#drunk direction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strawberriesandhotmen · 5 months ago

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Hypnotic

a/n: This one is based on a request one of you lovelies sent in! Absolutely ate down with this, baby, I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope y’all like what I did with it. This did take me way longer than expected, exams on top of work and everything else is a lot babes. I didn't put any of the other boys in this one because I didn't really see how to put them in. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy it, love you babies 😜

pairing: fratboy!dom!Niall Horan x fem!reader

CW +18: swearing, oral (m receiving), piv unprotected (wrap it up!), dom Niall, reader gets really fucked out and cockdrunk because it’s Niall obviously, degrading (not much, slut is only used like three times I think), praise (we can have both, shut up), Niall is COCKY and we love it

word count: 4.3k

You hated this fucking bar.

You came here for a drink. One. Singular. Drink. Not an endless barrage of insecure members of the male species unleashing their arrogance on you.

It was exasperating, to say the least. Really, how difficult could it possibly be for a man to simply ask you out? Must they, instead, employ foul innuendos and caress you with their grubby hands, as if that would make you more inclined to their advances? If they did believe that, they were so painfully incorrect.

A couple of them had, admittedly, caught your eye, but the moment they opened their mouths the mirage had been spoiled. The story of your life, frankly. When wasn’t a perfect vision ruined by reality?

Most of the men had kept their attempts relatively tame, with one or two drunken exceptions. That was to be expected, of course, but not tolerated in the least. What woman would find an absolutely plastered stranger fumbling for the zipper of her dress in the middle of a bar even remotely attractive, or wanted for that matter? No one you knew of.

You hadn’t even come here in search of a one-night stand. You hadn’t even worn your sexiest dress, for fuck’s sake. It seemed only the seediest of patrons had chosen this location tonight. To be fair, you had chosen it in a rushed reverie to achieve some semblance of rest after the day you’d had. Rest, unfortunately, is that last thing you were finding.

“Two Guinnesses,” A voice sounded from beside you, the thick Irish accent slicing through the din to reach your appreciative ears. It was nice to listen to. Furtively, you shot a glance at the stranger, catching a few blonde tips in your peripheral. As you threw back a swig of your now embarrassedly watered down drink (the ice melted, okay?), you felt the stranger’s eyes on you. He didn’t stare for long before fully turning his body toward you, leaning on the bar like some character out of an 80s romcom. Someone call John Hughes, you thought; I sense a new leading man.

“Hey there, princess.” Princess? Christ. You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as he shot out that nickname right off the bat, instead politely shifting your gaze to him.

“Can I help you?” You truly had meant the words to sound more kind, but fuck if you weren’t tiring of endless pick up lines and bad jokes. You had endured them for the better part of two hours, after all.

The smirk on his face almost made you blow your top then and there. What the fuck did he think he was accomplishing? This was practically harassment already, in your eyes. He looked like the typical frat guy: backwards snapback, loose white shirt with cutoff sleeves, and surprisingly acceptable-looking jeans. Tufts of blonde hair (likely bleached) peeked out from under the hat, concealing what were surely fading roots. You had always regarded men who dyed their hair to be walking red flags; you were sure this one would be no different. His eyes were striking, truthfully. You didn’t recall ever seeing such an intense blue, before. They were bright, ocean-like. Manipulative. Woah, there’s that feminism creeping in again. You realized you probably shouldn’t judge him so quickly, with such little basis, but at this point you had learned to trust your instincts.

“Actually, I think the question is how I can help you.” And there it is. You huffed out a sigh, rolling your eyes as you spun in the stool back towards the bar. His hand flew out to catch the seat, preventing you from escaping his hungry gaze. “Not so fast, love.”

“I’m not interested.” You shot back, avoiding his tempting eyes at all costs. You were strong, but not that strong.

“Not yet.” He corrected with a grin, craning his neck in an attempt to catch your gaze. “You’re quite pretty, you know that?” You shut your eyes for a moment, setting your drink on the bar before crossing your legs and allowing yourself to face him.

“How sweet.” Your words were not sincere, and he clearly understood that. He also clearly didn’t care in the slightest. He must’ve been quite confident in his “wooing” capabilities. He merely chuckled at your dismissive response, gripping the bottom of your stool and tugging you closer. Now, your knees clashed with his at the proximity, and you couldn’t easily look anywhere but his eyes.

God, his eyes. They were actually fucking hypnotic. You didn’t like that, not one bit. You felt attacked, cornered, and he hadn’t even touched you. Not that you wanted him to, it was just bizarre. You weren’t even conflicted, only acutely aware of the dilemma you might be facing had you not been blessed with such an iron-clad will. You were stubborn, and you liked it. Unfortunately, it was starting to seem like he did too.

“I’m Niall.” He tilted his head as he waited for you to reply, searching your features almost respectively.

“How nice for you.” You mumbled, scooting as far back on the stool as the uncomfortable seat would allow. Whoever owned this bar desperately needed to invest in better furniture; your ass was practically numb. He chuckled again, releasing his grip on your seat now that you didn’t have anywhere to go.

“It’s nice to meet ya’. What’s your name?” You couldn’t deny he had a lovely voice. Speaking voice, that is. His accent lilted through the air like a melody, one you wouldn’t mind hearing over and over. You muttered your name reluctantly, crossing your arms with a huff. What was wrong with you tonight? Usually your resolve was infinitely stronger, but perhaps you had met your match. Perhaps he was just as stubborn as you, if not more. Perhaps…no. No. You would not give in. You couldn’t. You were better than this.

He tested out your name in his tongue, smiling to himself at the sound of it. He liked it.

“Pretty name.” He complimented simply, leaning in so that his breath fanned over your ear. The warm sensation sent a tingle down your spine, and you tensed your muscles to hide the shiver that threatened to dance over your body. “I wouldn’t mind moanin’ that tonight.” He had to ruin it.

“Freak.” You insulted, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted expression.

“Hardly.” He laughed. Like, a genuine laugh. And you hated that you loved the sound. It was so real, so childlike.

“Look, Niall.” I began firmly. “I have a boyfriend, s-” “No you don’t.” He interrupted, shaking his head knowingly. I cocked an eyebrow, sending him an incredulous expression.

