#heavy // relationship // heavy and scout | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bluemerakis · 3 months ago

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┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ Scout’s Honour ❞

⤷ Word count: a lot

!! 18+ ONLY !!

Pls imagine he has his sexy beard in these gifs

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WARNINGS:

Billy x fem!reader, cussing, very mild angst, smut, fingering, oral f receiving, unprotected sex p in v (wrap it pls), cock-warming, lmk if I forgot any

SYNOPSIS:

Billy slips into the apartment in the early hours of a new day, after having abandoned you for a few nights in order to tend to business. You never minded a busy schedule, so as long as the time spent at your side balanced it out. However, he’s been slacking in his efforts, and you’re not one to be brushed aside whenever things got inconvenient.

He attempts to curb your anger with his god-given charm and bedroom generosity, and you’re almost tempted to forgive him��almost. But after a very generous, very convincing tongue to your cunt, and a good few of his inches stuck within you, you’re eventually compelled to give him another chance.

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The creak of the apartment door plucked your consciousness from the chasm of sleep. Your eyes split open without a breath to spare, your body still fuelled by the pent up adrenaline of the past shit-filled week. The door made a muffled click of closure before a sequence of heavy thuds pulled forth from you a more urgent sense of alertness. You lifted your head in a swift motion to spare a groggy glance over your shoulder, your agitation laid to rest by the scene of your beloved intruder traipsing across the dim, open-plan apartment—but the annoyance surrounding his prolonged absence quickly took its stead.

What was usually a temporary work setback that would only keep Billy away for a night or two had turned into a painfully drawn out week of his absence—without the courtesy of a notice, might you add. Not that you’d ever admit it to the bugger, but the atmosphere of his apartment had been unbearably dull without his effortless, colourful charisma, and his endearment for the word cunt.

You hadn’t minded that Billy was a busy man, and in any case, you’d made no official obligations to one another that would warrant your feelings. However, the bastard’s pattern of disappearances and reappearances without an explanation had started to wear you thin, and quite frankly, you’d started to feel like cheap company.

You birthed a groan at your premature departure from sleep and turned your head away from Billy’s wandering figure—you’d begrudgingly missed him, but you could hardly be arsed to entertain the questions of his whereabouts when exhaustion so perilously perched itself on your eyelids and burnt your eyes teary for as long as they remained open. This was one of very few occasions where sleep really could solve the problem, so you manoeuvred your body between the sheets and wrapped your arms around your pillow, trapping it against your cheek—a forceful plea to indulge your need for a longer rest.

Your eyes fluttered closed, not needing much prompting, especially with the added bonus of ignoring Billy’s presence entirely. But the voice you’d violently craved throughout your desolate nights traversed the room as a deep echo, plucking forward your consciousness once more.

“D’I wake ya, Love?”

You burrowed your face into the pillow and heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s either that or you’re talking to a bloody ghost,” you pushed out groggily, your voice rough—breached by the night’s sleep—and muffled by the satin pillowcase.

You heard Billy chuckle half-heartedly from across the room. “D’ya sleep all right?” He asked—an attempt to brush off your foul mood. On a good day, which were most days, he could easily drink up and reciprocate your wit. Clearly, whatever he’d abandoned the bed—and you—for had taken its toll. You didn’t know whether he’d slept at all, when he was out doing whatever it was he so often left to do.

The initial agreement of your whole relationship—if you could call it that—with Billy, was never to ask questions about what he did, where he did them, and why he’s doing them. I don’t want nobody perched on me fuckin’ shoulder, houndin’ me around and playin’ devil’s advocate all bloody day until me head is done in. No babysittin’, no collar round me neck, no fuckin’ fuss, eh? Those were more or less the terms Billy had set forward, but your relationship had evolved since that point. The more nights your bodies had spent entangled, there came a mutual realisation that the company you both provided one another had become more like a deep-rooted, carnal need, rather than a impish way to pass time. Billy was pretty good in getting his cut of it from you, but had been failing to reciprocate the effort on his side. It felt like exploitation, and you’d just about had enough of that.

You came to it eventually, shrugging off the chain of thought that had shackled your brain. “Haven’t slept nearly enough,” you offered curtly.

There was a brief pause from Billy’s side, before he asked, “somethin’ been keepin’ yer up?” Your attention latched onto the hesitant undertone of his voice—barely noticeable, but undeniably there. He was far too good at his reserved facade, but you’d long since trained your ear to tell the truth men just like him would not. “Bet both me bollocks it’s tha’ cooing shit machine tha’ done set up base on the window outside. Annoying li’l fucker—you give me the word, Love, and I’ll evict the plumy wanker.”

His avoidant rambling triggered an involuntary clench of your jaw; you could almost envision the smug, lopsided smirk hitching up the corner of his lips. The moment of silence that had preceded his words made perfect sense—it was an acknowledgement of the truth he refused to directly admit; a rhetorical question he very much knew the answer to. He was no dumb man; he knew he’d gotten his stylish boots stuck ankle-deep in a fat pile of shit with you.

You weren’t nearly sleep-sober enough to entertain his bold query, so in an attempt to purge your exhaustion, you peeled back the comforters and finally sat yourself up to face him. Billy’s head tilted as he drank in your appearance, his expression glazed with the apartment’s dawn gloom, but you could make out the ruffled, jagged peaks of the hair crowning the top of his head—clearly ploughed through by one too many stressed hands.

“And there’s me dashin’ lady. Sincerest top o’ the mornin’ to you, Love,” he said, inching a few steps closer to your corner of the apartment. He hesitated beside the dining room table when his words didn’t enlighten your expression and hummed dramatically. “Knackered, are we?”

Around you, the warm glow of dawn began to creep its way through the crevices of the curtained windows, casting the apartment with an ethereal glow that almost made Billy’s figure appear angelic from where he stood at the other end of the modest quarters. The burly shape of his black-coated silhouette was traced with a line of liquid fire, perfectly encapsulating the true beauty of his essence when he was vulnerable enough to show it—and a beautiful soul he was, minus his impulsive need to play the absentee partner.

You leaned your back against the headboard of the bed, your knees retracting into your abdomen while your arms wrapped around them to trap them against you. “I am knackered,” you mocked matter-of-a-factly. “What was that you asked earlier—has something been keeping me up? Boy, what a question that is, Billy,” you said thinly, and Billy’s eyes narrowed in preparation as the nonchalant smirk was plucked from his lips.

“Well, for starters, these last few nights, the bed has been unbearably cold and empty. Now, I used to share it with a man to keep me all warm and toasty, but that same man? He’s one heck of a busy fucker. He’s always goddamn working—says he’s got his own little enterprise going on, but I’m not allowed to know the first thing about that—so who knows if it’s at all true? He could be out getting a full-course serving of pussy for all I know, while I’m left behind to keep his bed warm until he’s had his external fill of it and comes running back.”

Your convicted man hovered about, the usual furrow in his expression no deeper than usual, but you could tell by the faint tilt of his head that he’d been listening to your rant intently, and the squirming motion of his lower lip implied a tense biting. You squinted your eyes at one of his eyebrows that seemed to be thickened at the arch; you didn’t doubt that it was from the mean kiss of a fist, since he tended to collect enemies and wounds like medals.

“Not to mention the countless times he’s crawled into bed with unexplainable injured littered across his body, and I’m to pretend they’re not existent as I run my hands over them,” you added pointedly. “He’s a strange, mysterious man, and he’s gotten far too comfortable leaving me alone for nights on end and demanding everything his way the moment he returns.” Your brows furrowed sarcastically. “Now, what do you suppose I do about a dick like that?”

“Ya ought to give it a good ol’ wank and a tickle o’ the balls, and just before his shit hits the ceiling, yer give the tip o’ his knackers a diabolical twisty,” Billy suggested flippantly, his hands raised to mimic the theoretical scene.

“Cut the Billy-bullshit,” you snapped. “It’s bloody well been a week since I last saw you—and the shit you do is so goddamn sketchy, I had no fucking idea if you were even still alive. You couldn’t have even said goodbye, or, I don’t know, told me where the hell you were going to fuck off to?”

Billy’s hands were spread open into a scoff of a gesture. “Oi, gimme a bit ‘o credit there, will yer, Love? No Supe cunt has managed to put me in a grave for a good kip just yet.” He torqued his chin in that characteristic manner of his. “And I ain’t goin’ out without a nuclear bang; you’d have seen me face all over that shite news channel with me bloody arm stuck half way up that Homelander’s Comp V arsehole—like a good ol’ rectal exam.”

Confusion took the stead of annoyance at his mention of Comp V, but you were far more interested in the mention of Supes and the Homelander himself. This was the first time Billy had ever let on a fraction of information about who he was routinely involved with every time he disappeared—a royal fuckup, no doubt. You’d always been a determined girl with a knack for satisfying your curious itch, and that combination didn’t bode well for Billy’s need of discretion.

You’d have been a slow fool to question who Homelander was. While you’d never personally taken interest in the leader of the so-called gifted band of heroes who practically governed the state, you’d heard of enough incidents to know that The Seven were far from do-gooders. So, just what the hell would a man like Billy be doing with them? He was no angel—gods, you knew that, but he was not nearly tainted enough to sit and share bread at the table of the Superheros. Comp V, however? That term didn’t place among your knowledge. You wanted to—needed to know more.

You leant away from the bed frame and tilted your head with blunt scrutiny. “What business do you have with a freaky man-Supe like Homelander?” You asked sceptically. “Have you got friends up in higher places that I don’t know about? And what the hell is Comp V?”

Billy’s expression seem to buffer over your words, his shoulders lightly tilting from side to side as his brain took to working around his apparent slip up. “Ne’ermind you that, Love,” he averted eventually, reaching up a hand to swipe a quick scratch across his bearded chin. “Nothin’ to pick yer pretty li’l brain ‘bout, eh? Now, ya fancy a nosh? Me appetite’s just ‘bout burned through me stomach wall.”

You ignored his divergence, your expression hardening with warning. “You’re going to play games with me at this very early hour of the day, William?”

The use of his full name made Billy’s head tilt back in the slightest manner, his chin lifting with a notion of denial, then acceptance. You watched him furrow his thick brows and offer a low grunt before his head dropped to shrug off the weight of your accusing stare. His gaze remained averted as he rolled his shoulders to shed his signature black coat, and with that, his hard-ass facade he so often paraded under the public’s eye. In here—around you, he was afforded to step out of that role every once in a while.

The forsaken coat made for a gracious reveal of Billy’s fine-toned pair of biceps, the very set that had pinned you against this bed on far too many occasions. But you didn’t allow yourself to entertain those lustful memories for too long, knowing the power they possessed in their ability to completely eradicate any ill-will you currently bore him.

You followed the whisk of his arms as he moved to drape the coat across the nearest chair that bordered the circumference of the circular dining table, then watched as reached across to snatch a half-drained bottle of whiskey from its surface. A low fuckin’ hell split his lips as he sank himself down into the coat-crowed chair, his figure perfectly positioned to oppose you. You heard the whiskey bottle gurgle as he titled the nozzle into his mouth and eagerly began draining the beverage.

You squinted at the nerve of his nonchalance, then pushed on more pettily. “What, nothing to say at all?” You scoffed. “Never could get you to shut up, and now when you talking would actually offer something valuable, you choose to bite your tongue?”

Billy’s adam’s apple dipped with a large gulp before he lowered the whiskey bottle and dragged a brisk thumb across his froth-kissed beard, his hand falling away to offer a lopsided smirk. “I meant what I said when we first started this sweet, little rendezvous o’ ours, Love—no hounding me on me own fuckin’ business,” he warned. “That were our deal, weren’t it?

“Yeah, well , I’m no business man,” you retorted. “But by all means, continue with your shady shit. All I’m saying is give a girl a warning or two from time to time instead of pulling a hit and run in the middle of the night like some prepubescent asshole.”

Not sparing him the luxury of a back and fourth bicker, you sank yourself back into the centre of the bed and laid your head onto the pillow—deliberately facing yourself away from him. You didn’t even care to wrap yourself back underneath the comfort of the sheets, you just needed to shrink away from this conversation.

“Just do what you do best—leave and let me get some sleep, please,” was all you murmured.

“All right, don’t get yer pretty knickers ina twist, now,” Billy soothed.

You heard the distant rustle of fabric, followed by a grunt of effort, before the thump of his boots escalated toward you and then ceased to exist entirely. The clank of the whiskey bottle settled on the bedside table at your head, and a few seconds later, you felt his knuckles graze a light trail from your exposed shoulder down to your elbow—a beckon for your attention, but when you stubbornly kept your head turned the opposite way, his hand retreated.

“Oi, would you just look at me, Love?”

“Can’t,” you said curtly, eyes forcibly screwed shut. “Sleeping. Now, shut your trap.”

You thought that the last of it, until the mattress at your back suddenly gave slight way and Billy sat himself down beside you. His arm reached across your thigh, his hand finding sanctuary at your knee, which was tucked into yourself as you laid in foetus formation. You tried hard to ignore his imposition, but all hope at fashioning that mask began to crumple as his thumb began wiping aimlessly along your skin—a rhythmic back and fourth motion that was oddly soothing to your stress-riddled, exhausted body.

“Look,” he began—it was a tone far more genuine than you’d ever thought him capable of, and it piqued your interest enough to open your eyes. “I know I been doin’ a mighty shite job at stayin’ around here—bein’ with you and all tha’. I ain’t exactly fuckin’ Romeo with a loyal pair o’ bollocks when it comes to relationships, but tell yer what—” he paused to boldly trail his knuckle down your thigh. “I’ll try and do better by yer—I mean tha’, even if I’m a ripe, stinkin’ cunt at times.”

You listened keenly to Billy’s words, but his lack of a clear apology still leered at some petty part of you. The sensational line that he began to draw down the skin of your thigh was an unexpected and very difficult arousal to suppress, your legs subtly drawing together to safeguard the root of all lustful feelings, which began to brew with the threat of bubbling over should he continue his actions. You made the conscious decision not to give into his ministrations so easily, so you pushed aside your growing arousal and decided to focus on the fat lump of unresolved anger still wedged in your throat—a hard pill to swallow.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” You asked, your field of vision falling into obscurity as you focused on nothing in particular. You could see Billy shift in the very edge of your periphery, the hand tracing patterns on your thigh removed to welcome the cool air of the morning. That same hand didn’t forsake you for long. Within a few seconds, he had a grip on your jaw, his thumb and index finger gently, yet firmly bracketing your chin.

“Spare me a look-see,” he mocked gently, your head forcibly turned up to him. Obliged beyond choice, you allowed yourself a closeup of the man you’d so dearly missed, shifting onto your back to better your view of him.

There was a lot to appreciate about Billy’s face, but for once, it wasn’t the bedroom eyes or the devilish smirk that captured your attention off the bat. Instead, your eyes flickered about the red lines etched across his face—markings that had not been there only a few nights ago, when you’d littered kisses all along the contours of his face. These cuts were fresh, the blood in the trenches of flesh still clotting and very shy of a scab. The discovery caused annoyance to prick at your chest, but you’d long since forsaken anger. If you’d ever managed to successfully talk Billy out of a fight, you’d have cracked a billion dollar contract by now.

“I look dashin’, don’t I?” He poked at your mindless glaring, then his expression softened as he drank in yours—reserved, save the unimpressed scowl. “Me face looks like a slapped arse, I know—bet yer half wishin’ to add another spank to this shitshow, eh?” He chuckled.

“Don’t temp me,” you scoffed, jutting your chin to the side to dislodge his hold on you. “God, did the other guy stick you through a paper shredder?” You shot, then added, “you look like absolute shit, I’m almost starting to believe you get off on a good beating.”

Billy Butcher was a man infamous for modelling a face of cuts and bruises, always managing to enlist a fist to the face through one interaction or the other. He wasn’t a particularly adored man, but you’d never found fault with that—it only meant more him for you, after all. You’d have appreciated that fact more if he’d been around enough.

“Oh, come off it,” he scoffed. The hand that had been robbed of your jaw now moved to swipe an aimless scratch across his beard, his gaze averting to the other end of the apartment with a forlorn expression. You recognised the turmoil in his features as an attempt to find the right words to express his more mushy feelings—not an easy feat for the asture, balls-of-steel Butcher.

“Look, I’ve been a plus-sized arse, I know that. I warned ya, ladies like you don’t stick around men like me for too long. The shit I do? Diabolical stuff, Love. Trust me, yer better off left behind in this bed where none o’ that can pucker up to yer arsehole like a good, mean case of diarrhoea.” He paused to soften his expression. “Just tryin’ to protect ya, is all,” he added softly.

You sniffled softly as you held his earnest stare, then forced yourself to sit up, while Billy simultaneously shifted to give you space. You searched his features for a few seconds and only saw sincerity—an eerily, misplaced emotion on his brute features, so the lump in your throat began to loosen an inch, permitting you swallow with more natural ease.

