#⊰✦⊱ non-con

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ I want you, Námo. I have wanted you for a while. ❞

⊱ Prompt: Blackmail, obsession ⊱ Pairing: Manwë x Námo ⊱ Synopsis: After Námo disobeys an order from his king, Manwë forces him to make it up to him. ⊱ Warnings: Creepy Manwë, power dynamics, sexual content, non-con, the prompt in itself

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December and yes, I will be working on these for quite a while longer. Nevertheless: Enjoy!

"Please forgive me, my king." 

Námo was kneeling in the chambers of his lord, head bowed in dutiful penitence. He was as aware as the Vala in front of him that his refusal to speak when he was bidden was a grievous offence to the Elder King's authority, even though he believed it had been necessary to adhere to the divine ordinance he had been given at the beginning of his existence – to never reveal more than what was needed. 

Nevertheless, his being was bound to lawfulness, and he would accept punishment if his lord and his father deemed it necessary. 

Manwë looked as holy and glorious as ever, even seated on his bed instead of his throne. His usual smile had faded, replaced by a sorrowful mien, and the deep sigh that fell from his lips sent a small breeze through the air surrounding them. 

"Worry not, dear Námo. I shall surely forgive you, but I am afraid you will need to make it up to me." 

Despite the perfectly serene and innocent tone, Námo felt a sense of unease, sending shivers down his spine. 

"Anything that is within my power, my king," he said carefully. 

"Very well. Rise." Manwë held out his hand, though it was a gesture of silent command instead of an invitation to take it. 

Námo did as he had been told. Perhaps his obedience could help him atone for his sin, he thought, but then he was caught off-guard when Manwë rose as well and delivered three swift, decisive strikes, the gleam of silvery talons being his only warning – the first one tore off his veil, the second discarded his hood and the third undid the sash holding his robes in place. 

A small gasp escaped Námo as his form was revealed to the eyes of his lord, and he saw delight blossoming within the depths of his blue eyes. 

"Get on the bed." 

"M-my king –"

"Now." 

There was something rough and firm within Manwë's voice, something that was usually absent, that many thought him incapable of. Námo's fána trembled when he obeyed once more, leaving him exposed and prone in front of a Vala he had always trusted – until now that he saw his eyes glint like those of a raptor spotting prey in the grass. 

"What do you want from me?" he managed to ask, attempting to suppress his fear when Manwë climbed on top of him with such natural ease – 

As if we were lovers...

"Is it not obvious?" Manwë smiled at him, as kind and sweet as he had always done, but the dangerous gleam in his eyes hadn't vanished. "I want you, Námo. I have wanted you for a while."

Too stunned to speak, Námo could only stare at him as he lovingly cupped his cheeks. 

"You are so beautiful," Manwë sighed. "And now you will finally be mine." 

Námo stopped breathing when he was drawn into a kiss so tender it almost made him forget that it was forced, and his own lips remained stiff and unmoving. He still couldn't believe that he was being subjected to a punishment of carnal nature, at the hands of his pure, benevolent king no less. 

Manwë withdrew after a few fruitless attempts, seeming upset. "You don't wish to kiss me?" 

"Please, my king... n-not this..." Námo attempted to plead, but was ignored. 

"If you continue to be disobedient I can no longer be patient with you. Your punishment is whatever I deem fit, and if I want to make you mine and show you where you belong, then this is what shall be done." 

Talons dug into his sides as Manwë forced him to turn around and slipped his robes off his shoulders, tearing any remaining clothes to shreds. Námo was left lying on his stomach, held down by a Vala greater than himself. A still-clothed groin was pressed against his exposed backside, and he felt flesh hardening against him. 

"Since you have cheated me out of a prophecy, I hope you at least haven't cheated me out of being your first," Manwë whispered in his ear. 

Námo remained silent. He didn't wish to recount the ways in which his wife had made love to him and how they pleasured each other, and his mind struggled to comprehend the depths of the twisted lust his lord had suddenly revealed. How long had he desired him? Why did he believe he had a right to claim him? 

Yet there was no time to ask himself such questions when two hands spread his legs first and then his cheeks, and he heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked, followed by the scent of vanilla and the sensation of liquid being poured onto his skin. 

He prayed that those talons wouldn't be forced inside him, even if that meant he would be taken without further preparation; it was going to hurt, but repairing his flesh would be easier this way. 

It was only then that Námo briefly considered fighting back, yet any spark of resistance was swiftly drowned out by the knowledge that his king was mightier than he, greater in power and stature. Something inside him had given up before the thought had even crossed his mind; perhaps he already knew that it was going to happen regardless. 

Námo buried his head in the nearest pillow when he heard the rustling of fabric and attempted to muffle his cries of pain as Manwë forced himself inside. He had to will his fána to relax and open up, even as it felt like he was betraying himself and his objective of enduring this violation with as much dignity as he could. 

"You feel so good." 

"You are so beautiful." 

"You sound lovely when you cry and moan for me." 

Manwë whispered sweet nothings in his ear while taking him, but Námo refused to break his self-imposed silence. This was neither love nor pleasure, it was punishment just as his lord had said, and he would not think of it otherwise for the sake of his own sanity. He received no touch and no true affection, only the empty words of one whose mind had been tainted by greed and obsession. 

"Say my name." 

Manwë's command seemed to permeate the very air Námo was breathing, but he refused; he did not desire this, and he would not pretend to. 

Taloned fingers closed around his neck. "I commanded you to say my name."

He remained silent. Manwë's grip tightened, making it nigh impossible to breathe, and despite knowing that he couldn't be slain, panic flooded his fána – as well as the realisation that his torment might only continue if he kept refusing. 

Hesitant and in a broken voice, Námo at last obeyed his lord's command. 

"M-man... wë..." 

The whisper of his name and the choked noises he made sent a shudder of pleasure through Manwë's entire fána, and he spilled his seed inside his unwilling lover, withdrawing only after every last drop had left him. 

Námo felt the need to curl up on his side, make himself small and disappear, but before he could move he was turned around to lie on his back once again. 

Manwë looked down at him with a perfectly angelic smile, as if nothing had happened, and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead. 

"You are forgiven." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[tojisun]

johnny’s just perverted enough that he def slips in a mobile-controlled vibrator in you before the two of you go out to meet his friends. he’s got the app in his phone, and is unforgiving when it comes to the settings. he ramps it up at the highest level when you reached your arm out to return price’s handshake, and you squeak, toppling down.

you tell them that it’s just a cramp, and nothing more. “sorry about that,” you say through gritted teeth.

john chuckles and says to not worry about it; says that maybe you need to sit down to catch your breath. you nod, thanking him softly, before ducking your head down to avoid their gazes because somehow you think they know your dirty secret.

that somehow they know that you’re plugged and leaking; that you’re desperate and itching for more because as much as the vibrator is too good, it’s not enough—

you avoid their gazes so you missed the way johnny passes his phone to simon; you missed the way john sits back, content to just watch for now, and the way kyle tips all of his whiskey into his mouth to wash away the burning excitement that’s filling him up.

[sukunasweetheart]

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna...

warnings!!! dark content, noncon breeding, dubcon, sukuna ties your hands together, baby trapping, toxic, possessive and jealous sukuna, manipulative tendencies and mentions of violence (not towards reader), oral (f!receiving)

divider by @/saradika-graphics

3.8k words

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who'd always coax you into fucking him bareback without a condom because he swears it feels better...

being so sweet, seducing you into letting him hit it raw, doing whatever it takes to put you in a good mood, get you hot and bothered so you can't deny him for long, swearing that he'd pull out, and that you'd have nothing to worry about...

but scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who never kept his word. he'd fuck you silly and cum deep into your womb, even though he promised he wouldn't. you wanted to stop him, but you were feeling too good in the moment to fight him off. when you confront him about it afterwards, he simply tells you "my bad, sweetheart. i didn't mean to, but you just felt too good..."

he gets high off the feeling of cumming inside you.

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who secretly wished he could fuck you pregnant with his seed. but you told him you didn't want a baby, which he disappoints him, though he may not show it. he wants to see your belly swell up with his child, and to suck on your sweet milk when your tits start leaking. fuck, just the thought of it had made him get hard.

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who didn't take you seriously when you broke it off with him. you could see it in his eyes sometimes, the way he seemed eerily quiet when your pregnancy tests turned out with only one line. you felt glad you'd taken those birth control pills behind his back. but you decided enough was enough. you loved him, but you just didn't want to have a child with him.

scummy ex-boyfriend sukuna who didn't even seem phased by the break up. he believed he could coax you back to him again, given with some time. you are his, and nothing will change that. when he sees you around, he shamelessly flirts with you and tries to convince you to come back to him, telling you that he misses you dearly. there are times when he almost succeeds, only because you do miss him sometimes too.

a few weeks into the break up, you truthfully, begin to feel a little sexually frustrated. you don't recall having such a high sex drive before getting with sukuna, but he seems to have permanently altered your body, the way he used to pleasure you so good...

you gather some friends and head into a club, and try to forget about him.

at the club, you re-familiarise yourself with the smell of alcohol in the air, the music that hurts your eardrums, and the crowd of people all around you, wherever you went. it's been a while since you've been here, because you had been with sukuna for over two years now.

an hour or two passes, and you've gotten yourself fairly tipsy at the bar now.

you sync yourself up with the music, but a familiar figure catches your attention from the second floor of the club, afar. it's sukuna. but he's not looking at you.

he's standing with his ex-girlfriend - the one that had gotten hysterical with you after she'd found out about your relationship with him. your mood plummets, for some reason.

you're the one that broke up with him. it shouldn't matter what he's up to after that. liar. you told me you missed me. you try to ignore him, and continue drinking yourself drunk, the edges of your vision already swimming.

sukuna's at the club, only because a friend of his snitched on you and told him that you were out here somewhere. he didn't think he'd meet yorozu, out of everyone it could've been.

"hi, ryo. i heard you'd finally broken up with that girl?" she asks sweetly, standing as close to him as possible.

sukuna gives her a deadpan stare.

"broken up? says who?"

"well, everyone. don't tell me you're pathetically clinging onto her now? that's not like you."

"i'm not you. now get lost, i'm busy."

yorozu grabs his hand, stopping him from walking away.

"wait! i just wanna tell you..."

she continues talking, but his attention has already drifted elsewhere, as his eyes pan toward the crowd downstairs. now...where are you? when he does manage to find you in the crowd downstairs, he doesn't like what he sees. that's an understatement. he hates it.

you're swaying your hips with some other bastard, making out with him on the dance floor.

"damn- you're so fuckin' hot," the stranger chuckles against the shell of your ear, your arms around his neck.

"am i really?" you respond giggling, clearly intoxicated.

"yeah, you are... why don't you come home with me?"

"hmmm? sure, why not? 'm single now, anyway," you mumble, your feet now beginning to stumble. you're starting to miss him again.

"broke up with your boyfriend, did you? poor thing."

"i'll help you feel better." the man grins and helps you walk outside of the club.

on his way out however, he bumps into someone of a large frame. he's all tatted up, and his gaze is holding a mean glare as he stares down at him. he holds out his hand to him, like he's asking for something.

"hand her over, and i won't beat you to death."

oh. he must be the ex. that was enough for the man to quietly place your body into sukuna's arms and exit the club.

tch, he's as spineless as he looks.

sukuna handles your limp body with care, your breath pungent with the smell of alcohol. he's irritated to no end right now, and a vein is bulging from his forehead, but he safely carries you to his car.

outside, the man thinks he's clear of danger, and decides he's had enough for the night. but, someone's heavy arm comes down around his shoulders suddenly.

"hey. you're the one that played it too close with sukuna's girl? how unlucky of you," a man with a scar on his lip talks nonchalantly.

he gets dragged into a nearby alleyway.

"don't take it personally. i got paid to do this."

the man shrieks as he gets beaten to a pulp, just enough so it hurts like hell, but not enough to kill him. sukuna likes to keep his word.

meanwhile... you're taken to your own home. he found the keys to your house in your purse. sukuna tucks you into your own bed, and even dresses you into your own pajamas. and then...

he just leaves.

-

the next morning - you don't remember a thing. you're left feeling confused, wondering how you managed to get home and how you were even sober enough to get yourself dressed. the only thing you can recall is seeing sukuna with his ex, and then making out with some random guy on the dance floor. everything else is blacked out.

you ask your friends, but they were also too busy getting wasted to know what happened to you. but you feel fine physically, so you brush the incident off.

now the only thing bothering you... sukuna hasn't contacted you again ever since you witnessed him and yorozu talking. so he must've gone back to her. that makes you feel... irritated. upset. sad, even. even though you wanted to break things off first.

you slowly start getting back to your normal daily life again, although with a heavy heart. only change is, that you can't seem to find your birth control pills, wherever you last put them. you contemplate for a moment, wondering whether you should buy a new pack, but you end up shrugging it off, knowing that you won't really need them in the meantime anyway...

you're trying to get back into what life was like before you met sukuna. falling back into bad diet habits, staring at your phone, going back and forth between unblocking and blocking sukuna's number - wondering if he's texted you again in the meantime - but of course, there is nothing new.

he may have had his toxic traits, but you knew he loved you a lot... he cooked you wonderful meals and spoiled you with gifts and knew how to make you orgasm until you couldn't speak. and he was tender with you, even though he teased you a lot.

and now, you're back to using toys to satisfy yourself... it's always like this! you start thinking about him and your hand begins to wander down - you can only hope that you'll eventually lose these feelings soon.

you decide to head out and go on a shopping spree alone, to distract yourself from your thoughts and maybe lift your spirits up.

spending a lot of money for yourself always feels nice. you're buying a lot of cute clothes, accessories and food, jumping between shop to shop. the sun sets rather quickly, and by now, you're at your final stop, mulling over whether this expensive, but beautiful bracelet and necklace set is worth buying. your impulse gets the better of you and you ask for it to be packaged for you.

you reach for your wallet to pay with your card, but someone's familiar voice rings out beside you as he approaches.

"i'll pay for the set." sukuna already has his credit card out, and is handing it to the store clerk, using a tone that makes him difficult to question.

"...sukuna?" you say quizzically, his name slipping from your lips without thinking.

the clerk scans his card, and your items are already paid for.

"what are you doing here..." you ask him, with mixed feelings running around in the pit of your stomach.

"missed me?" he asks with a smirk, very naturally taking your multiple shopping bags from your hand. "i just happened to be in the area."

you're not sure if you believe him. just when you're about to ask him something again, he guides you out of the store with his hand on your shoulder.

"i thought you got back with your ex," you say, taking your bags back from his hand. "i'm sure she'll be upset if she sees you here with me."

"what? where did you get that nonsense from?" he seems genuinely confused.

"i saw you at the club, by coincidence. you were talking with her."

oh... he didn't realise you'd noticed him back there.

"oh, sweetheart... that was a coincidence. i wasn't planning on meeting her. did you really believe that i'd get back with that woman?"

you shouldn't be feeling relieved to such an extent... but your shoulders loosen up after hearing that.

"well... you stopped contacting me after i last saw you with her. of course i'd start believing it."

"oh? i thought you had my number blocked. were you anticipating my texts? you missed me, after all." sukuna leans in closer to you, smiling cockily.

you should have just kept your mouth shut...

"i'll take you home. you have a lot of luggage, no?" sukuna offers, taking your bags back from your hand.

you bite the inside of your cheek. you know you're supposed to decline here. but you let your feelings get the best of you... and end up letting him lead you to his car.

he was supposed to just quickly drop you off home.

"you have a lot of stuff. i'll help you carry it home," sukuna gave his excuse, with something more sly hiding in his eyes. you know exactly what he wants. but when he insists so strongly, you can't deny him. like the fool you are.

you unlock your door and he comes inside to put your bags down on the floor at the entrance. and as you had expected, he doesn't leave right away. instead, he looks down at you with a coy smile, while you return the gaze with a more standoffish one. the tension feels thick and heavy as neither of you speak for a moment.

"well? i'm sure you didn't let me in without knowing my intentions..." sukuna moves forward and closer to you, hands very naturally finding their way to your waist.

he leans down slowly and offers you a brief kiss, a very light and short one, like he's testing the waters. he scans your face for your response. your lips feel all tingly. and all he sees is that you're not pushing him away.

"we shouldn't..." you whisper, but your resolve is too weak. you can't tell him to go away, much less kick him out of your home.

"i know."

in truth, he doesn't really. why should he be separate from you? you belong to him. he pulls you in for a deeper kiss. and you just let it happen.

and, lord, he smells and tastes divine. there's a reason why you always forgave him despite his scummy behaviour when it came to using protection. though you ended up breaking him off, you wonder if it'll be different if you give him another chance.

he wastes no time in lifting you into his arms like you weigh nothing, and heads off to your bedroom, before you can change your mind. you comply, holding onto his strong embrace weakly, having missed this kind of treatment.

when you're laid onto your own bed, sukuna smirks again as he cages you between his arms.

"you're being so obedient. must've regretted breaking up with me-?"

pulling him in with a hand to the back of his neck, you shut him up with another demanding kiss, not letting him speak for long. sukuna groans as you slip your tongue into him, initiating something messier than what the both of you were doing before.

he's quick to unzip your skirt and side it off, along with your panties. in desperation, he doesn't take the time to fully get you naked and instead, pushes your shirt and bra up to fondle your jutting breasts. sukuna then peels his own jacket and shirt off.

"spread your legs for me, sweetheart. i'll spoil you tonight."

you part your legs slowly - and he sees that you're already glistening with slick. bringing his face down, he aims straight for your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it entirely. your back arches as you gasp, the warm and wet feeling being so arousing like nothing else in this world.

you feel the tip of his tongue flicker up and down your clitoris in a mesmerising rhythm - knowing exactly what you want, and need to reach your orgasm. and the way he sucks on you with the correct amount of pressure, while making the lewdest noises, forcing your hips to stutter uncontrollably against his mouth, with the way it feels so mind numbing, is just too much in its own way.

you let your erotic moans ring out, because you know he loves it when you show him how good you're feeling - and your hands can't help but hold onto his hair from the intense pleasure, which he never seem to flinch from.

the first orgasm hits you like a truck, with the way you're left breathless and gasping for air as your legs reflexively try to close up - sukuna has to hold them apart with his strong grip as he continues tonguing you even as you're cumming, your cunt thrumming against his lips.

"o-ooh- fuck-! sukuna!" you plead, your blank gaze meeting the ceiling with half-lidded eyes, hips jolting without restraint.

when he does eventually show mercy and remove his mouth from your poor aching clit, you're already on the brink of sobbing, your legs down to your toes feeling all prickly from the overstimulation. your mind is in a haze.

so much so, that you didn't realise that he had bound your wrists to the bed frame until he was already done with it.

"wha- sukuna...? why're you tying me up-?" you question, still a little out of it from your last orgasm.

"shh, love. it's not like this is the first time...relax," sukuna comforts you, caressing your face. you can't help the small uneasiness from growing in your stomach. he suddenly gives your clit a light slap. it startles you a bit, and you gasp.

"you're so pretty. do you know that?"

you see your own reflection in his ringed eyes. your heart races, and you don't know if it's because you're flustered or terrified.

"i just wanna..."

his cock aches in his pants.

he never finishes his sentence. instead, he just offers you a soft, yet sloppy kiss.

sukuna frees his erection, and sighs in relief. it's all messy and leaky with precum. he lines it up against your wet and puckering cunt. you won't deny that you want it...

"sukuna... condom..." you remind him gently, getting slightly nervous from the way he's rubbing his tip up and down your slit.

"... 'm sorry sweetheart. i don't think i can do that."

he pushes his hips in one go, and you're left gasping from the sudden intrusion. you're immediately pushed into a mating press.

sukuna groans from how he immediately feels your wet walls sucking him in, your slick making his cock glisten as he thrusts in and out. he's missed this so, so much.

"fuck- sukuna! you can't- oh my g-god..." your hands tug at your bindings as you try and resist your moans from coming out of your throat, but the way his dick satisfies your cunt is otherworldly, his tip kissing your cervix, over and over again.

"that's it, baby... just enjoy yourself," he urges you on, getting breathless from his own fast pace, cock pulsating inside of you in excitement. god, you always drive him crazy.

still, in the back of your mind you still have a sliver of trust in this man. foolishly so. surely he'll pull out at the last second. surely he won't cum inside you in this situation. it's been a while since you stopped being on the pill.

your bed creaks from how roughly sukuna pounds your pussy, all while groaning with such shamelessness, only caring about the pleasure that is found from the warmth and wetness of your puckering hole.

"fuuck... fuck! to think you were gonna let some other bastard do this to you..." he growls under his breath, brows furrowing. you don't hear him. he remembers his original motive for all of this. to remind you who you truly belonged to.

