Chapter Text
You felt like an idiot with Ahmad. You were so stupid to fall for him, standing there with his black baggy jeans, his ball chain necklace, and his flame-patterned shirt the moment you laid eyes on him at the Limp Bizkit concert all those months ago.
You kicked yourself looking back on it. You wish you could just go back and tell that naive, clueless thing to just walk right past him. And yet? Here you are, standing to the side in his room as he laughs and acts utterly obnoxious with his buddies. As for you? Invisible. It felt like being a living dead girl, or a researcher observing the monkeys in the zoo throwing their own shit around for her next paper.
The room was filled with pot smoke because the idiots were passing around Ahmad’s beloved red and black bong the two of you had stolen from Spencer’s way back when you’d started dating. It was once a cherished memory– the way the two of you giggled as he’d managed to fit it in the giant side pocket of his JNCOs, just walking out innocuously like regular old window shoppers. Now it just made you sick with nostalgia for the way things used to be.
It was growing harder to see through the “Wedding Cake” haze– the ironically named strain that Ahmad’s roommate Ziad had provided the rest of the boys with– and you could tell it was cheap the way it made you cough. You flip onto your stomach, burying your face into the bean bag (the only thing that had been warmly embracing you all day), hoping it would provide you some salvation from the smoke, though it only lessened the intensity. Guess it’s better than nothing.
The idiots laugh again, that droning “har-har-har” kind of laugh that only men of a certain age have. Looking on at them, you can feel the longing for what once was eating at your intestines.
As they joke about whatever stupid topic, you notice that the Blink-182 CD (because of course they love Blink) that had been playing in Ahmad’s stereo had finally come to a stop. With nothing better to do, you stand up, going to switch the music to something you wanted to listen to.
The boys– especially Ahmad– don’t like this.
“Woah, hey, what’re you doing?” Ahmad raises an eyebrow. “Don’t touch the stereo.”
“Why…?” You ask, now more confused than ever.
“Because, dude, you’re gonna put on, like, Britney Spears or the Backstreet Boys or something,” he laughs, and his dickhead friends join in.
“That would imply you had the CDs,” you roll your eyes. That shuts them up quickly, but the silence is broken by Ahmad’s glare.
“Would you just shut up and be quiet? You’re killing the vibe,” Ahmad hisses, rolling his eyes back at you. “I don’t know why you’re being such a bitch.”
That does it. You can’t even begin to control your reaction before you throw one of the jewel cases at him.
“And I don’t know why you’re such a fucking dick!” You growl at him before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind you.
“You gotta learn to control your female, man,” Ahmad’s stupidest friend, Hamza, says to him with a smirk, but Ahmad is too busy picking up the now-broken CD case.
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Back at your place, you’re trying your best to not have a psychotic break. Why was he doing this? Did he think it was cool? Was that retard Hamza telling him to act that way?
You could only wonder, but one thing was for certain– you had to reconcile that you and Ahmad were most likely done. Guess it’s better to find out now than fifteen years down the line, probably married with kids– but it still sucked.
You decided not to sulk and wallow in your misery, so you set your sights on removing everything that reminded you of him. The shirts you stole, the framed photos of fun outings, the little gifts and trinkets Ahmad had given you… all of it was getting boxed up and shoved to the back of your closet (or maybe burned, depending on how you felt after.)
But in the middle of this tidying session, a knock rings out from your front door.
“Y/N? Let me in,” Ahmad calls from behind the barrier, his voice firm and urgent.
“Go away,” you answer, your tone just as no-nonsense as his.
“I’m not taking no for an answer, Y/N,” Ahmad groans. “Open the damn door.”
“I don’t see why I should do anything for you when you don’t even like me anymore,” you scoff.
There’s a pause. Seems like Ahmad is rendered speechless for a few extremely long moments, but he finally manages a reply. “Cmon, Y/N, stop acting crazy. You know I love you.”
“Then what’s all the fuckin’ weirdness about? The way you ignore me for your friends? The CD argument? The fact that you literally called me a bitch?!” Your voice grows louder, and in your moment of passion, open the door to lecture directly to his face.
Ahmad, of course, seizes this opportunity and pushes his way in. Despite your efforts to keep him outside, it’s futile– he wasn’t super tall, but he was fairly strong and broad and didn’t struggle to force his way past you.
“What do you even want from me?! I don’t want to see you anymore, not if you’re gonna be a shitty boyfriend.”
“Y/N, if you would shut up for five damn minutes, then maybe I could explain–”
“What is there to explain? Huh? Huh?!” You step up to him, backing him into the wall, making him almost trip over the box you’d been filling.
But when he notices the box and what’s in it? Something darkens in his expression. Now there’s no going back.
“What were you thinking of doing, hm? Leaving?! Well, princess, it’s not that easy.”