“Fine,” you relented softly, allowing the tension moulding your features to soften. “All will be forgiven, Billy Butcher—only if you start making an effort to treat me like less of a stress-reliever, and more like a person who wants a genuine connection with you.”

He gave a cheeky cock of his head. “Wha’, ya don’t like the way I blow off steam? Yer cunt ain’t ever said the same thing.”

“Classy,” you scoffed. But not wrong. Billy sniggered with his all-knowing grin.

You shifted yourself onto your knees as you began to make your way across the mattress and towards him. He watched you through a calculating look, his attention making a mischievous dip toward your thighs, so perfectly displayed in your finely cut pyjama shorts. You ignored the innuendo in his wandering eyes, reaching out an arm to clasp his shoulder for support. You leaned onto his broad frame as you meandered your way onto his lap, and his hands found grip at your hips as he aided your movement to straddle his thighs, his eyes hounding your every move.

“Makin’ yerself right at home, eh?” He remarked suggestively.

Once you settled in position, his hands trailed up to your waist to deliver a light squeeze to your neglected body, his palms then settling flat against the exposed stretch of skin deserted by the length of your cropped tank. His touch was warm—almost too warm, like he had something to prove following your very dramatic claim of the cold, lonely nights you’d endured. His hands began dragging a sensual pathway along your frame before settling at the small of your back, where he held you firmly against him—you wouldn’t be shunning him again anytime too soon, as fortified by his hold on you.

You curled your one hand around the nape of Billy’s neck, the other moving to frame the side of his head. “You look worse than a bruised prune,” you said, making a point to press your thumb across the fresh cut forming a vicious, bloodied trough through the arch of his brow. It was almost nasty enough to rival the scar tracing the opposite end of his forehead.

“Oi!” Billy protested, his head momentarily tilting away from you. “Yer got a bloody thumb on ya, fuckin’ hell. Save yer fingering for the little miss cunt down there.”

“Oh trust me, I have,” you retorted, to which a meld of surprise and admiration hitched his brows. You returned your finger to the cut in his brow, more tenderly this time as you felt across the surrounding blotchy purple-yellow bruise and then flitted to caress another cut along his cheek and the opposite temple. “After all, somebody’s got to keep me satisfied when you’re not around, and be thankful it was myself, you dick.”

“All right,” he said. “Fair enough, but I ain’t been dipping me wick in another woman’s wax, Love, so how’s ‘bout we lay off the poncy pouting—make no further delay in the inevitable amalgamation o’ pleasure the both of us are ‘bout to be?” The hands at your back burrowed under the waistband of your shorts and underwear with slick ease—a far too rehearsed and perfected performance. The way his large palms spanned a considerable area of your buttocks never failed to get the groin going; he knew that.

“You’ve got a lot to atone for before you get a good milking,” you warned, hand falling away from his face. Though, Billy’s grip on your ass began to tighten persuasively, and you thought that he could potentially work a few, unfair angles in order to knock off a good amount days from that sex-deprived sentence.

You partially turned your torso to reach for the whiskey bottle he’d set on the bedside table, snatching up the beverage at the neck of the glass. You turned back to him, and his eyes lowered to the drink with a cheeky gleam.

“Fancying a swig at the peek o’ dawn?” he poked. “Been learnin’ a thing or two from me, it seems.”

“It’s for you, obviously,” you said, lifting the nozzle to the wound in his brow. “A toast to your idiocy—cheers.” You tilted the bottle to free the whiskey, and the beverage formed a bubbly waterfall as it cascaded through the reddened cleft in his brow. The amber liquid slithered down his cheek and through the wilderness of hair framing his jaw, then reappeared at the base of his neck to seep into the collar of his floral shirt.

You never did miss the glint of the chain always wrapped around Billy’s neck like a lifelong claim of ownership, adorned with a St Christopher medal—an oath of some sort—which dangled from the steel-linked wreath. And it didn’t escape your notice now as a few of the silver links gleamed with rogue beads of whiskey. It must’ve been a keepsake from a past relationship that had meant a large deal to Billy, but the mystery of its continued existence around his neck was a secret barred from your common knowledge. If it had been a gift from somebody who meant a lot to him, it was a rather odd one—he didn’t particularly strike you as a man who dabbled in religious beliefs of protective saints. Then again, how much did you really know about Billy Butcher?

Either way, Billy had never once spoken about it, despite the many times you’d openly assaulted it’s presence with curious eyes. And there were some things you just would not push, despite your tendency to get brash. So, you’d made peace with the fact that perhaps he would never grant you the key to that particular cell of memories, but you couldn’t honestly say that the implied emotional ties of it all didn’t bother you—and more so, how that influenced his regard for you.

You were plucked from your gnawing thoughts at the sound of Billy sucking air. His teeth were bared as he stifled a guttural wince, and his eye had collapsed closed under the assaulting burn of the whiskey.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell!” he barked, his hands shifting up their position on your arse to rest on the upper curves, gripping them tightly like they were a lifeline for support. “Stings like the kiss of a bloody bee’s arse.”

“Always a pleasure enlisting your colourful poetry.” You retreated with the bottle and burrowed the glass body between your thighs, your hand then returning to aid his face. You swiped your thumb across his closed eye and along his half-drenched face eradicate the film of whiskey. “The prick did a number on you,” you remarked.

Billy tilted his head away from your prying thumb, “Yeah, well, that wanker takes the win on this one,” he insisted. “His lips done looked like a fat cunt by the time I finished him.”

You hummed absentmindedly in response, then felt as one of his hands abandoned the seize on your buttocks to capture your hand at the wrist. He lifted it up into the space between your torsos, his head slightly tilted to fix you with an unwavering stare as he released your wrist and his fingertips began a soft, upward trajectory along the tender skin. Your attention lowered to the work of his fingers as they passed into the gentle rise and hollow of your palm, before each digit diverged to claim a spot between your own fingers, and there they interlocked with near-perfect harmony.

Billy often reminded you that hands were meant to exist in pairs other than your own two when he performed gestures like these. It made sense, really, considering how perfectly fingers could interlink with one another—as though intimacy had always been engraved into the DNA of their skeleton.

He made a gentle twist of his wrist to expose the backside of your hand to his exploitation, and he lowered his lips in an antagonisingly slow manner to press a kiss to your knuckles, all while drinking in the look on your face.

You savoured the warm and gentle flush of his breath against your skin while it lasted; it reinforced the truth of his return and his presence right here before you. The loneliness had gotten overwhelming—a thought that scared you. The moment you admitted that Billy’s absence had an effect on the daily flow of events in your life, you’d have to admit that you’d gotten far too attached to an inevitably temporary situation.

You’d always been vulnerable to emotional investment, forming attachments with anybody you’d been afforded the opportunity to properly flesh out your five senses with; the prolonged touch of handholding, a connecting glance, being adorned with a cologne-scented clothing item of theirs, the sound of their laugh in response to a poorly made joke, or the taste of a shared kiss. It was a gift to love somebody the way you could love, but a curse when cast upon a man like Billy Butcher.

“Oi, Love,” he beckoned to you, the remaining hand on your ass squeezing lightly. You averted your gaze from your intertwined hands to glance at him, his head was slightly tilted as if to gauge a better understanding of the thoughts holding your speech hostage. “S’a weekend, so tell tha’ busy brain o’ yers to take a bloody day off, eh?”

You lifted your chin lightly, your nostrils flaring with a breath to reset your thoughts. “There’s been a lot going on lately, all right?” You said, wriggling your hand within Billy’s in an attempt to shake his hold, but his grip on you only tightened, so you accepted defeat and allowed your hand to fall limp.

He tucked your conjoined hands into the warmth of your thighs, careful not to knock the whiskey bottle. “Got places to be?” He asked insincerely, a mischievous grin peaking through.

“Apparently not,” you answered with a beleaguered sigh.

“Atta girl—right ya are!” Billy praised, then leant his head forward in an attempt to press a kiss to your lips. Your other hand that you had comfortably nestled atop his shoulder moved to intercept the action with an index finger to his lips, which left him with a frown of disappointment.

You pressed your finger into his lips slightly harder than necessary before sliding your fingertip down into the bearded divot of his chin, adorned with the moisture of whiskey. There, you prodded him away meanly, his chin jutting into himself with the motion.

His eyes drooped with disappointment. “Clenchin’ the arsehole outta spite, are we?” He said snarkily because Billy Butcher didn’t like, nor tolerate rejection. You knew that his ego had taken the front-seat, now.

As much as you’d have loved to further emasculate him with some petty banter, you merely reached for the whiskey bottle trapped between your thighs and eagerly brought the liquor to your lips. You managed a few, generous swigs as you held Billy’s stare—a mixture of surprise and respect dancing in his hazel depths. You felt a stray line of whiskey escape your swallow at the corner of your lip, slinking down the side of your jaw. You also noted the way Billy’s attention lowered to that same escapee bead of liquor, his eyes narrowing as though entertaining some internal thoughts of his.

Once you’d decidedly had enough of the whiskey, you lowered the bottle with a hearty swallow and held it out before you to see how much of the drink still remained. There was a decent amount of it left—enough to fill a glass and a half. Satisfied, you brought it back up to hover it over Billy’s head with a sarcastic smile.

“Bottoms up,” you cheered.

“Don’t ya fuckin’—” he was silenced by the stream of whiskey being inevitably poured onto his head and he dropped his chin to avoid a direct assault on his eyes—his generous and voluminous field of hair took the brunt of the force and flattened under the foamy weight of it all. Very little strands of hair were left unmarred by wetness, and the floral patterns in shirt had darkened considerably, mostly at the base of his neck. He released his grip on your hand and ass to run a hand through his hair and across his face. “Fuckin’ son o’ cunt,” he spat, his lashes fluttering with a strained attempt to open his eyes.

You tossed the empty whiskey bottle across the bed, watching as Billy managed to lift his head and part his screwed eyes at last. He was still dripping at the brow, and upon making eye contact with you, he passed an angry swipe of his tongue across his lips with the intent to scold you—but you didn’t give him the chance to fume as you gripped either side of his jaw and forcibly pushed your lips against his.

He made a noise halfway between a grunt and a moan in response to your imposition, but shortly returned the kiss with an aggressive push of his own lips. You lapped up the amalgamation of whiskey and cigar smoke that basted his tongue like a starved street mutt while his large hands came down harshly on your ass—the reprimand that he hadn’t verbally been able to deliver, but you had a feeling that this was only the beginning, and that he’d have well made his point by the end of this heated, physical debate.

You felt the twinge of his nails even through the fabric of your shorts as he gripped you there and pressed your pelvis into him, the act so possessive you felt as though there were an unspoken presence in this room that Billy had a point to prove to. But his hold on you hadn’t come to a standstill—instead, he began to forcibly guide your lower half into a rhythmic dance akin to the waves of the ocean, to and fro, riding the shore of his ever-growing erection. His steering of your hips was godsent, the angle just right enough to provide sensory input to your own sensitive mound. Billy might’ve been self-serving in the pursuit of pleasure when it came to the bedroom, but he never neglected your own needs.

You bit your tongue to stifle the moans threatening to flee your lips. The last thing you needed was for your musical pleasure to whisper directly into Billy’s ear, cooing to his erection. Although you’d already given him exactly what he’d wanted by initiating this steaming mess, you wouldn’t make the entire process that easy for him.

As you were forcibly ground against Billy’s manhood, his kisses grew more impatient and sloppy, his teeth periodically seizing your lips somewhere in the mix. Your hands trailed down his bearded neck—further smearing the whiskey—to take grip at his shoulders before running your hands over the defined muscles, flexed while he worked at kneading your hips, waist and ass in an erratic, patternless desperation. The added stimulation of your skin-on-skin contact with his shoulders seemed to spur him on, his throat reverberating with a gruff moan that you instantly plucked from your shared kiss and shamelessly drank up.

Billy’s one hand shifted from his grip on your ass up to the small of your back; you felt the way his fingertips had grown sticky with the whiskey, puckering your skin every time he made contact and then abruptly moved away. Without warning, his palm curled supportively around your waist and he effortlessly hoisted your body against his navel, the other hand curling across your bottom. He pulled away from the kiss, his thick brows furrowed with focused intent as his eyes flickered all across your features.

“Yer a bleedin’ pain in me arse, y’know tha’?” Billy said in rough, breathy syllables. He then stole one last kiss to silence the stinging retort that was sure to accompany the indignant twist in your expression, and in an effortless motion, he had you on your back in less than a second.

“You aren’t exactly all sunshine and rainbows, either,” you countered through a huff, hands wrapping supportively around the nape of his neck as you suspended yourself from his overhanging frame. Your expression turned challenging. “Besides, you seem to enjoy pain,” you say pointedly, eyes flickering to the gash in his brow. “So I’m actually quite on-brand company, don’t you think?”

He gave a relenting torque of his chin, charming smirk plastered to his lips. “S’pose yer right. Must be why I fancy ya, then, eh?” He straightened up onto the support of his knees, his hands shifting to find place at your waist before he slid them up your frame to peel back the tank top concealing his desired view. “Now, lemme see me neglected pair o’ girls,” he demanded in an impatient grunt. “Tell ‘em daddy’s home.”

You grimaced lightly at Billy. “Don’t be gross,” you told him, hands falling away from his shoulders to aid his stripping of your torso.

“Bollocks,” he replied almost instantly, “yer love it.” You did—deep down, you devoured his crass attention. He had no difficulty sliding the tank over your head and raised arms, instantly chucking the clothing to some other end of the apartment.

Your hands flew to cover your exposed breasts, your expression alight with cheek as you flashed Billy a toothy grin. He leered you over, an approving smirk on his lips before his hands made an advance towards you. You almost thought he’d make a move to pull back the curtains on your breasts, but instead, his hands cupped your waist.

“All right,” he began—an entertained air about him. “You play it tha’ way.” His hands dipped into the waistband of your shorts, his calloused fingertips teasing at the skin of your back before they found the seem of your underwear and began stripping away the last of your clothed dignity. “Shit’s always arse about face with yer—ne’er the easy way.”

“Easy’s boring,” you told him. He tugged harshly at your shorts & underwear, managing to strip it from your lower half without a struggle. You watched as he shimmied the clothing items down the expanse of your legs, pausing half way to press a greedy kiss to your thigh.

Your legs instinctively squeezed together as the arousal between them became unbearable. Your feet were lifted from the comfort of the bed as Billy stripped the last of your clothing and bundled it aside.

“There we are,” he said with an undertone of accomplishment, his hands moving to curl under your thighs and take steady grip at the skin. Without warning, he tugged you a short length down the bed toward him. You gave a small yelp at being whisked across the sheets, the friction providing a momentary warmth that soothed the skin of your bare back.

“What you say we get the ball runnin’ on this thing, eh?” Billy remarked, and you felt as he encouraged widening of one of your thighs, his other hand making a motion towards your heated mound. You burrowed the back of your head into the sheets almost instantly as his fingers rudely acquainted your folds, teasing at the area that had grown slick with his mere presence.

“Blimey,” he said—an action that made you a tad bit self-conscious. It hadn’t been too long since he’d last seen you down there, but the conditions had already started to become less kept. He’d never been the one to judge, though. He was man enough to be unbothered by trivial matters of body hair. “D’ya have a good weep down here? It done look like a bloody water slide, and I ain’t barely laid a hand on ya,” he said amazedly, fingers grabbing ahold of your clit to deliver a brash squeeze.

Your lower body tensed with the jolt of stimulation his action elicited, and you lifted your head to glare at him. “I almost forgot what an absolute ass of a tease you are,” you told him with the beginning of a frustrated frown.

Billy thumbed an almost apologetic, circular motion around your sensitive area, flashing you a thin-lipped smirk. “Ease off the stick in yer ass, Love, s’all part of the process. Now, you just lay that head o’ yers back like a prissy li’l pillow princess and let good ol’ Billy take care o’ the brunt of things goin’ on down here, all right?”

You didn’t verbally scoff, but the flick of your eyes conveyed the gesture well enough. The hands on your breasts fell away to prop up your torso as you told him, “I’m not a pillow princess. You’re just a greedy—borderline control freak bastard that wants everything his way.”

Billy’s eyes dipped to your exposed chest, and you knew your words had escaped his notice entirely. “Ah, there’s me cheerleaders—come to give me a word of encouragement, have they? Always did love a good audience.” His hand continued to work at your sensitive areas as he brought himself up to your face, other forearm planted supportively beside your head as he leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to your lips.

You kissed him back eagerly, letting yourself fall back against the mattress as you took grip at the base of his neck before blindly reaching down for the buttons of his shirt. You felt the cold pendant of his necklace tease at your neck as he leaned deeper into the abyss of your lips, grunting at your efforts to undo his shirt. You felt his fingers grow impatient between your folds, making a sheer dip into your entrance—and it invited him in without a hassle. You broke off the kiss and sucked air through your teeth at his sudden intrusion, your lower half reflexively tensing with suspense and desire all at once.

