#Printed Cigarettes Boxes

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Printed Cigarette Boxes: Boost Your Brand with Stunning Custom Packaging

KAYU Prints specializes in high-quality printed cigarette boxes that combine durability with eye-catching designs. We offer customizable options to help brands stand out on the shelves, using premium materials and vibrant printing techniques. Whether you need sleek, minimalist packaging or bold, colorful designs, KAYU Prints delivers exceptional results tailored to your vision. Our cigarette boxes ensure product protection while enhancing brand identity, making us the trusted choice for businesses seeking top-tier packaging solutions.

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Custom Cigarette Boxes: The Secret Weapon Behind Premium Brand Success

The following blog will describe why custom cigarette boxes have become the secret weapon for high-end tobacco brands and how they can play a vital role in elevating brand perception. 

The modern competitive marketplace transformed product packaging into something that serves purposes beyond basic protection. Packaging functions beyond protection since it is essential for announcing an identity and sharing narratives that consumers can relate to. The limitations of traditional advertising for tobacco products have made product packaging a top marketing instrument in this industry. Printed cigarette boxes are vital but often invisible for numerous premium brand achievements.

The Role of Packaging in a Regulated Industry

Most countries impose strict regulations that limit tobacco company advertising and create mandatory health warnings on their packaging. The ban on traditional marketing methods like television advertisements and billboards has made the cigarette box the primary object through which customers interact with the brand. The importance of packaging extends beyond the aesthetic because it becomes a fundamental element. 

Custom-designed cigarette packaging allows brands to establish their unique identity under restrictions. The combination of color choices produces an emotional response, while the selection of typography communicates spoken communication.

Customization: A Tool for Brand Identity

Your packaging delivers messages to consumers before they have a chance to interact with your products. Generic cigarette packaging lacks any memory imprint. The layout of a made-to-measure box reveals your brand ethos alongside its design choices and guaranteed offerings.

Key Branding Elements in Custom Cigarette Boxes:

Color and Typography: Shades evoke emotions and typography mirrors tone. A premium brand might utilize deep blacks and gold, while a contemporary lifestyle brand might prefer minimalist whites and clean lines.

Logo Placement and Size: The careful arrangement of packaging elements allows brands to remain noticeable while leaving a lasting impact. Crystalline embossed logos quietly express high-class style.

Material Selection: Environmental weaving paper boards alongside firm cardstock materials or textured fiberboard enables manufacturers to build package relationships with their customer base.

Printing Techniques: Offset printing, UV coating, and metallic foil application create packaging that feels sophisticated and high-end.

Structural Innovation: Boxes with flip-top lids, magnetic closures, and drawer-style containers deliver a one-of-a-kind, luxurious, unboxing experience.

Stand Out on the Shelf with Premium Presentation

When consumers browse a selection of cigarette brands, first impressions matter. The packaging is the first thing they see—and often the reason they pick one product over another. A custom cigarette box that stands out visually and feels premium to the touch can command attention and invite curiosity.

Custom packaging transforms products from commodities into experiences. For premium brands, this visual and sensory differentiation justifies a higher price point and solidifies their status in the market.

Aligning Packaging with Target Audience Expectations

Understanding your target market is essential when designing custom cigarette boxes. Are you appealing to luxury smokers, environmentally conscious buyers, or edgy trendsetters? Your packaging should reflect their preferences.

Luxury Consumers appreciate soft-touch matte finishes, foil stamping, and embossed logos.

Eco-conscious Buyers look for recyclable materials, minimalistic designs, and sustainability messaging.

Younger Audiences may be drawn to bold colors, artistic graphics, and unconventional shapes.

By aligning packaging design with consumer identity, brands can foster emotional connection and brand loyalty.

Custom Boxes as a Marketing Tool

While direct tobacco advertising is banned in many regions, custom packaging allows brands to market subtly but effectively.

How Custom Cigarette Boxes Act as Marketing Tools:

Brand Recall: A unique box design will likely be remembered and recognized later.

Word-of-Mouth: A striking or collectible box design may be shared on social media or shown to friends.

Differentiation: Unique packaging distinguishes a brand from countless competitors in the same category.

Perceived Value: Premium packaging gives consumers the impression of a higher-quality product.

In short, well-designed Custom cigarette boxes are silent brand ambassadors working on your behalf 24/7.

Seasonal and Limited Edition Packaging

One powerful strategy successful cigarette brands use is the release of seasonal or limited edition custom boxes. These designs create a sense of urgency and exclusivity, encouraging customers to purchase before the supply runs out.

Limited edition packaging can commemorate the following:

National holidays or local festivals

Company anniversaries

Collaborations with artists or influencers

Themed collections based on art, fashion, or history

These custom boxes are visually appealing and collectible, giving customers an additional incentive to buy and engage with your brand.

Boosting Sustainability and Brand Responsibility

In recent years, sustainability has become a key purchasing factor. Modern consumers care deeply about how products are made, packaged, and disposed of. Premium cigarette brands now use custom eco-friendly boxes made from recyclable or biodegradable materials.

These sustainable packaging solutions:

Reduce the environmental footprint

Improve the brand's public image

Attract conscious consumers

Fulfill corporate social responsibility goals

You can even highlight your eco-initiatives directly on the box through custom stickers, stamps, or printed certifications, reinforcing your brand's environmental commitment.

Final Thoughts

Modern retail understands that product packaging creates a louder impact than marketing promotions. Custom stickers are more than a decorative surface because it is a communication tool. Your product becomes a brand ambassador by selecting materials and developing designs alongside strategic implementation methods. Your product becomes a brand ambassador through the proper selection of materials, thoughtful design, and strategic approach. 

[yanicegung]

[jspackaging]

Experience the trendy allure of electronic cigarettes, starting with the gift packaging! Custom electronic cigarette gift boxes using premium materials and innovation designs that enhance your brand image while offering customers an exceptional unboxing experience. Whether for gifting or personal use, this gift box showcases elegance and taste, adding a unique appeal to your product. Contact us now and personalized your electronic cigarette brand packaging stand out!

[verdancepackaging]

Discover the epitome of packaging excellence with Verdance Packaging's Custom Cigarette Boxes. Elevate your smoking products with our premium quality and customizable designs that exude sophistication and style. Crafted to perfection, our custom cigarette boxes offer protection and serve as a powerful branding tool to captivate your target audience. We tailor every detail, from timeless classics to contemporary masterpieces, to reflect your brand's unique identity. Make a lasting impression on customers, stand out on the shelf, and skyrocket your sales with Custom Cigarette Boxes from Verdance Packaging. It's time to ignite your brand and leave a mark in the industry.

[customizeboxesusa]

For brand awareness get Cigarette Packaging

You should visit the market before you introduce your cigarette brand. You will know that hundreds of cigarette brands are already selling their product in the market. If you want to introduce your cigarette brand, you must ensure that everyone in the market recognizes your product. It is possible if you get memorable packaging for your brand. It would help if you got Cigarette Packaging that you design yourself and get a logo of your brand printed on every single cigarette box of your brand. It is the only way your brand will get acknowledgment, and smokers will show interest in your product.

Consider Cigarette Packaging for product protection

While you are delivering the product yourself or your product is in the shipping phase, it will require safety and protection from external hazards in all situations. If you fail to choose the right kind of packaging, then there is a great possibility that the customer won't receive the product in its original form. If the buyer gets dissatisfied with your product, they might not return to buy your branded cigarettes. So, to ensure the safety of your product, you have to get quality and durable Cigarette Packaging for your brand. Otherwise, you won't be able to build your brand.

Give your product an alluring finish in Cigarette Packaging

Packaging plays a key role in the sales of your product. You can observe that the brands that use subtle and classy packaging for their product get more attention than the cigarettes in standard or low-quality packaging boxes. Therefore, you must get Cigarette Packaging made up of premium material for your brand. Try to give your product an alluring finish so the buyer will show more interest. Otherwise, your product will surely get lost in the crowd of other cigarette brands. So, now the success of your cigarette brand depends on your decision of packaging for your product.

Beat the competition with Cigarette Packaging

You would certainly want your brand to beat the competition, and your product must get all the attention of the smokers in the market. Doubtlessly it is possible if you get customized Cigarette Packaging for your brand. Customized packaging allows you to show your creativity in something the audience might like. The buyer will look for quality in your brand's packaging. If they find quality in the packaging, you sell them quality blends. Otherwise, the smokers will keep smoking their old cigarette brand and won't buy your cigarettes.

To make your product look alluring get Cigar Packaging

Cigars are a luxury to smoke, and not everyone can handle them. People who smoke cigars know how to choose the best quality cigar in town. Most of the time, the buyer will observe the product's packaging and judge the quality of cigars from its packaging. If you know that the quality of your product is premium, then the packaging must tell the same story. It would help if you considered alluring Cigar Packaging for your brand. If buyer finds your product packaging alluring and appealing, they will never step back from your brand for any newer brand in the future.

Consider Cigar Packaging for a fair price tag

Cigars are expensive compared to cigarettes, but if the packaging of your product is not top-notch, but you have a high price tag on your product, no one will show interest. The buyer will only show interest in your cigar brand and would love to pay the high price only if they find quality in your product's packaging. Yes, the packaging plays the main role, and the buyer will check your brand's packaging and then the price tag. Therefore, you have to get premium Cigar Packaging for your brand. It is the only way the buyer will agree to pay for your product's price.

Keep your product safe from shipping hazards in Cigar Packaging

Cigars will break easily in the shipping phase if you don't get quality Cigar Packaging for your brand. There is a great possibility that the blend from the cigars might start to fall out in the packaging if the product is not intact inside the packaging box. Therefore, you must get quality packaging for your brand that will keep the product intact. This way, the cigars will sustain their primary form for a long time. No shipping hazards will be able to cause any damage to your product, and the buyer will find the cigars in their original form.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[dog-bimbo]

shiu n his sweet bimbo girlfriend part two 18+ only minors dni part 1

it all starts with shiu snapping his fingers at the salesgirl. you knew the pattern by now, your old man sure was a sick guy :( "that one." he says, pointing lazily at the display case—lacey, sheer, leopard print lingerie that looks like it was made just to be ripped off, “in her size.” you giggle and tug on his sleeve, pouting but you don't really mean it, “but i already have so many, shiu...” he leans in, lips brushing your ear, “'m not buying it for you, sweetheart. 'm buying it f'me.” the salesgirl looks nervous, her eyes darting between the two of you. you just look dumb and dizzy like you always do when he talks to you like that, it was obvious that you quite literally thought that it was for him. ten minutes later, you're in the changing room, trying it on. "c'mon... help me with the straps, won't ya'?" and he doesn't hesitate, not one bit. he pushes the curtain aside like he owns the place—and also, you.

"baby, i can't be around doin' everything for you...” he grins, stepping inside the small space and locking the door behind him. you start to mumble, one tit already spilling out of the sheer fabric. “but it’s kinda… hard, y'know?" and he's clutching onto his box of cigarettes and pulling one out as if he's going to fight a battle. "smokin' ain't allowed in here-" “oh baby, neither is this." his hands are on your hips before you can blink. he spins you toward the mirror, makes you look at yourself. “fuckin’ look at you. this little thing?" he pulls on the strap of the bra, "worth the price.” he let the strap go with a sharp snap and it slapped back against your skin, "ouch!" and then he’s pulling the crotch of the panties aside and sliding his dick into you like he needs it—like he’s been thinking about this the whole day.

you gasp, grabbing at the mirror for some balance, cheek pressed to the glass. his hands are firm on your hips, snapping you back onto him. "gonna ruin this pretty little set before you even get out the store,” he groans, breath hot in your ear as he thrusts shallowly. “they should be payin' me for putting this on you.” he busts into you within minutes, his hot cum painting your gummy walls white, "fuck, i kinda lost myself, didn't i?" he chuckles almost bashfully, pulling his cock out and thrusting two digits in to keep that cum from leaking down the dressing room. "what about me finishin', huh?" you whine, tears rolling down your eyes due to the frustration, you were so close. "don't be a brat," he whines too, mocking your tone, "wear this tonight and i'll take real good care of you..." your old man sure was one heck of a meanie too :( but he did compensate. on an ideal day, all he wantrd was to see you strut around stores and buy you your favourite things while he walked behind you with all of your bags.

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Custom Cigarette Boxes: The Secret Weapon Behind Premium Brand Success

KAYU Prints offers premium custom cigarette boxes to elevate your brand and ensure product protection. With a broad range of materials, sizes, and finishes, each box is tailored to reflect your unique identity. Whether you need sleek, minimal designs or bold, eye-catching packaging, KAYU Prints delivers exceptional quality and fast turnaround times. Make a lasting impression with cigarette boxes that combine functionality, style, and durability—all at competitive prices.

[oatmealwrites]

Jealousy! Jealousy! [NSFW]

Oncology student! Frat VP! Jealous Suguru x F Reader [part of Holiday Hoes! series]

holiday hoes masterlist | JJK masterlist | regular masterlist

Synopsis: While out gift shopping with Suguru for a belated holiday gift for a certain white haired man, you can't help but notice the annoyed behavior of your best friend. He's distant and cold leaving you confused and irritated. All the while, he's forced to spend his Friday afternoon watching you so carefully picking out a gift for his best friend when the two of you could be doing anything else. It's dumb to crush on his friend, and even dumber to silently mope while wishing you would finally pay attention to man next to you-- especially considering he's oblivious that you feel the same way. 

Tags: friends to lovers, frat AU!, Suguru is a panty thief, hopeless pining, Shoko is in on it, some angst [you guys get into a fight], Suguru calls reader a slut, mentions of self insecurity, Suguru has tongue piercing, public makeout, hickies galore, sucking on titties, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, public sex, dressing room shenanigans, p in v, no condom, creampie, doggy position, premature ejaculation, established relationship at end, everyone knows y'all did it, reference to potential round 2, 18+, MDNI

word count: 11.3k [whoops]

