you barely had time to think about it before the next assignment came along. team akuta needed backup, a sweep through a stretch of no man's land where raiders had claimed collapsed high-rises as nests. decades of rot and impact damage had left the structures fragile, but they had turned it into an advantage, maybe attempting to pick shots from heights no one else dared to reach.

the building was worse up close. concrete sheared open like bone, metal ribs exposed and rusted through. the air inside tasted like old smoke and something bitter underneath. dust clung to your throat.

the silence stretched longer than it should have. not the hollow quiet of something abandoned, but the kind that made the back of your neck prickle. team akuta fanned out ahead of you, boots careful over fractured tile and old glass.

"they're here," rudo muttered under his breath. "they have to be."

tamsy didn't respond. his hand hovered near your elbow as you stepped over a split in the flooring, not touching, just close enough that you knew he would if you slipped.

the makeshift barricades lining the hallway weren't defensive in the way you expected. splintered desks shoved together. it looked less like preparation for a fight and more like something dismantled in a hurry.

you crouched near one of the doorways and brushed your glove over the concrete. the top layer of dust shifted too easily, revealing a darker patch beneath it.

"tamsy," you said quietly.

he moved beside you without hesitation. "what."

"i don't think this was settled naturally."

his eyes traced upward, following the lines in the ceiling. fractures spread from the support beams in branching patterns that looked almost deliberate. the metal brackets had been tampered with — not obvious at first glance, but once you saw it, you couldn't unsee it.

a low metallic creak echoed from somewhere above, not loud enough to be dramatic, just enough to seem wrong. realization settled heavy in your stomach. they hadn't waited to ambush. they hadn't planned to trade shots from the upper floors. they'd prepared the building instead.

"we need to clear out," tamsy said. the shift in his voice was subtle but immediate.

team akuta began backing toward the exit. you fell into step beside tamsy, heart beating faster now that the pattern made sense. the absence of combat wasn't luck.

another metallic strain carried through the structure, deeper this time. the floor beneath your boots vibrated faintly, like something heavy had shifted its weight.

"move," tamsy ordered, sharper now.

you were halfway down the corridor when something snapped above you. the lights flickered once before dying completely, plunging the hallway into a dim wash of gray from the broken windows at the far end. dust shook loose from the ceiling in thin streams.

the far wall buckled inward with a deep cracking groan. concrete split along the fractures you'd noticed minutes earlier, spiderwebbing outward. the building seemed to exhale — a long, grinding release of tension.

"stairwell!" zanka shouted.

you ran, and tamsy stayed at your side, one hand gripping the back strap of your vest now, not trusting proximity alone. the floor dipped again under your weight. a railing tore free ahead with a violent screech, clattering down the steps.

they hadn't meant to bury you instantly. they'd meant to collapse exit points first. a section of ceiling dropped behind you, sealing off the corridor you'd just cleared. dust exploded forward in a choking wave. someone coughed hard over the chokers.

"we're boxed—" riyo's voice cut in static over the chokers.

the stairwell landing trembled as boots pounded across it. you reached the turn in the stairs just as the support column beside it split clean through the middle.

"down!" tamsy barked.

you barely had time to react before the landing tore free. the world tilted violently. the stairs didn't fall in one clean drop; they broke apart in jagged sections, slabs shearing off at different angles. you felt yourself lose footing, your hand shooting out for balance and catching fabric instead.

tamsy's sleeve.

for a split second, your fingers locked. his other hand grabbed for you, but the concrete between you shifted, ripping the space wider. your grip slipped.

you fell.

the impact knocked the air from your lungs so completely you couldn't even scream. debris followed in a cascade — smaller pieces first, then something heavier that struck your hip and pinned you hard against the fractured floor below. the debris rained down from the impact points, fine gray powder coating your hair and lashes. your chest refused to expand properly. every inhale scraped raw. you tried to move your legs.

nothing.

above you, faint but frantic, voices filtered through layers of debris.

"we need to pull back!"

"status, anyone?!"

"she was right here!"

that one. even muffled, you'd recognize it.

you forced your eyes open wider, fighting the urge to let them close. the weight pressing against you felt endless. claustrophobic. like the pit itself had decided to swallow you.

"tamsy," you tried, but it came out broken.

blood trickled warm along your temple. the air felt thinner by the second. another piece of rubble shifted overhead. light filtered through a narrow break in the debris, thin and blinding, and then his face appeared in it. eyes scanning with a focus that bordered on frantic. they locked onto you. something in him changed instantly.

"hey—hey!" his voice broke when he saw you. "don't shut down on me. look at me."

you focused on the sliver of sky behind him. on his face streaked with dust and blood. there was a cut across his brow you didn't remember seeing before.

"you're not allowed," he said, voice shaking in a way that didn't match the tamsy you knew. "you hear me? you don't get to leave like this."

you''d have laughed if breathing didn't feel like knives.

his hands tore at the debris pinning you down. someone shouted at him from behind to stop — the structure wasn't stable. he ignored them completely.