“Relax, Love, s’just me—nothin’ new,” Billy murmured breathily against your lips. “Just like we done a thousand times, eh?”

You nodded wordlessly, lips brushing against his—it was well within Billy’s talents to ease the freedom of speech right on out of you, especially with a bedroom talent as skilled as his. You tried consciously to relax your muscles, and Billy had slowed his pace only momentarily to augment your efforts. The success of your attempt was confirmed by his fingers reaching a deeper, warmer depth with each continued thrust, and it wasn’t long before he began to brutalise his pace once more. You gulped hazily, hands hesitating against the fabric of his shirt as his work within you became too much to bear.

“Tha’s a good girl—swallowing me hand whole,” he husked against your jaw. “I know tha’ greedy li’l cunt o’ yers is havin’ a rave down there, but put them hands to work and take me shirt off, will ya, Love?”

Moans of pleasure began to stew in your throat as Billy curled his fingers into you—a foul move when you were already grappling with the near-debilitating euphoria of his lesser ministrations. You tried your best to make headway at undoing the buttons of his shirt as he patiently hovered over you, his kneading of your insides beckoning forth the familiar knot within your core. Once the last button relented, you slid your hands under the middle part of the fabric, palms sliding up his ribcage and across his hairy chest, then toward his shoulders where you tugged the sleeves down his forearms.

The hand buried snugly within your entrance took an abrupt leave as Billy straightened himself and manoeuvred his arms to shed his shirt. He dived back down almost instantly, as though not wanting to lose momentum on the events playing out, both of his hands taking grip at your waist. You felt the slick and warmth of the fingers he’d burrowed within you claw hungrily at your skin, then your attention drew to the upward trail his nose drew between your cleavage, where his lips dawdled greedily.

Your head sank further into the depth of the mattress as you allowed his skilful lips to dance across your skin, his tongue playing fair as he took turns twirling with each of your nipples. Occasionally, he’d deliver a cheeky bite to the sensitive bud, coupled by a husky chuckle when you’d release a wince of pleasure. Your hands took root in his full head of hair, fingers intertwining with the luscious locs and yanking them meanly to even out the playing field of Billy’s work on your breasts. His fingers began to grip harder at your waist, thumb pressing divots into your abdomen, only adding to the pressure that had long since amassed at your core.

“Fucking hell,” you breathed out as Billy’s tongue dragged a warm snail trail down your stomach and across your navel where he settled just shy of your mound with teasing, bordering kisses.

“Fuckin’ hell, indeed,” Billy echoed busily, palms flattened as he grazed them down either side of your hips. He ghosted over your thighs before reaching for your calves and pushing them upward in a gesture to prop up your knees. Once you lifted your legs from the bed, his arms diverged between your legs and curled around them, where he found grip at your inner thighs.

You propped yourself onto your elbows to glimpse your lower half now perfectly presented to Billy, who met your gaze with that scheming smirk of his. “Brace yerself, Love, I’m ‘bout to make a lovely nosh o’ yer cunt,” he warned before his head dipped into your yearning core.

The first greeting of his mouth came as a gaping hole, swallowing your entire being whole. With each lap of his tongue, his sharp nose prodded at your clit, which caused your core to bloom with debilitating pleasure. You tossed your head back, lower lip hauled into the firm clench of your teeth as you drowned the moans attempting to escape the depths of your throat. Straddled at your sides, your fingers furled into the disrupted duvet, ferociously groping the fabric as though it were the tether keeping you from getting swept up into the whirlwind of endorphins.

You adored the way Billy’s beard chafed your folds—coarse hair grating against pliable flesh, and you sought out the stimulation with such eagerness that you began to lift your pelvis deeper into his wet warmth. But the broad hands curled around your thighs proved their strength in the way that Billy kept you pressed against the bed, fingers melding into the flesh of your inner thighs as a feat of authority—control. His jaw began to swivel erratically as his tongue picked up the pace, swirling around, above and below your mound—even making a momentary dip into your slicked entrance. That action plucked an unorthodox moan from your chest, your hand flying to take grip at Billy’s hair.

“Oh, fuck me!” You exclaimed breathlessly, toes beginning to curl against the sheets as his tongue carried you to your climax.

“Tha’s well the plan, innit, Love?” Billy murmured against you, hand patting against your thigh as a teasing gesture of reassurance.

He went on and on, as unrelenting and greedy as the beginning, and the anticipation ricocheting about your lower extremities began to draw into a closely-knitted ball of stimulation just waiting to implode on itself. Your breathing shallowed, your fingers in his hair tightened, your shy noises became more boisterous, but Billy’s tongue pulled away from you, and with it, he quelled the ball of fire he’d lit in the first place.

Your expression furrowed with a mixture of disappointment and exhaustion as you sank back defeatedly into the mattress, the hand in his hair falling onto the sheets as you took a moment to replenish the stock of your lungs. “Asshole,” you huffed—barely audible.

“Oi, shut yer gob and gape yer cunt, ‘cause I ain’t finished with you just yet,” Billy said gruffly, hand reaching for yours. His fingers wrapped around your forearm and tugged suggestively.

Too tired to resist, you curled your fingers around his arm, and you were pulled up effortlessly from the mattress and into his frame. His hands came to rest at your waist, his lips finding yours in a desperate brawl. Your hands cupped his chest, ready to settle in their position as you intended to get lost in his overwhelming presence, but the kiss was abrupt as Billy pulled away to find your neck. He gave your collar bone a little nip, then eased the sting with a kiss before the hands on your hips turned you around and pushed you stomach-first into the mattress.

You gave a light yelp, but his tough fondling of you wasn’t a foreign practice, so you succumbed to his flow. You felt the cool metal of his chain graze up your back as he leant over you, his arm popping into your view as he reached for the pillow and snatched it up. He retreated and withdrew his frame, hand curling under your lower stomach and making the motion to lift you from the bed. You obliged and lifted your hips, to which Billy slid the cushion beneath your lower stomach, and you gladly settled back down into the cushioned support.

“There we are, all prepped for a good poundin’,” he remarked, the sound of his dropped zipper coming shortly after. You cast a glance over your shoulder just in time to witness Billy discarding his jeans and boxers to reveal the buoyancy of his hard-on—a view that you gladly drank up.

“Somebody’s missed me,” you poked.

Billy flashed you a grin, his hand moving to prep his hard-on with a good few strokes. “‘Course,” he said. “Been deprived o’ all worldly pleasures for a whole, bleedin’ week.” He released his manhood and shifted closer to your sprawled frame, hands reaching for your ass. “And yer cunt’s missed me, too.”

“I guess you could say that,” you sighed dramatically, fully aware of the self-forged dam between your legs. You flashed a cheeky grin before turning your head forward, crossing your arms and laying yourself into the support. “Well, have at it, then.”

You felt Billy’s palms caress the curve of your cheeks before he hooked his fingers below your pelvis and pulled your arse into an upward position. “C’mon, up we get. Ain’t s’pose to tell yer what to do—yer a right expert by now.”

You were—it was the same damn position every single time. Billy had a knack for seeing you bent over below him, face down and arse up as you lay all bare and presented for his very generous exploitation. “I’m just making you work for it, for once,” you said.

“Ne’er minded a job,” he answered, hand dipping into your slicked cunt, where he manoeuvred his fingers through the area and gathered and distributed enough of your slick to aid an easy insertion—and it wasn’t long before you felt his length insert into you with a slow and controlled ease.

A deep, hearty grunt of appreciation spewed from Billy’s lips, a low fuckin’ hell thrown somewhere into the mix. You mouth parted with a moan as you felt his girth ascend your entrance, glad for the gracious accommodation of your walls that practically welcomed him with open arms. Your eyes fluttered closed as you bathed in the initial bliss of his penetration, and you purposely perked your arse to deepen the sensation—and to spur him on.

Billy’s hands found a sturdy grip at your ass as his pelvis began to shift against you, the length within you retreating and returning with a steady pace. He held that speed for a good few minutes, feeling out the limits of your entrance, and once he’d reached a decent depth within you, he began to accelerate his movements. A hand slithered up to burrow into the small of your back, your abdomen pushed into the cushion below.

“Fuck, Billy,” you breathed out, pressing your face into the cushion as your arms strangled the feathered mass—his thrusts becoming too much to bear. You’d already endured his fingers & lips, and now the actual prize of the evening was proving too much of a mouthful—perhaps you’d bitten off more than you could chew, but it was far too late to spit out this particular morsel.

“Lovely arch you’ve got here—a bloody gymnast’s dream, that,” Billy teased, palm pressing harder into the small of your back, stomach further buried into the pillow—placed at your navel for the support he’d very much intended you to use. “Doing so well, Love, hang on f’me just a li’l longer, yeah?”

Blissful moans marinated within your throat, the sound hitched rhythmically by the slam of his pelvis against you. The bed rocked and creaked with the commotion, your propped lower half beginning to sag with exhaustion to the point where your entire weight was supported in Billy’s grip. You gnawed at your lip as his thrusts got harsher, faster—a means to an end.

The hand on your back moved to wrap within your hair. “Go on, use yer lungs, Love,” Billy demanded in a breathless grunt, using the hair he’d seized into his hand as leverage to hoist your head from the muffled comfort of the pillow.

Your head snapped into full extension, forcing you to take in the view of the pristine white ceiling overhead, not that the flecks of white dancing across your field of view allowed for much appreciation on your end. The compliance came like a reflex, shameless noises of pleasure streaming from your gaped jaw.

“Yeah, tha’s it,” he praised gruffly, his movements growing erratic. He paused his thrusts only to fold himself over you, his chest pressed against your back and his pelvis flattening your own against the mattress. He resumed his brutish movements, plunging your bodies with a motive that felt akin to reaching the depths of hell. His lips brushed against your ear, exhaustion latched onto his voice. “What you say we fill ‘er up, eh? Ya want that?”

His hand in your hair tightened, your neck further craning with the motion. “Need it,” you muttered thinly, your eyes growing watery with the overwhelming sensations flitting all about your being. “Please.”

“‘Cause yer asked so nicely,” Billy grunted into your head, then pressed a kiss to your temple. With a last bout of rocking, he delivered one last thrust that struck your core with all the pressure it needed to implode.

Your hair was released from his grip and your head fell into the crook of your folded arms, chest heaving as you fought to cling to the little sense you still possessed. Billy’s figure loitered on top of you, and you felt the way his own chest mirrored your exhaustion—if not worse. You sometimes forgot that he was riddled with a good few years of life, but he very rarely let that on in the bedroom.

The warmth of your shared arousal trickled from your entrance and watered the sheets below, but Billy stayed burrowed within you as you both laid motionless on the mattress. You didn’t mind it, though.

“Fuuuckin’ hell,” Billy groaned hoarsely, eventually slipping from your proximity and shifting onto the mattress beside you. He wasted no time in wrapping an arm across your back, hand tugging to pull your back into his chest so that you were comfortably spooned within his broad frame.

You melded yourself into his body, his arm sliding beneath your neck to offer your head some support while his other hand curled over your waist. His lips brushed against your shoulder, where he pressed a few, tender kisses—as if to compensate for his lack of playing nice for the entirety of the morning. You offered a light noise of contentment, a soft smile spreading your lips as your eyes fluttered closed.

All your worries? Forgotten as of now. Nothing mattered for the time being—you just needed to melt away into Billy’s presence. You knew he likely felt the same—a silent ghost whose hand on your waist dragged sensual lines across the skin, his breathing slowed as his jaw rested against your head.

“An Eggs Benedict would complete this morning,” you eventually spoke up, craning your head to glance at him with a suggestive hitch of your brows.

Billy grunted, his chin jutting in defeat. “Yeah, yeah, let a man catch ‘is breath first, then I’ll tend to me lady’s needs. Deal?”

You grinned with a sense of accomplishment. “Deal,” you replied, puckering your lips for a kiss. He leant over to press his lips against yours, and you turned away with a cheeky grin. “Old man,” you murmured cheekily.

“Oi,” he warned, hand on your waist delivering a light squeeze. “This old man fucks yer better than any other cunt ever did, innit?”

You shrugged dramatically. “All right, Billy, whatever you say.”

He scoffed with amused defeat. “Like I said,” he began, “yer a bleedin’ pain in me arse.”

“And don’t you forget it.” You bit the inside of your cheek, mind wandering back to the events of the morning. You had to admit that the anger you’d been harbouring towards Billy had long since eased away—might have very well been fucked right on out of you. If he could keep up this newfound apologetic package of his, you’d happily forgive any of his future shortcomings.

“Wha’s on yer mind?” Billy asked.

“I forgive you.”

“Well,” he remarked smugly. “Ain’t ya adorable?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly. “I am—so don’t fuck it up.”

“Don’t intend to, Love,” he said, pulling you closer against him. “Ain’t got the universe on me side next time yer work up a storm about all me shit. I’ll do right by yer, like I said.”

You turned to face him, your expression earnest as you gazed up at him. “Promise?”

Billy mirrored your stare with a soft smile. “Scout’s honour,” he said. “And yer give me a bloody ear if I break it, all right?”

═════════════════

Thank you for reading!

I’m literally so sick of this piece I just want it out of my drafts 😭 apologies for any typos, it’s not entirely proof read towards the end. I hope y’all enjoyed it regardless!

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Other Billy Butcher / Karl Urban works:

I M A G I N E S

Carnival for Kisses

Lover Boy Butcher

S M A U s

Pov you hardlaunch your relationship with Karl Urban

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Tags: @violent-darkness @gibson-g1rl @shirley-girly @kus-babygirl @internetitgirl17 @dwinchesterspie1967 @babyfri3dric3

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lunatic-pudge · 8 months ago

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People be headcanoning Scout as unable to drive, but then I remember this exists

On a motorcycle with HEAVY, of all people. While yeah, I do agree with the headcanons (Scout looks like he could crash a vehicle within 5 seconds of turning it on). You gotta give the man props for driving a motorcycle. (And you KNOW Scout specifically asked for a motorcycle from the car rental)

Also, I wish we got to see more Scout and Heavy adventures. I just really love the idea of these two having a brother type relationship I wish we could get more of this.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 heavy #big brother heavy and little brother scout 4 life

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johnnysstars · 4 months ago

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My last 3 entries for TFTober! I couldn´t keep going to avoid burnout but it was really fun!! (Descriptions about each piece under the cut)

Day 3: Relationship

This one is really self indulgent, it's not necessarily ship art (u can still take it as that I love them either way) but more about me trying to show Miss Pauling struggling with relationships. I wanted to showcase her relationship with Heavy, as it's often overlooked by the fandom even tho both game voice lines and the comics imply that he is someone she trusts and cares about,,,

Day 4: Pyrovision

The tone shifts completely with day 4 lmao I just wanted to have fun with the concept of Pyroland being a fantasy world created by Pyro's brain by making Scout and Spy look kind of like paper puppets, I hope they still come out as cute tho

Day 5: Battlefield

This piece is heavily inspired by a screenshot I took when two Spies bumped into each other right after one of them killed me, it's one of the funniest things to happen mid battle because what are the odds??

#tf2 #tf2 heavy #my art #tf2 fanart #heavy weapons guy #tf2 miss pauling #this girl is SO touch starved it's insane #she can kill people no problem but the moment she receives a hug she is a crying mess #tf2 spy #tf2 scout

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lvrboy-inc · 28 days ago

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“One Of The Boys” - The Weeknd

꒰: Précis | College life isn’t easy. So what happens when one run-in at a party introduces you to someone who changes your life..forever?

꒰: Disclaimer(s) | Money Laundering Incubus!Suguru x Virgin Stripper m!reader, degradation, coercion, manipulation, [ CW : mentions of hard substances, mentions of prostitution ] exhibitionism, hold the m0an, biting, dirty talk, hair pulling, mild bondage, degradation. Tread very carefully~!!

꒰: Word Count ; 13.6k

Sweetest Sin Masterlist

“It’s fucking illegal. As hell.”

————

Wasted potential.

No one likes it.

So what exactly is one to do when they are a walking definition of such?

Well..it all started back in college.

Already struggling with keeping your education afloat–and not to even get into the aspects of relationships–you were in a muck. A really bad one. Some may have called it, ‘Sophmore Slump’. But it would’ve been so much better if you could’ve kept the term as something you knew of and not all about.

Money was tight, the people were wildly unreliable and overall, your life was looking greyscale.

That’s how it was, anyway.

Being scouted by one of the more wealthy upperclassmen you knew at a party you were originally planning on blacking out at might’ve been one of the best things to happen to you..and consequently the worst.

“Y’know, if your financial situation is as shitty as you claim, I’ve got a friend who could offer a bit more..stability,” You’d recalled the white-haired scamp uttering as you both babysat drinks that neither of you were truly enjoying. His eyes were scanning all over the party whilst yours were watching the ripples that your red Solo created due to the proximity of the loudspeaker. “His business is kinda small now but I promise he’s goin’ places with it. Stick beside him, get to know him, become indispensable and I swear, you’ll never eat out of another ramen cup again.”