“Excuse me?” He shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing, whatever he was so defiant about.

“You do not have a boyfriend.” You opened your mouth to reply, only to be halted by his finger on your lips. You could feel the calluses on his fingers scratch against your lips as you closed them; maybe he played an instrument of some sort, you thought. “I know this because if I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of this perfect little body for a single second. We wouldn’t leave the fucking house.” This was starting to get a little intense. He sensed the tension on your muscles, dropping his hand to rest on your arm and rub soothing circles into your soft, lotioned skin. For some reason, you didn’t even feel uneasy. You were…intrigued.

“Why so persistent?” You cocked your head to the side, knitting your brow together in curiosity. A playful smirk spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with the expression.

“Why so resistant?” He retorted, seeming to hold back a chuckle of amusement at his own reply. I rolled my eyes, the cycle of becoming intrigued, then frustrated, then intrigued, was quickly becoming annoying on its own. He faked a pout at your poor reaction, hooking a finger under your chin and turning your gaze to his. He leaned in close (too close for a stranger, perhaps), his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Why don’t you come home with me, princess, hm?” He hummed, his hand slowly dropping to your thigh, giving you plenty of time to reject his touch if you so desired. But he was finding that you weren’t seeming to be so averse to it; he didn’t understand the switch up, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. His calloused fingers traced absent little shapes into your plush thighs, staying only just a respectful distance from the hem of your dress.

“I don’t go home with anyone.” You whispered back, allowing him to continue touching your leg. Why were you allowing this? You had absolutely no clue. It had to be those fucking eyes.

He smirked slowly (his signature expression, it seemed), as if he’d just gotten the most genius idea of his young-adult life.

“You ever been fucked in a bar bathroom, love?” His filthy words sent a shiver down your spine that ran straight to your core, which you were just now realizing felt a little warmer than usual. You fought the urge to clench your thighs together, knowing he would immediately give you shit for doing so.

“Can’t say I have.” You replied vaguely, leaning back slightly to look in his eyes again. Big mistake.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.” He slid out of his stool, holding a hand out for you as if he hadn’t just suggested thoroughly ravaging you in a public bathroom. You somewhat hesitantly looked him over before taking his hand, trying to decide if your morals would weigh into this decision. The only response you could come up with is what morals?

You placed your hand in his delicately, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom situated at the back of the bar. God, it’s going to be fucking disgusting in there, you thought. Upon walking into the women’s bathroom, Niall locked the door behind you, and the scrunched look on his face told you that you had thought correctly.

“You’re not a germaphobe, are you?” He asked, wrinkling his nose as he glanced around the dingy space.

“I just agreed to fuck you, a complete stranger, in not so many words. I think I’ll be okay.” He rolled his eyes at your attitude, unable to keep a slight smirk from creeping back onto his lips.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. I don’t appreciate the unwarranted attitude.” His tone held a hint of warning as he stalked closer to you, tossing his snapback onto the counter (that would need to be disinfected) and running a hand through his unruly hair.

“Then don’t ask stupid questions.” You shot back dumbly. Maybe not the best idea. One calloused hand flew to tangle in your hair, gripping it tightly before he tugged your head back. You yelped at the aggressiveness, allowing yourself to be cornered against the cold bathroom tiles. The sudden coolness sent a shiver down your spine, raising goose bumps along your back and neck.

“What do I have to do to shut you up, hm? Such a pretty mouth, you should use it more wisely.” He chided patronizingly, not loosening his hold in your hair. It stung a little, but you were oddly turned on. You didn’t like that.

“How would you suggest I do that?” I really need to shut up. One of his hands slid down to your hip, and he shoved you against the wall again, rather roughly.

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” Oh? Niall didn’t miss the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth, or the subtle clench of your thighs at his words. “Oh yeah? You like that, princess? Want me to shut you up nice and good?” He mocked in your ear, pulling back just slightly to observe changes in your expression. You didn’t respond, a little shell-shocked. You knew he was cocky, but you didn’t expect him to be quite so dominant.

“On your knees.” What?

“What?” Why the hell am I asking questions? He tugged harder against your hair, the stinging in your roots returning. “Shit.” You muttered.

“On your fucking knees.” He hissed, stepping back to give you more room. Despite your pride shouting at you to disobey him yet again, you sunk to your knees, peering up at him in wait. “Good girl.” He muttered, combing his fingers through your hair. You lost his touch for only a moment while he tugged down his shorts and boxers, his throbbing length slapping up against his stomach. He let the useless clothing pool around his ankles, his hand cupping your cheek with a surprising tenderness. Just as you were reaching out to wrap your small hand around him, he caught your wrist.

“Not so fast. You haven’t earned it yet.” You furrowed your brow, momentarily confused, before realization dawned on you.

He wanted you to beg.

You parted your lips to speak, your breath catching with hesitation. He looked expectant, arrogant, staring down at you in such a pompous manner. You desperately tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs, the dampness trickling out of your poor, neglected little pussy. It had been a long time, and as much as you usually hated begging, you found yourself continually entranced by those ocean eyes, those pretty blue stars that glittered with excitement at what he knew you were about to do. He knew how fucking good he was; maybe for once, a man’s arrogance wasn’t completely unfounded.

“Please, can I…” You stopped yourself, your voice meek with the unfamiliar words spewing out of them. This dynamic was so foreign to you, but so delicious. You swallowed thickly, taking in a breath before trying again.

“Please let me touch you.” You could’ve sworn you heard a low rumble echo from his chest at your plea, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before sliding his gaze back to you.

“Not good enough.” He rasped, and you could tell the denial was forced. He had wanted to accept then and there, but he wanted to draw this out as long as possible. He wanted this to last, and he was already sure that once your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock he would come like a fucking high school virgin jerking off in the middle of the night.

“Let me, fuck…please let me suck your cock.” You tried to hide the whimper that shook your tone, but it couldn’t be hidden from him. God, every fucking noise out of your mouth made his dick twitch in anticipation, his tip already angry red and leaking with precum. He sucked in a sharp breath, composing himself.

“Give me one more, princess.” He breathed, wrapping his fingers around your hair to pull it out of your face. How gentlemanly of him.