"ooh-! sukuna! you're being too rough..." you whine, feeling the pressure of an incoming orgasm already building in your abdomen.

he only grips your hips harder, looking down at you with a toothy smile. his dick aches so badly. he's endured through so much patience just for this moment.

your mind goes blank as you forget about the fact that he's not wearing a condom, drool spilling out the side of your mouth from the pleasure you feel as his girthy dick drills in and out of you, a squelching noise happening everytime he sinks himself in. there's the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your ass. and also the friction from his pants, that he hasn't bothered to fully take off. the juices from your cunt has dampened them, but sukuna couldn't care less right now.

"sweetheart... my love... take- taking me s-so well..." sukuna groans, panting and words slurred. despite the deeply affectionate words, his hips move like an animal. you can't do anything but moan and cry.

sukuna feels himself getting high again. there's just something about you... god, he's so pussydrunk he can't even think properly. only the thought of breeding you is on his mind. make you his, completely. to see your belly get bigger from his seed... a powerful thrum goes to his cock and he shudders again.

he has to make it take, this time.

"i'm gonna cum," he tells you breathlessly, knowing you won't be able to stop him, this time around.

"sukuna!... wait," you protest, weakly tugging at your binds again, but you can't say anything more than that, as his lips come down onto yours, silencing you effectively. he tongue kisses you roughly, desperate and messy as you can feel his laboured breaths on you.

and the final thrust that he gives, where he pushes his dick in so deeply, tip meeting your cervix, sends you into another trembling orgasm. sukuna groans deeply against your mouth as he cums, hips stuttering against yours, eyes shut tightly as he savours you completely. you take your lips off of his, and try to say, "stop...! no- pull out," but he stops you with another kiss.

you sob, because it's over. but you're also sobbing because it feels so good.

sukuna's deep kiss trails down to the crook of your neck.

"you can't tell me to pull out... when your cunt is... seducing my cock like this..." he shivers between phrases, mumbling against your neck, mind all hazy from the way you pulse around him from your orgasm, milking his dick as spurt after spurt of his seed shoots straight into your womb.

you can't even say anything back to him - you're coming off your high as he empties his balls into you, letting out more than usual. you're done for.

"i hate you," you sob.

"i know you don't really mean that. you can't live without me," sukuna tells you, pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead afterwards.

"and the same applies to me. i'll never let anyone else have you."

he begins to litter kisses down again, until he reaches your chest, while his cock is still inside you. his soft lips caress your tits, and then he begins to lather his tongue around your stiffened nipples, making you feel good again, even through the tears.

the night is far from over.

sukuna becomes much more gentle and soft after the first time, opting for slower but deeper thrusts this time around, adding plenty of little kisses in between as well, "loving" you with everything he has. you have no choice but to accept all of him, as he cums inside of you over and over again.

his cock is in its own haven, being trapped in your gummy walls without rest. and at some point, sukuna's even released your wrists, and now you're willingly making love to him with your arms around his neck, coping with the thought that resisting doesn't even matter anymore - it's already too late, and you're tired of trying to fight back.

you can't count how many times he's dumped his load into you, how many times he's said "i can't get enough of you," how many times you've kissed him back when he kisses you.

and when he finally does eventually pull out, his semen oozes out of you in a disgusting amount. you're spent, and completely exhausted. you can't help your heavy eyelids from closing up, and the last thing you hear is his soft voice.

"goodnight, sweetheart. i'll take care of everything, from now on. i promise."

he holds you so closely and lovingly that you believe him.

Masterlist

[ghouljams]

Alone on Valentine's Day? Mad at your ex?

Rating: E Words: 17.5k Tags: Gaz x f!reader, insecure!reader, bad breakups, past cheating(but not by Gaz or reader), shitty exes, fluff, manipulation, subtle interrogation techniques, non-consensual filming, non-consensual photography, minor dollification kink, minor intox kink, touch starved!reader, oral (m and f receiving), face sitting, unprotected sex, piv sex, dick piercings, non-con (off screen) creampie, non-consensual photo sharing Summary: In a fit of pettiness and self loathing you respond to a personal ad online. You get a lot more than you bargained for out of it.

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

<- Alone on Valentine’s Day? Mad at your ex?

[casual encounters]

“Did your partner recently break up with you? Want to look like you’re doing better without them?

I’m a recently turned 30 former special services operative (currently in private security) and, at risk of sounding like a complete ass, a fairly good looking man.

What I can provide to you:

-A full day of “dates” that you can photograph and post on social media for your ex to see.

-The full boyfriend experience for videos and even an “accidental” live

-Outfit changes

-Princess treatment so you remember what an asshole they were

The only payment I want is to hear about the fallout afterwards, I live for the drama and my life has been boring lately.

Face card provided upon request.

Serious inquiries only”

-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers-

*

It takes a few emails back and forth, an enlistment photo you didn’t believe, a requested picture of the most beautiful man you’d ever seen with a frying pan on his head, and an assurance that you weren’t going to get murder-napped, before you realize maybe you’re a little (incredibly) insane. By then you’re already walking into the cafe you’d agreed to meet Kyle at, so it’s a little too late to back out. Not that you don’t consider it when you lay eyes on him.

Pictures don’t do the man justice, and the pictures were really fucking good. His dark skin is rich and beautifully smooth where it shines in the cafe lights, his lips pout slightly as his eyes scan the menu, and by the set of his shoulders you can tell that under that camel colored peacoat he’s got a body that’d make you drool. He seems to spot you out of the corner of his eye because he turns to smile at you before you can turn tail and run, and God even his teeth are pretty.

Which only makes it too bad that the only reason you’re meeting him is because you’re a pathetic mess that can’t get over your ex. Maybe under better circumstances this could’ve been an actual date. 

He raises a hand in greeting and you try not to look like you’re rushing over to him, plastering on a smile and holding out your hand to properly introduce yourself. Kyle’s hand is warm and pleasantly worn when it slides against yours. His ad said he was in private security, do they work with their hands enough to have calluses? He says your name like he was made to, lets the syllables shape his lips in a way that feels purposeful.

“Buy you a cuppa?” He asks, nodding towards the board over the counter.

“Oh,” You glance towards the menu, “that’s really kind, but you don’t have to.” If you expected your response to dull his smile it doesn’t, in fact he seems to glow just a bit brighter, his eyes sparking with something you can’t name.

“Course I do, it’s our first date.” You feel a pop of heat on your cheeks and quickly push it down. Kyle bumps against your side. “Besides, I thought you wanted the princess treatment.”

The heat pops again and you laugh nervously to cover it. “Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?” Kyle nods with a pleased hum.

“Let me spoil you,” He presses, “Show you how your man should act.”

You can’t say it isn’t tempting, and you figure he wouldn’t offer if he couldn’t put his money where his mouth is.

“Alright.” You relent and he wraps an arm around your shoulders to squeeze you into a side hug. You don’t entirely hate it.

“That’s my girl.” You don’t entirely hate that either.

“So,” Kyle starts, dropping his arm back to his side, you almost miss it, “I brought a couple changes of clothes, I figure maybe four or five dates and we’ll be solid?”

“Sounds good to me,” You have about eight different outfits shoved in the back of your car. The idea had felt a little silly when Kyle first brought it up, but you were starting to see the thought behind it.

“And you brought something pretty like I asked?” Kyle taps his fingers against his thigh and for a second you feel a pang of anxiety shoot through you. “I made a reservation for dinner, figured we cap off the slide show with a proper Valentine’s day celebration.” Your anxiety dissipates as quickly as it had appeared and you let out a breath.

“Yeah, wasn’t quite sure what we would be doing so I grabbed a couple dresses.”

“Oh good,” Kyle grins at you, “my pick then.” You laugh off the joke just in time to make it to the front of the line.

You’re strangely nervous by the time you actually sit down with Kyle to drink your tea. You’d made smalltalk while waiting for your drink, but now it felt almost like a date. You had some prerequisite questions you’d asked him just to make sure you weren’t going to be meeting some creep, but you don’t really know Kyle. You’re going to be spending the day with him, but he’s still a stranger to you.

“So,” You start, trying to think of something to talk about. Kyle cuts your thoughts short.

“Let’s get a picture.” He tugs his phone from his coat pocket and you fumble to do the same, scooting your chair closer for a picture together. Kyle laughs. It sounds rich and genuine, the sort of laugh that always sounds good humored, that makes your cheeks warm just a little in embarrassment. He shakes his head as it leaves him. “Cups together, doll.” He tells you, “Try to keep my face out of the pictures, keeps an air of mystery you know?”

“A soft launch.” You nod, pressing your cup against his and pulling your phone close to your face to get a picture of your hands. Kyle has nice hands, a thick ring on his middle finger that catches the attention of the photo in a distinctly masculine fashion. “Oh!” You set your cup down and twist to rummage through your purse, tugging a lipgloss free and flipping the camera. 

You’re careful to apply it as precisely as you can manage with Kyle bumping against your side to peek in your camera. You laugh and shove at him when he wiggles his brows at you through his reflection.

You press your lips to the opening of your cup’s lid to leave a nice crisp stain and hold the cup out for Kyle to press his against as well. You turn your cup so the name is visible and snap another picture. Looks good, definitely couple-y. Let’s see Brad say that’s fake.

“Looks good.” Kyle echoes your thoughts, looking over your shoulder at your screen. You lock your phone and smile up at him, only to lean back. You hadn’t realized how close he was. You’d really scooted your chair right up next to him.

You try to scoot back to your original position and Kyle pulls your chair back with a hand under your seat. The motion is so unexpected and sudden that you let out a nervous laugh and try to move away again. Only to find your movement stopped by the hand that still grips your seat.

“Wait,” He insists, changing his ring for a watch from his pocket, “one more.” You hold your cup up and he shakes his head. “Got a mate that takes pictures of his girl, pass me your phone.” You hesitate. You’re not sure you’re comfortable giving a stranger your phone. Even if it’s only briefly.

“I’ll give it right back,” He promises with a sympathetic look.

Which only makes you feel worse, like you’re so clearly attached to your phone that you need pity. You’re not- You stuff down your discomfort and unlock your phone, to hand to Kyle. He twists in his chair to face you and holds the phone up. You smile on reflex and Kyle reaches out to pinch your cheeks between his fingers, squishing your face in a way that makes you wrinkle your nose to keep from making an even worse face. You see Kyle’s thumb tap to take a few pics before he releases you and hands you your phone back. 

They’re cute pictures, exactly the sort that you can imagine a doting boyfriend would take. You look like you’re being a good sport tolerating the treatment, but there’s a note of enjoyment that shows through in the sparkle of your eyes.

And despite the fact this picture and the one of your to-go cups were taken in the same place the backgrounds are different enough that you could believe that they were taken on separate dates. This might work.

“These are nice.” You give Kyle his applause, and he nods his head.

“Thank you, thank you, the boys gotta be good for something, yeah?”

“So your friend takes a lot of girlfriend pictures?” You ask, latching onto the single piece of information Kyle’s given you. He makes a sort of non-commital head nodding motion and sips his tea.

“Fiance, not sure she likes all the candid shots, but-” He shrugs.

“I’m sure she loves them, makes you feel wanted when your partner takes pictures of you.” You force a smile. Kyle snorts.

“Speaking from experience?” You feel your smile falter and Kyle’s eyes soften. “I’ll take plenty, don’t worry.” He squeezes your hand, “You could milk me for months.” You laugh and he groans, smacking his forehead to drag a hand down his face. “Fuck me, not like tha’.”

“I appreciate it,” You manage through your lingering giggles, “My ex-” You stop yourself, it’s bad manners to talk about exes on a first date. Kyle gives you a look like he’s waiting for you to finish. You suppose this isn’t a real date, even if you sort of wish it was. “I don’t have any pictures of us.” You say lamely. It feels pathetic to admit. Your ex always told you he didn’t like pictures, but he’s fine taking them with his new girl. Guess he just didn’t like taking pictures with you.

Another squeeze to your hand. You hadn’t realized he was still holding it. You’re not sure how you feel about that. Grateful maybe. You stare at your joined hands and try to categorize the feelings in your chest. Bitter and a little wistful. You’ve realized that you miss being a girlfriend more than you miss Brad, not that he was ever a great boyfriend, but it’s nice being loved.

If he ever loved you.

“That’s good,” Kyle ducks his head to catch your eye and you give him a smile just so you don’t look as pathetic as you feel, “means more camera space for us.” You huff a laugh and he knocks his fingers against your chin. You swat his hand away and Kyle’s hand cups your cheek, reassuringly brief before he grabs his tea.

“So what happened?”

The question catches you off guard, though you should have expected it. He did say in his ad that he liked drama, you must be a veritable buffet in his eyes. You toy with the lid of your cup while you think through how to answer, if you even want to. You have no reason to lie to Kyle, but you also have no reason to tell the truth. Lies will be harder to keep track of, so truth it is.

“We broke up before Christmas.” You tell him. “I’d love to say it was mutual, but I caught him cheating and when he started defending himself I just thought-” You shake your head, “-God he’s not even going to pretend he cares about me, so why do I care about him?” Another shake of your head that turns into a self pitying sigh. “And then he broke up with me. Me! I mean, can you believe it?”

Kyle clicks his tongue. “All that and you didn’t even get to pull the trigger yourself.”

“Yeah.” You let out another breath, shove this one out like a huff, “Yeah it sucked. Still sucks.” You hiss when your nail catches on the to-go lid wrong. You raise your hand to check that you didn’t hurt yourself, and to avoid looking at Kyle. You wish you could say it feels good to get it out, but it doesn’t. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“Not at all.” Kyle hums. He sips his tea and you glance his way just to be sure he’s not making fun of you. If he’s so fond of drama he should look pleased, right? But he doesn’t, he just looks at you. He raises a brow over his cup and you blink. Caught. No sense looking away now. "Not your fault the guy was an ass."

You open your mouth but Kyle beats you to the punch.

"You're better off without him."

"I am." You agree, though that knowledge doesn't dull the hurt you still feel over the whole situation. You’ve told yourself you’re better off without him a thousand times, and it’s never helped. Knowing it’s true doesn’t mean you feel it, or believe it. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, and you rarely are, you’re more hurt by how well Brad seems to be treating his new girl than you ever were by the realization he was cheating on you. What was wrong with you that he couldn’t treat you like that?

"We're still gonna piss the fucker off." Kyle says before setting his drink down and leaning close. Too close. "Show me his Instagram."

He even holds his hand out, beckons with his fingers to give him your phone a second time. It’s easier this time, there’s already a shred of trust, enough for you to shrug and fiddle with your phone to pull up his profile before handing it over to Kyle.

He spends a few moments scrolling through the profile, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed in distaste, before he nods.

"What a prick."

"I know right?" You give a small smile, feeling more yourself with Kyle insulting your ex. He turns your phone to show you a reel of your ex at the gym. You expect him to make some comment about him posing like a douche or not lifting enough, but instead Kyle shrugs off his coat and holds his arm up to flex for you.

The fitted long sleeve tee positively strains against his bicep and you hope your eyes don't bulge as much as his muscles do. Kyle hums with satisfaction and your gaze darts to his face. The pleased smile he's wearing is somewhere between indulgent and victorious. He drops his arm to grab his cup again and you, God, you don't think you've ever seen a man go from super to unassuming in one small motion. He could pass for any boy-next-door heartthrob from a summer blockbuster.

You sort of want him to lose the shirt. Too bad it's February.

"Brad is going to be so pissed." You manage to mumble, finding the glimmer of rage to pull you back to reality. Kyle's smile splits into a grin. It's really too bad he said to keep his face out of the pictures. He’s got a great smile.

"You got an upgrade," he could say that again, "it's every man's worst nightmare."

"Don't know if I could do much better than you." You joke. Kyle's eyes narrow so slightly that you almost think you imagined it, something distant flickering across his eyes that you can't discern or hold onto. Even his smile seems different, a flash of darkness that you can't find when his grin flashes you.

"How about a second date then," He suggests, "I was thinking ice skating, or the zoo-" You feel a flash of excitement at the prospect of the zoo, you haven't been in ages, but your brain seems to hit the same low note Kyle's does as he frowns, "-might be too cold for the animals though."

"Ice skating is fun." You pick, though it feels like the only option.

*

Kyle offers you a ride to the rink, and you politely decline. You still don't really know the guy, and who knows what sort of murder shit he has installed in his car. Besides, it's not like you can leave your car at the cafe with all your nice clothes in it. He seems disappointed but doesn't push. You don’t know why that tugs at your heartstrings the way it does. You resolve to take him up on his offer next time, as long as he’s alright with you bringing your suitcase. Mostly because the place is crowded and you’re forced to park at the edge of the car park. The wind whips through your coat like a knife as you walk to the rink, and you feel bad keeping him waiting.

It's clear he didn't mind when you finally walk up to the rink. He holds up two skate rental tickets with a triumphant smile that makes you laugh.

The ice is outdoors, but they’ve set up heating lamps that make it feel cozy enough you don't mind the chill as you stand in line for your skates. Kyle tugs his scarf off and wraps it around your neck carefully, before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and rubbing your arm. He's so warm pressed close like this. A barrier against the lingering chill that you struggle not to cuddle up to.

"Sorry love, should've thought of someplace warmer." He apologizes. You barely feel the cold anymore through the rising heat on your cheeks at the pet name, and don't even hear yourself give the skate girl your shoe size. Had Brad ever called you anything but your name? You don’t think so.

Kyle grabs both pairs of skates before you can hold your hand out, and leads you over to a clear bench. You go to take your skates and he holds them up out of the way.

"Sit," He tells you, so you sit and hold your hands out again. He shakes his head and drops to his knees. "Nope,” he sets the skates to one side and lifts one of your feet to rest on his thigh, “princess treatment you want, princess treatment you're gonna get."

You laugh when he starts undoing the laces on your trainers, then again when he starts trying to shove your foot into the skate. At least Kyle seems to be having fun with it, shaking his head and muttering about being "bloody awful at this."

"You're doing great," You tell him, and he gives you a look.

He pats your skates when he's finished lacing them up and you hang around on the bench waiting for him to finish so you can put your shoes away together.

With how much trouble he had getting your skates on, you expect him to trip as soon as you're out on the ice. He doesn't even flinch stepping onto it, just holds onto your hand and lets you struggle through the first second of adjustment. You push off with your skates and start getting used to the shift of weight that skating requires.

You don’t remember it being difficult, but Kyle hasn’t let go of your hand and you’re not used to compensating for another person’s movement. Not that you entirely mind. His hand is warm around yours and he’s solid when you bump him with your shoulder accidentally. 

"This is fun." You smile up at Kyle and someone slams into your side, knocking you to the ice.

Or they would knock you to the ice, but you're quickly caught by your date. 

Strong arms tighten around you, Kyle's grip is iron where he grabs you and pulls you against his chest. He’s broad, warm, heat creeps over your body and rises through your cheeks. You blink as you work to get your bearings and guilt starts to eat at you. 

You feel the angry expansion of Kyle's breath as he yells after the retreating figure that knocked you over. His chest rising and falling under your hands where your fingers grip his shirt. God, is that muscle you’re feeling? 

His hand covers the back of your head and presses you closer when you try to turn. Kyle’s arm blocks your view so you can't get a clear look at the retreating figure, but he looks massive. Too big to be on skates without looking a little silly. He probably didn’t even notice you, might not have even noticed Kyle. 

“Fucking dick,” Kyle swears, and for a moment you’re almost scared he’ll chase after the guy, do some macho shit that’ll just get his pretty ass beat trying to “defend” you. Leaving you to defend his own masculinity. Replacing actual affection with meaningless undirected rage in the name of “doing right by you.” Just like your ex. 

You physically feel all of his attention shift to you as you tense with anticipation, and his grip softens. “Are you alright, love?” 

The air rushes out of you. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d gotten, poised right at the edge of begging not to make a scene. But Kyle’s not like that, and when you look at him it’s clear he doesn’t have anything to prove, he’s worried about you. It makes something forgotten and tiny clench in your chest. Hope.

“I’m fine, just caught me off guard.” You shake your head, enjoying Kyle’s hold of you for a moment longer before moving to stand again. He lets you go reluctantly, his hands sliding over you as if he’s checking to be sure you haven’t been injured somehow. Instead of taking your hand again, he keeps his palm pressed to the small of your back. You're nestled close against his side, and if you’re honest the angle is a little awkward. You don’t mind. You sort of like it. But If Kyle thought this would make skating any easier it definitely doesn’t, and you think he’s struggling too with the way he shifts on his skates.

You wrap your arm around Kyle’s middle to hug him tight in an attempt to make this easier before you can fully think it through. He laughs, and immediately stumbles, sending both of you tumbling to the ice as he overcorrects his counterbalance and falls backwards. 

You laugh from the ground and feel Kyle’s body shaking with laughter under you. You’re still giggling as you dust the ice off your hands and fumble through trying to help Kyle to his feet as he does the same for you. Two people tugging at each other and stumbling through the entire process, you feel bright and bubbly and you’ve completely forgotten about being bumped into by the time you and Kyle both get up.

You almost feel bad for the goof given the way Kyle rubs his back, but the smile he gives you tells you he doesn’t mind. You’re breathless from the chill and your own attempts to suppress your laughter during the effort of standing, but you still turn to start skating again. Kyle’s quick to grab your arm and pull you back. 