"i've got her," he snapped, and there was something feral in it.

when the weight lifted from your leg, pain detonated up your spine. you gasped, vision flashing white, and his expression crumpled like he'd been the one crushed.

"i know. i know," he muttered, voice low and frantic. "just stay with me."

he slid his arms beneath you carefully, as if you might shatter, and lifted you free from the rubble. dust cascaded around you as he carried you through what remained of the hallway. the building groaned behind him, threatening another collapse.

"we're getting you out," he said quietly, eyes never leaving yours. "don't you dare make me repeat myself."

you faded in and out against his chest, aware only of the way he kept saying your name like it was an anchor.

the first thing you register is the sound, steady and mechanical and entirely wrong compared to the groaning collapse you remember. then the light presses through your eyelids, too bright, too sterile, and when you finally manage to open your eyes the ceiling above you is whole and unmoving.

your body feels distant, heavy in places and sharply aware in others. when you try to shift, something pulls tight along your ribs and pain blooms slow and deep, anchoring you to the mattress beneath you.

voices reach you before your vision fully clears.

"she should've woken up by now."

"that's not how head trauma works."

you turn your head slightly and regret it immediately, breath hitching as the movement sends a protest through your side.

tamsy is sitting so close to the bed his knee presses against the frame. his forearms rest on the mattress near your hand, like he hasn't allowed more than an inch of distance since you were brought in. dried blood stains the collar of his shirt. the cut across his brow has been cleaned but not properly treated. he looks like he hasn't moved in hours.

eisha stands near the end of the bed, posture straight but not relaxed. her arms are folded, though the tension in her shoulders gives her away.

"she's awake," eisha says first, stepping forward slightly.

tamsy's head snaps toward you so fast it's almost jarring. he's on his feet immediately, chair scraping softly against the floor.

"hey," he says, and the word is steadier than the way his hands hover near you, unsure where he's allowed to touch. "don't try to sit up."

you attempt to speak and your throat burns. he notices and reaches for the water at your bedside. his hand slides carefully behind your head, lifting you just enough to drink. his touch is restrained, like he's afraid even gentleness might hurt you.

"slow," he murmurs when you swallow too fast. "you're fine. you're here."

you lower back against the pillow and look between them. "how long?"

"eighteen hours," eisha answers. "fractured tibia, three cracked ribs, mild brain bleed that stabilized on its own. you were lucky."

tamsy's jaw tightens at that word.

"lucky," he repeats quietly, like he doesn't agree with it.

you glance at him. "you look worse."

there's a flicker of something in his eyes that almost resembles a smile, but it doesn't fully form. "i'm not the one who got buried."

eisha steps closer to the bed, studying you carefully. "i will need to run another scan in an hour. you'll be here a while."

you nod faintly, the movement exhausting.

there's a brief silence that settles, heavy but not uncomfortable. then eisha looks at tamsy. "you should get cleaned up," she says. "i don't mind staying with her."

he doesn't answer immediately. his gaze is still locked on you, like he's confirming you're real and conscious and breathing.

"tamsy," eisha presses, softer now. "you've been here the entire time. you haven't even changed."

"i'm fine."

"you're not."

he finally looks at her, and whatever sits behind his eyes makes her pause.

"i said i'm fine," he repeats, quieter but immovable.

eisha exhales slowly, weighing her next words. "she's stable. i can sit with her while you—"

"no."

the word isn't loud. it doesn't need to be.

eisha studies him for a long second. "you don't have to do this alone."

his hand moves then, almost unconsciously, finding yours against the blanket. his fingers curl carefully around them, mindful of iv lines and bruising. he doesn't look away from you when he answers.

"you can go," he says.

it isn't harsh or unkind. but it's definitely stern enough to scare.

eisha's gaze flicks to the way his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles, grounding himself as much as you. something in her expression softens.

"call if anything changes," she says to him, then to you, "and you shouldn't make a habit of this."

the door closes behind her with a quiet click that feels louder than it should. the room settles into a different kind of silence after that.

tamsy doesn't move right away. his hand stays wrapped around yours, thumb brushing once over your knuckles, still trying to confirm something. when he finally exhales, it's slow and unsteady, like he's been holding it since the building came down.

"she's right," you murmur, your voice thin but steadier now. "you look like hell."

that almost earns you something real. almost. his mouth shifts at the corner before flattening again.

"don't," he says quietly.

you study him instead of answering. the dried blood at his collar isn't all his, and there's dust still ground deep into the seams of his sleeves. his gloves sit discarded on the bedside table, knuckles torn clean through, fabric split and stiff with dried red where it soaked past the rips, as if he kept digging long after they stopped protecting him.

"you found me," you say.

his jaw tightens. "yeah."

"they told you to pull back."

it's a guess, but the way his eyes flick down tells you it's right.

"that wasn't your call," you add.

"no," he agrees, voice level in a way that feels carefully constructed. "it wasn't."

you shift slightly, wincing when your ribs protest. he's on his feet again immediately, one hand hovering near your shoulder, the other bracing against the mattress.

