, like your body was threatening to collapse under the pressure you placed on yourself. it felt as though your heart was trying to claw its way up your throat, making you choke on it. you tried to take one deep breath after another, but it was obvious that trying to sooth your nerves would prove to be much more difficult than it was. 

what if he said no? or laughed in your face? or called you a stupid, desperate, bitch for trying to crawl back to him? you hated how realistic all those scenarios had become in your mind. what if the lipgloss isn’t there, and i make a fool of myself? 

it was getting trickier to control your breathing, and you had to shut your eyes tight in order to drown out the sounds of your own inner thoughts. you had to brace yourself—to rip the bandaid clean off. you wouldn’t know unless you tried. 

pressing into the doorbell, you felt as though your body had temporarily shut down, listening to the now spine-chilling melody echo from the front porch. hours seemed to pass until someone finally opened the door when in reality, it was only about a minute. still, the aching dread as the door swung open. 

you were met with a frat boy with striking white hair, whose expression seemed dull and frankly, exhausted. you thought it might have had something to due with the intense amount of alcohol that had been consumed the night before. his eyes hung half-open, his lips starting to turn into a scowl at the thought of someone ringing at the door this early in the day—well, early in terms of frat boy standards. 

yet, the moment he saw you standing there, something shifted drastically. his reaction flipped completely, his blue eyes going wide, his jaw slack—-like he had just seen a ghost. he blinked once, then twice, then a third time, all before saying anything, awkwardly taking up the doorway as if he was too stunned to speak. 

“um,” you started, taking a large gulp. you tried not to make your voice sound weary, but it seemed impossible to not sound nervous. “i was here last night, and i think i left a lip gloss here. is it okay if i come inside to look for it? it shouldn’t take long.” 

there was a moment in which his dumbfounded look remained plastered on his face, trying to process everything that had happen. must’ve been a bad hangover, you tried to reason. slowly, though, you watched the light in his eyes slowly return, like he’d been given a boost of adrenaline. 

he stepped to the side, a bounce in his step, making as much room for you as possible. 

“sure thing, come right on in.” you were confused about his complete shift in attitude, but of course you didn’t refuse the offer. stepping into the fraternity, it seemed much more empty without all the people cramped inside. the white haired boy continued: “where do you think you left it?” 

you fiddled with your fingers, carefully eyeing the way to the staircase. you felt nervous, like a hundred eyes were on you—maybe because there were. you could see different heads popping from the walls as the different frat boys were snooping in on your conversation. once you caught their eye, though, they quickly tried to play it off, walking around as if nothing had ever happened. 

“i think it’s upstairs, in one of the bedrooms,” you paused for a moment, pressing your lips together. you didn’t know the name of the stranger, so you had to do your best to describe him. “i think it was, um, the treasurer’s bedroom—y’know, tall, pink hair…” 

your voice trailed off, swallowing any sense of confidence you had as you described the guy you’d slept with less than twenty-four hours ago. there was a thumping in your chest that wouldn’t go away, wishing you could just scramble up the stairs and get it yourself—at this point, you didn’t even want to run into your hook up, just retrieve the lip gloss and get out of there. 

“oh—sukuna!” the grin on his face grew even wider, if that was even possible. “here, let me show you to his room. follow me!” 

“okay,” you replied in a weak tone. it wasn’t that you wanted to be so shy, but something about the atmosphere, the lingering eyes—feeling awkward was inevitable. 

so as you went up step by step, you tried bracing yourself with the fact that your hook up—sukuna, you think the other guy called him—might actually be in his room, and that the confrontation utahime insisted on might actually happen. 

how does one even start a conversation like that? you wondered, internally screaming, wanting to pull your hair out in giant chunks. hey, i really liked how you fucked me last night. can we please do it again? but i don’t want to be your girlfriend. at all. i don’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend. how about fuckbuddies! yes—two people can be fuck buddies! it’s the 21st century—nothing weird at all about it.  

your train of through was never ending, and it was as if the hallway of doom was in front of you—the path feeling endless as as stared down the door that you had so eagerly entered last night. the white haired frat boy didn’t really say much else, although you could see there was something he wanted to say. you watched how his lips contorted and pursed outwards. 

“just so you know—sukuna’s a real oaf sometimes. if he’s a little blunt, don't take it personally.” 

little did you know the reason he was saying this to you was not simply out of the kindness of his heart, but because of his own personal interests. 

you narrowed your eyes, scrunching your brows together at the comment, watching how the tall, white haired boy opened the door without bothering to knock. maybe sukuna wasn’t there, which was why he felt like he could barge in without any sort of warning. 

only, your assumption was wrong, and laying on the bed without a care in the world was the very man you had gotten cozy with. he jolted up, a scowl etched on his lips, his eyebrows knitting together, frown lines dancing across his forehead. 

“fucking knock, you shithead,” he growled through grit teeth. if you weren’t there, gojo would’ve responded with something a bit more sarcastic, or maybe would have returned the sharp attitude. but, he was in a happier mood, and wouldn’t let sukuna’s general grumpiness affect that. 

gojo stepped to the side, exposing you standing there, and in a matter of seconds, the cruel mug that sukuna had on was wiped clean off. his jaw went slack, slightly a gape, staring. he wondered what fucking deity gojo had to pray to in order to make you appear like a genie right out of a bottle. 

the white haired man put a hand on your upper back, slightly nudging you forward. “have at it! should be in here, right!” 

he spoke too quickly for you to bother to interrupt, and he disappeared just as fast, leaving the two of you in the bedroom. the door clicked shut behind you, and you felt the way the air thickened. it was as if you had been dropped into a tiger den, and clearly no survival plan. 

every negative scenario replayed through your brain in a split second, watching how he shuffled to his feet, towering over you—something that did not help your already anxious state. 

“sorry i left without saying anything!” you yelped, as if under pressure to explain yourself. “i, um—i had to go into work, and i totally didn’t think i was going to spend the night so i was in a really big rush and i didn’t want to be late…” 

you didn’t get the chance to continue your ramble, watching how he put his hand up, while rubbing his temple as if you were speaking too loudly and too quickly for his hungover brain to catch up. 

“sorry,” you muttered under you breath, tugging at your hair to try to calm your nerves. 

“‘ts fine,” he breathed. sukuna could feel his heart tapping against his ribs, he didn’t know what to do. again he was in this situation in which he was unable to function like a normal fucking person. he scratched the back of his neck, observing the way you struggled to meet his gaze. 

“i didn’t catch your name the other night,” he noted with a sigh. he hoped maybe that would spark a conversation, remembering the fresh scolding he had gotten from the frat president about being nice. 

you said your name slowly, chewing on your lips. he replied with his own name. 

“ryomen,” he stated, watching how your face twisted into confusion. 

“but the guy out there called you sukuna?” 

“it’s my middle name, but it’s just like a nickname at this point. most of the guys call me that,” he explained, brushing a hand over his chest, trying to play off the fact he was already falling asleep. 

“which one should i call you?” you pressed your lips together, unsure of what felt right. 

“you can use whichever, i don’t care.” he seemed annoyed, screeching the back of his head with a small yawn. 

“oh, okay,” you paused, toying with your hands. 

silence fell over the two of you, making him think he might’ve said something wrong. it wouldn’t have been the first time his brut-ish attitude had sent girls storming out in irritated huffs and stomps. yet, he couldn’t screw any of this up. 

“i, um, i’m pretty sure i left a lip gloss here— it must’ve fallen from my pocket last night.” your words cut through the quiet atmosphere, and you hope that he believed your lie, and that your nervousness would just be chalked up to your typical shy nature. 

“oh yeah,” he hummed, turning around and reaching to his nightstand where your lipgloss was laying, still shiny and reflecting the light peeking through the curtains. it wasn’t where you left it, meaning that he must’ve found it. something about that made the tension feel more awkward. 

“i was wondering where this came from.” he brought himself back to face you, bringing his hand towards yours, letting you accept what he was offering. in that brief moment you felt the way the pads of his fingers brushed against your palms, and as cliché as it was to admit, you felt chills run down your spine. 

you remembered how he looked shirtless, how he watched you with lustful eyes as you sunk down on his thick cock just last night. to make it worse, you were starting to notice the scratch marks you left on his body now, your head spinning at the idea of potentially reliving that experience again. 

“thanks,” you replied, trying to ground yourself in reality. you were already a flustered mess—how were you going to ask him to be your fuck buddy now?! the entire plan that you tried building in your head was crumbling down at just a little touch. 

run, run, run, your brain shouted, kicking in your fight or flight. you gulped, slowly turning around and trying to get to the door. you tried to stop your body from moving on it’s own, to convince yourself to stay and at least try. 

sukuna, too, was filled with panic seeing how you were so quick to scurry off. he saw the conflicted look written across your eyes, but before he could speak up, you did first. 

“actually,” you squeaked, looking over your shoulder. “there’s one more thing.” 

“did you leave something else here?” sukuna began to scan the room, maybe a bracelet, a pair of panties, but nothing caught his eye. 

“um, no,” you started. he watched the way you inhaled, like you were prepping yourself for some kind of doomsday. he saw you gulp, eyes shutting momentarily before adjusting your position, standing square to him. 

“i guess i wanted to say that last night was fun—more than fun…what i’m…” you sighed loudly, trying to rephrase your sentence. it was as if he was watching you cross an idea off a blackboard, chalk firm in grip. “it was, like, good—great—whatever is better than great, um, yeah.” 

sukuna hummed, eyebrow raised, seeing it a good opportunity to poke at this layer of embarrassment that had formed around you. 

“really? better than great, huh. haven’t heard that one before,” he chuckled, the sound of his snicker bouncing off the wall. “lemme guess, you came back for seconds?” 

your wide eyes made him want to laugh more—the way you turned into a deer in headlights, caught red handed at your little attempt at sneaking back in. of course, it all worked out in his favour, but he wished he could’ve recorded this moment to show gojo that the power of his dick alone would win them that stupid bet. 

“you don’t have to be rude about it,” you muttered under your breath, already wallowing in your apparent rejection. “if it’s not something you want, i’ll leave.” 