“Wait,” He says, his own smile breathless as well, “picture.”

“Oh, yeah, um,” You glance around for something couple-y to take a photo of and Kyle spins you to face him. His hands stay on your hips, holding you in place. You try to ignore them.

“The skates.” He suggests. 

You glance down at where the tip of your skates are bumping against his, they look different enough that you could probably tell which were yours just from a picture. You pull your phone out of your coat pocket and try to avoid headbutting Kyle’s chest while you snap a few pictures. His skates play with yours as Kyle wiggles his feet in and out of a triangle shape. You smile and glance up at him to tell him to hold still.

Again he’s close, his face inches from yours where he’s leaned over to look at your phones. His head tips ever so slightly to look at you better and you feel his breath ghosting over your cheek. You’ve never felt so… caught, like a rabbit that’s just stumbled into a trap, your eyes fixed on him like a lifeline you’ll never reach. But if you look anywhere else- 

his eyes dart to your lips and you feel your cheeks flash with heat. He looks away quickly and straightens up, clearing his throat. Maybe you’re not the only one enjoying yourself.

It gives you an idea.

“Let’s get another one.” You offer, tugging him over to the wall that surrounds the rink.

“Alright.” He sounds suspicious, but he doesn’t resist. His skates glide over the ice without resistance and you manage to put him against the wall without issue. 

“Ok just right here,” You nod. You hold up your fingers in a square as if you’re lining up the shot and then cozy up next to him, raising your phone for a selfie. Kyle raises a brow, but doesn’t say anything. “Just for us.” You tell him, trying to assure him you’re not breaking his faceless rule.

You set a short timer on your camera and hold your arm out to get the best frame, before you lean up and kiss Kyle’s cheek as the camera clicks. You pull back and grin at Kyle.

“Bet.” He grins, Your phone is slipped from your hand almost as quickly as Kyle pulls you in to kiss you properly.

His lips fix over yours, warm and soft and insistent they part ever so slightly only to pull you in again. Like the gentle lap of waves against a cliffside, the push and pull of a current, he kisses you again and again. The gentle affection of it drips through you like honey, something sweet and indulgent that you want to taste again and again. You should push him away, you barely know him, he’s just some stranger you met online, he could do anything to you. 

Yet, your hands find their way to his shoulders as his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips and you part for the warm wet muscle. Your head tips to the side, your nose brushing his, comfortable, fit together like puzzle pieces. You’re pressed close against his chest, your hands curling in his shirt with the intention of pushing him away --one of the many lies you tell yourself-- but-

But he twists his tongue against yours and you feel something breathless bubble up in your chest. Your head is fuzzy and your skin prickles with desire. It’s been so long since you were kissed like this, like you’re worth kissing. Kyle’s tongue traces a gentle path over yours, before his lips are taking over that gentle push-pull again. His teeth dig into your bottom lip curiously, his mouth slipping against your own over and over again in a leading dance. 

You can’t help wondering if he’s this good with his mouth in other circumstances. One of your friends once told you that the best way to see how someone’s head was, was to make out with them, and you hadn’t understood what they meant but now? Now you’re starting to think maybe your ex was just bad enough at both that you hadn’t made the correlation. Or hadn’t wanted to…

He pulls back and you push into the kiss, unwilling to let it end when it feels so good. You can feel the curve of Kyle’s lips, the part of them as you press your lips to his teeth and he drags his tongue over your lips. It makes your head spin. 

At least Kyle seems to have kept his common sense, pulling away with a searching almost apologetic look. You blink slowly, your eyes heavy as your brain works to piece together what the hell just happened. 

“I-” Kyle clears his throat, “usually I wait for the third date before trying anything.” The joke is weak but your head is spinning too much to do anything but nod like an idiot. Kyle glances at your phone, now clutched in his hand. Recording. You feel another flush of heat pass over your face and he hurriedly fumbles to stop the camera.

You press your hands to your face in embarrassment and listen to Kyle mutter quite swears. You glance back at him and find his eyes glued to your phone. You glance at your phone to see the video of him kissing you playing back. You gasp.

“Delete that!” You insist. Kyle holds the phone up out of your reach, his eyes never leaving the screen. A slurry of swears and insults crowd your mind, perv seems to be the frontrunner on your tongue in the brief second it takes him to tap the screen and hand your phone back. 

The video is stopped, or maybe it’s a screenshot? Either way it’s just you and Kyle standing there. Kyle’s face is entirely hidden but you recognize your own hair and the curve of your face immediately, even if it’s almost hidden by the way Kyle’s head is tilted to kiss you. It looks like a still from a movie, spontaneous but choreographed. Romantic.

The sort of picture that you’ve always wanted to feature you, somewhere deep in your lonely heart. The main character in your own love story.

You can’t post something like that.

“Not good?” Kyle asks when you’ve been quiet too long.

“It’s fine.” You mumble, locking your phone and stuffing it in your pocket. 

“I shouldn’t’ve kissed you.” He winces.

“No that’s not-”

“I’m sorry, it was an impulsive decision. I won’t do it again.” He nods so seriously that it makes panic rise in your throat.

“No!” You’re quick to correct, maybe too quick, “No, it’s-” You take a breath to catch yourself, “-it was nice-” his face falls a little and you correct again, “-good, it was really good I don’t, um- you could do it again, maybe.”

You try to avoid looking at the dazzling grin that seems to bloom over Kyle’s face. He laces his fingers with yours and tugs you back to skating. You think that might’ve been the right answer, because he’s skating just a little faster than before, pulling you along at a pace that makes you breathless. You’re pulled around the rink, weaving between other couples on much more leisurely loops, once and then twice. 

It’s a lot of coordination but you’re almost giddy from the rush of it. You feel like a kid racing with your friends to see who can skate faster, playing games with made up rules and finish lines. Kyle never lets go of your hand, his grip so steady and unwavering you wonder how you were having so much trouble earlier. He only slows to swing you around and crowd you close to another section of the barrier. Pinning you, boxing you in with his hands on either side of you to hold onto the wall.

“When?” He asks eagerly.

“When what?” You laugh. He keeps crowding you, like the man’s allergic to personal space. Somehow you don’t entirely mind, you like having his full attention even if that means he’s a little closer than is comfortable. Besides, Kyle’s warm and smells like something sweet but earthy that you can’t put a name to. It makes you want to press your nose against his neck and breathe until you can figure it out. 

He might let you given how he’s been acting.

“When can I kiss you again?” His response shakes you from your daydreaming. 

“I don’t know,” You try to stifle the laugh this time, though you’re sure it reads clear as day on your face, “buy me dinner first.” You joke.

“How about lunch?” He offers.

“Has to be dinner,” You stand firm, if only because it makes him sigh like you’re asking him to marry you.

“Not open to negotiations then,” You shake your head, “Alright, have it your way.” 

“But we should get lunch too.” You’ll give him that, “All I’ve had today is tea and I’m starved.”

“They’ve got changing rooms here.” Kyle bobs his head like he’s thinking, and tugs at the hem of your sweater, “think we’ve run the course on this jumper.”

You must look confused, before you remember you’re supposed to be changing between dates, because Kyle has to turn his head away from you. He covers up his laugh with a cough that you aren’t buying. It’s cute, sort of makes you want to grab his face just to make him smile at you, to hear him laugh properly. Why the hell is this guy advertising a fake dating service on craigslist?

“I’ll grab some clothes from my car.” You nod.

“No rush,” Kyle says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

*

You suppose it’s because he walked with you to get clothes from your car that he doesn’t offer you a ride this time. He does make a face when he sees your suitcase in the back seat, but aside from offering to help you move it to the trunk, he doesn’t say anything. It's polite, but you feel the distance of it as you walk back to the changing rooms at the rink. You wish he would have offered. It would be annoying having to pick up your car from the park later, but you’d get to spend the extra time with Kyle, and maybe you wouldn't feel this gnawing like you've done something wrong.

Since Kyle gave you options for your "second" date, you give him options for lunch. You know there aren't any wrong answers, especially when you're just pulling nearby restaurants from off your phone's map, but you're a little disappointed when he picks-

"Let's do the other then," He rescinds his choice.

"What?" You look up at him from your phone.

"Let's go to," He leans close to glance at your phone, "Kategna? I'm probably butchering that." He pulls away and you blink at him, "You seem more excited for it."

"Oh, no, I don't-" You wave a hand, "don't think about me, just pick what seems good to you."

"Kategna sounds good," He reaches a hand to tap his fingers under your chin, it's affectionate and patronizing in equal measure, and it makes your face burn like a wildfire, "besides, I don't want to disappoint my best girl."

You glance at your phone and worry your lip.

"Are you sure?" You ask, "It's- we're going to be eating with our hands, if that's not your style-"

"I'm good with my hands love, don't worry about me." He smiles, "Pick somewhere you like, my treat."

He says it like he hadn't assured you the day was on him just a few hours ago. That doesn't stop it from feeling like a treat. It bubbles in your stomach somewhere between guilty and grateful. You should pay if you're forcing him to go somewhere he doesn't want to. You open your mouth and he presses his finger against your lips.

"Ah ah, I told you, it's on me." He moves his finger to tap your forehead, "Don't want to make me a liar, do you doll?"

"If you want to go somewhere else." You couch.

"I want to go to Kategna." He assures you, "Don't think I've had ethiopian since-" He hums thinking, "-probably second to last deployment? That sounds right."

A million questions pop into your head and are just as quickly squashed by Kyle pulling out his phone. You watch him type in the restaurant's name with a spark of disappointment. The feeling of a good date being over creeps up on you before you can remind yourself that you're heading to the next one. Still, you sort of... miss Kyle already.

"I'll see you there," You mumble, turning to power walk to your car before you can say anything stupid. Best not to examine that feeling too closely.

You thank your lucky stars on being able to park near the restaurant and somehow beat Kyle there. You grab a table and wait.

And wait.

You feel your heart starting to sink. You check your phone and realize you don't have Kyle's number. The server swings by to ask about drinks and you assure both of you that you need a few minutes for Kyle to get there. You're not sure you convince yourself, but the server doesn't say anything so you pretend you've convinced them.

You shouldn't be disappointed. You don't really know Kyle, and this wasn't a real date. You had a good time skating, got a decent kiss out of it, and now he's realized you're not worth the trouble of a full day. It hurts, how quickly the feeling of inadequacy seems to creep in. Familiar as an old wound.

You check your phone, reasoning that you'll give him another five minutes when you've already given him ten.

Fifteen minutes.

You resolve to try and enjoy the food by yourself when Kyle finally shows up. He's a little out of breath, and his arm is bent behind his back. It's enough to make you pause, your finger pointing at a tomato salad on the menu and your eyes wide. The server even seems surprised. You're not sure you appreciate that, but your bruised pride swells with relief seeing Kyle hurry to pull out the chair across from you.

"Sorry, love." He huffs. You give him a weak smile, trying not to show the hurt you'd been inflicting on yourself, and he holds out a bouquet. "Saw a shop on my way here," He explains, "thought I'd be quicker."

"Oh." You blink at the flowers. They're beautiful, blue and white with boxwood's soft green breaking up the petals. Little dots of pink peak through the baby blue of the hydrangeas, and you take the paper wrapped bundle from Kyle with a full breath, trying not to look like you're smelling the fragrant bouquet. You can't even remember Brad buying you flowers, he always said it was too expensive for something that was just going to die.

Kyle isn't even dating you and he bought them on a whim.

"Are you ordering?" He asks, settling in his chair and picking up the menu to glance over.

"I'll give you a moment to look over the menu," the server tells him and Kyle waves him off.

"We'll have an order of the tibs wat, the miser alecha, tikil gomen, and-"

"Sambosas?" You cut in and Kyle gives a short huff of laughter. He folds his menu and hands it to the server.

"And two sambosas."

The server nods and you hand over your menu as well. You've never understood the appeal of having someone order for you, but Kyle was so fluid with it. No stuttering or stopping, barely a glance at the menu, and, well, you're willing to forgive a lot given the bouquet. You have to admit though, his choices are smart. A meat and two vegetarian options. Just in case, your brain tells you, because he hasn’t asked if you eat meat and he’s trying to be considerate. 

“Thank you,” You start because you aren’t quite sure what to say, but you can’t stand sitting in silence, “The flowers are really nice.”

“My mum always told me if you’re going to be late you better have something to make up for it.” Kyle smiles, “but I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

He plucks the emotion right from your chest. Scared isn’t the first option you’d have chosen if you were him. Angry maybe, you can understand being angry that he’s late, but scared? Were you that easy to read? Or maybe it’s just that clear from your… everything… how used to being cast aside you are. Maybe it’s written on you in big black letters right where everyone can see.

Your teeth find your bottom lip to pick at the chapped skin there. Uncomfortable.

“So what do you do for work?” Kyle asks, picking at a stray thread on his jumper. You shake yourself from your thoughts.

“Nothing special,” You don’t dislike the question, but you hate talking about work, “I do some graphic design work.”

“That must run you into the city a lot, know a couple advertising firms that-”

“I work from home,” You stop him, “mostly. It’s easier, I like the quiet.” Kyle nods like he understands. You wonder if he does, or if he’s just being polite. “What about you, you said you served. What got you into security?”

Kyle’s face falls, something different taking over. There’s a coldness to his expression, a wall being thrown up. It leaves you feeling off balance, guaranteeing a misstep.

“My mate, I uh,” He clears his throat and leans his elbows on the table, hunching his shoulders forward, “watched him get shot in the head, sort of a reality check.”

“Oh my God.” You press a hand to your mouth, “Oh my God Kyle, I’m-”

“You didn’t know,” He waves it off, “Happier in private security-” he reassures you with a smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “-safer than falling out of helos, and I get to take pretty things like you out on the weekend.”

Your body feels like it short circuits, unsure how to take the compliment in the wake of something as tragic as Kyle losing a friend. A memory that you brought up with your poking. God you’re so fucking bad at this. Dating is better left to the people that don’t accidentally bring up the guy’s dead best friend during the getting to know you phase.

“Hobbies?” Kyle asks, reaching for his water. You jump at the chance to talk about yourself. Anything to get the spotlight off Kyle.

“About a million.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood. “I feel like I pick one up and get all the materials just to jump to a different one once I’m ready to start.”

“Roommate must hate that.” Kyle smiles. A wave of relief washes over you seeing a little life return to his eyes.

“Thankfully I don’t have to deal with roommates,” You chat, “my last one was awful, really soured me on living with other people.”

“Don’t tell me that, doll.” Kyle blinks, “pretty thing like you all alone? I’ll worry.”

“Oh no,” You reassure him, “I mean I’m near Tinkham Park, so it’s pretty safe and I lock my door.” Kyle looks relieved and you smile at him to sell your point. “Besides, no one is coming after me.”

You mean it as a joke but Kyle’s brows draw down in confusion.

“Why not? I would.” Something squirms in your stomach, you’re sure he means it as a clumsy compliment especially with the way he winces, so you tamp down the spike of anxiety. “That came out wrong.” He tells you, “You’re beautiful.” 

He says it like it’s a fact, like it’ll make you forget the previous sentence. It does. Your cheeks warm and you smile down at your lap with embarrassed glee. Flowers, compliments, a kiss you’re going to daydream over, so far you’d call this a perfect date.

“Let me get a picture.” Kyle’s excitement reminds you, all too clearly, how much of a date this isn’t. He pulls his phone out and you smile as he raises the camera to snap a quick pic. He turns the phone to face you and-

God, you’re not sure if he just got a weird angle or what but you’re seeing a lot of tits in that picture. You glance down at your chest, is your shirt too low? You thought it was cute. Kyle pulls the phone back to look at it with a puzzled expression before it seems to click.

“Oh. Oh!” He taps a few buttons on his phone and tells you, “deleted, how about another one?”

He snaps a few more and swipes through the options before turning the phone back to you.

You’re… pretty, sitting at the table with a wide smile and an excitement behind your eyes that you never saw in any of the photos you took with Brad. You cock your head to the side to inspect in further and deem it worthy when Kyle prods you for an answer.

“Great,” He taps at his phone, “I’ll send it to you.”

“You don’t have my number,” You remind him and he shoots you a devastating grin.

“Then give it to me.”

The server starts setting down plates as you finish enunciating your number, and the smell that hits you makes your stomach growl. Warm, rich spices fill your nose and settle fragrant on your tongue. Saucey meats and soft vegetables, crisp fresh tomatoes and two perfect fried pyramids. You reach for the injera as soon as the server sets a basket of it on the table, unrolling one of the beautifully sour pancakes to start digging in.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling how quickly your eyes go to Kyle’s hands when he tears off a piece of injera for himself. You’re transfixed watching him pinch a piece of chicken and shove the morsel in his mouth. Or maybe it’s the way he licks his lips that does it, pink tongue darting to drag rich sauce off his full lips before dragging along the pad of his thumb. He sucks the digit into his mouth and your stomach drops. You feel a little shudder of something akin to desire ripple through you, chilly but settling warm in the pit of your stomach. His eyes fix on you as he rips another piece of the sour pancake and you rush to pretend you weren’t staring.

Though you can feel his eyes on you just the same as you scoop some of the miser alecha between your fingers and deposit it into your waiting mouth.

It’s embarrassing to think that you put on a show for Kyle, licking the drip of curried sauce off your fingers with a greedy tongue before ripping off another piece. It feels good to be watched. You feel wanted in a way you haven’t before, and when you suck at the tibs wat that lingers on your finger you smile at Kyle and ask him: “What?”

“Nothing,” He swallows, going back to his own meal, “Just looking.”

Your mouth moves with your smile, trying to settle on an expression that isn’t as excited as you feel. You’re not sure it works, or that he doesn’t see the way your eyes dart back to the food after staring at his mouth.

It was so soft when he’d kissed you.

You pull out your phone and get a quick photo of the spread, Kyle’s fingers dipping the injera into the timatim salad in the top of frame. It’s a necessary distraction from the gnawing hunger that seems to creep into you. One you don’t think will be settled with food, or settled any time soon.

Fake date and all.

*

You and Kyle spend longer than you’d anticipated at the little Ethiopian restaurant, eating and chatting. Firstly because you’d ordered another serving of tibs wat after Kyle had nearly licked the plate clean, and secondly because it had taken so long to decide on another activity. 

You have plenty of time to kill before dinner, and you feel woefully unprepared to plan an afternoon date. 

You settle on a crappy action flick with absolutely abysmal reviews. It takes you as long to actually pick the damn thing as it took to decide to see a movie, so you’re making great time. Mostly you pick it because neither of you seem particularly interested in it, and if it sucks at least it’ll give you something to talk about afterwards. 

You like talking to Kyle. There’s something so easy about it, as natural as breathing. The conversation flows like you’ve known him forever, and you find yourself talking more than you’re used to, answering questions and filling in blanks for him about your life. It’s only when you get in your car a third time that you realize, he hasn’t really told you anything about himself. 

You know he was in the military, that he lost someone close to him, and that he’s in security now. You know that he prefers salty over sweet snacks, and that he prefers to wake up early. You know that he has sisters, and that’s about it. It feels like a lot, but… is it? It’s somewhere above surface level, like answers from a dating questionnaire. Enough to give the impression of a person without actually showing you the full picture.

You resolve to ask him about himself more at dinner. You don’t think you’ll have much room for conversation during the movie.

You pull up to the theater and wave when Kyle pulls up right beside you. He smiles and you smile back. Easy. Things are easy with Kyle and you’re wasting your time overthinking, as usual.

It’s a nice distraction when he takes your hand walking into the theater and you feel your brain hiccup as his thumb sweeps over the back of your knuckles. The casual affection makes you want to press for more from a man you barely know. Kyle barely seems to notice, too busy poking at the little ticket ordering screen to pick your seats. You miss the way his finger hovers over the back row of chairs before picking something closer to the middle as you glance at the screen.

“Oh wow this thing is empty.” You laugh, “must be pretty bad.”

“I hope so,” Kyle jokes, “Need something I can force my mates to watch later.”

You grab onto the opportunity to learn more about him.

“Do you and your friends have movie nights?”

“Only when we find something really bad,” He tells you with a smile, “Popcorn?”

You glance at the concession stand and shake your head. “I’m full from lunch.”

Kyle hums, “Me too, we’ll have to go back some time.”

“For sure.” You agree. You try not to think too hard about how going again implies another date, maybe a real one. Of course there is the very real possibility of Kyle just being polite. He’s a nice guy you doubt he’d say ‘I’ll go back but not with you’ to your face.

That thought takes some of the wind out of your sails as you trail behind Kyle to the theater.

You’re halfway to wondering if he even notices when his hand finds yours and he tugs you to walk with him.

“Wouldn’t want you getting lost,” he whispers, “we’ve got a date later.”

You smile and let him lead you to the empty theater.

You enjoy watching Kyle squint at the ticket stubs to try and determine what number your seats are, and sit down only to realize you’re far too early for this movie. The lights aren’t even half-dimmed yet, and the screen is glowing with some silent ad for the concession stand in the lobby. 

