#oh my god i have got it so. fucking. bad.

[ghouljams]

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

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

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

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

[casual encounters]

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

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

What I can provide to you:

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

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

-Outfit changes

-Princess treatment so you remember what an asshole they were

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

Face card provided upon request.

Serious inquiries only”

-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers-

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he ever loved you.

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

“So what happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're better off without him."

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

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

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

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

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

"What a prick."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The skates.” He suggests. 

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

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

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

It gives you an idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t post something like that.

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

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

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

“No that’s not-”

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

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

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

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

“When?” He asks eagerly.

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

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

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

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

“How about lunch?” He offers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance at your phone and worry your lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And wait.

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

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

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

Fifteen minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And two sambosas."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then give it to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was so soft when he’d kissed you.

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

Fake date and all.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grab onto the opportunity to learn more about him.

“Do you and your friends have movie nights?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Picture time?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask me something sweetheart.”

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

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

Again you find yourself talking and talking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

“Want some help?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kyle watches you like a hawk.

*

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

Kyle…

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

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

Obviously.

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

You must have imagined it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-”

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

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

You hadn’t even asked what he wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel yourself burst with heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spending the night…

You should grab a change of clothes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck me you’ve got a nice ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not going to argue with that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” You plead, “Yes, yes, yes.”

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

And come.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel your heart lurch in your chest, hopeful.

“Yeah?” You ask and he smiles.

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

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

But you want Kyle to know.

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

You’re perfect.

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

Gazoline: [sent image] Gazoline: Easy.

A typing bubble pops up immediately. Followed by another.

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

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

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

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

And what is luck if not careful planning?

[imsofreakingtired]

your fics are ✨️✨️✨️ ! So.. a fluff one of comforting Sevika on her period, you know she's in pain, but she refuses to tell that, but you find her in the fetal position almost crying of cramps on the bed

hope u doing well ! xoxo

- 🧸

oh my god thank you sm for giving me the chance to take care of our sevi 😭🙏 i'm honestly dying on my period rn so this req was perfect 💙

and i'll make a cup of coffee

content warning(s): none, fluff and hurt/comfort...soft sevika <33

don't stay awake for too long don't go to bed i'll make a cup of coffee for your head i'll get you up and going out of bed

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

This is the thing about Sevika: she will rather subject herself to torture than admit that, like many other human beings on this tired green planet cursed with a uterus they have no use for, she gets period cramps. 

You’d think anyone else blessed with a wife as caring and gentle as you would melt willingly into their arms, milk the pain of their period for all it’s worth. You’re certain Sevika knows that you’d fly off at the drop of a hat to get her anything she needed if she just gave the word. Chocolate, tea, a hot water bottle, hell, an oversized teddy bear. But no. Not this woman. It’s like she considers the limitations of her body a personal challenge from mother nature. 

So you’ve grown attuned to the smallest signs.

“You got your period, didn’t you?” you say. 

Sevika looks at you, grey eyes widened in surprise. “No.” 

The morning is overcast, the sky promises rain; you see the clouds gathering outside the kitchen window. 

“Liar.” You pour the boiling water over the coffee grounds, breathing in the aroma of the dark blend. “I can see it plainly.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You move out the filter, reach for the jar of sugar. “You feeling okay? Maybe you should take off work today.” 

“I’m fine,” she grunts. 

Fine, my ass. She had been irritable and sluggish all week. Every time she snapped at you peevishly, or grumbled she was too tired for sex, you’d mentally marked down the days until she finally got her period. The woman’s cycle was like clockwork. 

“You’re due for a day off anyway. You haven’t used any of your sick days.” 

“I can’t take off,” she says shortly. “There’s a meeting I can’t miss today.” As she takes the mug you hold out to her, you see a wince cross her face, and she bends over slightly so the coffee sloshes around in the cup. 

“I saw that, missy,” you tell her. 

She snorts at the pet name. “You saw nothing.” 

She leaves the coffee on the counter and walks out of the kitchen. 

You assume she went to change, but when some ten minutes go by without any sound from her, you grow suspicious. 

“Vika?” You call. “You headed to work or what?” 

No answer. 

“Vika?” 

You go into the bedroom, where you see her clothes strewn out on the dresser, as if she got as far as choosing them and laying them out, then gave up at the stage of putting them on. Sevika herself is curled up at the edge of the bed, still in her shorts and tank top. For a second, you feel a flash of panic. 

“Fuck. Sevika. What’s wrong?” You’re at her side in a heartbeat, brushing her hair out of her eyes, feeling her forehead. “Are you sick? Where does it hurt?” 

She pulls her head away from you and you notice now that she’s clutching her abdomen. Burying her face into the pillows, she says in a muffled voice, “it’s not…usually this bad.” 

Then it dawns on you. “Cramps?”

She lets out a defeated groan. 

“Poor baby,” you murmur, rubbing her back. “What do you need? I’ll get you a hot water bottle.” 

“No,” she says into the pillow. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay, just…give me a second.”

You sigh impatiently. “You’re on the verge of tears, you think you can fool me with that?” 

“I’m not.” She tries to straighten out her body to prove her point, but gives up and pulls you closer to her by the waist instead.

“What—” 

Even bent double from cramps, Sevika has the physical strength to pull you down into a sitting position onto the bed beside her. Before long you understand what she wants you to do. 

Shaking your head, you lie down with your back to her and let her spoon you with her warm body. She hums in contentment against your shoulder. 

“This is better than a shitty water bottle,” Sevika mumbles. 

“I’m assuming you’re taking the day off, then?” 

“’Slong as you don’t get up.”

“I’m always here, Vika,” you promise, kissing her forearm. “You know that.” 

The rain patters gently against the window as Sevika’s breathing slows and she drifts off to sleep, holding you tightly. In the kitchen, the coffee grows cold. It's alright, you think.

You can always make her another cup.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

notes: ugh i just want to take care of her the world is sick and mean :(

[mandalhoerian]

I've read this a while ago and I FINALLY have time to gush about it like oh my god OH MY GOD

READER, SWEETIE I JUST WANT TO

i've only ever seen this type of denial in Sylus who was terrorizing MC when they first met and going "haha we're just simulating she'll be fine" .

I can analyze her down to the bits I know she's running away from rejection, she's running away from affection, she thinks she doesn't deserve it therefore it can't be the case and she's got a coping mechanism and she'd rather pretend nothing happened forever than address anything but. BUT. GIRL IM BEGGING YOU, TALK TO SOMEONE. TALK. LET SOME THINGS OUT. IM HUGGING YOU BUT ALSO SOMETIMES YOU NEED TO SAY WHAT YOUR RIDICULOUS SELF-DEPRACATING AND SABOTAGING THINKING OUT LOUD TO **HEAR** THAT IT DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE . PETITION IN WHICH CALEB AND HER BECOME DERT ORTAĞI (COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE/FELLOW SUFFERERS/COMPANIONS/SHOULDERS TO CRY ON WHO SHARE THEIR WOES AND BECOME FRIENDS OVER IT IN TURKISH) OR ELSE IM GONNA PERSONALLY ISEKAI INTO THIS STORY AND SHAKE HER FROM THE SHOULDERS

Worst of all is that Sylus has no idea how bad she's got it in her head and can't accordingly comfort her, he's got the soft approach in the way that he doesn't want to pressure or overwhelm her but it's just. awkward and she's avoiding him and he doesn't know what's wrong because THEY JUST WONT FUCKING TALK TO EACH OTHER AND IM SO STRESSED OUT . THEY ARE STRESSING ME THE HELL OUT. MC WHYYYYYYYYYY DID YOU HAVE TO COME BACK AT THE WORST TIME EVER

CALEB BE AN INSTIGATOR AND FIX THIS RIGHT NOW . RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!

carpe noctem [ falling action ] | sylus

— summary: he kissed you. you pretend it didn’t mean anything. sylus tries to show you it meant everything. — cw: reader is not mc, language, sexual tension, self-loathing, mutual pining, jealousy, blood & violence, self-deprecating thoughts, profanity, misunderstandings, romance, self-indulgent, wild caleb sighting, mdni — notes: thank you @subliminalwish for inspiring this part! and thank you all for reading! [ pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 ] — now playing: fuel to fire - agnes obel btbt - b.i

Their timing couldn’t be more impeccable—the twins. Your saving grace.

Sylus is a tempest. A storm ravaging the rickety foundation of your boat. He kisses greedy. Commanding, sipping from you like a fountain amid a desert. Swallowing the gruff little keens you make. You burn hot wherever he touches. His hands are like branding irons on your skin, amplified by the thin taffeta of your dress as they smooth up and down the curvature of your waist.

You’re dizzy when he snatches away, a growl in his throat. His lips are kiss-swollen. Burn a pretty red, stained by your lipstick. His eyes smolder like embers through the living room’s haze. Catch in the moonlight, gleaming a potent shade of scarlet. He reminds you of something beastly. Predatory. 

You did this to him?

In contrast, you’re sludge in his hands, swimming, blinking, drunk, and trying to remember how to breathe. For a moment, he appears hesitant. Gaze flits between your eyes and mouth as he holds you by your hips. Rubs reassuring circles into your hip bones with his thumbs. He’s so pretty like this. Inebriated by passion, silken white hair mussed from your greedy fingers. Expensive, pleated shirt all rumpled, bow tie loosened, composure thrown to hell.

But his phone keeps ringing. An obnoxious chime that makes your lips quirk despite the vertigo sweeping over you. It cuts through the wispy film of the night. Cleaves through the nebulous cloud of desire hanging between you, and with a bitten-off sound, he finally tugs his cell free of his pocket. 

He watches you as he brings it to his ear. Cups your cheek, brushing over your bottom lip with the worn pad of his thumb. Tugs it down, entranced by its elasticity. It’s fullness. Your fingers clasp around his wrist. You nuzzle into the safety of his palm. Turn your mouth inward, blistering it with a kiss. Affection intermingled with amusement colors your eyes. He’s like a spoiled child, snatched off the playground before he was ready to leave.

“What,” he clips into the mic. 

A hesitant voice peers through the low static. Luke. “Mission accomplished, bossman.” You imagine Kieran peeking over his brother’s shoulder in the background, wariness hidden behind that gaudy bird mask. “All cleaned up over here.”

Sylus sighs something weighted. Shaky. Relieved. His shoulders drop with it, then tense again. The agitation doesn’t leave his face. Something’s on his mind. Something more pressing than a few ornery goons trying to hunt you down. You nip at his fingertips to assuage the divot forming between his brows. The taut pull of his lips. 

He hangs up without another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Draws you close, preparing to kiss you breathless once more. 

But it seems fate is a cruel, mischievous mistress, intervening when she deems it fit.

Because, this time, your phone rings. 

You stiffen. Sylus glowers at your—his—coat pocket. Studies you. He’s conflicted. Looks as if the world is descending into hell around him. Like he wants to take your phone and shatter it on the wall. You offer him a placating smile. Smooth a hand over his cheek before tugging your cell out. It’s only fair you leave him as on edge as he left you. 

He doesn’t let it deter him, pulling you impossibly closer. Peppers your neck with kisses, drawing a soft huff of laughter from your chest. Your head falls back, and he cradles it with his fingers, baring your throat to him. Groans something appreciative, writing the most beautiful compliments of all against your skin with his lips. 

You’re not thinking when you answer, too swept up in the moment. Dizzy from the needy drag of his lips over your carotid. Don’t think until a familiar lilt touches your ear, and a cold thrill shoots down your spine.

Little. Ms. Hunter. 

Fuck. 

Reality trickles in like the slow creep of a rainstorm, mooring you to the spot. You shove against Sylus’ chest. He ingests you with pinched brows, heavy lids, an open mouth. ‘What’s wrong?’ his expression reads. He’s desperate. Needy. Like you’re his lifeline, an IV drip.

You push against him again, chest so very hard and so wonderfully defined against the heel of your palm. You need space. You can’t breathe, but for an entirely different reason now. 

His hands reluctantly drop from your waist, falling listlessly at his sides. He turns away, rubbing the scruff of his neck with a sigh.

“What’s up?” you bite. Try to mask the waver of your voice, your quivering tendons. 

“Hey, how ya doin’?” She’s infuriatingly chipper. Happy for someone halfway across the world, as if she knows you’re up to no good. 

You don’t bother with pleasantries. You’re caught between wanting to laugh and cry. Damn the universe for spoiling your fun. “What do you need?”

The hunter’s hesitant for a beat. You envision her shifting her weight between her feet. Fiddling with her nails, her gaze cast to the floor. It’s not often you’re terse with her, at least not these days. You worked through those kinks of your relationship months back. But forgive you for being a little impatient. A little snippy when you finally satiated the ache between your teeth. 

“Sooo, I’m back earlier than expected. My ride cancelled on me. Would you mind picking me up from the airport? I’ll pay you back! Promise!” 

“You can’t catch a cab?” You push back your hair. Peer over your shoulder, hand cupped around the mic as if you’re whispering a secret. Sylus is behind you a little ways off, hand on hip; silhouette suffused in amber as he examines some picture frames on the sofa table, pretending not to eavesdrop.  

“Yeah, but it’s late! I don’t wanna get kidnapped, ya know?”

You suppress a frustrated sound, disbelieving. Not just of her, but the timing of everything. The reminder of what you’ve done and what you still want to do. One day, you’ll learn not to answer your phone. And one day, you’ll learn to tell your conscience to fuck right the hell off.

“Fine. Yeah, sure. Just…gimme a minute.”

“You’re the best! I don’t care what the twins say about you!” 

The call ends, and you sigh, leaning into your palm, propped against the frost-bitten windowpane. It grounds you in a way, its crispness a welcome contrast to your fevered skin. 

You jolt when Sylus emerges behind you in the form of artful hands melding to your waist. In the form of warm breath kissing the sensitive space behind your ear. His lips graze the shell of it. You snatch away as if scorched by fire, turning, spine acquainting itself with the window. Space. You need space. 

He gives you no time to breathe, spilling over you like liquid fire. Cages you in with his arms. Angles closer, swaddling you in the dangerous warmth of his body. Bathes you in the bewitching scent he carries, in the lazy, lust-laden stir of his eyes. You shirk away from his touch when his fingertips graze your cheek. He bristles.

Your heart pinches at the wounded look on his face. At how his fingers twitch before curling into a loose fist and falling back to his side. You duck away from him, a nervous smile dragging itself across your face. 

“She’s back,” you state plainly. It tastes bitter, acknowledging it aloud. Your belly swoops. You think you might be sick. “Asked if I could pick her up.”

His expression slackens. Gaze descends to the floor. “This late?”

You nod solemnly. 

Shouldn’t he be happy his Aphrodite has returned?

It’s unnervingly quiet between you now, making way for the whisper of the wind threading through the leaves outside where the sticky click of your lips and labored breaths once lived. 

Your throat clicks when you swallow. You want nothing more than to pull him against you again, to be wrapped in the possessive circle of his arms. To pick up where you left off before morality leaked in. But that call served as your reality check, and you’re both grateful and resentful it came when it did.

Sylus beholds you with beseeching eyes. Looks as if he might protest, lips quivering around an excuse to draw you back in. But he drops it. Instead, he opts for, “I’ll bring the car around,” sounding so uncharacteristically somber that you wince. 

He brushes past you through the front door, swallowed by the dust-speckled night. Leaves you to nurse the violent thrum of your heart and battle the maelstrom in your head. 

She’s back. Things will return to normal. This moment never happened. This night never happened. 

Still, your lips burn with the remnants of the kiss. You unconsciously touch the trembling, distended things, deciding to tuck the memory into the furthest hulls of your mind. 

He’s not yours, remember? Never will be. Never could be.

—

The ride to the airport was uncomfortably tense. 