[essentially porn with plot haha]

~~~~~~~~

The interior of Suguru and Satoru’s shared apartment is a warm haven from the winter storm that roars outside; wind howls as the snow falls steadily coating the roads and sidewalks. Snacks and soft drinks litter the coffee table in the living room as Shoko cracks a window open to blow the smoke from her cigarette outside and away from the group.

An old horror movie plays on the TV, one Choso had picked out citing the choice as a recommendation from Yuji, as you sit on the couch next to Suguru scrolling absentmindedly on your phone. Your feet are thrown in a comfortable position diagonally over his lap as a throw blanket covers you both. It’s the same position the two of you usually sit in whenever you happen to be over. 

Despite being in their shared apartment, Satoru is out assisting Megumi with reviewing material for a gen-ed requirement bio class while the small group waits for his return; the evening plan was to drink at your usual pub in a few hours.

“Ah, shit…” you mumble quietly, leaning your chin into the collar of your quarter-zip jacket and biting slightly on the zipper. 

Choso looks up from his position on the floor while going through a few potential board games to play and raises an eyebrow. “Hm? What’s up?”

Tossing the phone onto your upper chest, you lean back into the couch and throw your hands up in a long stretch. “I forgot to get Satoru’s stupid Christmas gift.”

“The holidays passed weeks ago. You need one now?” Shoko questions, blowing the last few puffs of smoke out of the window before shutting it firmly. 

A few complaints and groans escape your lips instead of actually formulating a response, and Suguru chuckles while dodging your outstretched hand that’s thrown haphazardly in the air from your stretch. He takes your wrist and pushes it back into your lap before pivoting slightly to grab his drink from the table and shooting you a look to explain. 

“Ah, it’s for your family dinner thing right?” Choso asks while he remains peering at the rules printed underneath the box of Monopoly in his hands.  

“Mmm, yea. I totally forgot it was this weekend.”

Suguru keeps his eyes on your face but remains silent; everyone knew you and Satoru were close family friends yet the man at your side never made an effort to point it out.  

Taking a sip from his beverage, he leans down closer next to you on the sofa and examines your contorted face. “I didn’t hear about this dinner from either one of you…”

“It was last minute– the Gojo family rescheduled a few times since they went on vacation for the new year. This weekend was open so they just confirmed the restaurant reservation a few hours ago.”

Shoko nods as she crouches next to Choso to sort through a few potential card games. “And you forgot to buy a gift so now you gotta get one.”

You bring your arms down to cross your chest with a sullen sigh in confirmation; Suguru sits forward to place his drink back on the table and shakes his head in disapproval slightly. 

“On top of that, I have nothing to wear– the place it’s booked at looks super fancy.” You pause and sit upright, eyeing the woman on the floor. “Hey, lend me that dress you wore to the fall semester formal.”

Shoko shoots you a half smile. “No way– if I give you that, I’ll never see it again.”

Before you can sputter a response in defense, Suguru chuckles at your side and regains your attention. “I’ve seen your closet y/n. You definitely have something in there.”

“Yea, but nothing good.”

He raises an eyebrow but keeps the familiar smirk on his lips. He’s been in your room a million times before, all for platonic reasons so far; he knows you have more than enough clothes to wear something to this dinner.

“What about the dress you wore to the fall formal, the burgundy one?” He asks, gaze lingering on your lips a moment too long before peeling them to look back at your eyes.

“Nobara spilt some wine on it and the stain won’t come out. So I need new clothes.”

It’s an exaggeration, you do have other dresses, but most were either mini-mini meant for nightclubs or sundresses for the beach. Silently, you pull up the nearby mall directory of shops to scan through if any might have a few potential winter dresses still for sale; Suguru lifts the arm that was resting behind you on the couch to hold his chin as he watches. 

“Shokooo, come with me to the mall,” you propose while remaining absorbed in your phone.

She points to a box of Jenga in Choso’s hands and nods in approval at his selection. “Nope,” she adds with a pop of the ‘p’. “I have to pick up Utahime from her part time job in an hour.”

Choso meets Shoko’s glance and raises an eyebrow when she winks knowingly at him; it takes a few moments to understand the implication. “O-Oh, I also can’t go. Yuji is with Nobara at the movie theater across town… so I have to pick them up…?”

You’re so engrossed in your phone that you don’t pay attention to the way Choso works out his questionable excuse slowly to gauge Shoko’s approval of his statement. After a few moments you look up and blink at both of them; Suguru is glaring at the two.

“Oh, that’s fine. Sugu–”

“He’s free!” Shoko interrupts while pouring the wooden bricks onto a clear opening of the table; Choso immediately assists in building a tower.

The man beside you grumbles before pulling out his own cellphone to check the time. “I guess I can take you. Satoru’s gonna be busy until 7… so you can’t linger in all the shops.”

“When have I ever–?” You pause and purse your lips when all three of them shoot you a knowing look. Raising your hands in defeat, you swing your legs off his lap and stand up. “Ok, ok, duly noted. Now come on, we’re burning daylight.”

Suguru sighs slightly, but doesn’t fight the way you pull him to his feet and shuffle him to the door. Winter coats are thrown on while the other two continue building a wooden block tower; Shoko leans over to whisper in Choso’s ear who seemingly comes to an epiphany before staring between you and Suguru. 

You narrow your eyes at both of them and wrap a knit scarf around your neck while Suguru fishes around in the small basket by the front door for his car keys. Shoko shimmies up to lean on the edge of the couch.

“Have fun you two~”

Flipping her off, Suguru twirls his keys around his other hand and opens the door; the two of you making your way down the elevator and out of the lobby to his sleek black Audi parked in front. The ignition starts and he lets it run for a few minutes to let the engine warm up as you get situated in the passenger seat.

Everything is the same as it was when you last rode with him– it always was. The seat is still reclined to your preferred position, your residual hair ties and bobby pins sit in the car door basket, an old scrunchie is wrapped around the gear shifter, and even forgotten bracelets and rings sit in the console cup holders. 

You ‘oooo’ when you find your missing class ring from undergrad and slide it on your right ring finger. “You know, I’m surprised the girls you bring in here don’t get pissed off and leave right away.”

Suguru looks up from queuing his Spotify songs and tilts his head. “What do you mean? Is the air freshener bad…?”

While yes, sometimes it smelled like a mix of smoke from the sessions he and his friends occasionally had in the car, the luxury Diptyque car fresher hid them nicely. 

“No, it’s just that all my stuff is scattered around here.”

Suguru blinks and hums slightly before starting his music queue and putting the car in reverse to begin the drive. “Oh, I mean… I guess maybe that would happen.”

Curious to see what else you’ve left in his car, you loosen the slack on your seatbelt and peer into the back seat; Suguru is careful to avoid the potholes as you stretch over the console to dig around behind his chair. It’s mainly clean except for a few coins, parking tickets, and pens until a fabric strap gets your attention.

“Aha! You had my gym bag this whole time?” You snatch the university branded duffle bag and pull it into your lap. “I was arguing with Satoru for days about this– I can’t believe you had it.”

Suguru coughs slightly and peers down at it before reverting his gaze to the street and entering the highway. With excitement, you unzip the bag and dig through the contents you’re happy to be reunited with.

Sound-proof ear buds, insulated metal water bottle, perfume, and at least 2 sets of clothing are all neatly stored here; Suguru is adjusting the volume of the music when you dig through a bit more.

He glances down at your face through the corner of his eye and sucks in his bottom lip before smoothly changing lanes. “Everything alright there?”

You furrow your brows and pull clothing to the side in focus. “Huh? Oh yea…. Just missing something…”

Your underwear. 

You're nearly 100% positive there should be at least 2 pairs in here. There’s always a set of dirty gym clothes and clean casual clothes tucked in this bag, and for whatever reason all other garments are here except your panties. 

Weird. Did you forget to change out of your gym underwear and didn’t pack a replacement? That’s the only explanation right…?

“H-Have you heard this new EP? The band just released it.”

Suguru drags you from your thoughts and increases the volume a bit more; you sigh and zip the bag shut and throw it behind you in the back row again. You’ll remember it this time.

“I haven’t but it sounds good.” You hum while nodding your head to the beat. 

His hands on the wheel are rubbing the leather up and down as he fidgets slightly; a single bead of sweat drips from his temple. Sighing, you open your phone and look at the mall directory once more, though this time for stores that might have a good gift for a certain white haired man.

“Hey, what did you get Satoru for the holidays?” You mumble while scrolling.

“Mmm, I gave him Nanami’s official schedule from the school portal.”

You look up at him and can’t fight the laughter escaping your lips as you stare at him in confusion. “Why-Why would you do that? How did you do that?”

Suguru chuckles in response to your own laughter and shrugs with a smile plastered on; his upper lip raising slightly to show off his canines. “He kept complaining that Nanami was always too busy to hang out. So I guessed his passwords and logged onto his uni account to download his course times.” Suguru turns to you with a devious smile. “Did you know he was taking a baking elective? And he has no classes thursday–friday?”

You shove his shoulder and shake your head with more giggles escaping your lips as Suguru finds himself staring at the way they part. Looking back at your phone, you sink into the seat a little. 

“That’s good… but I can’t exactly do something of that caliber on such short notice, and not at the mall either.”

He hums and flicks on his turn signal to merge into the exit lane when a car cuts in front without warning. Slamming on the brakes, Suguru extends his arm to cover your chest at the abrupt action and veers to avoid rear ending the oblivious driver. Smoothly, he dips into the emergency lane for a brief moment before straightening the vehicle out and continuing to the exit ramp marked for the mall entrance. 

“Fucking hell! Douchebag has no idea where he’s going–” He keeps his arm in front of your torso for an extended moment before returning it to the wheel. “Shit, are you ok?”

Heart rate up slightly from the near accident, you nod and pull on the locked seatbelt to release the vice it has across your chest. “Y-Yea, I’m fine.”

Suguru scans your face with worried eyes before turning his attention back to the road and navigating to the mall parking lot. Without any further potential collisions, he pulls into a decent spot, given the Friday rush, and parks the car. 

“Ok, well aside from that shitty driver, we got here in one piece,” you offer while adjusting your scarf and taking a forgotten hair tie from the console, sliding it on your wrist. 

Suguru sighs in emotional exhaustion and opens his door before starting the walk to the entrance with you at his side. The wind whips both of your hair in every direction, and the snow which had subsided for the drive begins to fall once more. Power walking to the entrance and huddled next to each other for warmth, you sigh in relief when you make it inside and in front of the building map.

“Ok,” you sigh while unwrapping your scarf slightly. “Where should we head to?”

Suguru drags a long index finger that adorns a matching undergrad class ring across the plastic sign. “Mm, there’s an electronics store on the second floor.”

“That might be too pricey..” You reach up and point to another block. “What about a cosmetics store? Do you know what skincare he likes?”

Suguru rubs the back of his head slightly; his long hair tousled freely down. “I’m not sure the particular brand… but I do know the packages he orders online are stamped as imports… I think from France, Japan, and Korea?”

You swallow thickly and remind yourself to raid Satoru’s bathroom drawers next time he pisses you off. “Ok then– let’s just head to the main department store. I can look for clothes for him and my dinner outfit there too.”

Suguru nods once and moves to walk beside you. “Good idea, it also limits the amount of time we spend here.”

You both seamlessly shuffle through the crowd; strollers, small children, and couples loiter in the walkways, but Suguru always ensures to look behind if he thinks you’ve drifted too far. He waits in front of the entrance as you squirm through a group of highschoolers and chuckles when you roll your eyes at how annoying it was to cut through them all. 

Entering the department store, you both walk side by side towards the men’s section to go over potential items. Each hanger that slides across the rack is seemingly not good enough until you catch a particular pale blue crewneck sweater. 

You pull it off the rack and hold it up before calling Suguru’s name; he looks up from his position a few aisles over and walks over.

“What about this?”

He looks it up and down and shrugs slightly. “Uh, sure?”

You scowl at the man and rest it along the hangers on the rack to get a better view of how the entire garment looks. “You’re not helping– I need to make sure it looks good.”

Suguru stands idly next to you, frustration building in his veins. He’s been to the mall with you dozens of times, both in a group and privately, but this particular time has him feeling agitated. He tells himself it’s because he hasn’t slept well recently, because he skipped lunch, or because he’s sick of walking around a packed shopping mall when you both could be back on his couch playing Jenga.

Realistically, it’s because of you. The way you're doting over every detail of a sweater for his best friend and not even giving the man at your side a sideways glance. It’s nothing new– you and Satoru have been family friends for years, but something about this moment seems to get under his skin more than usual.

Maybe because it’s the first time you and Satoru are going to be together without either one of you telling him about it. The thought of slowly getting isolated from your life does more than annoy Suguru: it terrifies him.

“Hellooo? Do you think it’s ok?”

“Hm?” He snaps out of his thoughts and examines the sweater. “Yes, it looks good. I’m sure he’d like it.”

You pause and huff slightly. You know Suguru well enough that something is bothering him, but you also know that if you push it, he’ll just retreat further. Dropping your gaze to the garment, you fish out the price tag from the collar and whine at the amount of zeroes printed 

“Ok, well it was on this sale rack. So I’ll have it priced checked… and if it’s not on sale, I’ll go to the home section.”

You place the garment over your forearm and walk towards the woman’s section now–set on finding a dress for the weekend. Suguru trails behind you and apathetically looks at the clothing racks with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets; he’s making no effort to show his unamusement with the outing. 

Trying your best to ignore the way he unzips his parka from the heat in the store and adjusts his pale gray crewneck, you make a beeline for the dress section. He follows you and stands beside you this time, no longer loitering several aisles over, and watches as you skim through a variety of options.

“Too long, too mature, too..eugh–” you mumble while sliding hanger after hanger down the rack until a clerk walks by.

“Hi there! Looking for anything in particular?”

You look up at the woman and shrug slightly. “Oh, no. Just browsing!”

Suguru stands silently at your side and the employee looks him up and down before noticing the sweater hanging over your arm. “Well, if you and your boyfriend want to color match, please let me know! We have a great selection of evening wear that just came in.”

You freeze and try to mumble an excuse while she smiles and promises to get a fitting room unlocked after you make your selection. Sighing in relief when she finally leaves, you turn to Suguru to make a joke when you notice him standing there with a frown across his face. 

“That was awkward, hah. As if I’d want to match with Satoru–”

“Are you almost done?”

Stumbling slightly, you furrow your brows at the man before pivoting to face the clothing rack and slide a few more hangers down. Ok, now he is starting to make you annoyed too.

“Yea, geez. You can wait outside by the food court if this is too much.”

He scoffs and you ignore it before pulling out a satin mini dress that was tucked in between two other dresses. Someone had definitely tried to hide it, and lucky for you it was just your size. 

Pulling it back and resting it on top of the other hangers, you admire the cut of the fabric. It was an A-line black satin mini dress with an open back and an overall length that would fall to your mid thigh. A little short for an evening dinner with family, but you could add tights and high boots to it to even it out.

“This is nice.” You run your hand down the fabric and admire the smoothness of the dress before pulling out the price tag. “A little pricey… but I would definitely wear it more than once.”

Suguru leans over your shoulder. “That?”

You spin and look up to face him. “What? You don’t like it?”

“Aren’t you going to a family dinner?”

“Yea– but I could wear this more than once.”

Suguru scoffs and folds his arms, his eyebrows furrowed to nearly a ‘V’. Having enough of his childish behavior, you mirror his position and stand upright. “Ok, what the fuck is your problem?”

He looks taken aback before rolling his eyes and retreating slightly; he looks away as if there was no issue. “Problem? I don’t have one. I just want to go home.”

You step forward to  make up the distance he created. “No, you’ve been having a shitty attitude since we got to the mall. So what’s up?”

“I already said I’m fine, ok? Leave it.” 

His voice raises and you increase your volume to match; it’s becoming an entire argument. “You’re lying. Just say what’s wrong so I can understand what your problem is.”

Suguru steps forward and looks down at you menacingly, the intimidation causing you to back up slightly and hit your lower back on a clothing hanger. “I don't have a problem. If you want to dress like a slut at his family dinner, then go ahead.”

There’s a silence that immediately follows as the words leave his lips and you stand there frozen. Never, has Suguru ever called you a slut. Not once. 

When your shitty ex-boyfriend called you one for having male friends, Suguru was there to argue on your behalf. And when a sleazy guy once called you a whore for refusing to sleep with him, Suguru was there to punch him in the face– and effectively spent the evening at the local police department while you and Satoru tried to clear his name. 

The word hurts; this hurts. And you can tell the moment it leaves his lips, Suguru is trying to find a way to reverse time and take it back.

“I… I didn’t mea–”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off and grab the dress from the rack before tossing it over your forearm and making a move to walk away as soon as possible.

He’s hot on your heels behind you as you head for the fitting room. “y/n… y/n wait. Please–”

You shrug off his hand on your shoulder and shove him back slightly, eyes narrow and cold as you glare at him. “No, it’s fine. You said what you thought– just go home if you’re going to judge me for my clothing choices.”

Spinning back around, you increase your speed towards the stall doors of the changing area.

“That’s not what I meant.. You know that–”

“I don’t know how else to interpret you calling me a slut. Listen… just go home. I’ll call Shoko and have her pick me up.”

The man shakes his head and tries trailing you again before you disappear down the hallways of fitting rooms and slide into the largest one at the back corner. 

He stands at the entrance for a few moments, his mind replaying the moment over and over again. Standing frozen, he steps back and runs frustrated hands through his hair and tugs on his scalp in self-hatred.

FUCK

He didn’t mean to call you that– he’s never called you anything malicious on purpose. Sure, your entire friend group will jokingly call each other dicks, bitches, jackasses, and more; but you’ve never meant it.

Suguru huffs a few times and runs a hand down his face, tugging his lower eyelids down with force as he tries to think of a way to salvage this. Meanwhile, you shimmy out of your puffer coat, quarter zip, and jeans before stepping into the black satin dress.

It’s hard to look at your own reflection in the floor to ceiling mirrors that adorn the large fitting room; dejectedly, you sit on the large bench that hugs the opposite wall and tuck your hands into your face.

The dress is cute, perfect even, but you can’t help the weight in your chest that’s tugging you down a hole of self deprecation. Were you trying too hard? Looking back up into the mirror and standing to see the reflection, you notice every detail you wished would change.

Stretch marks adorn your skin in certain places, a few bumps and bruises from moments you don’t remember, and the aspects of your figure you wish would be just a little bit different. Maybe the dress was perfect, but the woman inside felt far from it.

Eyes dropping in disappointment, you spin to fish your phone from your jeans pocket to call Shoko before a knock on the door rings out. You place your phone back on the bench before you can draft a message and move to open it– expecting the clerk from earlier. 

Dark, nearly purple eyes, meet your own and you immediately slam it shut and turn the lock.

“y/n, wait.”

“No, leave Suguru.”

He sighs through the door and tries the handle before knocking again. “Please– please just open it. I want to apologize”

“I don’t care what you have to say.”

Suguru bangs on it again and the door creaks from the force. “I’ll break it if I have to… you know that.”

You groan knowing he literally would, and turn the lock to let him in. Vulnerable and sad eyes meet yours as he steps in and shuts the door behind in the process. The lock clicks back into place while you walk deeper into the room to gain some space.

“Ok, so talk.”

Suguru drags his eyes up and down your figure a few times before awkwardly standing in the center of the room; you slouch and move to cover yourself with your arms as you lean against the opposite wall. 

“I..” he starts before awkwardly coughing and shoving his hands deep into his baggy blue jean pockets. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it… I’m just… not in the best mood is all.”

You sigh and look at the floor. “Ok, great. Now that you’ve spoken, you can leave.”

Suguru pauses, shocked, before huffing slightly in frustration. “No, you don’t believe me. Just listen–”

“I am listening, Suguru. You never explained why you had a stick up your ass and then snapped at me suddenly. So if you want to go sulk just do it somewhere else… I don’t care anymore.”

You do care. He knows it and so do you, but you both know as stubborn as he is to communicate his feelings, you’re just as rigid when it comes to admitting he’s gotten under your skin. 

“I just…” he takes his hands from his pockets and rubs his face in frustration. “It just annoyed me to see you going all out for him, ok? All this effort for a cute sweater, and taking your time to find a dress–that dress, to wear in front of him…”

He doesn’t make any sense to you. You’ve gotten dolled up and dressed pretty for frat parties and dinners with your friends dozens of times in the past, this one doesn’t feel any different.