It was a spotless business pitch if you’d ever heard one. So of course, you found yourself sitting across from the stranger’s so-called ‘friend’ at a café that was far too open for the subject he’d brought up.

He was probably the same height as the man who’d approached you at the party in the first place, except his build was a bit more cut and burly.

You awkwardly drummed your fingers against the sides of the coffee cup he’d offered to pay for—and to which you only agreed after heavy persuasion and a, ‘No, me’ back and forth—glancing around the scene. It wasn’t any question that he was here to talk business with you. I mean, such a professional setting and the way he looked?

Straight, jet-black hair that you saw running just below his shoulder blades with just a hint of crimping at the ends–all so neatly tied together in a half-up, half-down bun. For the casual setting, he’d worn a high black turtleneck and beige, loose-fitting, ironed pants. The accessories he adorned just screamed upper echelon but what topped it all off were those thinly framed glasses that sat so prettily on his narrow nose bridge.

To be so frank, he didn’t even look real. More like someone you’d see on a Pinterest board for visions or something with a more..suggestive connotation. Though, snapping you out of your mild daydreaming, you heard him clear his throat justly. In your own absentmindedness, you failed to realize that his eyes had barely fell on you either. Not really nervousness but..some straying variation of it. Maybe..hesitance?

“So,” he’d begun, finally turning to meet your gaze with those deep violets. “I’m sure Satoru filled you in, yes? On the..outlines of the job?”

Outlines? Were you supposed to have been informed of such? “Ah..n-no, I don’t believe so..? He just said you’d had a business that’s drumming up and that I should become something like an..early investor? I don’t know, something along those lines.”

“Wait—you don’t even know what the job is?”

You bit your lip in response, guiding your eyes back to the cup in your hand before shaking your head. A low, throaty groan was heard from across the table as he pushed his index and thumb under the frame of his glasses, pinching the taut skin between his eyes. “Right. And you agreed to show up without any further information? What if I’d been asking you to be like..some sort of hitman or something?”

“Well..are you?” A scoff and he readjusted, leaning back in his chair with a look that was all-too fed up.

Eyes now boring into yours, he rolled his tongue along the bottom set of his teeth before speaking—probably an effort to try not and hurt your feelings with his next words—leaning forward on his elbows. “No. If I wanted someone dead, I’d do it myself. I certainly wouldn’t ask a complete and utter stranger to do such a thing on our first meeting, either.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you took a long sip of your drink, readily squaring your posture. “Given the fact that I don’t even know your name, I’d say that I’m down for just about anything.”

“Geto. Suguru Geto. But please, call me Geto until we’ve gone past our formalities,” Reaching down beside him, he had unlatched the straps binding his satchel closed, slowly rummaging through the leather and then pulling out a small folder. It was laminated at the front and along with it, he brought out a pen. “Here, it’s a contract. Read through that and I’ll explain everything else that isn’t stated or that you have trouble..comprehending to the fullest extent.”

He spoke so properly that it felt a bit unnerving. Either way, he slid it across the table and at the very front, in bold lettering were the words, “Purple Haze: Beginnings”. You opened up the first page and were hit with a load of numbers and statistics muddled throughout the large sum of words, paragraphs..essay’s worth of other writing. To say that you bit back a groan would be an understatement.

But, as your eyes scanned over the lengthy pages, he began to speak. “You see..I’m already a part of an organization. A much larger one that I’m trying to branch off onto my own. Think of it as..expansion,” his expression was becoming more laid back as he went on—you could just tell he knew what he was talking about. As if he knew he would already be the best. “It’s going to be anything but fruitless. Sure, the startup is going to be slow, but it’ll all be worth it. My job is going to be hiring more..‘recruits’. You know, sweet talking them down, promising the world—typical business pitches. In turn, they will provide cover for what’s going on behind the scenes.”

“From what I’m reading here it looks like you’re just trying to start a..strip club? I’m sorry but–”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Spoken sharply and with the slightest hint of agitation, he sighed heavily and ran a hand through the bit of hair that was left to frame his face. “As I was saying—that’s where you come in.”

“You want me to become a stripper? For you?”

Tilting his head from side to side a bit, he came back to a level. “In the most simple of terms…yes. But, unlike the rest that I’ll be hiring, you’ll be given an inside look into what exactly the..‘bigger picture’ is.”

“And that is?”

“Money.” A small smile spread across his face as he brought his hands to fold in front of him, propping his jaw up on the backs of them. “Trust me. I know this is all a lot to take in, but I’m offering you a chance to be bigger. To be better than the average, mundane life of walking among the lower class, of having to go to classes every single day just to learn things I’m positive you already know. Not to sound cliché, but you’re different. I’ve done my research.”

The way his grin wasn’t faltering was already putting you off, especially as you’d gotten to the section that he then explained would be cut out for the rest. “Right there. Notice the jump? These are simply predictions for what we’ll bring in—not an exact estimate. The true sums are bound to be much more than your college-attending brain could ever dream of.”

“Hey,” You’d slightly chastise, giving your brows just an inch of a furrow before returning your focus. “Where..where would all the extra cash even come from, though? I mean…it can’t just be solely from what we’ll be doing.”

A low rumbling in his chest, resembling that of a laugh but ultimately dying out as a wry breath had followed behind your question. “There, that right there is the real kicker. Tell me, have you ever heard of..money laundering?” Your body went a bit rigid at the inquiry and your fingers stilled their idle tracing as you read along. “You’re a business major—of course you have. But, you’ve only heard of where it fails. Where the police get involved, where everything unravels at the seams and great empires tumble and fall to their knees once they get wayyy too in over their heads.”

“Well, duh! I mean, it’s–” You looked around, suddenly becoming acutely aware of your volume. Peering in closer, you hunched over the table a bit, continuing in a harsh whisper. “It’s fucking illegal. As hell. You’re telling me that you want me to not only strip, but be a cover and an accomplice for..for this? Fuck that. You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think..”

“Think what? Think about the budget you’re on? Think about the way you’ve been purposely slacking in your academics for the sake of lowering standards, of expectations that others hold for you because you can’t take the pressure of being the absolute fucking best in your field? Or perhaps how I know that you’re better than all of this shit,” The commonality and relatively airy tone he’d held before was almost gone now as he let himself fall forward to eye you down. It was like the atmosphere was a living thing, sparking and sending the embers out into every breath you took. “Dumbing yourself down for people who are intimidated by the sheer potential you have, that which has been built upon all of your past accomplishments, the future you can have if you just grow a pair and stop caring so damn much about who you leave in the dark as you shine.”

By this point, you’d pulled back, sitting down in your seat and taking a longgg sip that was all-too loud and obnoxious to not be passive aggressive. “You have the knowledge, you have the management skills, you have the body—so what’s really stopping you from capitalizing on all of that?”

Silence.

“Right. You are the only thing holding yourself back. That, or, to put it crassly—you’re just too much of a pussy.” A sharp glare, almost like a dagger thrown, was shot his way and he gave a light snort. It was too easy to get under your skin, especially like this. “Look. All I’m saying is..you’re on the edge of something great. Something revolutionary. Sure, it’s not as..conventional, as you thought your ‘big break’ would be but…when one door closes, a sunroof opens. Reach for those stars, let me help you touch those stars. And all I’m asking in return is for you to…show a bit of skin, dirty up a few numbers, smile through it all. Nothing you haven’t done before, I’m sure.”

Your leg had started bouncing under the table as you now stared at the empty signature line. His had already been written in that pretty cursive scrawl, topped off with an extra loop as to where the last ‘O’ of his name was. It was like both the man in front of you now, as well as just the mere sight of his name was enough for you to pick up the pen. Clicking the tip out of place, your hand stopped just before the paper.

“And..you’re positive the police won’t find out? I-I mean..it’s just so..chance. More risk than reward.” an uncertain concern that left your mouth as you slowly lifted your head.

“For someone who’s so good with math, your ratios seem pretty..off,” That laidback tone had returned once more and this time, it was accompanied by his hand coming over yours, laying your shaking down against the table. A gesture that would be more comforting if it hadn’t come from who it did. “By all means, don’t sign it. Throw this away, walk away from this conversation, this table—forget you ever met me. But I know one thing without a shadow of a doubt; You’ll regret it.”

Swallowing dryly, you could feel the weight of his words as if they were some physical force—not to be reckoned with. And so, that’s how you wound up scratching your signature into the paper, right next to his. You felt an odd..surge as the pen lifted off, like you’d somehow..sealed your fate.

Suguru looked at you with a smile that was nearly devilish in its satisfaction, calmly pulling the packet closed and stuffing it back in his bag as he shut it back up with the rhythmic latching of the straps once again. He’d stood up, slinging his satchel over his satchel and dipping his hands into his pockets, not without pushing his glasses further onto his face.

“So..that’s it? We’re done here..?” You’d asked, grabbing your drink and going along as you pushed your chair in. Reaching for your wallet, Suguru was two steps ahead—placing a hefty tip for your waitress on the table.

After you’d rolled your eyes at the gesture, he took the lead in the path to the door. “For now, yes. I’ll keep in contact with you, along the lines of details, times, meetings and any other updates regarding progress,” Pushing open the glass with a small chime of the bell overhead, he held it open and let you walk through. Once situated outside, he outstretched his hand toward you. “Welcome on board. I have a feeling this is the beginning of a..lasting partnership.”

The word he’d emphasized made it all the more apparent that you’d very well just signed your..well, almost everything over to this man in the span of an hour, two tops. But even so, among all of the anxiety, among all of the nerves and just fear of what was to come, you willed yourself to shake his hand firmly and nod your head long. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

“To us.” he’d reiterated, slipping his hand away and turning around to walk off in the opposite direction of you.

That day..it marked the most significant choice of your life. It changed..everything.

⋆⁺₊⋆ —————⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰————— ⋆⁺₊⋆

A whistle from across the room and you knew you were being called over.

Throbbing strobe lights overhead, a classic RnB playing over blaring stereos overhead and the scene was absolutely electrifying. The smell of flowing drinks, the sounds of patrons hooping and hollering over the entertainment on stage—two of the stars of the night, since the posterboy (you) was on waiter duty—lines of white spread across tables and a dancefloor that was too crowded to even look past two feet in front of you. It was a jungle.

But for the past—wow, had it already been 4 years? Nevertheless, it was your jungle. Your domain, if you will.

It was hard to imagine sometimes that all of this, the walls that stretched up past high heavens even to a second floor that was located above, with a perfect view of all the debauchery below and reserved for the more..exclusive members of the establishment. In reality—it was where business happened. Whether that be gambling among the pool tables, roulette tables, or even in the back where most of the real lounging and discussions took place with the fat and happy scumbags—it was strictly for business.

Well..that and private shows.

And with that particular call, you knew that you were being called for just that. By who? Oh, none other than the mastermind who’d made all of this possible in the first place.

On your way up the lavish steps, you passed by the bar where Satoru had been cleaning off glasses. He wound up finding some way into the fray much later. After getting fired from his previous bartending job that ended under very..sudden circumstances. Regardless, he was still a thorn in your side, especially when you got chewed out by the ‘big man upstairs’. Leaning up against the bar, propped on your elbows, Satoru slid you two..‘specialty’ drinks that were usually a sign of a difficult deal. “Careful, I think Suguru might be using you as a bit of..collateral this time around.”

“Please, when is he not?” You’d mused.

He shrugged, putting the glasses on top of a mini tray. “Heard the guy he’s trying to slip into the lineup is a tough one to crack. It would be great for write-offs since it’s more of a..charity sort of thing. To put it safely.”

“Ah..guess I’ve got to show off a bit, huh?” Turning to face him, you blew a small kiss and he waved his hand, going back to the other people littered across the counter. You took that as your cue to drag the tray off the surface and up into your hands.

Of course, representation was everything. Every ounce of you had been perfectly molded and shaped by Suguru to be just what deserved the title of ‘posterboy’. So, even as you walked—all dolled up, head to toe in something that was, granted, much less showy than your performance attire, but still leaving just a bit to the imagination—you got stares, turning heads and waving to regulars that gave whistles of their own. You just had that effect.

With your 4-inch heels, beautifully decorated and wrapping halfway up your ankle, you ascended the steps with each graceful click of them. Soon, you reached the second floor and got a full view of the other high-end patrons that were indulging in the niceties. Slipping past them and maneuvering your way through the rowdy, drunk and high, you soon made it to the back room, concealed by a veil of velvet curtains and two security guards that immediately nodded toward you and pulled them back. There, you were met with a scene that..was unfortunately more common than anything.

Suguru, in all his glory—far more grown up now than when you’d met him in his early 20s—long, flowing, midnight-black locks that had long since reached past the middle of his back, adorned in the crispest attire that still just dripped with privilege and upper-class. Those glasses that have stood the test of time, now encrusted with finite diamonds at the hinges. Hair allowed to flow freely as he took a long drag from a cigarette that undoubtedly came from the open box laid out on the table, covered head to toe in full black—a button-down, tucked into the waistband that was sealed at the buckle by a Prada belt, loose St. Laurent pants, and a pair of Louis Vuitton combat boots to top it all off. To put it so shortly—he had grown into just a bit more of a show-off since your first meeting.

Though, no matter how gorgeous and well, damn near godsent he looked, there was no question that he was pissed.

It might’ve not been seen by the man across from him who wore a lazy expression, red-eyed and probably spewing out nonsense, but you’d grown to just know how to tell when Suguru’s buttons were being pushed. So, being the voice of reason, you plastered on that same show-stopping smile and gave just the slightest tilts of your head. “You summoned me, Geto?”

Like a switch had been flipped, Suguru raised his face up and behind you saw the vein that was throbbing in his temple go down. “Ah, there he is. My partner in crime, if you will. Come, you’ve brought something for this..” For a second, it looked like he was going to call him sorely out of his name, but instead he went with, “Gentleman.”

You gave a slight nod, sauntering over and setting the tray down on the table in front of the man, bending at just an angle to where the high-waisted leather shorts you were sporting allowed for a ‘better view’ for Suguru’s guest. He usually called on you to… ‘distract’ the clients. Coax a bit more into them than they’d usually go for, make deals sound all the more sweeter..a little guilt tripping here and there—all the while Suguru made the numbers happen, you moved them into place.

Once they were sat down neatly on the Mahogany, Suguru crooked a subtle finger at you, to which you took small strides and lowered yourself by his side, letting your legs fall cross at the ankles over his lap. He shot you a look, to which you cocked an eyebrow that asked, ‘What?’.

“Your shoes.”

Glancing down, you pulled a confused expression that was all too attitudinal. “What about them, sir?”

“I know you weren’t raised to put shoes on the furniture. Off. Don’t embarrass me in front of our client.” He said, reaching down to undo the ties under your calves, leaving them loose enough for you to slide them off.

You quickly shot off an eyeroll, reaching down to push your Manolo Blahnik’s off and onto the floor neatly, giving a scoff under your breath. He always got like this when you were in front of people—correction—when you were in front of possible business affiliates. Suguru was particular about details he typically let slide when it was just your own establishment members.

But especially when they were out-of-country investors. You think he’d let some bad manners ruin his potential financial endeavors? Please.

“Priss.” You lightly bit, leaning back until you were able to rest your elbow on the arm of the couch.

Paying that comment no mind, Surguru looked back at the man who had lit up a puffing, angry cigar. “Right, right, so—I know your expansion progress is goin’ well. You’re one of the most connected in this city—you grew up here. But among connections, the many that you do have, there’s also the matter of keepin’ track of everything. To be a name in a sea of..other ones ‘n zeroes and a bus load of other stats just sounds like I’m settin’ myself up for bankruptcy.”

“Well, I take care of that,” Geto finished off for him, scarcely too fast to have not sounded like a cut-off. “More like, my friend here does. We don’t blow over any of our..associates. Your charity business, along with the amounts we’ve been bringing in will not only boost our image but you get funds on the side.” Leaning back a bit, he added in just a slight inaudible, “More time for you to feed your bullshit savior complex and let us benefit from it.” The back of your hand lightly tapped against his chest—a silent signal that his bitchiness was showing. That got a mumbled complaint that missed your ears. Probably for the best.

“He’s right,” you chimed in. “I’ve been in this gig for a while now—business and etcetera for even longer. Trust me when I say this pretty face isn’t just for show. The brain behind it is just as flawless. Investing into us, with enough time, effort, and coinciding cooperation,” a glare off to Suguru. “Then I’m much more than positive that you and your charity will be in the safest of hands.”

You could see the smile that spread across the man’s face upon hearing your coercion. Even so, he went on to say, “I don’t know..putting my money into such..dainty hands…I think a bit more..convincing is in order.”

Scrunching your face just a bit, you felt Suguru pinch the side of your thigh. It was often that your expressions spoke much louder than your mouth and he knew that just as well. He didn’t need a dirty look scaring off a potential customer—oh, no, no—it’d be your ass on the line if that were to happen. “And..what might be able to convince you…further, sir?” You’d forced out with that same posterboard smile.