Sylus tried vainly to reignite the flames sparked by the night—little displays of affection, possession. Spindly fingers curling around your thigh, a peek at you through the corner of his vision, knuckles deftly brushing your cheek to bring you back to the present. 

You inched away from his touch despite every synapse in your brain screaming for you to let it happen. He gave up after the third try. Gripped the gear stick, white-knuckled and radiating a silent dejectedness. 

You forced out a shaky breath when the overwhelmingly bright, fluorescent airport signs panned into view. 

“Heya!” chirped Ms. Hunter, pulling you into a tight hug once you dismounted the car. “You look all fancy. What have you been up to?”

You were stiff in her embrace, a tight smile pulling at your lips. She smelled of stale perfume and wet earth. Long hair tickled your neck. She radiated a warmth you envied as you rigidly returned the hug.

“Oh, you know. Nefarious things and all that.”

Ms. Hunter drew back, hands roosted on your shoulders. Her smile faltered when she got a good look at you. When the driver’s door slammed shut, and Sylus rounded the car to stand behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets. Her honey-dipped eyes flit over your face. She sensed something was up. Of course, she did. Anyone within a 50-mile radius could see the tension dangling off your shoulders. She looked like she wanted to interrogate you, but—

“Welcome back,” said Sylus, his tone easy. You were thankful for the save. Didn’t have to look back to know he was wearing that familiar cant to his lips. A look he, until tonight, only wore for her. “I take it your mission went well, given how early you returned.” 

You would've tasted the faint notes of indignation there had you not been so swept up in your head. 

“You have no idea,” she laughed, exhaustion lancing through her words. You pat her head, fondly ruffling her hair. 

He helped her put her suitcase in the trunk as she animatedly regaled the details of her mission. He smirked and nodded, listening intently. You tuned everything out in favor of listening to your pulse drum beneath your skin. 

Sylus held the passenger door open, watching you expectantly. Signaled for you to get in with his eyes as Ms. Hunter stood awkwardly behind you. The tension was tangible. Obvious. It made you sick.

He frowned when you forwent the passenger seat, sliding into the back. The front seat was always her place. You were merely squatting there, keeping the leather warm in her absence. You caught sight of the tense set of his jaw when he shut the door behind her. Your heart sank to your feet. 

As Sylus eased the car onto the highway, they filled the stiff, blue-light-tinged air with small talk. Their conversation was seamless as if no time had lapsed between them. You propped an elbow on the door, watching the scenery fly by in a blur beyond your window. 

And you shut your eyes against those scarlet irises occasionally observing you in the rearview mirror, a silent question brewing beneath bowed lashes.

‘Have I done something wrong?’

No. Never. It’s you who’s royally fucked up.

—

“Listen, sweetheart. You both seem like nice girls. But I ain’t budgin’.”

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time. Scoff, a rigid set between your teeth. You’ve been like this for what feels like hours, propped against a wall, arms crossed, mind tumultuous. 

A few days after the hunter returned, Sylus sent his two gems to reclaim some of his property. Thelma and Louis at it again. 

You should be thrilled. You’ve been itching for a distraction since that night. When you let your emotions overwhelm you, and you gave into your selfish little whims. You can’t focus on much else, the pressure of Sylus’ lips still ingrained in your mind. The texture of his shirt sleeves between your fingers, the sound of his voice as he rasped his satisfaction into your skin. It replays like torn film reels in your mind, refusing to release you from its flimsy clutches. 

Since that night, he’s been uncharacteristically attentive. Filling the space with errant touches and lingering gazes. Rare quirks of his lips, an affectionate, secretive undernote to his timbre whenever he speaks to you. And his eyes. They bear more emotion than what you’re accustomed to seeing. 

It’s all been so very confusing, this new attitude of his. You don’t like it when things aren’t clear-cut and dry. Hate to beat around the bush.

You figured his attention would shift with the center of his universe back in rotation. 

To your chagrin and surprise, you’re wrong. You assume he’s only being so disarming because he needs you. Not just as his pretty little violent marionette. His honeypot. When Ms. Hunter inevitably leaves again—the life of a hunter must be so taxing—he’ll need someone to fall back on. A failsafe to keep his loneliness at bay. You just so happen to fit the bill.

The notion makes you scowl. The butcher’s voice isn’t helping curb your vexation, his laughter obnoxious and filled with phlegm. His fat ass isn’t taking either of you seriously. Of course, if you were him, you wouldn’t, either. 

Ms. Hunter’s been at this for a while, playing good cop to your bad. Trying to nice her way into getting him to sign the deed to his property back to Sylus. Really, it belongs to the latter man. He was just allowing the butcher to squat here while he carried out his work for Onychinus, slaughtering its opposition and packaging up their remains like fresh meat, shipping them off to anyone who dared utter the organization’s name in vain.

His use has run its course. He’s grown sloppy. Complacent. Disloyal. Been letting other faction leads buy him off, selling his knack of butchering to the highest bidder. He should be so lucky you’re not here to slit his throat.

Inwardly, you wonder if someday, you’ll suffer the same fate. If Ms. Hunter will be sent to snuff you out—your successor wiping you off the map like a blip on the radar. 

Until then, you’ll make yourself as indispensable as possible. Prove your worth. 

You push off the wall with a huff, face set with determination as adrenaline spumes through you. You close the distance between you and the hunter in four brisk strides. Snatch her pistol from the holster at her waist, barring her sentence in her throat. It’s weighted. Loaded. Good. 

You rack a round. Release the safety. The butcher barely has time to register anything before you aim. Inhale. Exhale. Pull the trigger at the lowest lull of your breath. And it’s so gratifying, the sound of a bullet whizzing past his ear and embedding itself in the plaster behind him. 

He’s petrified with fright behind his desk, mouth hinged open. Ms. Hunter blurs into focus beyond the front sight, turning incredulous eyes on you before narrowing them. The barrel’s still smoking, a satisfying, wispy cloud furling skyward. The leather grip squeaks in your hand, you’re holding it so tight. 

“Was that really necessary?” she berates. She’s doing that whisper-yelling thing. You’re in for an earful later. 

You shrug half-heartedly, reholstering her weapon. Push past, tugging the sleeves of your blazer up. “I’ve had enough of this,” you grate, snatching your leather gloves from your pocket and slipping them on with practiced precision. 

Neither of them knows what’s coming until you step behind the butcher. Until you’ve taken a fistful of sweaty, grease-slicked hair and acquainted his face with the bubbling finish of his desk with a loud thwack!

Ms. Hunter watches the scene unfold with horror twisting up her features. She’s rooted to the spot. Something plops on the desk. Evolves into a steady, sticky drip. Blood. Corrupted speckles of red staining the deed you’re meant to get signed. 

You lock eyes with your partner, bending at the waist over the butcher’s shoulder, grip unyielding on his hair. A show of power. Dominance, meant to convey, ‘This is how it’s done.’

A smirk twitches onto your lips. Your mouth brushes the outer shell of his ear, voice coming out deceptively doting. “Sign the fucking paper, or I’ll string you up like one of your little pigs and turn you into dog shit.”

His voice is wet. Strained, unflattering streaks of crimson leaking from his nose to puddle on the desk. “But—”

The hunter winces when you slam his face down again. He’s disoriented now. Swaying. If not for your iron grip on his hair, he’d fall into the arms of unconsciousness. 

“Okay, okay!” he relents, garbled and wet. 

You release his hair, shoving at his head none-too-gently, a facsimile of a smile rounding your lips. Perch a hand on his shoulder, squeezing with enough coercion to remind him of your potency. “Pleasure doing business with you, old man.”

The air thickens with fear. It’s quiet, save for the scratch of the butcher’s pen, as he shakily scrawls his signature on the deed, relinquishing his shop back to Sylus. You scrutinize the blood-flecked paper, satisfied. 

“I’ll give you until midnight to get the fuck out of here,” you casually say, snatching off your gloves to smooth out the lapels of your blazer. “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee your safety after.”

You leave the butcher to nurse a broken nose and a nasty headache, pushing past Ms. Hunter with a cocksure grin. 

“What the hell was that?!” she squeaks, rushing to keep pace with you as you step into the warm atmosphere outside, walking towards the sleek outline of your SUV.

“Business.”

“Yeah, but…did you have to threaten him like that? I mean, you could’ve killed the guy!”

With a scowl, you snatch the passenger door open for her to get in. “If you have a problem with how I do things, maybe you’re not cut out for this life, sweetheart.”

She scoffs disbelievingly. Haughty as she plops down on the passenger seat, crossing her arms. You’re being more venomous than usual. More pushy. You’re too far gone. You’ll apologize for making her your punching bag later. 

“What’s up with you?” she pressures once you’ve settled on the driver's side, discarding your gloves in the center console. Leans closer, squinting. You ease back. “You’ve been more bitchy than usual. You and Sylus have been acting weird.” 

She’s closer now, bursting your metaphorical bubble. Dangerously perceptive. You avoid eye contact as if doing so will reveal all the contents of your mind. Not that you have to. She’s alarmingly observant for someone who acts so naive. 

“Did something happen between you?”

You side-eye her as you start the engine, unknowingly confirming her suspicions. She quirks a brow, catching onto your game. Falls back against the leather of her seat to sulk over folded arms. “I knew it. Unbelievable. Didn’t I tell you to play nice while I was gone?!” 

“I’m always nice,” you counter under your breath, glaring at the console screen as you back up the SUV. 

The steering wheel scrubs between your hands after you shift to Drive, and as you slide the vehicle into the steady stream of traffic, you catch sight of the blood mottling the cuff of your sleeve, begging to differ. 

Maybe you’re being more ornery than you think.     

— 

The base is a network of paneled walls and glittering floors. Had you not been well-versed with its layout, you would surely get lost. But you’ve been here too many times. Once slept between these walls, laughed with the twins, and shared a glass of wine or two with your boss. 

Sometimes, he’d let you lie in his bed when your head was too fuzzy, and you couldn’t stop smiling after the wine left you tenuous and dazed. Nothing ever happened, much to your dismay. He was a gentleman through and through. And you never questioned him on why it was always his bed.

Things changed once Ms. Hunter entered the scene. 

This place used to be your asylum. Your respite from a world so vapid. For a moment, you could pretend the blood caked beneath your nails didn’t exist. And you could pretend you weren’t a weapon to be used at your employer’s disposal. But these days, you’ve avoided his mansion like a sickness, instead retreating to your own place in the city. You’re impeding. These walls no longer welcome you. 

You feel like a specter with unresolved conflict as you round the hall where Sylus’ study sits at its center. Your heart hurls itself against your rib cage. You’ve been distant since that night, shying away from his attempts to disarm you. All half-hearted ventures to keep you dangling on a frayed string until he next needs you to fill the void the hunter inevitably leaves. 

You tamp down your anxiety when the cool steel of the door handle bites into your palm. The voice inside is muffled. Deep. Resonant. Sylus is talking business. Orchestrating things that don’t concern you until he makes them your problem. You’ll be quick. Don’t want to stick around longer than necessary.  

Pushing open the heavy mahogany wood, you’re greeted by a shock of white nestled behind his desk. He’s on the phone. Looks up upon your entry, scarlet eyes narrowing, then softening with recognition. Your throat thickens.

You try to ignore how his look makes your stomach somersault. How every crevice of his office smells like him—bourbon, raw energy, and all things safe. You’re thrown back into the memory of that dusky night. The seal of his lips to yours, his fingers easing over the contours of your body like points on a star map.

Ignoring your thoughts, you conquer the distance between the door and his desk in measured strides, looking everywhere but at him. It’s too risky to maintain eye contact. He has a hold on you without trying. Without the straggly pull of his Evol, without the smoky compulsion of his voice. 

You plant the deed on the desk’s center with a muted thunk. His fingertips brush your knuckles, over the clutch of your hand. Static radiates between you. You reel back quicker than you mean to, bereft of the roughened slide of his fingers. Clear your throat, straighten your jacket. There’s a pinch between his brows, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. 

Sylus peers down at the paper, an inquisitive brow lifting at the oxidized brown dappling it. You give him a half-hearted shrug. You did your part. How you got there is a story for another day.

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you, wordlessly stepping away with a curt nod. He continues his conversation over your shoulder, and your body swells with relief. It’s short-lived when Ms. Hunter brushes past you on your way out of the door, tight-lipped and side-eyeing you with all the vexation of the world. 

Before you leave, you wait for the door to click shut behind you, catching wind of the hunter’s ire before thick layers of wood distort it. 

“Hang up the phone. We need to talk. Now.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. To forget yourself. 

Lux is lively tonight. Colored with mirth and strobing lights. Pounding music. You feel it in your chest as you move, a seductive, rehearsed smile crooking your lips. You rake your fingers through your hair. Drag your hands down the sweep of your waist, swiveling your hips, playing up your allure. You don’t have to do much to garner attention—it’s your job, remember?

You peacock about in the white metal birdcage you're housed in. Grab the bars, grinning down at the writhing crowd. It was your idea to give Lux a little umph, sweet-talking Sylus into having massive bird cages mounted from the ceiling. Fitting, given his obsession with pretty caged things.

Lux’s theme is ever-changing, courtesy of your eccentric mind. It keeps people coming in droves. Forces his enemies to rear their hideous mugs, lured to the nightclub by the promise of pretty women. 

The air between you was still dense. Rife with pheromones and unbidden feelings. But you were back donning your playful, arrogant mask as if the night you shared never existed. Back to flirting and giving Sylus the piss. 

The large faux wings you wear are surprisingly light. Stark, like the beautiful white tiger lounging on one side of the cage. The Bengal tiger yawns wide, giving you a show of pointed teeth. Teeth that could easily rip you asunder, yet he’s as docile as a house cat when you bend to pet through soft tufts of white. 

He slow-blinks at you, his gorgeous eyes shining like emeralds uncovered in a cave. You smile as you smooth your thumb over his nose. A pink tongue darts out to lick your palm. He reminds you of yourself—capable of extreme violence, yet docile in patient hands.

Your skin prickles. You notice you’re being watched, but not in a way you’re used to. A way that typically exudes desire. 

You turn to ingest a set of galaxy-infused eyes watching you intently through the throng of people. Youthful pockets of fat hang beneath his lower lids. A dark sweep of hair, thick brows. He towers over the crowd, a distinct cutout of virility and shrouded intentions. You don’t recall ever seeing him before. 

When your gazes intermingle, he smiles something corrupted. It doesn’t reach his eyes. You’re all too familiar with that look—one of a predator scoping out its next meal. Prey it intends to take its time eviscerating, licking its bones clean.

You smile all the more wider, and you smooth your hands over your body, maintaining eye contact as you play up the theatrics. It’s ritualistic in a way, how you move. Like you’re provoking him. You don’t know who this man is, but he’s ballsy, stepping into your den, challenging you.  

You tear your eyes away when the door to your cage swings open behind you, rocking it slightly on its hinges. A sizable hand peers in. You glance out, met with a riotous mop of white. Sylus. Gaze half-slit, relaxed. 

“Take five,” he says above the thumping music. 

You peer over your shoulder while taking his hand. The stranger you earlier locked eyes with has vanished, almost as if he were never there. You don’t pursue it. Not now at least. You allow Sylus to coax you down from the cage via hands at your waist. Stumble into him once on the ground, the air siphoned from your lungs. You're dizzy and breathless, being so close. He’s warm, smells divine, and you feel safe. Your palms press against his chest, his fingers wrapped about the crooks of your elbows to steady you.

He studies you with a reverent gleam to his irises as if he intends to kiss you, uncaring of any witnesses. Any questions. You shake away the thought, remembering yourself—your stance in his life. You offer him half a smile before retreating past him to the private bar for a drink. Something to ease your nerves, to cool your fevered skin.

Sylus’ expression hardens behind you as he scrutinizes the space you once stared at yourself. You don’t see the tenebrous threads of his Evol pouring from his body, licking the air. Don’t feel his aura bleeding a quieted malice, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. 

