#smutxreader

Sukuna, who wakes you up with dozens of soft kisses. Every inch of your face — eyelids, cheeks, nose, forehead. Then slowly, his lips wander down to your neck, jaw, and collarbone. The best way to wake up.

You giggle. “Stop, it tickles!”

He grins. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to achieve.

A full-on tickling battle breaks out. Sheets everywhere. Laughs filling the morning air.

Sukuna, who makes you breakfast. He once told you he’s never cooked for anyone before — not even for himself properly. Now he’s standing in your kitchen, buttering toast and stirring eggs with messy hair and no shirt on. Your heart melts.

You always thought he wasn’t good with words. That he just didn’t know how to show emotions. But the truth is — he does. Just in his own quiet, thoughtful way. And you’ve come to love every second of it.

Sukuna, who’s finally opening up. Telling you random little things during the day. Sending messages like:

"Just saw this couple kissing in the car. Made me think of you."

"I hate my coworker. Miss you."

Sometimes he even sends voice notes. His voice tired, slightly grumpy, but always warm when it comes to you.

Sukuna, who knows exactly how to tease you. He sends you a message in the middle of your busy afternoon:

"If you were here right now, I’d pull you into my lap, fuck you so hard and make you forget about everything else."

Or:

"I can’t stop thinking about how you looked this morning in my shirt. You have no idea what you do to me."

Then a picture. Just a glimpse of his hard, thick cock — enough to make your cunt drip.

And right after sending you that pic, a call. His voice low, wanting. The way he talks you through it — so slowly, so deeply — until your voice breaks and your whole body shudders.

"Fuck, wished that my hand wrapped around my cock was your tight pussy."

You’ve never actually finished on a call before. But with him? He makes it impossible not to.

Sukuna, who goes shopping with you. He’s carrying all the bags without complaint, helping you pick out the perfect outfits. You show off your little model walk for him, and he watches with that quiet intensity that makes your heart race.

Then, he finds a pair of sexy panties and grins like a kid with a secret.

"Wear these tonight. I’m begging you."

You laugh and shake your head.

“Not today. I already have a surprise planned for you at home.”

Sukuna, sitting quietly on a bench, waiting patiently as you try on your next piece. Suddenly, a guy approaches him.

"Is that your sister? Damn, she’s hot. If I could, I’d take her right here..."

Before you can react, you catch sight of him rising, his jaw tightening. When you leave the fitting room, you see him, punching the guy right in his face, making him fall down, his nose starting to bleed. You stand frozen, disappointed.

Then, he notices your expression and immediately steps back.

"I don’t feel like shopping anymore."

He nods and waits silently while you change back into your clothes. Together, you leave the store without another word. The guy from before already ran away, maybe, because he's too embarrassed.

Sukuna, who pulls up at the parking lot — the place where you first shared a wild night together. He stays quiet, tension thick in the air.

Finally, you snap.

"I can’t believe you actually fought that guy. No, sorry, you totally beat the crap out of him!"

"Yeah, but he was about to tell me how badly he wanted to fuck you. And I couldn’t just stand there and listen to that shit."

"So your only solution was violence?"

"I’ll fight anyone who even looks at you the wrong way."

"Do you realize what you just said? That’s insane, you know that, right?"

"Well, that’s just who I am. If you don’t like it, then—"

"Then what? Leave you?"

He goes silent.

"...Maybe."

You take a deep breath, fighting back tears.

"Alright then. I’m leaving you."

"Fine. Let’s break up then."

He stares into your eyes — furious, hurt, but resigned. You open the car door, slam it shut, and walk inside. The moment your front door closes, you hear his car peeling away.

Sukuna, who makes you furious. Who does he think he is? Your personal bodyguard? Using violence for you? Is that okay?

Sukuna, who also makes you wonder. Why didn’t he stop you? Did he really want to end things just like that? Without a fight?

No. You know deep down it was the right choice. Things had to end — at least for now.

You don’t want to think about him anymore. To distract yourself, you order three whole pizzas. Yes. Three.

Then there’s a knock at the door. You think it's the pizza delivery.

Sukuna, who’s standing there. Fists clenched, breath uneven, eyes burning with intensity. How much time has passed? Maybe an hour?

"What are you doing here?" you ask, arms crossed, trying to keep your voice steady.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares at you.

"Hello? You come to my front door and then don’t say anything?"

Still no response.

"Alright, I’m not playing your stupid games anymore. Either leave or—"

Before you can finish, he grabs you roughly by the throat and pulls you into a fierce kiss.