“hey now,” he reached out to grab your wrist, stopping you front turning around. he figured he better start acting a little sappy—even if it meant internally cringing for the unforeseeable future, it was just something he had to do. “‘m just joking around.” 

you didn’t remember him being such a tease the night before, and his newfound playful attitude should’ve made you roll your eyes and walk away, but it had the opposite effect. maybe it was the way he was towering over you, controlling the grip on your skin. he felt hot. 

“relax a little,” he commented, voice low. “we can fuck again, if you want it so badly.” 

there was a pause, a moment where you actually met his line of sight, looking right into his red irises. he could feel your pulse against his fingers—the constant and accelerating thump that he was feeling was amusing enough, but the contorted, confused and conflicted look you were sporting was equally intriguing to him. 

“but what if i want us to fuck more than once?” you blurted, mouth shutting almost instantly after uttering that very desperate sounding sentence. 

“like a boyfriend?” he perked up slightly at the convenience of the situation. of how perfect it would be for this to be his golden ticket. he would be over the moon if that was the case—except it wasn’t. 

“god no,” you shook your head. “not a relationship—like not a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. like we have sex sometimes when we want, but not like dating. erm, like friends with benefits or something, we don’t even have to be friends—” 

“sure,” he agreed quickly, not wanting to listen to any more of your rambling. 

“really? just like that? you’re okay with it?” you were surprised to say the least, this was not in your imaginary scenario—instead, you pictured this as the moment you got kicked out of the frat, landing right on your butt with a gaggle of frat boys pointing and laughing. 

sukuna shrugged, “why not? you’re acting like you’re the only one who had fun last night.” 

“oh, okay.” 

his grin began to grow as he continued: “heh, ‘better than great.’” 

his teasing made you pout, something he picked up on quickly. you caught his eyes scanning your features as he finally stood up. his height dwarfed you, making a heavy lump form in your throat. 

“i like sex,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “a lot.” 

“so do i,” you admit, pulling at the hem of your shirt. “it’s a good match, then, i guess.” 

there was another batch of silence, one that you wanted to fill quickly. 

“do we, like, need rules for this? that’s what i saw in a movie once.” you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to seem a little bit more confident than you actually were. it was still hard to wrap your mind around the fact that this was actually happening. 

“glad you did your research.” he spoke dryly. “we can have rules, if you want. you seem like the type to need some.” 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” your eyebrows furrowed, lips twisting into a frown. 

“heh, don’t worry about it,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “what should rule number 1 be, then?”

“um, okay. let me think,” you paused for a moment, lips pressing together, eyes narrowing in at his chest, trying to concentrate. “you gotta wear condoms, always.” 

“why? can’t you go on birth control or something?” he huffed, your frown transferred onto his lips as well. 

“i already am,” you replied, realising how perhaps—in hindsight—this should’ve been a conversation you should’ve had last night. “but that’s not the point. if you’re sleeping with other people i don’t want to catch anything—y’know i heard this girl got like chlamydia from sleeping with a guy—” 

“i’m clean. i don’t have anything.” his response with quick, like he didn’t need to think twice about it. 

“how can you be so sure?” you questioned, unsure of his certainty. 

“i got tested like a month ago, didn’t sleep with anyone since.” 

“really?” you didn’t mean to sound so shocked, it was just inevitable. he did seem like the type to go that long without it. 

he nodded, “got a call about some chick i fucked like at the end of term last year, said i should check cause she caught something. i’m fine.” 

“oh, okay. but still you could catch something,” you insisted, pulling your arms together into your chest. 

“okay, so why don’t we just make the condition that we only fuck each other. then we can go without the condoms, right?” 

what a stupid idea, he thought to himself. why on earth would he suggest that? the last thing he wanted was to be tied to you indefinitely. monogamy was not in his personal dictionary, and he didn’t want it to be—was he that horny that he really made a deal like that? 

his only hope would be that you would counter his offer. 

yet, he watched you contemplate, nodding slowly. “sure, rule #1: we only have sex with each other.” 

another pause before continuing: 

“but we should only do it when we’re both in the mood and it’s convenient. i don’t want to cause any trouble, especially around exams—but i guess sex is a good stress reliever, so maybe just when we’re both free. i know you’re probably busy too with hockey, right.” 

“yeah. makes sense. rule #2: we fuck when we’re free and avalible. seems pretty obvious” he responded with a snort. “you into anything weird i should know about?” 

“what’s considered weird?” 

“oh so you’re a freak? got it.” he liked the way you got flustered at his joke—at least he would enjoy teasing the shit out of you. 

“hey, that’s not what i meant.” you stopped, the classic jutted lip returning. “we’re getting off topic…” 

“okay, any other rules that come to mind, or do you think that about cover’s it?”

“hmm,” you took another minute to think, tapping against your chin. pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you tried to let more ideas come to you. “i think everything we’ve mentioned is pretty self explanatory. maybe rule #3: terms and conditions are subject to change?” 

“didn’t realize this was an official contact, fuck,” he said with a laugh. you tried to brush it off with a laugh as well, heart twisting at the thought of acting a little too weird. you didn’t want this friends with benefits situation to be dissolved before it officially began. 

“sorry, just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” you gulped, “we only have sex with each other if we’re in the mood right?” you confirmed. 

he nodded with a sigh muttering under his breath: 

“it’s not the ten fucking commandments. keep it simple.”  shuffling through his pocket, you felt your cheeks heating at the flexing of his biceps, the way his arms looked so effortlessly good. it was distracting you front the point of your conversation.  

“here,” he instructed, reaching forward with his phone in hand. it was like you were in some kind of fantasy—like he wasn’t actually standing in front of you and instead was just a figment of your imagination. “put your number in.” 

you scrambled to type in your number, writing your name out quickly, contemplating putting an emoji. for obvious reasons, you decided against it. you gave his phone back to him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. 

“so,” you started awkwardly trying to fill the silence. he hummed, eyes locked back on his phone. “are you doing anything today?” 

“got practice tonight,” he huffed, fingers typing something, like he was responding to a message. “first one of the season. mostly to get chemistry with the rookies.” 

“oh that’s nice,” you replied, you wondered if he was going to text you first, or wait until he wanted to have sex again—you hoped it would be soon, maybe just ask him for his contact, too, you thought, maybe this is just a way to get you out of his hair. 

sukuna slipped his phone onto his nightstand and within a matter of seconds, there was a buzz coming from your own phone. out of habit, you glanced down on it, squinting to see a notification from an unknown number. 

i’m in the mood 

you stared back up at him, lips slightly parted. was he being serious? 

a part of you didn’t want to wait around and ask—that achey, gooey feeling lingering in your gut was telling you to go for it. so you did. 

reaching your arms around his neck, you let yours lips smash together, fingers tugging at the root of his hair as he deepened the kiss. you could feel the way his tongue gilded against your mouth, making you whimper. 

the sounds you made only seemed to egg him on more, as sukuna let his hands drop down to your ass, gripping gently as they started to find their way to the buttons of your jeans. you could feel the way he started tugging down on them, letting them smooth down your hips. 

at the same time, he began to kneel, hooking his hands under the denim and as he lowered himself, he brought the jeans down with him. 

you felt the way goosebumps ran against your bare skin, your heart thumping loudly as his nose was inching towards your cunt. holding onto his shoulders, he helped you step out of your jeans, giving him another opportunity to trace over your flesh with the palm of his hands. 

his path was clear, dragging alongside your outer thighs, hugging your hips, groping your ass. your breath was shaky, not knowing how to react, he was so close to you, and you for some reason, your mind had shut down. perhaps it was because you were completely sober, faced with the opportunity to have sex with sukuna again—and despite wanting it, you couldn’t help but feel nervous. 

the back of your hand rated against the lower half of your face, watching the way he slipped two fingers under the waistband of your panties, feeling the way he began to tease you. they started together, they slowly began to drag outwards, resting against your hipbone, inching down for what felt like an eternity. 

“hurry,” you inadvertently whispered, too caught up in the moment to use your inside voice. although, the way your comment made sukuna grin sent shivers down your spine and straight to your core. your panties were embarrassingly wet, and in a matter of moments, your glossy core would be exposed to him, showing off just how horny you were. 

“someone’s eager,” he teased. his breath lingered on your thighs, his face dangerously close to you pussy. 

you first responded with a pout but before you had the opportunity to speak actual words, your entirety of your lower body was exposed to the cold, nipping atmosphere. your panties had fallen to your ankles, carelessly ripped off by sukuna, who had a familiar glint in his eyes. 

as erotic as it all ways, it was different that the last time you had sex. this felt more vulnerable, more exposed, especially as the light from the windows softly slipped into his room. your breath became heavy and so did your eyelids, watching him knowing full well he could do whatever he pleased and you would let him. 

“you’re so fuckin wet it’s clinging to your panties—fuck,” he gasped, head darting towards your cunt. your body was tense for a brief second, bracing the impact, and when his lips clung to your clit you felt a surge zap through your body. yet, he was an sly as always, and as quickly as he had administered the kiss, he had risen to his feet, looming over you. 