“I think we both know. I mean..c’mon, sweetheart. You said you’ve been in this business a while..lookin’ like that? There’s no way you haven’t..” trailing off, he made a crude gesture with his hands. “How do you say..‘fucked your way to the top’. That is..if your boss here isn’t opposed.”

“I am.” Butting in almost instantly after he finished, Suguru brushed your legs off of his lap, standing up to his full, towering height. “And frankly, I don’t think I or my friend here take kindly to such—honestly, nauseating—proposals from people that we’re looking for in a professional sense. Your manners are fucking deplorable and the fact you came here, got high, started talking business, just to end up with trying to get your dick wet is..how do you say.. ‘Not a good look.’”

Heaving a sigh of relief, you situated yourself, bringing another, more genuine, small, smile to yourself in the wake of Suguru’s interjection. You had begun to slide your heels back on, taking your time to lace the strings back up your calf. The man had set down the cigar that had been stinking up the room, some of the ash falling off with a tap against the glass table. “That’s..prostitution, is it not, sir?” You’d piped up, leaning back and crossing your legs loosely as you tilted your head toward him.

“Clever boy—that it is. And..how would a charity owner look in the news if..word got out that he was propositioning such a thing..? In a place, such as this?”

Kissing your teeth in a tutting fashion, you shook your head along. “Not good at all.”

You both shared a look. A look that you both knew alllll too well. The look that meant you’d just—in layman's terms—secured the bag.

The man blustered as he looked at Suguru who’d stubbed out his cigarette into the ashtray and discarded the remains in the decorative trash can beside the couch, giving another small whistle to you that you’d rolled your eyes at but rose to your feet anyhow.

Gliding across the room easily, you’d pulled open the bottom drawer of the small file cabinet that was tucked away into the corner. It was surrounded by other mountains of paperwork but not to the point where you couldn’t access. Humming a tune under your breath, you’d sifted through and pulled out one of many clipboards that were already prepped with papers for just the thing. You briskly walked back over, setting the clipboard in his lap and along with it, you allowed yourself to drape over his shoulders.

“What..what are these..?” his bushy brows knitted together as he flipped through the small packet that had two sections.

Guiding his hand, you leaned into his ear, whispering, “This section..is all NDA. Mine and my colleague’s name are already signed, you just have to put yours.”

“..And…the rest..?”

“Oh, well…that’s where you sign away 75%, of course.” you had said it like it was nothing but his eyes nearly popped out of his head as he got ready to shove the clipboard away.

Once again interrupting, Suguru purred, “I..wouldn’t throw that away so hastily, if I were you.”

“75%? Are you two out of your fucking heads!?”

“A tad,” Suguru replied curtly, dipping his hands into the pockets of his St. Laurents, methodically picking up the box of cigarettes that had lain forgotten on the table, kicking out another dart. “But that’s besides my point. My point is—you’ve no choice, essentially. Just as easily as we can dip that back into our filing cabinet, signed and safe, we could, just as easily, burn it. NDA and all which..gives us ample space to run our mouths off to well..anyone about what transpired here. And oh..you know how people just love to talk around here.”

Leaning in closer, you slipped out the pen that was clasped within the iron grip that held the papers together, propping it in his hand. “What’ll it be? 75% of your profit or..100% of your dignity, class, status, reputation..future?”

You could visually see the sweat beads forming on the man’s forehead and how they dripped down his nose. Whether it was because of the lines he’d done previous to your arrival or the sheer weight of the decision he was making—his stress was painfully obvious.

Though, you two must’ve struck a chord, given how he clicked out the pen tip and dragged his hand across all lines on the paper. NDA, profit as well as confidentiality of agreement. God knows if he bothered to read any sort of fine print. To go just an extra, petty mile, you placed a kiss on his cheek and cooed, “Good boy.” slipping off of him and back at Suguru’s side as the man cursed.

He had clearly overstayed his welcome, so, he stood up and Suguru outstretched his hand. Begrudgingly, the man took up the handshake firmly and rather aggressively. Settling his ruffled hair and the suit that looked like it would burst at the seams with any other huffs or puffs from him, the man stormed out of the room, “Pleasure doing business with you.” you and Suguru had chimed as he left. His face had been red with embarrassment, anger and just overall distress and soon enough, he disappeared behind the curtains.

Sighing heavily, you’d flopped back down onto the couch, this time fully laying out and propping your feet up on the arm. “God, he smelled like alcohol and depression.” you’d remarked, closing your eyes with another hefty exhale.

“Those are typically the easiest to sway,” Suguru gave back, moving to sit down on the edge of the table, sliding the lighter there up into his palm and slipping a cigarette in between your lips. You closed your mouth around it, adjusting the tip with your fingers before feeling bits of hair falling over your face that weren’t your own. Slowly opening your eyes, you saw him perched over you, nudging the end of his cigarette against yours. “Need a light?”

Obviously you did, so, he brought the flame between you two, holding it steady until both of yours lit up. You breathed in the smoke and just as you did, he slid onto the floor, keeping his elbow dug in beside your head. Uncomfortable with the position, you shifted onto your side, blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of his face, just as he did the same for you.

“Though..I am curious about one thing, though,” he’d begun, resting the side of his face in his palm.

“Which isss..?”

“Don’t..take this the wrong way,” already, the precursor had you cocking an eyebrow. “Why..are you so hesitant to sleep with…well, anyone?” taking another drag, he puffed out small clouds as he spoke next. “You’ve got the charm, you’ve got the eyes, the lips..the body, in general and I know anyone would die to get a taste of my most prized..”

“Possession?” you’d finished off for him. Looking askance for a moment, he shrugged it off, seemingly a silent agreement. “Well..it’s prostitution.”

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes. “Not if you don’t get paid for it.”

You sat up a bit straighter, bringing yourself up to a sitting position looking down on him for a time being as you rested your leg on his shoulder, breathing in a longgg inhale of the burning leaves. “And why are you so curious, huh? You’re my employer—not my ‘friend’ as you so candidly put it in front of our guest. Much less any sort of partner or..person of interest.”

“Call it simple curiosity,” he brushed off, switching hands with his own cigarette and once again, stubbing it out on the ashtray, only to leave it there instead of fully discarding. “But..in my eyes? I think you’re just a prude.”

Now that got your attention even more. Those deep violets were boring up into yours and you found yourself tipping his head back so that the contact remained on an elevated level—on his part. “What makes you think that? The fact that I’m not opening my legs up for the first person who asks for it? Please. Those are called standards. High ones. I just..haven’t met someone who’s met them.”

“Then..wait. You..have fucked before, is what you’re saying?” Harsh, harsh silence ensued and with each passing moment, you watched his expression gradually come down to that of understanding. Then, it shifted to mild disbelief. “No. Fucking. Way. You’re a virgin? After..how many years? Never even..I don’t know, tried fellatio? Given, received—”

“No, Suguru! God. Why do you have to be so fuckin’ pushy all the time?” You attempted to slide your leg off of his shoulder, but a hand was already holding it there. Not moving, poking or prodding, just holding. “I’ve never done..any of that. And it’s not something I want to talk about. Especially not with you.”

A slight huffing fit and you ultimately turned your head off to the side, taking an angered drag to your almost-burnt-out dart. “I’m pushy because you make me push. You never give up information easily, you just hint at it, never elaborate and expect me to move on—it’s a common theme, regardless of context. You’re just pissy because I’m making you confront something that you didn’t want to. Once again, being a pussy.”

“Oh yeah? Then why the fuck are we still talking? Huh? You got the information you wanted, you have successfully pissed me off, you got your deal for the night and yet you’re still right here, running. Your. Mouth.” you’d hiss, finally coming to make eye contact once more. With each insult, each snide and snippy remark, you felt his fingers tightening on your leg in a subconscious manner.

With a final adjusting of the set his jaw was at, he gave a soft wry. Truly, if getting under your skin was an Ivy League competition—he’d win first place every time. “Come shut it then. Since you’re the big and bad adult virgin, then you can actually do something about it, right? You can stop being all whiny, stop bitching and moaning about shit never changing and actually put some actions behind your baseless words for once. Go on. I’m all ears, let’s see how you try to sweet talk your way out of growing a pair. Again.”

You were thoroughly flustered at his prompt, taking a glance over at the drawn curtains and then back at him with a look that was a bit short of confused. “I..”

“You?”

“We haven’t even..closed up yet. We have a whole busload of patrons right outside of those curtains, drinking and smoking and doing whatever the fuck and you decide that now is a good time to try and jeer me out of my virginity? What makes you think you’re even the type I go for? Is it just that big ass ego talking, again?”

Seeming to have gotten just relatively annoyed, Suguru had pulled you a bit further off of the couch, bringing your leg to rest on his hip as he leaned in to loom over you. “Look at that—more excuses,” a deadly cold tone in his voice, hands now planting against the back of the couch, he stared down at you with a mix of heavyset irritation and rolled his tongue over the backs of his teeth—a habit. “First the fuck of all,”

“It’s a strip club, a night club at that, of course we’re not closing anytime soon. Second of all, I don’t have to persuade or coax or jeer you out of jack shit—you’re too smart and too stubborn for that. If I want something from someone, I’ll take it when they give it up and never a minute sooner or later. And as for me knowing I’m your type,” he took the time to pull your chin up into his hand, smirking down at your adorable, seething, angry expression. “Eyes talk. They talk loud.”

“Can you hear mine saying, ‘fuck you’ right now?”

“Boy, please. More like asking me to fuck you.” he immediately shot back.

That was one thing that you two leveled on—the levels of attitude and pure sass that flowed between your interactions. It was what made you two such repelling forces at times. Both your greatest strengths and the ultimate downfall that wound you both up at each other’s throats. God help anyone who was caught in the fray.

You made no move to jerk your face away or even move at all…so he did.

The same hand that held your face snaked a thumb into your mouth and every instinct inside you screamed to bite down. But as if he read your mind, “Don’t even think about biting me. You’re the younger but you can still get handled like you’re as grown as you like to fuckin’ act.” he warned, low and sharp. And you knew he meant every word of it.

Tasting of misplaced tobacco and his hand lotion—cedar and vanilla—you reluctantly analyzed the flavor that his finger painted your tongue with. In turn, he let his thumb slip deeper into your saliva-slick cavern, pressing up against your cheeks, down on your tongue, running along the edges of your teeth and after a bit, you’d become a bit pliant to it, letting your jaw slack in time when he pulled at your bottom lip. “Tongue out.”

Complying, you rolled your tongue out of your mouth and you watched as he leaned down to your level, smiling languidly at your pouting face. “Tell me, spitfire. If I’m sooo not your type, then why haven’t you pulled back? Why haven’t you pushed me off? We both know that if you had really wanted to bite, then you would have.”

“I just..”

“Just..what? Realized that you’re full of shit? It’s not that hard to recognize when someone has feelings for me, y’know. I’m not nearly as dense as you perceive me to be,” With that, he got lower, sliding his hand down to where it was perched beside your head. In time, his knee came to part your thighs slightly as he breathed in every breath you drew out. Holding there, staring so intently into your slitted eyes, he closed the distance.

He searched for any sign that you hated it, any fight left behind your eyes as his tongue worked its way into your mouth—dominating the exchange easily as it pushed deeper into your awaiting maw. Easily, you could feel the tip of it tickling the roof of your mouth, coming down to twist and suck on your own. All the while, he’d kept his eyes open, glued onto your own until they finally closed and ultimately succumbed to the welcomed invasion.

It was hot, sloppy, almost and you could’ve sworn he tasted so much like nectar that, if you’d wanted to, you could bottle it up and sell it as the finest honey. Almost intoxicating. In the way he drifted his hand down to the hinges of your jaw, the way he was groaning into the kiss, the way his tongue slipped and slid against yours in a sticky cacophony. You felt like you were getting drunk off of it..and that was in a literal sense.

After a few minutes of this, of stolen breaths, you could already feel your body temperature rising. At an unnatural rate. Heaving a few breaths, you wiped off your mouth and lifted the remaining mixture of your saliva to sniff it. It..did smell sweet.

“Did you just..fucking drug me, Geto?”

Shaking his head lightly, you heard a laugh of true amusement escape him. “Not..exactly.”

“Don’t be vague with me, prick. What did you..do..?” In regards to your question, you readily clammed up your thighs, only to be paused by the intrusion of one of his own between them.

“Pfft- I kissed you, obviously,” Looking over you, his eyes landed on what had prompted your question in the first place. “Oh. Are you..”

Flushing almost instantly, you shoved his face to the side lightly. “Don’t..stare. It’s rude.”

“Ha, I’m rude now, huh? You’re the one who can’t handle a little makeout session without getting a hard-on. But, by all means; let’s stop here. I’ll walk out of this room and you can go right ahead and stay here, rub one out allll on your lonesome and we can pretend this never even happened,” He brought you hand back down, nailing it against the plush of the couch cushion as he pressed his lips up against the shell of your ear. “You can go back to being nothing but a fucking tease—flaunting off what you never plan on giving up because..you’re too scared to. Doesn’t that just sound like the perfect, unfulfilled and empty little life you’ve always dreamt of?”

You were more than pissed off, shaking him away from your ear to where you thudded your forehead against his, noses just short of brushing against each other as you glared at him with fire and embers crackling in your irises. “Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you. You think that you’re so much better than me because you’ve gotten your dick wet?”

“Among others.”

The slightest twitch of your eyebrow and you dragged him in with a nipping of his bottom lip. “Then let me prove you wrong. If you think that I’m too pussy to do something, then let me prove you dead wrong. I’ll let you fuck me and I’ll own that shit. I’ll own you. You arrogant, stuck-up, egotistical assho—” another cutoff, and this time, he was on you.

In complete and total honesty, he tuned you out at ‘I’ll let you fuck me’ and whatever else was meaningless. Fumbling around with the laces he’d undone so easily on your calves before, he pulled them loose and slipped one off before sending you both down into the couch with ease. Kissing down your jawline, hair draping over your chest as he did so, he hastily tugged at the strings of the other before it gave and you readily kicked it off to the floor where it landed with a thump.

Once your legs were bare, he ran his hands up until they landed on your thighs, resting them there and just kneading the soft skin between his fingers, just getting a good feel for you as he leaned down to tug the hem your crop up, using his tongue to shove it into your mouth where he breathlessly commanded, “Hold.” and you readily obliged. Your teeth came down to do exactly as you were told and keeping your eyes on his every move, you watched Suguru kiss down the middle of your chest, paying so much attention that you were caught so off guard when he started biting.

Not just one, not two, not three but half-near a dozen wherever it was blank enough. From your flushed red nipples that he teased mercilessly with his tongue, only to sink his..abnormally sharp teeth into one, lapping at the bits of red that blossomed from the small incisions—dragging his face over to repeat the steps all over again.

From your ribs to your sides, to your hips which he had to drag your shorts to aside for—he was marking you the fuck up. But oh, you didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, to tell him that it hurt when his canines sunk a centimeter too deep—oh no, you were loving every second. The delicious mix of pleasure-pain that danced and prickled your skin was too good to give up. So much so that you’d begun to do the work on your own, bringing both of your hands up to your pebbled protrusions, pinching and rubbing in alternating doses to try and imitate the feeling that his mouth had placed there previously.

Other than the heavy breathing fits coming from the both of you, the room was relatively quiet. Only the sounds of the other club members cutting up and acting a plum fool were available for any auditory distraction. It was easy to get lost in it before you’d felt your waistband being tugged on. Not completely coming down but just so to where he could get a fair look at your happy trail.

That was when he placed a hickey right under your belly button, dipping lower to the flat valley between either of your hips to give yet another bite. But..this one, this one was so much different.

He’d held his face there, gaining a hold on your hips that was nearly bruising and weird enough..it felt like he was pumping something into you. A weird surge of energy that you could’ve sworn you felt directly shooting up your tailbone and creating a deep pool of heat at the source. “F-fuck..! That feels..mhn~” still, he held his face there and the longer he did, the longer that…that feeling started to burn.

Dead silent, save for the soft sucking sounds he made with each kiss of his lips that rained on that same spot, Suguru stayed planted right there. He began to rub soothing circles on your sides and by that time, your stomach was searing. A foreign sort of sensation that had your hand drifting down to fist his hair, trying to tug him off for just a moment, just a minute to breathe through it. Allowing no such thing, Suguru gave a gentle grunt against your skin and you felt his teeth sink impossibly deeper into your pelvis. Then, right then was where it had bordered on painful and that final crackle of pressure and electricity was sent barrelling up your spine in a way that sent a strained, throaty groan tumbling from your lips.