— tags: @unknown-ends, @viqlume, @nicohii, @beewilko, @lunebulous, @subliminalwish, @emneedshelp, @inkonparchment, @snowfall-jess, @bingbongchu, @greeenbeean, @shiorihoshino, @sillyfreakfanparty, @glamouroki, @midiplier, @kiri-tuk, @delulusimps, @moonlight-inthe-sea

climax 2.0 | masterlist

[hivemuthur]

Please, I beg on my hands and knees, may I request a Viktor x reader (established relationship) where Viktor, for whatever reason, grabs readers face (to her surprise) and starts kissing her hard, eventually pinning her to the wall and hotly making out with her. Like, I just need it to be desperate, I need it to be soo needy, I need viktor leaving reader a moaning panting mess, I need Viktor WANTING her BAD like he can’t breath if he doesn’t have her PLEASE (… I’m on my period and extremely horney)

Hi Anon, again, sorry this took so long! It's been almost a month, so maybe you are on your period again :v

Hand Me My Lover

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! just needy make-out + it got a bit heated, sorry :')

word count: 1,2K

—

“You’re early!” you shout from the kitchen at the sound of the door slamming behind Viktor, followed by the rushed scuff of his shoes being kicked off. “Everything alright?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, you hear a muffled fuck followed by a dull thump—presumably, Viktor kicking something more than just his shoe in his haste. Then, the shuffling of feet across the floor, interrupted by the sharp press of his cane against the boards, growing louder as he approaches the kitchen.

“Did something happen?” you ask, leaning over the pot. Before you can turn, Viktor’s arms come around you from behind, his hand sweeping your hair away from your neck before pressing his nose into the newly exposed patch. He inhales deeply, his embrace almost crushing, his breath hot against your skin. He only mumbles a quiet no before squeezing you tighter.

No complaints. You hum, he hums back. His stomach bellows into your ribs. The grip goes further, there is more of his hands around you, more of his fingers digging into the meat of your muscles, more of his hair tickling your skin. Eyelashes on your neck.

You set the spoon down with exaggerated precision, turn the gas off, and hook your fingers over his arms, letting him rock you both back and forth. “Viktor, do you want to tell me what this is about?” you ask, trying to turn around to face him.

At last, he lets you.

“Hmm, that’s better,” he mutters, seizing your cheeks and guiding you out of the kitchen, his cane abandoned, propped against the counter. You stop only when your back meets the wall, and Viktor tilts your face up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue swipes over the roof of your mouth, stealing your breath. You try to mumble something against him, but this he doesn’t allow.

He doesn’t let you, because, oh God, he can’t have you make him rest or eat now, he has to have this now. Hands raking through your body, blind and needy, snaking beneath your clothes, all hot, hot, hot, almost burning, almost not enough of your skin under his. He pulls his shirt out of his pants clumsily and holds both of your tops up so his naked stomach can press to yours—better, yet not good enough. Glues himself to you, presses his weight onto you and moves a knee between your legs to cover as much of you with himself as he can.

The kissing, the breath theft continues, as he bites on your lower lip and swipes his tongue over it, sucks on it, his thumbs dig into your cheeks. You can’t keep up with the speed, so you just let him touch you and lick you and breathe you in until he breaks off. Just to look at you. Just for a second.

“V—” you try again as soon as he pulls away to take a backup breath and you are immediately cut off by his mouth. Another kiss, or not even a kiss anymore, just mouth eating you up with a dull press, his tongue all tensed up licking into you like this is enough of food for him, enough of water for him, enough air.

“Stop talking and touch me,” he rasps between breaths, lips still glued to yours, sliding against yours on his own drool and he has to beg, so he whispers a soft, “Please, touch me.”

And it’s such a needy beg you fold, your hand palms him through his trousers where’s he’s already hot and twitching and Viktor moans straight into you at the touch, slides his palms under the waistband of your trousers and cups your ass greedily, spreading your cheeks apart, fingers dipping between them and you have to use all your strength for your knees not to give in and have you sliding down the wall, pulling him with you.

You arch instantly, letting him ghost over your entrance, the band of your pants digging into your belly as his forearm stretches the material and all the tightness clings to you, while you fumble helplessly at his belt and fly. You are unable to say anything, mouth still occupied with Viktor’s tongue, because apparently he doesn’t have to breathe anymore.

He runs his palm flat between your legs, spreading the wetness around and hums, so happy with himself that mere minutes of making out got you so drenched. “See? You’ve missed me too,” he mutters before showing two fingers up your cunt without ceremony.

And, oh God, you loose your grip for a second, moan and pant and your knees do give in a little before you are able to slide your hand into his underwear and free his cock. He’s heavy and hot and leaking into your fist and you grant yourself a space to breathe because as soon as you touch him Viktor’s lips gift you a moment of freedom, so his mouth can release a moan. His brows knit together, and forehead presses into yours with such strength that the back of your head thumps lightly on the wall.

“F-fuck,” he stutters and buries his nose into your neck, a bite on it follows, when he pulls your hands off him, drapes them over his neck and slides himself between your thighs. His hands, now free, come back to cup your face and you can smell yourself on his fingers. He kisses you again. Slower this time, calmer, gentler. Tongue glides against yours, now that he has you, with love, and your hands come to tangle into his hair.

And oh, how much Viktor wants you now, you have no idea. He’d prefer you in the bedroom, but the time it would take to traverse the distance, unbearable. So he fucks himself between your thighs and you pant into his mouth, dazed at this need coming from nowhere and still questioning what has happened that he came back home so starved.

A warm touch slides down your sides, back to your hips to cradle and Viktor slows down between stuttering exhales. He rests his stomach against yours, your shirts crumpled back down with all the movement, and he just leans on you to kiss you again. Mouths nearly bruised, breaths jagged, his hair clamping to his forehead.

“You okay?” you ask, voice barely there as you cup his face. He rubs his nose against your cheek and nods, all flushed, sheen of sweat gets shared between his skin and yours.

“Yes,” he says finally. “Yes, just… bedroom, now, please,” a weak plea escapes him, cock throbbing between your legs and you almost want to make him come like this. But you are merciful.

You pull his pants up, just enough to not have him stumble over his own legs, take his arms to wrap around you as you walk backwards, step after step, leading him to the bedroom. The need just pours out constantly when Viktor keeps kissing you through the stroll. His cock aches from the dry friction and this mile he has to walk now almost has him fallen. Almost. He’s saved when you lie beneath him and he can sink back into you, and he keeps sinking, until he’s empty.

[tonixe]

౨ৎ megumi's mom

A/N: cross-posted from my smut book on wattpadd/a03. Hahaha, two for two for posting; this is a streak. This is just some indulgence and lowkey inspired by something I read on a03, <3.

WARNING: p in the v, cunnilingus, oral sex (female receiving), no condom we fuck raw, fondling, fingering, dinner room sex, we freakkahh. not proofread lol

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru x milf!reader

WORD COUNTER: 2768

Gojo Satoru had never been the type to get too involved in his students' personal lives. He was a teacher, a mentor, and sometimes, a nuisance to them—but with Megumi, things had always been different. He had been through a lot of things, he was tough, independent, and smart, so it wasn't odd for Satoru to help him, guide him—not as a student but he really did care about Megumi.

-And that is how he ended up in your living room,

You had invited him over for dinner as a thank you for looking out for your son, Megumi, and honestly, Gojo wasn't going to turn down a free meal and you...

You were Megumi's mom. You were effortlessly beautiful—the kind of woman who didn't have to try. The way you talked to him with warmth in your voice, not to mention the large assets you had, the way your apron curved your bosom—it made it better that you were divorcee, meaning you were single and ready to date, maybe...

He was so down bad.

"So..gojo" you said, placing a plate in front of him as you took a seat across from him, "You've been really looking out for Megumi all these years, and I really appreciate it a lot" You smiled, clasping your hands,

Gojo leaned back in his chair, flashing you one of his infamous easy-going grins on his face, he couldn't lie the way you said his name made his heart skip a beat, "Ah—don't mention it. The kid is practically family at this point" Gojo glanced at Megumim who gave him a deadpan stare before continuing his meal.

"I just hope he's not giving you a hard time," you said, you glanced at Megumi whose attention was focused on his plate.

"Oh, he's a little menace" Gojo teased, watching as Megumi scowled, "—But I don't mind, he's got potential"

You won't lie, the tenderness of his voice as he spoke made your chest tighten—he wasn't being just nice, but—he genuinely meant it.

The dinner continued, it was just some casual conversation between you and him, and Megumi just finished his dinner, then excused himself, muttering something about homework.

"You know..for someone who is strong, you're pretty soft with him" you mused, taking a sip of your wine in your glass, Gojo chuckled, resting his chin in his palm as he looked at you, "What can I say? He's got a great mom" 

God..

You shouldn't have been looking at him like that—you cleared your throat at the obvious flirtatious comment,

Gojo was sitting across from you, a relaxed, cocky smirk playing on his lips. His silver-white hair was slightly tousled like he hadn't tried to fix it before showing up. His blindfold was off, with some damn eyes���blue eyes, fixed on you. You couldn't help but look away, as you focused on the wine glass in your hand, 

maybe you had too much to drink—you were always a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.

It had been years since you really dated after Toji...walked out of your life—leaving you with Megumi, a broken home, and wound that just never healed right. The divorce had been messy, it was just filled with treatment and exhaustion—you tried telling yourself you were better off without him, that just managed to survive the worst and you would be the best mom to Megumi. Love was just nothing, only a fleeting illusion for the eyes, and the heart. But there were some nights, that you were in your bed, staring at the empty side of where he used to sleep,

now your eyes were on your glass, gojo was different, yea? He is different than Toji, he is playful, infuriating, and ridiculous—he talks too much, teases you, and—really cares about Megumi more than his own father did, you bit your lip

you started seeing him differently, you blinked, oh god—you were staring at him he whole time...you felt cheeks heating up 

"Hey," Gojo's voice cut through your thoughts, light and amused. "You zoned out on me? You looked real deep in though just now."

You parted your lips, "I was just... thinking about how much Megumi has changed" you voice softer than you intended, you chose your words carefully, "You've been really good to him" 

Gojo tilted his head, watching you with those blue eyes, "Well—I take my job as  his annoyingly cool teacher very seriously"

You huffed quietly, shaking your head, "I mean it, Gojo...you didn't have to go out of your way for him, but you did" At that moment you felt something inside of you crack, you felt your throat tightening—the weight of everything in your life, the years of doing this alone, of carrying the burden of raising a child alone, while feeling you had no one to lean on—you inhale sharply,

Your fingers trembling with your glass, you felt warm tears slipping down your cheeks, you turned your face away quickly, pressing the heels of your palm against your eyes, embarrassed, "God—I'm sorry" you choked out, a watery laugh escaping your lips,

 "I don't even know...why i-"

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor, then Gojo was right by your side, crouching beside you, closer to you.

 He didn't speak right away, no jokes just stared at you, 

"You don't have to do this alone, y'know" his voice was quieter, and you felt his hand brushing your cheek, you let out a shaky breath, trying to regain control of your breathing, the warmth of his voice—the quiet sincerity of his words just unraveled you.

"I'm sorry, I have just been doing this alone, for so long" you whispered, your fingers curled against your lap, you didn't why you were saying this to him, as you tried to wipe your tears away, breathing out. 

Gojo just nodded, sighing out, rubbing the back of his neck before he spoke again, softer this time, "Yeah...I figured.."

You let out a weak, watery laugh, "Of course you did" 

Gojo smiled—small, but real. He didn't try to tell you that everything as fine, or that you were strong—or that you didn't need to cry. You wiped your eyes, sniffling, "Gosh, I'm sorry I probably look like a mess"

Gojo tilted his head, "Nah..just a little damp, kinda cute actually"

You scoffed at these playful words, rolling your eyes, your lips twitched upwards, "God, you really can't help yourself, can you, gojo" you smiled,

"Nope" he grinned, "But hey if it makes you smile, I'll take the risk"

 You felt the air shifting between you, as Gojo still crouched beside you, watching you with a certain look, you weren't sure of—something softer, unreadable. His usually cocky smirk was replaced by an expression that made you catch your breath.

Your heart pounded as you forced yourself to look away, but you couldn't—"Hey," he murmured, his voice was low, edged with something different.

You barely had the time to process before you felt his fingers brush against your chin, lightly, barely there—but enough to send a shiver down your spine. He tilted your face toward him, waiting, giving you the space to pull away, but you didn't,

then he kissed you, it was gentle, and his lips were warm, and soft, as it was pressed against yours. A quiet sigh escaping your lips,

You felt his hand moving, sliding along your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of your tears, as he deepened the kiss, pulling you in, his touch was firm but careful. Gojo couldn't lie like he wasn't waiting to do this to you.

 Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him onto him as you felt the world blurring around you both. It has been so long since you did this—someone that touched like this..since someone genuinely wanted you like this—the worst part about it,

it felt good, it was too good, you wanted it more.

When he finally pulled back from you, his breath was slightly uneven, 

"I want..more" you mumbled, your voice dazed, gripping his shirt. You heard a chuckle erupting from him as he looked at you, it made your whole body shiver. You couldn't lie that you were aroused from just the kiss alone, 

you knew something—dangerous was going to happen if you kept on kissing him, the way his hands were crawling on your body, 

but you didn't care...

𝜗𝜚

 You practically made out with your son's teacher again, you were sitting on top of the table as you kissed him more, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist and hips as you wrapped your legs around him.

"God—you're so beautiful" he breathed into your send, which made you even wetter, you moaned softly as he kissed you again. Gojo's hands slipped under your blouse, cupping your breast and making you grasp. You arched against his touch, as a low chuckle erupted from his throat, his fingers, 

"No bra, huh?" he teased, as he roughly rubbed your nipples with his fingers, making you jolt up.  

"You have really pretty moans, you know" he whispered in your ears, before leaving little kisses along your neck, his eyes drinking the sight of your aroused state. You wrapped your arms around him, wanting to pull him even closer than he was before, 

"Gojo—" you moaned, 

"Satoru" he stopped, turning his head at your dazed expression, 

"Call me that, love" 

Before you can process, you were lying on the table, with him above you. His slender, fingers danced across the clothed cunt,  before ripping it off, "Satoru—" You arched your back at the feeling of his fingers entering you, your hands immediately on his forearm, at the sudden intrusion.

"Your s' wet for me" he mused, his voice was husky, making you even more nervous, but you just nodded. You were so overwhelmed—you hadn't had sex in a while, maybe that was why your body was so responsive to his touch, so sensitive. His fingers thrust into you slowly, feeling his thumb pressing on your clit, making you moan in pleasure, 

His fingers dug deeper into your tight folds, picking up the pace. You were gripping the tablecloth on the table, arching your back in pure pleasure. You were gasping for air, moaning, overwhelmed by the sensation that was coursing in your body,

"S-satoru!" you moaned, he wasn't going to stop, feeling his fingers touching your g-spot. Making you jolt, clenching down on his fingers. You were so close to cumming on his fingers, your mind was hazy—what were you doing.

How long were you even able to reach your orgasm, or have sex after Toji, you didn't know but you craved it, and you were getting it with Gojo. 

Suddenly, you felt the intrusion leaving you, as he pulled his fingers out of you. You felt a twinge of disappointment, you looked up at him, confused. 

"Don't worry—I just wanna taste you" he whispered in your ears, making you shiver. As you watched him moving in between your legs, your eyes widened at what he was doing, you shiver at the feeling of his tongue pressing on your cunt, it was a wave crashing over you. As he licked your slit slowly, teasing you. His tongue pressed against your clit, circling around it.