You roll your eyes and catch your appearance in the mirror again, looking forlorn at the way the fabric clings onto you. “It’s fine. I’m not getting this dress anyways…”

The man in front of you pauses and softens his gaze when he notices the way you’re picking your appearance apart in the mirror before his eyes. “..What? Why not?”

“It just doesn’t look good is all…” You reply softly, standing upright and moving back to the bench to get your clothes in order. 

Suguru knows this is his fault as you dejectedly pull your jeans out from under your parka and shake them slightly to unravel from their crumpled position. 

“What? It looks beautiful– you look beautiful.” 

Shaking your head slightly, you turn to him with an annoyed look and scoff. “Riiight. From a slut to beautiful in under 10 minutes is quite the turn around. Any other contradictions you’d like to add? Or can you leave so I can get changed?”

You don’t let him apologize, too pissed off to give him even the grace to accept his attempts at mending the argument; Suguru steps forward, having enough, and pulls your jeans from your hands.

“Can you– can you just fucking listen?”

Ready to argue again, you raise your voice. “Huh? You’re the one th–”

“Just,” he grabs your shoulders and holds you straight. “Shut the fuck up. Ok?”

You glare at him but remain silent nonetheless as he takes a breath before continuing. “I was wrong ok? I let my feelings get in the way and called you something I never wanted to. I just…”

He sighs and dips his head down slightly to stare at the corner of the fitting room, internally deciding how he should word everything. “I–” he gives a long exhale before peeling his eyes to meet yours, beginning to spew out everything at once. “I like you. Ok? And, I know, trust me I know, we’re friends and are in the same friend group and this is so fucking stupid and could literally ruin everything… but– I can’t control that. I can’t control the fact that I’m in love with you and it’s killing me.”

You stare wide eyed at him as he pours his heart out in an act of vulnerability you’ve only seen a few times before. Long raven hair falls forward as he grips your shoulders slightly tighter as if you’d run away if he let go. “I’ve tried… I’ve tried so many times to ignore it or wish it away but I can’t. And that is what kills me. I shouldn’t care if you and Choso make cookies with Yuji on the weekends. I shouldn’t care when Shoko and Utahime take you to get your nails done after class. I shouldn’t care if you get dinner with Satoru and his family–but I do. And I ruined everything because of it… so, I’m sorry ok?”

Oh, shit.

Standing motionless as Suguru catches his breath and his eyes bore into your own. This wasn’t the situation you were expecting to happen when you had dragged him to the mall, and it certainly wasn’t one you were prepared to address. 

Shoko and Utahime had teased you countless times about your stupid crush on the man; his reserved and coy nature was enough to make countless other women flock to him, so you silently resigned and convinced yourself you were ‘ok’ with simply being his friend. He was brutally honest and at the same time, a terrible communicator, and had on more than one occasion resorted to holing himself up in his room rather than face his demons head on. Suguru preferred to suffer in silence than resort to being a burden on his friends, and knowing that he felt the same way about you the entire time makes your heart ache.

“Please… please say something.” His hands remain on your shoulders while his eyes search yours for some sort of answer hidden beneath. 

“I..I don’t know what to say,” you whisper honestly. 

He winces and peels his head backwards slightly, but his hands remain on your shoulders. Taking a breath of compsore he nods once and attempts to harden his face. “That’s…fine. I’m fine.. if you don’t feel the same. Just, tell me now so I can get this over with and we can pretend it never happened.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, I can’t do that.”

He looks up, mildly confused before you continue, “I can’t pretend this never happened because I do feel the same, Suguru.”

He sucks in a breath and stands a bit taller; his hands fall down to your upper arm as he looks at you steadily for several moments to process what was happening.

“Oh. Oh. Woa, ok… That’s better than what I was expecting to be honest…”

You both stand there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what was supposed to happen now. Sucking in your bottom lip to moisten it, you watch as Suguru rocks once on his feet as he tries to formulate something else to say. Something to address the elephant in the room.

“So… what now–”

“--Prove it,” he interrupts. 

You pause and raise an eyebrow. “Huh? Prove what?”

“Prove that you like me more than him.”

Blinking a few times, you shake your head slightly. “Him? Satoru? Seriously, Suguru? I just admitted I feel the same way as you do and now you want me–”

“–So show me you do.”

Huffing slightly as he lightens the atmosphere slightly with his signature fox-like smirk, you stand a bit taller. “Stop interrupting m–”

“–I will after you– hmpf”

In an instant your lips on his and Suguru is effectively silenced from annoying you any further. His lips are soft and pillowy; a thin layer of chapstick coats them in a honey flavor you commit to memory before pulling away slightly.

Suguru slides his hands down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps at his touch, before snaking them around your waist to pull you in closer. Pupils blown so wide his irises are nearly engulfed in black, he scans your face with the same grin that leaves his canines exposed.

“Mmm, I’m still not convinced, princess”

Your own mouth curls into a smile as you wrap your arms around his neck to tug him down; your spine arches at tension and you can feel your nipples hardening through the thin fabric at your chest. “It’s not my fault you’re jealous.”

The fingertips that hold your waist steady increase their pressure and effectively render you motionless in front of him. Suguru lets out a low chuckle and shakes his head slightly; his eyes soften at your tease as he relaxes into the moment. “Of course I’m jealous. You were gonna get dressed up all pretty for another guy– can’t let my girl go doing that.”

Noses nearly touching, you smile into him and tilt your head to the side. “ ‘Your girl’, huh?”

“Yea, you got a problem with that?” His lips break into a grin and are parted so prettily just above your own.

When you fake taking a moment to ponder, he drags a hand up to tug your jaw to reface him; he holds it steadily in place while pushing his head forward to collide his lips onto yours.

The movement has force behind it, and the rhythm of his lips rocks your head in moving waves to sync with his pace. Delicious chapstick rubs off further onto you and saliva drips down the crease of both of your lips and coats your chin. Sighing impatiently, his hand leaves your jaw and drops back to your waist before dipping further to knead the flesh of your ass.

Groans escape your lips as he pivots to push your back flush against the mirror; you tangle your hands in his long hair, careful to avoid pulling on any sensitive piercings that adorn his ears. Moans vibrate against your mouth as a few particular tugs against his scalp leave him pinching and squeezing your ass with enough force to leave a few bruises. 

It’s hot. So fucking hot. The heat is blasting within the store and you can feel beads of sweat dripping at your inner thigh– oh wait. It’s not sweat.

Suguru steps back hastily when you glide your tongue over his bottom lip to deepen the kiss. Hands hesitantly glide through his hair as he makes distance; a few curses leave his mouth when he tugs his arms out of his winter coat and throws it to the floor. Immediately after, he tugs the light gray sweatshirt off as well and is left in a basic white-tee. The action has the garment raised just slightly enough to see a chiseled ‘V-line’ snake into his trousers, and a partially unkempt happy trail that starts at his navel and disappears below the belt line. 

Your pussy gushes and clenches pathetically around nothing at the sight. You’ve seen him shirtless before plenty of time, but this one is different. He’s not undressing to go for a swim at a party house Satoru rented and he’s not undressing to walk Megumi’s dogs outside in the summer when he’s busy; he’s undressing for you.

“Why don’t you take a picture, pretty girl? It’ll last longer.”

Looking up and rolling your eyes, you try desperately to act as if the moment isn’t affecting you as much as it really is. Unswayed, he steps forward and reconnects your lips with his tongue languidly sliding in your mouth as if he owned it.

A cool metal orb clinks every so often against your front teeth from the piercing that sits in the center of his tongue; the feeling of it rubbing along every crevice of your mouth leaves you panting for air.

Closed mouth kisses leave you chasing his lips for the delicious honey flavor while open mouth ones cause his tongue to rub with your own. No molar is left unchecked and no surface of your lips remain untouched by his own.

The mirror is cool on your back from the way the dress exposes your skin; still arched, his hands knead the flesh of your ass a few more times before resting on where your rib cage meets your lower torso.

Suguru leaves your lips for a moment before placing fervent hot pecks on the corner of your mouth and down the side of your jaw until he reaches your pulse point. Heart rate so intense under the flesh he can feel the beat on his lips, Suguru chuckles dryly to himself. 

“Fuck princess, you’re getting all worked up f’me? Heh… better leave a few ‘thank yous.’” 

Before you can murmur a response, sharp canines dig into the flesh while his lips pucker on your skin to suck. The sensation is nearly painful but leaves you grinding desperately into his body aching for more. Popping the suction to bite and kiss the skin, before running the flat of his tongue over the marked skin in apology, Suguru trails hot lips to another open spot for him to repeat the process.

It’s dirty and possessive the way he keeps you so obediently still in his hands while his mouth marks you as if it were a brush and your delicate skin an awaiting canvas. Whimpers escape you as he trails onto yet another spot and you’re getting desperate for even more.

Hips jerking forward slightly once more as he runs his tongue flat up your throat, cooling the skin with his piercing, your pelvis grinds into his crotch. Erection straining uncomfortably despite his baggy jeans, Suguru groans at the friction and holds you further still. 

“S-Stop squirming.. Ha..” He pants out while keeping his gaze firmly on your throat with predatory eyes. Tilting your head slightly with his nose to make you face the other way, he dips his mouth back down to the other side of your neck. “Gotta even it out first. Then, I’ll deal with her.”

Mind foggy from the feeling of his lips reattaching to suck mean hickies along the side of your neck, you nearly miss the way one of his hands has snaked down to pinch the bottom hem of your dress teasingly. 

Suguru’s nose tickles the patch of skin under your ear as he bites down under your jaw and leaves a small line of saliva dripping down your neck and onto the plush top of your breast.

“Shit..better clean up.” 

Without hesitation, he chases after his own spit and begins leaving open mouth kisses to the top of your tits. His head is dipped down into your chest, causing his hair to tickle your skin and effectively block the erotic view of his mouth attempting to suck as much of your breast he’s physically able. 

“Suguru–” you whine out pathetically from now above him.

He places a few more kisses to the other breast before chuckling; the vibration between the valley of your breasts leaves you aching for him to just fuck you already.

 “Patience, pretty girl.” He stands up right to tug the straps of your dresses down slightly and guide your arms to shimmy out. 

Once both pieces of fabric fall under your arms, he takes both hands to pinch the top of your dress and tugs down to free your tits. Nipples hard in arousal, you instinctively react to cover them before deft hands catch your own.

“Hey now, why are you covering them up? Fucking beautiful…” he mumbles while releasing his grasp to pinch both nipples and smile when you squirm at the sensation. “Even better than I’ve imagined…”

Instantly he dips back down to suck and bite on your right nipple while his hand kneads and grasps at the fat of the other. Teeth pinch the flesh before rutting his tongue over the nub over and over again before pivoting to repeat the action to the other breast.

Your panties are beyond saturated with your arousal at this point, and the erection in Suguru’s pants looks painful for how desperate it grinds against the fly of his jeans; despite that, he’s set on taking his time. 

After he repeats the action to both breasts for a second time, your impatient hands tugs his hair up to meet your lips. Molding to yours instantaneously, as if they were made to fit together, he sighs happily into you.

Tugging his hair back again, you note the way he nearly whimpers at being denied your lips and stare into his dazy eyes. “Need you Sugu, now.”

In all of his disgusting dreams he’s always tried to forget, Suguru takes his sweeeet time before fucking you sensless. Fingering you with deft hands until you cum and then eating you out to effectively taste every drop of your orgasm is the main appetizer to all of his fantasies; the way you say that stupid nickname leaves him powerless before you.

You always had him wrapped around your finger, even if you never knew it– hell he would kill the world if it made you happy. 

But, using the last of his resolve, Suguru steps back and tries to catch his breath and rationality. He runs a hand through his hair and shuts his eyes to come back to earth for a moment; the two of you in a department store dressing room for fuck’s sake. 

This is not how he planned it– any of it. Suguru had always planned on confessing over a nice evening walk, maybe the ones you always do when the bar gets too hot and loud and you want fresh air. He’d pretend he can’t light his cigarette from the wind and let you do it for him instead; but at the last second he would drop the rolled tobacco from his lips and pull you in for a kiss. 

Then maybe you’d get dinner, and if he was lucky and you were down, you’d go back to his apartment before Satoru noticed you two had disappeared. You be in his bedroom, an album he already selected ready on the player to ease the mood, and he’d be freshly showered and shaved.

But he’s not. 

Instead, you’re both here– in a fitting room with top 40 playing on the store speakers, migraine inducing overhead lights nearly blinding his vision, and he’s not sure the last time he’s kept up appearances down there.

The mood is not set for anything other than dressing room panic attacks. But in this moment, with your hair disheveled, tits pouring out from the hottest dress he’s ever seen, and light pants escaping your swollen lips… Suguru is sure he’s never seen you look so beautiful.

“We… we shouldn’t,” he pants out, trying his hardest to not to take you right here and now.

“W-What? Why not?” you scan his face in search of something that rationally limits the line you’ve both already crossed. With a slight shiver of self consciousness, you fold into yourself slightly. “Am I not…what you thought..?”

The way your voice dips slightly leaves Suguru’s heart cracking and he frantically walks back up. “No… no baby you’re beautiful.. Fucking better than I even dreamed of– I just,” he swallows thickly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Eyeing the way he tries to casually adjust the band of his jeans as if his cock isn’t weeping profusely in his boxers, you take his hand and guide it back to your chest. “Please, Suguru. I want this, I want you.”

Fuck. Any strength left in him is quickly fleeting as you bat your pretty lashes up at him; the sight of you could cause a war in Troy. 

“Ok,” he breathes out, coming to terms that this was happening, and slight performance anxiety building in him. “Ok, let’s do this.”

Smiling slightly, you move to capture his lips and rock into him a few times, but before you can savor the moment, Suguru is dropping to his knees. Blind in desire, he kneels before your thighs and hovers eye level with your clothed cunt; pushing the fabric up, he peers up at your dark thong that's fully saturated in slick. The sight alone is enough for him to chuckle pathetically in a daze.

“All this f’me princess? I gotta say my thanks to her.” 

Taking the flimsy g-string by the gusset and tugging it to the floor, you kick it off your ankles before he pinches the flesh of your inner thighs. Suguru’s thumbs dig into the skin just under your pussy to pry it open just a bit more, running a long stripe of his tongue across the weeping folds.

Tapping your legs to spread a little wider, you pivot to widen your stance slightly before he dives back into your cunt. It’s a kiss against your pussy similar to the one he had given your lips just minutes earlier; closed mouth kisses that suck the arousal from your folds before his tongue snakes inside your tight hole as if he owned it.

Metallic orb rutting around inside you, your back arches at the feeling and your hand grabs a fistful of his hair. Nose rubbing your engorged clit, Suguru rhythmically sways his head to lick every surface outside and inside your cunt. A few thrusts of his tongue for good measure, he rocks back slightly to slowly push in his middle finger past the first ring of muscular resistance. 

“Fuck princess.. So damn tight, don’t know if you can even take my cock.”

Eyebrows furrowing at the words and pleasurable sensation, you whimper from above him. “Please Sugu… need it.”

 A chuckle escapes his lips as he watches the girl of his dreams, who plagued them every night, desperately rutting against his finger while begging for his dick. Returning his lips to suck on your clit as a second finger pushes inside to rub around in search of your g-spot, you throw your head back against the mirror. 

One hand shakily leaves his hair to cover your mouth as he scissors his fingers and rubs his tongue piercing against your clit. Moans threatening to escape your lips are muffled by your hand as he flexes his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion against the rough patch in your pussy.

It’s sudden and intense; your hips twitch against his fingers as your free hand tugs his hair in aggressive pulls. Humming happily from his knelt position between your legs, Suguru pulls an orgasm from you as your cunt spasms from the sensation. 

Panting and attempting to catch your breath as Suguru slides his fingers from your soaked hole and pops them in his mouth before leaning back to slither his tongue inside once more.

The overstimulation has you squirming above him. “Ha…ngh w-wait…haaa Suguuu s’too much..”

He mumbles something from under your dress and it takes force to pull his head back and away from your swollen cunt. Slick coats his chin as he looks in a happy daze up from his kneeling position; his eyes almost scream ‘proud of me?’. 

Suguru is dragged to his feet by your pulls and feeds you your own orgasm with his tongue. His hands rub complacent circles against your pelvic bones and his still clothed erection grinds just below your navel in desperate search for relief.  

“Need you inside me..” you murmur against his lips.

He retreats with a dry chuckle. “I just was.”

“You know what I mean, smartass.”

A coy smirk on his lips, he steps back to slide his belt out of the belt loops and tosses it to the floor. Unzipping the fly and releasing the button, Suguru slides his jeans down and pivots them to the side; you miss the way he kicks your forgotten thong underneath his now discarded pants. 

The wet patch on his gray Calvins’ leaves you pausing slightly at the size your best friend had been packing this whole time. Dark raven hair escapes underneath the band of his boxer briefs and his dick twitches from the way your gaze is locked on the shape.

“This is why I prefer to take my time with warm ups…but don’t worry, princess. I think you should be stretched out enough.”

The coy and egotistical statement partially masks his own insecurity as you pivot to the bench the sits along the wall.

What if you thought it looked weird? If you saw he hasn’t shaven in a few days and get turned off? Or if it’s not up to par with your exes–

The sensation of you tugging the waistband down to free his weeping cock pulls Suguru from his thoughts as he steadily examines your reaction. It’s hard to discern what’s going on in your mind as only one word can be formulated in your brain.

Large.

Had he been sheathing this thing in his jeans the entire time??

Longer than any man you’d been with, though not as thick, several veins run from his lower pelvis to the sides of his shaft. A pretty flushed mushroom tip weeps with precum from the slit while some unkempt pubic hair litters his base and heavy balls. 

Understanding now the feeling of vulnerability earlier when he had pulled your dress down to expose your tits, Suguru can feel himself internally retreating when you don’t say anything. 

Before he can suggest just taking this home and resuming from the comfort of his shared apartment, you lean forward to lick the slit of his cock and plant a few kisses along the shaft.

Shivering from your touch, his cock twitches from its position in your pretty hands. It’s bad. In every pervy fantasy he’s conjured over the years of being your friend, he’s always been the one to make you wither beneath him from multiple orgasms. Not him about to cum from the way you gently jerk him off to test the waters to examine how he likes it.

Gently guiding your hands away, he nudges you to kneel on the wooden bench. “Haa I’ll take you up on that later princess. I just need to be inside you right now.”

Letting him spin you, your arms fold into a 90 degree angle while your knees lift your ass up to meet his pelvis. Calloused hands rub your hips slightly in the doggy position before he pushes the fabric of the dress up once again.

“Wait– do you have a condom?” You mumble while tilting your head back to gaze at the man behind you.

Suguru blinks and snaps back to reality for a few moments while looking down at his discarded jeans. “No…and I don’t have anything to clean up if I pull out…shit.”

He should’ve known that his luck would run out eventually; that there had to be something– 

“Stop by the pharmacy after we leave? Get the uh… plan b pill?”

Suguru peels his eyes back to yours and with more excitement than he meant to show, he nods eagerly. “Yea!... I mean.. Yea, that works for me..”

As dark and mysterious as he always tried to act, he was still your dorkish best friend–well maybe a new title considering the current situation. With a nod in approval, Suguru pumps himself a few times before gliding his tip up and down your folds a few times. 

Knowing lube would usually be needed, he coats himself in your previous orgasm and growing arousal before spitting in his hand to ensure his cock would slide in with limited discomfort to either one of you. 

Pushing down on your shoulder blades slightly to increase the arch of your spine, Suguru lines up his cock with your entrance and begins pushing in slowly. Inch after inch slides inside to the point you’re wondering if there’s any room left in your cunt to accommodate the rest of him.

“Haaa… oh shit– Sugu… ngh” 

“Shhh I know… fuck I know princess..”

By the time he bottoms out and you can feel his pubes tickling the skin between your thighs, you’re wondering if his cock is in your lungs from how long he is. Suguru is faring no better above you; pausing to let you adjust while he breathes slowly to imagine a million different scenarios to prevent him from cumming already. 

The thesis paper he’s been putting off, the weather for the upcoming week, fuck even imagining the boring way his advisor Yaga drones on about his future isn’t working. Shallow long breaths escape both of your lips until you twitch slightly to indicate your ready for him to move. 

A few slow pumps leave his cock sliding halfway out before his tip kisses the opening of your cervix; low groans escape you at the sensation of how deep he was inside you. It was the moment you had shamefully masturbated too countless times, and now it was finally happening as your best friend increases the pace of his dick splitting you open over and over again. 