Shifting his focus, one of his hands traveled back up, covering your mouth up which you had no choice but to moan into, letting some of the saliva gathering at the corners of your lips spread across his palm. Your free hand was up on his wrist in an instant—not tugging him away but just holding it for dear life as the pain set in. It was only a moment, you swore, that your eyes tore off of his mouth and its ministrations, head sent to fall back into the arm of the couch, before the haze began to cloud your vision.

Your body becoming more pliant in his hand, Suguru finally pulled off with a hum of approval. “Thaat’s it..you alright there? Aw, you must be so confused, huh? Mr. Knoitall, not knowing a single thing about what’s going on around him, about what’s happening to him. So frustrating, isn’t it?” he’d teased, rubbing over that same spot where his mouth had previously been and using his grip on either of your cheeks to tilt your gaze down. And even in the state of yours that was bordering on delirious, you could see it.

Branded on your skin like some lame temporary tattoo, was a..a sigil..? No, no..more like a binding seal, covered up by pretty twists and turns, topped off with a black heart, scrawled with the faintest of glows to it. You began to panic, obviously, but the majority of your focus was drawn to the pure headrush you’d gotten from the action of him planting it there. That wasn’t it, that wasn’t even half of it.

Right before your eyes, you witnessed something you’d only heard or seen in shitty porn flicks and fantasy novels; Suguru, in all of his stoic, laidback, seemingly harmless—heavy on the ‘seemingly’—had begun to..to change. Into something…not even of this world.

Thick, black horns, sprouting from the roots of his inky locks, curling in on themselves until they sat so perfectly on the top of his head. A set of teeth that actually matched the previous bites you’d felt, now decorating the inside of his mouth, sharpened nails that now started to dig into your cheeks, just short of breaking skin, and what took the cake was that winding, thin, tail—finishing at the end with a perfect point.

Suguru smiled devilishly at the way your expression shifted from that of utterly entranced in your own bodily heat and flush to one of panic and deadly realization. This entire time, the past four years, you were..well, fucking with a demon. Not just in the sense of his personality, not just in the way he had climbed the ranks of the underground business world, not just in how he so so easily could talk his way out of any sort of trouble—a literal demon. In every sense of the word. “Fuck, I’ve waited too long for this. For you. I’m genuinely surprised it took you this long to piece together,”

“It took so much warming up to, so much..naïve trust, so many stupid nights spent listening to you ramble on, and on and on about your shitty romantic luck with these lowlife humans, so many numbers upon numbers forged and carefully curated together for us to get..here,” he spoke as if he was some sort of grand adventurist, some deep sea diver who had finally come up on Atlantis. “Did you have fun? Playing this game with me, rising above all the rest with me, building a goddamn empire with me, with you as the eye of the storm I was creating?”

Leaning down, he saw how your eyes had widened up with fear, not at all quelled by the new realm of heat and desire that flowed freely through your veins like the finest of drugs. And only then, seeing that unfamiliar sight, the way you were mentally slipping from his grasp, only then did he drop his voice back down to a purr, pressing his hand just a bit harder against your mouth as you struggled with wrapping your head around it all. “Hey, heyy, calm the fuck down. It’s too much to explain, not enough time nor..privacy to get into details, but I assure you, I’m not here to hurt you.”

Obviously, your eyebrows fell at a slant—he had to be lying..right?

“Come on. Wise up, will you? If I wanted to hurt you, to wreck your life, to bring you to your knees..I would have done so by now. While I did..withhold the truth for a minute there..I came clean, didn’t I? I’m still the same man you met that day..” he breathed, coming in closer to your face, leaving enough distance to where you could see nothing past his dark tresses and those pretty, pretty amethysts. “The man who convinced you to go on this journey..the man you trusted enough to dive head first into this with, the man who fucking made you. Remember that, honey?”

Searching your eyes for the same fight that had lingered just a moment, he saw it dimming and along with that, felt your breathing evening out—well, as much as it could with the effects of his aphrodisiac-riddled tongue still laying waste. “Yeahhh, yeah you do. I know you do. So..promise me something, won’t you? I’m going to take my hand off and you’re not going to scream. That’s a promise. Isn’t it?”

Nodding slowly, you had to will yourself to accept the reality of your position. And just as both of you promised—his hand was off of you and your vocal track was still. “There we go..I guess you do know how to shut the fuck up. When it counts, at least.”

“I..I don’t…understand.” you’d simpered off.

“And you don’t need to. But for a basic rundown, I’m an incubus. Sent here to Earth to satiate the darkest and most carnal parts of human existence. Typically, though..we hop from person to person but..you,” licking a stripe up from the side of your throat, all the way up to your ear once more, he finished, “You were so worth the wait.”

It was easy for that to elicit the smallest of whimpers from you, given your heightened state of arousal and general sensitivity. “Getting to know you, see how you operate, how you tease, how you taunt, how you work, how you tick..it’s things like that which make the moment of climax, of unraveling you to the fullest and deepest extent that an incubus should strive for. Taking my time with you was the best decision of my fucking career. Because well, haha, look at you now.” Your cheeks turned that deep shade of rose and once again, you were looking up at him in a manner that was just too hard to even peel his gaze off of. “So..what about..that?” you’d gestured down to where the tattoo was embedded into your skin and back up to him. “Is it..permanent…?”

“God no,” he laughed. “There’s just..one way to get rid of it.”

“Which is..?”

Suguru took a moment to wrap your legs up around his waist, creating a slow grind of friction between both of your aching erections, sadly confined by the layers of fabric that marred them. “Letting me cum deep inside this pretty fuckin’ body. Letting me be the first to taint you, letting me take you to heights that your beautiful mind hasn’t even thought to fathom before..letting me fuck you full until you can’t take it anymore. Then and only then, will you be rid of that pesky mark. Be rid of that burning need you feel in your core.”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” the speed at which the words came from your mouth left both of you just a bit stunned. He hadn’t expected you to give such a brazen and honest cajole into what he wanted and you didn’t realize until you said it just how badly you craved it. In your head, maybe you’d reasoned that it was just the influence of the mark, of the aphrodisiac-soaked kisses but..

You’d be a filthy liar if you said you hadn’t been thinking about something under the same notes from the day you laid eyes on him.

Now, though, it was anyone’s game. And Suguru took that and bolted.

Within seconds, he had reached down, gathering your legs into his arms as he pulled your shorts and smallclothes up and over your skin with ease, exposing your most intimate areas to the cold, unforgiving air of the A/C unit, sliding his hand right back between your thighs, only now, his fingers were wrapping around your leaking shaft, using precision to build a gentle rhythm for the idle handjob he was giving you.

It was so simple but it felt worlds different than when you did it on your own. His hand was larger, covered more ground with less effort and if compared, it was slightly rougher which made it easy to create friction. Your hands fell back over your mouth as you took in the details that were producing the repeated squelching sounds ringing out into the air. “Damn, you really are a virgin, huh? Aww, is the sensitivity getting to you that bad? You’re dripping like a faucet down here..” his actions were dirty but his mouth was just downright nasty.

Amid every pass of his hand, you felt your thighs trembling around his wrist, making your eyes flutter as you neatly rested your head back against the couch once again. It wasn’t a surprise when you heard his belt coming undone, snapping your sights back to where he’d slid the Prada out of its comfy holsters and let it slip onto the floor with a series of clinks. His free hand, taking initiative, slid his pants down just enough for his hardened length to spring up, eager and waiting—despite how he had been teasing you about the way you were spilling out, he was barely any better. The tip of his cock was just drooling, offering enough for him to slick his hand up from base to tip, twisting on the upstroke. A mirror of what his other was doing to you.

Another minute or so and he had begun to feel how you twitched and tensed in his grip, seemingly growing harder as he sped up. But what he also noticed was how your voice was slipping. Now that was a definite no-go. For as much of an exhibitionist as he was, it wasn’t really on his bingo card to get caught. Not like this. So what did he do? The only thing that he found logical of course.

His fingers let go of you, leaving you to shudder and whine for a moment as per the loss of stimulation. Setting your legs back down neatly onto the couch, he took another second to hop off of the couch, coming to the head of it where your pretty face lay, all unassuming and just begging for the next high of physicality that you could reach. It wasn’t long before he was gently tapping his fat tip against your slightly parted lips, smirking down at you as you saw the way his tail mildly whipped behind him. “Hey..I know you’re not a fan of getting caught in the moment…I can’t say I am either. I also know how desperate you are to make a mess on my hand, so..how about we kill two birds with one..stone?” punctuating his words, he just barely nudged his cock between your lips.

You could taste the pre that ran off of it and your heart was just racing at the idea of it. Right here, right now, he wanted you to suck him dry whilst he jerked you off…with who knows how many people just a few yards away. Though..coming from him..right now? It didn’t sound bad at all.

Giving a coy nod, you watched his eyes light up as he came to lean over you more properly once again. Slowly, steadily, he eased inch by inch into your mouth, gaining a new hold on your hardness that stood at attention, pleading for his attention. “Wider,” he instructed. “I shouldn’t feel your teeth.” Trying your best, you made your lips stretch obscenely around his shaft, pulling your lips in just a bit to make up for the distance you couldn’t open up. “Theree you go. Just keep your..hah, mouth open, just like that. Let me do alll the work.” followed by a strained groan, you felt his hand start to move along your own length, multitasking as he fully reached the back of your mouth.

Expecting him to pull it out before you lost your breath, you were surprised when he..didn’t. Your hands came up to his thighs, just barely splaying before he was hissing out another command. “Hands off. Relax. Relax your throat, swallow around me,” guiding your movements, he brought his free up under your neck, feeling exactly where he was nestled in so snugly. A teasing roll of his hips and Suguru felt you starting to obey. “Ahh..thaat’s right. Breathe through your nose, don’t worry about moving just..just let me..fuck..” his words fell short as he shifted his hold from your neck to the back of your head, snaking his fingers through your hair as he held you there.

Along with that, he’d continued the shlicking of his hand up and down your cock, feeling how the beads of pre rolled off. Suguru’s thumb swiped across your slit, pressing down as he methodically moved it back and forth there and among the dual focus, he got a wicked idea.

Still, slowly pistoning his hips in and out of the constricting cavern of your mouth, he slithered his tail up to coil around your shaft, creating a bit of spring action in the way it stroked you off. It was so much different from his hand, a tighter hold but just as easily gliding over your sensitive skin in a way that felt way too good.

Your head was just swimming—mouth full of cock, your own being handled with the most care you’d ever felt, struggling to register everything—and Suguru leaned back just a bit, reveling in the way your moans sent vibrations reverberating up his girth. This angle let him get even deeper into your throat, just so that slight upward curve could tickle your uvula in a way that would’ve triggered your... “Shit, no gag reflex? You really are wasted potential..fuckin’ incarnated,” he groaned breathily, continuing to let his hips swing back and forth, hitting the back of and pushing just past the opening of your esophagus with each pass. “Look at me, pretty. Lemme see how you look while I’m fuckin’ this gorgeous face..c’mon..”

Prompted and complying, your tear-stricken eyes looked back up at him, vision mildly blurred by the saltwater that marred them and threatened to spill over. Though, what Suguru had not anticipated was just how divine you looked with him down your throat. How your cheeks were all puffed out, the low-lidded eyes you were giving him, how utterly pathetic you looked—it took him a minute to realize that you were, in fact, just getting close. Precariously close to a climax with how his tail had sped up its spring coil rhythm. Suguru, so caught up in his own pleasure he hadn’t even realized how his body was reacting and affecting yours in return.

“F-fuck..I’m..” he brought his other hand over, lacing it through your hair to gain a better grip on your head as he quite literally forced you to deepthroat him. Again and again, deeper than before, he dug his cock into your throat to the point where your nose would be mushed against his pelvis, tickled by the wiry hairs surrounding the base. He was getting vocal with it, but then again, so were you.

Choking and sputtering around him to the point where drool had coated every section of his pulsing dick, messily coating your lips and spilling out onto the cushion of the couch. That of which your hands had been holding onto dear life to, nails digging into the fabric as you felt your own impending release building up. “Nghh..~ ‘M gonna fuckin’ cum..” he announced, completely unaware of how his grip on your hair and his tail’s on your shaft tightened. “Swallow..swallow every last d-drop of me.. If you waste any, I’ll keep goin’ ‘till neither of us can take it..”

Of course, he didn’t really mean it..or, that’s what you told yourself at least, for a fleeting moment. Though, almost nothing mattered in the next few moments as you felt that tight coil in your stomach finally snap and cause the first drops of your release to begin dripping onto the couch cushions before your hips were full on writhing, rutting against nothing but air as your load was sent covering up your stomach and thighs, leaving you panting and desperate for any breath of oxygen you could get.

Eyes rolling just enough to create a tension at the front of your head, Suguru angled in all the way, dragging your mouth fully down onto his cock as he found his own climax deep within the confines of your mouth. Your lips were practically kissing his pelvic arch as you fell slack in his grasp. His head fell back and you felt the moment the first hot rope was shot down your throat, could feel it in how his balls twitched and came in close to his body, completely emptying himself out.

“Mhmm..swallow it…drink it all down..my gift..from me, to you,” he rambled, grinding his hips up against your face and riding out both of your orgasms until you were both left in a relative mess. After he made sure to finish up properly, he let his softening cock slip out from your mouth, leaving you to cough and reflexively swallow repeatedly. His tail allowed your own respite as it loosened and finally fell away. “I think I’m actually glad I didn’t let that old fuck get his hands on you before me.” he chuckled dryly, running a hand through the hairs that had fallen out of place.

After regaining your composure, you’d look up at him and then down to the mess that you’d made of well..yourself. Suguru had flicked his tail around, looking at what you’d left behind and smiled that small grin you’d grown so accustomed to. “What? You did that.”

“B-because..” you had brought a hand up to your throat, realizing you were being too hasty with how raw it felt already. Dramatics..were always in your deck of cards. “You didn’t..the mark is..still there.”

“Oh, well..” Suguru stalked ever closer, cupping your spit and tear-drenched face, licking away at a tear track before chuckling darkly in response to your only concern after everything that had just transpired. “Guess we’re not done here yet, then. Huh?”

⋆⁺₊⋆ —————⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰————— ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Come the fuck on, you call that riding?” Suguru had lightly jeered from under you, feet fully planted on the ground as you squirmed every so often on his lap. It had only been a few minutes since you’d even taken the whole thing. All 8.2, now tightly hugged by your velvety insides. The only reason he’d given the courtesy of letting you get on top was because..it was your first time. And he knew better than anyone how ‘out of hand’ he could get when it came to fucking.

But fuck was it hard not to just start thrusting up into you without any warning, to listen to the yelps that you’d let out, how you’d let the whole damn establishment know who was impaling you on their cock, to let every scumbag, gambler, addict, slut, whore within the walls of the place know—you were his. Though, he didn’t want to scare you off, didn’t want to have to hear your fucking mouth after the fact, and so, here he was, staring up at your flushed face as you basically—little less than—cockwarmed him.

“I’m..t-tryin’, Sugu..~” you’d complained, stirring your hips in a small circle that gave you more than enough insight as to what you were getting into. “Not my fault you’re so..”

A grind up had you sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, immediately stifling the moan that was about to pour out. “Big? Yeah, I know. But seriously, you’re killing me here. I get first-time jitters but..” trailing off, Suguru couldn’t help but finally register what you’d called him. “Wait, wait, say that again?”

“N-not my fault..?”

“Before that.”

Pulling a slight pout, you huffed out. “Sugu..?” Oh, if it wasn’t hard before, that particular whine of his name was enough for him to throw just a bit of caution to the wind. That he did, given how he’d started creating his own circles with his hips, grinding up into you and just memorizing each and every ridge that made your tight channel so damn visceral.

“Yeahh, keeep callin’ me that. It sounds so fuckin’ right on your lips,” he panted, adjusting his grip on your hips to guide your hesitant movements, making them bolder, deeper, sooo much fucking deeper than you’d initially intended. “Hey, put your head on my shoulder, arch your back more. I want to try somethin’ out..”

You were just happy he was giving you a new method to keep your voice down that wouldn’t involve having to swallow your own blood, so, following his words to the letter, you let your head fall forward, adjusting to where your face was nuzzled into the side of his neck comfortably. His cologne still lingered, even in the midst of your coupling. It wasn’t too bad that you greedily drank in the scent, mildly just disguised as being out of breath.

Tranquility being relatively snapped, you felt his hands sliding down your arms, slowly, caressing before he guided them to gather right about your tailbone. Confused, you began to peek your head up, but you got a clue real fuckin’ quick. His tail had curled around your wrists, threading through as he held your arms there long enough for him to get a secure hold on you—long enough for him to take the reins on this ride.

“Much fuckin’ better..now, try to keep your voice down, yeah? If you cause a scene..anyone could just peek riiight through those curtains,” he leaned in to nip at your ear, letting a rumbling laughter escape him. “And see how much of a needy slut you are for me. Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Blushing more than you cared to admit, you found yourself shaking your head in response. He took up your face in his hand again, directing your gaze right into his. “Words.”

“N-no..no we wouldn’t.”