Sukuna, who you kiss back fiercely, matching every move, every breath. His lips hungry, claiming yours like it’s the first and last time all at once.

Fuck, you are so glad that he's over because second ago you were about to go insane.

Sukuna, who steps inside smoothly, shutting the door behind him with a clever flick of his foot — no noise, no hesitation.

He pushes you hard against the wall, his body pressing into yours like he can’t get close enough. The cold surface cools your back while his warmth consumes you.

Sukuna, whose hands explore without mercy — one gripping your waist tight, the other sliding up your side, fingers tracing the curve beneath your shirt, making your skin tingle.

He bites gently at your lower lip, pulling it between his teeth, then licking it slow and teasing, driving you wild.

Sukuna, whose tongue slides past your lips, diving deep, tangling with yours in a heated dance. He pulls at your hair softly, tilting your head back just enough to expose your neck, where his lips trail kisses — soft at first, then harder, sucking lightly, leaving marks only he is allowed to make.

He murmurs against your ear, "You’re mine. Always."

Sukuna, whose teeth nip gently at your neck as he whispers, “Do you really think you can get rid of me that easily?”

You, who shove him back with sharp eyes, voice dripping with challenge, “I’m pretty sure I could find someone who pleases me better than you.”

Sukuna, whose eyes flash with fury and dark amusement. “Is that a challenge?” he murmurs, teasing mercilessly.

"One you wouldn't even dare to face."

He smirk widens. "We'll see about that."

Sukuna, who slides his fingers slowly over your waistband, teasing just the edge of your soaked cunt before daring to slip one finger inside. The slow glide makes you gasp, a sharp breath escaping your lips as he watches you closely, eyes dark with hunger and control.

His fingers move deliberately, pressing gently then curling inside you, searching that perfect spot that makes your body betray you every time. You try to keep your cool, biting your lip, but your hips betray you, tilting forward, craving more of his touch.

Sukuna, who murmurs husky words against your lips, “You like this, don’t you? Your pussy’s dripping just for me.”

You, who feel your muscles clench around him, your breathing quickening, soft hisses barely held back as he teases your most sensitive places. Every small movement sends a spark of heat through your core, and you know he can feel it in your trembling body.

Sukuna, who grins wickedly, sensing your struggle to stay in control. His thumb circles your clit through the thin fabric, sending jolts of pleasure that make your fingers twitch at his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer.

"You really think you can say all those things and not beg me to stop?" he murmurs against your neck, voice rough and low.

You try to glare back, harsh and defiant, but your voice breaks into a whisper, “Fuck… stop then.”

Sukuna, who smirks, dipping two fingers deeper, curling and stretching inside your hot, slick pussy while his thumb rubs faster against your clit. You hiss, trying to suppress a moan but failing miserably as your walls flutter and clench around him.

His hand tightens slightly on your waist to keep you steady while his fingers stroke with expert precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You, whose back arches instinctively, lips parting as you finally give in to the waves of pleasure rushing through you, biting down on his shoulder to stifle your loud cries.

Sukuna, who holds you down gently but firmly, whispering, “See? Nobody can touch you like this. Nobody knows your cunt better than me.”

You, trembling, gasping for breath, your body still pulsing with the aftershocks of his touch—completely his.

Just as you’re about to shatter, he pulls his fingers out slowly, making you whimper in protest, desperate for release.

“You really think you deserve to cum yet?” His voice is low, teasing, almost cruel. “Ha, nooo. I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you can answer, he spins you around, pressing your face gently but firmly against the cold wall.

“Slut like you don’t deserve to cum yet. I need you to beg for it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck.

“Ha, in your dreams,” you manage between ragged breaths, trying to sound defiant but your voice cracks with need.

He smirks, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll see about that.”

Without warning, he slides inside you, thick and hard, filling you completely.

The sudden stretch, the raw heat of him buried deep, takes your breath away. His hips start moving, slow at first, then building rhythm—powerful, relentless.

You gasp into the wall, your body arching back against his thrusts, the tension between you crackling with every slam.

Sukuna, who is pounding into you hard, every thrust claiming you like you’re his possession. His grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer with each brutal motion.

“You’re such a fucking stubborn slut, aren’t you?” he growls, voice rough, breath ragged against your ear. “Trying to act all tough, but I know you love this—my cock filling that tight pussy of yours.”