“O-Oh… Sugu haaa”

Labored breaths echo above you as he takes his white tee into his teeth to provide a better view and muffle the sound of his own moans. Heavy balls smack forward and occasionally graze your click while the wet sound of ‘plap! Plap! Plap! reverberates off the walls.

Hands gripping your hips fall forward to snake around your waist as he folds over to hover his chest over your back; Suguru leans partially on the bench as he increases the speed of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt.

He swears your pussy is made for him; sucking him back in with a vice grip to milk him dry. Your nails are desperately digging into the cheap wooden bench for some sense of stability as the roughness of each thrust rocks your body forward until your tits are smushed underneath you. The angle is sharper and causes his tip to hit your g-spot with a gasp.

“H-Here? … gotta fuck you good right ..ngh here, princess?”

A hand snakes around your throat to lightly tug your head up; impatient for a response, you part your drooling lips to answer. “Yes! Fuck.. yes please… right there– Sugu.”

An airy laughs escapes his lips despite the way his body is twitching, eager for a release.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Hi there, ma’am! Is everything alright in there?” 

The clerk’s voice from before rings out behind the stall door and Suguru nearly trips over you to pause slightly. Exchanged worried glances are shared between you both as he urges you to respond to avoid suspicion. 

“O-Oh, yes! I’m alright, thank you!”

Suguru leans back up to his standing upright position and glances at the door before staring at how your cunt is stuffed so full of his cock. Mind drunk from the way your soaked pussy flutters around him, he begins to shallowly thrust again.

His hand keeps your back in the arched angle when you try to scramble forward from the motion.

“Ok, great! And how’s the size? It’s not too big, right? We have smaller sizes available if you want to try those.”

Suguru has to stop from chuckling and settles for a wolfish toothy smirk as you bite down on your lip to avoid spilling the moans that sit in your throat. A particular thrust has you coughing slightly before looking back up at the man with a competitive gaze.

“No, I’m alright. Thanks.”

The clerk remains in front of the door when you push back on your knees to meet Suguru’s shallow thrust and cause him to bottom out completely in your pussy again. Clenching your muscles to pulse around his cock, he folds forward and bites down on your shoulder to hid the way your name is leaving his lips in puffs. 

He was going to cum. 

Fuck. He was trying so hard to make you cream on his cock first, but the way you’re desperately throwing your hips back to take his length makes his dick twitch in anticipation. That, and the fact that someone could hear and catch you, makes him hornier than he expected. It’s a day full of learning experiences. 

The clerk hums from outside the door about a few other color options before you can hear her heels click down the hallway of the changing room; as soon as her footsteps are out of ear shot, Suguru increases the pace to a brutal jackhammer.

“Shit–sorry princess… haaa gonna cum…gonna fuckin–”

Suguru doesn’t get to finish his sentence, interrupted by the guttural groan that escapes his throat and causes his Adam’s apple to flex slightly. Hips rocking to a staccato, hot ropes of cum pour from his cock and fill your pussy to the brim.

The heat has you whining and craving for your own release as Suguru thrusts himself through his orgasm while catching his breath. Ignoring the way his cock is raw in overstimulation, he reaches down to rub circles on your clit and angle his dick to rub slightly against your g-spot.

“O-Ohhh shit–” you dip your head down between your balled fists of the wooden bench and can feel your hips jutting backward to chase the feeling building in your gut.

“Come on princess…wanna feel you cum on my dick,” Suguru coaches as he whimpers at the way your pussy is flexing and gushing against him. 

He makes a mental note to avoid jerking off before the two of you ever meet– in a desperate need to keep up his stamina to give you multiple rounds next time.

Fingers rubbing your puffy clit, the coolness of his ring making you whine, while his cock is rubbing perfectly against your g-spot is all it takes to make your orgasm wash over you. Hands flexing and grabbing at nothing on the wooden bench while your lips part to pant and moan at the feeling; Suguru rubs a supportive hand on the small of your back under your dress as you come down from the high.

There’s a silence as he slips out with a slight wince and appreciates the ring of both of your cum that smeared along his shaft and forms a ring around the base. Tucking his softening cock back into his boxer briefs, he moves to help you sit upright after admiring the way his cum dribbles from your weeping hole. 

Covered in hickies, knees red from the position, and his semen leaking from your cunt, you sit up in a hazy daze and look up at the man in front of you.

“You alright, princess?”

Blinking slowly and catching your breath, you nod once and come back to earth; you both move to get redressed quickly. 

“What’s with the pet name? I’m not complaining but I just didn’t expect it.”

“Oh that?” Suguru coughs slightly, “I mean…. It’s easier to say ‘you alright, princess?’ than ‘you alright, girlfriend?’ so…”

You pause from the position of reclasping your bra and tugging on your quarter zip to look at him. “Girlfriend..?”

His expression pales as he jumps to get his other leg into the pants sleeve of his jeans. “Oh, did you… did you not want to?”

“No!-” you exclaim a bit too excited. “I mean– I want to date… I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

Suguru sighs in gratitude before buttoning his jeans and pulling up the zipper; once his belt is secured back around the fabric, he walks over to you and pushes a few strands of hair out of your face. A quick peck against your temple, he gives your ass a quick squeeze before tossing you your pants.

“Wait–” you pause before looking around on the floor. Tugging up the now discarded dress to search underneath, Suguru anxiously looks away as you turn to him. “Where’s my underwear…? I could have sworn it was over he–”

“-- We need to hurry and leave before anyone gets suspicious.” He interrupts while picking up your winter coat parka.

You frown and look at your jeans, not particularly keen on ‘going commando’ in denim. “Yea, but what about when we get back to your apartment?”

He places your coat on the bench and holds open your jeans to step into. “We can shower and I’ll give you a change of clothes. Okay?”

You shrug and resolve to shimmy on your pants with his assistance and awkwardly head out of the changing room one at a time to avoid looking strange. The walking stance is wide to avoid an awkward chafe while Suguru guides you to the nearest self checkout.

The process is quick– both your dress and Satoru’s sweater are on sale, and the two of you power walk out of the mall and drive to the pharmacy near his apartment before returning to your friends inside. 

Choso and Shoko sit at the kitchen island in front of a large pizza box while now Nanami and Haibara pour causal drinks for them.

“Oh, when did you guys get here?” you awkwardly ask as Suguru tries to kick off his boot as fast as possible and avoid the suspicious stare of your friends.

Nanami glances between a chuckling Shoko and Choso before turning to Haibara to see if he also knew about what inside joke was being shared. The brunette man shrugs and pays no attention to you as he pulls a slice from the box. “Uhhh, maybe 45 minutes ago? The pizza just got here though!”

You shimmy off your winter coat but ensure your quarter zip is pulled up all the way and shuffle to follow Suguru away from the kitchen. “Oh that’s fine! I’m not hungry right now.”

Shoko smiles as Suguru shoots her a ‘don’t even try’ glare. “Really? You guys were gone for a while. Did you eat anything while you were out?”

Nanami nearly chokes on his beverage, now understanding the implication and horrifically glancing between the both of you while Haibara stands idly in blissful ignorance. “Wait. Didn’t you two go to the mall?”

Wincing at the way your blonde friend stares in disbelief, Suguru grabs your shoulders and guides you to his bedroom. “Yes, we did. Now if you’ll excuse us–”

Walking away, you don’t miss the way Haibara begs Choso to fill him in on what was happening while Shoko tries to get $15 from Nanami as he rubs his eyes in exhaustion. The door clicks behind you and Suguru moves to click on a few table and floor lamps to illuminate the room in a warm glow.

You’ve been here a dozen times, but now the setting feels different; it feels like home as you walk across the plush throw rug that sits beneath his full size bed. Suguru picks an album from his case and plays the record while moving to open the adjacent door to the ensuite bathroom. 

Curious to see what could’ve given away the fact that you two fucked at the mall, you stand in front of his mirror and shriek his name in horror.

“Suguru Geto!”

Scrambling from the bathroom as if you had just been shot, he stands in the doorway and meets your angry gaze before sheepishly coughing. In the reflection, you can see the way your light wash jeans are now saturated at the crotch from the way his and your own cum has seeped out of your cunt and stained the fabric.

On top of that, sitting pretty at the top of his laundry basket are your panties– the ones from your gym bag. Snatching the pairs and waving them in front of him you don’t miss the now obvious bulge in his front pocket and a sliver of black fabric peeking from them.

“You pervert! You’ve been stealing them this whole time?!”

He avoids your gaze for a moment before offering a guilty smile.

“Answer me, Suguru! What do you have to say for yourself?”

He shuffles awkwardly and rubs the back of his head. “Uh, I love you?”

“–No. Besides that.”

Admitting defeat, he sighs and takes the thong from earlier out of his pocket and hands it back to you with a guilt expression. “It’s true you left that gym bag in Satoru’s car… but.. It might’ve been his holiday gift to me…? Ha ha…”

Ok you were definitely going to murder and rob that man when he least expected it. Taking your fingers and pinching the bridge of your nose at the fact your friend had gifted your panties to your now boyfriend, and the fact your entire friend group knew you were together is enough to cause a slight migraine. 

“You know what, whatever. Keep them–” you push them back into his hands and step around him to start the shower. 

Suguru doesn’t hesitate to sock them away in his dresser drawer before you can change your mind and follows you into the bathroom. “Ok… is there something you want?”

Testing the water to ensure it’s warm, you notice the stacked towels and spare clothing Suguru has set aside for you to change into. He watches the way you strip down and silently glances at the shower for permission to follow you in.

Stepping in, you huff with a nod that he eagerly accepts and discards his clothing to join you under the water. Dark raven hair saturates with the water and he tugs it backward to admire the way soap suds of his perfumed shower gel now coat your bruised and loved body.

Gentle kisses on your back and shoulder blades, you sigh in relaxation as his hands massage the tired muscles on your body.

“I got an idea, princess,” he mumbles into your shoulder before spinning you around. “I mean hoodies and sweatpants are yours already, and my car is essential your lost and found so–”

He takes your hand and guides it up to his ear; a variety of piercings and rings are scattered along the flesh. “Pick one.”

You raise an eyebrow and trace his industrial. “What do you mean?”

“Mmm, I’ll change out the jewelry to one with your initial. So pick one.”

Suguru grins with hearts in his eyes as you smile and move to lights touch all of the little jewels and hoops that scatter his ear. Tutting slightly, you withdraw your hand and the smile on his face falls slightly.

He parts his lips to question your choice before your finger slips in his mouth and lightly tug his tongue to fall down past his lower lip. A coy smile on your lips, you raise your other hand and tap the cool orb that sits in the center. “This one.”

Cock hardening at the possessiveness you seem to share, Suguru plants a kiss to your finger and shoots you a toothy smirk. “Consider it done.”

a/n: woooo i finally finished this one!

tbh the plotting for this took longer than actually writing it -> the draft took like 2 weeks and maybe 2 days to actual sit down put it together!

only 2 left in the holiday hoes frat series! but i really like this AU and might continue it with occasional one shots for other themes/characters within JJK

i'm still working on my longer series and regular head cannons i promise~

likes/comments/reblogs all appreciated and i hope you liked it <3

-oatmeal

[viperineee]

𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

older cowboy sevika x younger citygirl reader

you visit your uncle and cousins for the summer, not realizing that they had the hottest next door neighbor you’ve ever seen

cw: drinking, smoking, barely made it up the stairs sex, fingering, oral sex, 69, strap-on sex, reader does the knee thing, age gap (reader is mid twenties, sevika is late thirties, early forties), tension, some time skips, reader is a bold tease, modern au, ps I suck at writing dialogue

“it’s too fucking hot.” you mutter, already complaining and you’ve barely been on the ranch for ten minutes. you step out of the car, using your hand to shield your eyes from the blaring sun above you. of course you’d come on the hottest day of the year.

“well, look who finally showed up.” your cousin, Brandi, greets you, stepping off of the porch. “ready to go home already.” you smirk, wrapping your arms around her when she was close enough. you hadn’t seen her in a few months since she graduated university and moved out of your apartment. “c’mon, it ain’t that bad.” she smiles, looking over your choice of outfit. you wore a thin red tank top with a leopard print bra that peeked over the hem, denim jean shorts that barely covered your ass, and a silver belt with a huge buckle.

“you know i hate heat. i don’t know how you live in this oven.” you check your phone, seeing you had low bars all the way out here. you follow your cousin into the house, greeting all of your younger cousins as you went through.

“daddy! she’s here!” Brandi called through the house, her voice echoing off of the walls. “want a beer?” she offered, pulling you into the kitchen. you shrug, pulling a carton of cigarettes out of your back pocket. you and your cousin catch up, filling each other in on what you’ve been doing the last six months. “oh, so then she slept with him, which was fine if she wasn’t-” you cut yourself off from spilling gossip when the side door opened, a large woman stepping through and holding a box.

she stopped, looking you up and down a few times before your cousin spoke up. “hey, sevika. he’s in the garage i think.” she points her finger towards the back door, and you felt your lips quirk into a smile. oh, she was hot. she was wearing a white wife beater, a few grease stains but it honestly made her look better. she had a few scars, short hair, and arm veins that would give you an orgasm if you looked longer.

“who’s your friend?” sevika asked, jerking her chin towards you. you sip your wine cooler, waving at her with your fingers. “oh, that’s my cousin.” Brandi introduced you, and you leaned forward when you told her your name, tilting your head as you study her. when she went back to the garage, boots thudding against the wooden floor, you sharply turn to your cousin. she read the look in your eyes almost instantly, and she groaned.

“no, no way. she’s like, old, dude.” she fake gagged, and you smile. “you know i love older women. they don’t make ‘em like that in the city.” you turn to the direction sevika had walked, and you jump out of the stool you were sitting in. “think I’m gonna say hi to my uncle.” you wink, and brandi only shook her head.

you happily walk to the back where the garage was, a little sway to your hips as you push open the door. “hey, there’s my little star.” your uncle smiled, holding his arms out for a hug. you made small talk before looking at the truck he was working on. you felt her gaze on you, watching you as you lean against the car.

“nice car, when’d you get it?” you ask, twirling your lighter between your fingers. as he went into the details of the car, you saw sevika place a cigarette between her lips. you couldn’t help but bite yours, tasting the slight minty taste of your lipgloss. she pat her pockets, looking for something. “shit”, she cursed, looking around on the ground. “can’t find my light.”

you step forward, close enough she could smell the sweet cherry perfume you wore, mixed with the subtle smell of cigarettes. you lean down a bit, sparking your lighter so her her cigarette would light. she looked up at you, and you almost stepped back from the intensity of her gaze. “thanks sugar.” she smirked, blowing the smoke from the corner of her mouth.

that was the first interaction. two weeks have gone by since then, and you made it your mission to have her. you went out in dainty clothing, relaxing in the sun despite your hatred for sweating. you laid in the grass on a blanket, wearing a pink bikini top and micro shorts when she came out over to help with the car. she’d occasionally speak, offering to smoke.

you thought you’d never have your chance until one night, when your uncle and cousins went to visit your aunt. they left you in the house, and you wanted to get drunk. so, you did the only logical thing you could think of: you knocked on her door. the sun was going down, and you were wearing a pair of low rise jeans and a black tank top with deftones written in cursive. you held a six pack of beer in one hand and held a bottle of tequila in the crook of your arm.

she swung the door open, holding a beer in one hand. you didn’t say anything at first, too busy openly staring at the sight of her happy trail peeking from the gap between her wife beater and her dark jeans. you licked your lips, lowering your eyes as if you had x-ray vision. oh, she was a woman. you could only imagine what sex with her was like, to have her tall frame hovering over you while tribbing. she was probably a beast in bed, and the way her fingers are? oh, she definitely knows foreplay- “did you need somethin’?” she interrupted your daydreaming and you clear your throat, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

“yeah…yeah, uh, wanna drink? family’s out of the house for a while, and i thought you’d enjoy a beer.” you shrug, waving the beers in hand. she sighed, opening the door wider for you to step in. she guided you to the living room where low rock music was playing on a speaker. you place the bottles down, and sevika groaned internally, seeing the peek of a black pair of panties when you bent over.

“i’ll go get some ice and cups. make yourself comfortable.” she nods towards the couch, walking away before she could act on her urges. you sit on the soft grey sofa, crossing your legs as you twist open the bottle of tequila. you took a few swigs of it straight, wanting to get the worst of it over with already. sevika was taking her good time in the kitchen, and you were already getting antsy.

you pulled out your box of cigarettes, pulling out a joint you had stashed inside. you pulled out a lighter, one you had decorated yourself, and sparked it. blowing the smoke into the air, you listened to limp bizkit’s “break stuff”playing from the speaker. you nod your head along to the beat, and a few moments later sevika came back, placing the glass of ice next to you.

“you know the song?” she asked, sitting down in the spot next to you. you blow smoke out of your nose, coughing at the slight burning sensation in your chest. “i wanted to see them live, but never had the chance.” you clear your throat, leaning your elbows on your knees. sevika was too busy staring at your tits to hear your words, or see you holding the joint out for her.

“you wanna hit this?” you ask again, watching panic strike across her face. oh, she heard that part though. “are you sure?” she asks, and your brows pull together in confusion. “i mean…i have more weed if that’s what you’re concerned about.” you raise a brow, and a beat of silence passed before she laughed. like, an actual laugh.

“i thought…nevermind. yeah, pass it.” she said, shaking her head as she took the joint from your hands. you both talked and listened to music for a while, easily drinking over a quarter of the bottle. your feet, no shoes, were propped up on the couch, laughing over the shit she was talking about people at her job. “i swear, if he raised his IQ points two more, he’d be as smart as a rock.” she shook her head, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray.

“i need some more ice. wanna show me where it is?” you nod towards the kitchen, and she stood up. you extend a lazy hand, too high to even want to stand up, much less on your own. she wrapped her hand around yours, yanking you up with one swift motion. you would’ve flew into the table had she not managed to stable you in time with her arm.

“at least we know those muscles aren’t for show.” you say smugly, patting her bicep before strolling into the kitchen, leaving sevika watching the sway of your hips. “it comes from the fridge. second button.” she points, slipping behind you to press it herself. you could feel the warmth radiating from her body, looking at the frame of her figure out of the corner of your eye.

“thanks.” you mumble, turning while leaving your cup on the tray under the ice dispenser. she looked down at you, grey eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips. your eyes meet for a few seconds, as if you were both thinking about it. “fuck it.” she huffs, her arm wrapping around your waist and she kissed you. you met her lips with eager vigor, your arms hanging off of her shoulders. she took a step forward, pressing your lower back against the kitchen counter. she barely managed to get words out between feverish kisses.

“let’s-go-upstairs.” she mumbled, and you nod, slowly sliding your arms from around her neck. you followed her blindly, both of you a little tipsy and too horny to make it a few steps with stopping to kiss each other. you couldn’t help the alcohol dripped giggles that slipped past your lips as you stumble up the last few steps. it was a mess of sloppy kisses and giggles, Sevika’s belt hit the wooden stairs and your shirt followed soon after.

her room was easily identifiable, the door swung open and the smell of her cologne was most evident. you were struggling with you jeans as you walk into the room, and her hand slid down your back, cupping your ass. “i can’t get them unbuttoned.” you say, your voice light as she buries her face in the crook of your neck. she hummed, guiding you to the bed and sitting you down. you lay back without her telling you to, her hands easily pulling the button of your jeans apart. her hands moved to pull the zipper down, but she paused, looking at something intently.

she blinked once. twice. and then a smile graced her face, the gap between her teeth only adding to her beautiful features. you look down to see just what she found so funny, and that’s when you saw it. the red fabric behind your zipper, sewn in the denim of your jeans. it read “lucky you” with a clover above the words. “fuck yeah, lucky me.” she nods appreciatively, using the hooks of your jeans to pull them down your legs.

her eyes roam your body, from your bra with a diamond logo resting between your tits, to your panties, the boy short style underwear hugging your hips and curves nicely. sevika leans over you, placing heavy and hot kisses down your neck, collarbone, and the tops of your breasts.

you snake your hands behind your back, undoing the clasp of your bra and letting it fall down your chest. her lips immediately latch onto your nipple, her fingers circling the other one. you slid your leg between hers, your thigh and knee rubbing her cunt through her jeans. you felt her pause, glancing up at you with glossed over eyes. you kept your knee at a slow, steady pace while she continued to play and fondle with your chest.