“hah, not yet.” he seemed to find the situation slightly humorous, squeezing your jaw with his large hand. your mouth squished together, inadvertently puckering you up for him. 

sukuna’s tongue skirted across his lower lip, tasting what little remnants of your arousal was lingering there. he flashed a devlish smile—one that didn’t seem as intense last night— letting you knew just what was flashing across his head: “knew you’d be this fucking sweet—all shy and shit, acting like you don’t have fucking honey dripping down your thighs.” 

he wasn’t one to fuck the same girl more than once. this whole situation was out of what he would consider to be his comfort zone. monogamous fuckbuddies? what a fucking contridiction, he snorted internally. it was all one big shit show. he continued to think, staring into your eyes as you squirmed in his grasp. i’s basically a fucking relationship, right? close enough, at least—as close to a relationship as he’d ever get. surely gojo would approve of whatever the hell this was. the quicker it was over the quicker he could go back to doing his own fucking thing, and not having to give shit about what alpha phi or delta kappa nu wanted. 

his lips crashed against yours, making you tremble in his grasp. his hands felt so strong, keeping you steady as his lips made you dizzy. your mouths opened and your tongues slipped past the barrier, making the kiss turn sloppy almost instantly. there wasn’t much tenderness, but you didn’t expect as much. sukuna was hungry, you could sense that much. like he needed to get off, like something had been building up since the moment you stepped into the room. 

his hands quickly found a new spot—framing your neck with a soft squeeze. it was just enough to take your breath away, but not enough to make you see stars. at least not yet. the wet noises from your lips echoed in your ears, your hips pressing against his, the humiliating slick in between your legs rubbing against his thigh. 

the rhythm of it all became something that was familiar—his slow, drawn out kisses making your lips swell, his hand pressing on your neck adding a little bit of force each time the kiss seemed to deepen. his other hand, as sneaky as it was, remained firm on your hip, gilding the rolling motion of your hip, encouraging you to ruin his sweatpants. 

instinctually, your fingers were in the roots of his hair, tightening around the pinks strands. you were unintentionally tugging against them hard yet, it only egged sukuna on further. he let out a groan that seemed to arise from deep within his chest, one that made your stomach flip. 

you felt as though your skin had been set ablaze, rutting and whining against his mouth, only getting an opportunity to breathe when he decided to pull away. although, it wasn’t from the goodness of his heart—no. he was nudging at your shirt, pulling it right off, and fingers quickly trying to pinch off your bra. 

he clearly wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the so-called sexy lingerie that you had donned just for him, but you weren’t going to complain, not with the way he grabbed them in his hands. they were warm in his palms, and they only seemed to heat up more as he massaged little circles into your flesh. 

“i bet the only thing you’re thinking of is how i’ll feel inside you,” he started, slotting his leg further in between your own, head diving closer to your neck. he continued his teasing, whispering against your skin: “how my dick is gonna feel when it stretches you right open.” 

his words sent a cool chill through your body, your cunt clenching around nothing, the thought of him inside you raw was driving you insane. it also didn’t help that his teeth were grazing over the most sensitive parts of your neck, his canines threatening to puncture your skin. like a vampire, he explored every crevice, his hot breath creating goosebumps. 

sukuna hummed against you: “or how full you’re gonna get when i fucking cum inside you—load after load,” he nipped at your neck, making you yelp. “mhh yeah, gotta make up for last night—had to wear that fucking rubber shit.” 

he proceeded to finally sink his teeth down, biting into your soft skin. instantly, your back arched, lifting itself off the wall in which you were being pressed onto, pushing yourself closer to his warm body. surely, his actions would leave a mark, and it was only fair for him to return the favor as you had left him with some interesting reminders of your night spent together. 

“gonna fill you up twice, just to make up for lost time,” he commented, finding a new spot to suck down on. his lips were wet, making a trail of his saliva as he began to toy with a sensitive piece of flesh, moving so intensely you were sure he was going to leave some kind of hickey. 

“ryomen,” it was the first time you had said his name—the first time he’d heard his first name in what felt like ages. he could almost hear your rationale—well if we’re gonna have sex, i should call you by your name. 

it only made his eyes squeeze shut, grip intensifying . especially as you squirmed. sukuna didn’t let up, not one bit, letting his sinful words tumble off his lips like it was a confession: 

“i wanna fuck that tight hole, fuck—so fucking bad.” maybe it was the way your voice, once so naive-sounding, was now crumbling at his touch, turning into pathetic, whoreish moans the more he abused the skin of your neck. you were so pliant, so contradictory in nature. how could someone so shy be so lewd? 

the more marks he left on you, the more you seemed to cry out, sniffing his name. 

“flip.” he ordered, not giving you a chance to fight him on it—not that you would, though. 

as you manoeuvred yourself, pressing the palms of your hands and your exposed breasts pressed against the wall. your back arched inadvertently, lifting your ass in the air, exposing yourself to him. 

“fuck,” he grunted loudly, followed by a loud smack! your ass reverberating as he struck it with a sharp swing. he squeezed it, digging his nails into your butt, playing with it like it was his newest obsession. 

the slaps continued, his palm making your butt sting and pussy gush. the arousal that was pooling in your cunt made you want to bury your face in his chest, to just let him get his teasing over with. it was sick at how much you seemed to like this roughness—something you hadn’t experienced before, and with every choked sniffle, his hand came down harder. 

“tell me,” he huffed, “how bad you need me inside you.” 

his finger dragged along your spine, running down the curve of your body, making you shake silently. you wanted to speak up, but it felt as though your voice was weavering, unable to properly form a sentence, the sting from his heavy slaps still ringing in your ears. 

“please,” you panted, “i want you to fuck me.” 

the slurring of your words was almost inevitable, especially as he began to let his fingers glide closer and closer to your cunt, slipping through your folds like he knew the route like it was the back of his hand. 

“not convincing,” he spat, a little bit of cruelty in his tone. “doesn’t sound like you need it bad enough.” 

“i do,” you whined, stretching out your back, trying to press yourself closer to him. he found your clit, carefully drawing circles that were enough to make your legs threaten to close. you were ready to fall back into his touch, trying to squirm away while also wanted more. 

“please, ryo—” it was the first time the little nickname slipped past your lips, and it made you blush to think you were using it at all. before this moment, you didn’t even know his name. now you were calling him by something a little too familiar. you continued: 

“i need it so much—want you to do whatever you want to me—just, just please stop teasing.” you tried to stop tears welling up in your eyes, but it felt impossible, not when he had you teetering on the edge—with moments of pleasure fleeting every time he tried removing his thick digits from your pussy. 

“anything i want, huh?” he questioned with a bit of chuckle. his tone was low and dry, like his curiosity had been raised. you heard him shuffling behind you. he drew down his pants, letting his hard, leaking cock slap against his abdomen. you wish you could see it, to get a look at it now that the room was bright. “you don’t seem so shy anymore, hm? what happened to that? to your flustered little cheeks? you really craving this dick that bad?” 

you nodded feverishly, spreading your legs subconsciously, revealing more of your drooling cunt. sukuna circled your hole, watching how it clenched down, eagerly trying to suck him in. carefully, he plunged his fingers in, basking in the sounds of your breathless gasps, mouth hanging open with huff. 

his wrist began to pump, diving deeper and deeper, making your ass jiggle with every inwards thrust of his hand. he could feel the way your velvet walls squeezed him so well, and he was aching to get his cock inside of you. yet, he knew if he teased you just enough the sex would be even better. 

“feels good,” you moaned followed by a deep gulp, as if you were trying to collect your thoughts. 

with every curl of his finger, he seemed to be reaching a new spot, finding every sensitive crevice. your pussy was dripping, slick covered his hand shamelessly. little whimpers escaped your lips, making you heat up with embarrassment—how could two fingers alone make you see stars? he scissored his fingers, stretching you out as much as he would with just his digits, making sure you felt every tug and nudge that was happening inside you. 

“shit you’re tight,” he muttered, listening to the squealing, wet sounds echoing from your pussy. 

he huffed, closing his eyes for a moment, imagining it was his dick pulsing in and out of you—his chest tightening, cock aching. 

“fuck. turn around,” he ordered with a stern voice. you tried to recollect yourself, spinning to face him almost instantly. his eyes were dark, hungry and ready to tear you apart piece by piece. 

you eyed the scratches you had left on him last night, feeling your brain malfunction for a moment. 

he brought himself forward, leeching onto your lips again, arm snaking down his waist and pulling you close to him. you could feel the way his dick poked your stomach, making you itch for more. like a puzzle, the two of you seemed to be fitting together—your arms locking behind his head, his hands slowly starting to spread your legs more. he lifted on ever so slightly, wrapping it around his waist. 

his cock was so close to your cunt, and your heat was radiating onto him, making him crazy. 

“no condom, right?” his voice was smooth like silk, making your bones rattle. you shook your head rapidly, responding. 

“no, no condom.” 

“then jump,” he ordered with a low voice. you gulped, unsure at first, but as you felt his muscles flexing you knew there was nothing to worry about. hoping up slightly, you let sukuna catch you, holding your thighs tightly, lining himself up with your hole before lowering you down on his length. 

“oh my god,” you groaned loudly and unabashedly at the sudden stretch, being filled up by every inch of his thick cock. 

he held you there for a second—tightly, securely, your bodies colliding like they were meant to fit like that. you crossed your ankles over the small of his back, tangling your hands into the hairs that lined the nap of his neck. 

“shit—keep pulling it like that,” sukuna confessed, eyes closing for a moment at the tender feeling of your hands in his hair. you obliged, pulling at his roots while you pussy squeezed him harder. he let out a groan, cursing into the shell of your ear. 

taking a deep breath before whimpering, you could smell him—his cologne from the night before seemed to overwhelm your senses, making you squeeze him. 

“fuck,” he cursed, trying to contain himself ever so slightly. “i’m gonna move now, okay?” 

it was an oddly intimate thing to ask but you didn’t think much about it in the moment, simply nodding, crying out his name, asking for more. 

his hands carefully positioned themselves onto your ass, groping and squishing the fat of your flesh as he lifted you up and down, moving his own hips in synch. his room filled with lewd plapping, his balls slapping against the curve of your sore butt, your pussy gushing around him. 

“ryo,” you gasped his name again, clinging to him like your life depended on it, “don’t stop—i’m close, nghh!” 

“mh, yeah,” he replied, “you gonna cum like this? squealing on my dick while i fucking use you like my own personal toy?” 

“mhm,” you nodded, before echoing his last phrase: “use me.” 

that only made him thrust harder, snapping into you at an ungodly rhythm. it was only a matter of time before you came undone, your core twitching, stomach spasming, body washed over with a sense of ungodly relief. 

you clamped down around him, poor abused cunt trembling around his dick, feeling how his angry cockhead bullied your cervix. 

“that’s it,” sukuna let out a breath, “good fucking girl. let me feel you.” 

his dick slipped out momentarily, giving him just enough time to lay you down on his bed, his face hovering over yours. the back of his hand traced down your face, thumb brushing over the tears that you hadn’t realized had started to fall. 

he smirked, wiping on away before liking the salty liquid away with his tongue. he let out a dry chuckle, getting ready to tease you, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. 

