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sirxaibs · 2 days ago

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Touya Todoroki / Dabi x reader

Summary: As you pick Touya up from rehab, you reflect on how you got here

WARNING: hurt/ barely comfort. It’s a Dabi fanfic so prepare for rude behaviour and a lot of self deprecation on his part.

word count : 9734

FOLLOW ME AND GIVE ME SOME IDEAS!!

RUN BOY RUN - Woodkid

You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front doors of the rehab center like they might explode. The car hums softly beneath you, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. You’ve been sitting here for a while, waiting. Thinking.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Touya. Weeks of wondering if he’d actually stay. Weeks of resisting the urge to show up just to check.

And now, finally, here he comes.

The doors push open, and there he is, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind. His hair’s a mess, probably hasn’t touched a comb in days and his scars catch the sunlight in a way that makes them stand out even more. He looks tired, in a way that’s more than just physical. But his eyes? Still sharp. Still him.

The second he spots you, he stops. Just stands there, staring, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually be here.

You push open the car door and step out before he can overthink it. “Hey,” you say, keeping it easy.

Touya scoffs, tilting his head. “Hey.” His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it much.

You take him in, scanning for any sign of what? A breakthrough? A relapse? Hell if you know. He just looks… different. Not better, necessarily. But different.

“How was it?” you ask.

Touya rolls his eyes. “Awful.” Classic. “Same boring speeches, same awkward group sessions. Food was shit.”

You smirk. “No shock there.”

He exhales sharply, something like amusement, but you don’t miss the tension in his shoulders.

“But you stayed,” you say, watching him closely.

Something flickers across his face quick, almost undetectable. He looks away, shifting his weight. “…Yeah,” he mutters. “Guess I did.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. It’s not awkward, just… heavy. The weight of everything unsaid sits between you, pressing at the edges. You had spent weeks wondering if he’d bail, if you’d get some shitty phone call, if you’d ever see him again. And now he’s here. Whole.

Touya clears his throat and jerks his chin toward the car. “You just gonna make me stand here, or what?”

You blink, shaking off your thoughts. “Right.” You open the passenger door. “Get in.”

He hesitates for half a second before slumping into the seat with a quiet sigh. As you settle into the driver’s side, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring out the window, absently picking at the frayed edge of his sleeve.

You grip the wheel. “You hungry?”

Touya snorts. “Depends. You taking me somewhere that serves actual food?”

“Yeah, yeah. No more rehab cafeteria mystery meat, I swear.”

For the first time, he smirks just barely, but it’s there. Then, after a beat, he mutters, “…Thanks for picking me up.”

Something tightens in your chest, but it’s not worry this time.

“Yeah yeah,” you say, pulling out of the parking lot. “now don’t get emotional on me.”

Touya leans his head against the window, exhaling as the car rolls forward, the sun sinking lower in the sky. And for now, that’s enough.

—-

When you met him, no one could have guessed that he’d be in your car sharing an intimate bond to intimate so fast.

The first time you and Dabi met, he tried to kill you.

No, really he actually tried. None of that lazy, half-assed, villain posturing. He sent a fucking wall of blue fire straight at you, no warning, no witty one liner. And when you barely managed to dodge, he clicked his tongue like he was annoyed you had the audacity to survive.

“Should’ve just stood still,” he’d said, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and boredom. “Would’ve saved us both a lot of time.”

“You always this much of an asshole, or am I just special?” you shot back, already bracing for the next attack.

Dabi had smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Guess we’ll find out.”

That was how it started.

And somehow, for reasons neither of you ever addressed, your run-ins turned into something else. You fought, sure. But over time, it stopped feeling like an actual battle and more like… a routine. A bad habit. A game. He never went for the kill. You never hit him hard enough to stop him. And when the fights ended, more often than not, you’d end up talking.

Which led to nights like this.

Tonight, it was an abandoned lot. He’d set some shit on fire, you’d put it out, and now he was perched on the edge of a rusted-out shipping container, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he was waiting to be entertained.

“You’re getting slow,” he remarked, exhaling a curl of smoke.

You shot him a look as you stomped out the last few embers. “Or maybe you’re just getting predictable.”

Dabi snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

You climbed up onto the container, ignoring the way he barely shifted to make room for you. He always did that sat like he dared you to invade his space, then acted all put out when you actually did.

“Real ambitious arson job tonight,” you muttered, stretching out your legs. “You only half-commit to everything, or just crime?”

Dabi flicked ash in your direction. “Like you’re one to talk. You had at least three chances to stop me, and you didn’t.” He shot you a sideways glance, smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to think you like having me around.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because listening to you bitch and moan is so much fun.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” he said, lazily tapping ash off the side. “Can’t have you getting soft. If anything i’m helping a little girl become a hero”

You scoffed but didn’t argue. And that was the thing this was normal now. Fighting, bickering, sitting around after like you weren’t supposed to be on opposite sides. Like you weren’t supposed to be enemies.