"stop moving," he mutters. "you shouldn't test the stitches yet."

"i'm not testing them."

"you are."

you look up at him and for the first time since you woke up, you see it clearly. the crack in his composure. the way his control is sitting just barely over something volatile.

"i thought you were dead," he says suddenly, like the words have been waiting and he's tired of holding them back. "when the landing gave out and you slipped, i couldn't see you. the chokers were static. the whole structure was shifting and they were yelling at me to fall back."

his grip on the bed frame tightens slightly.

"i couldn't get a clear read on you, you weren't responsive."

you swallow.

"so i went back in."

it isn't dramatic. he doesn't raise his voice. he says it like it was the most obvious choice in the world.

"tamsy—"

"don't." his eyes snap to yours, not angry, but sharp. "don't say my name like that. i don't regret it."

you stare at him for a long second. "you could've been buried too."

"i know."

the fact that he says it without hesitation makes your chest ache more than the fractures. he drags a hand down his face, then steps closer to the bed again, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him even through the layers of blankets and bandaging.

"when i saw you under there," he continues, quieter now, "you weren't moving. there was blood in your hair and i thought—" he stops, jaw working once before he forces himself to finish. "i thought that was it."

your fingers tighten weakly around his.

"it wasn't."

his gaze drops to your hand in his, like he's memorizing the weight of it.

"no," he says. "it wasn't."

you watch the tension shift through him slowly, settling into something more controlled. his thumb moves again, absent and repetitive, like he needs the motion.

"you're not allowed to do that again," he says after a moment.

"get crushed by a building?"

"disappear on me."

the words hang between you.

you try to lighten it, even now. "i didn't do it on purpose."

"i don't care."

his voice isn't harsh. it's just honest.

"you don't get to scare me like that," he adds, softer. "not after—"

he doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't have to. not after the wash basin. not after every half-second he's hovered near your elbow without touching. not after the way he ignored orders and tore concrete apart with his hands.

you shift your grip, careful of the iv line, and thread your fingers more securely through his. "i'm still here."

his eyes lift to yours again, and there's something unguarded in them that he doesn't usually let anyone see.

"yeah," he says quietly. "you are."

this time, when he pulls the chair closer and sits back down, he doesn't hover like he's unsure. he keeps your hand in his and leans forward just enough that his forehead almost brushes your knuckles.

and when he stays, there's the faintest brush of his lips over the back of your hand, gentle and he doesn't let go.

you laugh quietly, stretching your arms above your head. "yeah, right."

"dont lie," he says, lifting his head just enough to squint at you. "i know you like waking up next to me. admit it."

"fine," you mutter, poking his chest. "i like it. happy?"

"hm," he hums, eyes narrowing playfully. "not enough."

before you can ask what he means, he grabs your hand and drags it up to press against his chest. "look, now you're officially helping me wake up," he says, wiggles his fingers against yours. "i'll count this as moral support."

you laugh, leaning into him, hair brushing his cheek. "moral support for what exactly?"

"for surviving me," he says, voice low, teasing, and then suddenly his lips are on your temple, soft and lingering just enough to make your stomach flip. "and maybe for cuddles," he murmurs against your skin.

you wiggle under him, trying to act annoyed but failing miserably. "you're ridiculous," you whisper.

"i know," he says, smiling against your shoulder. "and you love it."

you roll your eyes, but your lips twitch into a grin. he snickers and drapes an arm fully over your shoulders, tugging you impossibly close. "see? told you," he says, fingers brushing along your side, thumbs just barely grazing your ribs.

you giggle, squirming a little. "stop touching me," you tease, though your hands are already in his hair, tugging lightly.

he hums, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of your head. "nope," he says. "i'm awake now. and you're too cute to ignore."

you lean up, pretending to be annoyed, and flick his nose. "cute, huh?"

"cute," he repeats, voice low and playful. then he grins. "but also mine. you forgot that part."

"yours?" you echo, mock shock in your voice, pulling the blankets over your head.

"yeah," he says, tugging the blanket down with one hand, exposing your shoulder, and leans in to press his lips there again. "definitely mine. don't argue."

you laugh, tugging at his hair, poking him in the ribs. "stop being ridiculous."

"can't," he says, voice soft, warm, teasing. "i'm too good at this. you love it."

you sigh, collapsing against him, just giving in. he wraps both arms around you, face buried in your hair, and the two of you lie there, lazy and warm, exchanging small kisses, soft whispers, playful nudges, and quiet laughter that fills the apartment.

he drags a finger across your ribs, just enough to make you squirm. "admit it," he murmurs, "you like me messing with you like this."

"maybe i do," you whisper, nuzzling into him, "but you're still annoying."