“Please…sir.” That was fucking it for him. That was the last word he expected to come out of your mouth, but fuck did it sound pretty as it did. He couldn’t hold back a groan, turning so that he could lean against the wall as you sat up on your knees to get closer.

“Go ahead, baby, use those pretty lips for something good.” You let out a sigh, using one hand to brace yourself on his thigh and the other to wrap around his length. You twisted your small hand around him once or twice, earning a couple of gasps from him. Maybe it was the risque nature of it all, perhaps even the way he could see straight down your dress from his current angle. He was a little bit of a perv, but let’s be honest. Who isn’t?

The moment your moist lips encircled his tip, he was forced to bite his tongue to stay quiet. Your tongue swirled around his little slit, collecting the salty liquid and filling your mouth with the taste of him. He tasted good, and you were almost embarrassed at the way a little whine escaped your lips, your pussy currently ruining your panties.

God, I’m a slut.

You flattened your tongue against the veiny underside of his dick, sliding an inch or two of him into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you wasted no time in bobbing your head up and down, reveling in the slickness of your lips against his spit-moistened cock.

Niall’s breaths were coming in heavy pants now, his gaze fixed on the way a strap of your dress slipped off of your shoulder, exposing the swell of your breast to his hungry eyes. He could just make out the circle of pink surrounding your pert nipples, admiring the way they poked through the thin fabric of your dress. That would be off soon enough.

Without warning, his hips rutted forward, causing his tip to hit the back of your throat and pulling a gag from you. He was fully face-fucking you now, lost in the bounce of your tits with each thrust, pulling your top further down and soon freeing your chest from its pesky confines.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” He rasped hoarsely, selfishly chasing his release and ignoring the way tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the depth. “Feel s’fuckin’ good around me.” He slurred, grunting as he felt that knot in his stomach continue to grow. He was almost there. He was so fucking close he could almost imagine it. But shit, he couldn’t imagine that.

He couldn’t imagine the way his orgasm would rip through him as he abused your poor, small mouth, or the way you oh-so-obediently swallowed every drop of his come without being asked. What a good girl you were. Fucking made for him.

He steeled himself against the bathroom wall to avoid collapsing (God, that would be embarrassing), releasing your hair as he floated down from his high. His jaw nearly dropped as he drank in your appearance, hair severely tousled from his grip on it, lips plump and swollen from their use, tits hanging out of the top of your dress so damned perfectly. You were gorgeous.

Lost in his own admiration, he almost missed the way your hips subtly rocked against the heel of your shoe as you knelt before him, trying to pay some attention to your neglected and dripping pussy.

Almost.

“You need something, princess?” Shit, he still managed to be cocky after that. You nodded pathetically, blown-up irises flickering down to his still-hard dick before meeting his gaze once again. “Stand up, sweetheart.” He coaxed reluctantly, already missing the sight of you on your knees for him. You wiped your mouth off with the back of your hand as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes flitting over your flushed face.

He was enamored.

“Want me to take care of her?” He hummed, cupping your heat underneath your dress as he held your gaze. Your breath hitched as you inhaled sharply, nodding furiously. “Need you to use your words, love.”

“Please, need you.” You whined shamelessly, bending your knees ever so slightly to achieve just the slightest friction. He smirked evilly, very amused and pleased with himself at how cockdrunk you were after a fucking blowjob. He hadn’t even touched you yet.

“What a fuckin’ slut.” He practically growled, roughly grabbing your wrist and pulling you to the counter. He took off his tank top and laid it on the counter, and you realized he did that for you. “Sit.” He ordered deeply, causing another jolt to run straight to your pulsating core. You hopped up onto the counter, appreciative of the thin but sanitary barrier he had placed down for you. He hooked onto your plush thighs, the uppermost parts of them already soaked with your overwhelming arousal. He yanked you forward to the counter’s edge, quickly tugging your dress above your hips.

Just by the look on his face you already knew your panties had become transparent, absolutely ruined by your slick seeping out of you. Without a word, he hooked your panties to the side, breathing out in a way akin to surprise.

“Cute little pussy, huh, princess?” As if you were in your right mind to actually answer him. “Gonna fuck her so good she’ll be ruined for days.” Good fuck. This man knew exactly what in the hell he was doing to you. “Open these pretty legs.” You obeyed embarrassingly quickly, spreading them as wide as your hamstrings would allow. “Good girl.” There it fucking is again.

He ran a finger through your slit, collecting your wetness and spreading it over your puffy folds. You writhed and arched on the counter, mewling softly at how teasing his actions felt. You needed him inside of you this instant. Just before you could plead with him again, the wind was absolutely knocked out of you as he slammed his cock into your delicate pussy. You cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, his hand immediately flying to cover your mouth and muffle the sounds.

“Careful, princess, we’re - fuck - in public.” He panted, allowing you only a second or two to adjust to his size before he fucked into you relentlessly. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, the lewd sounds of skin smacking echoing off the graffitied walls. Your muffled moans punctuated each buck of his hips, greedily pushing your ass back for more, harder.

“Greedy fuckin’ slut.” A low groan escaped from his lips, his grip on your hips becoming almost bruising as he not-so-reluctantly began to oblige your silent plea for harder. You had never been fucked so roughly, or so well, to be frank.

You could feel your walls pulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him. You could feel that thick vein on the underside of his cock dragging across your insides, his swollen tip punching your cervix every time, filling you up indescribably well.

“Ahh, please - shit - faster.” You moaned, your lips unintentionally kissing his palm as you forced out the words. You could swear he actually growled the moment he heard you, not even having the energy to chide you for your neediness right away.

“Squeezin’ me so good, sweetheart. Fuck, like this pussy was fuckin’ made f’me.” His pants turned into grunts, and you knew he was feeling as good as you. And you were feeling fucking euphoric.

“Please, please, please…” You chanted in desire, your hands gripping onto the edge of the counter for support. If you hadn’t found something to hold onto, your head would have smashed into the sink’s mirror with the intensity at which he was fucking you. Your toes were curled, your eyes slammed shut, your back arching off the counter and wrinkling his shirt that he laid underneath you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Such an overwhelming fullness, so deep at that.