Maybe that’s why you started noticing things.

Like how he leaned against walls like his legs were seconds from giving out. Or how his hands shook just a little when he smoked, like the heat didn’t quite reach all the way through him. Or how, no matter how sharp his smirk was, his eyes never quite matched.

And because you were a fucking idiot, you started caring.

Which is why, after another long, pointless fight, you threw a water bottle at him.

Dabi caught it, glaring. “The hell is this?”

“Hydration, dipshit,” you said, wiping sweat from your forehead. “Y’know, because you’re a walking pile of burnt kindling, and I’d rather not have you passing out mid fight.”

He stared at the bottle like it had personally offended him. Then at you. Then back at the bottle.

“You do realize I hate you, right?” he deadpanned.

“Uh-huh. Drink the damn water, Dabi.”

His jaw tightened, fingers flexing like he was debating throwing it at your head.

Instead, he cracked the cap open, took a slow sip, and never broke eye contact.

“…You’re fucking annoying,” he muttered.

You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

He exhaled sharply, flicked his cigarette away, and leaned back against the wall. For once, he didn’t have a comeback. Just sat there, eyes flickering toward the skyline, quiet for once.

Not as a villain. Not as a hero.

Just as a guy too stubborn to admit he might not hate the company and just maybe a guy learning people can care for him.

Though it didn’t stop there, meetings became a lot more frequent.

“You stalking me, hero?”

Dabi didn’t even bother looking at you as you landed on the rooftop beside him. Just flicked his cigarette, barely missing your foot, and leaned back like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You sighed. “You just torched a building. Kinda my job to show up.”

“Yeah? And yet, here you are not doing shit about it.” He smirked, finally turning to you. “Shouldn’t you be slapping cuffs on me or whatever the fuck it is heroes do?”

You rolled your eyes. “Like you’d let me.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t.” He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting it curl between his fingers before he flicked the cigarette off the side of the roof. “And we both know you don’t have the balls to try though you might like the cuffs on you.”

You clenched your jaw but didn’t argue not wanting to entertain whatever thoughts he’s trying to imply, which only made his smirk widen. “That’s what I thought.”

“You always this fucking insufferable, or is it just for me?”

Dabi gave you a slow, lazy once-over, tilting his head. “I save my worst for special people.”

“Wow. Flattered.”

“You should be.” He stretched his arms over his head, sighing. “Not everyone gets to be my personal waste of time.”

You crossed your arms. “You say that, and yet, you’re the one still talking to me.”

Dabi chuckled low, rough, full of something mean. “Yeah. Guess I like watching you squirm.”

—-

You hit the ground hard, barely rolling in time to avoid getting fried. The pavement still sizzled from Dabi’s flames, burning through your sleeves as you pushed yourself up.

Dabi, still standing like he didn’t just try to incinerate you, gave you the most unimpressed look of all time. “That was pathetic.”

You spat blood onto the ground, glaring up at him. “You hit like a bitch.”

Dabi actually laughed at that, crouching just enough to get in your face. “You wish I hit like a bitch.” His fingers twitched, heat curling around them. “We both know I could turn you to fucking ash if I wanted to.”

You swallowed hard but held his gaze. “Then why don’t you?”

He tilted his head, watching you like a cat watching a half dead mouse. Then his grin stretched slow and sharp.

“‘Cause I like this,” he murmured. “Watching you scrape yourself off the ground. Watching you try so fucking hard to be something.” He leaned in just a little closer, voice dropping to something almost amused. “It’s entertaining.”

Your fists clenched. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know that?”

Dabi smirked. “Yeah. And?”

You shoved yourself up, ignoring how your legs ached. “One day, I’m gonna put you down for good.”

His grin widened like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Oh, please do.”

——

Dabi was sitting on the curb like he had just clocked out of a long shift at his 9-to-5 arson job. Arms draped over his knees, a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his fingers, and an expression so profoundly bored that you had to take a second to process the absolute wreckage behind him.

The alley looked like a battlefield. Scorch marks everywhere, trash melted into unrecognizable blobs, and some guy still smoking from the flames. He was groaning, which was good it meant he was alive. But considering how crispy he looked, he probably wasn’t gonna be winning any beauty pageants soon.

You let out a long, suffering sigh. “Dabi.”

Dabi tilted his head back lazily to look at you. Then he exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Oh. You.”

You planted your hands on your hips, giving him the best I am so fucking tired look you could muster. “What the fuck happened this time?”

Dabi gave you a slow blink, like you just asked him why the sky was blue. “What the fuck do you think happened?” He waved a vague hand at the destruction behind him. “I had a bad night.”