"good," he says, voice muffled against your neck. "then i'm doing it right."

you hum, letting your hands trace along his back. he lets out a content sigh, pulling you in. "stay," he murmurs. "just… stay."

you grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "i'm not going anywhere."

and for the next hour, you stay there, tangled up together, playing little games under the blankets, tickling, stealing kisses, whispering nonsense, laughing quietly, and existing in the kind of perfect, lazy, messy, playful morning that doesn't need anything else.

you've been taking care of him for days now—feeding him, tending to the scratches you swore were nothing, making sure he's warm, letting him lean against you while he recovers. each small gesture, each quiet moment together, has built a tension you hadn't fully recognized until now. the way he waits for your attention, the way he studies you in silence—it's becoming impossible to ignore.

you inch away from the couch and he leans against the armrest, eyes never leaving you, voice low and smooth. "don't wander too far. i like having you in my sight."

that's when it hits—you feel it in your chest, in the small hairs on your arms. the way he watches, every glance, every flicker of muscle, like he's memorizing you piece by piece. the heat radiating off him, quiet but insistent, makes your skin hum and pulse in a way you didn't expect.

your movements feel deliberate now, almost instinctive, every shift of your weight pulling him closer. every brush of your fingers along the couch, every tremble in your breath, makes him lean in, pressing his heat against you. the tip of his nose brushes your shoulder. his hands roam—gripping, kneading, dragging along the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw, the swell of your chest. you shiver under his touch, back arching, hips tilting into him without thought.

he murmurs your name over and over, low and wet against your ear, calling you his human as his lips trace shallow kisses down your neck, then biting just hard enough to make you gasp. his hands wander to your thighs, pressing, squeezing, moving you against him until every inch of you aches for more. you grind against him, chest flush, nipples brushing the fabric of his shirt, desperate for friction, for contact, for the way he dominates without words.

when he tips you back, presses you fully into the couch, skin sliding against skin, you're caught entirely but you don't pull away. you let him have you, let him teach you, let him mark you as something beyond just a human who cared for a lost stranger in an alley.

his mouth moves lower. his teeth graze your lower stomach, trailing kisses as his hands hold you steady. you gasp, hips tilting instinctively as his tongue brushes against your slit, teasing over your wetness, tasting you. your back arches as he moans softly, lips sucking, tongue pressing, fingers dragging along your thighs. you clutch his hair, tug him closer, moans slipping past your lips.

"so sweet," he growls, voice low and controlled. "you taste incredible, my human."

you're trembling, thighs quivering as he licks, sucks, teases. fingers curl into your hips, pressing you into him as your body reacts, every flick of his tongue sending shivers, every press of his lips drawing gasps from your throat.

he alternates between sucking and teasing, fingers brushing, tongue curling, every motion deliberate. you moan openly, hips rocking, hands gripping his shoulders.

he pulls back just long enough to line himself up, hips pressing against you, hard, teasing. your body writhes, desperate for more. he pushes inside slowly, letting you feel every inch before moving fully.

"there you are," he growls. "so perfect."

your back arches, chest pressed to his, every nerve on fire. his hands clutch your hips, controlling the rhythm. your moans grow louder, head tipped back, nails raking down his back.

he leans down, mouth brushing yours in a heated kiss, groaning over your lips, jaw, neck. you're trembling, completely lost.

"cum for me," he murmurs.

you do, almost immediately as if he was in complete control now. clenching, shivering, crying out into his neck as he presses, thrusts, holds you tight, milking every sound, every quiver. lips on your shoulder, voice harsh, needy, praising.

he's still inside you, thick and impossibly hot, every thrust slow and dragging out the tension until your body shakes. his hands grip your hips, thumb circling your clit.

"you feel exquisite, so warm…don't make me stop," he says, teasing and commanding.

"yes… don't stop…" you whisper.

he chuckles, thrusting deeper. "that's it… my good human. so perfect, trembling for me."

you moan, hips lifting instinctively, trying to ride him, and he presses you flat.

"you belong to me," he growls. "every sound, every shiver… i feel it all."

his hand cups your ass, pulling you flush against him. "don't fight it. scream if you need to… no one else hears it."

"please— keep going…" you gasp.

he smirks, teeth grazing lightly. "i'm far from done."

you arch, legs trembling, body wracked with pleasure. he presses harder, rolling his hips slowly. you cry out, hips jerking, every nerve on fire as he drags you up the edge again and again, whispering filthy praise into your ear.

"look at you, squeezing me… mine… all mine," he hisses. "cum for me… human, all over me."

and when you cum, it's not gentle. thighs clamp around him, body convulsing, chest heaving, voice raw. he doesn't pull away, grinding slow, deep, circling your clit as he whispers, "good girl… not done yet."

your vision flickers but he stays, moving again, dragging you into the next wave. moan after moan, gasp after gasp, breaking apart in multiple staggered climaxes. he hovers, lips brushing your jaw, murmuring, nipping, reminding you how tight and wet you are.