You check your phone to see how much time is left until previews and Kyle leans close to your side. 

“Picture time?” He asks.

“Oh, no, I just wanted to see what time it was.” You lock your phone and settle it on your lap. You’re with someone, it would be rude to be on your phone.

“I should’ve found a sooner showtime,” Kyle grimaces.

“It’s fine!” You don’t want to seem disagreeable, “Just don’t know what to do with our time.”

“Don’t wanna talk to me?” Kyle hums. When you look at him he’s got this strange smile, an emotion clear but unreadable. It shudders down your spine like cold water.

“I’ve been doing a lot of talking.” You admit, and earn another hum. Kyle leans close, and tips his head.

“Ask me something sweetheart.”

He’s so close, so definite with his command, that you struggle not to comply. Favorite colors and foods. Where did he meet his mates (met them while serving). What branch was he in (Special Air Service). What did they do (classified). His answers are short and definite and when you struggle to come up with another Kyle takes over.

What sort of food do you like? Really, no allergies then? Oh, is that common in your family? That’s interesting. You don’t say. Tell me more.

Again you find yourself talking and talking.

“I’m not really sure what sort of photo to get,” You admit, as another couple files into the theater, “Just a dark theater? The screen?”

“Just focus on me touching you,” Kyle smiles and you’re a little confused by his phrasing until he moves.

Kyle’s hand settles on your thigh, the position of it is polite, but it still feels overly familiar. You snap a few pictures and lock your phone again, expecting him to move his hand as the lights flick off. You turn to him to- you don’t know, say something, and he raises a finger to his mouth. You shut your mouth tight again and face forward to watch the movie. 

You’re barely ten minutes in when his thumb starts to rub at your thigh. Soft circles that make you tense. It’s affectionate. Too affectionate for a veritable stranger, but when you turn to him again to ask him to move he shushes you. You curl your fingers into fists and try not to squirm when he starts rubbing again. His hand is big and warm on your thigh, his fingers resting just slightly too far along the inside of your jeans for you to ignore. 

You shift in your seat in the hopes that’ll make him move and all it does is slide his hand further up your thigh. Just a few centimeters, but it’s enough to move it away from what you’d call polite. The rub of his thumb feels infinitely higher, and your body seems to zero in on the feeling.

Warmth starts to flicker between your legs, your stomach clenching pleasantly as your skin bristles with the movement of Kyle’s thumb. Such a simple touch, and yet it’s sent your body into high-alert. 

You can’t suppress the shiver that tracks down your spine, and again the motion shifts the placement of his hand. You feel the hover of his fingers where they trace the inside of your thigh like a phantom brush against your cunt. He hasn’t even moved them, hasn’t done more than circle his thumb against denim, and yet your pussy pulses with the need to feel him press his fingers against it. You can almost feel it, can almost imagine the bump of his knuckles against your clothed cunt.

He’s been so polite, he’d probably apologize for it, even though you both know you’re the one that can’t stay still. 

You can’t help the slight push of your hips, into the sensation and --as if on cue-- Kyle’s pinky bumps the warmth between your legs. Your body flushes with heat.

He leans close, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he slides his hand back towards your knee, “Sorry love,” He whispers, and you feel his breath like a touch, “can’t see in here.”

He squeezes your thigh as he leans away and again a shiver tumbles through you. It must be freezing in this theater.

His thumb doesn’t rub, but his fingers are closer to the inside seam of your jeans and splayed wide. His pinky draws towards his ring finger in what you’re sure is just him making his grip more comfortable, but your body follows the trail of it like a bloodhound. Your skin lights up at the short movement and you find yourself hoping he’ll do it again.

You stay resolutely still and try to focus on the movie. You- you have no idea what’s happening.

Kyle spreads his fingers wide again, applying the gentlest pressure as he stretches in his seat. The drag of his touch is intoxicating, it sucks your attention back to it with the slightest movement. You ache for more, for his hand to creep higher, to feel the press of his fingers against your cunt. Even through the layers of fabric you’re sure you’d be able to find some relief in them. Selfishly you shift in your seat, scoot down ever so slightly in the hopes it’ll nudge his grip higher. 

You could chart the path of his hand down to the millimeter. 

You’ve never been more happy for a nearly empty theater than when his thumb starts moving again. Except when the rest of his hand follows.

You have to stop from sucking in a breath when he shifts his grip and his fingers start a short devastating path over the inside seam of your jeans. A soft idle motion, back and forth, almost thoughtless. Well, thoughtless for Kyle. It’s all you can think about. 

It’s too far up your thigh, right where the denim is stretched and thin against your skin. The touch almost tickles, feather light and blisteringly hot. Or maybe it’s the goosebumps that it sends over your skin that makes the rest of you feel cold. You can’t say for certain, only that your brain latches onto it and transfers the sensation to the needy thing between your legs. 

All you can think of is the way he’d drag his fingers over your cunt, would it be with this same soft teasing touch or would he be more focused. You can almost transfer the sensation, the short rub against your thigh trailing higher, until he’s rubbing at your clit, teasing you through the fabric of your jeans and leaning close to whisper-

“I’ll be right back.” You jerk from your daydream as Kyle’s breath hits your cheek and try not to look like you’re scrambling away from the poor guy. An explosion on screen lights up the furrow of his brow as you collect yourself. Probably thinks he startled you from watching the movie. “Bathroom.” He explains, and you nod quickly.

He squeezes your thigh before he gets up and you watch him go to make sure he isn’t running from you.

You press your hands against your face when you’re sure he’s out of the theater and let out a little air scream. 

Get a fucking grip, you tell yourself furiously. This is ridiculous. Kyle’s been nothing but sweet to you on these fake --you repeat that part to yourself a few times for good measure-- dates, and- oh my God is that all it takes for you? Being treated well? A little idle affection?

You press your hands harder against your face and take a deep breath, before dropping your hands down to your lap to try and readjust your focus onto the movie.

It takes a few minutes for you to realize it, but this movie sucks.

Luckily by the time you realize that Kyle’s sliding back into his chair.

He leans over the seat and you tip your head for him to stay close. “What did I miss?” He asks.

“A couple really bad one-liners,” You whisper back, turning to catch his ear, “I’m trying to figure out the layout of this hotel.”

“Whatever works for the plot probably.” Kyle’s voice has something warm at the edge of it, a hint of laughter that makes you smile.

“This movie sucks,” You tell him and feel the sharp exhale of laughter against your neck as you see his shoulders shake in the dark.

“Yeah, it does.” He agrees, his voice tight with that suppressed laugh. You think.

*

You decide to grab a drink after the movie. Mostly to kill time before dinner, but also to give you time to change. You’d forgotten that the bathrooms were past the ticket taker at the theater, so once you’d left it was either find another bathroom or attempt to change in your car. You picked drinks. It was near the restaurant anyway.

Except you’re not sure you grabbed the right clothes once you see the restaurant. It looks fancy.

Kyle stands with you to chat as you dig through the suitcase in your trunk. You pull out a dress and make a face. 

“Want some help?”

“No I- maybe?” You wince, “I don’t know if what I have works for dinner.”

Kyle nudges you with his arm and you shuffle to the side to let him dig through your clothes. He’s purposeful about it, his eyes scanning each piece that he touches before finally pulling out one of the dresses at the bottom.

“This one,” He tells you, handing you the dress. You’re reminded suddenly of this morning when he’d told you, your dinner dress was “his pick,” and take the garment with a small smile.

“You want to do my makeup too Mr. Fashion?” You joke. Something flashes in his eyes and your stomach flips.

“If you’re offering.” The rumble of his voice is lower, devastatingly so, and it simmers hot in your stomach. He isn’t joking. “My sisters used to make me do their makeup,” He tells you, stepping closer, “I’m good at it.”

You feel boxed in. The corner of your car just barely catches your hand as you drop it to your side, and hurriedly raise it again to keep your dress from getting dirty. 

“Let me dress you up, doll.” He pleads, his smile warmer, more friendly. There’s something in the flash of his teeth when he offers though that feels… calculating. 

“I’m-” You try to think of a way to deny him, “You don’t want to sit in the bathroom with me for that, do you?”

He sits you at the bar instead, lays out the minimal makeup you’d brought and touches your face with soft hands. He tips your chin up and you close your eyes a little too tightly at the feeling. You’re not used to this, it feels strange and you’re not sure you like it.

“Hold still for me.” Kyle murmurs to you.

“What if I want a drink?” You try to joke.

“Then you ask me for one.” He responds easily, and you hear the squeeze of  your tinted moisturizer. His fingers sweep over your cheeks, over your chin, down your nose and across your forehead. Rubbing in the blurring color before leaving you. You open your eyes enough to see him toying with the concealer you’d brought.

“We’ll need to get better supplies.” He mumbles to himself and you shut your eyes again from him to dot the little wand under your eyes and against your eyelids. Eyeshadow, precise eyeliner. It’s cold and practiced. It makes you think he’s done this before, maybe on more than just his sisters. It’s not until he gets to your lips that you start feeling off. His breathing is even but heavier somehow, his touches linger, and his breath skates across your skin. He’s close to you, and you can feel the heat that radiates from him.

His thumb finds your mouth, and tugs at your lip. You open for him, and wonder why he didn’t just ask. Only to feel the pad of his thumb press down against your tongue.

It’s brief, but it startles you, and you jerk away. Your eyes fly open and he’s holding up your favorite lipstick, looking like you’re getting jumpy for no reason. His hand is settled in his lap and his brows are raised.

“I can do it.” You insist and grab the metal tube from him. Your hands shake as you unlock your phone and try to apply your lipstick in the mirror image on screen.

Kyle watches you like a hawk.

*

You’re shown to your table almost as soon as you walk in the door. The restaurant is beautiful, softly lit by chandeliers with cream colored tablecloths and plates edged with gold. The sort of place you’ve always wanted to visit but never had the chance. Every inch of the place speaks to a level of class and sophistication that was always out of reach when you were with Brad. He never wanted to spend more than was necessary, but Kyle-

Kyle…

Your head is still reeling from Kyle’s makeup application, the firm guiding hand he’d used to turn your head, the gentle touch of the brush as it swept over your eyelids. It should have felt more relaxing, right? But something about it had set you on edge, something flinty and cold in the warm umber of his eyes that had made you think twice about relaxing around him. Then his thumb against your tongue…

You’re starting to think you’d imagined his finger in your mouth. He wouldn’t do that, right? Kyle’s nice; sweet. You like him, and you just got caught up in the moment. You were looking for something wrong, something devious in a man who had been nothing but kind to you, because you were treated so badly by your ex.

Obviously.

He doesn’t act like anything is wrong, or like he did anything wrong. Kyle acts exactly as he has been all day. He’s kind, considerate, he pulls your chair out for you and orders a bottle of wine before the server leaves, he’s exactly the same.

You must have imagined it.

But you can’t get the feeling of pressure off your tongue.

You stare at the menu without really reading it, the crisp heavyweight paper on a leather bound board provides you no aid. You can’t get your brain to focus on the black lettering for long enough to absorb anything it’s telling you. 

If you did imagine it, what does that say about you? That you’re so touch starved it’s almost consumptive? Or maybe that you want Kyle to be pushy with his touching? More pushy, at least. More touchy in a way that feels more provocative than platonic. Anticipatory and intentional. You want him to touch you in a way that says “I want this, I want you, and I’m willing to take a risk to make it happen.”

God help you if you’re developing a public play kink, you really don’t need that right now.

“See anything you like?” Kyle asks, setting his menu down. Your eyes train on the way he laces his fingers together and sets his hands on the menu to lean closer to you. He’s changed the rings he’s wearing again. Gold bands that sit on his middle and ring finger on one hand, pinky and pointer on the other. The warm yellow metal flashes like starlight against his dark skin. You wonder what it would feel like against your tongue, clicking against your teeth…

You rip your eyes from his hands to meet his gaze, your face is warm and you feel a little embarrassed. You can’t say why. You weren’t staring at anything bad, and if this is all in your imagination then Kyle would have no reason to suspect what you were thinking about. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of being caught doing something wrong. So you shake your head.

“I don’t know, it all looks good.” A non-committal answer, you look at the menu to try and see if you can parse any of it on a second try. 

There’s a salad that looks good, one or two mains that you might enjoy. No prices on anything. That stops you, you glance at Kyle. He’s still looking at you, a smile creeping onto his face.

“There’s no wrong answer, love.” He tells you, reaching across the table to press your menu down, “Show me what you’re looking at.”

Your eyes trace his fingers where they settle against the paper before drifting down to what you’d been looking at.

“This maybe,” You point at one of the mains you’d been eyeing, then over to the other, “or this.”

“Anything else?” He prods. You give him a look and watch his teeth catch his lip as he smiles. “I’m happy sharing if you can’t decide.”

Panic slices through you. Share? This is a nice restaurant, you can’t share.

Kyle’s hand covers yours where you’re starting to pick at the edge of the menu.

“We can switch plates if that makes you more comfortable.” He offers, “I’m not picky, if you want to try something I’ll get it.”

“That’s not fair to you, I’m fine with-”

“I want to do it,” Kyle cuts you off. “I get to try two things, and you’re happy no matter what.”

“I-”

You’re interrupted by your server bringing the bottle of wine Kyle ordered. He plunges a needle like device into the top and pops the cork before handing it off to Kyle for inspection. It must pass whatever metric Kyle has because the server sets two glasses on the table and pours you each a healthy serving. 

You take your glass to taste the wine before you realize Kyle is ordering for both of you, again. That yummy sounding salad with strawberries and green apple, and both of the mains you’d shown him.

You hadn’t even asked what he wanted.

You set the wine down as discomfort gnaws at your stomach and Kyle lets the server run off with your order.

“I didn’t even ask what you wanted.” You whisper, leaning over the table to try and grab Kyle’s attention.

“I told you already, love,” He insists, “I’m not picky, and even if I was you have good taste.”

You raise a hand to cover your face and drop it just as fast when Kyle arches a brow at you. No hiding from him, or your shame.

“Well,” You fish for something to assuage your guilt with, “what do you like to eat?” You add on quickly, “For next time.”

Kyle’s eyes flick down to your plate, you hadn’t even noticed your server stealing the menu away, and then back to your face. He schools something behind his eyes before you can parse what it is, and for some reason you desperately want it back. A heat that he’d squashed before it could burst into a fire. Tempering himself.

“Learned to take what I could get when I was serving,” He tells you with a sly smile, “but sweet things like you fill me up just fine.”

You feel yourself burst with heat.

Idle flirting, you tell yourself as you try to subtly fan your face. Kyle laughs and despite any trepidation you may have had around the sound, any fear he was making fun of you keeps its head down.

He grabs your hand and pulls it to hold his over the table.

“I’m teasing, love.” He leans to press his lips against your knuckles, and smooths out the tickle with his thumb, “Wouldn’t do anything like that in a place like this.”

Where would he do it then, you wonder. His house maybe? Maybe your flat? Oh God, do you want him to come back to your flat? Is that even an appropriate thing to want? Would he care?

Kyle’s thumb keeps rubbing at your knuckles, his smile even and kind. Nothing about you seems to fluster or surprise him. You sort of like that. You haven’t had to temper yourself or push yourself down to be someone else with him. And he hasn’t asked you to.

“So, what are we going to talk about now?” Kyle asks.

Sports, it turns out. The first time you’ve gotten Kyle talking all day, the first time he hasn’t directed it back to you, and it’s about sports. Rugby specifically, apparently he and his friends play on a rec team. 

It’s such a masculine thing that you don’t know why it surprises you.

Maybe it’s how gentle Kyle’s been with you all day, the lack of aggression when you’d been knocked over at the park, but seeing him talk so animatedly about his hobby you’re pleasantly surprised. He smiles so wide as he tells you stories about injuries, and his mate “Soap” who can’t go a season without twinging his knee. 

Honestly, you might be more surprised to hear him talking so much, but it’s nice. His voice rumbles at a pleasantly low register as he leans over the table to talk to you. His eyes sparkle and his lips seem to form every syllable with perfect precision, as if his mouth can’t help giving each letter the same courtesy of speech. It’s chatter enough to give you a break from speaking, but still feels like a conversation. You’re allowed to ask questions here, to prod into stories about his life outside of whatever box he’s restricted your answers to, and you do freely.

By the time your server brings your food, Kyle doesn’t feel like a stranger. In fact your brain has squarely put him in the category “boyfriend material.” If he talked about you with the same enthusiasm you might die.

You give the server a quick thank you as they place your food in front of you, and you settle your napkin in your lap. Kyle’s hand drops to his lap as he does the same and knocks his fork to the floor. The huff he lets out is one of good natured annoyance as he ducks under the table to fetch it. He passes the dirty fork to the server and they promise to return with a clean one. 

Kyle pours you another glass of wine as he waits and you sip at it for something to do. It’s only polite to wait for him to be able to eat before you tuck in. Plus a little liquid confidence never hurt anyone. 

You take a longer sip when Kyle looks to take his new fork from the server and feel the warm tingle of alcohol slipping into your veins. You’ve spent all day with this guy and he still makes you nervous, though the reason has shifted from this morning. Your stomach flutters with butterflies instead of rolling with a sense of danger, and though that little voice in the back of your head nags that this guy is still a stranger you’re able to shrug it off easily. 

It's anticipatory nerves. You’re waiting for something to happen, for the other shoe to drop, and now that the day is almost over you’re worried there may not have been any shoes in the first place. Kyle is exactly what he’s presented himself to be, a gentleman who wants to give you a good day. A good date, you amend. It’s been a fantastic date, even if the point of it hasn’t been to get to know each other as much as to get revenge on your ex.

The thought reminds you to snap a picture of dinner, and as you tug your phone from your purse Kyle reaches across the table to refill your wine. It makes for a great shot, your “new man” giving you a generous pour of a nice bottle of wine with a table full of gourmet food. The only thing you’re missing is two dozen roses and a jewelry box and this would scream “upgrade.” 

You wonder if you could get the bouquet Kyle got you from the car.

He sets the wine back in its place and takes your hand as you settle your phone back in your purse. He raises his wine glass with a prompting look for you to do the same.

“To a wonderful date,” Kyle says, tapping his wine glass against yours, “I’ve enjoyed every minute.”

“You’ve been amazing.” You tell him pulling your glass back to take a drink. “I think every woman on earth will be jealous of these pictures.”

Kyle hums and sets his glass down to start cutting into his food. He spears a bite with his fork and holds it out to you.

“Open,” He offers and you lean forward to let him place it on your tongue. It’s delicious, and the look Kyle gives you as you pull away could fuel your wet dreams for months.

You grab your wine and down it, trying to drown the memory of Kyle’s thumb pressing down against your tongue, that same command to open bouncing through your head.

Kyle pours you another helping with a smile, and pretends to sip at his own glass.

*

You’re feeling pleasantly tipsy by the time you finish dinner and Kyle finishes signing the check. Your body buzzes warmly with wine, and your head is just fuzzy enough to notice without making you sleepy. You’re right at that stage of alcohol consumption where your brain is pumping out feel good hormones and you’re itching to be touched.

Kyle’s hand slides across the small of your back as you stand, and you feel your nerves light up at the touch. Then feel the heat of his hand drip down your spine to pool between your legs. You can still remember how his fingers had slid over your thigh earlier, and a shiver slips through you. You want more than just casual touching.

“Cold?” Kyle asks, pulling you closer against his side.

“Not really,” You tell him, though you see no reason why that would stop you from cuddling up against him. Big warm man.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Kyle says, steering you towards your car. You pout. Those are the date wrap up words.

“Me too.” You wish it didn’t have to end.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Kyle offers, though it’s pointless to ask when he’s already doing it. It still makes you smile, makes you nod.

It’s quiet walking back to your car. You feel like you’re dragging your feet, trying to find some way to linger in the moment before you leave and never see Kyle again. This day, this date, has been perfect. It needs a perfect ending.

You stop at your car and turn to face Kyle. He looks… conflicted. His brows drawn with worry and his jaw clenched. You don’t think he wants it to end either.

Emboldened by the alcohol you get your second bad idea of the day.

You grab his shirt and drag him close to kiss him.

And he grabs you like he’s been waiting for this for years.

He's rougher this time when he kisses you. His hands wander to grab at your waist, your hips, your thighs, squeezing and pulling like he could engulf you in the feeling. You can barely breathe, your nose stuffed full of that sweet earthy scent and the slight sour note of sweat as Kyle's tongue pushes into your mouth. Your stomach flips and heat pulses between your legs as he strokes his tongue against yours, teasing you into a lapping dance that you struggle to follow. Your head spins from the alcohol, it has to be the alcohol.

The pulse in your core tightens pleasantly, a rapid contraction that makes your breath puff from you in a short, humiliating, half moan. And Kyle licks it from your lips, drags his tongue against the lipstick you'd applied and pulls it across to your cheek. Your lips part and you stick out your tongue to follow his lead, your tipsy brain only half following the steps, only for him to meet your tongue with a hunger you didn't know men could have. Not for you, at least. 