“What’s my name?”

Shrinking in on yourself a bit, you pulled what had to be the most adorable expression of embarrassment Suguru had ever seen on anyone. All the more sweeter was seeing it on your face. “Suguru..” you’d whimper out in response. Well, you never had to tell him twice when it came to something he already wanted to do.

“Good fuckin’ boyyy,” he almost growled against your skin, starting up his own pace inside of you. Oh, when he started moving—letting the fat crown of his cock pummel its way through your narrow heat, you almost immediately fell forward once more, burying your face right back where it belonged. “Aw, can you feel it?”

You nodded, letting your fingers clench and unclench behind your back, digging into your palms, only to leave crescents in their wake when you relaxed them again. In no time at all, he was holding you up, a firm hold under each junction where your ass and thighs connected, bringing you up and down, up and downn, each time prompting another choked up moan to escape your lips. “Keep it down.” he chided, to which you smothered your mouth against the side of his neck.

Suguru leaned back a bit, taking you with him as he continued his ministrations. You could hear the ragged edge building in his breath as he stirred up your innards, picking up the depth and with it, the intensity—deep, looongg strokes that felt like they were in your fucking stomach at some points. At a certain threshold, you’d had to simply bite down on the crevice of his neck and shoulder, causing a slightly pained hiss to leave him, steadily dulled out by a series of efforting grunts.

“Sugu-ru..~” you mewled out in between the continuous, upward drive of his hips. “.. ‘M gonna..c-cum again..~”

“Like hell you are,” he replied curtly. You felt his tail tighten around your wrists and alongside it, his hold on you. “Cumming on my cock, without my permission? That shit doesn’t even sound right,” elaborating further, he punctuated his point by speeding up his pace and instead of moving you, he kept you hovering above him as he fucked up into you at an angle that gave him ample opportunity to drive you wild. “Fuckin’..mhn..~ Hold it. Hold it in and if you can’t, then I guess I’ll fuck you until you get it through your head. Understood?” Frantically, you nodded your head, a breathy series of whines following suit. “Words, slut.”

“Ahh~! Y-yes, Suguru..nghh, fuuckk..~!” voice cracking on the last syllable, you fell back into him, already feeling the haze gracing your eyes due to the way he was fucking bullying your prostate, drawing out strained ‘oohs’ and ‘oh, fuck’s each time he would draaagg himself in and out. Consequences be damned, you knew at least someone had already heard you.

If not you, then him. “Shiiit, it’s like you were fuckin’—fuck..~ Made for this. Uhuhh, made to take every inch of this dick, made to just go braindead on my dick. Mhmm, no more backtalk, no more fuckin’ attitude. Just how it should always be..” just absolutely rambling. In your own fucked-out state of mind, his words barely even registered, barely even clicked but this was his way of coping with..you.

Coping with how ungodly perfect you felt wrapped around him, your walls fluttering and clenching down on him, sucking him back in each time he pulled out. Like your body was screaming, just to make up for what your mouth wasn’t currently allowed to fulfill.

His hand found its way through your hair again, this time, tugging your head back with a yank that exposed your throat sooo nicely, that brought your face right above his, letting him lean in to paint any parts of your blank canvas with more hickeys, more straight up bite marks that he didn’t even bother to lick back up. He knew you were too gone to care. Too cockdrunk to properly comprehend anything around you, let alone a little bit of pain.

Right on the edge, he held you there for what felt like millenia before you felt the stutter of his own hips, felt his fingers tightening in the roots of your hair, heard his sharp inhales and exhales as he fucked you both ever closer to the second climax of the night. You knew that you wouldn’t last much longer, not with the arch your back felt permanently stuck at, not with how he was hitting that spot like it was a goddamn golden buzzer on AGT, not with how your cock had just been crying onto his lap, messing up his poor, poor button-down. Good thing the man seemed to not know that other colors existed on the spectrum besides monochrome.

“Pleaseee..~ Fuckin’ p-please, I’m so..ngh~!” you’d cried out through your teeth, arms already straining against the bind they were in, only to be pulled right back down into place by his tail coiling ever-tighter around your wrists. “God, please..!”

Suguru knew exactly what you meant. He knew what you needed. He knew what you fuckin’ yearned for that only he could give you. “Beg. Beg for me to let you spill your load alll over my lap, to f-fucking..dirty up my couch, to let go, to feel that rush—beg for it.”

“I already—ahh..~!”

“You can do better than that. So much..haah~ fuckin’ better..”

The coil in your stomach wasn’t matching up with the speed at which your mouth was moving, so, in a last, desperate attempt to just get what you needed, you wound up saying ‘fuck it’ to trying to keep your voice down. “Pleasee, Suguru~ Please, I’ll b-be so fuckin’ good f-for you, just..please~! Make me cum..~ L-let me cum, please, God, please~”

“There he is,” he huffed in response, sending both of your lips crashing together, doing very minimal damage control on the fact that everyone outside, without a shadow of a doubt just heard you beg Suguru to cum like your life depended on it. But..who fucking cares? You sure didn’t, not with how your own hips had begun to swing and grind in tandem with his, trying to match his rhythm as your orgasm was sent over you in harsh, shuddering waves.

You felt the moment the coil snapped, felt the very instant that you came undone in his arms, all of your cries and sounds of pure ecstasy being swallowed up greedily by Suguru as he took one final, deep thrust up into you, simultaneously slamming you down to the hilt in a way that shook you down to the marrow as your seed painted over his chest and lap in a descending incline.

As you rode out yours, his own frothy load started to flood your insides, filling you up to the brim as he fucked it back into you, coming to a gradual stop—not before giving you a small taste of overstimulation, giving a grinding against the plush of your ass that had now basically swallowed his cock whole. After just a few pulses, it was seeping out of you, dripping down your thighs and coating his own balls in the remains of both of your intense bodygasms.

Once he was sure that he’d given alll that he so generously offered up to you, he allowed his tail to release its hold on your wrists, having left red indents where its hold had previously been. Bringing your arms up to wrap around his neck, you slumped into his chest, heaving a heavy, contented sigh. It took him a minute to realize that the dampness on his chest wasn’t just your cum that had stained it but your own salty droplets.

“Why the tears..? Was that..” his voice had dropped to one of reluctant concern, and the vice-like grip he had on your hair before, loosened, leaving him to idly card his fingers through. Waiting patiently for your response, he made no move to even pull out, or even..get out of this moment with you. Not having to hear your voice droning on or nagging was a rarity, afterall.

Giving yourself a moment, you pulled back, wiping off your eyes with the heel of your palm, sniffling in just a bit. “I’m just..really glad it was you…” you’d admitted softly, seeing the faintest red tinge Suguru’s cheeks.

“Don’t go..getting all soft on me, now. I just..hate seeing all of..you go to waste. I told you since..the day I met you, in fact. Remember?” his voice was missing that sharp edge that had been so present just moments ago—it could’ve very well been traced to the fact that he was literally still going soft inside of you but you decided to take it as a sign that you had made some kind of newfound progress in your relationship. “You deserve to be treated, to be valued, to be fucked by someone who sees the fact that you rise above..all this shit.”

Letting your head loll into his palm, Suguru slipped his hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the apple of it. “I talk my stuff, I get business done, and I manage this entire..other world that we’ve built together. But I am..virtually nothing…without you.” you could’ve sworn that you heard your heart melting and pouring out from your insides. That also could have just been the cum that was dripping down your thighs still but…

“Pfft- look who’s going soft now,” teased lightly, even as you were wiping more tears away from your eyes. “Speaking of..would you…ahem, mind..?”

Suguru had planned on staying inside just a bit longer, but he gave in either way, pulling your hips up and letting his softened cock slip out of your cum-soaked hole with a lewd squelch that was chased by a wet pop! that had you shivering as he let you come back down to relax on his chest. Finally able to catch your breath after what felt like eons.

“Everyone’s..probably worried about where we are right now.” you’d reminded, only to be pulled in closer to Suguru’s chest, where he rested his chin on top of your head, sighing heavily as he propped one of his boots—which he’d been too caught up to even take off in the first place—up on the table.

“Let them,” he’d responded idly. “I, in complete and total honesty, could not give less of a fuck about anyone that’s outside of this room right now.”

The admission wasn’t too out of the ordinary for him but, given the fact he hadn’t even bothered to revert back, you’d take it upon yourself to ask the burning question, “So uhm..how long has..this been a thing, huh?”

“Oh, what? Being an incubus?”

“Uhuh. I mean—did you like..already die or something?” you pressed curiously.

That let him give a bark of laughter as he ran his hands up your sides, focusing on the pressure points there that had you easing into the touch. “No, not quite. I guess you could say I was..born like this..? I suppose. It’s never been that much of a quarrel for me.”

“Were your parents demons too? I mean, do you come from Hell?”

“You ask way too many questions for someone who just lost their virginity to a literal incubus.” he gave back.

Shrugging, you put out your bottom lip a bit. “Let’s just say.. ‘I’m curious.’”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and lay down for me, will you?” Suguru prompted, to which you instinctively tilted your head to the side. It was a natural thing you did that never ceased to make him think of you as some sort of..puppy, at times.

“And..why is that..?”

Rolling his eyes, he tugged you in closer, pressing his fingers deeper into your back muscles. “Because I can’t work out all the kinks from this angle. Plus, you deserve a lie down after I was inside you for so long. On both ends.” Amidst all of the light banter, you didn’t even pay attention to the fact that his little tattoo gift had long-since faded away. “Touché, perv.” and like clockwork, you were easing yourself off of his lap and moving to lie flat on your stomach, already feeling his hands working like a masseuse to get out every single strain that he had put on your body. From your thighs and up, he made sure not to skip a single space, hopeful that with enough good aftercare that maybe you’d be up for a round two.

A/N: Phew..! That’s kind of..all I can say for this, lol. This has been the winter season of writing for me and before I go back on an inevitable hiatus, I wanted to deliver to you what everyone has been sooo on edge about. The love and support for Sweetest Sin has been phenomenal and I’m excited to bring more..in due time. (The glasses got nuked like 3/4s in. Running on like 0 sleep. Sorry for the yap, enjoy the filth. Sincerely, your Loverboy.) @aseqan 💝

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my-notsopeachy-thoughts · 5 months ago

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Finally finished the next chapter of my TF2 reader-insert platonic fic!

Summary:

A girl wanders too close to the base, encountering an eager scout who accidentally reveals some confidential secrets to her. Now Spy wants her dead, and Scout refuses to let that happen. A deal gets struck and now she only has a month to prove herself trustworthy to all the mercenaries, but most importantly Spy, or else he kills her.

Chapter Summary:

The Intruder learns what it takes to be at war.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 fanfic #tf2 fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert #platonic relationships #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demo #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy

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missaengg · 13 days ago

Text

A Bittersweet Reunion

Pairing: Caleb x f!reader Tags: nsfw, mdni, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, developing relationship, light angst Word Count: 4.9k Because standing before you is a face you never thought you’d see ever again. Standing before you, dressed in his colonel’s uniform with an apple in his gloved hand, is Caleb, who’s supposed to be dead. The same Caleb you watched die a year ago. The same Caleb you mourned for months, still mourned deep in your heart even though it might appear to the world you’ve moved on. ao3 link here.

Your eyes snap open abruptly, blinking to clear the haze blurring your vision as they adjust to the dim light, a ceiling you don’t recognize coming into view. Dazed, you sit up rapidly, a wave of dizziness overcoming you from the sudden change in elevation.

Your brain attempts to clear the fog, trying to remember how you came to be on this couch, in this room. The last thing you remember, you were on a mission, tracking down a potential lead about the Aether core not too far from Linkon City. It was supposed to be a simple scouting mission to verify the lead, but a few minutes after your arrival, you were ambushed from behind, your consciousness turning black. The next thing you know waking up in this strange location.

You reach for your holster, cursing under your breath when you find it empty.

The realization you’re unarmed slams the precariousness of your situation into you, the high alert of potential danger returning clarity back to your muddled brain. It’s only now that you notice the blanket draped over you, that your body rests on a black, leather couch. The leather feels smooth under your hands, an attestment to its high level of quality, which fits the caliber of what appears to be a penthouse living room. Though, it’s too dark to distinguish much more than the outline of the sparse furniture inside save for the brief flashes of lightning bursting through the wall-length windows.

Your eyes dart left and right as you try to regain your bearings, searching for a clue as to where you are or who might’ve attacked you.

“You’re awake.”

A deep voice cuts through the silence. Somewhere in the back of your head, you have a nagging sensation that you recognize this voice. There’s a sense of familiarity as though you’ve heard it many times before. A voice that you’ve missed ardently for the past year, but it couldn’t be. It’s impossible.

The long tail of a heavy, black coat and a pair of pristine knee-high, leather boots sweep into your vision. Your eyes follow the intruder’s form up, your heart wrenching when they settle on his face. Because standing before you is a face you never thought you’d see ever again. Standing before you, dressed in his colonel’s uniform with an apple in his gloved hand, is Caleb, who’s supposed to be dead. The same Caleb you watched die a year ago. The same Caleb you mourned for months, still mourned deep in your heart even though it might appear to the world you’ve moved on.

“You’re alive?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Caleb meets your gaze, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing his galaxy-colored purple eyes. After a momentary pause, he answers, “I am.”

He provides no explanation. No apology. He provides nothing, but silence, and it hangs heavily in the air, the only two occupants of the room frozen in place. One frozen from guilt. The other from shock.

You break the silence first, hesitantly reaching for his face, your fingers gingerly tracing the curve of his cheek. “Is it really you?”

Caleb nods, leaning into your touch and placing his hand over yours. “It’s me… I’m back.” He nuzzles your palm causing you to gasp and lay your hand flush against his face.

You can feel the warmth of his cheek on your palm, the pressure of his large hand covering yours. The warmth spreads across your hand and down your arm, proof that the Caleb before you isn’t a dream. That he’s real and alive and in front of you.

But you’ve had this dream so many times before only to wake up, your hand grasping nothing that you don’t trust what your senses are telling you. “I’m not dreaming? You’re real?”

Caleb chuckles, and you feel his facial muscles shift and his amusement vibrate on your fingers. “I’m as real as I’ll ever be, Pipsqueak.”

You close your eyes, wondering if you dare allow yourself to believe this is reality, that he won’t disappear when you open them again.

“Hey.” Caleb’s voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you feel his hand cradle your chin, tilting it towards him. “It’s really me. I’m really here.”

Holding your breath, you open your eyes one at a time, still skeptical as to whether this is just another dream, but when your vision clears, it’s filled with Caleb’s gentle smile. Tears spring to your eyes. “Caleb…” You lurch forward, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”

Caleb returns your embrace, patting your back in soothing circles, the same way he did when you were children. “I know. I missed you too.”

It’s only now with his arms around you that you can admit to yourself this isn’t a fleeting illusion, that he’s actually here in the flesh. Hugging you.

That he’s been alive for the past year and didn’t tell you.

The relief you feel shifts into a seething rage that courses through your veins like fire. You shove him away, roughly, clenching your hands into fists and slamming them into his shoulders. Once. Twice. Three times before you feel any semblance of satisfaction. “You’re alive, and you didn’t tell me?!” You hit him again, each contact of your fist with his torso echoing your frustration and grief. “Why? Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Caleb simply stands there, doing nothing to block your assault as if he knows he deserves every ounce of your ire. He allows you to pummel him, over and over again until you stop of your own volition, too exhausted to continue.

“I couldn’t,” he replies when you finally settle, casting his gaze away from you to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry?!” you snarl, disbelief raising the volume of your voice with each word you spit out. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Caleb. You let me think you were dead for a year. A year!” You punch him one more time. Hard.

“I know.”

“I mourned you for an entire year, Caleb. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks as it trails off, your unshed tears adding a hoarseness to the otherwise clear timbre of your voice.

“I’m sorry…”

You slump back onto the couch, your spent fists dropping listlessly into your lap. “Where…where have you been all this time? Why couldn’t you tell me you were alive? Why couldn’t you contact me?” The questions come quickly as your fingers twist together with so much force, they turn white. “Why?”

“I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

You stare at your childhood friend who refuses to look you in the eye while rolling that stupid apple in his hands. You want to keep demanding him for answers, anything to explain himself even if they’re half-hearted lies, but seeing him alive triggers the memory of the explosion that killed him. Even a year later, you can still recall the scene so vividly. You can still feel the raging heat burning your skin. The eruptive force knocking you off your feet. The acrid smoke stinging your nose. The despair as you discovered the necklace you gifted him through your blurry vision and your ringing ears.

No one could’ve survived a blast of that magnitude. No one. But somehow Caleb survived, and if Caleb had been alive after all this time, then it’s possible he might not be the only survivor.

“Grandma,” you whisper, your eyes widening with possibility, a hope you haven’t felt in a long time blooming in your heart. “If you’re alive, does that mean…Is she…?”

“No,” Caleb answers curtly, his kind eyes turning cold. “She’s dead.”