"don't fight it," he hisses. "finish again… i know you love it."

you cry out, arching, shaking, writhing under him, cumming again, muscles clenching, shivering, and he keeps going, hands pressing, lips claiming, voice low and steady.

finally, your body trembles uncontrollably, mind swimming, vision flickering—but he's still there. still inside. still moving. still claiming. whispering your name, "so good… so perfect…"

your body goes limp, shivers fading… and you feel him continuing, deliberate, a low hum vibrating against your skin, keeping you tethered as consciousness slips.

when you wake, your body is warm. heavy. sore in the best way. your chest rises sharply as awareness comes back in pieces, he's still there, still inside. eyes glowing faintly, gaze fixed on you with possessive hunger. not moving fast. not rough. just slow. steady thrusts, like he never stopped. when your gaze finally focuses on him, his mouth curves.

"there you are," he says quietly.

his hips roll once, deeper, just enough to make you gasp.

"i was wondering how long you'd last."

his fingers slide along your jaw, down your throat, over your collarbone—possessive.

"did i exhaust you," he asks softly, "or do you want me to keep going?"

and the way he says it makes it clear—he absolutely will.

it got worse before it got better. jabber never studied in the room, but he was always there. music low. window cracked. lighter clicking. laughing at nothing. inviting people over and then forgetting they existed ten minutes later.

zanka tried noise-canceling headphones.

tried the library.

tried ignoring the way jabber's voice dragged through the room like smoke, low and amused and constantly pushing.

"you ever relax?" jabber asked one night, watching zanka rewrite the same paragraph for the third time. "or you just live like that? tense as hell."

zanka didn't look up.

"some of us care about our futures."

jabber leaned back in his chair.

"some of us don't need to kill ourselves to feel smart."

silence.

zanka finally glanced at him.

jabber was watching him differently now. not just amused, assessing. eyes dragging slow over the way zanka's sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows. the way his fingers tightened around his pen.

"you're always mad," jabber murmured. "what's got you so wound up, mr bad attitude?"

"maybe you."

jabber's grin sharpened.

"yeah?"

zanka stood abruptly.

"i can't breathe in here."

he moved toward the window. jabber stood too.

"window's already open."

"it's not enough."

jabber stepped closer, close enough that zanka could feel the heat of him. the faint scent of weed and something darker underneath, skin and smoke and recklessness.

"you're not mad about the smell," jabber said softly.

zanka's breath stuttered once before he caught it.

"you don't know what i'm mad about."

jabber tilted his head.

"i think i do."

and then he reached out. just two fingers. hooked into the fabric of zanka's sleeve. not pulling, just there. zanka could've stepped back yet he didn't.

"don't," he warned.

jabber's voice dropped lower.

"don't what?"

their chests were almost touching now. zanka's pulse was visible in his throat. jabber's thumb brushed against his wrist, slow. testing.

"you act like you hate me," jabber whispered. "but you look at me like you wanna break something."

zanka's composure cracked first.

he grabbed jabber by the front of his hoodie and shoved him back against the desk. the chair scraped loud against the floor. papers scattered. jabber's breath caught — not scared.

thrilled.

"there he is," he murmured, eyes darkening. "knew you had it in you."

"shut. up."

zanka's hands were still fisted in his hoodie. jabber didn't move them. instead, he leaned forward into the grip.

"make me."

the kiss wasn't soft or romantic. it was teeth and tension and weeks of pretending they didn't feel it. zanka kissed like he studied — precise at first. controlled. jabber didn't. jabber bit and laughed against his mouth.

"you're so fuckin' angry," he breathed. "it's hot."

zanka shoved him down onto the desk fully this time. the lamp tipped and books slid. jabber's hands finally moved — gripping zanka's waist, dragging him closer.

"say you don't want this," jabber murmured, voice thick, teasing even now. "c'mon, mr bad attitude. say it."

zanka didn't say it. he kissed him again instead. harder. angrier.

consent wasn't spoken — but it was there in the way jabber arched up into him, in the way his fingers hooked at zanka's belt and tugged.

"you're impossible," zanka muttered against his neck.

jabber laughed breathlessly.

"you love it."

clothes came off in uneven pieces. shirts first, buttons flying, fabric tugged hard. then hands everywhere — desperate, clumsy, heated, gripping, exploring. zanka's anger had been loud and sharp, but once jabber's back hit the mattress, it turned into something else entirely. something jagged and raw, and entirely under his control.

he hovered for a second. breathing heavy. jaw tight. pupils dark. you could feel the tension in his chest radiating through every inch of him.

jabber reached up and brushed his thumb along zanka's cheek. softer now. careful. grounding.

"you good?" he asked quietly. no teasing. just checking.

zanka swallowed and nodded once. that was enough. then jabber's hands found him fully. sloppy, heated, wandering, gripping. palms on shoulders, fingertips dragging along ribs, thumbs brushing over skin that shivered under contact. zanka's back arched instinctively, hips tilting against him, desperate for friction.

it wasn't gentle. not really. not even considerate. but it wasn't cruel either. it was friction and heat and hard, shouted curses, lips colliding, teeth grazing, gasped breaths mingling. jabber's lazy voice, usually so cool and teasing, had gone rough and breathless. broken phrases, half-formed praise, each word scraping against zanka's ear like fire.