You arch into his hold, feeling the firmness of his chest against yours, as he pushes his knee between your legs. You’re pinned to the trunk of your car and as your back arches against the lid of your trunk you wonder what Kyle would do if you bent over it. He probably wouldn’t fuck you in this fancy restaurant’s carpark. Right? No. But maybe? No.

You shake your head to clear it and feel Kyle press against your hip. The heat of his rigid cock makes you want to rut against his thigh like an animal. God you want him. 

“Let me take you home,” He murmurs, dragging his lips over your cheek to nip at your earlobe, “Make you forget your ex.”

“Please.” You mumble, twisting your fingers in his shirt. He kisses you again, and you open for him without prompting. You can’t stop yourself from licking into his mouth, chasing the taste of him as excitement thrums through you. Spending the night with Kyle sounds like a dream come true.

Your ass bumps your car against as your cant your hips against his leg.

Spending the night…

You should grab a change of clothes.

“You’re driving?” You ask, your head fuzzy as you pull away.

Kyle hums, “Don’t think I should let you drive like this.”

That’s fair, you may have had a little too much to drink.

And doesn’t that just make you all the warmer?

Kyle’s been such a fucking gentleman, the idea that he’d take advantage of you like this makes you want to pull his cock out right here. He’s so considerate, offering to drive, offering to make you forget your ex, paying for everything all day- God! God, you just want him to be a little scummy, to have that one little thing that’s wrong with him for your benefit. You want him to make a mess of you because you know he’ll put you back together again.

“Let me grab clothes,” You tug at his hips when he tries to pull away, not eager to let him move too far when you’re buzzing like this. Still, you have to be an adult.

You pop the trunk and grab a dress from your suitcase. You’re in a hurry, and you’ll be back for your car later, who cares if you’re a little fancy tomorrow?

Kyle’s hands slip over your ass and you push back into the feeling.

“Fuck me you’ve got a nice ass.”

You giggle at Kyle’s groaned compliment, and straighten up to watch him adjust himself as you slam the trunk shut.

“Your place?” You remind him, and he slides his hand into place against your back to guide you to his car.

Those wonderful fingers stroke over your panties the entire drive, teasing your sopping cunt and dragging down your bare thighs. His body presses you against the elevator wall, his lips trailing  over your neck and his teeth nipping at your pulse as you climb to his flat. His hands barely leave your hips long enough to unlock the door and even once it’s open he all but shoves you toward the bedroom.

You try to get his fly open as soon as you get inside, but-

“Want to fuck you properly,” He insists, “like you deserve.”

You’re not going to argue with that.

Especially not when he strips his shirt off as soon as he flicks the lights on in his bedroom. All that firm muscle you’d felt earlier in the day on full display, with a nice smattering of hair down his chest to the fly of his trouser, it makes your mouth water. You’re all too quick to follow in stripping, the alcohol making you feel bold. Kyle’s eyes rake over you, and the burst of heat that follows their path makes you feel sexy; wanted. When’s the last time a man looked at you like that? Like he’d walk through Hell just for a photo of you.

He’s quick with his trousers, tugs his boxers down with them and kicks them to the side with his shoes.

Your eyes follow his hands, stopping on the flash of metal that peeks out from the dark foreskin at the head of his half-hard cock. Your mouth waters. You’ve never wanted to blow someone so badly in your life. Kyle looks down and smiles.

“Was worried it might scare you off,” He confesses. The knowledge that you could worry him sparks in your chest pleasantly.

“Not scared,” You mumble, watching him settle on the bed and wrap a hand around his cock. He strokes it, watching you, and you feel the air settle on your heated skin.

“Want to taste it?” He asks, and you fall to your knees so quickly it hurts. You must wince because Kyle reaches for you with concerned eyes, and pulls you up from the floor onto the bed.

“Get comfortable baby,” He advises, “you’re not going anywhere.”

As if to demonstrate Kyle scoots to lay back against the pillows, spreading his legs wide enough for you to crawl between them and settle on your stomach. Definitely more comfortable. Your knees will thank you.

You spit on your hand and wrap it around Kyle’s cock, giving him a testing stroke before you lean close to drag your tongue up his length. He’s so warm and thick in your hand, you wonder how he’ll feel stretching you out.

“Fuck,” Kyle hisses when you flick your tongue against the piercing that works it’s way through the head of his gorgeous cock, “ dirty girl.” A flush of heat ripples over you, and you drag your tongue against the metal again, letting those two words work their way through you again and again. 

You open your mouth, hold your tongue out to drag long slow licks over the head of Kyle’s cock, letting him watch the wiggle of your tongue, the twist of the ring and the pump of your hand. It feels like magic watching his pupils dilate in the low light, his teeth gritting before his head drops back and his hand finds its way into your hair. 

“Filthy,” He mutters, “perfect beautiful, filthy girl.” He takes a breath and his fingers tighten in your hair, his head raising as he adjusts the pillows behind his head. “You like it?” He asks and you- God you feel bold, feel like proving him right, you take his cockhead into your mouth and close your lips around it with a pleased hum.

Praise was always what got you, but now you were wondering if that’s just because you heard it so rarely. Kyle had showered you with affection all day, and now to hear even the slightest dirty talk from him you feel like you’ll burst into flames. 

You flick your tongue against the ring, tasting the metal and the salt of his skin, yeah you like it. 

Your eyes cross a little looking at the ring that sits at the base of his cock, the piercing you still haven’t quite figured out, but desperately want to press your nose against. 

“Feels even better inside of you,” Kyle presses, his hand giving the slightest pressure, encouraging more than demanding you to take more of him. 

Your eyes flutter closed and you flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock as you bob your head down his length. The skin is soft under your tongue, soft and warm. His cock twitches against your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks to suck, unwilling to hit your gag reflex so soon. You want to be good for him, to make this good for him, and your head is still swimming just enough from the alcohol that you’re unwilling to risk gagging. 

Soft mouth, you think to yourself as Kyle tells you.

“That’s it love, just as much as you can take.” He wraps his hand over yours and pumps it up and down his length as you bob your head to meet his fingers. Your nose bumps his fist and the flutter in your stomach clenches hard enough to force a needy little whine from you. 

Kyle’s grip on your head tightens to an almost painful degree and holds you in place, his hand stroking up to press against your lips as you try to swallow around the cock on your tongue. You mouth fills with saliva and each bump against your lips makes you feel like it’ll leak out, already you can feel drool starting to slick at the corners.

Kyle pulls you off and tells you, “spit” before you can do anything else. The command in his voice is too strong to ignore, and though it feels humiliating you let your spit drip onto the head of his cock. He holds you there, hovering above it, watching the rivulets of it drip down the length only to be caught in the stroke of your layered fingers.

“So good at following orders, aren’t you, doll?” You nod and it pulls at Kyle’s grip, the short bursts of pain doing nothing to dissuade you from attempting to get him in your mouth again.

You hold your tongue out to catch the ring of his Prince Albert with the tip of your tongue, the warm metal so tantalizingly close and yet so far away. The slick pump of your spitty fingers fills the room. The push of his foreskin against the flared head with each stroke makes your mouth water. You wonder, if you ask, will he come on your face? Do you want him to come on your face? To paint you with ropes of warm come only to sweep it off with his fingers and push it into your all too eager mouth? You do. You really do.

Which must show on your face, because Kyle groans and squeezes your fingers tight around his cock.

“Come up here love, let me taste you.”

You pull off his cock with a pop and lap at the pre-come starting to bead around his piercing. The bitter fluid and the metal tang burst on your tongue and you find yourself distracted circling your tongue over his slit. Kyle tugs at you, and you’re forced to crawl up his deliciously toned body.

He helps you settle your knees on either side of your head, and before your brain can lodge a single syllable of worry over being too heavy for him, his hands have clamped onto your thighs and pulled you against his mouth.

The noise that leaves you is absolutely sinful. Half shocked cry, half moan, as his lips close around your clit and suck, pulling the tight bud with a pressure that makes you want to buck. Your hands find the edge of the headboard and grab on, your chin dropping to your chest to watch the way Kyle’s eyes lid with pleasure at the first taste of you.

His tongue cards flat through your folds, a leisurely stroke that feels like it’s prepping your body for the firm roll of his tongue against your clit. Back and forth and around, circling your clit with determined strokes only to lick over it, each roll making heat pulse through your core. Pleasure clenches in your stomach, making you gasp at the focused lap of his tongue. 

Kyle groans, his tongue leaving your clit to lick between your folds and tease at the entrance of your cunt. Gentle pressure that strokes at the soft wet skin, teasing the edge of your pussy until you’re ready to beg for him to push it inside. Your back curls, and you lean your forehead against the edge of the headboard, your traitorous hips rocking into the roll of Kyle’s tongue.

His nose bumps against your clit and a quiet noise escapes your throat. He tips his head back to direct his attention back to the sensitive bud. His tongue traces patterns over your clit, flicking against it until the jolts of pleasure leave you panting, your hips jerking with each move of his tongue. Your cunt feels like it’s melting.

Each touch to your clit zips up your spine and drags back down to pool between your legs, your cunt fluttering and clenching around nothing as your brain attempts to keep up with the stimulation. Kyle’s mouth is like a furnace, stroking wet heat over your core in long luxurious licks that drag slick up and down your slit. The prick of his mustache against sensitive skin as he turns to wipe his lips against your thigh tickles, but all you can focus on is how wet his mouth is.

His teeth tease the soft skin of your inner thigh, and your stomach flips. You try to mentally will him to bite, to mark you with that sharp pain that will slip like water through your veins and make you all the more pliant for him. Instead, those neat white points trail back to your cunt, and scrape over your clit with a pleased hum. You gasp, and shudder against his mouth. 

Kyle kisses your cunt with tongue and gently nipping teeth, bringing heat rushing to your cunt until it’s positively tingling with the need for more; the need to be filled. His thumbs rub against your skin in gentle soothing circles, attempting to make up for the iron grip that the rest of his fingers have on you. His hands are spread wide and greedy, pulling you into place and holding you there. You can offer no resistance, but why would you want to? Kyle’s mouth is wickedly clever and you think of the way his tongue had twisted against yours as it wiggles against your clit, edging you closer and closer to orgasm. 

And you can feel yourself start to give. The attention to your clit makes your legs shake, muscles starting to pulse and pull tight with your need. Your hips jerk and thrust against his mouth, your body desperate for more. Your breath comes quick, your moans grow louder, your vision blurs as your eyes roll. You shudder and shake as your cunt clenches tight and releases. You try to focus on the feeling, to will the orgasm to happen.

Sparks of pleasure that make your stomach flip and your legs shake. Your poor pussy desperately squeezing like a vice as if that will be enough to fill it up. And Kyle’s mouth working over you like he’s never enjoyed anything more. 

His tongue buries itself inside your tight cunt, and he shakes his head to rub his nose against your clit. The low groan that purrs against your heated skin makes your legs clench, and when he drags his tongue back up to wrap his lips around your clit you come.

Your body curls in on itself and your hands shoot from the headboard to grip at his hair. Your legs shake and you let out a pathetic whimpering moan that seems to build louder, higher, with each encouraging lick to your clit. Your pussy clenches hard, tight, tight, tight, and then releases with a flutter as you squeeze your eyes shut and try not to crush Kyle’s head between your thighs.

Kyle’s grip shifts and in a flurry of movement you’re flipped into your back on the mattress. Your knees hook over Kyle’s shoulders and you slip off to bounce against the bed with a shriek before his hands are pressing against the back of your thighs, his eyes trained on your cunt as he slides that perfect cock over your wet folds. Your hands fly to grab his wrists, to slide over his forearms, up his biceps, to claw at his shoulders as he leans his weight onto you and folds you in half.

The head of his cock catches your entrance, and pushes inside.

Your breath stops, held back by the burn of stretch as your cunt is filled. Kyle’s cock works you open centimeter by centimeter, pressing in and in until your chest feels locked too tight to do anything but make your mouth gape like a fish. His hips press flush against your ass, his hands squeeze your thighs. His hips pull back and thrust into you hard, hitting some delicious bundle of nerves that makes you throw your head back as your back arches to try and push him deeper.

The air rushes back into your lungs in time to hear Kyle’s low moan join your own high pitched,

“Fuck!”

You can feel his piercing nudging against your walls, pressing with the head of his cock against that deep throbbing part of you that sparks with a mixture of pain and pleasure that makes your head spin. You can barely get a breath in around the thrust of Kyle’s hips, can’t think of anything but ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ and ‘more, more, more.’ You rake your nails down Kyle’s chest, scrambling to find purchase as your hips start to ache with the strain of being forced into position.

The sound of wet skin against skin fills the room, accenting the fever pitch of your moans, punched out with each slap of Kyle’s hips against you. His cock feels like it’s reaching your stomach, twisting you into knots that spill molten heat into your limbs until they start to shudder from the strain. Your head is fuzzy with pleasure, unthinking and uncaring about anything but the slick slide of cock in and out of your cunt.

He’s so warm, his skin is so fucking warm, and his piercing tugs at the rim of your entrance as he pulls out to slap his thick cock against your still buzzing clit.

“Pretty thing,” He coos, “tell me what you want.”

Your breath shudders, sparks splintering through you with each slap against your clit. The pain is dull, but the humiliation of watching him toy with you makes heat bloom over your cheeks.

“Fuck me,” You whimper. You’re not sure if you mean it as a command, or if you mean it simply as an expletive. It doesn’t matter, your pathetic lips form the syllables and Kyle fills in the rest, sliding his cock back home in your needy little cunt.

“Yeah,” He breathes, “that’s all you need isn’t it?” His cock keeps hitting that perfect throbbing spot, pressing into that tight bundle of nerves that feels so impossibly deep, fucking the air out of you until you’re gasping and writhing and all but begging to feel it again. “You want me to keep you, love?” He offers, “Keep you a pretty little doll, nice tight hole always wet for me, not a thought in that pretty head of yours?”

You nod, maybe it’s the alcohol or the desperation to have someone like Kyle want someone like you but when his hand reaches to wrap around your throat, his thumb pressing up against your jaw, you tip your head and tell him, “Yes God!” 

You want him to fuck you like this every day, to treat you like a princess and take you through orgasm after orgasm until you can’t take it anymore. You want and you want. You want so badly it feels like it’ll swallow you whole.

“Mine,” Kyle tells you, and you whimper.

“Yes,” You plead, “Yes, yes, yes.”

It shudders through you, arches down your back as you press into his grip. Your legs squeeze together, that aching point pooling through your musculature, working its heated fingers into every corner of you. Kyle works a hand between your thighs and pinches your clit hard; you see stars. Your body jerks and shakes, and you feel a rush of liquid between your legs, hear the wet squelch of it as his cock continues pumping into you as you come.

And come.

*

When you wake up in the morning it’s to soft sunlight streaming in through gauzy curtains and an empty bed. The duvet is nicely weighted and the sheets are so soft you’re almost tempted to fall asleep again, but the noise of movement from outside the room rouses you enough to sit up and take stock of your surroundings. You hadn’t gotten a good look at Kyle’s place when you’d tumbled in last night but it’s nice. He’s organized and has more of a personal style than you can say for most men. 

Worry starts to creep in almost immediately. Had you made the wrong call coming home with him? What if he thought you were easy? Or threw you out now that he’d gotten what he wanted.

Oh my God you don’t have your car. You can’t just leave you’ll have to call an uber back to the restaurant and- Fucking hell, why did you do this? Where’s your common sense? How are you going to get your car? What if it’s been towed, or broken into, or-

Kyle pushes the door open with two mugs of tea clutched in his hands. He looks surprised to see you up, and shoulders the door the rest of the way open with a pleased smile.

“Good morning.” He says, that same gentle, eager, tone he’d used to take you home last night making your brain fuzzy. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” You fumble for the correct response, “I, um- thanks. For letting me sleep over.”

“Of course,” Kyle sets a mug with little cat pawprints on it on the table beside you, and perches himself on the edge of the bed by your feet, “I’m never going to kick a pretty girl out of bed.”

“Oh.” You say, more to yourself than anyone else. You don’t know what to say to that, and make yourself busy with grabbing the mug and blowing on the steaming tea. Kyle hums, watching you over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip.

He makes a noise when he swallows, and lowers the mug with pursed lips.

“So, I was thinking.” He starts and you feel your heart drop.

He was thinking you shouldn’t post the photos, that you should never see each other again, that you should leave soon because he has someone better coming over.

“There’s a great breakfast place down the street, if you’re hungry.” He says, almost shyly, “We could start date two with pancakes?”

You feel your heart lurch in your chest, hopeful.

“Yeah?” You ask and he smiles.

“Yeah,” like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “I’d be stupid lettin’ you get away.” You smile, and sip your tea to cover some of the warmth in your chest. “I think we’ve got a real spark.”

“Me too.” You agree. It feels like an admission, like something you should keep close to your breast where the rest of your silly fancies live, but-

But you want Kyle to know.

You want him to know that you like him, that you want him, that it wasn’t all just some revenge plot that’s gone terribly awry. Most importantly you want this to be real, to give yourself a real chance with an amazing guy.

To forget about what’s-his-name permanently.

“But can I get french toast instead?” You ask, already feeling your stomach rumble. Kyle grins.

“Oh doll, after what you’ve given me, you can have whatever you want.”

*

Gaz scrolls through his security footage while you shower, saving sections of video from the night before to a secure folder. Your ass wiggling in front of the camera as you blow him, your silly little head bobbing while your cunt is on full display. Your lips wrapped around his cock in a different camera’s lens, lashes fluttering and drool dripping from you as you bob your head up and down his length. He skips forward a few minutes and switches the camera to watch your thighs flexing as he holds you down against his face to eat your cunt, your hips grinding down against him and your lips parted as you whimper and moan for him. Another few minutes and your tits are bouncing as he fucks into you, your head tipped back and your lips parted around a perfect ‘o,’ your legs against his chest as you claw at his grip on your throat. More time, another position; Gaz’s hands digging into the dip of your waist as you ride him, groping at your chest, your cunt swallowing his cock with every motion of your hips. God, your ass looks good from this angle, he’ll start easing you into the idea of him fucking it soon. 

You’re such a sweet thing, so easy to get information out of and convince of things. So eager to be good that you’ll go against your own judgement to please him. He’s never seen a rabbit walk directly into a trap, but you? What a silly, stupid girl. You probably don't even remember him coming in you.

You’re perfect.

He grabs a screencap of you riding him and sends it to his groupchat with the rest of the 141.

Gazoline: [sent image] Gazoline: Easy.

A typing bubble pops up immediately. Followed by another.

Ghost: Told ya. Sudz: Yer jokin Gazoline: Lt with the assist. Sudz: YER JOKIN

He locks his phone hearing you shut the shower off and shoves it in his pocket. It buzzes insistently as you poke your head out of the bath. You’re clutching a towel around your chest, as if Gaz hasn’t already seen it all.

“I was just thinking about how lucky it is I have a change of clothes.” You tell him.

“Well, look at that,” Gaz hums, “that is lucky.”

And what is luck if not careful planning?

[starofhisheart]

[konigsblog]

Forceful breeding with Perv!König (🌽 link)

CW; FORCED IMPREGNATION, BREEDING KINK, NON-CON/DUB-CON, AFAB!F!READER — MDNI 18+

König is looking out for himself. His oma and his mother are desperate for some children from König and have been pestering König as he ages. All könig thinks about is the soft giggles of a little baby, to hold his own child in his arms protectively, to care and look out for them like a father should.

Although, you're fearful of pregnancy. All the side effects and complications, the things that could possibly go wrong. Shame fills him when he thinks about what he could do to convince you, or get you pregnant, whether it was a consensual and conscious decision or not. König admires your drunken facial expressions, the smell of booze assaulting his nostrils when he takes in a deep breath beside you. Guilt leaves him conflicted, but inevitably, he chooses to take you. König knows it's wrong, but he wants it too much to bear.

You're too weak to fight against König, who quickly manhandles you into a position where you're vulnerable and powerless and unable to fight back. Even if you tried, your attempts would lead to wasted energy as König carries out with his sickening, distributing acts despite your pleas, all caused by his perversity, selfishness and corrupted perception of love. You don't react, or at least not until König is shoving himself inside to get this over and done with. The sound of your pained cries pulls at his heartstrings, but regardless, he ploughs into you with your legs pulled over his shoulders and your hands pinned to your sides, held in a fist as you dig your nails into your palms, choking on your sounds and sobs.

“I know, I know, it hurts, doesn't it? You're doing so, so well. You know this will benefit both of us, right? Just- a little bit longer, Suße...” He grunts out, working towards that desired release he's been dreaming about all day.

The impact of his hung balls slapping against your ass is excruciating. Your body contorts and trembles as you attempt to wriggle your way out of his firm grasp, useless as König begins to lean further into you, pushing all of his weight down onto you to slam into your ass. You gag at the feeling of König hitting deeper than before, right against your bruised cervix. It's obvious that König wants this, and he'll make sure not a drop leaves your hole.