You threw up your hands. “And what, this was your therapy session? You scorched a guy!”

Dabi sighed dramatically, rolling his neck. “And yet, he’s still breathing. How ‘bout that?”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You have to stop causing problems for fun.”

He snorted. “Wrong. The problems cause me for fun.”

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Did you read that off a bumper sticker?”

Dabi smirked. “Nah. Came up with it just now. Pretty good, huh?”

You ignored that. “Did it ever occur to you to just… I don’t know, go home and watch TV like a normal person?”

“I am watching something,” Dabi said, grinning. “You. Losing your goddamn mind.”

You let out a slow, deep breath, resisting the urge to punt him into the nearest dumpster.

Then Dabi rested his chin on his palm, gaze flicking over you. “And yet, here you are. Again.”

You squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked. “If I had a dollar for every time you showed up to stop me but didn’t actually stop me, I’d be able to afford the therapy that daddy dearest never gave me.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “Listen here, you little shit—”

“I mean, really,” he went on, like you hadn’t spoken. “You could be off doing hero stuff. Arresting actual villains. Filing paperwork. Touching grass. But nah. Instead, you’re here. With me.” His smirk widened. “Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”

Your fingers twitched. So help me God, you thought, if I don’t get out of here in the next five minutes, I am actually going to commit a crime.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, turned on your heel, and started walking.

“You’re not worth the effort.”

Dabi chuckled behind you, lazy and full of smug amusement.

“Keep telling yourself that, hero.”

——

The drive is quiet. its a warm kind of quiet. No one felt like they wanted break it. It was comfortable.

Touya is slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw locked, radiating the kind of hostility that could curdle milk. His whole vibe is very moody teenager who just got grounded, which is impressive considering he’s a grown-ass man.

You let the silence ride for a while, because you know him. You know he’s stewing. Probably pissed at himself for actually staying in rehab instead of setting the place on fire and walking out in a dramatic blaze of glory. Maybe pissed at you for witnessing the fact that he actually completed something for once in his life.

After a few more minutes of unbearable tension, you finally break.

“You want food?”

Touya snorts. “What, we celebrating?”

You keep your eyes on the road. “I just figured you’d rather eat something that isn’t microwaved cardboard.”

“Bold of you to assume I even ate that shit.”

You exhale slowly through your nose. Patience. Touya is like a stray cat he hisses, scratches, and pretends he doesn’t need anything, but if you ignore him long enough, he eventually starts lurking near your door at dinner time.

“There’s a diner up ahead,” you say, because you will be feeding this dumbass whether he likes it or not. “It’s either that or you starve.”

Touya sighs, like agreeing to basic human needs is such a burden. “Fine. Whatever.”

The diner you pull into looks like it should’ve been condemned twenty years ago. The neon sign flickers like it’s having an existential crisis, and the parking lot is a graveyard of questionable life choices.

Inside, the place is nearly empty just a couple of truckers at the counter, mumbling over half-eaten plates of regret. The waitress barely looks up as you both slide into a booth.

Touya, being Touya, immediately sprawls out like he owns the joint, kicking his feet onto the seat across from him. He snatches up a menu but doesn’t actually read it just taps his fingers against the table like he’s already planning an escape route.

The waitress shuffles over, popping her gum. “What’ll it be?”

“Cheeseburger. Extra fries. Coffee,” Touya says, snapping the menu shut like he just finalized a business deal.

You squint at him. “Coffee? This late?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you my mom now?”

You stare at him, debating whether or not to slide his menu across the table and slap him with it.

Instead, you sigh and place your own order. The waitress scribbles it down, looking just about as done with this conversation as you are, then walks off.

Touya slouches even further if he keeps this up, he’s going to merge with the booth. “So. You gonna give me some big, cheesy speech about how proud you are of me?”

You don’t even blink. “Do you want one?”

His lip curls. “Hell no.”

“Then no.”

Touya squints at you like he’s waiting for the catch. Like you’re gonna hit him with some life is a journey Hallmark bullshit at any moment. But when you don’t, he just clicks his tongue and looks away.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” he mutters. “Could’ve just called a cab.”

“Yeah, I could’ve.” You lean back in your seat. “But I didn’t.”

His fingers twitch against the table, like he wants to argue but can’t come up with a good enough reason. So instead, he scoffs and mutters, “You’re a pain in the ass.”

You smirk. “Yeah, well. So are you.”

The Food Arrives: The Moment of Truth

When the food finally arrives, Touya wastes zero time inhaling it like he’s fresh out of a 24-hour famine. Fries? Shoveled into his mouth at breakneck speed. Burger? Absolutely demolished. It’s impressive, really. Borderline concerning.

You eat like a normal human being, sipping your drink as he continues his speed run.

Eventually, between bites, he mutters, “…Food’s not bad.”