"that's it— yeah… you're so fuckin' tense… let go…"

zanka did. in pieces. in shards. each sharp inhale. each shuddering grip. each soft whine pressed into jabber's shoulder. each grunt of effort and release. every time jabber whispered "mr. bad attitude", it was intimate, almost worshipful despite the mockery.

jabber's hands didn't stop. explored every ridge, every curve of tension, finding places that made zanka hiss and buck instinctively. fingers pressed, dragged, thumb rubbing, skin burning under his touch. each time zanka came, jabber held him there, steadying, teasing, pulling, until the shivers subsided just a little before starting again.

the mattress creaked, soft and uneven under their movements. zanka's own hands gripped at jabber's arms, pulling, scratching lightly, claiming him as desperately as he was being claimed.

then jabber shifted, pressing closer, mouth brushing the nape of zanka's neck, teasing, biting just enough to make him groan and arch again. zanka's legs tangled with jabber's, hips grinding without conscious thought, desperate, needing more friction, more skin, more heat.

his fingers slid along zanka's sides, tracing the taut muscles, teasing over sensitive spots, brushing along inner thighs, pressing and curling. each touch, deliberate, almost intimate in its chaos. the room filled with breaths and wet sounds, curses, laughs broken by moans, and the occasional sharp hiss of pleasure.

when zanka came again, it was harder, messier, loud enough to shake the thin walls. jabber's hand moved with him, coaxing, stretching the release, never letting go, never letting him fall too far.

afterward, the room was quiet except for their heavy breathing, slow, ragged exhales. the fan hummed weakly in the window. the moonlight spilled over the tangled bodies, catching beads of sweat on skin that glimmered in the dim light.

zanka laid on his back staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, limbs trembling. his fingers still twitched where jabber's had been moments ago.

"you're gonna pretend that didn't happen tomorrow, huh?"

zanka didn't answer. jabber smiled faintly.

"that's fine," he said. "i like when you're mad at me."

a pause. then, softer:

"just don't switch dorms."

zanka closed his eyes and didn't move away when jabber's fingers slid into his.

you glance up. he smirks. "see? you noticed."

you bite your lip, shaking your head. "shut up."

"or what?" he teases, voice low, leaning even closer. the library is quiet except for the hum of the fluorescent lights and the occasional page flip.

"or i'll—i don't know—focus on my notes," you say, heart pounding.

"mm," he hums, unamused. "or you could do this." and before you can protest, he's brushing your hair back, fingertips grazing your neck, thumb sliding over your collarbone.

your stomach flips. you try to pull away, but he leans his other hand on the table next to yours, trapping you subtly, almost teasingly. "you're way too tense for finals," he murmurs. "let me help you relax."

you don't answer. and that's exactly what he wants.

the smirk on his face grows when he notices your breathing hitched. slowly, he presses his lips to your neck. light at first, teasing, dragging his tongue along the curve of your jaw.

"gojo—" you start, but your voice falters.

"shh," he whispers, one hand sliding under the hem of your hoodie, fingers brushing over bare skin at your hip. "quiet. library rules, but who's gonna care about two nerds who need to study?"

your hands grip his hoodie, tugging him closer without thinking. he grins, teeth brushing your earlobe, and suddenly you're aware of how close the back corner of the library is. nobody around, the tables stacked to create your little private nook.

he slides his hands further, teasing, under the edge of your pants. you gasp softly, trying to keep it quiet. his lips find yours in a messy, hungry kiss, teeth and tongue, tugging at your bottom lip.

"fuck, you taste like coffee," he murmurs against your mouth, grinding his thigh against yours.

you moan into him, and that's it. no more pretending. your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, heels pressing into the edge of the table for leverage.

he backs you against the table, knees pressing into yours, hands roaming, lips trailing down your neck, biting softly, leaving marks. you arch, mewling against him, gripping his hoodie like it's an anchor.

"shit, you're gonna get us caught," you whisper, but your words are hollow because you don't care.

he hums, low and satisfied, pressing his body against yours. "let them catch us. finals week doesn't need to be this stressful anyway."

hands everywhere, kisses everywhere, the desk shaking slightly under your weight as he fucks you against it slowly at first, then harder, hips grinding together, murmurs of your name, gasps, the quiet library humming around the two of you.

he slides your pants down along with your panties, his fingers teasing over your thighs, before pushing in. you cling to him, your mouth open, moaning, thighs trembling. each thrust is deliberate, hungry, messy.

you cum first, gasping and arching, nails digging into his shoulders. he groans, choked and rough, then follows, letting out a low growl against your neck.

when it's over, you're both breathing hard, hair stuck to foreheads, sweat and heat mingling. he smirks at you like it's the best thing he's ever done.

"library study session done," he murmurs, tugging his hoodie back down, zipping it up like nothing happened.

you shove him lightly. "asshole."

"don't lie," he says, grin sharp. "you liked it."

and yeah. you did.

he's there. shirt crooked, one sleeve bunched up by his elbow, hair a complete mess like he's been raking his hands through it all night. he's leaning on your doorframe like it's the only thing keeping him vertical.

his eyes blink a little too slowly when they land on you. then he smiles.