You grit your teeth, trying to push back, resisting. “I’m not your slut,” you snap, but your body betrays you, arching, grinding into him.

Sukuna, who smirks darkly, knowing exactly how much control he has over you. “Oh, don’t lie. You love it when I fuck you like this. Hate how much you need it. You’re dripping all over me, and you won’t admit you want it.”

Your breath hitches, every word sending fire through your veins. You try to pull away, but his hands clamp down harder on your hips.

“You don’t get to run, slut. You’re mine. Mine to use, mine to break, mine to worship.”

Sukuna, who slides one hand between you, fingers teasing that slick, swollen cunt as he fucks you deeper, faster. You hiss, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

“Say it,” he demands, eyes dark and hungry. “Say you want me. Say you’re my dirty little slut.”

You shake your head, breathless, “Never.”

He laughs, low and cruel. “Fuck, you’re impossible. But I’ll make you beg. I’ll break that stubborn pride, slut.”

Every brutal thrust, every teasing stroke of his fingers, pushes you closer to the edge, the tension between hate and need tearing you apart.

You feel it. You are about to cum again.

Sukuna, who of course stops and instead lifts you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping tight around his waist as he carries you to the kitchen. The cool air hits your heated skin the moment he presses you forward against the counter, your back exposed to him.

His hands grip your hips fiercely, holding you steady as his cock teases the entrance of your pussy, slick and ready.

“Fuck, I’m having so much fun with you, you dirty little slut,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck.

Without warning, he slams into you hard, the sound of your skin meeting the counter echoing through the room. Your body jolts with each brutal thrust, his pace merciless, relentless.

You try to push back, to resist, but every hard shove from him steals your strength, making your pussy clench around him, aching for release.

He leans down, teeth grazing your ear as he snarls, “Still gonna act like you’re not mine?”

Your breath hitches, the tension between wanting to submit and holding your ground twisting inside you like a fire.

“Never,” you whisper defiantly, even as your body betrays you with every shudder and moan barely held back.

Sukuna, who tightens his grip and drives deeper, fucking you against the counter like he owns every inch of you — because he does.

He leans in, mouth hot against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as his hands roam your body like he’s marking his territory.

The sound of skin slapping skin fills the kitchen, mixed with your ragged breaths and muffled moans you’re trying desperately to hold back.

“You like being pushed, huh? Like being used like this?” He growls, voice thick with lust and control.

You can’t stop the hiss slipping past your lips, but you keep your pride, biting down to stifle the moans that threaten to escape.

Sukuna, who watches you with hungry eyes, knowing every movement, every sound, every little tremble is proof that you belong to him — even if you refuse to say it.

“Say it,” he demands again, fingers teasing the sensitive skin of your thighs, “Say you’re mine. Say you’re my dirty, stubborn little cunt.”

You’re trembling now, hips moving involuntarily with his thrusts — the line between hate and desire so blurred it doesn’t even matter anymore.

He growls, his voice rough with hunger, “You’re made for this cock, my filthy little cunt.”

Your body trembles, pressed flat against the counter as he pounds into you with no mercy, hips snapping forward in a savage rhythm.

Sukuna, who feels it—the way your body tightens, your breath hitching, the subtle shake beneath his touch.

“You’re close,” he murmurs against your ear, voice low and hungry. “Still won’t beg?”

Your resolve crumbles. Soft, desperate, you whisper, “Please…”

"Please what?"

"Please, I want to cum, please, let me cum..."

That’s all he needs. He presses deeper, slow and deliberate, riding your cunt through your orgasm as your body convulses around him, trembling and open.

Your cries fill the kitchen, raw and needy, and he holds you steady, never letting go.

But he’s not done.

He spins you around, hands gripping your waist as he slams you against him, still fierce, still demanding.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice thick with want and frustration. “It was only an hour I was away from you, and I was going insane.”

His hips slam forward with a savage rhythm, relentless and hard.

“Can’t imagine a world without you,” he growls, voice breaking between thrusts.

He pulls you close, crushing you in a rough kiss, tongue tangling with yours, fierce and claiming.

But just when it softens, the fire reignites.

“You’re my dirty little slut,” he snarls, fingers digging into your hips. “Beg for me. Tell me you need this. You’re mine.”

You gasp, heat flaring, cheeks flushed and breath ragged, begging, “Please… don’t stop. I’m yours.”

Sukuna, who grinds harder into your cunt, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, relentless and demanding.

His hands slide up your thighs, effortlessly lifting one leg and wrapping it around his waist, giving him perfect control.