“better than great, right?” he was referring to your words from earlier. “saying all that before you even let me taste it with my tongue.” 

“huh?” you questioned, confused. your chest was rising and falling, still grappling with the toe-curling orgasm sukuna had just pulled out of you. yet, your legs were being spread again while wet, open mouthed kisses were being peppered all over your naked form. 

sukuna’s grip on your thigh seemed to be unshakable. his nails dragged along your smooth skin, making a shiver run down your spine as he neared your now throbbing clit. to say you were overwhelmed by his touch would be an understatement—you were completely submitted to him, giving up every inch of your body. 

“ryomen,” you muttered his name like it was a warning—cautioning him about the overly sensitive nature of your body, only heightened by your recent climax. 

“just relax,” he responded with a bit of a hiss. his eyes were training down on your glossy cunt, studying the way it drooled for him. 

his breath felt hot against your core, and with the way his head dipped, you brace yourself for the heavy drag of his tongue. the immediate contact made you flinch, mouth open and eyes threatening to roll back. he licked a long, drawn out stride from your closing hole to your clit, bringing his attention to that very spot. 

sukuna pushed your legs up, hinting at you to hold the back of your thighs, spreading your legs wide open for him as he continued to go down on you. 

his mouth moved in methodic motions, opening and closing, wrapping his lips around your sensitive bud. the arousal that had been pooling up only made it feel better—your body trembling, gut twisting with pleasure the more he seemed to work at it. 

carefully, he thrust his tongue into your opening, licking up the space that his dick had just been, humming into your cunt. the sounds alone that seemed to be generated between your legs were lewd enough to make your stomach flip, shutting your eyes and feeling it instead. 

“taste so fuckin good. y’know that?” he asked, lifting his head up just slightly. “pussy so sweet—got me hard as fuck right now.” 

his comment made that familiar fluster return to you, heating up your body and making you want to look away. it didn’t help that your body was already being pushed to its limits, taking so much stimulation that it was almost too much. 

“shit—i’m gonna fuck your fucking brain out. got it? gonna make you forget your fucking name.” he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

he lined himself back up with you, sliding in. he went slower this time, like he was trying to savour every single second, staring down at the way your face contorted to accommodate his girth. each time he went into you, the stretch burned so good—to the point where you could’ve sworn you’d become addicted to it. 

grabbing your legs, he hoisted them over his shoulders, your ankles brushing against his earlobe. it made the stretch all the more worth your while. 

“little slut,” he panted, starting to draw back his hips, ready to piston himself back into you. “came all this way for some fucking dick.” 

you tightened around him, letting the filth slipping from his lips fill your ear. you  reached for the bedsheets, clinging to them as sukuna continued: 

“now you’re taking it like you need it to breath. isn’t that right? clenching ‘n shit around me like you’re trying to choke me.” 

“ryo…” your voice was small in comparison to his, and with the speed that he was going, it felt impossible to finish your sentence. instead, the words were winded out of you as sukuna snapped his hips down, once again nudging the deepest parts of your cunt with his cock. 

“yeah, what was that?” he taunted, “i didn’t catch that?”  

he knew he was trouble, watching you try to squirm even though you were practically pinned under him. he reached for your hands, holding them down so you wouldn’t squirm. 

“feels good—so good,” you said with a choked moan. it was hard to contain yourself, feeling the pleasure tingle all the way down to your toes. “so good inside of me.” 

in his opinion, you words were too audible for his liking. he wanted to see you crumbling beneath him. he went harder, faster, pressing your legs down further, pushing you into the mattress. 

“fuck!” he hissed, speeding up. he could feel himself getting closer, and as he stared down at you, right into your eyes, he could tell that he’d accomplished his goal. your pupils were blown out, lust filling them while your mouth hung agape, saliva dribbling down your lips. all you could do was take it, and it made his dick pulse to just thick about. 

the muscles in his abs began to tighten, and his gaze narrowed. 

“i’m gonna fucking cum,” he said. you didn’t protest, only babbling on and on about how much you needed it. “yeah? should i fucking pump you full of it? shit you’re fucking smiling just think about it—you fucking cumslut. dirty fucking nerd.” 

you tried to ignore the last part he said, instead listening to the insistent babbling and how sukuna was unable to stop, head tipping back as he finally let go. your insides were painted white, his warm cum filling your already warm cunt. he gave out a few final thrusts, making sure that you milked him dry. 

you whined and gasped, hugging your legs as the liquid mixed with your own arousal, the fullness of it all making you want to sink into the pillow and stay like that forever. sukuna panted, waiting a moment before popping out. 

he was still hard, and as he slipped out, staring at the way beads of his cum rolled down the curve of your butt and stained his sheets, he only got harder. 

sukuna didn’t give you a minute to recollect yourself. instead, he grabbed a hold of your waist, turning you over so that you were on your knees, face falling into his soft pillow. from that position, he gave a firm slap to your ass, watching how his cum continued to gush out, running through your folds like a scene from a filthy porno. 

your back arched, anticipating something more, especially as his tip nudged your cunt, wanting back in.

“gonna make sure you’re fucking filled to the brim. hear me?” 

“mhm.” 

your confirmation was all the assurance he needed to fuck himself back into you, nestiling his sensative cock into your cum filled pussy, feeling the wet, warm sensation that involved him completely. you subconsciously started to rock back on him, trying to make sure every drop of sticky cum stayed put inside of you, feeling how the veins of his cock pulsed. 

his hands started at your waist, using it as leverage to pull you back onto him, taking every inch of him slowly and carefully. he heard how you gasped, whimpering and whining like you didn’t know any better. 

then, they found a place on your shoulders, fucking into you like he had been doing before, finally finding that rhythm that was hitting your sensitive spot just right. it went on and on, until his fingers began to creep to your neck, slowly wrapping around them like it was their natural habitat. 

he began to pull you into his chest, lifting you off the pillow, making your back practically break. his one hand spanned across the entirety of your throat, pressing down just enough to make you whine. you could feel the smirk on his lips as he pressed his mouth against your temple, letting his free hand fall between your legs. 

“you like me doing this to you, don’t you?” he asked, husk voice whispering into your ear. “how i’m slutting you out—choking you while i fucking fill you up again.” 

you tried to nod but he kept you in place. you tried saying yes but your body, in it’s fucked out state, could barely form a setence. this only made him grin wider, placing more pressure on your clit. 

the small, delicate circles he drew were contradictory to his otherwise rough demeanour. but, the motion was enough to send you hurtling over the edge—already sensitive from your past climax, this one felt like fire. 

you felt it all over your body, the way your stomach flipped, the coil that was building up in your stomach exploding. your walls clamped down again and again, squeezing him  for everything he had. 

it wasn’t long until you heard those familial guttural groans coming from sukuna, and as he slide his tongue across his own lips, tasting the remnants of your sweet juices he snapped once again. the overwhelming strength of his last orgasm was nothing in comparison to this, and somehow more cum seemed to squirt out—fashioning a stickying, white mess inside of you and on his bedspread. 

“fuck!” he cried out, holding onto you tighter, relishing in the way your cunt squeezed him. 

it was dirty—it was raw, and as your voices tangled together in a last ditched effort to hold yourselves together, you rode through your orgasms together. met with the warm, fuzzy feeling of being stuffed full of cum, your breaths became hard and laboured. 

carefully, he pulled out, laying you on the bed, watching how more of his white liquid flowed out of you. your thighs pressed together, shaking slightly, trying to regain a sense of strength. 

“shit,” sukuna mumbled under his breath, both in awe of the sight of you leaking his cum, and with the pure exhaustion that was washing over him. 

sukuna reached for his phone, looking down at the time he groaned—he didn’t have as much time as he thought and if he didn’t leave for his practice soon, he’d be getting his ass whipped by his coach nonstop. the last thing he needed was to be late to the first practice of the season.

he eyed at the mess you’d made once again, wondering how the hell he’d have time to clean it up in time. 

“stay still,” he told you, and you knew what he meant by that. you watched him retreat from the corner of your eye, searching in his ensuite bathroom for a rag of some kind. 

it made you wonder if he did this with every girl he hooked up with—it was maybe his post-sex ritual—no one was allowed in the shower, just a damp cloth with the hopes of whoever was in his bed scurrying out quickly. 

as he came back, he gathered the discarded clothes that had been lining the floor and placed them at the foot of the bed. 

“open up,” he commanded and you listened. 

you didn’t mean to flinch as the towel touched your cunt, but your body was still too sensative. he wiped gently, waiting for more cum to gush up before swiping again. it was clearly a big mess, and maybe he’d offer you the shower, but his eyes only narrowed, working to the best of his ability to clean you up. 

as he did that, you were lost in thought. thinking about every single thing that had happened in the last twenty four hours. you had found yourself in a predicament that you would never, not in a million years, expected. crawling back to him was bound to be trouble, and striking up a sexual pleasure clause seemed to be even more preposterous. with a final wipe, he had cleaned you up nicely, swallowing hard as he got up to discard the rag. standing over his hamper that was neatly tucked in the corner of his room, he paused. 

“you need a ride home?” he asked, looking over his shoulder, you were slightly curled up against the bed, already starting to shift over to grab your discarded bra. you readjusted your glasses, nodding slowly. 

“it’s okay i’ll call an uber or something.” you shrugged alongside your comment, not trying to pressure him into getting you a ride. it would be awkward enough going home in a car that he paid for. sukuna only grumbled slightly under his breath, like something was annoying him. 

“it’s fine. i got a car,” he huffed, standing up to get dressed again. he didn’t bother looking over at you again, running his hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion of the weekend finally catching up to him—as if he wasn’t already on the brink of falling back asleep. 

“it’s okay—really—you don’t have to, it’s out of the way,” you responded, quickly trying to not act as a burden to him. he saw the way you tensed up, holding your hands up and shaking your head. you clearly didn’t want to impose, but the instantness that you didn’t need his help was starting to irritate him. 

“i said it’s fine,” he snapped. his words came out harsher than he anticipated, and he needed to take a deep breath to regulate himself again. he didn’t need to be a complete prick to you. “i’m heading out anyways, got to get to the rink.” 