You hide your smile behind your drink. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”

Touya glares. “Don’t push it.”

You let the conversation fizzle out after that. No talking about home. No lectures. No big emotional moments. Just greasy diner food and the occasional sarcastic remark.

And when you both eventually leave and get back in the car, he doesn’t argue when you take the long way home. Doesn’t snap when the silence stretches again this time a little less heavy.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s his way of saying thanks.

You’re halfway through your plate when you notice it Touya has stopped inhaling his food like a wild animal and is just… sitting there. Not glaring, not throwing sarcastic barbs, just absentmindedly pushing a fry around his plate with a vaguely thoughtful expression.

You blink. “Oh God.”

Touya raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re thinking.” You point at him with your fork. “That’s never a good sign.”

He scoffs, shoving the fry into his mouth. “Shut up.”

But he doesn’t immediately follow it with another insult, which is weird. He just leans back, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s weighing whether or not to say something.

You tilt your head. “What?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, like this this moment, this entire night is physically painful for him. Then, finally, he mutters, “You look tired.”

You blink again. “Wow. Thanks. That’s what every person wants to hear.”

Touya rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying. When’s the last time you actually slept?”

You shrug. “I sleep.”

He snorts. “Yeah? When? Between your constant babysitting and whatever dumbass hero shit you’re doing?”

You open your mouth, then close it. Because okay, maybe you don’t get as much sleep as you should. But it’s not like he’s one to talk.

Touya notices your hesitation and smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

“Yeah, well,” you huff, stabbing at your food, “not all of us have the luxury of napping through our responsibilities.”

“Luxury?” He scoffs. “I was in rehab.”

“You chose not to set the place on fire and escape. I call that a vacation.”

Touya stares at you for a second, then against all odds laughs. Not his usual sharp, mocking laugh, but something quieter. Real. It throws you off so badly that you just sit there, blinking at him.

“What?” he asks, still smirking.

“You laughed.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Shit, did I?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t even a mean laugh.” You squint. “Are you dying?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

“Says the guy who fake-died for three years.”

“Touché.”

You shake your head, still thrown by the fact that he’s being… weirdly chill. Like he’s actually letting himself exist in this moment instead of treating it like some obligatory punishment. It’s suspicious.

Then, just as you’re about to call him out on it, he reaches across the table, plucks a fry off your plate, and pops it into his mouth.

You gape at him. “Did you just—”

“Yep.” He grabs another one. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

You slap his hand away, scandalized. “I fed you! I rescued you from microwave mush, and this is how you repay me?”

Touya grins, all teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. “Consider it a tax.”

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I should’ve left you in rehab.”

“Eh,” he says, stealing one more fry just to be an asshole, “but you didn’t.”

And for once, there’s no smugness behind it. Just quiet acknowledgement.

No thank you, no big emotional revelation just a stolen fry and the simple fact that, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is, you still showed up.

—

The air was thick with smoke, the night split by the wail of sirens and the distant shouts of first responders. The whole block was bathed in flickering orange light, fire consuming what used to be a warehouse now it was just a giant cautionary tale about what happens when dumbasses with unstable quirks play with explosives.

You exhaled through your nose, mask pulled up high, and glanced at the six-foot wall of muscle and arrogance standing beside you. Fucking Endeavor.

“So,” you said, tilting your head toward the raging inferno, “A+ work on the whole ‘subtle infiltration’ plan.”

Endeavor didn’t even look at you. Not surprising. “This isn’t the time for sarcasm.”

You gestured broadly at the absolute catastrophe in front of you. “See, I disagree. Because if we’re not laughing, we’re crying, and I—” You clapped a hand to your chest. “—am emotionally fragile.”

“Focus.” His voice was clipped, sharp, like he was the only professional here.

You rolled your eyes. “Right, right. ‘No nonsense. Only mission.’ Because God forbid we acknowledge that this is a shitshow.”

He ignored you, which was basically the foundation of your entire working relationship.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, already scanning the building for signs of movement.

“Contain the fire and get the survivors out,” he said, striding forward. Flames licked up his arms, rolling off his shoulders like he wasn’t currently surrounded by highly flammable debris.

You sighed, flexing your fingers. “Cool. Love a good ‘rushing into a death trap’ moment.”

Still no reaction.

You followed him in, ducking through the collapsed doorway as heat immediately punched you in the face. Smoke curled through the halls, thick and suffocating, clinging to the walls like a living thing. You yanked your sleeve over your mouth, glaring at Endeavor’s broad back.

“You ever not act like you’re fireproof?” you muttered.

“I am fireproof,” he shot back.

You scoffed. “Okay, but I’m not, so let’s not turn this place into a crematorium before we’re done.”

Predictably, he didn’t dignify that with a response.