Your body arches, nails digging into his shoulders, breaths coming in shaky gasps.

He bites softly into your neck, marking you possessively while his cock fucks you deeper, rougher, taking what’s his.

“Look at you,” he growls low, “so fucking tight for me… so desperate. You want to cum again, don't you?”

Your breath hitches, voice trembling with need.

“Please… please fuck me harder… I can’t… I’m yours… just take me…”

Sukuna, who tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, slamming into you with brutal rhythm.

His fingers trace bruising patterns up your thighs, teasing, owning you.

Sukuna, who rides your waves of pleasure mercilessly, pushing you over the edge again and again, until you’re shaking and gasping in his arms, utterly undone.

And then, with one last deep thrust, he holds you tight as your body convulses around him, the rawest, wildest connection sealing you both together.

Sukuna, who carries you to bed with arms still warm and steady, his heartbeat calming slowly against your skin. The chaos from earlier seems far away now—muted in the hush of the room, replaced by the way he’s holding you like you’re something he almost lost.

He lays you down carefully, brushes a strand of hair from your face, and then just looks at you for a moment. As if he’s trying to memorize you again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, hoarse. “For what happened back there. At the shop.”

You blink at him. He’s not rushing to explain or justify—he’s just there. Present. Honest.

“I know I scared you,” he continues. “That’s not the man I want to be with you. You bring out something in me… something I didn’t know I needed to control until now.”

He pulls the blanket over your legs, tucks it in gently at your side.

“I’ve always felt this thing in me—this instinct to protect, to guard what’s mine. But I don’t want to be someone who makes you feel unsafe while doing it.”

You take his hand. Warm. Real. Still a little tense, but not distant.

Sukuna, who squeezes your fingers and finally lies beside you. Not too close. Just close enough for you to know he’s there if you want him. He doesn't force the closeness. He lets you decide.

And just as your eyes start to fall shut, you feel it—his hand reaching out slowly, resting lightly on your hip. Then the softest kiss pressed against your forehead.

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

-----

Bonus: Sukuna, who tells you he absolutely hates reality shows. Yet, after you beg him for what feels like a million times, he finally caves and agrees to watch LoveIsland with you.

At first, he sits stiffly on the couch — arms crossed, face unreadable, clearly unimpressed. He barely reacts to the drama unfolding on screen, like a kid forced to eat veggies.

The episode ends, and you nervously suggest, "Want me to stop? I don’t want to torture you."

He shrugs, nonchalantly glancing at the screen. "Nah, they should keep going. Someone’s gotta watch, right? Someone’s gotta suffer through it."

You laugh, knowing full well he’s just pretending.

By the fourth episode, things change. He starts leaning in, eyes glued to the screen. Suddenly, he’s dropping commentary like a pro:

"Is she seriously that dumb? Why would she forgive him after that?"

"She deserves way better, no question."

"No way he just said that. Red flag, red flag everywhere."

You catch him biting his lip to hide a grin, fully hooked but too stubborn to admit it.

You smile quietly to yourself, never mentioning how invested he’s become. Instead, you just ask to watch another show, knowing full well he’ll say yes — every single time.

Because, deep down, he loves these stupid reality shows as much as you do. And it’s not just about the shows. It’s the time he gets to spend with you.

You. His weak spot.

_________________________________________________

Ahhh, I love this series but I think it's enoughhh 💔

I was having so much fun. My friend shoko had invited all of us to this club to celebrate her birthday - and she had gone all out.

This party was lit.

The music. The atmosphere. The people. The alcohol. It was the perfect kind of chaotic.

Just when I was about to pull over to the dance floor, someone threw their arm over my shoulder - heavy and lazy. I glanced to the side.

Of course. My best friend - gojo.

He was smirking at me, eyes glassy, lids drooping. His hair was a mess, his shirt half untucked, and he looked like he had no idea what planet he was on.

“You… look like a strawberry,” he slurred out, squinting at my face like he was trying to figure out if I was real.

“Strawberries are hot. I’d eat you.”

“Charming,” I muttered.

He leaned further onto me, his whole weight shifting. I staggered back slightly, catching him before he could completely collapse.

“Okay, you’re done,” I said, sighing. “You’re so done.”

He pouted like a five-year-old. “I was just talking…”

“You’re not talking. You’re melting,” I said, adjusting my grip around his waist. “How much did you drink?”

“All of it.” A hiccup. “Maybe. Don’t remember.”