“Takin’ me so fuckin’ well,” He huffed out, his pace not faltering for a moment. But with the way his cock twitched inside of you told you he was close. How you were coherent enough to form that thought, you had no idea.

The knot in your stomach had become unbearable, your walls clenching around his cock so tight you were sure it hurt him. But by the fucked-out look on his face, you decided he was feeling fine. His eyes were locked onto the bounce of your tits, those pretty nipples pink and swollen with arousal.

“M’so close, so close…” You moaned out, your knuckles white against the counter.

“C’mon, baby, want you to come f’me.” His thumb flew down to your clit, pressing harsh yet precise circles against it. “Wanna feel that pussy come all over my cock.” If his hand wasn’t covering your mouth, you were sure everyone in the bar would be able to hear your pornographic moans, or at least the squelching sounds of him fucking into you with how wet you were. The pressure of his thumb abusing your clit, the jolt of his tip slamming into your cervix, just the fucking expression on his pretty face, it was all too much.

“M’coming, m’coming…” Your voice came out in more of a squeal, just barely forcing out the words to begin with. That must have been the final straw for him, because with his thumb still on your clit, he quickly pulled out of you, thick ropes of come shooting out onto your heaving chest. Your orgasm followed half a second behind, ripping through your body with an overwhelming intensity.

As you were still floating down from you high, Niall cleaned the both of you up with wet paper towels, his gentleness in after-care actually a little shocking considering how he just fucked you. He slipped a hand underneath your back and pulled you to a sitting position, tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You okay, princess?” He asked gently, rubbing small circles into your hip and cheek. You nodded with a tired smile, too blissed out to actually respond. He chuckled at your response, admiring the state of you. “What made you change your mind?” He asked genuinely, tilting his head curiously. You huffed out a small laugh through your nose, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Those eyes.” You began, almost reverently. “They fucking hypnotized me.”

#fem!reader #smut #niall 1d #niall horan smut #blonde niall #niall horan #dom niall #dom x sub #degrading k1nk #praise k!nk #cock drunk #frat boy #frat boy niall #one direction smut #one shot #one direction

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twilightsumu · 15 days ago

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drunk running | s. geto

chapter six: bad thing twice

synopsis: the new year brings in the inevitable. suguru knows he is fucked. yn plays it cool…ish.

warnings/genre: modern au, smau, smut, oral — m receiving, fingering, car (public) sex, kms joke, cursing, partying, implied alcohol use, sukuna (lol), suguru being heavily affected (embarrassingly so), yn pretending, slight angst (i think — my chest hurt writing some parts lmao), some descriptions of religious things.

a/n: chapter six, my beloved! oh, how fun was this — i say as i play forget her by jeff buckley on repeat whenever i wrote from suguru’s pov. (i'm clutching my chest and looking over my shoulder).

*see ya at the end*

suguru is staring back at himself in the bathroom mirror. his pupils blown. hair slicked to his forehead. his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

he could hear the steps of every single person in their apartment. the lights over the mirror look funny, he is so sure he changed them recently, but they look like they’re dimming. the door his back is leaning on is vibrating from the bass of the speaker and he feels like there are too many sensations happening at once.

and you. you’re on your knees in front of him. your head just making the cut off of what could be seen in the reflection.

your mouth is stretched around his cock and he swears he isn’t going to make it to the countdown. not that he cares. not when you’re looking up at him through your lashes — he’ll stay in this year for the rest of his life if he could keep you here. keep you tethered to his body, at least then you can’t really pretend. right?

pretty lips wrapped perfectly around him. hollowed cheeks, your mouth making space just for him, or maybe inviting him back home.

and maybe it’s the way your eyes have not left him that’s making him believe that.

“shit,” he grunts, slowly. but even with the music blasting and everyone yelling over one another — his voice, the sounds coming for your mouth. it’s much louder.

both of his hands are buried in your hair. soft strands that tickle his knuckles, slick with sweat from his palm. everytime he grabs a little harder, he smells your shampoo. it’s still the same.

you hum around him, and he takes everything for him to not jerk his hips forward. the vibration makes his thighs tense in concentration, making his abs twitch. he’s sure he could feel you trying to smile — he’s memorized the curve of your smug grin in whatever avenue it’s in.

your mouth is warm, wet, familiar. spit trickles down from your chin, as you pick up speed. one of your hands pressing your nails into his thigh — he knows they’ll be crescent shaped mementos from you tomorrow. your other hand is curled around the base of his shaft, stroking his cock in the most tantalizing rhythm.

slick sounds — ones coming from your mouth, his shuddered breathing, some sultry song booming into the floorboards fill the air. obscene and sharp. he’s starting to feel overwhelmed.

and then he looks down at you again. watching your throat as you slide down. the way your lashes flutter, like little butterfly kisses on the top of your cheeks — he almost wants to place his pinky right below to feel the softness of the flutter. watches, as your tongue flicks out to tease the underside of his tip — with practiced ease. you remember just what he likes your mouth to do. you sink back down, eyes locked on his — the slurp so loud, he’s sure everyone heard, despite the music being so loud.

he wants to be embarrassed that you’re both here. that he couldn’t fight the tug of his hand twenty minutes into the party. blaming it on the one sip of beer he took right before you walked in. couldn’t ignore the way you sent him that flirty grin. or how easily you fell to your knees — like you’re praying on a pew made just for you.

he chokes on a whimper, and once again another bout of embarrassment courses through.