“oh, okay. sure then.” your voice was quiet, probably taken aback but his hot-and-cold attitude. pressing your lips together, you got dressed silently, letting sukuna do his own thing while you minded your own business. 

a million different scenarios passed through your mind, thinking about the ten million things that could happen between now and the moment that he left you at your apartment. would you invite him up? should you invite him up? maybe go for another round? awkwardly sit in the car while his weird music rattled the seats? was he a good driver? or would you be better off just getting a cab? every single question popped into your head and just as quickly as it showed it, it floated away, replaced by another one. 

friends with benefits was a label that you weren’t familiar with, and maybe you should’ve thought twice about it. 

staring at the muscular hockey player who stood at the other side of his room, shoving a pair of keys into his pocket, you wondered if this—whatever it was that you had just created—-was something that could be sustainable. 

sure, obviously the sex was otherworldly—but what would happen when that spark faded? or a different kind of spark began to flicker? you weren’t dumb. you’d seen movies, heard stories—these types of relationships always became more. you squirmed back into your shirt, reaching for your pants as your gaze lined up with his for just a split second. 

sukuna was the first to look away, throwing on a dark green hoodie and pulling his pink head of hair through it. he grumbled something under his breath, words barely audible—like he didn’t care if you heard him or not. 

“gotta get my stuff from the garage. just wait at the door,” he spoke, twisting the doorknob. you made sure you had everything—including your lipgloss—and scurried after him. 

he didn’t seem like the type of guy to say much, and as you stood by the entrance as per his request, your mind started to wander off again. 

you brushed up on your thoughts from before, thinking of every plot line in which the people who swore they would never have feelings for each other somehow ended up in love. surely, that was just fiction. sukuna was just a fratboy that was surprisingly good at sex. it didn’t have to be anything more—it couldn’t be anything more. 

you felt it deep inside you, that liking him in that sense was completely out of the picture. you lived in completely different worlds, surrounded by a completely different sea of people. there was nothing tying you to each other—other than the physical nature of your relationship. there was no way you could ever bring yourself to feel that way. it was wrong—it felt like cheating. 

it wouldn’t be fair for him. 

your stomach churned at the idea of a relationship, goosegumps blistering from your skin and an anxious wave crashing over you.  there was a line you had to draw—an unspoken rule that only applied to you.  if it ever got to that point, you started feeling anything other than lust for sukuna, you had to cut it off.

The smell of cinnamon and vanilla filled your nose as an almost sweltering heat surrounded and hugged your body, chasing away the cold starting to creep in through the dingy cracks of your windows. The warmth wrapped itself around your waist and back, strong arms holding you tight and trying pushing you further into it as you laid your cheek against its chest. 

You weren’t sure as to how long you’d spent the day like this, cuddled up on the couch in soft pajamas while your living heater of a husband held you close, but you weren’t complaining. 

His chest rose and fell softly, heart pounding at a steady beat in time with yours, his nose nuzzled itself gently into the soft tufts of your hair as his lips rested against the arch of your brow, and you swore nothing else mattered. 

It was one of those rare “once in a lifetime” days where Gotham was just too cold for crime, a day he could stay home and rest. When all he had and was allowed to think about was you, his favorite person.

And what better way to spend your time together than to cuddle up on the couch and let you ramble on and on? 

A thin blanket covers the bottom half of your bodies, feet in fuzzy socks and legs tangled together as they sink into the plush couch cushions while the sound of your relentless babbling fills the room. 

It started with Jason asking you a question, a simple “What was that book you were reading about?” which slowly and somehow turned into you explaining the genius world building of one of your favorite movies. 

It was the easiest way he could lure you into letting him hear your voice, his favorite song and sound. You always got so embarrassed when he said he loved the way you went on and on about things, to the point you would become so aware you would stop talking. 

And after so many years of marriage, he just couldn’t understand why. But thank goodness it didn’t take long for him to find a way that made you talk— a secret he was prideful that you didn’t catch up on. But even then, with that glorious feat, he still had one problem. Getting you to stop. 

“Cause it’s like not just about deforestation but also  a huge critique on capitalism, which don’t even get me started on-“ You rant passionately into your husbands chest, fingers mindlessly twirling soft swirl patterns into the material of his old GCU shirt, a small fidgeting habit you always seemed to do when he let you talk for this long. 

“Mmhmn.” Jason hums into your forehead, a smile perking up on his lips as he looks down at the way your brows slightly furrow and lips pout the more in depth you start to ramble. 

He always loved the little quirks you never seemed to notice. 

“And it’s always about human greed! The more we have, the more we want and there just doesn’t seem to be an end…” Your words fade out as he starts to focus more on your face, mind so rudely starting to wander after watching the way your lips part and shine from a quick pass of your tongue. 

Then a memory, just a flash, of you on your knees pops up into his head. 

Your pretty eyes looking up at him, all wide and full of tears while his large hand combed through your hair slowly and gently, guiding you as your plump and kiss swollen lips parted themselves over his thick and aching cock. 

It was gone as fast as it came, but it still made his whole body freeze. 

His heart stopped, his breath caught in his throat, and the hand that held your head in the memory stopped its movements of rubbing your back right now. 

Every sensation seemed to move down his body, like electricity running through his veins as he suddenly felt his cock twitch. 

Fuck. 

Heat crept up his neck, then his heart kick started the rest of his body back up again. It started pounding, thumping against his ribs as he tried to make his gasping for air not so obvious. 

His eyes trace your face, searching for any sign of annoyance or disgust. 

But you, sweet blissfully unaware you, were still rambling.

“I mean it's an endless cycle, it’s why we have so many movies based off of tropes like this…” You went on and on, and Jason sighed a small breath of relief. Just a small one.

Once you got into these rants, you really never stopped. The whole world seemed to pause for you, and Jason could never dream of taking you out of that.  But right now, at this very moment, he wished to hear a different sort of sound coming out of that pretty mouth of yours.

Usually, he hadn’t a problem ignoring these… urges? 

Most of the time, he was able to pocket these thoughts into the back of his head. Saving the ideas and memories that burned through him for when he really needed you, when they would overflow and he had the opportunity to get everything out of his system at once. 

But with you laying on his chest, knees nudging against his thighs as your ass slightly rubs up against his semi, he can’t think of anything but having you right now. 

Your tits pressed against his chest, body soft and supple in comparison to the hard ridges of his own. Your lips seemed to be getting even softer and plumper as you went on, the spit from you licking them again making them shine in the light. 

It doesn’t take much longer for Jason to decide he’s had enough. He needs you, now. 

But he’s slow with it, he knows he can’t rush but rather start by easing into firmer touches than before.

Where his hand rubbed your back, they moved down towards your waist. Slowly starting to thumb at the band of your pants as his fingers sprawled against the exposed skin below your ridden up shirt. 

His nose nestled itself back into your hair, kissing along the lines of your cheeks as he (sorta) roughly pulled you up towards him. 

“Really?” He hummed lowly into your skin, the sound coming up like a rumble in his throat after you said something in a particularly excited voice. 

His hands made their way towards your ass, holding the soft flesh of your thighs as you mindlessly began to straddle him to be in a more comfortable position. 

He bit back a groan, feeling of your warmth settling against his fully hard and aching cock. 

“Yeah, but I honestly enjoy it everytime…” You reply, still somehow unaware of just what he was trying to do. 

“Uh-huh…” He mumbles, leaning back in to kiss your skin. 

Where he was giving small, tender pecks before, he changed to giving slow, open mouth kisses now. Dangerous, like a predator feeling up its prey, his mouth moved along your cheeks and down your jaw. 

His breath was heavy, hot and aching against your skin. His hips jolt up into you, a groan rumbles up from within his chest, and your brain finally pauses long enough for your lips to stop moving. 

Your body freezes, immediately feeling the burning heat radiating off of him and letting it start to settle into you. Your own heart races, heat crawling up your neck and spreading over you as you feel Jason pull you in closer. 

You had half the mind to gasp and playfully slap him, tease and giggle before easing into him. But he thrusts his hips up into you again, and every thought of resistance flies out your mind, instead leaving a tiny whimper to fall from your lips in their place. 

Just what he wanted to hear.

The change in air was immediate as he quickly pressed his mouth against yours. 

He kissed like he was trying to devour. Tongue pushing past your lips to suck at your own, spit dribbling down the sides where they met, and it felt like he tried to take the very air out of your lungs until there was nothing left but him. 

His arms hugged your waist, pulling you in closer and closer, tighter until your skin practically felt raw against the soft clothing separating you two. 

You couldn’t fight the needy little whine that came out your throat, letting your face burn as you gripped at his shoulders for support. 

You felt the fucker smirk at the noise, a hand coming to comb your hair before pulling you off of him in a swift motion.

 Now that he had you, he sure as hell wasn’t letting this go.

Your lips open in a small ‘o’, a silent gasp escaping as you try to ground your mind and body before he’s pulling your head to tilt it back, exposing the bare skin of your neck to him. 

He hums almost happily, nose nudging into the skin of your chin before making his way down to the smell of faint vanilla lingering on your neck from your lotion. He latches on before you can even catch your breath.

The sensation gives you whiplash. The feeling of his mouth moving slow and soft, leaving behind gentle nibbles and long licks, as opposed to the swift and messy movements of his hands still roaming your body makes your head spin. 

“J-jay.” You stutter out, nails digging into the skin of shoulders to try and get his attention, but he pays you no mind. 

The movements of his hips were growing absolutely devastating, sending shocks of pleasure spreading throughout your body. You felt it from the base of your spine to the very tips of your fingers, and you swore you could cry. 

“Hon’, please.” you murmur, hands rushing up to his head and gripping at the soft locks. 

“Mmn,” he merely moans against your skin, wide green eyes looking up at you from below. His mouth made its way further down, now sucking at the tops of your exposed breasts. 

Since when did he pull your top down?

“Slow down.” Your hands grip his hair tighter, pulling and forcing his head off. His lips leave you with a soft ‘pop’, the skin red and tender where his teeth were last grazing against. 