you lift her shirt over her head, tossing it to the side and staring at her bare chest. you were mesmerized by their size alone, mouth watering over the sight of her brown areola. “fuck.” you huff, holding one of her tits in your palm. you meet her eyes, yours clouded with lust. “i need to taste you. please, baby.” you plead, increasing the speed of your knee. she nods immediately, desperately. she stood, working at her jeans while you pull your panties down, kicking them somewhere in the room you didn’t see.

you both moved quick with a hunger, placing a knee on either side of her body while backing up. you licked your lips at the sight of her pussy, covered by thick dark hair. you wiggle your hips, leaning down and pushing your tongue between her folds. you could practically taste the day she’s had, the tang of her pussy filled your senses as you eagerly flick your tongue against her clit. you enjoyed the sight of your pretty acrylic nails spreading her pussy lips apart, giving your more access to her throbbing cunt.

meanwhile, sevika was enjoying this almost way too much. her tongue pushed in and out of your clenching hole, drinking the juices straight from the source. the room was filled with muffled moans and the sound of both of your pussies squelching. you gasp sharply when sevika pushed a finger into you, her tongue flatly rubbing against your clit. if her body wasn’t there, your thighs would’ve clamped around her head. then again, she’d probably enjoy that as well.

you pull your head up for a bit of air, your voice echoing off of the walls of her room. your fingers continue to circle her clit, occasionally dipping in to fuck her pussy. you felt her clench around your fingers, her hips bucking slightly and almost hitting your lip. “gonna cum? already? shame on you.” you tease lightly, suckling on her clit to hide the fact that you too were close to an orgasm.

normally you’d last longer, have wittier comebacks and have shit to say. but, between the weed and the tequila, you would have to save the words you want to say for a later time. oh, cause after one taste of her pussy, you knew you’d be back almost every day before you left. “fuck, sugar!” she groaned loudly, her fingers curling upward as she came around your fingers. you dip your head back down, using your fingers to coax out more of the evidence of her hard orgasm.

you didn’t stop, not until she used her thumb to circle your clit and fuck you with her tongue. “oh-oh god.” you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut as you grind against her face. you sit upright, rocking your pussy against her face to ride out your orgasm. right before it became overstimulating, you got off of her face, kneeling on the bed beside her as you both caught your breath. “do me a favor, sweet thing. go in my nightstand and grab my strap.” she rests her arm over her eyes, pointing to the dark wood nightstand beside her bed.

you got up giddy, searching the drawers of the stand before finding the dark leather harness. you place it on her stomach, and she sits up, her pupils blown. she leans across the bed, pulling out some baby wipes. you watched her wipe down the strap, wiggling in anticipation. “how do you want it?” she looked at you through her thick lashes, but you barely processed her words, your eyes bouncing between her tits and her strap in her hands.

“dealers choice then.” she shrugged, standing up to pull the harness up her legs. that’s when you snapped out of the fantasy land you had drifted off to. you slide across her bed, turning onto your stomach and the balls of your feet pressed into her carpet. “shit, yes. get to see this pretty ass clap when i fuck it.” her palm slapped your ass, leaving a stinging feeling on the skin. she didn’t need lube, you were still soaked from your orgasm. her hands spread your asscheeks apart, watching in amazement as the tip of her cock teased your hole.

“stop-ah-teasing.” you choke out, the girth of it all making you stumble over your own words. dark red acrylic nails gripped the sheets tightly, forehead resting on your forearm as she pushed the entire length in one steady movement. when she bottomed out, she heard the choked whimper escape your throat. she smiled sadistically, her fingers finding your hair and tangling themselves in the strands. “not so cocky now, huh doll face?” she pulled back until only the tip remained inside, and then thrusted herself in until her hips smacked your ass.

“shit! oh, fuck-hah-fuck, fuck.” you melt around her strap, your knees buckling under your weight. her fingers tug a bit, giving you a mix of subtle pain and a shit ton of pleasure. her hand moves from your ass to your hip, keeping you in one spot while she continues her assault on your pussy. “oh, yeah, yeah right there.” you grunt with every thrust.

“yeah? look at you, taking my cock so fucking good.” she praises you, leaning down so her chest pressed against your back. you tried to come up with words, anything to say. your mouth opened and closed, jaw trembling as your mind fails you. “such a pretty thing. been teasin’ me since you got here, wearing those small ass bikinis to lay outside. practically beggin’ me to come and fuck ya. isn’t that right?” she chuckles, kissing between your shoulder blades.

“mhm, wanted your cock all this time. it’s in my fuckin’ stomach!” you cry out, thighs clamping together as you come again. but she didn’t stop, her hands turning you over onto your back. she slammed into you again, a scream unwillingly leaving your throat. “shhh, you’ve been taking it so good. keep going, for me.” she whispered in your ear, leaving kisses and bite marks down the length of your neck.

with tearful eyes, you nod. your shaky hand snakes up her body, resting at the base of her throat while she marks your body as hers. because, even if this was temporary, you were hers for the moment. especially now, when it felt like she was trying to touch your heart with the tip of her dick.

“making me-mmm-cum so good. doin’ so good.” you return her praises, and she licked up your jaw. you turn your head, meeting her halfway to meet in a kiss. it was messy, your tongues clashing and a bit of drool dripping down the side of your lips. whether it was hers or yours was up for debate.

your nails leave deep scratches along her back, angry welts forming against her skin. she hissed, feeling another wave of wetness seep from her pussy. the overstimulation creeped up your legs, the buzzing sensation so reaching your spine. “aw, is my poor baby going to cum again? go ahead, doll face. cum all over your dick.” she urged, her hand smacking your thigh.

“all mine, fuck, all mine.” you groan, your back arching off of the bed. she nods, peppering kisses all over your face. your nails dug into her arms, jaw slack and eyes rolled back as you came for the final time. the cream coming from your pussy coated her cock and dripped onto her sheets beneath you. “oh, gooood job, baby. fuck, so creamy. all for me?” she asked, watching you nod dumbly.

she’d keep going if it wasn’t for the heavy knock at the door. her head snapped up, and she eased her cock out of your pussy before walking to her bedroom window. “shit! your uncles back already. c’mon, sweet girl, sit up.” she quickly tugging the harness down her legs. you had to take a few seconds to register what she said before you jump up as well. “where are my panties?” you look around the room, clipping your bra onto your body.

“take my boxers for the night.” she threw you a fresh pair out of the pack, and you quickly put them on, your jeans following. you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, darkening hickeys forming. “i need a hoodie.” you panic, pulling one out of the closet. you used it to hide your body, specifically the hickeys and the hand prints.

“you can keep that.” she says gruffly, pulling a tshirt over her head. you’d be teasing her about the sweet action if you weren’t rushing down the stairs. you slip your shoes on and sit on the couch just in time for her to open the door. you quickly grab the tequila bottle, taking a shot to act as if you had been doing nothing but drinking.

“hey is- oh, there she is. we’re ordering pizza, you coming?” your uncle nodded towards the house, and you nod, holding the bottle in one hand. “sevika, are you coming?” he asked, moving aside so you can get past. you snort, laughing on your way down the steps of her porch.

“well she was.” you chuckle, and she glared at you while your uncle gave a confused look. “she means that I’ve been drinking, so it wouldn’t sit well on my stomach. plus im lactose, I can’t be shittin’ all night.” she lied, and you turn, trying to hide the shakiness in your legs.

“have a nice night, sevika.” you wave, biting your lip. she nods, bidding you both a good night before shutting the door. your uncle walked beside you, his hand holding your shoulder. “didn’t think you to would get along. glad to see she has someone she finally likes.” he grinned, and you shrugged. “im glad too.”

[crimsonnsstuff]

i’m so obsessed with mean dom namgyu . i keep thinking about working at his club before the games but i’m no good at it . so i’m pulled into his office , bent over his desk being thought how to give proper service AHHHHH

You were at the club, dancing, a cup in your hand. You were wearing black cheetah print fishnets, a dark purple dress, and black boots. The club was packed and music was blasting.

You feel a hand on your hip and you turn around to see Namgyu. He was the owner of the club. You knew him because he was one of your brothers close friends. “Hey there, pretty.” He mutters. You could smell the booze on his breath.

“Hiya!” You answer back. “What do you say we go into my office, huh?” He says. You smirks and nod, he grabs your cup out of your hand and sets it on the nearest table.

He grabs your wrist and guided you to his office, pushing past the crowd of drunken people. Once he gets to his office he pushes you inside and locks the door behind him. You can hear the now muffled music. “Hey, I liked that song too”

His office smelled of cologne and cigarettes. There was an ashtray on the desk beside the stack of papers, you knew his ass knew nothing about out paper work. He takes out a cigarette and lights it, putting it between his lips.

He walks closer to you and grabs your ass. “Jump.” He commands. You jump and he catches you in his arms. He sets you into his desk and he smiles up at you, hands running up and down your thighs.

He hikes your dress up and kicks your legs apart. He looks at your pussy through the fishnets. He smirks and picks you up, spins you around, and bends you over the desk. He impatiently pulls your stockings down. He hiked your dress up. He rips your panties to get to your pussy.

“Hey! These are my favorite panties!” You squeal, cutting yourself off with a yelp as he slaps your ass. “Shut up, slut. I’ll buy you a new pair.” He says, running a finger up your slit and you whimper.

He rubs your clit roughly. He pulls his fingers back and slaps your ass, making you yelp. He puts one hand on your hips. You hear his belt unbuckling and his pants dropping to the floor.

"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice rough with need. "I want this," you breathed out, your hands gripping the sides of his desk. He rubs his cock along your pussy, making you try and push yourself back onto him. “Don’t move, slut.”

With a swift motion, he entered you, the sudden fullness making you cry out, the sound swallowed by another kiss. The rhythm he set was relentless, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His name became a mantra on your lips, the only word you could form amidst the pleasure.

He reaches around and wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you back so your back is pressed against his chest. You let out a scream and he throws his other hand over your mouth, continuing to thrust into you roughly.

You felt like you were being torn apart, his thick cock in your tight pussy. He groans as he feels you drip around him. “You’re soaking my dick, whore.” He growls in your ear, making you whine into his hand.

“I-I’m gonna cum!” You whine, but it comes out muffled. “Don’t you dare. If you cum I swear to god I’m gonna fucking kill you.” He murmers. You try to hold it in, legs shaking wildly, and pussy convulsing around him.

“Cum, slut.” He growls. You didn’t have to be told twice, squirting on his cock while your legs shake. He chuckles and cums in you with a grunt. He slams you back down so you’re bent over the desk again. He pulls out and watches as his cum and your cum leaks out of you like a fountain.

“Such a good little cumdump.”

A few days later you hear a knock on the door. It was early in the morning. You walk down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You stop at the door. “Who is it?” There’s not response.

You groan and open the door but you don’t see anybody. You look down and see a small pink box. You raise an eyebrow. You bend over and pick it up. You shut the door behind you and walk into the kitchen, setting the pink box down.

You slowly open it. You smirk as you see what is inside. It was a pair of panties. They were light pink and they had lace. The lace was a slightly hotter and brighter pink. There was a note.

I like you in pink ;)

You smirk to yourself and run upstairs to try them on.

[verdancepackaging]

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[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔚𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔗𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔥

Summary: Tired of being trapped in the suffocation and monotony of your life, you make the hair triggered decision to abandon it all and escape to an eccentric town in California.

You never expected to get spirited away by a charming man one night on the boardwalk. But you should have known from the look in his eyes that he was nothing but bad luck.

Warnings: Fem bodied reader, fem pronouns. 18+ MDI. Oral (F!Receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, sex outdoors, mild gore (blood drinking). Reader is dodging red flags like it's a profession. Not proofread.

Notes: 14k words. I rewatched The Lost Boys a few nights ago and couldn't resist writing for one of my favorites.

Santa Carla is almost jarring to witness. Even in the day, when the mid sun is bright and blunt on the shifting scape of graffiti and grimy corners and sidewalks marred with old gum, it's unabashed in its abnormality. It's entirely unlike the hushed, quaint little streets of your hometown, with its lush lawns and the little elderly ladies in their Sunday best, speaking amongst each other in gossip that's quiet and passive aggressive. A complete one-eighty of the punks that skulk down these avenues with black smeared around their eyes and worn cigarettes dangling between their pierced lips while they lug old boom boxes over their shoulders, spitting out metal and rock and roll. 

Just the sight of them would have been enough to send the old committee in your town into a conniption, banding together to drive the demonic filth from the city limits. But here, no one bats an eye to this sort of thing. It isn't shocking to the locals to see a man who's old enough to be your grandfather gliding down the pavement in hot pink booty shorts that are tight enough to show what he's packing. 

Your own mother had nearly been sent into a spiral when she had heard about you wearing a crop top - she hadn't even seen you herself. Someone had snitched to her apparently. Your best bet is Audrey. She's always bored on her shifts at the market, sitting at her register with a glazed overlook in her eyes until she manages to find something worth blabbering about. You're sure she had all but flown over to the phone on her lunchbreak to snitch and warn your mother that she had spied you perusing over the ice cream freezers with your stomach shamelessly bared for the entire world to see. 

It's pretty embarrassing to have your mother barrel her way into your kitchenette at the middle of 10 p.m. to scold you for "acting like a harlot." 

But here it's normal. People are dressed in so many different styles. Sporting hair dyed from fried bleach blonde to bright neon green; decked out in leather, ripped jeans; women and men alike strolling around in tight swimwear that leaves little to the imagination with diamond bellybutton jewelry that glints in the sun. Tattoos on tanned skin and manicured nails with leopard print. 

Your mind still hasn't caught up with it all yet. It's like you've stepped into a music video, or another world entirely. It's like the air is permanently charged. Electric and humming, pulsing like something alive. Fluttering in your stomach like a flock of nervous butterflies. But that's probably just the anxiety. You've dangled between pure excitement and tension for the past few days that you've been here. Forcefully fixed there by the stubborn ball of apprehension that's tucked itself behind your sternum like a heavy rock. It's almost makes you nauseous. So caught up in your nerves to truly let go and enjoy the moment. To revel in the reality that you've finally escaped. That you've finally managed to wrangle yourself free of shitty little town in the middle of nowhere and have run off to a place where no one will notice you. Where you can blend into the masses and disappear without the worry of judgement. 

It's just not that easy though. It never is. There's guilt behind your panic. The dread that you've just abandoned her. Left her without little more than a letter tapped to her front door before you shoved most of your belongings into a couple of suitcases, took up all of the money you've saved up over the past three summers and vanished in the early morning without a trace. 

It was dumb maybe. But you prefer desperate. You had to get out. You had to do it while you still had a chance, while you're still young and hopeful. Before Gallatan could eat you up of all your worth and turn you into one of those judgmental ladies perched out in front of one of its buildings with a mean scowl on your face. You had to do something before you lost sight of yourself or became the woman your mother wanted you to be. All barefoot and pregnant with another baby on your hip while your husband - probably Oliver Palmer if she could have a say so - was busy at work. 

The idea to run had snuck into your head, all forbidden and frenzied. You had shunned it for as long as you could, ignoring it while you droned away at your job, pouring the same grouchy bastards' hot coffees and running the same sunny side up eggs and suspiciously damp pancakes in trade for measly tips. And then one day, for no particular reason at all, it had all just become too much. Too stagnant. Too gray. You had to go before you'd suffocate, and that's how you found yourself cruising down the highway with the window rolled down to let the crisp air in, still damp and fresh with morning dew. 

You couldn't look back now. You wouldn't. Still, that wouldn't keep the guilt from biting at you. From nipping at your heart, a little bit at a time. It stung. It twisted in your chest like a knife, your selfishness. But you'd been selfless your entire life. Dating the man she had wanted you to date, taking the ballet classes that she had wanted you to take, wearing your hair up the way she wanted. For once you were going to put yourself first, even if it was a tad foolish. 

Your newfound liberation didn't banish the anxiety away completely though. The first night here once the high had finally worn off, you had been forced to face reality. And the unfamiliar walls of the dingy hotel didn't help, with its shabby wallpaper and linens that smelt faintly of generic detergent and cigarette smoke. It was alien. Unnatural almost, the chirp of crickets traded in for the rhythmic thumping of music pouring out from the bar across the street. You had stayed inside, hidden away by the locked door, trying desperately to tune out the noise of your own scattered thoughts with the audio of the TV. Using the soft, watery light that spilled out from the screen as a nightlight to try and ward off the confusion and unease in the pit of your gut. 

Your sleep had been difficult. Spent tossing and turning on the mattress, its springs creaking lightly with each shift as you tried in vain to ignore your own guilt. Helplessly fighting off the images of your mother pacing about her living room, wearing a pathway into the blush-colored carpet, nipping at the edges of her polished nails with tears in her eyes. The urge to reach over for the landline on the nightstand had nudged at you so insistently that you had to unplug it to keep from dialing her number. You knew that if she answered, if you heard the sound of her voice drifting out in that worried, angry stream that you'd be unable to keep yourself from packing yourself into your car and driving all those miles back to Gallatan. 

The morning after you had been unable to resist the allure of the call from outside. Like a slave to your impulses, you had allowed yourself to get caught up in the magnetism of it all. It's as though the scent of the sea had coiled around your throat, salt and wind taking ahold of you to usher you into the wonder of it all. You had spent the entire day exploring all of the shops that Santa Carla had to offer. Everything from quaint little outlets full of sage sticks and minerals that claimed feats such as granting fortune or banishing negativity, to music shops, and boutiques with lingerie and toys that you'd only ever seen in Playgirl magazines and cheesy sex tapes hidden in the back of your town's video store. 

It was a wonder in every corner. Everything in the imagination placed to draw your attention. To lure you in. And it had succeeded, stringing you along. Like a moth drawn to dazzling lights you had let it take you. Santa Carla is always a spectacle, but at night is when it truly comes alive, and the boardwalk is the pentacle. It's as though the entire town is lit up in a thousand individual pyres, burning and flickering, a kaleidoscope of neon and thrills. 

It sounds dramatic, but your first night on the boardwalk had nearly left you breathless. It was a place that's likeness you've witnessed in movies, or maybe the pathetic little county fair Gallatan throws each year. But the tiny kiosk of buttered corn-on-the-cobs and the pony rides are nothing in comparison. 

You had felt like a kid in a candy store despite your initial apprehension. Once you had seen it in all of its glory, wooden pathways swarming with chaotic masses, and carnival games and seedy stores adorned along the streets; sugar and salt and the musk of weed tainting the air in a distinct brand all cultivate to create a unique kind of charm, you had been unable resist.  

Like thousands before you, you had fallen for Santa Carla, like a mouse falling into a vat of honey. 

And it doesn't take you long for you to give in a splurge a little, ignoring your limited funds in favor of spoiling yourself. It's only something small, like finally trading out the pair of corduroy pants that you'd worn for years in favor of a couple skirts. Your favorite is lightyears away from anything you would have been able to wear before. Tight, dark, buttery leather that molds smoothly to your hips. Just low enough that you don't feel exposed but still skimming up past your knees. It's beyond any of the clothes that you had allowed yourself to purchase, but it feels nice to wear. Even though you still find yourself subconsciously tugging the hem down every once in a while, there's something undeniable freeing about wearing it. Like some kind of middle finger to all of the people who had kept you stunted and trapped. And as a final fuck you, you had immediately tossed your old pants in one of the trashcans settled outside the shop. 

You've been out here every night since, basking in the energy and the buzz that prickles over the boardwalk. A sort of treat for yourself after spending all of the hours in the day job searching, walking into all of the vintage themed diners and hole-in-the-wall thrift shops to turn in your applications. You don't have a long-term plan as of now. If you're planning on staying here. If that's even a possibility for you. But it'd be nice to have some extra cash while you try and figure that out. Something to keep you afloat while you try to course your future. 