“fuck,” he hisses lowly. but he knows you heard. sending him a moan of your own — one that sounded more like a tease. teasing him because you like hearing him fall apart. you still know how to help him get there.

you don’t stop. it’s messy and deliberate. you’re bobbing your head a little faster down on him, salvia coating him and strings of it connect your lips to him every time you pull back. bopping a little sloppier. you always liked when he lost his composure first.

he wants to laugh at that now. what a fucking joke.

but he can’t, not when you’re flattening your tongue as you push all the way down. your tongue follows the curve of his protruding vein, like it’s a track just for you to go along. you pull back up fast, your tongue now flicking his tip in tight circles.

his knees buckle. his shoulders feel so heavy. he had to look up at the ceiling because he knows if he stares down at you for one more second, he’s going to fucking lose it. not that he hasn’t already.

one of his hands that were entangled in your hair rushes out to brace himself against the wall closest to him. the hand still in your hair grips tighter, holding you in place. keeping you two together.

his jerks hip forward, on their own. and you lean in a little more, his tip hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. the sound is sharp and wet. and he isn’t sure if the gruttal choke came from you or him — but the sound causes that white heat feeling in his gut to start growing.

he swallows down another sound. you sink down lower. and if he thought he was gone before, he’s not sure where he is right now.

the light over the mirror gets a little brighter. the music is louder. more footsteps stomping into his place. your mouth feels more familiar as your tongue gets more accustomed to his cock. and he thinks you never forget the feeling as well.

his thighs are so tense. his breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling cause broken gasps to leave his lips. he wants to shut his eyes but decides to finally look at you again.

you’re moaning — he feels it, he hears it, he wants to live in them. your thighs are clenched and he gets excited knowing you’re feeling this just as much as he is.

your eyes, still staring back at him. tears threatening to fall on your lash line. lashes still sending those little kisses to your cheeks.

your nails dig a little further into his thighs and he wants to hiss out in pain, but he feels nothing but your body on his. you’re grounding yourself — your mouth gets sloppier, faster, warmer.

he pulls back a bit, not leaving your mouth. and once again, your tongue flicks his head. your hand squeezes the shaft a little tighter. he could almost hear how tight your thighs are clenching together.

he thinks back at gojo’s party how he wanted the dj to record your laugh just to send to him. he wants him to record this as well — the way his cock disappears into your mouth with each thrust, the lewd squelch of spit and suction echoing in the small bathroom.

“don’t stop,” he mutters, and he ignores the whine at the end of his syllables. his fingers gripping together into your hair, he hopes he isn’t hurting you.

you press further down on him, deeper. your hand on his shaft just there to hold him up for you. throat clenched around him, like a warm embrace, drool bubbling at the corners of your lips. you don’t blink away.

he thinks you look absolutely beautiful like this.

“FIVE!”

his fingers curl even tighter around your pomegranate scented hair, gripping hard. you show no sign of discomfort. you’re actually inviting it, with how much further you’re allowing him to enter your mouth.

you hold him in your mouth, your hand pumping what your throat can’t at the moment.

“TWO!”

his eyes roll back. breathing heavy. he feels like he’s in a sauna right fucking now.

“ONE!”

he is spilling in your mouth. fast. a shudder so deep, he feels it in his toes . he has to curl over your head so that he does not fall through the door he’s leaning on. he basically caged you in, and he wants to keep you here — maybe until next year.

he is completely sure that everyone heard just how loud he groaned. and he doesn’t care. because it’s just proof that he had you in some capacity.

you take him all. every single drop. every sound. every grip. not a single flinch.

you don’t move, not even a blink — just swallowing him down and looking up like you’re proud of it. like you’ll swallow him whole after. you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

you pull back, a slick of spit keeping the tip of his cock and your swollen lips connected. you look up at him, cheeks flushed, tongue out — showing him you swallowed. and he feels his knees buckle. he wants to blame it on the aftershock, but he knows that would be a lie.

you watch him, watch you. his chest is still rising rapidly, and he wants to see just how soaked you are. your thighs still clenched. that flirty grin now has the space to be etched on your lips in full.

he wonders if guys could get away just staying in the bathroom for the rest of the night.

you use your hands to lift yourself up from his thighs, he’s surprised he has the strength to even withhold that amount of pressure.

his hand is still threaded in your hair, and your hands placed tightly on his forearm — like you’re both too scared to let go of one another.

suguru could only pay attention to your lips. glossed over, inviting, the gentlest smile ghosting them. he’s surprised a stupid joke hasn’t left them yet.

and he’s leaning down, to finally breathe you in — mouth to mouth. three years of waiting, three years of remembering. he is choosing to ignore your light pull back, your hands still holding on. he knows you like the chase.

“where the FUCK is suguru?” he hears gojo right outside the bathroom door. and something in you snaps. like you just realized you’re here, with him. lips inches away. eyes sharing the same space between you both.

you swiftly pull back, your hands still holding on, his hand still threaded in your hair. and you turn your head to the left, placing the softest kiss on the pulse point of his wrist.

and he swallows down the way his heart lunges, like it’s jumping out to be placed in your palm. to have your lips give it the same chaste kiss you gave his wrist.

your cheeks are burning, your eyes wide like you are just realizing what you did. he studies you as much as he can. he doesn’t think you’ve ever done something so soft.

“happy new year, suguru,” you whisper, pulling away from him completely. and like that, the softness is physically gone, but it’s there. his fingers still feel your hair tickling his knuckles. he hopes the strands recognized him.

your eyes are dodging his. you must know what he’s thinking — or you’re trying not to find out.

the softness is in your voice and in the way you're trying not to look up at him. in the ghost of your lips on his pulse — he feels it beating a little faster.

he feels like he’s waiting for everyone to surprise him at his own party. he knows where everyone is. he knows why everyone is here. he’s been here before. its supposed to feel exhilarating.

this, just isn’t as fun.

suguru lets out a breath, one that he wasn’t aware was lodged in his chest. like he’s trying to huff out the last three years into the toilet, making space for this new year. one with you, possibly.

he swears those lights above the mirror are as bright as they’ve ever been. almost matching the light in your eyes. the ones looking over him, narrowing at the doorknob right behind him.

“you should go kiss your boyfriend,” you’re laughing, taking a few steps towards him to be within his breathing room. and he smiles quickly, the joke he knew was waiting, kissing him softly.

“he’ll be okay,” his voice is low, hungry. and the way you’re licking your bottom lip, he knows that you’re fully aware of what you’re doing. of what he wants.

his eyes are watching you as you pull your dress down to where it should be. quickly smoothing your hair. your lashes damp. your cheeks tinted. his cum on the tip of your tongue.

he almost feels possessive.

you smile, dodging his eyes. your hand grazes his hip and he leans into the touch like a dog leaning its head in its owner’s lap. but your hands lightly push him away, finding the doorknob to slip out of the bathroom.

you don’t look back. the door clicks shut. suguru’s belt buckle clinks on the floor. and the overhead lights are dimming again.

he doesn’t bother fixing himself. he believes if he moves too fast, the memory of your mouth on him would vanish. like how everyone believes the new year magically banishes the grime from the year before.

you feel him — as much as you feel the coolness from the car door’s handle in your palm. his catlike eyes are dragging along your spine, inching their way into your skin.