You were embarrassed—I mean you craved this attention, not knowing how much you need it—fuck, you don't remember Toji ever doing this to you, mostly him fucking you still he was cummed into you, leaving you alone. But when Gojo finally pushed his tongue into you, you moaned at the sensation, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You help but to squirm beneath him, his soft hands on your thighs, holding your thighs up. You arched your back—how many times was he hitting your sensitive spots? Wrapping your legs around his head, urging him to go deeper into you, 

"Haaa~" you moaned, rolling your eyes back,

His tongue flicked against your sensitive spot, as you shuddered in delight, whimpering against his touch. You were losing yourself in the sensation, your hair sprawled out on the dining room table, while your own son's teacher was eating you out.

"Satoru..m' so close" you whimpered,

He didn't respond but kept on flicking his tongue against your spots. The coil in your stomach was unraveling as he pushed his tongue, savoring your taste. You cried out, your body shuddering with pleasure as you came on his tongue, your toes curling as you moaned out. His tongue still lapping every drop of your cum on his tongue, making you overstimulate.

Your gaze was on the ceiling as you tried to collect yourself, your cunt throbbing after the crash of pleasure on your body, hearing the shifting between your legs, looking at Gojo standing between your legs, your juices still staining his face,

"Taste good as the meal" Gojo smiled, making you even more embarrassed, before you felt his grip pulling you closer to him. The feeling of his hardened cloth cock on your cunt, made you shudder,

 "You ready for Ms. L/N" Your eyes widened as he gestured to his hardness, making you blush.  You turned your head, nodding. 

You felt his hands underneath your chin, "You need to use your words like a big girl" he teased, your eyes looking into his crystal blue ones, 

"I..i—want your cock..please" you mumbled, looking away after you said it.

"Good" you watched as he smirked— you didn't know when he even took his pants off, but his cock was huge, your eyes widening at the sight of it. You felt your cunt throbbing at only the sight of it, as you bit your lip, as he positioned himself at your entrance. You immediately put your arms around his neck readying yourself for his dick.

You looked up, your lips parting, "You ready for me big girl..." 

You nodded, biting your lips, feeling his cock sinking into your cunt, the burning sensation making you groan out, his hands on around your waist—rubbing your waist as you adjusted to his abnormally large size, before his hips started pumping into you. 

His hips roll back to you, feeling your cunt being stretched out—he was just so big, you felt stuffed with him fucking into you, your head throwing up in ecstasy, moaning his name. 

the sound of sex echoing through the dining room, 

Your body was trembling, with his thick cock thrusting into you, over and over. Your breathing gets frantic, the simple pleasure making your head spin. Your hand was holding onto for dear life, 

"Oh god," you cried out, his hands gripping your hips, feeling his finger digging into your soft, delicate flesh as he pounded into you. The table creaks beneath them as he fucks you, 

'Fuck' he grunts into your ear, you just moaned in response losing yourself in the sensation coursing your body. Every nerve in your body was on fire, electrified, as his hips smacked into you. 

You felt that familiar sensation in your stomach coming, as his cock hit your cervix, hitting you just right, making your toes curls. His rhythm was getting erratic, his thrusts growing faster and frantic, sending you over the edge.

He was close, you were close,

"Cum in me,—please.." you moaned out, you didn't care what you were saying at this point, you just wanted him. You felt a wave of pleasure waving onto you—so familiar, as he stretched your walls out, hitting the right spots with repetition. A strangled moan escaped your lips as you felt waves of pleasure crashing down on you again, 

Goj, gripping down onto your hips as you clenched around him, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy, as you moaned out. Your walls clamping down his throbbing cock, milking him for all he got.

"S-shit" Gojo groaned, his hips jerking against you, you were dazed, sensitive. His fingers find themselves on your clit, harshly rubbing it, making you jolt up.

Heard his sharp intake of breath, as you felt him emptying himself into you, the warmness of his hot cum filling you up to the brim. The warmth was comforting, as you heaved in and out, still in a trance, your legs trembling around him.

You were there, his breathing echoing in your ears, after everything—your body on fire, your head spinning from pleasure,—what the hell did you do..

Your breathing hitched, realizing what you did, stealing a glance from Gojo. His chest rising, his white hair tousled, lips slightly swollen from you, feeling yourself still clenching down on him,

"Fuck.. you're still wanting more, hm?" you watched as Gojo teased you—fuck you couldn't lie, his post-sex look made you wet—you just had sex with Gojo Satoru, your son's teacher...just inviting him over for dinner to thank him, but you were being stabbed with his cock on your dining table,

but you would do it again, wouldn't you...

[00valentina-writes00]

sneaky link top ellie getting head for the fist time, not because she’s innocent but just because she trusts reader, she never let all the other girls do it. Make ellie super hot and with reputation of being really good in bad, not a loser ( which i also luvv) but getting head is really intimate for her anddd reader got to do it 😏

♡♥︎First Time for Everything♥︎♡

Warnings: oral sex (Ellie receiving), edging, teasing, Ellie being a confident top but weak for you, strong language.

Ellie has a reputation.

It follows her in every whispered conversation, every knowing look passed in crowded rooms. She’s a fucking menace in bed—rough, relentless, leaves girls ruined and begging for more. Everyone knows it. Everyone talks about it.

But no one talks about this.

No one knows that for all the times she’s taken girls apart, for all the marks she’s left on their skin, she’s never once let them get their mouth on her.

You only find out when you have her sprawled beneath you, jeans shoved halfway down her thighs, breath uneven as she watches you work your way lower.

“Hey, wait—” Her voice is steady, but her hands aren’t, fingers twitching where they grip your wrist. “I don’t—I don’t really do this.”

You pause, blinking up at her. “What, like, ever?”

Ellie swallows, jaw shifting. “Not really. Never let anyone.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “But you’re letting me.”

She rolls her eyes, but the blush creeping up her neck betrays her. “Shut up.”

You don’t. Instead, you push her legs wider, watching the way her breath catches as you press a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

“It’s just…” Ellie exhales sharply when your lips skate higher. “It’s different, y’know? Feels—fuck—feels kinda personal.”

It is personal. It’s the most personal fucking thing, having someone between your legs, tasting you, making you fall apart with nothing but their mouth.

“Yeah,” you murmur against her skin, voice soft but sure. “But you trust me.”

Ellie’s grip on your wrist tightens for just a second—then she exhales, her body going lax.

“Yeah,” she says, almost to herself. “I do.”

That’s all the permission you need.

You kiss the seam of her cunt through her boxers, feeling the way her whole body tenses, how her thighs flex under your hands. She’s already wet, already needy, and when you finally drag the fabric down, exposing her, you can’t help the way your mouth waters.

“Fuck,” you breathe, running two fingers through her slick folds, watching as she jolts at the first real touch. “You been holding out on me, Williams?”

Ellie huffs out something that might’ve been a laugh, but it breaks when you press your tongue to her clit, slow and deliberate.

“Jesus Christ—”

You don’t stop. You lick into her, exploring, savoring the taste of her on your tongue, the way her breath stutters and her hips twitch like she’s fighting the urge to thrust up into your mouth.

And fuck, she sounds so good like this—soft, breathy moans spilling past parted lips, little curses muttered under her breath as you suck gently at her clit, alternating between slow drags of your tongue and teasing flicks.

“Fuck—fucking—” Her hands find your hair, not pushing, just holding, like she needs something to anchor herself. “Y-you—shit, you’re good at this.”

You hum, the vibrations making her groan. “You expected anything less?”

Ellie doesn’t answer—can’t answer—because you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, two fingers sliding inside her at the same time. Her whole body tenses, back arching off the mattress, a broken moan ripping from her throat.

“Shit—” Her head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted as she gasps for breath. “Oh my fucking god.”

You curl your fingers, searching, pressing, until you find what you’re looking for—and when you do, she chokes on a sound you’ve never heard her make before.

You grin against her, doubling down, working her open with slow, deliberate strokes, fucking her with your fingers as your tongue flicks and rolls over her clit.

Ellie is unraveling. You can feel it in the way her thighs shake, the way her grip on your hair tightens, how her voice goes high and breathless, punctuated with curses and broken moans.

“Fuck, I’m—” Her whole body tenses, her stomach clenching, muscles coiling tight as she teeters on the edge. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”

And then you pull back.

Ellie practically whines, her hips jerking as she chases the sensation. “Are you fucking serious?”

You smirk, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh. “Told you. It’s personal.”

Her eyes darken, jaw flexing. “You’re a menace.”

“Yeah?” You slide your fingers back inside her, curling slow, teasing. “Then why’re you letting me do it again?”

Ellie shudders, dropping her head back against the pillow. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe later.”

You don’t give her time to argue, because your mouth is on her again, tongue and fingers working in tandem, relentless, determined to drag her right back to the edge and keep her there until she’s begging.

And judging by the wrecked moans spilling from her lips, the way her body trembles and her grip on you turns desperate—she’s not going to last much longer.

You have all the time in the world to ruin her.

[blondemrk]

wait i just saw 10 got filled so envelope 1 + mark 🪼

LATE NIGHT RAMEN

p mark x fem!reader genre angst/fluff wc 2.1k

you don’t know what stroke of bad luck led you to this, but somehow, you ended up with mark lee as your roommate.

it was supposed to be a temporary thing—just until your original housing situation got sorted out. but weeks turned into months, and now, you’re stuck with him. the boy who leaves his shoes in the middle of the living room like a trap. the boy who blasts his guitar at ungodly hours. the boy who somehow never remembers that dishes don’t clean themselves.

it’s unbearable.

“you left your laundry in the machine again,” you snap, throwing his clothes onto the couch.

mark, lying upside down on the floor for no reason, just grins at you lazily. “thanks for bringing them in.”

“that wasn’t meant to be helpful.”

but mark never takes anything seriously, so of course, he just stretches and sits up, ruffling his hair like he’s the main character in some rom-com. “you stress too much,” he teases, smirking.

“you annoy me too much.”

it’s always like this—snarky remarks, bickering over who finished the last of the cereal, and arguing about his terrible taste in music. mark has a way of pushing every single one of your buttons, and you hate that it’s so easy for him.

it starts over something stupid.

as most of your fights do.

you come home after a long day, exhausted, already feeling the weight of a million little frustrations pressing down on you. all you want is to reheat some leftovers and go to bed. but the moment you open the fridge, you realize something.

the container of pasta you made last night—the one thing you were looking forward to—is gone.

“mark!” you yell, slamming the fridge shut.

a beat of silence. then—

“yeah?”

you storm into the living room, where mark is sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. he glances up at you, one eyebrow raised, and you can already feel irritation crawling up your spine.

“where’s my food?”

mark blinks, like he has to think about it. “oh. that was yours?”

your jaw drops. “are you serious right now?”

he has the audacity to shrug. “i thought you weren’t gonna eat it.”

“oh, right, because i just love cooking for fun and leaving food in the fridge for no reason.”

mark sits up slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “relax, dude. i���ll buy you something tomorrow.”

“that’s not the point!” you throw your hands up, exasperated. “you always do this! you take my stuff, you leave a mess everywhere, you never listen when i tell you to stop—”

mark rolls his eyes. “jesus, it’s just food.”

“no, it’s not just food, mark! it’s everything.” your voice rises, frustration spilling over. “you don’t take anything seriously! you act like everything is a joke, like it doesn’t matter if you make my life harder—”

“because you’re always looking for something to be mad about!” mark snaps, standing up now. his usual easygoing expression is gone, replaced with something sharper. “god, do you ever stop complaining?”

you recoil, heat rushing to your face. “excuse me?”

mark lets out a humorless laugh. “you act like i’m the worst person in the world just because i’m not a control freak like you. news flash, roommate, not everything has to be a life-or-death situation.”

your hands curl into fists at your sides. “maybe if you actually cared about anything, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“i do fucking care!” mark’s voice is louder now, rough around the edges. “but you—you just assume the worst about me all the time. no matter what i do, you’re always gonna see me as the guy who’s never good enough for you.”

that stuns you into silence.

your breath is uneven, your heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. you don’t know when the fight stopped being about food and started being about something else. something bigger.

mark exhales harshly, raking a hand through his hair. “you know what? forget it.” his voice is quieter now, but there’s something final in it. “i’m done.”

and then he walks away, slamming his door behind him.

leaving you standing there, chest heaving, hands shaking.

and the worst part? you don’t even know if you’re still angry—

—or if you just hate the way it hurts.

but why does it hurt? you hate him.. right?

the apartment feels different after the fight.

it’s not just the silence—although that part is deafening. it’s the way mark doesn’t acknowledge you when he walks past, the way he doesn’t joke around like he usually does, the way he keeps his door shut more often than not.

for the first time since you moved in, you miss the noise. the annoying hum of his guitar, his off-key singing from the kitchen, the sound of him laughing at his own stupid jokes.

but most of all, you miss him.

and that’s the worst part.

you don’t even know how the fight escalated the way it did. one second, you were yelling about food, and the next, mark was saying things you weren’t ready to hear.

“you’re always gonna see me as the guy who’s never good enough for you.”

his words haven’t stopped replaying in your head since that night.

you hate that it stings. because it means maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t completely wrong.

it goes on for days.

the cold war. the avoidance. the awkward, heavy silence that makes the apartment feel suffocating.

until one night, when you find him on the couch.

he’s sitting there, staring at the tv, but it’s clear he’s not really watching. there’s a crease between his brows, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against his knee. his usual easygoing energy is gone, replaced by something quieter.

you hesitate.

you could go back to your room. pretend you don’t care. pretend nothing’s wrong.

or you could do something about it.

with a deep breath, you step forward. “hey.”

mark stiffens slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him first. “hey."

silence stretches between you, thick and uncertain.

then—

“i shouldn’t have said all that,” you admit, crossing your arms. it’s not easy, swallowing your pride, but the weight in your chest won’t go away otherwise. “i was pissed, but… i didn’t mean to make it seem like i don’t—” you stop yourself. shift on your feet. “like i don’t see the things you do.”

mark exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. he looks exhausted. “i shouldn’t have snapped either. i just… i dunno, i was frustrated. it felt like no matter what i do, you always see me as the guy who doesn’t take things seriously.”

you chew on your lip, then sit down next to him. not too close, but close enough that your knees nearly touch. “i don’t actually think that,” you say, voice quieter now. “i was just being an asshole.”

mark glances at you, amusement flickering through his expression. “yeah. you were.”

you huff, elbowing him lightly. “you’re supposed to say, ‘no, it’s okay, you’re totally justified in all things.’”

mark snorts, shaking his head. but then he leans back against the couch, exhaling. “i don’t wanna fight with you.”

you swallow. “me neither.”

another beat of silence.

then, in a voice so soft you almost miss it, mark says, “i don’t hate living with you, you know.”

your heart stumbles over itself. you turn to look at him, but he’s already focused on the tv, like it didn’t take everything in him to say that out loud

you breathe in slowly. then, barely above a whisper—

“yeah. me neither.”

and somehow, just like that, the weight between you starts to lift.

things don’t go back to normal immediately.

the tension lingers, the memory of the argument still fresh. but the ice starts to thaw—slowly, subtly.

mark stops avoiding you. you start talking to him again.

it’s not perfect, but it’s something.

and then one night, something changes.

it’s late when you walk into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. you were up studying, brain fried, stomach grumbling. you expect the apartment to be quiet, mark probably already passed out in his room.

but instead, you find him at the kitchen counter, sitting cross-legged on a stool, lazily munching on a bag of chips.

he glances up when you walk in. “yo.”

you blink at him. “what are you still doing up?”

mark shrugs, tossing a chip into his mouth. “couldn’t sleep.”

you open the fridge, searching for something edible. “are we out of leftovers again?”

mark scratches the back of his neck, looking suspiciously guilty.

you narrow your eyes. “mark."