His brows furrow, a pout on his swollen lips as he whines and looks at you with a sort of disappointment. 

“Slow down.” you repeat as you bite back a giggle, leaning down to kiss his parted lips. 

He hums, chasing the peck you give him and turning it back into something deeper.

“Can’t, need you.” His hands wander back down your body, thumbs digging into the band of your pants all over again. This time, he catches your underwear with them, dragging and pulling down fabric until you're exposed and he's making you kick them off. 

His fingers reach towards your pussy, a soft schlick noise filling the room as he parts your glossy lips.  

“So wet f’me, haven’t even fucked you yet.” he purrs lowly, a toothy grin painting his face. 

He watches you stutter, brows furrowing as you tilt your head into him and arch your back at the featherlight touches he gives you. 

His thick digits run up and down your slit, gathering wetness from your entrance and teasing it up to your clit. He nudges each nerve with every swipe, shocks burning through you as a whiny little please start to spill from you. 

“Hah- Don’t tease.” you moan, hips moving in time with his fingers. 

You can feel him twitching against your thigh, the thick length of him burning through the fabric as you cling onto his shoulders. 

He groans as you grind against him, shaky hands reaching down to pull out his cock. Your fingers trail down his belly, feeling the soft muscles of his stomach twitch and contract beneath his ridden up shirt while your nails scratch over the thick hair of his exposed happy trail. 

He’s already leaking pre when you touch him, the tip of him needy and swollen as your hand wraps around the base. 

It was almost impossible to believe some part of Jason’s scared and tired body could still feel so soft, even as it ached with a hardness he always got when holding you.  

You move your wrist slowly, thumbing at the leaky tip and spreading it around for better movement. You watch as he bites his lips, chest heaving against yours as you both melt into the other's touch. 

You can feel the way your slick has started to dribble down his wrist now, fingers carefully pumping in and out of you. Stretching you full with gentle scissoring motions as his fingertips nudge and press up against your gummy walls, finding the sensitive spot he knows will always make you fall apart. 

You’re close to shaking, knees weak and almost trembling as you try to bite back the obscene noises that threaten to flow out of you. 

You were practically biting your lips raw from holding back, embarrassment flooding through you at the sounds that manage to push past. 

For all he loved to hear you talk, Jason sure loved to hear you moan even more.

Watching the way your lips part, chest heaving and throat gulping down the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard. Fuck, he swears he could get drunk on it.

Eventually, your lips had found his again, now panting and breathing into his open mouth. He eats every moan you push into him, tongue diving back into you as he licks and laps up your taste. Drool spills messily from the corners of where you connect, chins and cheeks sticky with the messy sight. 

Your hand squeezes him gently, movements following the ridges and slight curve of his thick cock. Your fingers trace the sensitive lines of his veins, following one that starts beneath the base and slowly curls its way around to the side. The one you can always feel when he fucks you raw, making your head spin. 

He moans when you pass your thumb back onto his tip, feeling more and more pre start to build. He was close. 

You grin at the sound, repeating the movement as his hips buck into you mindlessly.

“Thought you said no teasing?” he groans, pulling away from your mouth. His fingers pinch your clit lightly, making a whine (that sounded more like a weird warble) spill out of you. 

“Mngh, said that about you to me,” you pout, “not the other way around.” 

He huffs out a laugh, giving you a peck on the lips before moving his fingers away from you. 

“Sorry baby, I can make it up to you?” his voice is dripping in need, and you know just what he means. 

You follow his movements, heart pounding out of your chest as you nod eagerly.

“Good girl,” he hums. 

His fingers, still covered in your slick, lift up to your lips. He taps them against the plump flesh like he would his cock, “Open, ma.” 

You obey, taking them in and sucking away immediately. Your tongue swirls around the digits, the salty flavor of your arousal and his skin hitting setting into your taste buds. 

Your eyes stare into his the whole time, tears swelling at the corners as you feel him start to shove his fingers further back into your mouth. 

“Jay.” you scold softly, the sound muffled around the saliva that started to build on your tongue. 

“Sorry sorry…” he replies in an amused hum, pulling out his fingers and in turn sucking the saliva you left on them off with his own mouth. 

Nasty fucker. 

His hands find your hips again, fingers digging into your ass before giving you a soft pat. A signal to spread your legs and brace yourself. 

You immediately do, fixing your position as your fingers find their way back to his shoulder for support once more. 

“Fuck, so wet baby.” he groans as he starts to rub himself against your pussy, watch as the slick drips down and coats him fully. 

His tip sinks into you slowly, spreading you open inch by devastating inch. You moan softly, walls clenching around the fat length as he helps lower you steadily onto his fat cock. 

When you’ve settled down all the way, he pauses his movements, letting you feel and get used to the feeling of him. 

He’s so hot beneath your skin, every inch of his body seems to burn and ignite itself into flames as he touches you. You can feel it start to melt and settle into your own bones, unsure if the need you feel is your own or his anymore. 

“Move.” You gasp out when you’re ready, hips rolling into him gently as a signal.

He hums in acknowledgment, arms coming to wrap around your waist, pushing your tits into his face as he starts to slowly bounce you up and down. 

It starts off gentle, the way it always does. With his cock still easing itself into your still tight walls, stretching you around every ridge and curve of him. 

His lips find your breasts, sucking and practically drooling all over your nipples. He moans at the taste of your skin, eyes shutting softly as he savors the feeling of you all over.

The slow movements of his hips start to fasten, thick cockhead kissing your cervix with every push and pull. His veins massage your gummy walls, nudging at your sweet spots and making you gush onto him. 

You can practically hear the way your pussy clenches around him now, wetness coating your thighs and his stomach as it spills and pools with every heavy thrust. 

“So tight.” Jason moans, breathy little high pitched whines rising from his chest as he feels your hips grind into the rhythm of his. 

“Best fuckin’ pussy, baby. Fuck.”

His hands massage the fat of your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh. His eyes roll back as you clench around him, chest heaving as the sound of your mixed moans fill the room. 

Your body leans into his own, full weight pressing against him as he keeps fucking up into you. 

His biceps flex and tighten, using his strength to make you bounce on his cock over and over. 

Years ago, you might’ve felt bad. Would’ve pushed away and rolled yours hips to help, sat up and strained the muscles of your own calves in order to make it easier on him. But you didn’t anymore, haven’t done it since you realized he liked it. 

The feel of your body against his, your weight crushing him as your skin sticks together with the thin layer of sweat that covers you both, practically melting into him as he nuzzled his nose and nibbled at the skin of your neck like he was trying to swallow you whole. 

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders fully now, 

his head resting at the top of your breast while your own rested a cheek against the messy tufts of his hair. Your nails scratch at his back, moans increasing in volume as his movements start to roughen. 

At some point, he’d bent his knees for a better stance, resulting in the brutal way he was now plowing into you over and over. 

His cock twitched, heavy balls tightening as more pre spilled and coated your walls. 

You could feel the knot in your belly being to tighten, pleasure spreading from the base of your spine until the tips of your fingers felt raw and numb with it. 

His breath is hot on your skin, his mouth wide open as he groans and whines at the way you tighten around his aching cock. 

“M’ gonna cum,” he grumbles out weakly, voice high pitched and breathless. “W-where do you want it, baby?” 

“Inside, please,” you moan out immediately, “inside inside inside.” You repeat the word over and over like a mantra, too cockdrunk that the thought of him pulling out feels like he just said he didn’t love you.

But Jason did love you, more than words could ever describe. Though he had a hard time saying it, his actions always spoke louder than his words. And stuffing you full of his hot, sticky cum was definitely one of his favorites.

“Yeah? Gonna fill you up, ma. Gonna have you feelin me for days- f-fuck-!” He groans loudly, hips stuttering in their movements as your cunt gushes around him. 

You gasp, a broken sob leaving you as you cum. 

Your back arches, knees locking up and shaking as your tight walls spasm all over his cock, milking him as he releases hot ropes of his cum inside with one final thrust. 

His heavy cock twitches and his hips stutter, still fucking you onto him as you ride both of your highs out.

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He mumbles lowly, words practically melting into one, his tone entirely fucked out as his eyes roll back and shut from the raw sensation of your pussy still clenching on him. 

Cum spills out of you in tiny droplets, a creamy ring forming at the base where you meet as his movements slow down to a stop. 

His chest heaves, lungs burning and his forehead sweaty as his shaking hands rub up and down your back in a soothing motion.

Your head falls into his shoulders, slouching your body and you swear you can hear the way Jason’s fast heartbeat starts to slow down. 

Your cheek is sticky against his skin, you feel his lips come to kiss your temples in a featherlight touch. His cock softens inside of you, but he doesn’t pull out, only leaving it as a sort of plug to keep his spent inside. 

Your fingers comb through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and he hums in bliss. The tense muscles of his body soften, arms stopping to wrap around you in his heavy warmth and you realize you’re back to how this whole thing started. 

Only now, you were too out of breath to even form any words. 

The room fills with the sound of your gentle breathing, both of you laying together in a peaceful quiet. Until Jason decides to speak. 

“Yknow, its good to know all it takes is my dick to shut you up.”

Thank you for reading </3!! Comments and reblogs are v much appreciated! If you have any insights please leave them kindly!

You start to scream, but stop when his hand engulfs your mouth. “Shh.” He whispered, his hot breath fanning against your face. After a short, tense moment, he retracted his hand.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, Sweetheart.”

His stupid, confident, teasing grin that you want to hate so bad but really that makes you fold was plastered across his face.

“You didn’t scare me.” You scoffed, walking around his broad frame just so you had something to do instead of letting him see your panic. “You just... interrupted me.”

“In your little chat with God?” He smirked, making a show of his glance over your outfit. “Maybe the nuns wouldn’t approve, but I sure as hell do.”

You hit his chest, trying to ignore the flustered feeling in your chest. “Shut up. Why are you even here, Stupid?”

He ignored the question, “Your brother’s asleep.”

“So?” You cocked an eyebrow.

Dean stepped closer, his large frame making the room feel infinitely smaller. It felt like he took up all the oxygen in the room, leaving you breathless and lightheaded.