"hey," he says, dragging the word out. "see... see, i knew you were awake. you always pretend you're asleep, but you never are."

"gojo," you say flatly. "you're drunk."

"kinda," he mutters, swaying as he tries to stand up straighter. he misses, shoulder bumping the frame. he laughs at himself, breath warm and sweet with alcohol. "floor's movin'. swear t'god it started first."

"you need to go home."

he squints at you like he's focusing really hard. "i am home. well. not—" he waves vaguely behind him, then looks back at you, grin crooked. "jus’ wanted t’see your face. n’ maybe your thighs."

"you're not coming in."

he takes a step forward anyway and almost falls. you grab his arm on instinct, and he immediately takes advantage of it, stumbling into you instead of past you. his arms slide around your waist, loose but heavy, weight settling against you like he belongs there. his forehead drops to your shoulder.

"mm. hi," he murmurs. "you smell nice. didya always smell like that, or is m'brain makin' things up."

"let go," you say, even though you haven't pushed him away yet.

he tightens his hold just a little, chin lifting so he can look at you. his words blur together now, slow and sticky.

"c'monnn," he whines softly. "lemme in. i'll be good. i swear. i'll jus' sit there. maybe breathe. maybe— maybe not even touch. promise. probably."

"that is not convincing."

he smiles, lazy and unfocused. "you always say that. an' you opened the door anyway. kinda feels like you like when i show up like this."

"you're drunk and inappropriate."

"yeah," he agrees easily. "but m'honest. booze does that. makes it real hard not t'say stuff."

his thumbs press into your sides, slow and absent-minded. his voice drops, softer, words slurring together.

"i bet you think about me when you're bored," he murmurs. "late at night. when it's quiet. when you're starin' at your phone hopin' i text first so you don't gotta."

your breath catches.

he feels it and smiles into your shoulder. "see. told ya."

"gojo."

"mm?" he hums, leaning closer, nose brushing your temple. "say it again. like that. sounds real nice when you're annoyed."

"you are not staying."

he laughs quietly, breath warm against your skin. "yeah. okay. sure. jus' five minutes. then i'll go. but if you kick me out now, i'm gonna spend the whole walk home thinkin' about what you'd look like if you didn't."

that does it. the door shuts behind you with a soft click.

and he is absolutely not going to be good.

you don't have to look at him to know he's smiling, that slow, lazy victory of a man who knows he's won before the game has even properly started. his weight shifts against you, becoming less of a lean and more of a deliberate press, pinning you between his body and the solid wood of the door.

"see?" he murmurs, the words a low vibration against your temple. "toldja you'd let me in."

you don't answer. words feel useless, like they've already been used up and all that's left is this. this humming space between his body and yours. his hands, which had been resting loosely on your waist, begin to move. it's a slow, exploratory drag of his thumbs over the fabric of your shirt, tracing the curve of your ribs, a touch that's both proprietary and impossibly gentle for a man this drunk.

"...gojo," you say again, and this time it's not a warning. it's just a name. a surrender.

he makes a soft, pleased sound in his throat, a hum of approval. "yeah. just like that." he pulls back just enough to look at you, and the drunken haze in his eyes hasn't cleared, but it's sharpened with focus. all of it is on you. he lifts one hand, his fingers clumsy as they push a stray strand of hair back from your face. his knuckles graze your cheek, and the touch is so unexpectedly tender it makes your chest ache.

"y'know," he says, his voice dropping to that slurred, confidential whisper that's already undone you once tonight, "how i was thinkin'… on the way here. 'bout your pretty thighs." his eyes drop, tracing the path his hand had just imagined. "was thinkin' 'bout how they'd feel wrapped around me. wasn't even bein' a perv. just… curious."

his honesty is a weapon. you know it. he knows it. but it doesn't make the heat that pools in your stomach any less real. he sees the shift in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly. he sees everything.

"can I?" he asks, and it's the first time he's asked for anything. his hand hovers over the hem of your shirt, his fingers twitching with the effort of not touching. "just wanna feel."

you nod. a short, sharp jerk of your chin.

his hand slides under your shirt, his palm warm and calloused against the bare skin of your stomach. you suck in a breath, and he follows the sound, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. it's a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting of whiskey and something sweet, something uniquely him.

his other hand joins the first, both of them roaming your back, your sides, mapping out the terrain he's only ever seen in his head. he walks you backward, his movements clumsy but determined, until your legs hit the edge of your sofa. he follows you down, settling his weight over you.

"you smell even better up close," he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck. he inhales deeply, a sound of pure satisfaction. his teeth scrape over your pulse point, and you arch against him, a silent plea for more. he gets the message. his mouth is hot on your skin, a trail of wet, open kisses from your collarbone to your ear.

"fuck gojo," you breathe, your hands tangling in the messy silk of his hair. it's softer than it looks.