I stared at him for a beat, then looked around the room. Our friend group was scattered, lost in dancing and drinks. No one else seemed to notice his state — or they were ignoring it.

I sighed again.

“Alright, come on. We’re getting you home.”

He let out a low laugh and leaned more into me, practically clinging now.

“You always take care of me,” he murmured. “You’re my favorite person.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes and trying to fight the weird flutter in my chest.

“Let’s just get you to bed before you puke on someone’s designer heels.”

I walked over to our friends, dragging his half-limp body with me like a human shopping bag.

“He’s done,” I said flatly, giving geto a look. “Dead. Finished. So guess who’s babysitting?”

He laughed - some guiltily, some a bit too hard.

“Poor thing,” he said.

“No. Poor me,” I muttered, then added, “Anyway, I’ll drive him home. Someone tell the birthday girl he didn’t die or anything, just passed out like the dramatic queen he is.”

There were some cheers, someone made a joke about “MVP of the night,” and then I was off — hauling him through the club like a mom carrying her toddler out of a toy store.

Outside, the cold air hit us like a slap.

He groaned dramatically. “It’s cold… I need warmth. Hold me.”

“You're walking. Barely. I’m not adding cuddling to your to-do list.”

Getting him into the car was a mission. He kept trying to talk mid-collapse.

“Watch your head-no, not there-your leg, oh my god-”

At one point he got halfway in, then just stopped, head flopped against the seat like he'd given up on life.

“You’re not dying in my car,” I told him, shoving him the rest of the way in. “Move your ass.”

When I finally closed the door behind him and slid into the driver’s seat, I glanced over. He was looking at me with this dopey smile on his face.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re pretty, you know that?.”

I rolled my eyes. “And you’re a menace when you’re drunk, you know that?"

“Perfect match.”

“Shut up.”

I started the car.

I parked in front of his place and got out first, walking around to open his door.

“Okay,” I sighed, pulling on his arm. “Get out. You're home, sir.”

He groaned dramatically again, still leaning most of his weight on me. “You’re so strong. So powerful.”

“Shut up and stand straight.”

Somehow, I got him out of the car. He leaned heavily on me, arm slung around my shoulders like I was his emotional support human.

We reached his front door and I paused. “Where’s your key?”

“In my pocket,” he slurred, smiling way too smug for someone who couldn’t walk straight.

I gave him a long, suspicious look. “Which one?”

He didn’t answer - just grinned.

“Of course,” I muttered, then reached into his front jeans pocket.

He laughed. Actually laughed.

“You're enjoying this way too much,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that he was very much still grinning down at me like I was fulfilling his greatest fantasy.

My hand came up empty. I blinked. “There’s nothing here.”

He shrugged, still smirking. “Oops. Might’ve forgotten which pocket.”

I fake-gasped. “You’re so annoying.”

He held up the key suddenly - it had been in his jacket the whole time.

“You did that on purpose!”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink. “I liked your hand in my pants.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“And you love it.”

I didn't even reply. Just snatched the key and shoved it into the lock.

The door swung open and we stumbled inside.

Still leaning on me, he mumbled, “Home sweet home.”

“Yeah, yeah. You're welcome,” I said as I helped him toward his room.

By the time we got to the bedroom, he was basically a ragdoll. I let go, and he collapsed face-first onto the bed with a muffled groan. “You’re the best.”

I stared at his motionless form. “You're hopeless.”

Still no movement.

I rolled my eyes and headed for the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

“Stay alive for five more minutes, dumbass,” I muttered, making my way back.

When I returned to the room, I froze in the doorway.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head slightly drooped forward, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt like they were a riddle in an escape room.

His fingers kept slipping. And that damn smirk was still on his face.

I blinked. “Seriously?”

He glanced up at me, totally unbothered. “I think… my shirt hates me.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Help me?” he said innocently, holding out his hands like a kid asking for candy.

I huffed, set the glass down on his nightstand, and walked over. “Fine. Just this one time. Don’t get used to it.”

I started unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. Carefully. Too carefully. Because damn.

He was warm. His skin brushed mine occasionally. And when the last button popped open and I let the fabric fall apart - I saw them.

Abs.

Actual. Real. Sculpted. Abs.

His stupid smug voice broke through my stunned silence.

“Impressed?”

I tried not to look up. “Nope.”

“You’re staring.”

“Not at all.”

“You wanna touch them?”

I snorted. “Touch yourself.”

“Oof. Kinda hot when you talk like that.”