“How do YOU know that??” Your defiant look is unwavering, not intimidated whatsoever. Your gaze is piercing, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing your wrist harshly and pinning you down on the hardwood floor, his body hovering over you.
“Because I’ll make sure of it.”
His hands move down to your hips, squeezing the sensitive flesh hard enough to leave bruises. You’re not stupid. The newly-formed pit in your stomach tells you exactly what he’s gonna do.
Not like you mind, though.
He unzips your jeans, jerking them off of your legs and throwing them hard across the room, and the way his eyes trail up your bare thighs makes you shiver with arousal. You should be angry with him… but goddamn if he wasn’t bewilderingly seductive.
With one swift movement, he’s unzipped his own jeans and pulled his dick out, stroking it a few times in his hand, which causes him to release a few heavy breaths. You bite your lip from the anticipation, and he nips at your neck harshly before sticking it inside of your sensitive slit.
It’s not like you hadn’t slept together in the past, but something about this time was… different. You felt more full from him. Everything was rougher, and there was no kissing– just bites to the neck and jaw that made you yelp. Plus, the planks of the floor didn’t provide the same comfort that either of your beds did, but it did heighten the intensity of the situation.
He grunts and pants and is clearly trying to shove his manhood as deep inside of you as he possibly can, and in your lust-hazy mind you wonder if he’s trying to hate fuck you right now. The thought would make you sad if you weren’t busy chasing an orgasm.
“You… will… never… fucking… leave… got it?” He growls at you between thrusts. He’s so deep in that you might as well be feeling it in your stomach.
“I said… GOT IT?!” Ahmad screams at you– primal and aggressive and animalistic. You can only nod meekly as you cry out when he somehow fucks you even harder from his irritation.
You can see something flicker in his eyes– he wants something. He forces you up onto his lap, cock still buried deep in your slick opening as he lies back (isn’t the wood uncomfortable? wink wink double entendre) on the floor.
“Ride me,” he asks, though it’s more of an order than anything. It’s something you’ve only done once before– and you landed flat on your face into the pillows after losing your balance. You can’t afford to do that now, or you’ll end up with a bloody, broken nose from the ground and probably no boyfriend.
So, trying to balance yourself the best you can, you move your hips up and down, back and forth, in random circles… trying anything and everything to do it right and not eat shit.
It seems to be working because Ahmad lets his eyes flutter shut for a good few moments until they snap open– and you hear a loud slap, followed by a harsh stinging sensation on your ass.
Did that motherfucker just slap my…? You wonder to yourself. What the fuck is wrong with him?
Regardless, his cruel– and kinky– action is seemingly what sets him over the edge, and he grips your hips– just like he did before– emptying his sperm into you, which makes you cringe because who knows what’ll happen. But you can worry about that later.
As Ahmad rides the high, he stiffens and suddenly sits up, and he looks at you with a different light in his eyes– the one that the old Ahmad had.
He looks down at you– the creamy white liquid emanating from your pussy, the dejected expression on your face– and it seems like old Ahmad clicks back into place.
“Oh shit… what did I do…” his voice quivers as he feels the reality of post-nut clarity sink in. “Y/N… I… I’m so sorry… about this. About everything. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I love you, I don’t deserve you after all of this…”
You know you should argue, spit in his face, kick him out, maybe even call the cops. But you don’t. You can only sigh and reply quietly: “No… it’s alright… we all act like dicks sometimes.”
“But this is so much more than just ‘being a dick,’” Ahmad frowns. “I hurt you. Bad. Both physically and emotionally.”
“I’ll be okay… nothing I can’t handle,” you offer a sympathetic half-smile. “I know one thing that could help, though.”
“What’s that?” Ahmad’s eyebrows raise in curiosity.
You stand up, not bothering to fetch your clothes from the other end of the room. You grab his hand, leading him into your bedroom and pulling him down on top of you on your bed with a giggle.
“Proper sex,” you shoot him a cheeky grin. “None of that rough degrading shit.”
Ahmad goes slack-jawed at your words, but definitely doesn’t mind obliging. It starts slow, with a warm kiss that reminded you of when you’d first gotten together– a sensation that you’d been missing. It’s sweet and soft at first, but the heaviness builds until you’re practically sucking each others’ lips off– and, as gross as it sounds, it was actually quite romantic.
He pauses and pulls away for just a moment, his mouth curved into a slight frown and his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you don’t wanna wait…? I think you’re gonna be pretty sore after… yknow…”
“What’s a little more?” You answer. “If I can’t walk, I can’t walk. You’ll just have to look after me.”
Ahmad giggles at this, pleased at the idea of caring for you. “As you wish, my princess.”
As you wanted, this time it was gentler and sweeter. No slapping, no bruising, just pure, loving, moving as one. It’s something you had been craving– and now? Now you finally had it once again.