“are you following me?” you ask. tilting your head so that you could glance at him from over your shoulder. your palm on the handle pulling, inviting you into the safety of the car. warmth cascading out and kissing your cheeks.

however, the warmth from the car is no match for the warmth of knowing. knowing that suguru is walking towards you. knowing that he wants what you’re willing to give.

his quiet footsteps following you, dangerously close. comfortably welcoming. his steps, this idling car — toying a line that was crossed weeks ago at gojo’s party. the new year just brought in the finality of it, like how it brings in cheers and new outlooks on the days ahead.

“don’t act like you don’t want me to,” he says, low enough that you want to roll your eyes at how easily it was for your ears to train on him instantly.

“mhm… your words, not mine,” you mumble, excitement clinging onto the cold chill the new year is bringing.

your body is halfway in the car, and you’re trying your hardest to not pay attention to a couple things.

one, just how badly you want to stay here with suguru. even if it’s just out here, bringing in the new year. a wind wrapping you both. you’ll even forget about what transpired in the bathroom. you just kind of like having him here. watching you leave.

you’ll walk all the way home if that means his steps would be nipping at yours from behind.

and the fact that suguru’s steps aren’t stopping. you want to look back at him, but you don’t want to see whatever emotion he’s trying to hide. you know he is rotating what suguru to present to you. he’s trying to be strong. and as much as you want his hands on your body, his breath hitched into your neck — you don’t want to touch that right now.

that’s why you dodged his eyes as soon as you swallowed everything he gave you. the bathroom lights were shining a little too brightly, you could make out the emotions he’s had since he was born with how wide and willing they were.

his hands in your hair, your lips pressing to his heartbeat… yeah, that was enough feelings for the next three years.

especially with the new year on the horizon and his cum coating your tongue. you think you had enough.

you know it, actually. because this would end one way. and you don’t know if you’re willing to slip out of his reach this time. and that terrifies you.

you slip into the car. the driver paying you no mind, as he argues into his phone.

harsh and final tone. it brings you back to that night three years ago. the one you don’t want to bring up — no matter how cathartic it may be for both of you.

it happened. you ignored it the best you could. you’re still walking away now.

you’re reaching out to close the door behind you. locking you away from suguru before he gets to you.

however, he had other plans and you forgot just how persistent he could be. his arm reaching out to stop the door from closing — giving him just enough room to slip in.

his thigh meeting yours. his cologne washing over. the door clicking behind him. your chest tightening. the drip in your panties persisting. you almost let out a groan.

it’s even warmer now. your driver looking back to nod his head at you two, his foot meeting the gas and starting the drive to your house.

you ignore suguru’s eyes on the side of your face. your body betraying you and leaning slightly into his — your knees pressed together, jumping you back to that dinner a couple weeks ago.

the feeling never leaving, just morphing into the pure heat in this car.

the driver is still angrily whispering into his phone and you want to ask for a headphone, so that you could hear the other side of the argument. weigh in your decision, continue to ignore the weight of suguru’s stare.

“you weren’t going to say goodbye?” he leans down a bit. you feel his breath on your cheek.

“i think i did enough with my mouth.” you shrug, trying to find balance in your voice.

he chuckles lowly, and you almost believe you hear the shiver of nervousness etched into it. like he sees what’s about to happen, and he’s going to get the short end of the stick again.

his hand finds its place on your bare thigh and you shiver at the contact. his calloused fingers pressing. your panties are dampening even more. you roll your eyes at the quick escape you were trying to do — what a stupid fucking plan.

you clench your thighs, involuntarily of course. you see suguru grin from the corner of your eyes. you swallow your own grin down.

“fuckin’ idiot,” the driver mutters. shouts heard coming from the other end of the phone.

you’re sure he’s talking about you. actually, maybe suguru. you pray he is talking about him.

you suck in a breath, not looking at the pretty boy who knows your body so well. this should be exciting. a psychiatrist would probably tell you that you’re finally getting what you’ve been trying to find in the geto juniors.

you can’t help but feel like you’re skiing down lava instead of snow. what is going to happen this time?

you should have thought of that on your knees. yeah, you’re the idiot.

you know you guys don’t need to talk. words aren’t needed when your bodies are the validators. and that’s the problem — you speak fluency in body movements. suguru hangs on to words. gripping on to the meaning of things — despite knowing he’ll get hurt. that you’ll hurt him.

his fingers continue to creep up. his other arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. you’re practically leaning into his chest.

you feel the shudder of his breath. you smell his cologne, it’s the same one from college. you feel his heart trip over itself and you want to push him out of the car for his own safety.

everything is happening quietly but quickly. you feel like the driver is driving thirty miles over the speed limit and he’s about to miss your exit — and that comes with mixed feelings. more time with suguru’s fingers making its way to your cunt (who’s missed him so dearly). more time with his heart punching you because it’s beating so hard. more time with the drivers nasty tone, sounding like suguru three years ago.

you finally glance over to suguru, his eyes dark and narrowed.

“here?” your eyes jumping to the driver. he’s still oblivious, still angry. you want to pat him on the shoulder and tell him it’ll be okay — just have him look back at you two now. but, you barely know what the fuck is happening back here.

“i don’t really want to wait,” he mumbles. “i don't think you want me to either.”

you kind of want to laugh because he isn’t lying and that invisible line is gone. done. no such thing as doing new things to bring the new year in with you two.

instead, you mentally say “fuck it,”. shifting in your seat, letting your legs fall open a little more. like having access to your most private parts is his god given right. you almost think it is.

he hums like he’s greeting an old friend — taking your invitation with full confidence. his fingers gently dragging the soaked fabric of your panties to the side.

cold air hits your heat immediately, it doesn’t last though. not when the rough pads of suguru’s fingers slide through your folds.

you let out that groan you’d been holding in. quiet, barely restrained.

your hand finds his wrist, not stopping him — grounding yourself to him. keeping you here, in this seat, his fingers finding their way back into you like they’ve never forgotten their way around.

his fingers drag slow, teasing lines through your slick. the noise not protected by a door or loud music. the sounds of wet and shamelessness mixing with the sound of the car’s engine, the driver’s muffled cursing, you and suguru’s hitched breaths.

he dips one finger in, slow and deliberate. you clench around him, like you’re welcoming said old friend.