You both moved quickly, scanning the rooms, stepping over broken crates and unconscious bodies. Most of the smuggling ring had been handled either burned, unconscious, or very interested in getting arrested if it meant not being roasted alive.

The first survivors were on the second floor, huddled in what used to be an office but was now just another death trap.

You stepped over the threshold, crouching beside a barely conscious man. “Hey, buddy,” you murmured, hoisting him onto your shoulder. “Let’s get you the hell out of here before this place caves in, yeah?”

Endeavor hauled up another survivor with ease, barely even trying. God, so annoying.

“Get them out,” he ordered. “I’ll keep moving.”

You adjusted your grip, ignoring the sweat rolling down your temple. “Awesome. You run headfirst into hell, I’ll play babysitter.”

You turned on your heel, smoke curling at your feet as you hurried back out.

By the time you made it outside, paramedics were already rushing forward, taking the man from your arms. You exhaled sharply, rolling your shoulders, and turned back toward the warehouse.

Endeavor was still inside.

Not that you doubted him. He was the number one hero for a reason. But you’d seen enough missions go south to know that confidence didn’t mean shit when fire had a mind of its own.

Then—

An explosion rocked the building.

Your stomach lurched, heart pounding. For a split second, pure instinct screamed at you to move, to go back in but then, blue-orange flames burst from the second floor, and a moment later, Endeavor strode out of the smoke, dragging the last survivor behind him.

Because of course he did.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah. Congrats on being a one man army.”

He barely spared you a glance, brushing soot off his shoulder like he hadn’t just walked through an explosion. “Handled.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Oh, for sure. Totally casual. You ever not act like you just expect to survive every dumbass decision you make?”

His eyes cut to you, sharp and assessing. “You don’t take this seriously enough.”

You arched an eyebrow. “And you take it so seriously you forget to breathe. Maybe if you stopped treating every mission like a personal vendetta, people wouldn’t be so quick to call you an ass.”

His expression didn’t change. “I get results.”

You snorted. “And I get migraines every time we work together. Funny how that works.”

Endeavor let out a huff his version of done with this conversation and turned away, stalking toward the police.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess around you. Another night, another catastrophic team up with Japan’s most emotionally constipated man.

You really needed a drink after this.

But before you could make a break for the nearest bar, a voice rumbled beside you.

“…You did well.”

You blinked. Slowly turned your head.

Endeavor didn’t look at you just kept his gaze on the wreckage, arms crossed, face unreadable.

You squinted. “I’m sorry. What?”

His jaw ticked, like saying it physically pained him. “…I said, you did well.”

A slow grin spread across your face. “Holy shit.”

Endeavor immediately looked regretful. “Forget it.”

“Oh no no no, you don’t get to take that back.” You clutched your chest, mock gasping. “Endeavor praised me? I think I might cry.”

He sighed through his nose, very pointedly not engaging.

But you weren’t done.

“Wow. This must be what being a favorite child feels like.” You nudged him with your elbow. “Does this mean I get a ‘World’s Okayest Sidekick’ mug? Maybe a ‘#1 Emotional Support Hero’ t-shirt?”

Endeavor turned his head slightly. “You want a mug?”

You blinked. “Wait. Are you serious?”

He shrugged, which, coming from him, was basically a yes.

You grinned.

Oh, you were never letting him live this down

Now your relationship with the number 2 hero was never your favourite team ups. Though you did feel a strange bit of validation and growth every time you had the chance.

—

You had fought villains, survived explosions, and worked with Endeavor without committing arson (yet), but nothing, nothing. had prepared you for sitting at the Todoroki family dinner table.

Yet here you were, trapped between Hawks, who looked way too entertained, and Shoto, who was sipping his drink like he was emotionally detached from this entire situation.

Endeavor sat at the head of the table, arms crossed like he also didn’t want to be here, and Fuyumi was the only one smiling like this wasn’t the most awkward hostage situation you’d ever been part of.

“So!” she said brightly, setting down a plate in front of you. “How has working with my dad been?”

You immediately froze, a piece of food halfway to your mouth. Slowly, slowly, you turned your head to glance at Endeavor.

He was already looking at you.

Judging.

Daring you to open your mouth and ruin your career.

Hawks, the absolute devil, nudged your side with his elbow. “Go on. Be honest.”

You took a sip of water to buy yourself some time. “Well…” You cleared your throat. “He’s, uh… very efficient.”

Shoto snorted. “That’s a polite way to put it.”

You pointed your fork at him. “See? He gets it.”

Endeavor exhaled through his nose, which, given the fact that his entire body was basically a walking furnace, made it look like he was barely restraining himself from setting the table on fire. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Hawks smirked, leaning closer. “Yeah, say it.”

You shot him a you are so dead after this look before sighing dramatically. “Fine. You want the truth?” You turned to Endeavor. “Working with you is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall, if that brick wall was actively judging you and could also set things on fire.”