"say it again," he demands, his voice muffled by your skin. "wanna hear it when i'm makin' you feel good."

he pulls your shirt up, and you lift your arms to help him, the fabric disappearing into the darkness of your living room. his eyes, when they find yours again, are dark with intent, but still so bright. he dips his head, his tongue tracing the curve of your breast before his lips close around a nipple. the jolt that goes through you is electric, sharp and immediate. he sucks, hard, a wet, obscene sound in the quiet room, and you cry out, your back bowing off the couch.

"fuck," he groans, lifting his head. "knew they'd be perfect." he gives the other one the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, his tongue swirling until you're writhing beneath him, a mess of need and frustration.

he works his way down your body, his mouth never leaving your skin. he kisses your stomach, your hips, the soft skin of your inner thighs. he's on his knees on the floor now, looking up at you from between your legs, his hair a wild halo around his face, his pupils blown wide.

"been thinkin' about this," he says, his voice rough. "right here." he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulls them down, slow, deliberate. his eyes never leave yours. he tosses them aside, and then he just looks. For a long moment, he just stares, his gaze so intense it feels like a physical touch.

you curse under your breath, a plea and a warning all at once.

"shh," he says, leaning in. "i got you." and then his mouth is on you, hot and wet and utterly shameless. he licks into you with a desperate, hungry intensity, his tongue finding your clit and circling it with a pressure that makes your vision blur. your hands fly to his hair, holding him to you, and he groans against you, the vibration sending a shockwave straight through your core.

"fuck—" you gasp, your hips bucking against his face. "gojo—"

he just hums, a sound of smug satisfaction, and doubles down. he's messy, sloppy, drooling a little as he eats you out like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do. his tongue is everywhere, flattening against you, then pointed and probing, dipping inside to taste before returning to circle that sensitive bundle of nerves. the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, a hot, frantic knot of pleasure that's about to snap.

"that's it," he slurs, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin slick and shining. "c'mon. wanna feel it. wanna taste you cumin' on my tongue."

he slides a finger into you, then another, and the stretch is perfect. he curls them just so, finding that spot that makes you see stars, and his mouth returns to your clit, sucking hard. that's all it takes. the world whites out, a muffled scream into your hands as your orgasm crashes through you. your whole body trembles, shaking apart under his hands and mouth, and he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're a whimpering, oversensitive mess.

he finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he looks wrecked. his hair is sticking to his damp forehead, his lips are swollen and red, and his eyes are heavy with a need so potent it makes your breath catch. he stands up, his movements still a little unsteady, and fumbles with the button on his jeans.

"can't," he mutters, his voice hoarse. "can't wait."

he shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself, and your eyes widen. he's hard, leaking at the tip, and he wraps a hand around his own cock, stroking once, twice. he leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside your head. his other hand guides himself to your entrance, running the head through your wetness.

"look at me," he says, and it's not a request. you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. "wanted this. wanted you. for so long."

he pushes inside in one slow, deep stroke that steals the air from your lungs. he's big, and the stretch burns in the best way. he pauses, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to yours. his breath is ragged, warm and smelling of you and alcohol.

"fuck baby," he whispers, his voice cracking. "you feel... so much better than i imagined."

you can't speak. you just wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, a silent invitation for more. he takes it. he starts to move, his rhythm uneven at first, still clumsy with drink and desperation. but it doesn't matter. every drag of his cock against your walls is perfect. he's hitting that spot with every thrust, a deep, grinding pressure that builds the pleasure all over again.

"you're so wet," he groans, his words muffled against your neck. "so fuckin' tight. takin' me so good."

his hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. he rubs messy, uncoordinated circles, but it's enough. the stimulation is almost too much, a sharp, bright edge to the deep, rolling pleasure of his thrusts. you're close again, embarrassingly fast.

"i knew it," he pants, his hips snapping faster now, losing all pretense of control. "knew you'd be like this. knew you'd fall apart for me."

"shut up," you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders.

he laughs, a breathless, broken sound. "make me."

he kisses you then, a messy, dominating kiss that's all teeth and tongue. he swallows your moans as your second orgasm builds, higher and hotter than the first. his thumb presses harder, his thrusts become erratic, and you shatter, clamping down around him as you come with a cry that's half his name, half a sob.

"shit—" he chokes out. "i'm... fuck."

he buries himself deep one last time, his whole body going rigid as he spills into you. you feel the pulse of it, the warmth of him, and he collapses on top of you, his full weight pinning you to the couch. you're both breathing hard, the only sound in the room the frantic beat of your hearts.

for a long moment, you just lie there, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. his face is still buried in your neck, his breathing slowly evening out. you think he might have fallen asleep.

then he shifts, lifting his head just enough to look at you. his eyes are heavy-lidded, the drunkenness softened by something else. something warm. something that looks terrifyingly like contentment.

"hey," he whispers, his voice raw.

"hey," you whisper back.

he smiles, a slow, lazy, genuine thing that doesn't look like it's for anyone but you. "toldya i'd be good."

you can't help it. you laugh. a real, honest-to-god laugh. "you are absolutely not good."

"yeah," he agrees, his smile widening as he drops his head back onto your chest. "but m'honest."