“okay, listen, technically i ate the last of them, but before you kill me, i made ramen.”

you pause. “you made ramen?”

mark grins, pushing a bowl toward you. “consider it a peace offering. and its about all i can cook..."

you hesitate for a second, then sigh, accepting the bowl. “i guess this is a step up from you just eating my food with zero remorse.”

he smirks. “see? character development.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t stop the small smile from tugging at your lips as you take a seat across from him.

the apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional crunch of mark’s chips. you’re not sure why you’re both still awake at this hour, but for the first time in a while, it doesn’t feel awkward.

mark leans his chin in his hand, watching you eat. “hey,” he says suddenly, voice softer.

you glance up. “what?”

his gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary. “we’re good, right?”

something in your chest tightens.

you don’t know why, but the way he says it—like it matters—makes your stomach flip.

you swallow, setting your chopsticks down. “yeah,” you murmur. “we’re good.”

mark exhales, a small smile tugging at his lips. “cool.”

and maybe it’s the late-night haze, or the warmth of the ramen settling in your stomach, or the way mark is looking at you—not like you’re his annoying roommate, but like you’re something else—but for the first time since moving in, you think…

maybe this isn’t the worst thing in the world.

you’re both on the couch, a movie playing in the background. you weren’t even planning to watch it, but somewhere between mark saying, “just one episode, come on,” and you rolling your eyes, you ended up here—sitting too close, sharing the same blanket, the flickering light from the tv casting shadows across his face.

you’re tired. sleepy in that comfortable, heavy way where everything feels a little softer, a little less real.

mark is sitting next to you, his arm draped over the back of the couch. you should move. there’s plenty of space. but you don’t.

you’re barely paying attention to the movie when you feel it.

mark shifts beside you, stretching his arms—casual, unbothered—until suddenly, his fingers graze your shoulder.

it’s the lightest touch. a barely-there brush of skin against skin.

but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

you tell yourself you’re imagining it. that mark isn’t really leaning in, that his gaze isn’t flickering to your lips, that the space between you isn’t disappearing.

but then—

his fingers skim your wrist, hesitant but deliberate. testing the waters.

your heart stutters.

you turn to look at him, and—god.

he’s close. too close.

his eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a second, just a second, you think—

is he going to kiss me?

the air shifts, thick with something unspoken. neither of you moves, but neither of you pulls away either.

then, the sound of a loud car horn blaring outside makes you both jolt.

the moment shatters.

mark blinks, pulling back so fast it’s like he just realized what was happening. “uh—” he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “i should, uh. get some water.”

you swallow hard, nodding. “yeah. yeah, good idea.”

mark practically jumps off the couch, making a beeline for the kitchen.

you sit there, heart pounding, staring at the screen without really seeing it.

because something almost happened just now.

and the fact that you’re disappointed it didn’t?

that’s a whole new problem.

@chenlezip @holyhaech @mrkified @injvns @polarisjisung

did yall miss me or what..

[imaginespazzi]

GUYS GUYS GUYS I FINALLY GET TO GIVE Y'ALL THOUGHTS AND HAVE THE YELLING BE OUT OF LOVE AND HYPE AND EXCITEMENT (should tell you in advance that a lot of this might be in cap because I'm so fucking happy)

AZZI FUDD

OH MY GOODNESS AZZI FUDD

LIKE BABYGIRL YOU HAD ME WORRIED A LITTLE BIT IN THE FIRST I CANNOT LIE LIKE I WAS GONNA HAVE TO MUTE YOU ON TWITTER AND SHIT

BUT THAT'S MY BAD CAUSE AZZI FUDD 3RD QUARTERS??? INSANE SHIT

Like honestly she was just....wow. Brilliant, spectacular, amazing. And I have to just point out what a testament this is to the growth in her mentality because there's a version of Azzi who would've gone 2-10 and then just stopped shooting. But not this one and man oh man was it freaking awesome. Also the 5 rebounds? Means the world to me actually. And what's being talked about less is that she played hella good defense today and kept Pao Pao from ever getting into a rhythm.

POINT GUARD PAIGE BUECKERS

WELCOME HOME SWEEHEART WE HAVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH

MY GOAT FINALLY GOT HER DOUBLE DOUBLE ALMOST A TRUPLE

You know what it didn't matter that, that basket coulda been the size of an ocean and Paige still might not able to get a ball through it because Paige was the heart of the offense. THAT'S MY LEADER. MY PG. MY OFFENSE MOVER. And she did it beautifully, all while occasionally having to defensively play PF.

SARAH MF-ING STRONG AMAZING AS PER ALWAYS. Like truly what is there to say about Sarah because she's just always so consistently good and that one half-court steal? OH I STOOD UP AND EVERYTHING

OH AND OF COURSE ANOTHER DOUBLE DOUBLE FOR MY NFOY

JANA EL ALFY BEST GAME OF THE SEASON AND OH MY GOD THAT HUSTLE??? Y'ALL SEE THAT HUSTLE? IT'S BEEN THERE ALL SEASON TBH BUT IT REALLY SHONE THROUGH TODAY AND THAT FIRST MOVE WHEN SHE CROSSED THAT GIRL OVER? OH THAT'S WHEN I REALLY STARTED TO BELIEVED. Just amazing work from MY center and miss girl didn't even miss a layup today I think (even if she did we didn't see it okay?)

ASHLYNN YEEHAW SHADE GIRL I HAVE YELLED AT YOU (and I still side-eye the hell out of you off the court for that follow) BUT M'AM YOU SHOWED UP! Those 3 threes really set the tone for the whole game and like she has all season, Ash hustled on the glass constantly and she saved some really important posessions.

KK GIRL THAT ENERGY BEEN CONSISTENT EVERY BIG MATCHUP AND YOUR TEAM FINALLY MATCHED IT! And those two fouls on Milaysia that she drew? Crucial shit forreal. Defense was great, made the right moves offensively AND DIDN'T GET BLOCKED ON A DRIVE!!

KC HAD A SOLID GAME!! Quiet 10 tbh I barely realized she'd gotten double digits but I did notice every basket and you could see her being aggressive about it and that's so important.

AUBREY BBG GOT SOME GOOD MINUTES TOO!!! Hard to say if she should've gotten more after such a dominant performance by but her presence is always great and I think really deflated SC, seeing her come off the bench in the 2nd half when we were already demolishing.

REBOUNDING REBOUNDING REBOUNDING. I been yelling all season and then we play the best rebounding team in the country an out-rebound them? SHUT ME UP UCONN

DEFENSE IN GENERAL? SO FUCKING GOOD. They couldn't get nothing going and we didn't do any of that overhelping shit (again mayhaps that's the adrenaline but even if we did, I didn't see it) and it was just lockdown at all time JUST AMAZING

And finally, no one I have yelled at more than Geno fucking Auriemma. AND THIS IS WHY. BECAUSE GRANDPA IS THE BEST COACH IN THE WORLD AND HAS BEEN FOR YEARS. AND WHEN HE REMEMBERS THAT AND COACHES LIKE IT, LOOK AT WHAT WE CAN DO. Like this man did everything right today. He gave the ball to Paige, he called the right timeouts, he ran the right plays at the right time, subbed the right people in and out the same time AND LIKE THIS IS MY FUCKING HALL OF FAME CAOCH. DO THIS EVERY GAME GODDAMN ION LIKE YELLING AT YOU EITHER GRANDPA.

MAN OH MAN I AM SO FREAKING PROUD OF THIS TEAM LIKE I CANNOT EVEN EXPLAIN TO Y'ALL JUST HOW PROUD I AM. THIS IS THE POTENTIAL THAT HAS BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME AND THEY JUST HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO SHOW AND LOOK AT THAT THEY FINALLY DID. AND MORE THAN ANYTHING ALL I WANTED FROM THIS TEAM IS TO JUST COME OUT AND LOOK LIKE THEY FUCKING WANTED IT AND THEY DID AND THEY GOT WHAT THEY WANTED JUST LIKE I KNEW THEY WOULD IF THEY JUST PLAYED TO WIN!!

[kxtsukixoxo]

Hiii I hope you’re doing well and had a lovely Valentine’s Day 💕! I was wondering you could do Hitoshi shinsou with “don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better” and he’s a sweetie perchance? I just feel it in my heart that deep down he’s a sweet boy who wants love 🥹

authors note - happy late valentine’s day lovey!! <3 i’m sorry this took me so long, i’ve been experiencing serious burnout (ugh.)

no more prompts available!! :)

warnings - nsfw!

“so you’re telling me…he’s never made you cum before?” shinsou says, taking a prolonged swig from the bottle of smirnoff you two had been passing around. “he placed his pleasure over mine” you shrugged, as you took the bottle from

shinsous hand. by now, shinsou could definitely confirm the alcohol had full control over his body, and this was bad. 

shinsou chuckled as he ruffled his hair with his hand, curiosity glinted in your eyes as you watched him attentively. “spit it out toshi” 

shinsou turned to face you, eyes never leaving yours as he swirled his tongue around in his mouth, “got a deal for ya sweetheart” by now shinsou was facing the skyline in front of you, as his hands supported his weight upright behind his back, “spit it out” you took a sip from the bottle, as you watched the moonlight’s soft hue highlight the shadows of shinsou’s face, his lilac unkempt hair all over his face. 

“let me eat you out.” 

“but?” 

shinsou chuckled, “nothing else” 

“then what’s the point of the deal?” your eyebrow quirked up 

“dunno, jus wanna make you cum i guess” 

shinsou rolled over, supporting himself up with his elbows as he unbuckled your pants, you looked at him hesitantly “don’t worry baby, i’ll kiss it better hm?” and god, in that moment you could literally cum without him touching you. shinsou flips you over, now ontop of him as he slides down your shorts, “no underwear huh?” shinsou chuckles “right under my nose too” he huffs out, your chest heaves as breathing gets deeper and deeper, “sit on my face.” 

“o-oh okay” fuck. 

“you’re hovering.”

he’s not wrong. you are. you thought you had heard it all, but the act of sitting on someone’s face has clearly alluded your ears. you’re unsure. you don’t want to hurt him…suffocating the first man you lay with would have you begging the gods to open the ground and swallow you whole.

the soft glide of shinsou’s fingers across your thigh bring you out of your head. his hands are cold. they feel nice in contrast to your own skin, nerves lit on fire. 

“i don’t want to hurt you”

“you won’t.”

“toshi-”

“do you trust me?”  

he’s steadfast in his reassurance, his thumb has been rubbing circles in your hip while you both have been talking. does he do it all on purpose, or is he just this naturally desirable? 

“you know I do, but-“

“good. sit.”

you still hesitate, and that’s when shinsou takes matters into his own hands. his hands stop their tracing, and instead grip your thighs, bringing you down himself.

whatever expectations you had are exceeded tenfold. shinsou eats you out like a man starved. your head spins with the way you can feel his tongue, exploring you and swiping over your clit. it has white hot pleasure shooting up your spine, and your thighs quiver ever so slightly, but shinsou’s firm grip keeps you in place. he’s confident in his movements, precise and sure in a way that makes you see stars. 

he thinks he’s found the place where he would be content to meet his demise. you taste so good, and the pretty sounds you’re making have blood rushing straight to his cock. jon has always loved the sound of his name on your lips, whether it be small acknowledgments in passing by, or just mentions in mere conversation. but he’s found he much prefers hearing you moan it.

you’re almost embarrassed how quickly he has warmth building up in your belly, pressure building as he gives you the most pleasure you’ve ever had. he’s giving and giving and giving, and you find yourself selfishly taking all of it. he doesn’t slow down, keeping a steady rhythm that makes the cord in your stomach wind impossibly tighter.

“toshi-i-!”

you don’t get to finish your sentence, interrupted by the snap of the cord in your stomach that was previously tightening. pleasure overtakes your nerves, flooding your veins and momentarily removing your ability to speak, or think. shinsou’s  tongue doesn’t stop fully, only slowing down to help you ride out your peak. 

you catch your breath, feeling shinsou kiss the inside of your thighs as small aftershocks have you clenching around nothing. you find yourself seeking his touch, your hand running along the surface of your thigh to find his own. he reaches for you, trapping your own smaller hand beneath his own. it’s reassuring, grounding you back to the present after he brought you so far over the edge. 

you move to get off, to let him get up and breathe but he doesn’t release his grip, keeping you in place. you hear him speak. 

“only once?”

[luvyeni]

jeongin catching you getting off to one of his fancams after his concert…

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒  ( 양정인 x fem!reader ) ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. masturbation unprotected sex, language word count. 0.6k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ first innie post of the year !! more to come definitely

jeongin was so excited to surprise you after his show; his adrenaline still running high from the concert, the screaming of his name; he loved it , he loved the ego boost it always gave him — but as the shows come to a end there’s only really one person he wants to scream his name.

you were scrolling through twitter innocently; minding your business when you came across a fancam of your boyfriend at his recent concert. he looked too damn good , the way his hips moved — definitely sent your brain into a more dangerous territory , your legs clenching together as you watch the video over and over , your hands felt like they were involuntarily moving down , in between your shorts. “mmm.” you sighed , your fingers rubbing your clothed clit. “fuck.” you moaned out.

jeongin opened the door to your apartment; immediately going to your room where knew you’d be , but he didn’t think he’d find you doing what you were doing. he heard your moans , smirking “pretty girl just couldn’t wait.” he said , then he heard it; his voice, his song. were you getting off to his fancams? he couldn’t wait any longer, his cock hard in his slack , he was ready to ravish you. “so is this what you do when you miss me?”

your eyes flew to the door where your man stood , weari that condescending smirk he wore when he would tease you. “je-jeongin.” you stuttered , stopping your movements on your cunt. “tsk , came here ready to fuck you , hear you scream my name , and here i find you getting yourself off to my fancams like a slut.” you moaned at his words. “i-innie.” he watched your hand begin to move once again. “pl-please fuck me.” he cursed under his breath, practically ripping his own clothes off , climbing into the bed with you. “that’s enough slut.” he slapped your hand. “touching what’s mine.” he said , replacing your hand with his. “fuck you’re soaked , your pussy is dripping just from watching my fancams?” you moaned. “you’re even worse than the fans.” he pushed his fingers inside your hole.

“such a noisy cunt.” he said curling his fingers inside you. “so wet , you want me that bad?” you nodded. “hold you down and fuck you within a inch of your life?” you whined. “please fuck me innie please.” he pulled his fingers out of you , bringing it to his lips , his eyes were dark as he put his fingers into his mouth. “come on spread your legs some more.” he slapped your legs. “gonna fuck this pretty pussy.”

he slid inside you , groaning as he felt your gummy walls hug his cock tightly. “oh fuck you’re so warm.” he moved his hips slowly. “fuck i can’t hold it.” he said , pulling out , your breath getting caught in your throat as he shoved his cock back into your cunt. “ugh fuck!” he moaned , holding your waist down as he pounded into you; using all of the adrenaline he had left inside him on your body. “jeongin fuck!” you finally screamed out. “fuck me!”

his grip on your lower half tightening as he used you to release all his energy. “fucking tight pussy.” he growled. “love it so much -fuck- i’m gonna cum.” he rubbed your clit. “oh my god innie.” you moaned. “i’m gonna cum!” he gave your clit a little slap. “cum for me my pretty slut.” he gave you a few sharp thrust as you came , he let out a curse before cumming deep inside you. “sh-shit.” he pulled out , stopping at the tip. “turn around.” he said , slapping your ass as you got into position. “no need to get off to my fancams baby.”

“you have me in real life to fuck you like a whore.”

©️LUVYENI

[checkeredflagggs]

Febuwhump Day 18 (ALT 2): Blowtorch

pairings: gen

summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order

a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump

a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!

Masterlist | Taglist

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 837,157 others

tagged: y/n_rb

f1gossip: For those wondering about y/n’s crash today — here is a video from her onboard during and a photo from anonymous sources showing her car in the aftermath. Allegedly, they had to bring blowtorches in to remove her from the vehicle.

view all comments

user1: Jesus that’s bad

↳user2: you could say that again…

user3: and she’s ok? When her car looks like that????