Fuyumi gasped. Shoto took another sip of his drink. Hawks nearly collapsed against the table, laughing.

Endeavor, completely unfazed, just grunted. “You still get the job done.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “I am so touched.”

Hawks wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Man, this is so much better than I imagined.”

You turned to Fuyumi. “Blink twice if you need rescuing.”

She actually laughed at that, waving a hand. “Oh, it’s not that bad!”

Shoto, still completely monotone: “It is that bad.”

Endeavor let out the longest suffering sigh of his life.

By the time dinner ended, you were slumped against the doorway, utterly drained. Hawks, of course, was thriving, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, that was fun! Same time next week?”

You whipped around. “Do not manifest that.”

Fuyumi clapped her hands together. “Oh! That would be wonderful—”

“NO.” You pointed a warning finger at Hawks. “This is your fault.”

He grinned. “Worth it.”

As you stepped outside, you exhaled deeply, rubbing your temples. “I need a drink.”

Hawks slung an arm over your shoulders. “Told you it’d be fun.”

You shoved him off. “Keigo, I swear to god—”

—

Fighting Dabi was always a pain in the ass. Not just because of the fire which, yeah, was a huge problem but because he never shut up.

Tonight was no different. Flames roared around you, painting the alleyway in flickering blue as you dodged another wave of heat. The bastard was laughing, like this was some kind of game.

“What’s the matter, hero?” Dabi taunted, taking a lazy step forward. “Too hot for you?”

You huffed, rolling your shoulders as you steadied yourself. “Wow, never heard that one before. You come up with that yourself?”

His smirk widened. “Nah. I save my best material for special occasions.”

Before you could throw back another quip, Dabi’s eyes flickered to your uniform specifically, to the slight burn mark on your sleeve, barely visible but unmistakable.

And then, his entire demeanor changed.

His smirk faltered, replaced by something sharper. More calculating. His gaze darkened.

“Huh.” He tilted his head, stepping closer. “That’s interesting.”

You kept your stance firm, watching him carefully. “What?”

Dabi’s eyes flicked back to yours, his grin returning, but this time it was more… sinister. “That burn mark.”

You frowned, glancing at your sleeve. “Yeah? What about it?”

He let out a low chuckle, but there was something off about it something almost too amused. “Been spending time with other guys? I thought we were exclusive”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral. “oh? and what makes you say that?”

Dabi crossed his arms, the flames around his hands flickering dangerously. “So… you’ve been working with him, huh?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.” His voice dripped with something between mockery and genuine intrigue. “You’ve been on missions with Endeavor.”

You still weren’t sure why that mattered to him, but something in his tone made your skin crawl. You scoffed, keeping your voice even. “Yeah, so? He’s the number two hero. I work with a lot of pros.”

Dabi let out a slow whistle, shaking his head. “Man, that’s hilarious.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What the hell is so funny?”

His smirk widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You, hero. Running around, playing sidekick to that bastard.” He let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer. “I wonder… did he finally get what he wanted?”

Your jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dabi’s smirk twitched, like he was enjoying some inside joke at your expense. “Nothing. Just seems like you don’t know your mentor as well as you think.”

Something about the way he said it sent a chill down your spine. But you weren’t about to let him rattle you. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Dabi just grinned, stepping back. “Nah. I think I’ll let you figure it out yourself.”

And before you could stop him, he vanished into the night, leaving behind nothing but embers and more questions than you wanted to deal with.

—

You had somehow let Fuyumi trick you into another dinner. You weren’t sure how it happened one second, you were wrapping up a mission with Endeavor, and the next, you and Hawks were walking up to the Todoroki house like it was some weekly scheduled event.

“You manifested this,” you muttered, glaring at Hawks as you knocked on the door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, smirking. “I think this is great for you.”

“I hope you get hit by a rogue Nomu.”

The door opened before Hawks could come up with a comeback, and Fuyumi greeted you with her usual bright smile. “You came!”

“Yeah, yeah, against my better judgment,” you muttered as she ushered you inside.

This time, the vibe was slightly less tense than before. Natsuo still wasn’t here (no surprise), but the rest of the family was present Endeavor looked like he would rather be anywhere else, Shoto was neutral as always, and Hawks was making himself way too comfortable again.

As Fuyumi moved to set the table, you noticed something different this time a photo album was open on the coffee table, pages slightly worn at the edges.

You nudged Hawks and motioned toward it. “Look at this. Actual proof that Endeavor has been outside of a crime scene.”

Hawks chuckled, leaning in. “Wow. I can’t even picture him smiling.”

You flipped a few pages, finding old photos of Fuyumi, Shoto, and Natsuo when they were kids. The pictures looked almost normal—almost like any other family.