He leaned in even more, his eyes—blue and telling of what he was thinking—staring back into yours. His mouth parted, whether to speak or to kiss you, you didn’t know, and you weren’t about to find out.

It took no more than a gentle push for him to back up, but by the look on his face you knew he wasn’t taking it personally.

“Beau’s upstairs.” You whispered, trying to hold your guard up for as long as you can.

“Sleeping. Like a baby.” Dean snorted quietly, “Trust me, he’s not waking up until morning.”

You shook your head but didn’t make a move. Not giving in or running away.

A few seconds of tense silence and eye-contact passed before you broke. You leaned in, pressing your head closer to his ear.

Your lips brushed against him as you spoke, “My room, give me ten minutes.”

Exactly nine minutes later, your bedroom door creaked open and an out of place male body slid through the crack. Seeing Dean, a hockey frat guy, in your room, which was girly and frilly and cute, was always a funny sight.

“You’re early.” You said as soon as you heard the door click shut.

He made a face like he was thinking. “I thought you said nine minutes? No?”

“I said ten.”

He didn’t give that a response more than his little smirk. Instead he grabbed you by the waist and came closer until you were backed against a wall. He was so dominating yet so gentle at the same time it threw your head for a loop.

His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth and stroking against yours.

The kiss lasted a good minute before he pulled away just slightly, just enough to start moving his open-mouthed kisses across your cheek, all the way down to your neck.

Your heavy breathing was encouraging Dean to continue his descent down your neck, even more so when he heard you let out a quiet squeak.

Your hands found their places, one in his hair and one on his back. Your manicured fingers found their way to the bottom hem of his sweatshirt, fumbling with it until you got a good enough grip on it.

Tugging it up, trying more for a reaction from him rather than an actual attempt at getting it off. He noticed, stopping his mouthing at the opportunity to tease you.

“Y’want it off?” He asked you in that playfully mean tone of his, knowing exactly what you wanted.

You huffed, “Stop teasing.”

He clicked his tongue and the warmth of his body was gone within a second. Your eyes trailed after him, now sitting on your bed with a smirk.

“You want it off? Take it off.”

Trying to play it off casually, you roll your eyes before walking over to him slowly. You step between his spread legs, looking down to meet his eyes that haven’t left you once.

You nod absentmindedly, reaching for his sweatshirt hem again. This time, he caught your wrists, pulling you closer to him.

“Dean.” You breathed, trying for a warning tone.

He hummed, letting your arms go. He let you take the hoodie off without trying anything else, simply fiddling with the strap of your tank top. His rigid muscles were now on full display, your eyes trailing down his chest to the deep v that led to his pants.

“Uh-uh, Missy. Your turn.” His finger brushed your chin in a gentle upward stroke, forcing your eyes to meet his. His hands peeled your top off, slowly, teasing. He could see how you were buzzing with anticipation and he wanted to torture you with it.

Once the shirt was fully off and thrown across the room somewhere, he couldn’t stray his eyes from your pretty tits.

Dean didn’t waste a second before diving his head in, pulling you closer by your hips while giving slow, heavy licks to your sensitive nipples.

Moving sides, he gave the other one a single stroke of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. The pressure from his lips along with his warm tongue still pressing against you made you feel like you could cum from that alone.

You grabbed his waistband and tugged enough for him to get the hint and stand up. But before you could even move to pull his sweatpants down, he picked you up and tossed you on the bed.

You let out a squeal before slapping your hands over your mouth.

“Dean!”

He laughed and shrugged. “What? I’m not the one making noises.” He leaned in and gave you a quick kiss before reaching for your sleep shorts.

He pulled them down along with your panties, and barely resisted a laugh when he noticed how you still tried to close your legs to cover yourself, even after you two had hooked up multiple times.

What made him not hold in a laugh was when you straight forwardly demanded, “Take your pants off.”

He obeyed, but left his boxers on. If he wasn’t obsessed with how flustered and annoyed you got when he teased you, he would’ve done himself a favor and been entirely free.

But you said pants, and he wanted to drag the moment out as long as he could. He liked getting you all hot and bothered before fucking you.

Not giving you the opportunity to complain, he crawled over you, his lips meeting yours again in a passionate, deep kiss. Once you were breathless, he started his descent down your body.

Kissing his way from your mouth to your tits, down your stomach, all the way to where you needed him most. Your stomach churned with heat and nerves.

“This okay?” Dean asked you with a small peck to your upper thigh. He knew the answer, it was routine at this point, but he always checked in.

You nodded, your fingers running through his golden hair. It lacked it’s usual bit of gel, and you realized he’d showered at some point before this.

He grinned, his warm palms gently gripping onto your thighs to move them. You jumped when his tongue first darted out to taste you. He hummed, the vibrations adding onto the pleasure you already felt from his tongue’s movements.

His tongue stroked against your most sensitive spot over and over before he began sucking on your clit.

You whined when you felt the loss of his hand on your leg, just to feel it back a second later, now teasing your hole. He looked up at you, a silent confirmation with your eyes.

When he saw them, hooded and barely open, foggy with need, he slipped his first finger in.

You were mindlessly nodding and whispering random nothings when his second finger entered you. You mewled out his name again but he wasn’t done just yet.

The doubled pleasure of his fingers and his tongue were enough to send you over the edge, your legs shaking while Dean licked you through it.

He didn’t stop until you were pushing him away to avoid the overstimulation.

Once you caught your breath, you sat up enough to see the satisfied grin spread on his face as he sucked his fingers clean.

“Take a picture.” He teased. “It’ll last longer.”

“Shut up,” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, but Dean wasn’t one to let you get the last word in.

He smirked and said, “Make me.”

Instead of dignifying it with a response, you simply leaned forward and cupped him over his boxers. He let out a small noise, one that he would deny if ever brought up, but didn’t stop you.

You pulled him forward, making him lay down while you hovered over him. He just smiled and made himself comfortable in your control.

Your fingers dipped beneath his waistband, but you didn’t pull. Instead, you dipped your head down and gave his very strained bulge a small lick.

Then another, then sucked on it just enough for him to feel but not give him any relief. “Please.” He mumbled, his head thrown back dramatically.

You pulled down on the band just enough to expose the tip, giving it another small suck. His hips jolted but he didn’t make a move, letting you continue at your own pace.

Finally giving in, you shoved his boxers all the way down, letting him kick them off while you repositioned yourself over him.

You licked a stripe from the base all the way to the tip, where your mouth took it in. Slowly, you edged it further and further down your throat, all while hollowing your cheeks for extra pressure.

Dean was groaning quietly, holding your hair back but not pushing, even if he wanted to.

You continued sucking and licking, jerking what you couldn’t reach with your hands until he pulled your head away.

He was close, you could tell by his strained leg muscles, but he was whispering “Wait.”

Worried you did something wrong, you popped up immediately and started to back away. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head with a laugh, “No, no. Just, uh... I don’t wanna finish there.” He lowered his voice while leaning closer to you.

“Oh.”

Grinning, he pulled you even closer, finding your lips with his in another intense kiss.

You let yourself fall onto your back, feeling Dean’s somehow soft yet calloused hands run over your body. He eventually found your legs, moving them by holding the backs of your thighs to angle himself between them.

He pulled back from the kiss as he lined up his cock to your pussy, murmuring a soft, “Good?”

You nodded, whispering a quiet, “good” back.

Capturing your lips in another searing kiss, he pushed his dick inside you. But Dean was a fan of taking his time whenever he could, so he was moving at a torturous pace.

He slipped the tip in, his open-mouth kisses moving to your cheek. Another inch, he looked back at your face.

His cocky smile as he slipped himself further in was almost enough to make you cum again right then.

You pulled him closer, his head going right back to work on your neck. In an attempt to quiet yourself, you bit down on his shoulder.

He pushed himself all the way in, starting to thrust into you in a controlled pace.

Your muffled moans and heavy breathing spurred him on, his pace quickly speeding up. “Fuck.” You breathily sighed, “Dean.”

His cock was hitting you just right, his fingers gripping onto your hips so hard they were sure to leave marks.

He lifted his head again, pressing his forehead against yours. You forced your eyes open, meeting his cloudy gaze.

The pleasure was starting to be too much, the tight coil in your core getting stronger as he continued.

“Dean. Dean, I’m close.” You murmured, your eyes lidded and heavy. They slipped shut again, paying attention to feeling his every ridge and move.

“I know, I know.” He cooed, not even slightly slowing his thrusts. “Open your eyes f’me, Baby.”

You did as he said, only for him to slip his hand further, his thumb easily finding your clit. Holding in another moan, the heat in your stomach only got stronger and stronger.

“Dean.”

He nodded, his free hand reaching to toy with your still sensitive nipples. That was the final straw, you came with a breathless gasp.

Your walls fluttered and squeezed around Dean, bringing him right to the edge again.

He worked you through the orgasm, resisting just long enough for him to pull out and release all over your stomach.

He groaned softly and kissed your cheek, giving you a lazy smile and rolling onto his back next to you.

Your head rolled to face him, his dimples extra illuminated by the dim lamp light. He gave you another quick peck on the lips before standing up and running out of the room.

He came back with a damp towel, giving you an opportunity to ogle his body.

His muscles seemed to be extra defined, maybe by the lighting, maybe by the sweat that made his skin look all glowy. Your eyes trailed from his pecs to his biceps, all the way down to his still semi-hard cock.

Semi was an understatement. It was almost fully erect still, thick and long and perfectly trimmed.

When you looked up, you already knew you’d been caught staring. Dean had the most smug look on his face. Which should irritate you.

It should make you never want to do this again.