↳user4: well… You know she was taken to the hospital…BUT she was conscious and talking?

↳user3: a good sign then!

user5: really? A blow torch?!?

↳user6: that does seem excessive…

↳f1gossip: a hazard of reporting things as they happen — we (sometimes) get the first report wrong

↳user7: that makes me feel better actually…

user8: do we have her radios from the crash yet?

↳user9: seriously??

↳user8: I mean so we can hear if she’s ok? Like how she was talking??

↳user9: 🤨🤨 thin ice dude…

user10: oh it looks like her radios are available now!

↳user11: fuck…

y/n_rb

liked by user, user, user and 923,813 others

y/n_rb: weewoo weewoo weewoo

view all comments

user12: oh my god who let her have her phone!

user13: oh this is about to be very entertaining…

user14: signs of life!

↳y/n_rb: no! Sounds of ambulance!

↳user15: oh they got you on the good stuff already huh?

user16: they let you keep your phone?

↳yourmanager: it was about the only way they could calm her down enough to stay put

↳user17: omg that’s hilarious 😆

user18: well I’m glad to hear from her!

↳user20: right?? That crash was sooooo bad…

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @msimpala-67 @Americanvenom13 @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @yawn-zi

[activesplooger]

ʜɪꜱ ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ | ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ!ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ | ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 18+ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: OK IM KINDA PROUD W HOW I DID THIS AHH. i hope u guys like it bc if not i will evaporate out of embarrassment.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Your plan to get out more fails miserably and you end up in an even crappier situation. But over the next week, things start to look up as you finally get to go out for a work event. What bad could happen there?

ᴄᴡ: obsessive behavior, stalking, yandere, infatuation, smut, vox is mean and a pathetic lil bitch, hypnotism, dubious consent, humiliation, use of toys

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5,257

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴘᴏꜱᴛ!

Vox had laid the ground rules for this little arrangement of yours:

No leaving the penthouse without his approval

No saying "no" to him, if he needed you to do something, you'd do it.

If he caught you cheating— "you'd never do that so why even bother mentioning the punishment!"

No talking to Valentino unless Vox was present

He would always have access to your phone and passwords.

but there were some advantages that he laid out for you as well! -

You could use his credit card any time for anything

You had full access to his private chef, private stylist (hair and clothes), chauffeur, and pretty much anything material that you desired

All your past bills that you neglected would be paid off

And, you got his love and affection! (you could do without that part)

__

Vox made sure you followed his rules, not that you were going to break them— as much as you hated to admit it, it's kinda better than barely scraping by. You were pretty much stuck in the penthouse all day (he'd never give you permission to leave, rule number 1 was practically useless). However, there was a silver lining! Vox was at work 24/7 and unless he gave you a surprise visit, you had the day to yourself!

When Vox was home, he wouldn't leave you alone. He was literally on top of you, sexually and non-sexually, non-stop. Touching you, showering you in gifts, whispering little words of affection in your ear. His love was suffocating. It might all sound endearing, but the "love" was veryy one-sided. You think part of him knows he doesn't love you. Does he care? No. As long as you say those three sweet words to him, nothing else matters! Even if they're told out of fear and force.

__

You've been living in his penthouse for a week, and you hadn't stepped out once. You became restless, and a little kooky, you had to get out for the sake of your mental health.

Grabbing out your phone, you swallow your pride and text Vox. You grimaced at his contact name "Love <3"— you figured he'd taken he liberty of changing his contact from "Boss.". You sigh as you bullshit the fakest lovey-dovey text ever. Anything to get out of this God-forsaken penthouse.

Love <3: < Where are you?

< I was in the shower

< Without me? ;]

Read Yesterday 8:57pm

—

Today 1:23pm

< Hello my love! Can I come visit you at work? <3

< Miss me already?

< Yesss, can I come?

< I don't know if I want you making a trek all the way over here.

< I'll be home at 9:00pm, don't worry, doll.

< But I miss you nowwww, it's only an elevator ride. :(

read 1:25pm

Oh god damn it, he left you on read! You silently prayed that he would respond, you couldn't take it.

Love <3: < Fine. Only because you begged. Come down and do not fucking talk to anyone, okay? I'll be watching you so don't even try it. Hurry.

< Thank you!! Love you so so much!

< Love you more, Doll.

__

You slapped on something modest so Vox wouldn't freak out and headed out to his office. The walk there wasn't nearly long enough. But, you could dawdle a bit and play it off as being clumsy and Vox would be none the wiser.

Walking out of the elevator, you make your way to his office slowly. "Doll!" he calls out, swiveling his chair to face you, "come here.". You step closer and he yanks your wrist, making you sit on his lap. Rough, possessive, kisses plague the back of your neck as you're sat on him. You try to maneuver your neck to get him to stop, but it only makes his touches more greedy. He grabs hold of your face, "You better fucking stop that.". A chill went down your spine, he could be really fucking terrifying when he wants to be.

The hand that's not gripping your jaw snakes down to your thighs, dipping in between them to delicately tease the sensitive skin. Your breath hitches, "V-Vox the door is open-". "Shh," his breath is hot against your ear. He hooks his claws under the waistband of your trousers, "Don't worry, nobody would say a fucking word if they saw anything.".

A shaky sigh escapes your lips as he slowly pulls down your pants. The fabric slides down your legs, the cold air hits your exposed skin causing goosebumps. "You're so beautiful," he kisses your cheek, "arms up, Doll.". He quickly removes your shirt and unhooks your bra, discarding it on the floor by his desk. Your body shakes as you're left naked on his lap, anyone could walk in at the moment. His door is left ajar, a simple peak by an employee— or god forbid an overlord—and they could see everything.

Vox rubs his large hands over the soft expanse of your bare thighs, "I wanna show you something.". In one swift motion, he lifts you off his lap and bends you over his desk. Your body presses against the cold hard surface, buttons prodding and poking at your bare torso.

"Look at this," he yanks the back of your hair, forcing your neck to crane upward at the monitors. With a click of a few buttons, camera footage of you purposefully meandering around slowly plays on every monitor. You can hear his angered, heavy, breathing panting loudly from behind you, "Think you can try this shit on me and not have me fucking find out?". "V-Vox I didn't mean to I-". '"B̶̾̀͘U̴̱̳̳̔͜͜L̷̓L̷̓͌̎Ś̸͙̺͆̏͂H̵̛̘̤̅̿͘͝I̸͂T̷̊̉̕," he roars, his voice heavy with static. A new image appears on the screen displaying the texts from earlier, "See when I said fucking "H̵̛̘̤̅̿͘͝U̴̱̳̳̔͜͜R̷͇̙̎̍́R̷͇̙̎̍́Ý̴̇̈́͘͝". I let you go out, and this is what you fucking do?! Do I need to remind you of rule number two?!". The clank of metal and flop of fabric hitting the floor is all you hear before he thrusts into you mercilessly.

"Fuck!" you yell out, whining at the dry stretched-out feeling. His hands roughly pinch at your nipple and clit while he rams his hips into yours, "This is why you're not allowed outside! Trying to avoid me? Fuck is your deal, brat?!". "I gave you EVERYTHING! Are you trying to get away? Talk to some other fucking prick, huh?!" his last word is punctuated by a brutal thrust. "No, V-Vox I'm so sorry, please-" tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your core starting to throb and clench around him. "Don't. You're never allowed outside again. Got it?"

You whimper helplessly, "Please I-I". "GOT IT?" he yells, yanking on your hair harder. "Y-Yes! I won't go outside!" your body betrays you, a coil building up inside you. You were undesirably close. "Good girl," he coos, releasing your hair only to force your head to the side. Your cheek is squished awkwardly against the hard metal of his desk, your head facing the door.

"I want you to look at whoever may come in, seeing you bent over for my cock like the slut you are," his cock continues to push into at a quick pace. Your face burns red. Anyone could walk in! God forbid it be someone you knew like a co-worker. Even if someone didn't see you, someone can most definitely hear you.

"You love me so fucking much, don't you? You're so fucking close I can feel it," he says smugly, his index finger rubbing lazy circles along your clit to tease you. He growls when he gets no response. A chunk of your hair is grabbed and your head is thrown backward to look at him, "Ä̵́̓N̸̏̒Ś̸W̵̉É̸̪̯̗̀̈̆͑R̷̎̍́ M̶̀͋̇É̸̪̯̗̀̈̆͑ W̵̉̔H̵̛̘̤̅̿͘͝É̸̪̯̀̈̆͑N̸̏̒ I̸͂ T̷̊̕Ä̵́L̷̓͌K̵̛̽̉ T̷̊̉̕O̵͆͊ Ý̴̇͘͝O̵͆͊́U̴̱̳̳̔͜͜.". His voice was loud and full of static. Tears fall down your face as you say the words you know he wants to hear, "I-I love you so much. I-I'm close. Please, can I cum?".

He chuckles wickedly and pulls out of you, the loss making you whine involuntarily, "After the stunt you pulled? No no.". You stand up and turn to face him. He's sat leaned back against his chair; Legs spread wide open, his jutting cock leaking cum from his cyan tip that drips down to his thighs. "On your knees," he commands.

You obey, getting on your knees before him. Before you can act he shoves your head on his cock, bobbing your head manually. The tip of his cock pokes the back of your throat, making you gag. "Watch it," he warns. He releases his forced movement and holds your hair out of your face, "Hnnf, fuck, that's it, SHIT!". Hot cum spurts out of his cock and down your throat. "Swallow," he looks down at you with narrow eyes. You obey, gulping down the slightly salty liquid.

You sit back while he pulls his pants back up, sniffling quietly as tears involuntarily spill from your eyes. "Come here," he curls his finger towards you and settles you on his lap. "Don't cry, doll," his teal claw wipes away your tears, "I do this because I love you. You have to learn.". You hated him. His excuse was total bullshit, the only thing you "learned" from this was how much of a psychopath he was.

But what could you even do in that moment? Rejecting him would only make this go from bad to worse. So, hesitantly, you lean your head against his chest and sob. "Shh shh, that's it," he coos, running a hand through your hair, "don't cry, Doll, I'm here.". You squeezed your eyes shut and clung to the fabric of his shirt, weeping softly. Frustration coursed through your veins, all you could do was sit there and cry.

After a few minutes, your eyes get droopy. You were exhausted and spent. After drifting in and out of consciousness, you succumb to slumber and nap on his lap.

You wake up in your shared bed, now clad in soft shark pajamas you assumed Vox had put on you. Shakily, you sit up from bed and look around at the desolate room. This is where you will reside for God knows how long... You wanted to cry, truly. But you just couldn't. You've cried enough. Now you're just numb, all you could do was start blankly at the tv in front of you.

__

You had fallen asleep again a while later, waking up to the sound of the door opening and closing. Vox strolls in and sits beside you on the bed, a bag of takeout food in hand, "Wake up, Doll.". Turning over, you see his usual grin plastered on his face as he hovers over you. "I brought home your favorite food~" he holds up the bag. You sit up softly, "Thanks...". His eyes narrow in on you, "Don't tell me you're still upset-". "No no-" you defend, "I'm just... not feeling well.". "Good," he presses a kiss to the top of your head, "I hate when you're mad at me, especially for stupid shit.".

The two of you eat the food on the bed, though you could hardly eat. He's constantly checking your temperature and asking if you're okay every 5 seconds. You nod yes and poke around at the food on your plate. "You need to eat," he says softly, bringing a piece of food up to your lips. Begrudgingly, you take it. Despite how much you hated him at the moment, he was right, you did need to eat.

"That's it, princess" he smiles, feeding you another piece. It was kinda nice being fed. No doubt, you hated his fucking guts, but Its no use expressing that either. You leaned into his touch and were complacent when he pulled you close, having you rest against his chest. "I love you, okay?" he kisses the top of your head, "believe me when I tell you I only want the best...". __

A Week Later:

You'd spent the last week trapped in the penthouse, you started going a little crazy, but this morning seemed full of promise! Because of last week's debacle, you had been kissing major ass all week to get back on his good side and hopefully go outside again.

You wake up in a mess of tangled limbs, Vox's long legs intertwined with yours as he stares up at you on top of him, "Good morning. How did you sleep?". "Mm... fine," you mutter. "Glad to hear it," he rubs your back softly, "you've been so good to me this week, how would you like to attend a little work event with me? I'd love to show off a pretty little thing like you on my arm.". "Really?" you sit up and smile. Vox smiles and nods his head softly, "Mhm, as long as you stay by my side-". "Y-Yes! I would love to go!" you say cheerfully. You finally get to leave!

Vox clears his throat, “Don’t you have something to say to me?”. “Huh?” you turn your head, “Oh, right, thank you.”. “Annnd?” Vox turns his head and gestures to his screen cheek. Ugh. You cringe, feigning a sincere smile as you lean forward to kiss his cheek, "I love you.". "Good girl," he praises, "I think I'll take work off today, just spending the day with you until the event.". "O-Oh you don't have to do that-". "But I want to!" he interrupts grinning manically, his eye twitching a bit. "Alright," you respond softly. Jesus this man was unstable.

His long arms grab hold of you and pull you down on his chest, his grip tight and restricting. "Vox-" you mutter, voice muffled against his chest, "can't- breath-". "Shhh," he whispers, "just relax...". You sigh, adjusting yourself so that your cheek is pressed against his chest. His claws rake through your hair, gently massaging your head, and lulling you back to sleep.

__

"Hey, wake up sleepy head."

"hmm?" you blink your eyes open and see Vox slowly lifting you off the bed and into his arms. "Hey," you protest weakly, squirming around in his arms, "put me down!". His grip was firm and unrelenting, chuckling as you tossed around, "Slow down there, tiger, I'm just taking you to the kitchen. I ordered breakfast.". "Put me back on the bed," you whine, overstimulated from his touch and exhausted. "No," he walks into the kitchen and sets you down on a stool beside the island, "It's already 8, time to get up.". You groan and rest your face against the island counter, the black marble cold against your cheek. Ugh. First, he smothers you, and now he's forcing you to wake up? Fuck him.

Vox rummages through the takeout bag and pulls out eggs Benedict encased in a plastic box. Placing a guiding hand on your back, he gently coaxes you upward, "Sit up, sweetheart.". "Mmmngh," you groan tiredly. He cuts it up and takes a forkful of food, bringing it up to your lips. Hesitantly, you take the food. "Hm," you say, your voice muffled as you speak with your mouth full, "this is good. What is it?". "Eggs benedict," he replies, bringing another forkful of food to your lips. You take another bite and swallow, "Is it some type of rich people's food?". Vox laughs, "Depends where you get it from. In this case, yes".

Vox moves closer, his breath hot against your ear, "Anything for you.". Bleh, now your appetite's ruined, "I'm full.". "You didn't each much," he frowns, "you sure you're full?". "Yeah," you sigh, "I'm definitely full.". "Alright," he kisses your cheek and takes away your plate of food, "next time we'll have you try caviar.".

You raise an eyebrow, "The fish shit? I'll pass.". A bark of laughter escapes his lips, "It's good! Trust m-". His sentence is cut off by the ringing of his cell phone, "Oh God dammit what now!". Grabbing the phone out of his pocket, he aggressively taps the "decline" button. He sighs, returning his phone to his pocket and plastering on his showman smile, "Sorry about that, where were we?". His phone rings again. Vox groans and picks up the phone, W̋Hͭ͐Ä̤̝̦́̂̚Țͬ?!". Your body recoils as he yells, his voice distorted and deafening.

He paces around the kitchen as he's on the phone, "uh huh" and "are you fucking serious?" repeating every once in a while. "Fine," he sighs, "I'll be there.". Retreating his phone to his pocket, he turns to you with a saddened expression, "Listen, doll, they need me at the office. Will you be alright here without me?". You fought back a smile as you responded, "I just might be okay.". "Alright," he kisses your cheek, "call me if you need me okay? I love you.". You nod, "I will, bye.".