Your face twists. A part of you knew that it was a slim possibility, but the resulting devastation is the same, slashing the delicate hope you dared feel to pieces. “How did you…survive?”

Guilt ripples below Caleb’s stony expression. His silence creates a suffocating tension that hangs palpably in the air, so long a horrible thought pops into your head. One so awful it kills you to even consider it. One you can’t even begin to entertain, let alone fathom.

“Were you– Did you–” cause the explosion? You want to ask, but the rest of your question withers away in your throat because the idea of Caleb being responsible for Grandma’s death is too horrific for you to voice out loud.

Caleb doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. The pained expression he wears on his face says everything.

“No…Caleb, tell me that’s not true,” you demand, searching his face for even a hint that you’re wrong. Dead wrong. “Tell me you didn’t– Tell me I’m mistaken, that I don't know what I’m accusing you of.”

Caleb flinches at the sharp edge in your voice. “It had to be done.”

“I don’t understand.” You lean forward, desperate to know what he’s thinking, desperate to make this all make sense even if in some twisted way. “She took us in and raised us when we had nowhere else to go. How could you?”

“Pipsqueak, I…” Caleb runs a tired hand over his face, over the bags under his eyes and his haggard, sunken cheeks. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“How can you say that? Of course you had a choice,” you shout, vehemently shaking your head and bolting upright onto your knees. “How could you murder the woman who gave us a home?” You’re so incensed you almost don’t notice the way Caleb clenches his fists and grits his teeth, but you don’t care. You don’t care if he’s agitated. You need answers, answers only he can give. “Caleb, answer me.”

“Because she hurt us!” he explodes before softening. “Because…she hurt you. She had to pay for her crimes.”

“Caleb, she saved us.”

“She experimented on us.”

“And then she had a change of heart,” you argue.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s just as culpable as the other scientists,” Caleb says with a finality. “She hurt us – hurt you – and for that she had to pay.”

“No, Caleb.” You press your lips together, surveying the man barely holding himself together in front of you. A man you barely recognize anymore. “She saw what they were doing to us and broke us out. You know that.”

Caleb laughs harshly, his laughter devoid of any warmth, ringing hollow in the cold, dark room. “She didn’t.”

“What?”

“The organization decided that we’d be less stressed in a home environment so they tasked her with raising us. It was just another means to gather data for their experiments.”

“That…” That you didn’t know. Deep creases form in your brow as you process this new revelation, but deep down you know it doesn’t matter. Not anymore, now that she’s gone. “It might’ve started that way, but she never went back. She took us away and hid. She made it right.”

You startle when Caleb ruffles your hair the way he used to in the days before he “died”, a ghost of a rueful grin on his lips. He takes a seat on the black marble coffee table, looking down at the apple in his hand as he muses on old, painful memories. “You were too young to remember, but I remember everything. I remember how they kept us locked up. How they poked and prodded us. How they ignored our screams.” He levels his gaze with yours. “I remember how you’d cling to me after they were done. How you’d cry yourself to sleep in my arms. How powerless I was to stop it – stop them. I remember it all.”

A storm rages in the depths of his gaze, one so turbulent it causes your breath to hitch in your throat. “Caleb…”

“But I’m not powerless anymore.” Caleb’s eyes narrow into slits. “Not anymore.”

Buried deep beneath his fury, you catch a glimpse of the scared, little boy he must’ve been back then. The same hurt, little boy who bravely protected you the best he could with no one there to comfort him. You reach for him, slowly, but your hand falters at the last moment. “This isn’t you. This isn’t the Caleb I know.”

You silently plead with him to deny everything he’s just said. To say he hasn’t changed. That he’s still the same Caleb, the same childhood friend you’ve always known.

Caleb smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, but his eyes are blank. Emotionless. Dead.

“Caleb...?”

“Did you honestly think I’d always be the same kind-hearted boy from your childhood?” he asks cruelly as he lits the apple to his mouth and takes a bite, his canines glinting as they sink into the fruit. A streak of lightning hurtles through the night sky behind him, bathing him in an ominous glow.

You watch in muted horror as he chews methodically, taking his time to grind the white flesh between his teeth and swallow.

“I’m not the Caleb you knew anymore,” he says remorsefully. “I changed the moment I started my revenge.”

“...Revenge?”

“For what they did to you,” Caleb growls, slamming the apple down on the table and spraying flecks of juice over its polished surface. “The ones who experimented on us. Ever. I’m going to destroy them piece by piece from the inside out until there’s nothing left. So they can’t harm us – harm you – ever again.”

You yearn to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that you don’t need revenge. That you only wish for him to be back in your life, but the steely resolve engulfing him gives you pause because you can sense that nothing you say will change his mind. Nothing you say will stop him. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” you ask instead.

Caleb nods.

“All by yourself?”

He nods again.

Something inside you breaks to know that he’s been on his own, alone, consumed by anger, pain, and hate. You reach for him again, but this time you cradle his head in your arms, nestling it into your shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone. I can fight with you.”

Caleb stirs, his fingers clutching the hem of your shirt like a child clutching someone for comfort. “I want…I want to keep you in a world where it’s just the two of us. I want that more than anything,” he begins, quietly, his voice muffled by your body. “But until everything is resolved, I need to make sure you’re safe and sound. I need to know you’re out of harm’s way.”

You pull back, placing both of your hands on his shoulders, looking him square in the eyes. “I’m not the same young girl from back then. I can handle myself. I’m a Hunter, I fight wanderers for fuck’s sake.”

The corners of Caleb’s mouth quirk upwards into a tiny, wry grin, the first genuine smile breaking through his frigid exterior. “I never said you couldn’t, Pipsqueak.”

“Then why?”

Caleb cups your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Despite the leather glove, the warmth of his hand somehow manages to reach you, sinking below the surface and stoking a bittersweet nostalgia. “Because…” His voice trembles. “...it would kill me if something were to happen to you.”

His eyes waver with fear, regret, and…longing. A wistful yearning that you know all too well, one you’ve suppressed time and time again. Your head tilts before you process what you’re doing, your lips seeking his if only to satisfy your desire to touch him, desire laced with your own anguish and need.

“Squeaks…” Caleb stops you before your lips meet. “Don’t… Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not,” you snap, jerking back, the realization of what you almost did and his rejection burning on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I–”

But you’re interrupted when Caleb grazes your collarbone, the intimate nature of his touch furthering the scorching blush spreading on your face. His finger hooks under the silver chain around your neck and pulls, exposing the small apple charm and nameplate with the words “When U Come Back” inscribed in the metal from where it hides under your shirt.

His breath hitches, eyeing the necklace in his hand. “You’ve been wearing this all this time?”

Your heart twinges when you see the charms glittering on his palm, remembering all the nights you clutched it to your heart as you cried yourself to sleep. The way you felt it pressed against your sternum when you laid a hand over your chest every time you missed him, multiple times a day.

“It was the only thing I had left…of you.”

Caleb curls his fingers around the pendants, taking care not to tug the chain lest he hurts you. He closes his eyes and bites his lip, a shudder-like groan rising from deep within and ripping through his throat. “Do you know how difficult it was for me? To have to hold myself back while seeing you everyday? I know what I feel is wrong. I know you only see me as an older brother. But I’ve always held myself back and endured. Day, after day, after day. It was suffocating.” Caleb opens his eyes, staring at you imploringly. He breathes heavily as if each labored breath is a battle to restrain himself. “So don’t make this harder for me, Squeaks, cause I don’t know how much I can hold back anymore.”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his, your faces so close, the tips of your noses brush together. “Then don’t. Don’t hold back anymore,” you whisper. “I never thought of you as my brother, Caleb. I want this. I want you.”

Caleb draws in a sharp breath, and then his arms are circling your waist, pulling you into his lap. His lips find their way to yours, moving with an urgency that matches your own, a frantic need to consume him in his entirety.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he husks, pulling away just enough to speak, his ragged breath a wisp of heat on your lips. He sweeps his thumb tenderly along your bottom lip, a wanton heat flooding his hooded eyes.

You forget how to breathe. The lust in his eyes holds you captive, sending your stomach aflutter. “Me too,” you murmur.

A quiver runs down Caleb’s tense body, and then his lips are on yours once more, holding you tight as though you might disappear if he lets go, his large hands pressing firmly on your back as they roam. Neither of you break the kiss, not even to breathe, so consumed by the hunger to feel one another after being apart for so long, as if you couldn’t get enough of one another. Because you couldn’t. Not after a year of missing him, wishing you could hold him in your arms, dreaming of his touch.

Caleb’s breath mingles with yours, his tongue darting to the slight part between your lips, demanding entrance. You accede, and his tongue slips in, entwining with your own. You can taste the remnants of the apple he ate just moments before lingering on his tongue adding a sweetness to the dizzying onslaught of passionate kisses you share.

All your senses are filled with Caleb. Moaning, your fingers dig into the stiff fabric of his coat along his broad back, reeling from the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his embrace, the tickle of his teeth nibbling your lip, his heady pants puffing in your ear. But it’s not enough, not even close to being enough.

You want more.

His lips relinquish their hold and travel down the curve of your neck, a trail of fleeting, feathery kisses left behind in their descent. Waves of pleasure radiate from each epicenter, tingling down your spine and pooling into an unsatiated arousal.

A surprised gasp darts out from between your swollen lips when his teeth graze over where your heartbeat pulses as your hips twitch, your body now painfully aware of just how even the simplest of his touch is driving you to the brink of insanity. How even the most gentle of his caresses are igniting a fire you can’t extinguish on your own. “I want…I want to feel you.”

Caleb growls, a guttural sound filled with his desire, evidence of his crumbling resolve. Reluctantly, he pulls away from your neck, fumbling in his haste to remove his crisp, yet cumbersome officer’s coat. He discards the heavy fabric to the push carpet, and once he’s free, you waste no time reaching for the buttons of his shirt, slipping each confining circle through their tethers as fast as your fingers can allow. His bare torso comes into view, bit by bit, each reveal quickening your pulse until your heart hammers in your chest.

Caleb loosens his tie, but before he can finish pulling it off over his head, your mouth is on him, tracing every rise and crevice of his muscles with your tongue, with your lips, and with your teeth.

“Shit, Pipsqueak,” he rasps, somehow managing to toss his tie aside while your mouth distracts him.

A strained ache pulses beneath the surface that fuels your desire, emboldening you to leave a dark, red bruise wherever your mouth lands.

“Squeaks, slow down,” Caleb hisses, pushing you back gently, but you cling to him, steadfast, refusing to quit your torment.

“No,” you mumble against his flushed skin, continuing your ravagement much to his detriment. “I just got you back…I want…I want you…”

Caleb mutters a near inaudible ‘fuck��, and then springs into action, hauling you to your feet. Soon, the two of you are a tangle of limbs and fabric in an attempt to separate flesh from cloth. Tugging your shirt over your head. Yanking his shirt over his shoulders. Unclasping bras. Unbuttoning pants. Unbuckling belts. One by one, they too join the discarded clothing on the floor, cast aside without a second thought.

Your lips locked together, Caleb falls back on the couch, and you fall with him, your legs tucked, straddling his thighs. A hand on your lower back, his other slides to your breast, kneading the soft flesh and thumbing your pert nipple intent on eliciting a sweet little moan.

You give him what he wants. You moan, a throaty, sultry, breathless moan.

Caleb buries his face in between your naked breasts, planting reverent kiss after kiss along the swell. He catches a nipple between his teeth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue and rolling it in his mouth.

Your fingers twist into his hair, your body humming from delight. A particularly naughty nip drives you to gasp his name and arch your back, your throbbing sex grinding down into his pelvis and dragging along the length of his clothed erection, the thin fabric of his briefs one of the last two barriers separating you from him.

“Caleb,” you whimper, a wordless plea begging him to make you his, to claim you as his own.

Caleb presses one last kiss to the divet between your breasts. “I won’t be able to stop myself if we continue,” he pants, his voice strained with restraint. Do you still want this? Want me? His unspoken question quivers in his probing gaze.

“Caleb, I want you.” Holding his gaze, you sit up on your knees and hook your thumbs over the waistband of your underwear, dragging it down your thighs, over your knees, and off your ankles. You toss the thin item of clothing aside. Your answer to his question. “Don’t make me wait any longer. Please.”

Caleb releases a long, drawn-out groan, what little resolve he has left crumbling. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing the side of your face as he commits every detail of you to his memory. “God, you’re beautiful.”

He kisses you again, sweetly, tenderly. His hand glides down the side of your body, grazing the plush of your thigh with the pads of his fingers, coming between your legs and running through your folds. As he does, he violently twitches, feeling how ready you are for him, how your slick arousal coats his fingers.

A shaky whimper escapes you when Caleb finds his way to your clit, stroking the sensitive bud in sloppy circles. Shockwaves of pleasure rip through your lower abdomen, leaving you squirming, mewling, whispering his name and biting back moans.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Caleb murmurs into your ear. “The way you sing for me.”

His voice reverberates in your ear, husky and low, a spine-tingling thrill throbbing in your sex, your need for him growing too painful for you to ignore. Dizzy with desire, you reach for his briefs, intent on removing the last obstacle keeping you from him. “I want to feel you…feel you inside me.”

Caleb curses, lifting his hips so you can pull his underwear down past his hips and his thighs, kicking it off once you reach his knees. He grasps the sides of your hips, simultaneously guiding you down onto him as he thrusts up to enter you. You sink down his length, gasping as your warmth encases him and his cock drags on your walls.

“Caleb,” you cry out, reeling from how he’s stretching you with his girth. You feel yourself clench around him, hearing Caleb grunt as your walls flutter to accommodate his size.

“Shit, you feel…feel so good.” Caleb rakes his teeth over the crest of your shoulder, his chest heaving in and out, his passion getting the best of him. “Fuck.”

Tightening his grip, he rocks you against him, his movements controlled, slow. Your lips meet, stealing the breath out of each other’s mouths, coming together and parting, building into a heady whirlwind. As your kisses grow more fervent, so too do Caleb’s thrusts. Your hands fall forwards, bracing themselves on the back of the couch. Your legs hinge at the knees, rising and sinking onto Caleb to match his urgent rhythm.

This – Caleb’s body joined with yours, his fingertips digging into your skin, his lips claiming yours – is everything you’d ever wanted, better than everything you’d ever dreamed.

Better than all the times you spent touching yourself imagining him inside you, claiming all the intimate parts of yourself you wanted to save for him. Better than dreaming of how it’d feel to be in his arms, kissing him, being kissed by him. How he’d whisper your name and stroke your hair. How he’d hold you tight and never let you go.

Breaking the kiss, you throw your head back, the unmistakable tightening of the coil pulling your muscles taut. Caleb plants his lips on the side of your neck, sucking down, collecting the taste of your skin on his tongue. He bucks into you at a relentless pace, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each deep thrust. You can barely keep up with how fast he’s going, how quickly he has you riding his lap.

“Caleb,” you mewl, your eyes closed, your mouth parted. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb…” You ardently whisper his name over and over again.

“Say my name,” Caleb mumbles. “Say it again.”

“Caleb…” you whimper.

The coil is tense with pressure, on the cusp of snapping free.

“Tell me you love me,” Caleb pleads, his breath wisping on your skin.

“I love you.” You brush your lips on his brow. “I love you.” On the pink glow dusting his cheeks. “I love you.” On the tip of his nose. “I love you.”

Caleb tilts his head up seeking you, and you rest your forehead on his, your lips mere inches away from one another, your breaths mixing together, drinking each other in.

Caleb’s hips snap into you, hard, and then you feel it, the coil springing free, releasing all the pent up tension it was holding. All the words you’ve wanted to say to one another over the years. All the repressed emotions. All the happy memories and the shared joy. All the grief and anguish and pain. All of it culminating into a burst of ecstasy roiling through your quaking body.

You passionately cry out his name, tremors coursing up and down your body. Caleb continues rolling your hips together with his, your rapture pushing him further over the brink, but when your walls pulsate around his length, he catapults over the edge, slamming you down onto his lap as he floods you with his own euphoric bliss.

Foreheads pressed together, Caleb whispers “I love you” before closing the distance between your lips, savoring how you taste, how you feel. He gently shifts your bodies, still joined together as one, until you’re both lying on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms.

You snuggle into his firm chest, relishing how perfectly your bodies seem to fit together, how your head seems to tuck effortlessly under his chin. Your eyes flutter closed. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat in your ears lulls you into a state of drowsiness.

You feel safe. At home. Protected. Cherished. Loved.

As the hazy tendrils of sleep tug on your consciousness, it faintly occurs to you that you didn’t ask him how you came to be here in this penthouse suite with him. But you push the thought from your mind. Right now, you’re just happy to have him back. Right now, you want nothing more than to stay in his arms.

Tomorrow. You can ask him tomorrow.

But for now, all you want is to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace.

For now, all you need is him.

The answers can come tomorrow.

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