It doesn’t. If anything, it’s starting a night full of repeating the same mistake.

masterlist

Because maybe he’s not. Maybe you’ve never officially said anything. Maybe you two dance around each other with touches that mean too much and glances that last too long. Maybe you never asked him to be anything to you. But holy hell, you feel like his. And the idea of you being anyone else’s— The guy’s hand slides over your arm again, almost defiantly. “If you’re not together, maybe you should let her decide for herself.” Jason sees red. His jaw clenches so hard he feels something crack. And your polite expression falters, because now the guy is standing closer than he should, like he’s challenging Jason, like he’s trying to get a reaction out of him, your Jason, the man who looks like jealousy was carved into his bones from birth. “I think,” Jason says slowly, dangerous calm in every syllable, “you wanna remove your hand.” The guy scoffs. “Why? Because you say so?” You gently pull your arm back, trying to cool things down. “Hey, it’s fine, really. We were just talking—” “Talking?” Jason repeats, turning to you. “Sweetheart, he was practically climbing you like a tree.” “Jason.” “What? You didn’t see him? He was—” “I saw,” you say quietly. Jason’s whole posture shifts for a second, just a flicker. But the guy ruins it by stepping forward again. “Man, relax. We were just having fun—” Jason steps closer so fast the guy actually flinches. “You call that fun?” His voice drops to something low, rough, and edged with something possessive and burning hot. “Getting in her space like that? Whispering in her ear? Putting your hands all over her like you own the place?” The guy glares. “It’s a party. People talk.” “Not like that.” Jason leans in, just enough to look him dead in the eyes. “Not with her.” “She didn’t seem to mind” the guy fires back. Jason’s smile is slow, dangerous. “She was being polite. You wanna see what it looks like when she’s not?”

“Jason” you warn again, touching his arm lightly. And god, god, that’s what does it. That tiny touch you always give him when you’re trying to bring him back down, grounding him. The guy sees it too. You see him swallow. Jason steps back, but only enough to hook his hand lightly around your hip and pull you against him.

“She’s with me” he says, finally answering the question like a claim, a confession, a threat. “So back off.” The guy mutters something under his breath and retreats into the crowd. Jason watches until he disappears, just to make sure he’s actually gone. And only then does he turn to you. You raise your brows. “You done?” “Absolutely not” Jason says immediately. “What the hell was that?” “He was just talking—” “No, sweetheart, that wasn’t talking.” His voice drops again, low and strained, like jealousy is still burning through him. “He was eyeing you like he was already planning which base he wanted to get to first.” “Jason!” “What?” He runs a hand through his hair, pacing half a step, frustrated. “You didn’t see him? Standing too close, breathing on your neck, touching you like he—ugh, god, I hated it.”

You sigh, trying not to smile. “ You were jealous” “I’m not jealous.” “Jason.” He stops. Looks at you. His jaw works once. Then “Yeah, okay. I was jealous.” His voice softens, surprisingly honest. “I didn’t like seeing him look at you like that. Like he had a chance.” You feel heat crawl up your neck. “You could’ve just… told him to back off without trying to incinerate him with your stare.” “I wasn’t gonna incinerate him.” “Jason.” A beat. “Okay, maybe a little.” You step closer, lightly tugging on the front of his jacket until he looks down at you properly. “I wasn’t interested in him” you say, soft but sure. “Not even a little.” Jason swallows, his eyes flicking down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Another step closer, close enough to feel his breath. “I was waiting for you to come back to me.” Something in him breaks in the best way. He exhales shakily, hands settling around your waist like it’s the only place they belong. “Sweetheart,” he mutters, voice suddenly rough again but this time with something warmer, hungrier, almost relieved, “you can’t say things like that to me when I’m already worked up.” “Worked up?” you tease. “About what?” He groans softly, dipping his forehead to yours. “You. Being touched by someone else. The way he looked at you. The way you smiled—even if it wasn’t for him. I hated it.” “You don’t have to.” “I know. But I do.” His thumb brushes your hip, slow, deliberate. “I want you with me.” Your breath hitches. “Jason…”

It is time. Time for your moment of breakfast glory. Where your shame will lose and you lack of dignity prevail.

It was just about time for everyone that was in the manor to hit the kitchens. Plus, the shift change in who was supervising the city. The perfect time for your little plan.

Pausing only to pose a few more times in your much to massive mirror, you begin your glorious decent. Holding the rail for good measure because you need to sell this with some fucking grace.

You are beauty, you are grace.

And, it is worth the look of horror on Duke's face.

The poor guy had been clearly getting ready to head out on patrol and having one of those fancy high protein oat cereals you'd seen in the pantry. Judging by the way the spoon fell from his hand and he nearly choked on an oat cluster.

"No. No. You cannot be wearing that. Go change." He manages to say after coughing and clearing his throat. The way his eyes watered only added to your satisfaction

"What's wrong? Don't like my pajamas. Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing? I mean is it not perfectly cozy looking?" You may look a little ridiculous with your hands proudly on you hips while you wobble them from side to side. No shame. No dignity. No glory.

"No- I mean yes. But, you can't wear that. Anything is better than that." He doesn't not want to be the guy that tells you what to wear. He literally can't be the one to do that. He dreamed of wearing the same green shorts as Dick and Jason once upon a time.

But, this is not good.

"Would me having my ass bare be better?" You say with surprisingly good poker face. One you had only perfected for such sarcastic questions.

Duke's eye almost go bulging out of his head when he hears that threat. Because that's what you were right now. A threat to the fragile sanity of this madhouse.

"Okay, fair point. But, seriously you need to change. The others get heated about the Bats." Play it cool. Keep your composure, Duke.

God, why did he have to do this?

"The Bats?" Did he just refer to this family as 'the'. This fucking family? "Really?"

"Yeah. They're always debating on who was or is the best Robin. Which is more skilled. Which is the best… looking… Personally, I'm more of Signal fan. He looks pretty cool." Play this like a nonchalant fan boy. You can do this.

"That's kinda narcissistic." You give him a single eye brow quick and a look.

"What? How is that?" He's not panicking, there's no way you…

"OH SHIT! You know!" Duke nearly falls off the stool when he pieces things together. That look, that's Bruce's I know what the fuck you did look. You have the same look.

"Oh, no. No. No. No. NO! Bruce is gonna think I told you. No." Bruce is going to give him that disappointed look that always made him anxious as hell.

"Oh, fuck off you human street light. I figured it on my own after I moved in." Maybe you're just a little insulted as you move past him and start making yourself a cup of tea with those fancy leaves.

"Really?"

"How dumb do y'all think I am?" Comes your annoyed response when you see that Tim still hasn't gotten you more tea like he said. You need to come up with a way to get back at him even if your plan was a bust now.

"… I'll only tell you if you step away from the knifes." Duke eyes you wearily as you start the electric kettle.

"I have more self control than that." You scoff. The fuck were you gonna do with a kitchen knife to a dude that regularly trained with Batman?

"You're related to Damian. I'm not taking not any chances." Okay, fair. But, rude.

And, you make sure he knows when you give him your own scowl of disapproval.

“Please, don’t make that face.” Duke shudders before shaking his head with an awkward sigh. Maybe you knowing would make things easier now.

“Anyway, you can’t wear that. Please. It’ll start world war three and make things super awkward in the cave for reasons. And, I do not want to deal with that.”

“Do the reasons have anything to do with the fanfiction everybody seems to be writing about me?”

He's lips press in to a thin line. Not easy then. Damage control.

“You know about that too? I swear, I had nothing to do with it. I don’t even read it. Often.”

“So you were just gonna let me deal with this white people bullshit all on my own?” You give him that look again and take a tiny bit of delight at watch him suck in a breath through his teeth.

Oof.

Big oof.

Oh, look, the waters done boiling.

“I’m sorry. They’re just so weird about it.” That you can take pity on. The whole situation was fucked up and weird for you. God knew what Duke saw first hand

“Look, I’ll forgive you if you tell me which fics Dick is writing.” You reply as you pour the hot water into the awaiting mug. Better get some information out of him for your personal recon.

“… His username is FlyingTorpedo.” That make you pause. That was a fairly popular author in the community of you. Not one of the greatest, but very notable. You'll have to check out his works.

FOR RESEARCH PURPOSES. You're not like that. Maybe. Question your morals later.

“Wait, who wrote that one with the…” Do you finish the sentence and traumatize him? That might be a little cruel. Heaven forbid you introduced him to something.

“You’re gonna have to be specific.” He braces. He's glanced at Tim's idea list. He knew how much a freak-show it could become.

“The one involving the Gotham Fine Arts Building Rooftop.” You try to skip over the actions that happened said rooftop. Maybe that fic wasn't getting passed around you think hopefully.

It doesn't live long when Duke's eye actually light up with recognition.

“Oh, that one! Harely wrote it. It’s actually really—“ The fuck is hope good for when all have forsaken you?

He grows quiet when he sees your expression as you finish making your tea with dead silence,

“Please, stop judging me.”

“No.” You mutter as you take a sip to compose yourself for the bullshit that is your life.

"So, like, do they know that I know?" Better find out how fucked you are.

"About what?"

"About the fanfiction." Honestly, that's your priority. Shameful as it is.

"I don't think so. Why?"

"Cause I'm fucking with them." You gesture to your outfit choice with a twitch of your lips. The kind that signals that you know exactly what you're doing. For once in your life.

Duke opens his mouth, then closes it. Looking pained as he pushes his bowl of cereal to the side and rest his head on the quartz counters. Groaning like he realized you weren't going to peacefully go about this. Making you snicker into you're freshly brewed tea.

Only to nearly snort the hot liquid when Stephanie burst in the kitchen and sees you.

"Oh, my God! Are those Nightwing pajamas? You look adorable!" That gin on her face says she's having some ideas in her head. The ones actually make you feel fear.

“Nightwing WHAT?” Well, you get your wish on making things awkward because Dick and Tim follow behind her in to the kitchen.

Dick looks like Christmas came early. And, Tim looks like he’s about to murder Santa Clause for bringing said Christmas joy to Dick.

Taglist:

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A/N: God, I hope I got Duke right. I'll admit, I'm one of the people that tend to write him as the normal one. But, like that's fun to. Dude gets to share that bond of being weirded out by everyone with Reader. And, he enjoys that bond way more than he should.

A/N: I'm actually trying to outline more. So that way if I do start another series, I have guidance. I even outlined the rest of pregnant Reader. But, I'm not sure about the ending. Might change that again.

A/N: The Nightwing pajamas are a specific type of pajama. It was a gag gift from bestie to Reader.