His eyes narrow, "Bye? That's all?". You tilt your head, "Wh-". "Don't play ̖ͥf̥̖̗̗̔uc̟ͩk̂̋̍i͗n͎͊͒̀g͊͛̊ STUPID, Y/N!" he roars, sparks of blue electricity flying out from his screen. You gasp and flinch, your eyes squeezed shut as you prepare for the worst. "Oh shit," his hand rests on the side of his face in an annoyed gesture. Taking a deep breath, he calms himself down, the sparks beginning to fade, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I'm just frustrated at the fucking idiots at work who can't get anything done. Let's try this again.". He smiles and kisses your cheek, "Goodbye, I love you.". "I-I love you too, bye," you reply weekly. "Good girl," he presses a kiss to your forehead and heads out.

__

Love <3:

< Event at 5:00. Should wrap things up here around 4ish.

< Kk.

< Love you.

< Love u 2.

read 1:30pm

You couldn't help but feel giddy towards the work event happening later today. You found yourself daydreaming about all the things you were about to finally experience again: socializing, being somewhere other than the penthouse, some semblance of normalcy. Ah! You kicked your feet and squealed in excitement.

Just then, you heard a knock at the door. Weird, you weren't expecting anyone— and Vox would've told you if he was getting home early. You swing your legs off the side of the bed and slide down, making your way towards the door.

Opening the door, you see the female imps you know to be Vox's personal stylists. "Oh," you smile down at them politely, "I didn't schedule a styling did I?". "Nope!" one of the imps pipes up, "Vox scheduled it for you.". "He did I-" before you can finish, the stylists let themselves in and take charge setting up in the bathroom.

A blonde imp grabs hold of your hand and drags you into the bathroom, immediately grabbing at your clothes to undress you. "N-No," you turn bright red and stop her from continuing, "I can undress myself, thank you.". She nods and begins to draw a bath.

Once the bath is ready, she gestures for you to step in. As you do, you sink into the warm water, letting the calming essential oils and bubbles relax your muscles, "Mmm.". "Is the temperature to your liking?" she asks softly, sticking her arm into the tub to check it. "Yes, thank you."

With your approval, another imp along with her each grab a limb and starts scrubbing and shaving. You wince in pain as they wash you mercilessly. "So much for relaxing," you mutter under your breath. After they finish their assault on you, you're ushered out of the bath and a robe is slipped onto your naked body.

The two stylists who bathed you sat you down on the vanity where a beautiful brunette imp smiled at you, "Hi there! I'm Gemma, I'm going to be doing your makeup today.". "Hi, Gemma," you respond, smiling back at her. Gemma gestures to the blonde imp who dragged you to the bathroom, "This is Brittany, she'll be doing your hair.". You wave to Brittany and are met with a cold glance as she gathers hair tools.

You couldn't blame her. If you were Vox's stylist you'd be in a bad mood too. The other imp, who wasn't introduced, rummaged through a box of clothes and filtered in and out of your closet gathering dresses and accessories. And with that, the stylists get to work on doing a full glam for the event.

__

4:00pm

It takes a few hours for Brittany and Gemma to finish styling you. Your makeup was done beautifully, natural yet glamorous, while your hair was curled into a blowout type hairdo. As you looked in the mirror, you couldn't help but admire the job they'd done. You looked hot as shit!

Your vanity was cut short as the chair your in is swiveled around to face a stylist holding an array with dresses. "Alright," she holds up a white maxi dress and a light blue maxi dress, "how do you feel about these two dresses?". "Ehhh, I'm not fan, sorry," you admit. "I agree," she tosses the dresses aside, "hideous.".

The stylist goes into your closet and stifles through your clothes. "Aha!" she exclaims, returning from the closet with another dress. She holds it up and shakes it enticingly with a smile, "This is the one!". "Woah, where did you find that?" you get up from your seat and take the dress in your hands, fingers running over the material. "In your closet," she replies. Oh, right. Vox had gotten you so many dresses you had lost track of all of them at this point. The dress was stunning— a deep navy blue with a lace corset and beautiful glittery floral patterns all around.

The imp helps you into the dress and puts on the finishing touches— lotion, perfume, jewelry, accessories, heels, etc.

__

The stylists leave after you pay them and you're left in the penthouse. You take a glance at yourself in the mirror before grabbing your purse and walking out. Right as you exit, Vox enters, already dressed up for the event in a crisp velvet navy blue suit. "Y/N, I'm- Woah," he stops as he sees you, his pupils dilating to the size of tennis balls as you meet face to face, "you look- amazing.". It's almost endearing the way he looks at you. You fight the blush creeping onto your face and turn your head to the side "Thanks, you too.".

He steps forward and smiles, offering his arm to you, "Ready, dollface?". You nod and smile, "I'm ready."

__

You arrive at the event which seemed to be a little soiree for VoxTech affiliates and other overlords. Vox stays by your side the whole time, introducing you to people, escorting you around, and even dancing with you for a short while! It was a great night, Vox got to show off what was rightfully his and have you close while you got to socialize! Win-win!

The night was going smoothly, so smoothly in fact that he let you go unattended for a while to grab a couple drinks. You make your way over to the bartender and order two drinks. While you wait, a tall deer-esque demon approaches you. The Radio Demon. Fuck. Vox had vaguely told you about him before, seemingly not wanting to talk about him. But, he made one thing perfectly clear: Do not ever go near him.

You turn to the bartender, "I'm sorry to bug you but can you make this quick because-". A finger tapping on your shoulder interrupts you. You wince and hesitantly turn around, greeted with a sharp smile from the Radio demon. He extends a handout and shakes your hand aggressively, "Ah, you must be the famous Y/N everyone's talking about! Alastor, quite a pleasure to be meeting you!". "Uh, hi," you take your hand back and keep your responses short.

"So, I see you're one of Vox's victims, I mean partners— though I suppose the two are synonyms in this case HA HA!" he laughs hysterically at his own joke. "Right..." The bartender finally finishes with the two drinks and you grab them hastily and walk past him. Alastor leans against the bar counter with a smug grin, "I would get out of this little predicament if I were you.". You stop in your tracks, did he know about your situation with Vox?

"What?" you turn around. "Your situation," he pushes off the bar counter and steps closer, "I understand how Vox is. I was once you, you know— The apple of his eye you could say.". "You dated Vox?". "Goodness, no!" he laughs, "he simply just had taken quite the liking to me. I rejected him, obviously, but I am aware of his rather... obsessive behaviors.".

"I understand how... annoying, it can get," his eye twitches subtly before returning to its seemingly cheerful state, "what I mean to say is, I have a way to get you out.". "Get me out?" you repeat, eyes widening at his proposition. You fought an internal battle as you considered his words. Sure, Vox made your life torture sometimes but... was it any better than barely having the necessities to survive? Was Vox right when he said you needed him?

"...How would you help me?" you ask. Alastor chuckles lowly and extends a hand out to shake, a green glow emanating from his palm, "How about we make a deal?". Before you can answer, you hear a familiar booming static approach, "̣̝́Y/̼̙̂̈́N̊̐!".

Shiiiiiitttt...

Vox marches up to where you and Alastor are, his eyes fixed on the Radio Demon. Alastor smiles and disappears into a shadow before Vox can get to him. "God ̗̩̜ͅD̽̒Ä̤́̂̚M̰ͤ̚M̰̖ͤͫ̚I̗̝Țͬ!" Vox yells. He turns to you, his breath ragged and shaky. Before you can say anything, he tightly grasps your wrists and teleports you in a wave of static.

__

You're suddenly transported back into the penthouse bedroom. Vox throws you onto the bed and looms over you, "I don't fucking get it! I've given you everything, and time and time again you've fucking- UGH!". He throws his hands in the air and paces around the room, "Money, clothes, food, shelter, LOVE— I'VE GIVEN EVERYTHING. WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP LEAVING??," his voice becomes strained and tears start to well in his eyes.

His words and tears strike a chord with you, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your stomach as he cries before you. This wasn't just about you leaving anymore. Carefully, you reach out and rub his back, "Vox, please... I wasn't trying to leave you this time, A-Alastor offered but I said no! I promise.".

His shuddering stops as you place a hand on your back, his body still as you speak. Once you finish speaking, he lifts his head, his digital display of eyes puffy and red, a scowl on his face, "Fuck! Stop pitying me! I don't know what to do to make you FUCKING STAY!". He jerks his body away from you and stomps over to the closet, searching through some boxes for God knows what.

"Vox?" you call out, "Are you okay?". No response. He comes out a few minutes later with a manic smile, his arms hiding something behind his back, "I'm gonna make sure you fucking stay.". Without warning, he pins you down the mattress and rips off your dress. "Vox what are you-?!". "QUIET," he demands, "I've had enough of that shit! You're gonna be obedient and you're gonna fucking love it.". He slides the dress off you along with your panties.

You shake slightly as he undresses you. His large hand rubs over your calf in a soothing motion, "Don't be scared, I'm gonna make you feel good, okay?". Vox reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a deep red double-pronged vibrator. The sight makes you clench your legs together tightly.

Taking hold of your knees, he spreads your legs apart. "Keep them open," he demands. With a click of a button, the toy jolts to life and vibrates at a low setting. "Hm, not nearly enough to tame this fucking brat," he mutters to himself as he switches it to a higher setting. He turns back to you with a cruel grin, "Much better.". Slowly, he brings the vibrator in between your legs and presses the head of the longer, thicker prong against your core.

"Fuck!" you exclaim, the vibrations causing you to squirm as your pussy aches for more. Scared of defying him, you desperately keep your legs open and thrash around, "Hnnf, oh god thats-". "That's right, doll," he pushes the vibrator deeper into you, causing you to gasp.

As the toy plunges into you, the second prong vibrates against your clit. The double stimulation makes you moan, an embarresingly needy whine that echoes throughout the penthouse, "F-Fuck, mmph, can't take it-". "Yes you can," he pushes it deeper, "and you will.".

He starts to slowly push the vibrator in and out of you. The pleasure becomes all to much for you. He pistons it in and out of you to a point where you're a mess— babbling incoherently as he continues to fuck you mercilessly with the toy.

"Hnnf, I, mmmph," you mumble. Vox chuckles and tilts the toy upwards so it hits your G-spot, enjoying the way your body writhes beneath his touch. You start to see stars as the pleasure overcomes you. Vox looms over you and gazes into your eyes, "Look at me.". Your half lidded eyes meet his swirling ones.

He's trying to hypnotize you, but you can't do anything about it as you rendered helpless against him. "You will be fucking obedient from now on," he says, "you will love me, and NEVER fucking leave me. Got it?". The once repulsive idea suddenly became so... enticing... the longer you look into his hypnotic stare.

"Y-Yes," you mumble, your voice whiny and high pitch. "That's a good girl," he pistons the toy in and out of you faster, "now tell daddy what you want.". "Want...," you mutter mindlessly, lost in a haze of pleasure and hypnotism, "want you.".

Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, "That's it, now you're getting it, Doll. Go ahead, cum.". His words snap the tight cord in your stomach and you finally release. "Fuck!" you yelp, your back arching against the sheets as you buck forward into the toy.

You come down from you high and Vox removes the vibrator from you. Dipping a claw into your dripping slit, he scoops up your release and brings it to his lips. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop. "Divine," he looks back at you with a smirk.

As he cleans you up, you lay there and pant. Your mind was racing yet blank at the same time. The once disdainful thoughts about Vox turned to ones of compliance and adoration. You were so deep in "thought" you hadn't realized Vox had dressed you in a large t shirt and pajama shirts.

You sit up and see Vox crawling into bed in just his boxers. You weren't exactly sure why but you craved his touch. Immedietly, you crawl toward him and lay your head on his chest, cuddling close to his body. Vox smiles and massages your head with his sharp claws, "There we go. Was that so hard?". "No," you say mindlessly, nuzzling your head into his chest, "I-I love you.. so much...".

His smiles blissfully and closes his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek, "I love you more."

The End __

this is the dress reader is wearing btwwwwwwwwwww

GUYS AAAA OK IM HAPPY W HOW I DID THIS SO EFBKHWJEFHKBWE

i will do anotha part if ygs want or if i feel like it so yeahhhh

bone apple tea

(if i missed you or accidentally added you please lmk! also if u wanna be added lmk!)

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ:

@takemetoneverland420, @rlini0914, @ithofficial, @angel-fallz, @sweet-radio, @fru1tbatzz,

@janussillyprompts, @leonotlara, @cosmiiwrites, @liveontelevision

[sunarots]

taste ━━━ suna rintarou & miya osamu

28. who looks bad now? ♡

"It doesn't look broken. I'd go to the dentist after the game's finished, though. Make sure your teeth are still intact." The doctor hands over the ice pack to Suna before removing his gloves. "Any reason for the attack?"

You sigh, leaning back against the chair. "Yeah, me."

The doctor raises an eyebrow, eyeing the damage done to Suna before looking back at you. "I've not seen that before."

Suna starts laughing, raising a hand. "No, no. She didn't hit me. Her boyfriend hit me. I kissed her."

The doctor nods slowly, clearly still confused. "Was it... Did you..."

"It wasn't assault, we were both drunk. I kissed him back. He's my ex-boyfriend," you explain, watching as the doctor slowly pieces everything together. "God, this is complicated. I wish I was five again. Life was easy."

"It was much easier," the doctor agrees. "I'll leave you both alone for a few minutes and come back to check on the swelling."

You thank the doctor on his way past, waiting for him to leave before turning back to Suna. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"At least I never punched anyone. Or called you a slut in front of thousands of people." Suna shrugs his shoulders and smiles at you. "Just saying, I don't look so bad now, do I?"

"No, you just decided to stop calling." You flash him a smile before pulling your phone from your pocket to try and find the scores somewhere. "Is it still sore?"

"Yeah, it's fucking throbbing. Now I know how Atsumu feels." Suna sighs and leans back against the bed. "I think he's in the wrong sport."

You crack a smile, glancing up from your phone. "I'll suggest that to him. Well, that's if he ever talks to me again." You turn your attention back onto your phone, noticing that your team is trending. "Oh my god, are we winning?"

You jump from your seat and rush to Suna's side, clicking on the hashtag. You move your phone so he can see it, instantly regretting the decision. "Oh my god."

Suna takes your phone, clicking on the video of Osamu hitting him. "Are you fucking kidding me? That's great, that's just perfect. Now everyone's gonna know me as the guy who got punched."

"Yeah, and I'm forever known as the slut. This is great. There goes my career." You take the phone back and shut it off, stuffing it in your pocket.

"At least we go down together, right?" Suna smiles at you as you retreat back to your chair. "Look, when we go out there, I'll do my best to block. Hopefully not with my face, but I'll try."

"Is this you admitting that you don't usually try?"

"This is me admitting that I want to win our first match with only two sets." Suna shrugs his shoulders.

You sit back on the chair and sigh, looking around the room. "I was going to tell him after this. Like, when we're done so it wouldn't... So what happened wouldn't happen."

"Eh, it probably would've still happened," Suna points out with a smile. When you don't smile back at him, he rolls his eyes. "Don't beat yourself up. I'm more at fault. I didn't really ask first, did I?" Again, no response. He lets out a sigh, glancing at the clock before looking back at you. "If I asked, what would you have said?"

You turn to face him, furrowing your eyebrows to think. You go to speak, cut off by the doctor re-entering the room.

"Okay, how are we doing here? Has the pain gone down?" He approaches Suna and asks a few more questions before confirming he can return to the court.

You're out of your chair faster than he is, but he's at the door before you. You both call a thanks to the doctor before running down the corridor. You practically throw the door open, racing around the few people standing around the barriers to make it to your team.