Tonight is just as charged as last night. Shifting and alive with the bodies of tourists and locals alike, all looking for entertainment. You wander aimlessly, people-watching as you go, admiring the different kinds of groups as they all meander around in search of excitement. Children clutching onto the stuffies that their parents have won at carnival games; a gaggle of girls laughing happily as they cling onto each other as they navigate through the crowd; a couple walked by you in a rush earlier, the boyfriend spilling out what sounded like desperate apologies that were going completely unheard. 

Despite the speed of everything else around you, you're content to take your time, strolling around while you idlily drink your soda from the cherry-colored straw. You aren't in any particular rush to get anywhere. The dusk is still visible, occasionally peeking past the buildings and the horizon above the sea, all thin and dusty in a rich blue. You have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself, at least for now. You have no desire to go and hold yourself up in your dingy hotel room, clicking through basic cable to try and find something worth watching while you hopelessly chew through another cheap delivery pizza. 

The excitement is contagious out here, and you're in the mood to indulge. You let your feet carry into a record shop, a quick glance at the magenta neon sign above declaring it as one of the many music shops displayed along the boardwalk. The cashier posted behind the front desk shoots you a lazy nod before quickly returning to the porn mag boldly held in his hands. You grimace when you see it, but it doesn't keep you from drifting further into the dimly lit depths of the store, glancing over the many aisles of records as you go. 

You've burnt yourself through most of your music, playing them ceaselessly in favor to listening to spotty radio stations that turned to static whenever you drove through mountains. If you hear another song off of Like a Virgin you might actually lose your mind. 

It takes you a moment of searching the place before you find the cassette tapes, most of them organized in the back of the shop in shelves secured to the walls. The variety is a little overwhelming and the flimsy laminated signs taped above the racks did little to help. Either people have just been shoving tapes back wherever they fit, or the employees have been doing a lousy job of organizing the shelves, because despite claiming to be arranged by genre, you've found Metallica mixed in with Duran Duran, and Def Leopard and Anthrax placed with Prince. 

It doesn't bother you much though, and you keep searching over the massive collection of music, stepping around other customers and squinting through the dim golden lighting to read the album names properly. You barely notice it at first. A light brush along the back of your neck. A pressure that prickles and skips down your spine. It's so soft that you almost mistaken it for the press of your shirt nudging at your back, but it feels different. 

Like the weight of a stare. Warm and insistent. It has buried animal instincts welling up to the surface. It's kneejerk when you sweep a searching glance over the few people dotted around the shop, skipping over faces that don't meet your stare. They're all caught up in their own personal bubbles to notice your discomfort. 

Somehow, it only makes you feel more on edge. Viewed by a potential danger that you can't see. You don't know why it makes your breath snag, but it does. Someone is watching you. But no matter where you look, you can't find them. It has your mouth running dry, even while you assure yourself that it's nothing, nervously tapping at the straw in your soda to distract yourself. Something electric is trembling down your spine, magnetic and alien. It grips ahold of your neck, looping around your throat like static fingers, catching you on a string to tug you around on your feet. Your focus shifts somewhat frantically, with the hope to reassure yourself that no one might be sneaking glances at you, and then, your stare is suddenly moving all on its own. When you notice him and you have to wonder how you missed him in the first place. 

He's standing off on the other side of the store, separated by rows of music. You notice his fingers calmly flipping through vinyl's, the silver rings banding his fingers winking softly in the red neon spilling out from behind him. Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they continue in their sweep up to admire more of him. He looks like a rockstar. Like he had leapt out from an album cover, with fluffy long blond hair. It's messy, spilled out like a lion's mane, wild tips glinting in shades of gold and the cherry red that's projected from the neon. 

The first thought you have is dumbstruck and a little captivated: He's gorgeous. He looks like the type of guy that would be spotted making out with models at some exclusive Hollywood club, not here in some dingy shop with a blow-up doll and random movie posters taped to the ceiling. 

His eyes shift up then, sudden and unwavering as they land directly on you. It's shocking as they pin you down, prompting a tight gasp from your lungs. His stare is firm but playful, shooting through your body like an electric current. You turn back around like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't, latching you attention back onto the cassette tapes like they're some sort of lifeline all while your cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

You didn't miss the amused smirk that had nudged at his lips before you looked away. Almost as though he was expecting you to have been admiring him, all cocky. Self-assured. The hazy air seems too thick now, the ting of cigarette smoke stinging at your lungs is all acrid and heavy. You could choke on it, but you're determined to remain in place. You keep still, secure in your spot as you search the disorganized tapes. Seeing but not really noticing them anymore, the letters and titles all melting into nonsense as you tap at the sweating paper cup clutched in your palm with your fingertips. 

You don't know why you feel so nervous. You haven't been like this since your first crush on Christian Bakely. It's bashful. Almost timid like a juvenile, fickle attraction that you have when you're young. It makes you want to scold yourself for developing some sort of superficial, puppy love for the first hot guy you've seen since you've left home.

You will yourself to move down the aisle a little more, going slowly to at least try to appear unbothered while you've become horrendously aware of yourself. A part of you entertains the idea of leaving. There are a million other stores just like this posted along the edges of the boardwalk, but you're quick to squash down your unease. You aren't going to run out over something so stupid. He's probably already forgotten your blatant staring anyway, traded in his amusement in favor of flipping through records and forgot that you even exist. 

You try to do the same. 

Your attention perks up when you notice a tape that gets your focus and you're quick to pluck it free from its place wedged between the rest. You listen to the song pumping softly from the overhead speakers, falling back into the gentle lull of it all. The delicate hum of the crowd shifting just outside, the chill of the hard plastic casing in your palm, the sweet syrup of the soda on your tongue as you take another sip. It's gentle. Calm in a way that isn't curated. 

"Nice choice."

The voice drifts from over your shoulder, but before you fully register it, you're already jumping. You think your heart skips when you do, fluttering briefly as you jolt on your feet. 

"Jesus Christ," you hiss through your teeth. You can't hide the glare on your face when you turn to look at the figure standing beside you, but your mind just about falls silent when you realize that it's the pretty blonde that you had been gawking at. 

"Shit. Sorry, that was my fault." He holds one of his hands up in a placating gesture, like you're some cornered animal that might startle otherwise. Except he doesn't look all the apologetic. He's smirking, almost like he's pleased. Eyes all bright with mirth like you've done something funny. "Didn't mean to make you jump." 

You don't believe him. 

"It's fine." You offer a weak smile, torn from your nerves which are frayed between adrenaline and the warm flutter in your chest. Somehow, he's even prettier up close. His features are sharp with a strong, a straight nose that connects to high, pronounced cheekbones like you've seen on old statues. His lips are plump. Rosy and pink. But it's his eyes that really get you, glittering faintly under the light in a blue that's too soft for the mischief lurking around the edges. It takes you a moment to remember what he had initially said, and you have to all but wrangle the delicate thank you out from your throat. All while you know that there's no way in hell that someone like him is listening to Cindi Lauper in his free time. 

He doesn't look like any of the men from your hometown. Most of them were just as clean cut and blue-collar as the rest, with worn steel toed boots and baseball caps smeared with grime and sweat. They were handsome in the well-mannered, country kind of way. Hats off at the dinner table sort of guys, even though more than half of them have wound up drunk and lost in someone else's field more than once. But this guy was the type that you've been a victim to fantasizing about more than once. Helpless daydreams about unobtainable rockers. 

You can smell his cologne with how close he's placed himself next you, rich and masculine and heavy with something that smells earthy. Damp like dark soil. It has your mouth going dry. It you want to lean in towards him to draw more of it into your lungs, but thankfully you snap out of it before you could actually act on the urge. It makes you horrendously aware of the face that you're staring at him again. 

You snap out of your daze, casting your attention back over the shelves to keep yourself from shamelessly ogling him any more than you already have. God, you're like some lovestruck middle schooler all of a sudden. 

"You're not from around here, are you?" He remains at your side, nearly brushing his arm with yours while he briefly pulls a tape from its shelf before poking it back in. Something tells you that he's pretending to inspect them just as much as you are now. 

"What gave it away?" You dare to shoot him a glance. The tension that had turned your muscles taught finally beginning to thaw. 

"Nothing," he shrugs. Then he's shooting you another lopsided grin. " I'd just figure that I'd remember seeing a babe like you walking around." 

It's undeniably corny, but there's something in the way that he delivers it, the way that he carries himself that sells its charm. You find a weak laugh bubbling from your chest, still nervous but also reluctantly content. You shift down the aisle a few feet and like a brand-new shadow he follows. 

"I bet you say that to all the tourists that come through here." You draw another sip from your drink, and you're a little disgruntled to find that it's almost empty. 

"I may have used it once or twice," he admits. There's no hesitation when he says it, still displaying as much ease and bravado as he has been. 

"And has it ever actually worked for you?"

"I'd like to say that I'll be successful for a second time, but I guess we'll see how tonight goes." 

The look you give him is playfully unimpressed, openly toying with him in a way that seems oddly natural. All of that pervious uncertainty shifting and melting down into something new but fluid. His eyebrows perk up in mock disbelief, an arm raising to flatten a palm to his chest as though he's shocked by your answer. 

"Damn, shot down already." 

"Afraid so." You mirror his shrug from earlier before slipping around the corner made by the edge of a rack, continuing in your search. It feels a little like a chase as he trails after you, all lazy in his pace but no less motivated to keep you in his sight. 

"So what brought you to Santa Carla?" he asks from behind. 

"Kind of just passing through, I guess. Needed a break, you know." 

He nods like he might understand. "Well you lucked out coming here. There's always something going on; parties, drugs." He pauses for a minute. When his voice dips out its right up against your ear, coiling low and dark to tremble down your spine. "Murder."  

You spin around to face him then, a gasp snagging in your throat. But when you see him, he isn't close behind you at all but a few feet off. He almost seems delighted to have your focus back on him. Confusion nestles in the back of your mind. You could have sworn that he was directly behind you. That you had felt the subtle weight of his chest on your back, the brush of his breath on the nape of your neck, but he would have had to have leapt back to be standing as far away from you as he is now. 

Odd. 

You clear your throat, trying to collect yourself as you latch back onto the memory of his voice. "Wai- Murder?" 

"Oh yeah, people die here all the time." It's almost bored how he says it, like his discussing some monotonous fact and not tragedies. "It's like a nightly thing." 

You wait for some kind of a punchline. Or some reassurances that he's only joking but it doesn't come. He must pick up that you're expecting some kind of explanation, but he must find it funny because that smile is back, just hinting at the corners of his mouth.  

"Murder capital." His eyes get a little big when he speaks, somehow entirely serious and teasing all at once. "There's been talk for years about anything from a reclusive serial killer hiding away in the hills to a black market, or maybe devil worshippers." 

Figures that in an attempt to escape from your old life that you'd manage to flee to a place where killings are apparently "a nightly thing." An extreme exaggeration you hope. You can practically imagine your mother laughing at you, all snark as she revels in your less than stellar luck. Like some kind of joke from the universe. But now that you think of it, this town would be a prime place for a black market or a cult or whatever. With the massive influx of visitors that rush through here in the summer, it must be easy to snatch people up off the streets without too many noticing. 

He laughs at your troubled expression. The silver-plated belt that he fashioned to the shoulder of his coat chimes softly as he shifts himself into your space with a grin, flashing teeth that look sharp. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe." 

You still haven't entirely adjusted to his blatant flirting. Sure, you've encountered your fair share of horn dogs at your past job. Men who would leave their phone numbers on their checks or shamelessly stare at your tits and ass while ordering. Still, you never had someone approach you out in the open like this, apart from maybe at the bar when egos are high and liquored up.  

But he's clearly confident. Dripping with a roguish charm that's magnetic. You could almost call it intoxicating, the energy around him is palpable. The way he moves is rushed and light, like a puppy that's too hyper. 

"I think I'll manage on my own." But there's no snark in it. It's friendly. A warmth that he shares as you both exchange smiles. You pluck another cassette from its shelving, one you'd been eyeing during the conversation, but you can't manage to pry your attention entirely from him. "I mean, I don't even know your name. You could be a murderer or some cultist creeping around for his next sacrifice." 

"You found me out," he teases. Eyes shimmering and blue, all mischief. "There go my plans for the night." 

"Sorry about your luck." 

He shakes his head. "Nah, it's good. Besides, I think you might be too cute to cut up." 

"Oh, well thank you so much," you gush in a mimic of appreciation. 

"Of course," he jokes easily. He's holding a hand out then, his voice just a little bit more authentic as he waits for you to take it. "The name's Paul." 

You have to tuck your empty cup in the crook of your other arm to accept it. When you do it nearly shocks you how chilled his skin is. His fingers are cold, palm smooth and almost icy against the warmth of your own, but you don't pay it too much mind. Instead you give him your name, speaking it softly through a light smile. He repeats it under his breath, and you try to ignore the pleasant ripple of heat that runs through your body at the sound of it. How he cradles it on the tip of his tongue like he's testing it out and found that it tastes sweet. 

"So, are you still looking for some excitement?" 

You fall silent, eyeing him a little suspiciously. "It depends. What did you have in mind?" 

The grin that spreads across his face is much more puckish. Much more so than the ones before it. There's almost something dangerous there. A darker edge to his stare like you've lit a fire in him somehow. He nods down to the tapes clutched in your hand, and before you can realize it, he's taking them in his own. 

"These are the only ones you want?" he asks, backing away from you. It leaves you confused, watching him with your words lost in your throat. 

"Uh, yeah?" 

He hops back on his feet like an excited kid, jerking his chin like he wants you to follow him as he continues to walk backwards in the direction of the register. He doesn't pause for you to catch up, suddenly twisting on the heels of his boots. He acknowledges the cashier as he draws closer to the direction of the counter, but his lips have drawn up tight like he's repressing a laugh. Like he's in on a joke that you aren't. 

You feel like you're being guided by an invisible string as you urge yourself into a hesitant walk, squinting at him through a bewildered stare as you quicken your pace to keep up. But he doesn't switch gears to approach the register at all, instead he's making straight for the front door of the shop. The employee must come to the same conclusion as you do, because suddenly he's dropping his magazine to stand up from his chair with a jerk. A loud shout already raising up high to demand Paul to stop. 

Paul only tosses you a look over his shoulder, glancing back at you like he's confirming that you're still trailing after him, and when he sees you, he flashes an impish thousand-watt smile.

"C'mon! We gotta make a run for it."

And then he's bolting. Lurching towards the door with quickness of a high-strung dog let off its chain. A part of your brain stalls, and for a moment your body follows suit, freezing still for less than a split second but it feels like an hour as your mind splits down the middle between two decisions. The clerk is screaming, clammy skin flushed red with anger as he attempts to climb over the front counter like he means to body slam Paul in a tackle. But he's already shoving the glass door open, the bell above sounding his quick leave in a metallic cry. 

You should stay back. Keep far away from the random stranger that picked you out in the middle of a random store and is attempting to shop lift your cassette tapes, but before you can properly decide, your body is already in motion. You can hear your feet thumping across the carpet as you rush over to the door that's beginning to slip closed. 

"Oh, you fuckers!" The clerk yells so loudly that you're sure he's probably spitting. There's a violent clatter as the tray of lighters that were beside the register make contact with the ground in a messy thump. It has all the impact of a gunshot, and it's all it takes for your system to flood with a burst of adrenaline. You slip through the door before it can close in on you, escaping out into the chaos of the night like a bullet. 

Paul grips your arm once you're out, using it as leverage to guide and pull you through the oblivious crowd. He's cackling and howling into the air like a madman, practically skipping as he tugs you forward. You think that you might be laughing too, but it's hard to tell through the blur of it all. The world around you is a rush of colors, lights and sounds. Someone thumps against your shoulder as Paul ushers you through the sea of bodies, but his grip is firm, fixed tightly around your wrist like a cuff. 

The voice of reason chants in your head for you to jerk yourself from his hold. To vanish into the cover of the crowd and pretend that tonight never happened. But you don't do that. Against all common sense you allow yourself to be spirited away by some giggling maniac with a pretty face. 

His eyes are wild as he looks back over at you, the reflection from the lights of the nearby amusement park rides glinting bright in them. Everything about him might be a red flag, but like a fool you find yourself chasing after him. Running towards the rush; the excitement sparking under your skin and turning your blood white hot. He lifts the cassette's up, still secure in his hand as he waves them in the air like trophies. 

You aren't sure how long you two keep running for, but eventually you both slow to walk. The even pace allowing you to catch your breath as he guides you to a set of motorcycles that have been parked along the edge of the boardwalk, the back wheels nearly pressed up against the wooden railing. He releases your arm only so he's able to circle around the one at the end of the line with red rims.  

He holds your stare as he swings a leg over to mount the seat, making himself comfortable on the bike. Only then does he hand you the cassette tapes back, and you take them with shaky fingers. A product of the adrenaline that still thrums through your limbs like an electric current. You make sure to tuck the tapes safely in your jacket pocket. It seems dangerous to accept them. It feels good too. 

"You know, if you were trying to impress me, you didn't have to all that." 

"No?" his eyebrows perk up. "I wish you would have told me sooner then, babe." 

"Oh, so it's my fault then." 

"Nah. I steal shit all the time." 

You can't help but to scoff. Still, there's a bit of a genuine laugh in there too. He hums lowly, leaning forward to hang his wrists over the support of the bike's handlebars, spreading his thighs to get comfortable. You almost hate how pretty he is. It isn't normal. There are bonfires burning on the beach down below. The pyres reaching high enough that the light casted by the fire spills over his hair like sunlight, gold and amber and red. He almost seems otherworldly. Like a spirit that's been raised to tempt you. To lead you astray. God, you think you could let him. 

"The question still stands." He tilts his head, watching you expectantly. "Still lookin' for a thrill?" 

Time pauses again, churning down into a placid stream. This is another moment when you should say no. And it's right there, held just at the base of your throat. A small puff of air and the word slip out, materialize out on the warm summer air with a punch of finality. That's all it would take to cut this night short. To put a cap on all of it, bottling it all up so you could let it collect dust and become a distant memory. 

The voice of reason, bearing a striking resemblance to the sound of your mother's, echos in your head. Chanting from the sidelines for you to back away from him before he drags you down into a pit of trouble that you can't crawl out of. But when has doing anything she's wanted you to do gotten you anywhere? 

"Yeah, I think I am." That's your answer. 

"What are you waiting for?" 

He scoots himself forward, straightening his posture a little and slipping his hands around the handlebars. It's a clear enough invite, and you don't let the air around you both stagnate. You grimace a little when you drop your empty soda cup on the ground, leaving it to drop while you move to lift an arm up to grip onto his shoulder. Using it for stability as you swing your leg over the seat of the motorcycle. He doesn't waste any time starting it, kickstarting it before you've even sat down on the seat. 

You try to be mindful of your skirt as you lower yourself down onto the leather cushion. Tugging it down as low as it'll sit while scrunched up around your spread thighs. 

The bike is loud. It's engine purring in a great roar, metallic and sharp in your ears. It thrums under your legs, almost like a living, breathing thing. Pulsing as the engine hums and spits. You're quick to slip your arms around his waist, ignoring the stubborn layer of hesitation lurking underneath the exhilaration of it all. You cling on to him, shamelessly tucking your chin over his shoulder as you drape yourself over his back. He doesn't seem to mind, passing you a joyful glance, turning his head just enough that his nose almost brushes over yours. 

"Don't be shy now. Better hold on tight." 