I shoved his shirt down off his shoulders. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m leaving.”

I turned around way too fast, trying to get away from the growing heat on my cheeks.

“Good night. Sweet dreams. Try not to choke on your own ego.”

I barely made it two steps before I felt his hand wrap around my wrist. Firm. Warm. Confident.

“Whoa-!” I yelped as he tugged me back, pulling me right onto his lap.

He was leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out, shirt hanging open, hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of a dream. Or into one.

And now I was straddling him. Perfect.

“Hey!” I protested, trying to find balance.

His hands slid to my hips like they belonged there, holding me steady - maybe too steady. I felt his hard cock beneath me - big and thick - and I had to swallow back a breathy moan that threatened to escape.

“Relax,” he said, his voice suddenly low. A little too serious. “Just a little night activity before I fall asleep.”

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and serious, like he was seeing me for the first time - really seeing me. There was something different in his gaze. No joking. No teasing. Just pure, raw intensity.

His hands slid slowly, deliberately, rubbing circles on my hips. And then, with the lightest pull, he guided me forward. A soft grind. My hips moved instinctively against him - a slow, teasing roll - and I could feel it.

All of him. Hard. Pressed right beneath me. His big, thick cock.

I bit my lip, trying to hold back the sounds bubbling up from deep inside. He was so big under me, so solid. I could feel every breath he took - rough and urgent.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. And God, the way he looked up at me - like I was driving him insane and he wanted more of it.

His hands gripped my hips harder now, holding me down. Keeping me in place.

He leaned in, lips brushing along my jaw with frustrating patience.

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

My breath hitched.

What is happening?

My head spun, my heart racing. I was caught between wanting to pull away and leaning in even closer, craving more of that closeness.

I shifted again - another slow grind - and this time, there was no stopping the soft moan that slipped from my lips.

His head fell back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck... You’re gonna kill me.”

Fuck wait! He's drunk. He's fucking drunk. No no no ... We can't do this!

I had to come up with something - quick. I looked around, searching for something that might have helped me.

But his strong grip on my hips. Holding me, making sure I wasn't able to slip away. His beautiful eyes that bore into me. His lips that were so dangerously close. His hard cock, pressing against my wet core.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever felt anything like this before.

And then... I had an idea. That devilish little idea.

I leaned forward, pressing my chest to his, bringing my lips so close to his ear he could feel them graze the edge.

“You know what we should do before sleeping?” I whispered, sweet as sugar.

He nodded, not even caring what I was about to say - completely under the spell of the moment.

I reached up.

His breath hitched - I felt it.

But my fingers bypassed his face and instead grabbed a thin, worn book from the shelf just above us.

I pulled back, holding it between us like a prize.

“Read a bedtime story.”

His eyes snapped open. His whole expression dropped into pure betrayal. I grinned and tapped the book lightly against his forehead.

I gave him a playful tap on the forehead with the book - bonk - and slipped out of his grip, climbing off his lap like nothing had happened, completely ignoring the very obvious situation in his pants, and began "reading":

“Once upon a time, there was a very drunk idiot who had the best best friend in the world. She took care of him. Even when he was hopelessly annoying. And if he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning, they’re probably still arguing somewhere today.”

I shut the book with a satisfied snap, stood up, tucked him under the blanket, and gently patted his head.

“There. All warm and tucked in.”

Just as I reached the handle, his hand grabbed my wrist, firm but gentle.

“One thing’s missing before you go…” His voice was low and hopeful.

"Oh?"

“A good night kiss.”

I shook my head with a smile.

There's no way I'll do that...

But the way he looks at me thouuugh. I guess I could at least do that.

I leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Good night,” I whispered, then slipped out the door, leaving him lying there with a half-smile.

"Dream of me."

Then I turned and walked out before he could say anything else.

Do friends do that?

My cheeks still burned just thinking about it - the way he looked at me. Touched me. Held me like I was... something else.

Something more.

And God, he was so hot. So hard under me. Big.

He’s always been flirty - stupid jokes, the occasional wink, compliments that felt safe because they never meant anything. Right?

But tonight...

When he told me I was beautiful, it didn’t feel like a joke.

It didn’t feel like a game. It felt real. Too real.

Can we even go back to being just friends after that?

Sure. Yeah. Of course. He was drunk!

He probably won’t even remember it in the morning.

Right?

...Right.

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A short one but still sooo good ;)

And yes: he doesn't like alcohol - I know. But for the sake of this story I just had to... Anyways bye babes!