Then you saw a photo that made you pause.

It was a boy, older than Shoto but still young, with white hair and striking blue eyes. He was grinning, arms crossed with a cocky smirk, like he knew he was the coolest person in the room.

You frowned, tapping the picture. “Who’s this?”

Fuyumi turned from the kitchen and followed your gaze. Her expression softened just slightly. “Oh… that’s Touya.”

You glanced at Hawks, who also looked mildly surprised. “Huh. Never heard of him.”

Fuyumi’s smile dimmed just a little. “He was our oldest brother.”

Was.

You weren’t dumb. That single word told you enough.

Endeavor’s entire posture tensed, but he didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the table like the conversation wasn’t happening.

Shoto was unreadable as ever. “He passed away a long time ago.”

You blinked, looking between them. You hadn’t even known Endeavor had another kid, and now you were learning he was dead?

Hawks, who was usually one to crack a joke, was silent beside you, his sharp eyes studying the photo with an unusual seriousness. “How?”

Fuyumi hesitated, shooting a glance at her father. “An accident,” she said carefully. “A fire.”

You didn’t need a full explanation to understand there was a lot more to the story than she was letting on. The entire atmosphere in the room had shifted like an invisible weight had settled over the conversation, suffocating and heavy.

You looked at the boy in the picture again. Touya. Something about his expression, his posture, felt oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place why.

Hawks leaned back, whistling lowly. “Damn. Didn’t know you had another sibling, Shoto.”

Shoto’s eyes flickered to his father before looking away. “Most people don’t.”

You glanced at Endeavor, who was completely silent, jaw clenched. If the man was already emotionally constipated on a good day, now he looked like someone had shoved a grenade down his throat and pulled the pin.

Yeah. You were not asking follow-up questions.

Fuyumi gave you a sad smile before quickly trying to shift the mood. “Anyway! Dinner’s ready.”

You exchanged a glance with Hawks, silently agreeing to drop it for now.

But as you ate, your eyes kept drifting back to that photo. There was something about it, something that made your stomach twist.

Something that told you this wasn’t the whole story.

—

You’re barely five minutes into the drive when Touya starts fidgeting. One leg bouncing, fingers tapping, sighing dramatically every few minutes like he’s about to say something and then deciding against it.

You ignore him for as long as humanly possible.

Then another heavy sigh.

“For fuck’s sake,” you say, glancing at him. “What?”

Touya smirks. “Nothing. Just love a good awkward silence.”

You roll your eyes and turn down a side street, heading toward an old parking lot on the edge of the city. It’s the kind of place that’s either a sketchy drug deal spot or just an abandoned lot that no one’s cared about for years. Either way, it’s empty, which is exactly what you need.

When you park, Touya squints at you. “Oh, nice. Super ominous.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what, this is where you tell me you’ve secretly been hired to kill me? ‘Cause, honestly? Should’ve done it before you wasted money on my food.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, digging around in the glove compartment. “I’m playing the long con.”

Touya watches as you pull out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. He blinks. “The hell? Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t.” You tap the pack against your palm, knocking one loose. “Except when I do.”

He huffs a laugh and pulls out his own pack. “Terrible influence. Hope you know that.”

“You’re literally the last person who gets to say that to me.”

Touya just shrugs, flicking his lighter open. He takes a slow drag, then leans over the console, offering you the lighter with a lazy smirk. “Go on, then. Join me in my terrible life choices.”

You roll your eyes but lean in, lighting your cigarette. The first inhale burns your lungs in a way that’s almost nostalgic, and when you exhale, the smoke curls into the night air.

For a while, neither of you speak. Just sit there, smoking in companionable silence, staring out at the city lights in the distance.

Then Touya, ever the shit-stirrer, side-eyes you. “Soooo… you’re in love with me, right?”

You cough on your cigarette, nearly choking. “What the fuck—”

He grins, leaning back against the seat. “I mean, think about it. You picked me up, bought me food, brought me to this super romantic abandoned parking lot—” He gestures vaguely. “Like, if you’re gonna confess, at least do it with some dramatic flair.”

You take a slow, pointed drag. Exhale. Stare him dead in the eyes.

“Touya,” you say dryly, “if I were in love with you, I’d have worse problems than this cigarette.”

He snorts, tipping his head back. “Fair point.”

Another silence stretches between you, this one lighter. Less heavy, more like… a pause between bullshit conversations.

Eventually, Touya flicks his cigarette out the window, watching the ember fizzle out. “…Y’know,” he mutters, “you didn’t have to pick me up.”

You shrug. “Yeah. But I did.”

He side-eyes you again, expression unreadable. Then he exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, smirking.

He groans, slouching further into his seat, but he doesn’t argue.

And that’s how you know he actually means thank you.