“fuck,” he whispers. more to himself than to you. “you still feel the same.”

before you could respond, another finger joined and you bite your lower lip, hard. making sure a sound doesn’t slip out. you’re eyeing the back of the driver, praying that the person in his headphone is screaming at him so loudly he won’t be able to make out that you're unraveling behind him.

his fingers curl, just right, and of course suguru remembers what your body likes. you’ll be shocked if he didn’t.

you’re trying to stay upright, but you feel yourself melting into the leather seat, into his shoulder. your hand not on suguru clenching the seat below you. suguru’s hand on your waist pulling you even closer.

you’re training your eyes in the rear view mirror. trying to keep a composed face. watching the driver for any sign of knowing.

“sugur-“ you’re cut off by his thumb finding your clit.

you swallow a moan. squeezing your eyes shut. his thumb starts its clockwise rotation on your bundle of nerves.

he chuckles when you buck your hips up, the fingers in you burrowing further.

his fingers sink into you further, with an ease that makes his breath hitch. like he too didn’t expect you to be this wet — not for him. not after the three years of silence.

your grip on his wrist tightens even more, you almost feel his pulse matching yours. you remember how his pulse felt on your lips some time ago.

you finally look back at him and he is watching you. eyes hooded, lips parted — like he’s studying what ruins you best, as if he does not know.

you know suguru is enjoying this. the way he is huffing through his nostrils to compose himself. the way his thumb just so happens to know where your clit is, no matter how long it’s been. whatever words spilling out his mouth are spoken in that very specific tone, heavy and gruff. the way his left foot is bouncing like a jack rabbit. you want to tease him about it, remind him that you know him almost better than he thinks he knows you.

you lean closer into him, his thumb on your waist rubbing soft circles. you want to tell him to stop that, but it’s in perfect rhythm with the thumb circling on your clit.

your lips are so close. noses brushing against each other. a gasp about to leave your lips and emerge into his mouth, that has some deceleration wanting to be spilled from it. you’re about to ignore it for tonight, just to feel his lips on yours.

“ma’am,” suguru’s fingers freeze and your head snaps up, you’re looking at how wide your eyes are from the rearview mirror. “do i turn up this street?”

you’re quickly looking out the window. tons of people with party hats and streamers are walking the streets. you feel like you were dropped into a different place, shocked that you heard someone from it. your heavy breathing, suguru’s tapping left foot, and your wetness the only things your ears picked up on.

“yes, that’ll be great,” your voice is shaky and you’re choosing to ignore both the driver’s questioning stare and suguru’s amused one.

his fingers haven’t moved again, like they’re content just being in you. the car shifts with the turn, and you’re pushed into his side.

“i get to make sure you make it home safely,” with how close you are, he’s basically whispering into your hair. “you know, crazy people are out at this time of night.”

“says the man with his hand in my pu-“

“here!” the driver yells, and with how flushed he seems — you know you were caught.

suguru’s fingers leave quickly and you almost whine at how much you miss them. you slide away from his grip, pulling your dress down as much as you can. ignoring the driver's eyes.

you jump out first, looking at suguru shuffle out behind you. and because yeah, you’re a bearer of stupid fucking ideas and and libido that could only be matched with his — you jump at the bait.

“for old times sake?” you ask. wiggling your eyebrows to make him laugh.

“as friends?” he says, a grin etched onto his lips. you hear the nervous quiver though.

and for some reason, the nervous twitch in his shoulder as he slides out the car, his question, the easy grin placed so delicately on his lips — you feel annoyed. almost angry. you almost want to turn around and slam the door before he even has the chance to watch you go.

you’re brought back to the conversation from three years ago. you guys could have still been friends, if he didn’t fall. if he didn’t feel sorry for you. whatever the fuck that means. you like to pretend that specific line doesn’t stay with you. the heaviness of it creeping up when you’re touching a situation you’re sure has qualms that would ruin every single thing you’ve put up to protect yourself, protect others. and funnily enough, suguru is always the leader in those situations.

what great fucking luck you two have with each other.

“of course, geto,” you reply, trying to keep the joke in your voice. keep the welcoming tone. you’re doing this for your body, for the things you know only he could do. “i wouldn’t want you to catch feelings again.”

he is out of the car, his hand on the door to close is shut. his back to you, tense. like he’s entering a room where he just heard everyone talking about him. you’re not sure if he’s tense at his last name, or the feelings comment.

you let out a quiet, nervous laugh. it’s met with the shutting of the car door. you don’t think you could hide how shocked you are.

“ah, what the hell,” suguru huffs. turning around to look at you, his hands coming up to rub his hands through his hair. like he’s trying to hide from you, or grip onto the ends of his hair as an anchor – remind him that he could stay here and not go up to you.

his grin isn’t as easy, but it’s there — forced or not.

“happy new year,” the driver calls out. his voice was as harsh as when he was arguing with whoever that was on the oblong.

and there on the first step up towards your apartment, you watch him. you want to run up the stairs first — give you some much needed space, relish in the fact that he’s going to run after you. maybe ask the driver to put him back into the car and drive him around the city. give him a pretty show while he thinks about what he’s doing. maybe they could share some argument tips so the next time this fails, suguru can hurt you with his words even more

you don’t. you shake your head, shaking that conversation out your head. shaking any sign or those puppy dog eyes from suguru away.

you stay on the stoop and watch him walk to you.

you’re laying on your side, naked — cheek pressed into the bed like you’re trying to become one with it. the sheet wrapped lazily around your waist. your hair trickling down on to the pillowcase, like it knows where it belongs. that beauty mark on your left shoulder watching him, watch you.

the shouts welcoming the new year have since ceased. the only things suguru could hear are the sounds of your light snoring and his brain screaming at him to get the fuck out of here.