You spot Sakusa preparing to serve, trying to get the ball from Bokuto. When Bokuto turns around and sees you, he immediately drops the ball. His hair perks up as waves at you, excitedly grabbing the ball and passing it to Sakusa.

You skid to a stop behind Iwa, grabbing onto his shoulder so you don't slip on your bag. "How are we doing?"

"We're down by six," he answers, lips pressed into a firm line. "Three service aces, two received and lost, another service ace. We needed both managers to sign off on Osamu going on the court."

"I sign off on it, we put Suna in first, then Osamu." You grab the sign with Suga's number, about to hand it over to Suna.

"Doesn't matter. I didn't sign off on it." Kuroo leans forward, watching the game intensely.

You feel your jaw dropping at his statement. "What? Why not? Kuroo, we're losing."

"And? He punched a teammate, he needed to be punished. Go tell the refs Suna's fit to be put in the game." He gestures for you to approach the man, not sparing you a glance.

You shrug him off, waving Suna to follow you. "We want to put him back in. The doctor signed him off and he's not in pain. If he looks like he's struggling, we'll take him out again. Is that okay?"

The ref nods and gestures for you to wait at the side of the court for the match to end. As your team scores a point, you turn back to Suna. You hold out the sign for him to take, hesitating to let go when his fingers brush yours.

"Wish me luck." He goes to raise it, stopping when you say his name. "What?"

"Yes." You take a step back as the ref blows the whistle. "I would have said yes."

# fun fact !

kuroo knew you’d put osamu back in the game because you’d feel bad, so he said no to be the bad guy

masterlist. previous | next

summary. when your ex starts dating your least favourite person on campus, your ex-best friend from high school, you can’t help but feel a little betrayed. you quickly realise a way to get back at him: his best friend.

taglist (open!). @v3nusplanetofluv @mdmraz @thoughtswithbbg @fireinyoureye @wakashudou @jisookdays @tespho @frootloopscos @gigiiiiislife @walllflowerrrsss @tangerinelovr @datonegaybestfriend @sturnprincess @jpegarchives @justanotherweeb666 @1yeah1 @rrosiitas @yuu-via @zazathezaer @softpia @animenaces-world @loveelylani @punkhazardlaw @to-dino @nanamis-right-tiddie @aboutkiyoomi @arusio @aloore @dailyakira @alexithemiyatic @chemiru @p1nktulip @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @taefanclub @h3xi2g0n3 @rikidaze @mncxbe @luvelyjjk @iluv-ace @arwawawa2 @aldebrana @nanasrkives @passionfruitenthusiast @surfeitstar @dndjxkskcn @jiminscarmex @hermaeusmorax @ohgodthevoices

[petew21-blog]

Ted Lasso: The better coach

Nate hated how Roy carried himself around Richmond. He thought that people would respect him after Ted offered him the assistant coach position. And yet people still treated him the same way as when he was equipment manager before. They didn’t notice him, listen to him. He felt so overlooked.

And on top of that Roy got offered the position as a coach for AFC Richmond. Why would Ted do that to Nate? Does he not appreciate him?

As he stood on the field he envied Roy his life. The way everyone respected him, looked up to him. He looked amazing and he even managed to go out with Keeley. Nate shouted at two players, which they shrugged off by laughing at him. He clenched his teeth. “Fuckers. They would never do that to Roy. Fucker has it much easier.”

In a sudden moment of feeling uneasy, Nate closed his eyes and suddenly felt everything shift. He felt warm water run all over his body. He opened his eyes. He wasn’t on the field anymore. He was in the Richmond showers. How the hell did he get there? He turned around but he was alone there. He couldn’t say what it was, but something was definitely off.

He looked down. What the hell? Instead of his overweight body, there was a muscular and very hairy torso instead. And definitely not his. He looked at his arms, which were now also hairy, but absolutely not the same he was used to see every day. Then he looked down. He recognized that dick from the lockers. That’s Roy’s dick.

Still wet and naked, he left the shower. He got close to the nearest mirror. There he was. His reflection confirmed it. He looked like Roy now. “What the…” he didn’t even finish the sentence, because his new deep and very familiar voice shocked him. He touched his throat. “How is this possible?” He placed his new large rough hand on his hairy  large torso and scratched himself. “Well, this is not bad.”

As he started inspecting his lower parts the door swung open. His body stormed in with an angry look. He sees his body in front of the mirror, exploring. “What. The. Fuck?! You WANKER! What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

Nate turns to face his face scared of what will follow.

Roy:”You THIEVING WANKER. YOU STEAL MY BODY AND THE FIRST THING YOU DO IS VIOLATE ME IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR?!”

Nate:”Roy, I..”

Roy:”Don’t you ROY ME, DICKHEAD! FUCK. I AM YOU. I AM A LOSER NOW. “

Nate couldn’t help but chuckle at the fact that this was happening. Roy saw that and swung his fist. Roy almost felt over, but Nate was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. “Damn, my body is weak.”

Roy:”That’s all you’re gonna say, you fucker?!?”

Nate:”I have to say it’s hilarious to see you like this, but I don’t know how this happened either.”

Roy looked up at his old naked body towering above him. “Then how did it happen, IDIOT?!”

Nate smiled: ”I am not sure, but hitting your face won’t help the situation.”

The door opened again. Ted entered with a smile:”Oh hey, there you are Nate. We are waiting for you in the office. Why are you on the floor?”

Roy looked at Nate and back at Ted:”I… slipped.”

Ted:”Right. Ok, hurry so we can finish the plans. By the way, Roy, not to be creepy, but nice dick.”

Nate laughed. He stood there above his old body in this massive hairy muscular god-like body and someone actually noticed him. He felt the surge of confidence.

Roy got up and whispered to Nate: “Wait for me here, I’ll be back. We have to sort this out”¨

Nate watched as he left and the room got quiet again. Finally some time for himself.

He approached the mirror again. He inspected his beard, his cheek bones, his new pointy nose, his thick eyebrows. “Perfect face, perfect body.” Nate smiled. His palms traced the edges of his hairy torso. “This guy is a gorilla,” he looked down at his pubic hair “gorilla everywhere” he noticed as his new quite honorable member was getting bigger. He turned to the side admiring the ridges of his abs. He pushed his fingers through the carpet of hair covering them. He felt the power. The dominance.

There was a knock at the door that interrupted his self-admiration. He stood still naked in the locker room. The door opened. Keeley, his girlfriend, stood there with visible confusion. “Are you posing in the mirror?”

Nate:”Yeah. I like what I see. You don’t?”

Keeley:”Why are you acting so weird?”

Nate:”Better question would be, why are we not already fucking right now?”

There was a moment of silence, but Keeley was struck by Roy’s confidence. She threw herself over him. They were passionately making out. Keeley throwing away her panties making her naked under her short dress. Nate kiss her neck and grabbed her below her waist. Her legs locked behind his back as his new large dick got quickly hard. He pressed her against the mirror. He made his way inside of her and started pounding her.

Keeley was moaning in pleasure and grabbing Roy’s head. Nate couldn’t believe that he was fucking Keeley right now, completely naked in Roy’s body. As he was increasing the speed of his thrusts. He looked at Keeley’s face full of pleasure with her eyes closed. And next to her in the reflection of the mirror he saw his body standing in the doorway, silent and with a shocked expression. Nate smiled, but didn’t stop.

After finishing inside of her, Keeley left the room, satisfied.

Nate finally grabbed the towel on the bench. He felt amazing. He felt so dominant.

He left the room with only the towel around his waist and went to the office. Ted sat there behind the computer. “Hey, Roy. Someone is pretty confident today. Walking around in just a towel”

Nate felt really confident, but Roy was threatening his new life, he had to get rid of him. And he knew exactly how to do that. “Nate is the one who leaked the info to the press”

Ted:”WHAT?!”

Nate:”I heard him talking on the phone. Thought you should know that”

He left the room with a smile knowing Ted wouldn’t just let it go.

The following days were crazy. Roy spiraled in the mess that Nate left him in. He left Richmond and took position in West Ham under the lead of Rupert Mannion.

Nate on the other hand couldn’t be happier. He became a coach. Became a dominant, respected hot male. Nate was finally happy.

Inbox request:

Ted Lasso: Could you maybe do a story where Nate is so jealous of Roy Kent that he swaps their bodies? Nate loving being so handsome and masculine, as well as loving how hairy he is. Most of all though, Nate loving the respect and authority he now has as Roy, as well as being together with Roy’s girlfriend.

I'm not sure if I got the story quite right. I don't watch the show, sorry :/ hope you like it

[dyli-dadi3]

Be My Valentine

When a drop-dead gorgeous girl keeps on coming to your drive-through, it's pretty damn hard not to ask her out. Well, not if you're Leon.

Just a cute lil blurb of Leon awkwardly asking you to be his Valentine. Tags: Fluff, Leon being a cutie. No seriously, he makes me wanna explode.

When Leon handed you your order that one fateful morning, he nearly dropped it. God, you were so pretty it hurt to look at you.

The sun was just rising, casting a warm glow on your skin. Your smile was so bright that he swore you flashed him in the eyes. Or maybe that was the glare from your car as you drove away.

Either way, your face plagued his thoughts. He felt like a fool. He couldn't even remember what lame phrase he uttered as you thanked him. The memory was blurry, and he was honestly thankful for it. He's sure that any chance was lost after you heard him babble like a kid. If you weren't turned off by the fact that he worked at McDonalds.

God, he really had no chance, huh?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you showed up, he was just as surprised. But this time, he ensured he properly handed you your food and wished you a good day. Your smile was rushed, but you thanked him anyway as you sped off.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Every day for the next week you showed up. It quickly became the highlight of his day. Every morning you would order a breakfast combo, and he would be warmed to the core with your kind words and bright smile. He'd make it his mission to be in the drive-through whenever you were supposed to be. It got so bad that his coworkers would always tease him.

"H-Have a nice day, ba-baby!" One of them whispered with a laugh when you drove off.

"Oh, shut it!" Leon's ears began to turn red as he rushed to grab a cup and fill it with Sprite.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He flopped onto his bed, damp hair wetting his pillow as he sighed. He thought about you, as normal for him. But today was different.

It was a week until Valentine's Day, and he couldn't stop thinking of you. He wouldn't kid himself, picking up girls was never his strong suit. Yeah, he somehow finds himself dating 10's, but that doesn't mean he means to! It just... kinda happens.

But he feels so strongly about you. With every little bit of information he gets out of you, he gets more and more invested. Of course, it isn't groundbreaking lore, but it's you and he can't help but find it interesting. He wants to know more.

He spends his nights thinking about what you love and hate, fantasizing about having a real conversation with you and learning everything you're willing to give him. It's maddening.

The thought of being too late, of you finding someone else before him is impossible, so he decides that that won't happen. Not while he's still alive and kicking.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next day comes and he's shaking like a leaf, face pale and so sickly that his manager almost sent him straight home. He pleaded, assuring her that he was fine (bless her heart, she's the only manager that doesn't make him want to rip his hair out).

He waits anxiously in the first window, waiting to see your car drive into the drive-through.

7:30...

7:31...

7:31 and thirty seconds...Oh!

He was gonna throw up, he was sure of it. If he somehow didn't, he was positive that his stupid mouth would slur his words into alphabet soup. God, if he had to repeat himself?!?! That's usually what the person in the car does. God, would you think he's incompetent? You order the same dang thing every day,

In the two seconds that his mind took to tear itself apart, you pulled up to the intercom and rolled down the window.

"Good mo-morning, will you be using the mobile app today?" Fuck.

"No, can I just have my usual order, Leon?" You giggled, the sound making his knees weak despite the shitty intercom system.

Of course you'd laugh at him, you never use the app.

He never got why you didn't. I mean, you're coming here every day, it would save you money. But you would always smile and shake your head whenever he brought it up so he just stopped. He never got why you used cash, either, but he didn't want to start bothering you, so he spent his limited time with you talking about more interesting things.

"Of course, pull up to the first window." He said with furrowed brows. He didn't bother telling you the price, it was still the same as it had always been. But this time, he had something extra to give you.

Soon enough, you were pulling up with your money in your hand. He took the cash and took a deep breath as he did the transaction.

"He's your receipt, " he said, handing you the printed slip of thermal paper. Before you could leave, he turned to you, his face bright red and his hands shaking like he was tweaking, and handed you a box of sweets. "Y-You forgot your change."

Your eyes widened as you took the candy, face flushing as you saw the sticky note taped to the front.

Will you be my Valentine? XXX-XXX-XXXX

Your eyes darted to his, face plastered with that bright smile he adored so much as you nodded.

"I would love to, Le-"

HONK!

[sillygoofyqueer]

I know that this is going to get weird but bear with me. Also this isn't meant to be as horny as it might seem.

I think that PIDW Logic™️ would give the middle finger to the whole point of bird demons having genders in the first place and make all bird demons lay unfertilised eggs about once a month, unless they get fertilised while still in the bird demon of course.

Crowyuan would be no different even if he's the heavenly demon variety.

I think Binghe would be jealous of Crowyuan's eggs.

I think Bingge might cook them if Xin Mo got to him.

Oh Binghe would be SO normal if he could naturally have children with Crowyuan.

And imagine how shocked and kind of horrified one of his followers/Binghe/the peak lords/the disciples would be if they were to find (one of) his nests with AN EGG in it. There isn't a baby in it or anything but STILL.

The crow family knows what's up but they still get a little surprise every time because SY doesn't bloody tell them when it's That Time Of The Month: Bird Demon Edition.

I am so so sorry the mpreg part of my brain leaked a bit into the Crowyuan part of my brain.

Henlo, Anon! Thank you for the ask, I very much appreciate it. I need to preface this with the fact that I read this ask, thought "huh, this doesn't feel very horny to me!" and then showed it to one of my mutuals as a sort of second opinion if you will, and they just said 'damn, egg layer Yuan' and that sort of put it in perspective for me. Despite that, I still don't think it's very horny, so either I'm just desensitised to it all, or this isn't horny! ANYWAY, if you want mpreg, we can literally have mpreg. Crowyuan now has mpreg. I don't know if there's a secret group of people who have been praying for this moment, but if there is, you can now rest. Put down the blackmail plans. We're going to look at Original Crowyuan, then Crowyuan on Cang Qiong but with the mpreg lens because that's FUN. (Also jiuyuan) ((To that one irl friend, my bestie booboo bear, you do NOT fucking see this. You never did. Dear GOD, YOU FUCKING DIDN'T.)) Original Crowyuan usually has his unfertilised eggs in his crow home, surprising his family at first but then they learn how to track his...'cycle' if you will, so they aren't caught off guard if there's a random egg in his nest. However, when he starts spending more time at Bingge's castle, it's a constant fucken wrestling match over eating the unfertilised eggs. It's like Crowyuan being like "DROP IT!! DROP THAT EGG!" and Bingge is holding it above his head and being like "I'M GOING TO MAKE SCRAMBLED EGGS AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME!! IT'S A WASTE!" However, I like to think that Bingge is also like "this egg could be fertilised. This could be my child. But noooo, it's devoid of a baby, so I'm going to fucking eat this." Dude I forgot the tag for the Crowyuan that's just chilling on Cang Qiong, but he's obviously just hanging around Cang Qiong and making nests on most of the peaks, so he does just have unfertilised eggs lying around. I imagine that Shen Jiu is the first to find out because (as stated in a previous post, I think) he's got disciples/a record on every single nest on Cang Qiong, so he sees this fucking egg just...lying around in one of the nests and is like "Oh. My God." and then like well what the fuck would he do with this? His pretty crow demon is going to be a mother! He must not let any of the bastard peak lords learn about this, 'lest they try and 'take responsibility' and step up to be a father to his demon's children, so HE must do it first. (When Crowyuan learns of this, he feels so bad because Shen Jiu is so determined about it, so he has to like...actually have a child! Cue mpreg.)