That's the warning you get before he revs the engine, sending the bike into a jarring lurch. You yelp when the bike blazes off like a rocket, squeezing your hold around his middle tighter to keep yourself from blowing off the seat as he swerves it down another strip of the boardwalk. 

He's laughing again. Sounding like a madman as he suddenly directs the motorcycle to the left, smoothly jerking the front wheel to dip it into a turn. Your heart falls down to your ass when a descending staircase drops down in front of the bike. It seems as sudden and daunting as a cliff, but you don't have time to shout. Your cry stays lodged in your lungs, and you only have enough time to tuck your head into the crook of his neck, hiding your face in his hair just as the bike speeds down the steps in a quick glide. The bumps are just barely felt by the speed that he's gunned the motorcycle into, but it doesn't stop your stomach from flipping. 

He might be laughing, but it's difficult to tell if the vibrations rattling his ribcage are from the engine or not. But based off of what little you know of him; you wouldn't put it past him in finding your panic funny. 

The tires meet the loose sand with a brief drag, spinning for a fleeting second as the bike darts off like a bat out of hell. Once you can feel the solid ground rushing beneath you, you're able to get yourself to lift your head up from the safety of his neck, peeling your eyes open to sweep a cursory glance around your surroundings. 

You see the bonfires first. Burning and twisting in the night like glowing spires, flickering in molten amber towers that reach at the sky. People are scattered around them, some holding beer bottles while they dance. You can't hear it over the howl of the wind in your ears but you're sure that they're all laughing. All barely holding in their mirth as they cavort around the fires. And you can smell the smoke in the air, spicy and pungent, melding with the salt of the beach. 

It all passes by in a blur, the ocean little more than a pale, twisting smear. Foam tumbling over sand. But the rest of the water - what lies beyond the waves, is a vast black. Stretching out farther than your eyes can perceive. You only get hints of it in the traces of moonlight crossing over the water like silver lace. 

The nervousness coiling in your gut finally begins to unwind, and the tight grip of your arms around his ribs follows, slackening just enough for you to slip your hands up to his chest instead, letting you sit up just a little straighter. It makes you extremely aware of how scant the tight fishnet shirt he's wearing truly is. You can feel his skin from between the mesh netting, trepid and soft on your palms. Your fingers flex, the urge to remove your hands bolting up as though you've touched something hot, but somehow you find yourself hesitating. You don't remove them. And he doesn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. Weaving the bike through the bonfires scattered around the beach and coasting it just a little too close to the people walking and dancing around on the sand. 

He just narrowly misses running over a few of them. Calling out an unworried, "Get out of the way!" when he nearly clips a guy in the shoulder and sends him diving on the ground to avoid being struck. The man's angry shouting trails after you both, a dim, warbling sound that's quick to die over the wind and heavy rumble of the motorcycle. But Paul's laughter almost sounds louder than all of it. Pitching high over the balmy night air like the cackle of a coyote out on a hunt. 

You feel a little guilty, but you can't keep yourself from answering with a similar laugh, all light and airy. Welling up from your chest with an ease that makes you feel alive. It's like you've shed a skin, almost. It's easy to pretend that you're flying. It feels like you are, with the wind pulling at your clothes, nudging at the shape of your face like the sweep of prodding fingers. You can't really remember a time when you've felt so far above the world, miles from your worries and insecurities, soaring past the anxieties that keep you awake at night.  

You twist back a little to look over your shoulder, emboldened by the rush in your veins to watch as the man clumsily scrambles up from the ground, kicking up a spray of dirt as he lifts an arm in the air to flip you both off. 

"Sorry!" you yell after him, but it doesn't keep you from smiling. 

Eventually Paul veers off of the beach, cutting through a parking lot that he uses to merge onto a vacant street. The boardwalk grows smaller and smaller behind you, the lights of the rollercoaster and rotating Ferris wheel growing dim until it's hardly more than a few faint dots in the distance, just barely peeking out over the roofs of buildings. He shoots through downtown, blowing past a redlight without any care. He doesn't slow a single time, ignoring the speed limit like it's merely a suggestion. The way he drives is insane, and it makes you wonder if he has a license at all. Probably not. 

Uncertainty unfurls when the houses making up the edges of town grow sparse, thinning out until you only pass a few odd little homes bordering the edges of the backroad he's taken you on. You ignore it when he turns his bike, veering off the worn asphalt and onto a dirt path. It looks well-traveled enough, thankfully. The headlight on his motorcycle spilling over the beaten dirt, highlighting the prints left by a vehicle's tread that seems fairly recent. 

Apprehension prickles at the nape of your neck, that old instinctual feeling again. It weighs a little in your gut like a physical thing. Your brush it off, telling yourself that you're only being paranoid. But a pair of animal eyes peek out from the field growing on the side of the road, glimmering in the passing headlight like a couple of coins; it seems like a bad omen. 

You keep your voice trapped in your mouth, letting your concerns fall silent as he guides the bike up an incline, driving it up a path where tree branches stretch out like reaching fingers. It's like you've been holding your breath, keeping yourself suffocated as the motorcycle eats up the ground, powering up the hill until it levels out into something flat. You see immediately why he brought you here. 

From this high up, you can see it all. The entirety of Santa Carla is laid like stars glimmering in the night. Streetlamps, porchlights, and the entire boardwalk flickering in the distance in shimmers of gold and silver. It looks so small from this perspective. Like the little model towns that your grandfather used to make in his basement. Like you could walk right up to it and place a building in your palm. It's a stunning view. One that makes you wish you were able to take a picture of for safe keeping. 

You've hardly noticed that he's parked the bike, stopped it close to the edge of the hill and killed the engine. But once you realize the silence it becomes heavy. But not necessarily in a way that's uncomfortable. It's a blanket draped over your shoulders, soft and inviting. You have to remind yourself to move, unmounting the bike to stand up on legs that have become weak from the heavy thrumming of the engine. 

Paul's quick to follow, shifting up with an ease that you're a little jealous of. Your muscles feel like Jello. It makes you quick to walk over to the picnic table positioned out in the center of the barren lot, settling yourself up on the weathered wood to shake some feeling back into your legs. Paul is fast to follow, practically skipping over, jewelry jangling as he jumps himself up on the tabletop. He begins absentmindedly picking at the chipping old paint, tearing it from the notches that have been carved into the wood, defaced to immortalize the initials of lovers.  

"What did you bring me all the way out here for?" you ask. 

"This is one of the nicer spots in Santa Carla. Figured I'd show you." 

"Oh, yeah?" you tilt your head, rotating a little in your perch on the bench. "What's the best?" 

A smile pushes at the corners of his mouth. It's another one of those amused, secretive little looks. Like he's in on something. "Maybe I'll show ya some time." 

"I'd like that," you agree. There's a small bout of silence then. You've gained the feeling back in your legs and it inspires you to sit up from the table, stretching out your limbs as you approach the rounded edge of the hill. A delicate breeze rolls up the slop, shuffling the leaves with a delicate hiss, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the hint of the ocean. It such a simple thing but it abates some that paranoia, loosening its talons, even if just a little bit. 

The weight of the cassette tapes in your pocket press against your stomach. Nudging there like a reminder. It has you glancing back over your shoulder, and you see that he's already watching you. The way he holds himself is relaxed, but there's something intense reflecting in his gaze, burning and hot. It makes your heart skip a beat, body flushing with warmth. It could be the shadows, but you think his smile grows. 

There's a flash of his teeth. "You'd have to stick around for that." 

He doesn't wait for your response as he shoves off of the table, bounding from it with a jump that rattles the silver on his chest. It's like you're both magnetized to each other, unable to stray far now that you've crossed paths. A part of it is almost frightening. You've had crushes of course. A couple random fling before, and a relationship - as complicated and fleeting as it had been, but you can honestly say that you've never been so swept away by a guy. Never enough to that'd be willing to become an accomplice in theft; never enough that you'd get on the bike of stranger and let them carry you off to spot in the middle of nowhere. It's as though all of your common sense has been picked up and dumped out on the ocean tide. Even worse is that you really don't care. 

Maybe you're just caught in the whirlwind of it all. Spun up by the excitement of finally being able to do things on your own terms without the worry of hundreds of people watching. Or maybe you're just addicted to the discovery; when you look at him, all of those concerns seem to melt away. Thinning and evaporating like snow in the summer sun. It's terrifying. It's thrilling. 

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't." 

It's almost as though he takes it as a challenge, stepping into your space like it's where he belongs. His cologne sweeps back over you again, bold and muddled with the spice of tobacco. Combined with his proximity it makes you a little dizzy, fingertips prickling with warmth as he fixes you with a stare that seems the seize you, burrowing down like he's cradling some delicate, wild piece of your soul. 

You just barely notice when his hand slips into your coat pocket to grasp the tapes tucked inside, like he's confirming that you still have them. He seems pleased when his fingertips slide over the hard plastic covers, as though it means something to him. His face hovers just a little above yours, noses nearly brushing. With the glow of the moon emitting from above, it makes it easy to see how his gaze flickers down to your lips. Like he's considering if he should try kissing you or not. You don't think you'd mind if he did. 

"At least you'll have something to me remember me by," he muses softy. 

"I haven't known you for very long but believe me when I say that there's a very slim chance of me forgetting you." 

Emboldened by your response, he cocks his head, daring to lean forward just enough that you can feel the faint press of his lips on yours. Not kissing, but just enough to tease the possibility. It's a little pathetic how something so simple has heat licking through your veins. The line you're treading on feels dangerous. Like you're dangling on the edge of some unknown territory. And you are. But what makes it so particularly daunting is the uncertainty of where this might go. 

Something about Paul is already addictive. Like a shot of liquor after a long week. You've always been the type to keep yourself from getting too attached, but he's like an adrenaline rush. It'd be so easy to get hung up on a guy like him, and the last thing you want to be is one of those women lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling while they fantasize about the one that could have been. Spending the remainder of their years living back in the memory of that one night in the past. 

He's a temptation that you've never had to face before. Bursting into your life with all the subtly of a firecracker, abrupt, explosive and invigorating. You want to hold onto that. Grip it tight with greedy fingers and enjoy this - whatever this is - for all it's worth. 

He speaks then, his voice has dipped into something low and hushed. Almost like a secret being exchanged, a promise being made. "I'm happy to hear it, but I like to be thorough." 

You think he's the one who kisses you first, but you really can't be sure. It a little daunting, how it completely sweeps you up. There isn't any of that dramatic stuff, like explosions, or fireworks, but something about it just feels right. It already makes you breathless. Time stretching out and yawning, heat draping over your body like you've been dipped in warm honey. 

The way he kisses you is starved. Passionate and fast like he's trying to have all of you at once. His teeth nip at your lips, a sting that he soothes with the tip of his tongue when you gasp. There's hardly any build up. He approaches it like he seemingly does everything else; just pure intensity as he reaches for you with eager hands that seem to be everywhere all at once. Squeezing at your hips, pressing down at the base of your spine to mold you close to him, and then he's cradling your jaw with chilled fingers. 

You can't help moaning into his mouth, a quiet noise that's still definitely heard if the way he smiles into the kiss is any indication. You aren't bothered by his smugness though, only encouraged by it. You slip a hand over his stomach, feeling the lithe muscle under cool skin. It's cute when his abdomen twitches under your palm. He reprimands you by biting at your lip again, only enough for a slight sting, but you really think that it was only an excuse for him to dip his tongue into your mouth, letting you fully taste each other. 

There's the subtle sugar of something sweet on his lips. Probably some kind of treat from back on the boardwalk. It mixes with the distinct rich pepper of tobacco, all warmth and cream on his tongue, but there's the edge of something almost metallic lurking beneath it all, almost as though he's been sucking on pennies. It isn't enough to be distracting, and you can't be bothered to pay it any mind as he turns you around without breaking the kiss to blindly back you up until your lower back nudges into the rough lip of the picnic table. 

He practically mauls you once he has you pinned, consuming you with a hunger that's infectious. It has you tugging at his hair, clawing your nails through the thick of his soft waves, dragging them along his scalp and it rewards you with a throaty groan that has sparks shooting up your spine. He must enjoy it because he's breaking his mouth away from your and immediately latches it onto your throat. The scratch of his stubble as you arching into his body, your head lolling back to bare more of your throat which he quickly takes advantage of. His tongue laps out at your skin like he's drinking up the subtle salt there, sucking softly like he wants to brand you with the shape of his mouth. 

The gasp that leaves you is wrangled when he wedges a thigh between your legs, bending his knee to press it flush against your cunt. Your grip on his hair squeezes tight. Holding on like it might help keep you grounded. Like it might keep you from float up to the heavens. The weight of his leg on you makes you cruelly aware of the wet patch that's dampened the center of your underwear. It's a little embarrassing, already being this worked up by a little making out, but he lights you on fire with a frustrating ease. It's unfair how he's already taking you apart piece by molten piece. 

He licks up the base of your throat, sucking at the edge of your jaw before he speaks against your skin like he doesn't want to pull away. "Can I eat you out?" 

You swear the question could have knocked you out. He says it casually, but his words are slurred. Almost like he's drunk. It's all moving so fast. Your head is spinning, and your heart is racing, chugging blood through the same artery that he traces with his tongue. It's hard to remember how you've gotten here, curled up in a stranger's arms while he grinds his thigh between your legs. This night has gone completely off the rails. Hurtled far past a simple night out to a haze of chaos and heat. It doesn't really make any sense to be here right now. 

But when Paul manages to tear himself away from your neck to meet your stare something seems to fall into place. You don't think you'd want this night to have gone any other way. 

There's a desperation glimmering in the blue of his eyes, bright and hungry. It has you contained in place. Swallowed up by the fervor in his expression, the gluttony in how he holds onto you. 

At this point you don't think it needs to be said, but you find yourself nodding anyway. "Yeah - yes. Fuck, please." 

He flashes you a grin before he's dropping down onto his knees without any fanfare. You decide to help him out a little, planting your hands onto the tabletop to heave yourself up on the surface, spreading your legs open to make room for him. It's brazen, the short length of your skirt scrunching and riding up high on your thighs, flashing the pale fabric of your underwear. His attention zeros in there immediately, stuck between your legs with an intensity that's almost concerning. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat. All splayed out. It's a compromising that almost has embarrassment creeping beneath it all, but there's a perverted brand of delight on his face, and it's mixed with a strange kind of sincerity that has that shame fizzling out. 

He slips a hand up to cup the back of your knee, lifting it up to hook it over his shoulder so he can trail kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. It's much slower than the starved bites and licks that he had given you earlier, the ones that you can still feel on your neck, aching dully from where he had sucked. It's like he's teasing you now. Too caught up in his own desire to indulge you yet and it feels like torture. Just the weight of his head parting your legs open, the brush of his wild hair against your skin has you flushing with heat. 

Your hips rock on their own, rolling in an effort to seek out friction that isn't there. The press of your underwear on your cunt is like a taunt, applying a barely there pressure that has your lungs skipping with a silent gasp. 

You don't expect the smack that he cracks down on the outside of your leg. It's more surprising than painful, but you jerk anyway, subconsciously trying to escape the smarting that fizzles across your nerves. The look that you shoot him is one of shock, but he doesn't look the least bit apologetic. Expression all smug as he presses his lips down on the crook where your leg joins your pelvis. Slipping his tongue out to lick at the tender skin there, running it along the seam of your underwear. 

"Feelin' greedy?" he smirks up at you, looking so smug that it nearly irritates you. "There's no need to flip out babe, I'll give you what you want." He kisses you over your underwear, gripping both of your knees to spread you open wider, giving him the room to nose at your cunt from over the damp fabric. There's something so vulgar about the way that he mouths at you while you're still wearing panties, circling your clit with the point of his tongue before flattening it to suck through your underwear. 

It makes your spine bow, fire and smoke blazing up your back and smoldering beneath your skin. There's a plea right there, just at the base of your throat but thankfully you don't have to voice it. He slips both of his hands under your underwear and tugs it down roughly, giving away his own impatience as he moves back just enough to be able to rip them down past the heels of your shoes. 

You're pretty sure that he pockets them, bunching them up and stuffing them inside his coat. But you don't get a chance to scold him - not that you would if you were able - because he's dropping his mouth open to lick a stripe up your bare cunt, splitting you open on his tongue. It has your fingers flexing, dragging your nails over the edge of the wood in a wild claw to have something to keep you anchored. It doesn't do much though. Not the chipped, textured paint under your palms, not the faint chill of Paul's hands clamping down on your skin, it fades out into a meaningless blur. Distorted to the sidelines as your brain blocks everything out, banishing it all into a muted background noise as the sensation of his mouth commands all of your focus. 

It's mindless how your body chases after its pleasure, your hips attempting to thrust under the unforgiving hold of Paul's hands to build the pressure coiling hotly in the base your abdomen. His grip is practically steel bands, vices around your skin to hold you open and immobilized while he torments you with the ceaseless drag and curl of his tongue. 

"Paul, come on, please," you beg. Panting out into the sultry summer air. It's stupid how easily he's pulling noises from you. Tense, breathless moans that drift over the hilltop in a shameless stream. It almost makes you a little thankful that he drove you both out here in the private little lookout, far away from potential witnesses. Based on the joined initials etched and written into the wood, presumably with pocketknives and permanent markers, you'd wager that this is a popular date spot. A cute little place for couples to admire the town lights and take advantage of the privacy while they hookup. You definitely aren't the first person to be splayed out here on this table. A part of you wonders if you aren't the first person that he's brought out here. 

You try to ignore the flickering of something stinging and unwelcome that lashes its way through your chest. It's obscure and startling, blinking in and out like a ghost, and you're quick to snuff it out. To turn it over and ignore it entirely. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that it felt suspiciously close to jealousy, but that's a route that you aren't going to dare to go down - a load of baggage that you have no desire to unpack. Not for a stranger, no less. 

Your hand pries itself from the edge of the table to grip onto his hair, fingers slipping down through his roots to thread through in the way you think he likes. You're almost instantly gifted with a pleased groan and his tongue dips inside of you, lapping up your taste like he's starved for it. 

You nearly sob when he pulls himself back from you, parting his lips from your cunt just enough to mumble out something; his voice slurs, thrumming against your clit as he speaks. "Don't worry about being rough, pull harder if you want." And then he's smothering himself back between your thighs. You do as he says, mostly out of reflex as he traces over you in tight circles that has your nerves running hot, your muscles burning as though you've been submerged in steaming water. 

A finger prods at your cunt, running up just along his mouth to get it slick enough and then he's thrusting it inside without little warning, filling you up with a smooth stroke. You moan out raggedly when he suckles at your clit just as he crooks his finger, brushing it in deft swipes. Your grip locks on tight in his hair, digging in through long, golden strands while he practically turns you inside out. Your grasp has to be painful, but he doesn't seem affected by it in the slightest. His effort actually seems to double each time your fingers tug and claw, like he might like the sting. 

You don't know why you enjoy the thought of that, but you do. Your hips jerk sharply at the idea of it. Of how he might react from your nails slashing down his back, leaving red cuts behind. Reminders of you on his body. How he'd sound while you bite bruises on his neck and shoulders; the bursts of red and plum placed where they would peek out from the worn collar of his shirt.  

"Oh, my god - Paul." 