“fuck,” he groans, quietly. not to wake you.

with the amount of space between you two, he’s sure you wouldn’t have heard anyways.

he feels uncomfortable — and not because he’s in your space. but, that you’re allowing him to be here. yes, you rolled over as far as you can. yes, you’re one movement from falling off the bed. yes, the darkness of the early morning is shrouding your back — the light kissing your cheeks and the bruises he made sure to leave on your chest. but, he’s here. and you know that.

he runs his hands down his face, hoping he rubs some sense into himself.

the window your body is facing is letting in the very early winter sunrise. still dark and gloomy. cold. outside the window there is a flickering light, one that suguru can’t figure out what it is. in his mind, he’s using it as an alarm. a calling sign that he’s in too deep. warning, warning — suguru is going to get ruined. again.

he thinks about the lights in his bathroom earlier. there had to be some connection? or whenever he’s around you, lights just start to fuck around with him.

he flicks his eyes away from the light, not liking the sense of urgency it has. he doesn’t know what it means. he doesn’t care — especially when you’re here. a body away. he has your scent drifting around him like fireflies in the summer evening.

he knows the implications. there is no need to rush away now. he never left in the first place. the three years were just a little hiatus — one that meant nothing in the long run.

with some light creeping in, he uses it to train his eyes to finally look. have full access to your space, without you knowing. and so many things, even after three years, screams you.

the nail polish you always use on your toes, lays on its side on the dresser in front of the bed. he genuinely shocked that it's closed, you’ve had many instances where you have forgotten. that dark lavender color staining whatever it laid on.

books scatter on your bedside table, on the dresser ahead, the ones not neatly lined on the bookshelf lay haphazardly on their spines. he knows you haven’t finished them. you’ve always had an issue with finishing things all the way.

you shift a bit and he almost reaches his arm out to make sure you don’t fall out of the bed. but he’s too far, he wouldn’t have reached if you fell anyways.

you’re okay, nuzzling into the pillow deeper. finding a home in it, while suguru is looking for a way out.

he looks away from you. your beauty mark still staring, that flickering alarm light still calling for him to escape now.

he moves his eyes around the room again. an old college shirt thrown over the closet door. that bookshelf that isn’t lined with books, but with the actual pockets of your life. framed pictures of you and friends.

you’re smiling in most of them — big and bright. like it’s easy for you, and suguru had to remind himself that it is. some of them, you’re making silly faces, or you’re mid movement, your body and face blur — but your eyes still shine and that smile is still memorized on your face.

and with the precision of a hawk, his eyes narrow in on himself. in the back of those snapshots of your life, there’s a picture collecting dust. you’re not mid dance or pretending — he would know.

suguru is staring back at himself. he squints harder and all the way in the back, as if you were trying to tuck him away — picture form and physically.

it’s a picture of him. well, a picture that includes him. it’s from his junior year, your sophomore year. he knows because he remembers the exact hair length you had every year.

it’s a group picture — shoko in between you and him, nanami to your other side. and with how nanami looks, he is sure it’s gojo who took the picture. haibara is to the side of him. all of you young, all of you happy.

no i love yous driving someone way. the taste of you foreign to his tongue.

his arm finding some way to be looped around your shoulders, even with shoko in between. and because he truly does not remember this picture — he never noticed how in this snapshot, you’re staring at him. a real smile etched on your lips, your head tilted to look over at him.

he sucks in a breath. long and deep, like he’s coming up from swimming at the deep end of a pool. he almost wants to wake you up, finally reach his arm out and tap that beauty mark as if it’s a power button that would start you up.

instead he smiles to himself. the smile not matching the actual fire burning in his gut. he wants to corner you and ask if that waiter that looks like him, looks up at suguru’s picture, whenever he enters you.

but then he knows he has to corner himself too. ask this version of himself how it has been to be privy to these private moments with you? watching you sleep, get dressed and undressed, maybe think of him?

he didn’t know he could be jealous of himself, but he is. because why does he get that treatment?

was it easier to pretend then?

suguru slides out of your bed. his brain racing and tiredness creeping up his shoulders like a shawl.

his back towards the door, his eyes still roaming your body. narrowing in on the space that was between you both — a perfect calling place for where he wants to vomit his feelings and leave everything involving you there. maybe he’ll place that picture you have of him up there in that place. since even you know, he’ll always be around.

he doesn’t want to leave you the mess or the confusion though. so, he quietly grabs his clothes. he rattles with the game plan of sneaking your pillow and that framed picture of you both. the one that has been watching this ordeal, in the crotch of his pants. like a low-level robber — clusmy, desperate, a joke.

he decides against it, he’s sure the smell of your shampoo would dance around him like the entrails of those new year resolutions that no one follows through with. he wants the suguru in the frame to stay perched there, collecting dust, collecting memories with you that he doubts will have come to fruition — even though he will kill to swap places.

he continues his quiet backward trek, walking around like he knows the soul of your space. and maybe he does. because he knows he’ll end up back here.

he knows he’ll continue to pretend. following you along as far as you’ll let him.

he makes it to the door, tiptoeing out — and he is almost sure he hears you let out a huff of relief when he closes the door behind him. or maybe that's just the sound of him leaving himself behind, again.

taglist: @re-tired-succubus, @luvvcho, @iluvujt, @smolcooki33, @candy-s72, @starmapz, @shokosbunny, @emlient, @loveyislost, @whatismatildethinkingabout, @shibataimu, @11thlife02, @se-phi-roth, @frootloopscos, @risagichi, @sttaejoon-blog, @vampshxde, @corvid007, @marsavie, @vorfreudevortex, @bubblegumcat229, @fairygardenprincesss, @lily-isalittlegirl, @sukunasrealgf, @vimzya, @sexylexy12

extra a/n: hi! if you would be so kind to answer some questions. could be in my ask or under this. im working on chapter seven and i think its going to be big — would you like to wait a little longer for me to post it all at once or do a part 1, part 2 situation!? your opinions would be much appreciated!

*also — after rereading, ive realized i did not change the time stamps on the tweets so pls make believe the dates are in december (for the current timeline). okay bye! thank you for reading :)

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