Just think about how happy his mother will be, the excitement on his oma's face and the presents they'll bring you, little lamb...

[meo-eiru]

Day 3 of Character Trivia Night!

For tonight we have Lavi

Lavi is the son of two high ranking demons

Beauty and power makes you attractive to other demons, so Lavi who had both right from birth was spoiled like no other his whole life

Due to his power and rank it's really hard to summon him so when you did it he assumed you went out of your way to do it and was targeting him specifically

His ideal partner is someone who does what he says and spoils him, if you don't fit that description he'll forcefully make you fit the mold

He likes to stay up late and laze around in bed until lunch time, he'll also force you to follow the same schedule as well

Out of all the boys he's the most likely to visibly get angry at you and take it out on you physically

A lot of stuff makes him angry but there are levels to it and each level brings out a different type of tantum

Low level ones are not including him in something you're doing, not watching the show he wanted to watch, complimenting animals and/or inanimate objects when he's right there, not kissing him as soon as you wake up etc. These don't cause big outbursts but will cause him to act extra needy

Mid level ones are going out without him, forcing him to wear something he doesn't like, not praising him properly, being in a room with other men, not having sex with him as soon as he shows signs of wanting it, not responding when he's talking to you etc. These ones will cause bigger outbursts, often public. He'll be crying, screaming and stomping his feet. He might pull your clothes or hair or physically attack someone near you

High level ones are actually sleeping with someone else, actively ignoring him to pay attention to someone else, badmouthing and/or insulting him, attempting or managing to summon another demon, attempting to exorcise him and/or physically hurting him with holy items etc. With these he'll be mad. It's pretty much over for everyone around. If the offense is tied to someone else like a man you were with or a demon you summoned he'll personally make their face unrecognizable, drag their bloodied body around in hell and hang it on a high spot to set an example. When it comes to you he won't be screaming like his normal tantrums, he'll just grab you by your hair and drag you to a bedroom. If you try to protest he'll pierce your skin with his nails deep and leave bleeding scratch marks to make sure you remember what he'll do to you forever. He might also dig his heels into your skin depending on how much you're fighting back.

He can burn others, charm them or suck out their life energy. He's small but does have inhumane strength and speed

His blood can work as a light aphrodisiac but is addictive

No matter what type of personality you have he'll force you to be on top of him during sex

He really likes it when you mark his skin and if it's for sex you're allowed to choke him too. The next day he'll run out half naked just to make the people around see the marks

Once you tried going to work/school while he was still asleep but he unfortunately raided the building as soon as he realized you were gone and threw the desks around until you let him sit on your lap as you worked

His wings and tail can be quite sensitive

He likes to wrap the tail around your leg while you two are having sex and squeeze it hard

He likes being manhandled if it's for foreplay

He wants you to spoil him and buy him all the clothes and accessories he wants and hasn't asked for yet, he doesn't really care if you end up in debt or something, he can always just drag your soul down to hell with him

But he lowkey enjoys watching you struggle to take care of him

He doesn't need to eat but he loves anything sweet, if a normal human tried eating the desserts he eats on a daily basis they'd die from sugar overdose

He loves to publicly shame anyone who shows interest in him while he's already with you and expects you to do the same

His skin is completely spotless, not a single scar which is something to proud of as a demon. It's one of the reasons why he exposes so much skin

[datcravat]

pe ru so na

[cobwebs-in-autumn]

Big bad Werewolf!Simon thinking Dog Hybrid!Reader is a brat because you keep teasing him by getting on all fours in the backyard (you’re weeding your garden), wagging your pretty tail for him (you’re just happy about getting your favorite treat later and didn’t even notice he was staring at your ass), and always smelling so nice and fertile. What did you expect him to do other than hold you down and breed you out in the woods after he’d chased you for hours?

[furious-haste-of-malice]

❝ "Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." ❞

⊱ Prompt: Pillory/stocks, free use ⊱ Pairing: Númenórean cultists x Maglor, Mairon ⊱ Synopsis: Mairon captures Maglor and brings him to the Temple of Melkor as a gift to his loyal followers. ⊱ Featuring: The Cult of Melkor is also a deranged sex cult now because Mairon said so, references to past Angbang ⊱ Warnings: Non-con, ritualistic gang rape, sadism & voyeurism (on Mairon's part in particular), the prompts by themselves

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Another one for @tolkienpinupcalendar's Dead Dove December; we're nearing the end (one more regular chapter that I have already written plus a bonus fic I'm currently working on).

Mulkhêrînim - (Adûnaic) - Children of Melkor. Thought it would be a lovely way for Mairon to address them like that as an ultimate affront against Eru. Translation by me with the help of this dictionary (because in the Tolkien fandom even the nasty porn needs linguistics!)

"I have a special gift for you today, oh faithful Mulkhêrînim." 

His loyal cultists mumbled among themselves when Mairon presented them with the exquisite treat he had captured. 

At first glance, it appeared to be yet another captive, like the innumerable amount he had caught in the service of his lord – a dark-haired man, albeit handsome by incarnate standards, was kneeling on the dais in front of the altar, his head and hands secured by a hastily erected pillory, naked save for a flimsy loin cloth. 

The more perceptive among Mairon's followers, however, had already noticed what made this one special: The pair of pointed ears sticking out from the mess that was his hair, almost defiantly announcing his identity as one of Ilúvatar's immortal children. 

"Is that an Elf?" one of the cultists gasped, pointing at the helpless prisoner. 

"Indeed it is, very good," Mairon purred and stood next to the Elf in question to almost tenderly pull his hair out of the way to show them off. "But not any Elf; I have captured one of royal blood." 

The whispering among his followers intensified, and he savoured the tension before the anxiously awaited revelation. 

"Meet Prince Makalaurë, also known as Maglor, the last living son of Fëanor!"

Laughing and jeering erupted from the crowd, their faces changing from curious to ravenous within seconds. Maglor, however, remained quiet, merely pressing his lips together and hardening his gaze. 

I suppose his dear brother told him what happens to those who talk back, Mairon thought with a pleased smirk. 

"Our minstrel's lonely wanderings have finally come to an end, so that he may grace us with his presence instead," he declared with a grand gesture, smugness bleeding into his tone like black ink dripping into water. 

"Will he be a sacrifice to the Lord?" a younger cultist asked. 

Mairon laughed. Oh, Melkor would be delighted to witness this scene; he could practically hear his gleeful laughter echoing through the temple from beyond the circles of the world, could see his eyes gleaming with dark amusement, could feel his joy – but he swiftly tore himself away from his memories and imagination, lest he be distracted for too long. 

"Perhaps he will be in time," he drawled, "though for now he shall serve you." 

His mortal followers, while loyal and so very eager to attain the immortality he had promised, didn't seem to grasp the meaning of his words, looking up at him expectantly. None had the courage to ask. Mairon suppressed a sigh of exasperation and the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and stepped aside so they could properly admire Maglor's scantily clad form.

"Have you never dreamed of getting a taste of what we will conquer? Of enjoying the pleasures of immortal flesh?" He chuckled. "Such rare blood is too precious to spill with haste, would you not agree? After all..." 

In one swift movement, Mairon raked his claw-like golden nails down Maglor's back, drawing blood and eliciting a piercing scream. 

"He has such a beautiful voice, for which he is renowned to this day. What a waste it would be to not enjoy his illustrious company..." 

Murmurs of agreement rose within the crowd, and a few cultists came closer, looking up at their high priest as they waited for permission. Mairon stepped back to make space for his followers and beckoned them with an elegant wave of his hands, causing the golden bangles on his arm to clink and tinkle. 

"Come, Mulkhêrînim, and do not be shy. The Elf-prince is yours to use tonight, for this is how the Lord rewards his loyal subjects." 

A heady mix of lust and greed filled the room, and he inhaled it eagerly, a warm shudder going through him. He was going to enjoy this spectacle greatly. 

Had he caught any other Elf, he would have to be worried that their fëa would all too soon flee to Mandos, unable to endure such violation, but the Fëanorion's ill-fated oath would keep him chained to his hröa. 

Robes billowing behind him as if moved by an unseen tempest of malice, Mairon strutted around the altar and leapt onto the lap of Melkor's statue with feline grace, taking a seat like a king would sit on a throne. 

"Do you see that, precious? Almost like home," he whispered to the statue and pressed a reverent kiss onto the cold marble hand, exactly where his ring would have been. 

Maglor didn't scream when his loin cloth was torn off him, nor when greedy hands explored his body and fondled him like a common whore. He didn't grace his captors with any pleas or protests. Only when one cultist knelt behind him and forced his cock inside, he finally cried out. 

Mairon smiled. Awaken their lust, and they are reduced to mere animals, as you taught me yourself. 

The scene unfolding in front of him was chaotic, erratic and filthy, just like Melkor would have loved it. The Man's coupling with their Elven captive was frenzied and hasty, gripping his hips with his knuckles white, chasing his pleasure. Maglor himself was soon silenced – in spite of his wonderful voice and the lovely sound of his screams – by another cultist forcing his mouth open to shove his cock down his throat.

"Let's see what else he can do with that talented tongue of his," another commented on the act, followed by raucous laughter. 

Mairon considered chastising them for not appreciating the beauty of a voice trembling with pain and despair, but instead kept a serene expression as if it had been an amusing statement. He couldn't quite fault them for it; after all, mortals were ever so impatient, and their new toy had many of them to satisfy. 

Whenever one finished inside of him, another would take their place. A young initiate was sent to retrieve some oil for additional lubrication and returned with a pitcher containing the very same sacred oil that was used in their ritual sacrifices – another thing too entertaining to be irked by, and thus Mairon remained silent, smiling and nodding along whenever one of his followers looked up at him for encouragement. 

"Let us see if they can break him, precious," he whispered to the statue. 

Maglor's head hung low whenever no one held it in place, though he had little room to move. The pillory kept him upright even as knees gave in, and seed had begun leaking out of him and down his thighs. Mairon was delighted to see droplets of red marring creamy white and caught the distinct scent of blood. Still, it didn't stop his followers from using their new toy like wild beasts mounting one another during mating season. Some also opted to help themselves before or after their turn, spilling onto whichever part of Maglor they could reach. 

Mairon hadn't paid attention to the passage of time, but he estimated a few hours had passed when they were finally done with the Noldorin prince, readjusting their robes and withdrawing from him while glancing up at their master. Abandoning his comfortable seat on the statue – though most unwillingly – he stepped closer to survey the results. 

Despite no longer being gagged, Maglor was eerily silent. His entire form was stained with viscous white, his face in particular, his lips were swollen, his legs trembling, his hole loose and leaking. 

Mairon graced his followers with a bright, pleased smile as if they had done him a great kindness and placed his fingertips together. 

"Well done, Mulkhêrînim. Our Lord shall look down upon you with benevolence and grant his favour to those who stand against his enemies." 

Maglor let out a small snort, yet the spark of rebellion was short-lived when Mairon backhanded him across the face with graceful elegance that belied the force of his blow. 

"Now take our guest to the King's dungeons and make accommodations worthy of a prince." 

The sweet smile on his face then twisted, showing sharp teeth, and his voice darkened as he added, "And make sure he cannot escape, lest you wish to invoke our Lord's wrath." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

[tojisun]

sharing is caring until it’s simon installing cameras to your shared flat so his mates get to see you anytime they want. you don’t even know they existed so of course you didn’t know you gave all of them a show when you tried that newly purchased vibrator that made you cum four times and squirt twice.

kyle begins pampering you with little treats—you don’t realize it’s a semblance of payment. a token of appreciation. a thank you for the show. it’s become some weird camgirl-subscriber relationship, but only the squad knows.

johnny is less subtle. he buys you toys and leaves them on your bed, and you of course think they’re from simon. simon doesn’t correct you.

john straight up wires money to your joint bank account with simon. you thought it’s because simon’s been promoted.

simon, in return, thanks his mates by making tapes until there became a section at the base that is reserved for ‘special viewing’.

[lolliepops-rox]

This is my petition for people who create pins/stickers/other things with "she/they" & "he/they" to also include "she/he". I'm kind of sick of being excluded, and I'm sure there are plenty of others who feel the same.

[peachesofteal]

Nori is such a menace she would deadass call Simon dad on purpose

Nori isn’t in bed when you wake up, and that’s a problem. 

You’ve been lucky, you guess, that Simon has been letting her sleep in your room. He even lets you lock it at night… if you’re “good”.

Small victories, or whatever. 

He’s figured out how to keep you here. How to threaten you effectively, complaints to child services, getting you fired from your job, getting you evicted, dumping your car in a river- 

Faking your death, and Nori’s. Letting you run only to bring you back again and again. 

“But I’d never hurt you, love. You or Nori, promise. Jus’ gotta trust me.” 

You’re biding your time. Waiting for the right moment, the opportune time to strike. He’s already told you he’ll have to leave for work, that he won’t be here for weeks or even months at a time, but he knows you’ll stay put. 

You’re not sure how he’s so confident, but you’re sure it’ll be his downfall. 

The saving grace in it all is that Simon doesn’t hurt Nori, or you. He’s not gentle with you so much, but with Nori, it’s different. It’s like watching a giant hold a delicate daisy in their massive hand, trying desperately not to crush it. 

It’s kind of… no. 

It’s kind of nothing. 

You rush out of the bedroom to find her sitting on the kitchen counter, little legs swinging and giggling, low cadence of Simon’s voice humming from the fridge to where she hovers over a big mixing bowl. 

“Mommy!” She smiles, arms up for a hug, but you stay on the outskirts, staring at the two of them. It’s bizarre how they look together. Nori is big for her age, was big when she was born, still in the ninety percentile, and next to him… she practically looks like she’s his. “Daddy said I could have pancakes.” Your mouth drop opens, so wide you know you’re catching flies. Simon only smirks. 

“Eleanor… baby, Simon isn’t… he’s not your dad.” Her little brow furrows, matching the pout in her bottom lip.

“But he said.” 

“He’s not your dad!” You snap, and the silence after is deafening. It lasts only a second before she bursts into tears, and Simon scowls at you. 

“Right, that’s enough.” He pulls her from the counter, holding her shoulders until she’s steady on her feet. “Go to your room and play, alright? Mum and I need to have a quick chat.” She looks from him, to you, nervously, reaching her hand out for yours. You squeeze it. 

“It’s okay, go ahead.” She nods, and waddles off, leaving you alone. With him. 

It’s quick this time. Face in the pillow, bent over his knees. He doesn’t pull your leggings down either, just wails on your ass, grunts every time he makes contact, squeezing and cooing as you sniffle. 

“If you’d listen, we wouldn’t have to do this honey.” 

“I’m not listening to you! You… you kidnapped us!” You’re trying to keep quiet for Nori’s sake, but it’s hard. Everything is hard. It’s unfair. He sighs.

“You’re in your own home, honey. How have I kidnapped you?” 

“Not kidnapped.” He hauls you upward, holding the back of your neck, wiping at your wet cheeks. “You’re holding us hostage. Just… leave! Let us go. Please.” It’s been weeks of this, and you won’t give up. The pleading. The begging. The tears don’t stop, and he pulls you into his chest. 

“I know, it’s hard isn’t it? I know.” He rubs your back, lips on your temple. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

“Stop,” you croak, shaking your head. The comforting, the coddling, the affection makes it all worse. The way he kisses you, holds you. How he pulls you down on his cock and fills you up, wrists pinned tight at your back, your tits bouncing as he thrusts. 

You don’t want it. 

You beg him to stop. 

And he only holds you tighter as you come, eyes rolled back in your head, thighs shaking. 

It fills you with shame. Confusion. 

“I’m not going to stop, okay honey? We need to get this out of your system before the next one comes.” He caresses your stomach, and nausea builds in your throat. 

He’s been fucking you without a condom for weeks. Weeks. 

Your last birth control pack ran out six days ago. 

The time is ticking away. A bomb waiting to detonate, and there’s nothing you can do but sit in his lap- 

And cry. 

Later, he offers ice cream. A walk down the street to the parlor in search of Nori’s favorite flavor. A walk where you will pass people who will perceive you as a happy family, when all you want to do is grab one of them and beg for help. 

Nori is so excited for ice cream,  so happy. 

You can’t say no. 

“We’ll find you some strawberry baby girl. That sound good?” The two of you are putting on hats and jackets as he observes, thick fingers zipping your coat to your chin. “Can’t have you catching a chill.” 

“Right.” Nori beams as he does the same, tapping her nose before hoisting her up over his shoulder. 

“Ready?” 

She smiles at you mischievously, arms wrapped around his neck. “Ready, daddy.” 

[konigsblog]

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-CON, STEPCEST, INTOXICATION, SOMNOPHILLIA. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

to write about stepbrother's johnny, kyle and simon...

all of them being so perverted, yet so predictable. :(

you can't wear a short dress around simon, otherwise he'll bombard you with questions, asking where you think you're going whilst dressed like a hooker! believe him, he's just looking out for you... but, when you come home drunk, attempting to hide in your room, simon is already convincing and coercing you into his bedroom, where he'll demand you to suck him off and let him fuck your tight, little asshole. gripping your soft tits over your short dress, rolled up around your waist as he begins to thrust and grind deep into your swollen, puffy and glistening folds.

you can't wear shorts around johnny because it drives him crazy. even your other stepbrothers will tell you to cover up, because johnny's acting depraved; palming himself in front of everyone, and eyeing you up like a feast. if you do, he'll be humping you constantly, trying to get you to bend over so he can get a nice view of your ass... you may even wake up to johnny rubbing his hard boner over your clothed ass, all drowsy and conditioned, tip soaking your skimpy pajama shorts, thick and milky cum oozing from the head of his achingly hard cock, while he apologises profusely, telling you to go back to sleep, that he'll be quick...

you can't wear anything revealing around kyle, nothing whatsoever, he'll find a way to sexualise you somehow. when you're wearing a low cut top, one that reveals too much cleavage, he can't resist. he'll grope you and kiss your breasts, telling you it's alright for a stepbrother to touch you like this because it's done with protectiveness, making sure you're safe in his arms, the perverted bastard lying straight to your face and being so touchy and perverted.

wearing bikinis? it's like you're asking to be fucked like a whore... :( during a pool party, he'll corner you in the bathroom and have his way with you, fucking your sweet pussy while you tell him it's not alright for a stepbrother to be so depraved with his stepsister!

[envy-of-the-apple]

Ruptured Amethyst; Splintered Tanzanite

Dark!Satosugu x reader - Yakuza Au

Synopsis: In hopes of paying off your debt, you start working for two dangerous men. Soon, you realize they want more than money.

Word count: 9.2k

(Warnings: dark content, sexual coercion, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, piv sex, threesomes, gun, blood, violence) Ageless blogs will be blocked. Minors DNI

In this job, you quickly learned that it's better to just keep your head down. 

Do what you were called for and leave. Do nothing but sit on your computer and look at numbers. Stepping out of your makeshift boundaries led to nothing but trouble.

It worked perfectly like that for the first few weeks you were brought here. The other workers never bothered you, and it took you a moment to realize they were in the same boat as you were: owing a debt. You wouldn’t quite say things were peaceful; every so often, one of Geto’s men would hurl someone through a table, but things were manageable.

And then Gojo came back.

You hadn’t met Gojo, yet. He was overseas on a business trip when Geto brought you in. You hadn’t met him, but you’d heard enough to make you want to stay away from him. Ijichi had told you enough stories to make you want to sink into the floor altogether. You just had until the end of the year until your debt was paid. It was the beginning of September, right now. Surely, you could avoid him until then, right?

“Ah, you’re the one Suguru was talking about.”

It was your fault. It was entirely your fault. Ijichi had begged you to stay after work for a bit longer and desperate to pay the debt off, you had agreed. No one else was supposed to be in the office besides you and him.

But Gojo didn’t follow other people’s rules. It'd take you a while before you fully understand that.

You could do nothing but stand there, wobbling in your heels as Gojo loomed over you. His sunglasses were tilted, cresting over his nose as he scrutinized you. You clutched the laptop closer to your chest, as though it’d save you somehow.

Gojo didn’t look dangerous. If you had seen him on the street, you would have assumed he was a model. Tall, long hands, pretty features. Gojo doesn’t look dangerous. Gojo is dangerous. He doesn’t need the gun (casually on his side, right in your line of sight) to prove it.

You say nothing. You don’t know what to say. So far, you’ve only dealt with Geto. Geto with his fake smiles and soft words of thinly veiled threats. As intimidating as Geto was, you felt safe enough with him to answer his questions. Speak when spoken to.

Gojo was uncharted territory. Should you speak? Should you greet him? Should you get on your hands and knees? Gojo was new. You had to deal with something new, alone.

You opt to stay silent, hoping that’s the best move. It’s not. Above you, Gojo’s clicking his tongue. He leans down, stooping his head low to get a better view of your face. You stare at him until it gets too much and you’re turning away. He likes that even less, grabbing you by the chin so you’re facing him again.

“You mute or somethin’?” He asks, tilting your head like he’s assessing you.