You can already feel your orgasm rising up, winding up your body in an almost violent twist. It's eating at you rapidly. Climbing up at a rate that you can hardly track. You can feel yourself tensing; each individual muscle drawing up. Your lungs squeeze in your ribcage, rendering you breathless. You turn into a broken record, a stream of words and his name spilling out of your like a chant. It hits you like a freight train. Searing and rippling up your body in a splashing of stars that leaves you keening into the open air. 

He doesn't part from you, coasting you through the remnants of your orgasm with the stroke of his fingers and tongue, sucking steadily at your clit until your thighs shake. You have to tug him away by the grip on his hair, pulling his head back sharply to give yourself relief before the pleasure could become too much. He yields to you reluctantly, nipping pointed bites up the tender flesh of your legs as you drag him to stand. 

You feel almost outside of yourself as you grip onto his shoulders, clutching onto his coat while he crawls himself over you, notching his hips against your own like he belongs there. You're still floaty from your orgasm, pleasure thrumming and hopping along your nerves in a pleasant buzz but somehow you still want more. It burns and burrows deep in the pit of your stomach, lighting a fire in your veins that you haven't felt in a long time. Not like this, at least. 

His lips crash against yours in a meeting of teeth and tongue. It's almost animalistic, how you both reach for each other. His hands are all over you again, grabbing at everything he can like he's trying to commit the shape of your body to memory, like he wants to brand the warmth of your skin on his palms. And you're just as desperate. Your own slip down as a pair, reaching with trembling, frantic fingers for the buckle of his belt. You struggle blindly with it for a minute, fingertips slipping uselessly over the smooth metal from the way they tremble. You'd swear if your mouth wasn't occupied.

You can taste yourself on him, just subtly sweet and smearing on your own lips. It's dirty. Filthy, but it only makes it hotter; the very idea of breaking the kiss seems like torture, so when he huffs a laugh in your mouth and tries to pull away to help you with his belt, your other hand moves on its own to cradle the back of his skull. Keeping him pressed to your lips with an annoyed groan. 

"Don't." You demand into the kiss, nipping lightly at his pout to draw him back in. He complies easily, but that doesn't stop him from laughing a little. 

Finally, you manage to slip the leather free from buckle, tugging it loose from over the prong to pull it open. And then you're fumbling with the zipper, tracing over the metal teeth to find it, tugging it down like it's molten on your fingertips once you do. You're almost delirious with a single goal, slipping your hand down inside to feel him, and you don't hesitate to take him within your palm. He hisses lowly when you grip him, thrusting up in an uneven grind to chase after his own pleasure. 

He pants into your mouth when you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, smearing a drop of precum to aid in your glide and it makes the clutch of his fingers around your hips squeeze. Bordering close to almost painful, but the ache of it ebbs into an afterthought. He's thick in your hand, so hard that it has to be uncomfortable. You take pity on him, unable to string either of you out any longer than you already have and take him out of his pants. 

He moves like a man possessed now, slipping of his hands down lower to hitch your thighs high around the trim length of his waist, and then he's reaching down between the thin gap of your bodies to bat you hand out of the way, taking ahold of himself. Gripping the base of his cock to slide it between your legs, grinding the head against your clit in teasing strokes. It makes you whine, the sensitivity from your orgasm lights over you like small bolts of electricity and yet you find yourself raising your hips to chase after the feeling. 

"Gonna let me fuck you?" He scatters kisses along the corner of your mouth and the edge of your jaw, much too tender and saccharine for what this is. Cradling you like a lover would despite the ardor and desire saturating the air like the perfume of whisky. It makes a pathetic little piece of you melt, turning syrupy and pliant like a strip of wax held over an open flame. 

You find yourself nodding, swallowing thickly as you try to find your worn voice again. "Yes - just stop teasing." You lock your legs tighter around him, drawing him in closer, aiding his cock in grinding over your pussy like it'd help urge him along, and luckily for you it seems to snap through the rest of his restraint. There's no warning as he guides himself down to your entrance and drives himself inside in a single stroke. 

He punches the air free from your lungs as he buries himself to the hilt, the both of you groaning in relief through the stretch. He's so deep, holding you open around his girth, and you know that you're going to feel him for a few days after this. You hope that you do. You want this night to be vivid in your memory for as long as possible. You want it tattooed into your skin, stained behind your eyes like watercolors, sunk bone deep. 

You can't remember the last time you've been able to exist beyond the pressures and judgement of the world. A thousand miles above prying eyes, confiscated within the hushed intimacy of your own bubble - except for the first time in what might be forever, you aren't alone in it. It's a shard space, gone from quiet and lonely to fiery and scorching. Howling in the dark. You think it's too late. You really are going to be one of those women staring up at the ceiling, fantasizing about that one perfect night from a decade ago. But right now, you really don't give a damn about that. 

All of the thoughts rattling around in your brain are turning into mush, liquifying like hot sugar on stove. It's like you've been engulfed. Ate up by the wet bite of his mouth on your throat, the persistent weight of his hands clumsily tugging up at your shirt and bra to ruck it them over your breasts. He doesn't take his lips off of your neck once; it's like he's been captivated by the smooth stretch of skin, lapping the flat of his tongue over the column of it like he wants to stain the taste of you on his mouth. But it doesn't keep his hands from taking greedy handfuls of your breasts. 

You gasp when his chilled fingertips squeeze around the shape of them, the frigid rings around his fingers force you to gasp and arch into his palms. He plucks at your nipples, circling around them in tight circles that has your voice pitching as he drives his cock into you. The way he fucks you is unrestrained but no less practiced, burying himself into you with calculated strokes that have you tearing at the seams. 

You don't know if you've ever felt so full, so spread out in your entire life. Granted you aren't the most experienced person. A lot of your practice coming from an ex that frequently left you high and dry and a couple of flings you met from the bar. One of which wasn't the most satisfying affair considering that his roommate had burst in before things could really get good. But Paul has to be the first guy that's ever really taken your pleasure into any real regard. All the others were quick to get you off with a sense of obligation, as though your pleasure was transactional so they wouldn't feel too much guilt for using you to get themselves off afterwards. 

He fucks you like he wants to. Like he's hellbent on making you cum as quickly as possible. Like he needs your pleasure to satisfy his own. 

"You're so hot," he groans. His teeth clamp down on the muscle in your neck like he might tear flesh, inspiring a muted ache up your neck but he lets go before it becomes too violent. His voice is all gutted, like he's growing drunk on the bliss cutting though his body. "Fucking squeezing me." 

He sounds just as wrecked, and it you can't help how your cunt clenches down tight around his cock, strangling another rough groan from the base of his chest. The small silver plates of the ornamental belt he has fixed to his coat dig into your exposed skin, pinching at your abdomen from how closely he pins your bodies together. It's like he's trying to join the two of you together, pressing into you until you live in the same body. 

You tear uselessly at his shoulders, digging your nails into the thick material of his jacket so wildly that you think you'd probably be able to rip it. You pant into his hair as he laps at your jugular, breathing in the fresh, chemical fragrance of the hairspray that styles the soft gold in selfish gulps. All of it cumulates, tiny little elements stacking on top of the other until the ecstasy starts to raise again. Maybe it's just riding off the afterglow of the first orgasm, but somehow, this feels like it's going to be stronger. More devastating than the one that still hums under your skin. 

You almost mourn that you're so close already, and a part of you tries to shun off the thick rapture building between your thighs entirely. You don't want this night to end yet. You aren't prepared for the awkward silence that will inevitably come next. You don't want to live through the silent ride back into town, where he'll drop you off at your ramshackle hotel room and presumably drive out of your life forever, leaving you to stand outside on the balcony outside your door while you listen to engine of his bike fade out and grow silent like a dying pulse. 

But he seems bound and determined to have you reach your high. One of his hands strays down from your chest, sweeping low until his knuckles are dragging over your clit in firm figure eights. A moan shudders through you, your ribcage wracking from what almost sounds like a sob. He doesn't let up though, driving you directly towards a yawning precipice that promises to swallow you up whole, and you can't do much else but cling onto him like he's a buoy in a storm. 

"Paul - I - " 

"Let me feel it. You're so close, baby, just let go." He bites at the shape of your ear; voice low and rich as he fucks himself into you like he wants to watch you black out. "I want to feel you cum all over me. You can take it." 

Like a slave to his voice your body draws up tight, muscles bunching up to strip you down of all you're worth. You kind of hate him for hurtling you towards the edge already, but you can't keep yourself from chasing after it. It's dirty, the cum between your thighs squelching lewdly each time he plunges into you, his skin meeting yours in damp smacks. And yet he cradles your cheek like you're something delicate, running the print of his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone in a gentle brush. It's all a juxtaposition of the other, and it has you crumbling. 

"You'll taste so good, just let go for me." The fires burn a little higher, white-hot and lashing, turned into an inferno that uses your bones as kindling. His teeth drag over your skin, sharp points gliding over flesh. You don't remember them feeling so lethal, like they could rip you open with a single touch, but it's hard to focus through the haze of it all. He bites deep and you swear that skin gives under the pressure, nerves lighting up light they've been doused in fire, parting like butter under a serrated knife, and the world erupts in a flurry of embers.  

This must be what it's like to be struck by lightning, static curling your toes and fingers, cosmos bursting in your eyes. You think you might scream. A chorus of his name that sounds like a prayer and a plea for help all at once as rapture's injected directly into your veins. It's almost brutal as pleasure rolls its way through you, seizing you up and stripping you to piece like a burst of dynamite. Just like before he fucks you all the way through it, pumping himself deep inside until he shudders, cock twitching inside of your cunt as he spills over into his own orgasm. 

It's almost abrupt how he drops you both back down onto the support of the table, leaning his body over yours like he's gone boneless. Crowding you in with his weight while he continues to grind himself against you without pulling out, drawing his pelvis on your overstimulated clit. You moan at the static searing through you, writhing under his body as he guides out your pleasure until it stings. 

But you can't find the strength to stop him, staring past his shoulder and up at the sky while your thoughts spin and flatline. You feel like you're floating, admiring the way the stars above twinkle and shift in an iridescent sheen with a drunken kind of fascination. You've felt good after sex before, but you've never been reduced to a state like this. It's like you're no longer in your body, tethered to it only by a thin, pulsing string, almost giddy from the pleasure. 

It's like you've been cocooned in warmth, something alcoholic tingling at your fingertips as he sucks and laps at your throat. Groaning softly while he cradles your skull, just barely thrusting himself into you like he doesn't want to stop. And despite how sensitive you've become; you don't think you want him too either. You're sense of time has gone all fuzzy, turned sluggish and pleasantly warm as you drift on your high, all loose limbed and heavy. 

It could be seconds or hours before he finally parts his mouth from you, a hollow sting digging into your neck as canines slip free. It's strange. Far from the bites that he had scattered over your throat before. It feels deep. Like he'd broken skin and pierced deep. He still hasn't pulled his face from the crook of your neck, licking up your throat like it's layered in sugar. Your skin is warm. A starling sensation against the weird chill of his tongue. Damp and hot. For a moment you think that it might be his spit, but it's not cold enough for that, trickling lazily down your throat like a slow leak. 

You're face pinches in confusion and will yourself to remove your arm from around his shoulder. An almost herculean task considering that your limbs have turned to lead from the dopey effects of your orgasm, but you force yourself to move. Years have passed by the time your fingers curl around your neck, dragging over your damp flesh to collect the liquid that's smearing over it. 

You blink sluggishly when you raise your hand up over your face, trying to focus past the blur that smudges around the edges of your vision. For a moment you think that you're hallucinating it. That the dark liquid staining your fingertips, glittering in the dark, tinged red and running hot from your body heat isn't real. You're trapped as you stare at it dumbly, horribly transfixed by the thick of it dripping down the crook of a finger in a single rivulet. 

You think your heart stops, a wild panic setting in as you scramble beneath him to try and slip free. But suddenly the comforting weight of him is now as unyielding as a snare. A cry locks in your throat, snagged behind the catch of your quivering lungs. 

A hand catches your wrist as you struggle, silver jewelry winking in the dark like a warning, horrible talons sprouting from its fingertips. It paralyzes you in place, the ice pumping through your frantic heart, turning your lethargic limbs into heavy stone. 

It's then that he chooses to lift his head from the vulnerable stretch of the throat that you had offered so foolishly, placing a kiss to the ache that you now know is bitten flesh. Your thoughts run into scattered cries, a litany of voices rattling around in your skull like taunts and yells. Shrieks that chant, told you so, over and over again in a bitter, acidic stream. And then you hear the echo of his voice. 

It's like a nightly thing. 

God, he had been toying with you this entire time. 

You can't escape. Too weak to move. Too overcome with fear - drained and so wrung dry that the adrenaline singing throughout your system falls useless. Your bones tremble with a broken cry, tears tainting your waterline, but even that isn't enough to keep you from seeing him as he is now. The logical part of your brain scrambles to find reason, but there is none as flashes of burning amber pin you down - the eyes of an animal's, peering from a face that's gone bestial. Inhuman. A demon's face stretched over a human skull; jaw smeared with a rich red like a feral dog that's been feeding on a fresh corpse. The smile that you had once loved is now tainted. Ruined by the blood that soaks his mouth; lips peeled back into a grin. But that charm is ruined, stretching into something sadistic and sharp, violent teeth baring in the dark. 

It's cruel when he guides the hand that he has caught within his own up to his mouth, easily bending your limb, overpowering you as though you aren't resisting him; made instead out of weakened clay and not muscle and bone. He snickers when you try to jerk your arm from his hold, like you're a mean kitten that he's picked up by the scruff. 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart." 

You don't believe him. And suddenly the conversation you had back in the record store seems like a twisted joke. You think back on all the smiles he had passed you then. Like he was in on a joke that you weren't. But now you are and it's like the universe is laughing at you too for being so dumb, digging the knife in deeper for being so naive. The cassette tapes in your pocket are now as weighted and crushing as stones. 

His tongue slips out past his mouth, lips parting as he takes your fingers into his mouth, licking up the blood there like it's something precious. A drug in short supply. Despite the amusement glinting in his eyes, there's an unmistakable fringe of something intense and determined peeking through it all, as though you've made a bargain that you didn't know you were signing. Etched out your name in blood and written over your soul for the taking. 

"I think you're too sweet to part with, babe. " He places nauseatingly tender kiss to the palm of your hand - a mockery, and dead in the center, where you'd maybe slice your hand for a blood pact, and you know now that you aren't going to escape. At least not with your life intact. His eyes gleam like gold. Like two roaring fire pits. Hellmouths opening wide to consume you, bones, blood and all. 

"I think I might keep you."  

[promise-of-soup]

If you’re comfortable ofc could we hear your hc’s of what the ghouls may be hiding in their pants? 🫣

(You can do the whole cast or just a few of ur favs, it’s up to you. Luv ur writing btw!!)

Ok, this has been in my inbox for a while, and I do want to respond to it because 1. thanks for the ask, 2. my brain has misunderstood this SO BADLY I JUST HAVE TO DO IT I AM SORRY ANON!! I wanna say this: I am comfortable writing stuff like this but I lost my Penis Specialist Certification after "the incident" (I am really bad at thinking about penis stats because like, if I like the penis haver I like the penis) so I would recommend asking a true specialist rather than a feeble Certificate-less freak such as me, HOWEVER:

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you REALLY excited to see me?" What is your favourite Ghoul hiding in their pants?˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

✿Synopsis: men. they have... pants? what is in these... pants?

✿aka: Find out what your favourite ghoul is hiding in their pants for the low low price of 0 doler

✿Tags? THIS IS NOT SMUT OR NSFW, this is PG13 because I say the word "frick" at some point, mentions of PANTS AND WHAT IS WITHIN THEM

✿Notes: my sense of humour is fucked up I am sorry anon, thank you for requesting, and please enjoy this :)

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Jin: NOTHING. literally, this man has nothing in his pants. His pockets are slung out most of the time and are empty! his wallet is somewhere else but I am not telling you where.

Tohma: he has a neatly folded yellow sticky note with a reminder or an email address or something random, a half smoked cigarette, a bottle of medication, and a loose glasses cloth that is somehow still clean.

Lucas: the gateway to a pocket dimension of infinite shortbread biscuits. Not really. BUT HOW DOES HE KEEP PULLING SO MANY OF THEM OUT?, he also has a cloth napkin, and a little british fork for some reason, he also has several receipts but they are all neatly folded and organised. he also wears funny boxers, but that's a conversation for another day.

Kaito: a mass of things that have melted and glued together. it's just a clump of something. mysterious clump. he takes it out to look at it and puts it back in because there's no trashcan nearby so what can a guy do? it whispers at him and beckons him "feed me father~" whenever he has new trash and can't find a trashcan, because that thing has been there. it has seen things. Oh, and how could I forget that he has a gacha capsule with a little figurine of a cat in it.

Alan: an embroidered handkerchief, a wrench, a crumpled half-torn note that says "REMEBR" but not what to remember or when or huh?, and a box of mints. He's neat though, it's nice in his pocket, 10/10 would recommend.

Leo: Vape... another vape... another vape... something that looks like a vape (but is a bullet vibrator), another vape, another vape, portable makeup mirror, hair comb, mini body spray, packet of gum, another vape, kpop-style photocard OF HIMSELF, portable selfie stick, powerbank phone charger.

Sho: small notepad with an attachable pen with grocery lists inside of it, keys.

Haru: mysetrious pieces of animal feed, a bunch of random paper clips and bits of paper, the wrapper to a candy bar, a used scratch card, a fuck ton of keys on a key holder, people's phone numbers, a printed out picture of Ren and Towa that he took without their premission, extra gloves, keychain of a horse, some loose change.

Towa: blades of grass, dried flowers, squashed fresh flowers, random bits of paper, a part of a textbook he tore out (like, just the edge of it), piece of bread, strawberry, the colour pink (idk how he got the colour pink)

Ren: portable phone charger, loose potato chip, video game keychain, headphones that are tangled, headphones that are not tangled but tangled with the tangled headphones that are tangled, small framed picture of Haru that Haru gave him and keeps putting back into his pants whenver he takes it out.

Taiga: an actual gun, a bottle of lube... I will not eleborate.

Romeo: a 1,154,820 yen designer wallet that is really only big enough to hold a single credit card, but it is there... condom, a spa leaflet, a bundle of money (to throw at people if he needs to), random casino chip that fell in, confession note he received from a general student and never opened, a really cool lighter.

Ritsu: he does not have pocket organisers but it sure looks like it, he might as well have a filing cabinet in there, because how tf does he have a neatly folded pile of recipets, a wallet organised alphabetically (all "C" for card), voice recorder, and a clear handkerchief that is always clean no matter how many times he's seen using it. One thing he doesn't have in his pockets? corruption. His pants are a place of justice.

Subaru: you'd think he has things in his pants, but he does not have things in his pants, don't ask him what is in his pants because there's nothing there, how did you even notice that there might be something in his pants, he is NOT carrying anything there... fine, it's a scrunched piece of paper... are you disappointed in him?

Haku: A cool gemstone, a condom, a piece of wood (idk why), dirt(?), the pile of paper, he does not empty his pockets, so after washing them and whatnot, the pile of paper is actually just weird little pieces of paper that are impossible to remove.

Zenji: air.

Edward: there is... an alluring sense of.... BONE? SINGULAR BONE. And wittle pwinted pictures of kittens :)

Rui: extra pair of gloves, a PILE of people's phone numbers on slips of paper, a notepad and a pencil.

Lyca: chewed up pieces of paper, a pencil he took from someone in a lecture once and never returned, a cool rock he found on the ground, feather he found on the ground, plastic fork that has been bent, and a piece of cardboard he accidently tore off a food box and stashed in his pocket to make sure no one sees it.

Yuri: two small glass viles that clink together when he walks, a note he scribbled with his awful medical handwriting about something random, one yen bill, Jiro medication (medication for Jiro)

Jiro: stray Yuri hairs he bunched into his pocket because he didn't know where to put them, a neatly folded receipt, a note telling him to buy more tea, a note on what flowers to get for Yuri, a multi-tool, extra rubber gloves, a dirty mask that he folded, glasses cloth, random piece of metal.