“No,” you finally murmur. It was a question, correct? He won’t get mad if you answer his questions.

He doesn’t seem mad. But he doesn’t seem happy, either. If anything, he looks a little disappointed.

“I really don’t get it,” he’s talking, but it’s more like he’s saying his thoughts out loud, “Suguru would not shut up about you. Thought I was gonna see something more exciting. You’re so...”

He trails off as though even describing you would be a waste. The thought that Geto speaks about you to his partners scares you, but you’re wise enough not to pry. Instead, you wait. Waiting often works. You’ve been cornered by Geto’s men (before they knew he was the one who brought you), most just want to intimidate you, they get a kick out of fear. When you give them what they want, they usually leave you alone.

Gojo doesn’t leave, even when you’re sure your horror is printed on your face. Obvious to even the blind. Instead, he leans back, eyes trailing down your outfit. Despite how most of the stuff done here was off the record, Geto still prioritized a professional workplace. You were expected to put on a clean blouse and skirt every day.

You yelp when Gojo tugs on the fabric of your skirt, bunching the material on your thighs. Forgetting where you are, who you’re with, you grab his wrist.

“Don’t be like that,” Gojo chides as though you were being the unreasonable one, “I just wanna look. Seriously, what was that guy going on and on about—”

“Satoru.”

Geto’s voice stops the both of you. He’s leaning against the wall, watching the two of you with a less than impressed look. You’re relieved when he’s more focused on Gojo than you.

“Sugu!” Gojo cheers, a complete 180 from his past demeanor. He lets you go and you sink against the wall in relief. “I’m home!”

“I can see that,” Geto retorts, but there’s an odd fondness laced in his tone that you’d never heard before.

The kiss they shared was violent. Tongue and teeth and messy. Gojo reached up, scrunching Geto’s hair, dragging him closer. Respectfully, you glanced away. You don’t yet leave. You know better than that, especially now that Geto is here.

“How many times have I told you to stop harassing our employees?” Geto sighs, once he’s pulled away. His tone is filled with exasperation, as though he were talking to a child.

“I didn’t do anythin’,” Gojo responds. When you finally turn back, Geto is shaking his head.

He smiles at you.

“Apologies, my dear,” he states, “you can leave. Remember to tell Ijichi you’re going.”

You eagerly nod before scurrying away. You can hear Gojo scoff, another murmur from Geto. You couldn’t care less what they’re saying, more than happy to grab your things, bid Ijichi goodbye, and leave.

Keep your head down, and don’t ever bother with what they are doing.

⟡

Technically, you weren’t in debt, your father was.

He had close ties to the underground. You weren’t sure of the details, you were so young when your mother left with you in tow. She was always stingy with the details, but she never failed to remind you that your father was a stupid man who worked with dangerous ones. She passed away right after you graduated from college. You’d mourned her.

Now, a part of you felt grateful she passed just before she saw your life fall apart.

They came in the middle of April. You remember that day purely because of the flower blossoms littering the sidewalk, the first sign of blooming spring.

There were three other men besides Geto that day, and you hadn’t known his name back then—just the man with long, pretty hair. They were all waiting for you, loitering right beside your home. When you hesitated, slowed to a stop, the man with long hair smiled at you. Geto calls your name. When you don’t respond, his smile widened.

“That is who you are, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you nervously said, “sorry, but—but who are you all?”

He introduces himself. The other three don’t bother. You don’t yet realize that they’re only henchmen, mere puppets for Geto.

“Apologies, but this is a rather sensitive subject. Can we talk someplace private?”

You don’t want to let these men into your home, but his soft words and intimidating company coax you into agreeing. You lead them up the steps, praying to God that you were wrong about this—whoever they were. When you unlock the door, only Geto follows you. The rest wait outside. You don’t know if that’s better or worse.

He seats himself right on the sofa. It’s your apartment, and yet his mere presence makes you feel like he’s the owner. You loiter next to the door, twiddling your thumbs.

“Would you like tea?”

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you a polite one?”

It was more for you than for him—scurrying to the kitchen, away from his searing purple eyes. It’s a reprieve to start the burner, pour water into the pot. You take as much time as you can, but eventually, you have to come out.

Geto says nothing when you place the cups down. He takes it, humming at the taste. You don’t touch your cup.

His tone is soft. His words aren’t.

Your father did far worse than work with dangerous men. He’d stolen from them. He was already dealt with, his punishment had sent him careening off the Earth far sooner than your mother. Still, the topic of the missing money was still there.

Something that had fallen onto you, his next of kin.

You were already crying once Geto finished. Your body is wracked with sobs. You can barely suck in a breath.

“Please—please,” you’re already saying, “he—we—I swear we never received any sort of money from him.”

He takes your hand within his own, curling his fingers around them. Coming from anyone else, it would have been a nice gesture.

“I’m aware,” Geto comforts, “we know you haven’t been in contact with your father for more than a decade.”

His fingers are warm. They trace your cheek as he gently wipes away your tears.

“But in this line of business, family matters, no matter how estranged, my Dear.”

You look at him through your tears. He’s beautiful. Long black hair. If you touched it, you bet it would feel like silk within your fingers.

It’s his eyes that truly suck you in. Purple. It’s a rare eye color, you’ve never seen someone with purple eyes until now. They resemble amethyst, unpolished, but still just as beautiful.

“My partner would have much less...humane ways of dealing with this situation,” Geto continues, “but I think you could be far more useful warm rather than cold, do you agree?” You shrivel in your spot, already having an inkling to what he’s saying. It’s not like you haven’t already figured out where this was going. You’ve heard the stories of what dangerous men do to those who’ve wronged them—to the vulnerable girls who accidentally trip and fall into their trap, forced to work in brothels and debase themselves all for the sake of keeping them rich.

He laughs right then. It’s rich, deep, startling you out of your misery.

"Come now, it's the 21st century."

Geto smiles. Fake. Unsafe. 

"Women are worth far more than just their bodies." 

It turns out that even the Yakuza had paperwork.

It was a menial deskjob, on the surface, at least. If you don’t think too hard about who you’re working for, it could be a regular office. It’s not like any of the work you are provided with is illegal, but you doubt you’d put it down on your resume.

Your education had saved you. Ironic that it was your father who instilled your desire to learn.

If you don’t think too hard about it, your new ‘job’ wasn’t horrible. As notorious as they were, your new employers weren’t downright cruel. You still got paid. You had a contract. Things could honestly be a whole lot worse.

It was still very hard to get used to, especially in the beginning.

Something you learned very quickly was that the men around here did not like it when women had an attitude. You were far too meek to have one, but the other few women who worked with you became your teachers, showing you exactly what the men would do if you didn’t stay in line. You were more than happy to listen, and even then, your eagerness to learn didn’t help. In order for the lesson to truly sink in, you needed trial and error. 

You stepped out of line exactly once. And then you never did it again.

It had been an accident. You’d forgotten that Geto had an important meeting that day. You knocked on his door, shuffling some documents in your hand. It was muscle memory to just go in because he’s never said anything but come in before.

They’d all stared at you, eyes lingering up and down your body. One of them grins. Immediately, you look at Geto. Horrified. Ready to grovel at his feet if need be.

His eyes flashed dangerously. Purple turned into sharp magenta knives. Geto tilted his head.

“Come here, dear.”

You take one step. Another. Then another. The way they look at you makes your stomach twist and sink but Geto only looks at you expectantly. When you linger at his side, his lips quirk.

His grip on your waist is gentle as he guides you into his lap. Your cheeks burn, but you don’t dare move, not even when the men start laughing at the free show. Geto only curls a hand on your waist, keeping you in place as he leans back again.

“Continue, gentlemen.”

The rest of the meeting continues with you on Geto’s lap. You don’t look at any of them, hands balled into fists at your sides. You feel naked. The air within the room is stifling. You refuse to look anywhere else but the floor.

The conversation goes back to business. Despite the compromising situation, he put you in, Geto’s hands don’t wander. He's content to keep his fingers on your waist until the room filters out and everyone leaves.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Geto.” You murmur, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

He doesn’t answer, at least not to that. He just sighs, sinking into his seat. Still, Geto doesn’t let you get up. Not yet. He waits until you’re looking at him, still smiling that fake smile.

This had been a punishment. The next time you made a mistake, you doubt you’d be let off so easily.

“Learn quickly, my dear.”

You nod. You apologize again. When Geto finally lets you go, you are quick to stumble away, pushing your way out the door. Purple eyes follow you out. You don’t think they stop looking until you’re out of the room, curled into your desk, steadying your heartbeat.

You stepped out of line exactly once. You never did it again.

Despite being under Geto, technically, Ijichi is your direct superior. You thanked the Gods for it. Ijichi was the only person here you were certain didn’t have blood on his hands. He was in a similar situation as you were; stuck working off a debt that he didn’t owe. You two bonded on your shared misery. He was the one reprieve you had in your new life.

Unfortunately, now that Gojo was back, Ijichi was far busier. It gave you little time with him. You suppose you were always welcome to join them, but considering your first encounter with Gojo, you’d much rather not.

It’s not like you hadn’t had similar encounters before Gojo's arrival. In the very beginning, one of Geto’s men tried something remarkably similar. You can still remember his hand on your hip, his other hand slowly unbuttoning your shirt while other men stood to the side laughing.

It hadn’t lasted long.

You didn’t realize he was shot until he was already on the ground, twitching in pure agony. He screamed and cried louder than you had. Blood was already dripping to the floor.

Geto had already tucked away the gun, striding away as though nothing happened. He didn’t say anything, the incident was never mentioned. Even to you, his statement rang loud and clear.

You were off-limits.

Clearly, Gojo didn’t care about the unspoken rule.

So far, Ijichi hasn’t acknowledged him. If anything, your superior is hunched behind his computer, typing away, rarely taking his eyes off-screen. You admired his concentration, but it was hard for you to follow suit, considering that Gojo had taken a seat right next to you.

His stare is impossible to ignore. You can feel it even as you desperately try to focus on the screen in front of you. As if he can tell you’re intimidated by his mere presence, he leans over, shoulder pressing against your own. You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

“Watcha’ workin’ on?” He asks as though he can’t already see.

Still, you falter. “Um—”

“Um’” he repeats, “that’s all you’ve been sayin’. Hey, Ijichi—” The man in question jolts up, eyes already panicked.

“Your assistant always this jumpy, or is your personality just that infectious?”

“Sir, uh—” Ijichi starts before getting cut off by a tsk.

“See? Again,” Gojo sighs, “I see why you two get along so well.”

You and Ijichi exchange glances, unsure what to do. When Gojo says nothing more, you decide it’s okay to resume work again, typing away.

Childhood friends, Ijichi told you back when you were still morbidly curious. Gojo had come from a lineage of powerful businessmen. Geto had more or less worked his way up. They became partners somewhere along that time.

It’s hard to imagine them as friends or as anything more. They’re so different. Geto is so controlled, measured with every response he takes. Gojo is more like dynamite, ready to go off at any moment.

You suppose the only similarity is how unreadable they are. To this day, you can’t tell whether Gojo dislikes you or not. Every action you take seems only to disappoint him, yet he constantly hovers around you.

It takes another minute for you to be on the keyboard before Gojo decides he doesn’t like you working peacefully. The chair creaks under his weight as he shifts closer. His head rests against your shoulder. With his new position, you can feel his breath on your collarbone as an arm casually wraps around your shoulders. You don’t dare react, but you send Ijichi a panicked look. He looks sympathetic, but he doesn’t move to help you. You can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his inactions.

“You never answered me, by the way.” He murmurs, quiet enough that only you can hear.

You respond as diligently as you can, making sure you use as few word fillers as possible. It’s clear Gojo doesn’t like that. Or rather, he doesn’t like the nervousness your voice exudes but you doubt you could fix it, especially with his presence around.

“Sounds boring.” Gojo interrupts your rambles. “You don’t do anything else more entertaining?”

“No, sir,” you reply, “I’m only in charge of paperwork.”

Despite the other co-workers you have, you are still an anomaly. Everyone here has had an experience holding a gun—even Ijichi. It’s clear Geto ‘hiring’ you was a change in pattern, something you would always be grateful for. If he hadn't, you wouldn’t want to know what was in store for you.

That’s probably why Gojo was so curious about you. However, considering how close they were, you were now wondering why Geto hadn’t explained it.

“How long have you been working here—hey,look at me when you’re talking.”

You turn, and for the first time, you willingly face Gojo Satoru. His sunglasses are tilted down, and you can see his eyes now. They are blue, so painfully blue, like an ocean, curled up tightly within his eyes. Glittering tanzanite stares back at you—beautiful gemstones that glisten beneath the fluorescent light.

Gojo tilts his head, and you remember that he asked you a question.

“Three weeks, Sir.”

He doesn’t seem all that pleased with your answer. You wonder if you should have lied instead. He’s embarrassingly close, and the position he’s forced you into doesn’t help.

“That quick, huh?” Gojo murmurs, and he sounds a little impressed, “how many times have you and Suguru fucked?”

You gape at him, horrified at even the insinuation. It takes a while for you to even find your voice. 

“I—we’ve never. Never.”

Gojo narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. C’mon, I'm just curious.”

It feels even worse that Gojo's question isn't even unreasonable. Geto has always treated you differently. Softer. Kinder, if you wanted to be charitable. It isn't a stretch to assume you've been doing favors for the man, in this line of work, it must be a normal occurrence. Yet, you haven't. Apart from that one blunder weeks ago, Geto has never touched you inappropriately. 

Still, you shake your head rapidly, feeling heat flush in your cheeks. Being cornered and interrogated like this is humiliating, especially in front of everyone. Ijichi is nice enough to look away while you’re being humiliated, but you know he’s listening. You know everyone’s listening.

Thankfully, Geto intervenes.

“You.” A sigh of exasperation. “Get off.”

Gojo rolls his eyes, but you almost cry in relief when he pushes away and stands up.

“We were bonding,” Gojo argues, though, like everything he says, it sounds like a tease.

Geto’s murmuring something else, and it’s clear that this interaction between them is normal. It's almost a repetition of what happened last time. Both times, you’d been the commonality.

Gojo leaves eventually, shooed away by his partner. The office finally grows quiet when the white-haired man disappears to God knows where. You feel like you can breathe again, but Geto still has not left.

When you look, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, and you’re strangely reminded of a stressed mother. Finally, he lets out a breath, opening his eyes and staring down at you.

“I apologize for his behavior, my dear,” he says. There’s a hand on your shoulder, mirroring the touch Gojo gave you.

“He’s excitable, like a dog.” You don’t think that part was for you, though you don’t think you could ever even fathom comparing the terrifying anomaly that is Gojo to a mutt. You don’t respond. Geto squeezes your shoulder.

“Come to me if Satoru goes too far. I always take care of my people, don't I?”

He doesn’t leave until you give a nod. His hand finally retracts, allowing you to sink into your seat. You watch him until his figure disappears from view.

“I’m taking a break,” you say, not even a minute later.

Ijichi gives a nod as you push yourself up away from the computer. You spend your break the way you usually do: tucked inside the bathroom, trying to wonder how your life turned out this way.

⟡

Sometimes, you accompany Geto on his trips.

You don’t want to, but it’s not like you can reject his ‘requests.’ It’s part of the job, whether or not you can refuse is up to Geto’s whims.

The trips aren’t too bad. Most of the time, it’s a meeting with other dangerous men. You mainly just sit in a corner, peering down at the ground, trying your best not to be noticed. It works, most of the time. The few perks of this new life is how seldom the people of the underground want to associate with you, especially when you're with Geto. His presence is everywhere, a blanket of protection bestowed only to you. These days, you feel safe even when walking home alone at night.  

The trips aren't too bad, but Gojo's insistence on tagging along changed even that. 

You should be sitting up front. There's a perfectly vacate passenger seat, right beside Ijichi, the least dangerous man in the vehicle. Gojo had practically dragged you into the car with him, holding you hostage. Geto slid into the seat beside you, effectively trapping you between the two men. 

Despite your attempts to keep your body to yourself, every other minute, your thighs brush against theirs. It's a miserable affair, but neither comment on your breach of personal space. They're both too invested in their own little worlds. Geto peers peacefully out the window, enjoying the city life pass by. Gojo is glued to his phone, tapping away every so often. 

It's tempting to sneak a peek at them in their natural states, relaxed, unbothered. You don't stare for too long. 

Every so often, their worlds will collide. Geto will point out a cat. Gojo would reach over you, showing Geto something funny on his phone. Unfortunately, Gojo catches your lingering eyes.

"Wanna see?" He doesn't bother to hear your response, shoving his phone in your face. 

It's a cat video, of all things. You almost wanted to laugh at how normal it is, but you're too intimidated to do anything but give a strained smile, more designed to please. You expected something darker. More blood. More screams. On the screen, the orange kitten lightly bats at a ball of yarn.

"Got a cat?" Gojo asks, tucking away his phone. 

"No, Mr. Gojo." 

He tsks, but before your blood can freeze, he says, "I told you: It's Satoru." 

He's been insistent about it these past few days: Satoru. Satoru. Call me Satoru, as though you'd even dare. Beside you, Geto rumbles out his disapproval. 

"Don't be childish, Satoru." He chides.

The car rolls to a stop eventually. The relief in your lungs expands. Ijichi gets out first, followed by Geto. Before you can move, a hand grabs you by the chin, halting your movements. 

"You're not leaving this car until you say it, pretty thing," Gojo tells you. "C'mon. Sa-to-ru." 

Behind you, Geto sighs, but he doesn't move to stop him. Right, Geto promised he'd step in only when Gojo goes too far. Clearly, this is within his bounds. 

You wilt under the hardened tanzanite. 

"Satoru." You mutter. 

Satisfied, Gojo releases his hold on you, hopping out the car, humming a happy tune. 

Geto holds his hand out to you. You'd be an idiot not to take it.

"Bear with him today, dear," he tells you when you step out in the pavement, "he's in a mood." 

Amythyst sears into you. You can only nod. 

Even then, Geto doesn't release you. He gently maneuvers your arm until your elbow is interlocked with his. He takes his time, walking into the building, mindful of your heels. Ijichi and Gojo are already ahead. Gojo takes a look behind him, spots the two of you, scoffs, but doesn't do much more. 

It's another thing you don't know how to feel about. The two have always instigated less than friendly gestures toward you. Yet, neither of the two have expressed any kind of jealousy. You know they are clearly lovers, yet the way they allow their significant other to behave with you makes you feel a bit nauseous. 

 Most likely, they see you as a pet. Not even a threat to their relationship. It makes sense. In their eyes, you're probably a scared gazelle in the middle of a lion's den. Cute. Something to play with. 

There's another theory in your head that you're pushing away.

You follow the same procedure you've always followed. You stay still and silent, like a doll, right beside Geto. Strange men come up to him, greeting him with smug smiles. They barely give you a glance. That's good. It means they know you're one of Geto's. 

Gojo being there changes the dynamic. He's more serious, in this setting. You sit right next to Geto's side, listening as Gojo talks. They both do that a lot. Talking. Negotiating. Scheming. You're a bit disappointed in yourself at how easy it is to let the words swirl around until there's nothing left to understand. It's easy to ignore them now. The horrors they partake in. The horrors you are indirectly part of. 

Are you allowed to be innocent now that you work under these people? You've never pulled the trigger yourself, but is that an excuse? Morally speaking, you're the same as the men you are terrified of. 

How laughable. You came to that conclusion right when they were discussing the price of narcotics. 

Sometime later, you find yourself alone, roaming down an unfamiliar hall. It's foolish to be out without Geto or Gojo or even Ijichi, but Geto had an errand he wanted you to run. Now that it was complete, you needed to return back to him. 

Except, you had no clue where he was. 

You were lost. You should have known this would happen. Why didn't you pay more attention to where you were going? This wasn't any old building. Dangerous men lurked around, even the weaker ones carried guns and weapons. 

It was only a matter of time before one of them caught you. 

"Hey. You." 

You were considered one of Geto's, but without him in sight, you were nothing. You knew that. It's why you cower immediately. 

"I'm busy," you speak quickly, "My boss, Mr. Geto, he's—" 

His hand is rough and scared and filthy on your skin. You are basically thrown against the wall, cornered against this stranger. He smiles. His teeth are yellowed and filled with tarter and plaque. 

"C'mon, there's no need to rush. 'Just wanna have some fun. How much?" Disgust rolls off your tongue, but you don't have the courage to reveal it. 

"I'm not like that," you mutter, "I'm not for sale." 

But, aren't you? You've sold yourself to Geto, haven't you? Underneath his thumb, his whims. What makes you so much different from a hooker?

"Sure." And then there's a shift in his eyes. His face scrunches up, like he's just tasted something sour. 

"Hold on...you're—you're that bastard's kid, aren't you?" 

He says your last name, the name your father gave you with so much spite that you nearly flinch. In that moment, you realized that your father had messed with a lot more people than just Geto. 

"Yeah yeah, you're a spitting fucking image!" He gripes you harsher. "Your daddy fucked me over while you're sitting over here nice and pretty? What the fuck?" 

He's dead. He's dead and you hadn't spoken to him in over a decade, but his ghost still wants to punish you for being his kin. And this man is his executioner. 

You're expecting something violent. Something that hurt more than his hand's squeezing your bicep. Perhaps he was, perhaps he would. Unfortunately, for him, Gojo interupted his plans. 

You didn't even know that it was him, at first, on the floor, on top of the man. Gojo, despite his hungry smile, eager eyes, was always so angelic. He isn't supposed to be using his hands. He isn't supposed to inflict violence, not by himself. 

He's punching him. The man isn't a man anymore, reduced to a mere punching back. Gojo doesn't stop until he breaks skin. He doesn't stop until you can hear a distinct crack. 

Satoru doesn't stop until Suguru tells him to. 

"Don't kill him." Geto warns. "It'd breach the agreement." 

You can feel his presence, always silent, never revealing himself until he wants to be known. So unlike Gojo, who is hungry for even a second of attention. More than happy to spill blood over it.

Gojo grits his teeth, as though he's debating to even listen. He stands up eventually, chest heaving. His knuckles are caked in blood. It's not his. His glasses are off. His eyes are blown wide open like he's just hit the greatest high of his life. Geto calmly hands him a clean towel. You don’t want to know how many times this situation has repeated.

"Who gives a shit." Gojo bites out, his eyes , trailing to you, and you flinch away. He looks like a wild animal, growling and spitting. You don’t want to be next on his plate. Geto steps in front of you, barricading you from his sight.

The man on the ground had recovered enough to pathetically crawl away. It such a stark change to how he was just a few minutes ago, when he was lording over you, drunk off of his power. 

Gojo steps on his calf. The broken thing gives a strangled scream. It only makes Gojo’s manic grin wider.

"Let him go. You made your point," Geto says, "calm down." 

Firey blue eyes. Bright and violent. You don’t know how Suguru is able to withstand the intensity. Even you’re wilting when it’s not even directed towards you.

"Calm down?” Satoru asks. “You want me to calm down? Did you see what that bastard was gonna do to our—" 

"Satoru." You've never heard Geto use this tone before. "Not here. Not now." 

A silent battle warred between them. Tanzanite bore into amethyst. Which gem would rupture first, splinter into defeat? 

Eventually, Gojo looks away, cursing. He glares down at you, as though he were blaming your weakness of all things. In a way, he’s not wrong to.

"I'll wait outside." 

And then he's gone, striding down the corridor. Geto watches him go, before glancing down at you. 

"Did he hurt you?" He asks. 

You're not supposed to lie to him. You nod. 

Geto pulls on your sleeves until he can see the imprints. Light bruising, nothing too horrible. You'll survive. Geto looks less than pleased. He glances down at the remnants of the man, the imprints of blood on the floor. You pitied the person who'd have to clean it up. 

"I apologize, dear." He sighs. "I should have kept an eye on you." 

He stares at the blood some more. Then, he smiles. 

"Perhaps, it's better if I just let things run its course, this time." 

You blink at him. He ignores your silent question. Instead, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, gently leading you outside. The car is already running. This time, Geto silently ushers you into the passenger seat. You take it immediately. Gojo hadn't taken his eyes off of you. You're grateful for any barrier. 

This time, the car ride was silent. You don't relish in it. If anything, it just feels like the calm before the storm.

⟡

Soon, what Geto was talking about became apparent. 

The man who had nearly been killed by Gojo had talked. You don't know what your father did to these men, perhaps you never will, but they didn't let you forget his crimes. If they couldn't get to him, then clearly, his kid was the next best option. You know it was them. It would be no one else. 

Someone broke into your apartment one weekend. Everything was ruined. The TV was shattered and broken. Your mattress was tossed onto the floor. Every plate, cup, and bowl was smashed onto the floor. They took nothing, but they broke everything. 

You hadn't been home that night. Ijichi needed more work from you. If you had, if you had come home that night, alone, locked the door, slept in that bed, then what would have—

Geto finds you on the stairs of your apartment, curled into a ball. You watch with bloodshot eyes as he observes the damage, clicking his tongue. He doesn't look particularly shocked.

You do nothing when you feel his hand on your shoulder, brushing against the sleeves, a feign of sympathy. You don't even care to ask how he came even though you never called him. Geto has a keen sense for you. 

"It'll get worse." His voice comes. Soft, and sure. 

Yeah, you knew that. You'd been naive, following after Geto with wide eyes. You thought that if he was untouchable, then so were you. 

He speaks about an enemy group, people with debts with your father, just as he did. Of course, he knows who did this to you. You’d be more surprised if he didn’t.

You don’t care. His words go in one ear and out the other. The reasons don’t matter. Your home is still destroyed. It’s no longer yours.

"They got my phone, too," you mention to your discarded cell phone. "My emails, messages." 

You're trapped, with nowhere else to turn. All the doors are shut and bolted, and only one remains open. 

You turn to the devil. 

"Can you...help?" 

The angler fish uses its darkened habitat to its advantage. Hundreds of miles beneath the water's surface, it produces its own light as an olfactory bulb. It's an excellent predator, swinging its bio lantern around in the dark sea, the only light around for miles. 

Geto tilts his head, a smile on perfect pink lips. 

"You want my protection? It's a steep price, darling." 

You feel like an empty well, forced to give and give until you're all dried up. Who could be so greedy? Who could be so willing to take?

"I've given you everything." It's barely a whisper. "What else do I have left to offer?" 

He doesn't say anything to that, not at first. Geto kneels in front of you, a slender hand lifting your head up by the chin. Fingers trail down to your neck. Not choking, just holding. His thumb lightly presses into your throat. 

"Not everything," Suguru says quietly. 

He's right. You hadn't given him everything. So far, you have always been one of Geto's people. You were Geto's employee. You were indebted to him, but you weren't conquered by him. 

Not yet. 

He's kneeling in front of you, holding your soul in his hands and demanding for your heart. In a way, you find it a bit funny. You just don’t have the will to laugh anymore.

He's smiling again when he can tell you're finally starting to understand. "We couldn't have been that subtle, were we? Satoru never failed to express, at the very least." 

No, they never tried to hide it. Even in the beginning, when you first met Suguru, you saw the hunger. You just tried to ignore it. You tried to keep your head in the sand, hoping it would pass. It makes you wonder if you had just agreed on that very night, led him into your bed, and bared it, would things have been different? 

"I can leave. We can pretend this never happened," he coos, "it's all up to you, sweetheart." 

He's making it seem like you had a choice. In a way, you did. You're choosing between two monsters. A known and an unknown. It takes longer than you'd like to figure out which one scares you more. 

You take the bait. The angler fish siezes its prey. 

"One night?" You're trying not to beg but it's coming out anyway. "Just—just one night?" 

Geto leans forward, pressing a kiss on your forehead. It’s not an answer.

⟡

Despite the many months you've worked with him, you've never been to his home before. 

It's not a house. A villa maybe. The property stretches itself stretches for miles. Filthy rich. Bleeding gold. 

Geto—

("Suguru," he corrected you in the car, "considering this isn't really business, anymore.") 

—had ushered you throw a double-door entrance. You couldn't even admire the architecture. Not when Gojo was already standing there. His eyes were hidden away, tucked underneath his glasses, but you still felt his stare. And all too wide smile stretched on his lips. He greeted Suguru with a kiss. For the first time, you looked down at their hands. 

Matching rings. 

You felt sick. 

'It's all up to you, sweetheart' Suguru's voice rings through your head all through a dinner that's really nothing but a flimsy padding for the rest of the night. Food was served, wine was poured, all in a bid to ease you into it. As of right now, it's still your 'choice'. You know, without a doubt, if you backed out now, they'd let you go without a fuss. Suguru or Satoru themselves might drive you home. You'd crawl into bed without a scratch.

But you don't. You stare at your plate, picking at it when they ask questions. Satoru's in such a good mood he offers to feed you. 

It's mostly because it doesn't feel real yet. You feel like you're watching yourself go through the movements. Eat. Speak when spoken to. Smile when prompted. Empty. 

You only come back when you're standing in their room, and the door locks with a click. 

The window blinds are drawn, but there's no light to seep in. The moon is already out. You wonder how many hours you've already spent here. 

You take another step towards the bed. Then, you turn around. 

Satoru and Suguru stare right back. You feel their heavy gazes immediately, flicking your eyes down to your feet, playing with your sleeves. 

Satoru laughs, perceiving the terror as shyness, or maybe he doesn't care. He steps forward first. 

"Don't be like that." He lightly chastises you, tucking one arm around your waist. "We'll be nice. Promise, baby. We're gonna be so so good for you." 

He finds your lips, then. Satoru kisses like the sun, all fire and passion. Sinking into you, wanting to melt. It's impossible to turn away and ignore his presence. He gropes at your chest, your waist, trying to feel all of you at once. When he finally lets go, you feel dizzy. 

Suguru's kisses ground you, makes remember where you are, who you're with. He's like the Earth you're crashing back into from your high. You hurdle through the atmosphere as his hands grasp at your throat. He never squeezes, but it's more than enough to sober you. 

"You smell so nice, baby," Satoru says from his place at your neck. You flinch when teeth sink into your sink, but you don't complain. 

"That's creepy, Satoru." Suguru chastizes him.

Serpentine eyes stare into yours. You don’t get the chance to hide before you feel his breath on your cheek. Suguru tugs at the hem of your dress.

“Take this off.” He whispers into your skin. “And get on the bed for us, sweetheart.”

This is the lesser monster. It’s a mantra you repeat in your head as you pliantly nod, hesitantly gripping the fabric of your dress. It’s horrifically easy to take it off and let it drop by your feet. You can’t bear to look at them anymore.

The soft duvet sinks under your weight. It looks expensive. Silky pillows. On either side is a nightstand covered with trinkets and personal items. You spot one of Suguru’s shirts on the floor, and it takes you a second to realize this is their room, not an impersonal guest room they use to fuck the less fortunate.

They stop paying attention to you. Satoru moans loudly into Suguru’s mouth. Suguru fiddles with the buttons on Satoru’s shirt, close to ripping it off entirely. Satoru palms at the tent in his pants as he unbuckles his pants. Suguru loosens his tie. They’re so violent with each other. Dread soaks through your palms, and you curl even further within yourself. You prayed this was all they wanted from you—someone to just watch, someone less interactive.

It’s not. When they pull away, their lips are swollen. Satoru leers at you, licking at his busted lip. You can’t seem to cry anymore.

They’re both half-naked. You can see the tattoos spread on Suguru’s hand, crawling up to his shoulder. Another peeks just behind Satoru’s neck. You only get a glimpse before he’s on top of you, eager for a continuation.

“Shit, you’re so soft.” He hisses as he squeezes your bra-covered breast. It doesn’t stay on for long. You wince when his fingers trace over your sensitive tits.

Your hands squeeze into fists, because you choose this, choose them. Satoru’s more than happy to sink into your breasts. His warm tongue swirls around a nipple before fully taking it in his mouth.

“Like a baby,” Suguru says. Satoru scoffs, tossing him an impressed look.

“Shut up.” Satoru releases your breast with a wet-sounding pop. They’ll be marks there tomorrow.

His fingers trail down your breasts, your ribs, your stomach. They linger on the band of your panties.

You can’t help it. It’s instinct.

He freezes when your fingers snap around his wrist. There’s no strength behind your grip, he pauses more out of surprise than anything.

His eyes, filled with hardened tanzanite, shoot up to yours. You think, if they’d be anyone else’s, you would have envied them.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Suguru. The silence is crushing.

“Sorry.” You feel pathetic apologizing, but it’s outweighed by the fear. “I—I’m sorry. I was just—”

“It’s okay, dear,” Suguru coos. “Satoru just scared you, hm? He’s such an idiot, isn’t he?” He violently smacks Satoru on the head. You flinch at the sound. Satoru just whines, rubbing at his temple.

“Mean.” Satoru childishly says, but he’s slower now, rolling down the hem of your panties.

Suguru is quick to distract you. He’s busy with his own bottoms before he’s taking you by the chin.

His cock is already leaking precum. He’s big, and you don’t think you’ll be able to do want he wants. Suguru smiles down at you, he doesn’t need to say anything. You’re swallowing down your self-hatred before opening your mouth.

You take him in just when Satoru buries his face between your thighs. The two of you have very different reacts. Satoru just hums, finding your clit to lick. You gasp, your legs jolting as you accidentally take Suguru even deeper.

He’s nice enough to let you go at your own pace. There’s a hand on your head, petting you, easing you through the process. Even then, your mouth is stretched uncomfortably wide. Tears prick at your eyes. Suguru’s face gets blurry. You don’t think you want to look anymore.

Below you, Satoru is enjoying his meal. He’s slobbering on your pussy, eating you out like it’s his last meal. His hot tongue finds his way into your sopping hole. You squeeze your eyes, a muffled whine comes from your mouth. The only loss of control Suguru shows was how he ever-so-slightly gripped your head.

By then, you’re unintentionally squeezing Satoru’s head in between your thighs. It’s so much. Pleasure tingles up your spine as Satoru continues to worship your pussy. His nose grinds into your clit and, for a moment, you’re wondering how he’s even breathing.

Suguru’s close. You can feel it every time his balls slap your chin. He’s speaking now, words stilted and heavy. It’s the only hint you get that he’s only holding his control by his teeth. That thought scares you. At any moment he’d snap, choking you with his cock, let you suffocate while he fills your dying mouth with his cum.

“Good,” he’s hissing out, “so good—good for me. C’mon, baby, take it.”

Satoru’s hand squeezes your ass, urging you to arch off the bed. You come like that, pressing your thighs around Satoru’s head, moaning around Suguru’s dick.

Suguru barely gives a grunt before something salty fills your mouth. You have to swallow it down. It burns your throat.

The air tastes sweet by the time Suguru’s cock leaves your mouth. You’re sucking in deep breaths, breasts heaving. Incidentally, you hadn’t suffocated Satoru. He’s kissing his way up your body. A trickle of Suguru’s cum had escaped your lips. His tongue presses against your chin before he pushes it back into your mouth. You can taste your tangy essence on his lips.

“Gotta’ swallow it all,” Satoru says with a teasing lilt, “he gets mad when it’s wasted.”

You can only nod. He gives you another wet kiss before he pulls away.

They switch places, Suguru moving over until he’s between your thighs. His large cock lays on your cunt. He’s still hard, his cock twitches when he angles his hips down, letting the head run over your leaking slit.

“The only reason he's going first is ‘cuz he’s been pining for you for months.” Satoru murmurs into your ear. Strangely enough, Suguru doesn’t comment. Your brain can’t work fast enough to comprehend what that means.

You hold your breath just as he presses himself inside. You’re almost grateful Satoru took the time to prepare you. His salivia, and your stretched walls make it easier for Suguru to bury his length inside you.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You hiss. Satoru feels enough sympathy to coo at you, kissing your neck, trying to distract you from the pain. It doesn't help, not even when Suguru presses light circles into your clit, easing his way through.

Suguru’s giving a harsh laugh when he’s fully seated inside, his hips meeting yours.

“Feel good, hm?” Satoru goads, reaching up to nibble on Suguru’s ear.

“Shit, so tight—fuck.”

Your hips twitch and you’re clenching down on him. Suguru doubles over, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, darling.” Scarred hands grasp your neck. “I’m going to ruin you, aren’t I?”

Your bottom lip wobbles. He’s eyeing you like a piece of meat. A gazelle in the lion’s den. To them, to men like them, you suppose you’re nothing more.

“Suguru.” You whisper because your voice is failing you. “You-you promised you’d be nice.”

Silence. And he’s laughing so hard his shoulders shake. They both are.

“We did promise that, didn’t we?” Suguru glances at Satoru. “Next time, then.”

He pulls his cock out of you slowly, dragging his head through your cunt. He’s so slow and deliberate that you think it’d feel better if he just went ahead and fucked you already.

And he was, technically. His hips rolled back into you, his cock disappearing inside your wet pussy with each thrust. It’s so much that you’re willingly arching your back, trying to do anything to alleviate the intensity.

Beside you, Satoru is pulling out his cock, his eyes never leaving the lewd sight of Suguru fucking himself into you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he’s cursing under his breath, fisting his cocl in one hand, “so fuckin’ hot.”

Suguru growls, grabbing Satoru’s stiff cock, crudely pumping his hand up and down. His movement are getting more erratic losing his pace, his patience. You’re at your end too, almost crying when someone squeezes your sensitive tits.

“How does it feel, darling?” Suguru asks with a ragged breath. His eyes are blown, you don’t even think he’s looking at you, anymore.

When you don't give an answer fast enough, Suguru snaps his hips punishingly in response. You give a sharp wail.

“I said.” Suguru hisses through his teeth. “Tell me how it feels.”

You can barely suck in a breath. You’re losing oxygen too fast.

But you’ll die if he keeps doing this.

“Good.” You tell the truth. “It—it feels good, Suguru.”

He grins, serpentine. You’ve lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing. His fingers descend on your clit.

“That’s my perfect darling.”

You sob when your walls clench around his cock, milking him dry. Your orgasm triggers his own. He curses, and something is spilled into your used cunt. Out the corner of your eye, Suguru and Satoru are kissing, going together like rabid dogs. Satoru shudders, and then all three of you are a panting mess.

You take in deep breaths, barely caring when Suguru lets out an exhausted laugh, collapsing into your chest. He licks at your sweaty skin. You just sink your head further into the pillows

It was over. It was finally over.

“You got it everywhere.” Suguru suddenly says, disgusted. He wipes Satoru’s cum off your stomach.

Satoru just snorts.

“I didn’t have a hole to dump it all in.” He snarks back. “Twice, by the way. So selfish, Sugu.”

“Quit whining.” Suguru groans. “You have your chance now, don’t you?”

What? Exhaustion blinks away.

Suguru stays by your side. Gojo is the one moving, rising from the blankets. He places his hands on either side of your hips, spreading your legs.

Geto catches your panic, easily catching you before you can even do anything. He hushes you while Satoru settles himself between your thighs, his cock pressing right at your slit.

“The night’s still young, dear.” He sounds almost sympathetic. “Be good for just a bit longer.”

By the time they’re finally done with you, it’d been hours. You can’t count how many positions they put you in, how many times your holes were filled by their cocks or their fingers or their mouths. You’re barely coherent by the time Suguru is tucking you under the soft duvet.

You feel sore and used and dirty. His soft words, filled with praises, just make you feel worse. Despite how exhausted you feel, you’re just waiting until they finally get bored of seeing your body and kick you out.

You’ll call a cab home. You’ll cry yourself to sleep. You’ll be okay.

They’re taking a while to get to that part. They’re mumbling soft words too each other, it sounds too intimate to be something you should be overhearing. Satoru’s at your back, hands curling around your waist, another brushing Suguru’s mussed hair. You can feel his soft breath at the nape of your neck.

Suguru’s eyes are on you. Amethyst watches you intently.

"Satoru,” he finally says, “go uphold our end of the deal." 

Gojo groans, annoyed. He snuggles closer to you. "Why me? You go do it." 

An adoring smile crinkles on Suguru’s lips. It makes him look younger.

"Because I don't trust you alone with this one for the night. Go."

“Ass.”

He sighs, but Gojo sits up, letting the covers shift off his naked body. 

"Stay right here for me, baby, 'kay?" He leans over, pressing a delicate kiss on your hairline. Despite everything that happened tonight, this was the most intimate thing he'd done to you. It's too...loving.

When Satoru leaves, you wait for a few moments. Suguru had yet to tell you to go. It probably meant that he didn’t want to waste his breath dismissing you. You take the hint, rising from the bed.

His fingers snap around you wrist just as your feet touch the floor.

“Where are you going?” His voice doesn’t sound accusatory, but you flinch anyway.

A wobbly smile makes its way across your face, you hope it comes across as submissive. Weren’t you done? The deal was made, that meant you could leave now, right?

"I—I need to go home?" Suguru gives a doting smile, as though you said something adoringly naive. He barely pulls on your hand, gently leading you back under the covers.

You follow because the gun glints by the nightstand. 

“Is that the best idea right now, dear?” He asks, “Who knows if those men have come back? I’d hate to see them find their target, wouldn’t you?”

He draws you into his chest. Your head is tucked underneath his chin.

“And besides, Satoru will be disappointed if you left without saying goodbye. It’d be horrible to deal with one of his tantrums so late at night.”

He buries his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Why don’t you leave in the morning? I’ll be sure to drive you back myself. By then, I’m sure Satoru will have made the proper arrangements. Don’t tell him I told you this, but—” Suguru drops his voice as though he’s scared someone might overhear”—he tends to be more efficient when you’re in the picture.”

You don’t know what he means by that, and you don’t think you want to know. Still, you lift your head, finding the courage to stare at him.

His eyes are such a beautiful color. Glittering purple in the moonlight. You’d stare at them all night if you could.

“I can leave in the morning?”

Suguru hums, kissing your forehead.

It’s not an answer.