—

The smell of smoke still clung to the air, thick and acrid, curling in the space between you and Dabi… Touya. You didn’t even realize you were gripping your fists until your nails bit into your palms, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t breathe.

It made sense now. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he never really tried to kill you even when he had the chance. The pieces had been there all along, but now they were clicking together too fast, too loud.

And Dabi- no, Touya- was watching you like a cornered animal, all teeth and venom, muscles tight like he was ready to bolt or attack, whichever came first.

“Say something,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re staring like a fucking idiot.”

Your throat was dry, words sticking to your tongue like glue. But then, finally—

“You’re Touya.”

His jaw twitched, fingers curling at his sides. “No shit.”

The sheer casualness of it nearly sent you over the edge. “No shit?” You took a step forward, shoving a hand through your hair. “That’s all you have to say? You.. You let me think you were just some guy this whole time”

“I am just some guy.”

“Don’t fucking do that,” you snapped. “You lied to me.”

Dabi let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Lied? Oh, that’s rich.” He took a step toward you, voice dropping into something low and mean. “You think I owe you the truth? That I was just gonna sit you down like, ‘Hey, by the way, I’m a walking family tragedy with daddy issues bigger than this whole fucking city’?” He sneered. “Be for fucking real.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I thought we—”

“What? Had something?” His grin was all sharp edges, nothing warm behind it. “Hate to break it to you, but that was your mistake.”

You felt something crack in your ribs, but you ignored it. “I trusted you.”

Dabi’s expression twisted into something ugly, something raw, but it was gone in an instant, swallowed up by that same defensive, sharp-toothed smirk. “Then you’re even dumber than I thought.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hands trembling. “Why are you doing this?”

He scoffed. “Doing what? Telling you the truth?” He stepped closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, warning you to back off but you didn’t. “You wanna play hero so fucking bad, then act like one. Arrest me. Fight me. Do whatever the fuck your little code tells you to do.”

You clenched your jaw. “You’re pushing me away.”

“Good.”

That hit harder than it should have.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Dabi wasn’t looking at you anymore he was staring past you, at nothing, jaw tight like he was trying to hold back words that could shatter his teeth.

But you’d had enough.

You exhaled sharply and took a step back. “Fine.”

His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t move, didn’t react.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Guess I was wrong about you.”

Dabi let out a short, hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Guess you were.”

The city felt too loud. Even with the distant hum of sirens fading into the night, even with the crackling embers of the smoldering wreck behind you, the weight in your chest made it hard to hear anything else.

Touya—Dabi—was still standing there, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly like he was waiting for you to walk away. Like he expected you to.

And maybe you should.

Maybe you should turn on your heel, pretend like this conversation never happened, pretend like his words didn’t bruise, pretend like your chest wasn’t burning with something ugly and disappointed.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you took a breath. Steadier this time. Then another.

“Okay,” you said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m leaving.”

His shoulders barely shifted. “Yeah. Got that part.”

You ignored him. “But I’m not letting you do this.”

His jaw tensed. “Do what?”

“This.” You gestured at the space between you, at the sharp, jagged edges of this conversation, at the way he was standing like a kicked dog trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. “Pushing me away like it’ll fix anything.”

He scoffed, but it didn’t have the same bite. “And what, you think not pushing you away is a better idea? Think about it, genius. What do you actually want from me here?”

Your fingers curled at your sides. “I want the truth.”

Touya laughed. It wasn’t sharp this time wasn’t even mean. Just quiet. Exhausted.

“The truth?” He shook his head, looking past you again, somewhere far, far away. “I gave you the truth, and you didn’t like it.”

“You gave me a version of it,” you shot back. “The one that hurts the least for you.”

His expression flickered for half a second something too fast to catch, something that almost looked guilty. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“And?” he said, like he was daring you to argue. “That’s what people do.”

“No, it’s what you do.”

Silence.

For the first time since this started, Touya actually looked at you. Fully. His eyes were hard, unreadable, but you could feel the tension underneath it all.

He thought this was the last time you’d talk. Thought this was the final thread snapping between you, the moment where you’d finally decide he wasn’t worth the effort.

And maybe you should.

But instead, you exhaled, rubbing a hand down your face.

“Y’know what?” you muttered, stepping past him. “Forget it. Just forget it.”

And for a second, you thought that was it.

But then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it—

“…I didn’t want you to know.”

You froze.

Turned back.

Touya was still standing in the same spot, still holding himself like his own body was a battlefield—but his fists were clenched, his head dipped just slightly, like this admission was something he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “You-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “You were never supposed to know.”

Your heart twisted.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he took a slow step back, eyes flicking somewhere over your shoulder—like he was making sure you weren’t blocking his escape route.

You stared at him for a moment longer, waiting.

He didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t take it back. Didn’t try to fix it.

So you nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “Okay.”

The city air was still thick with the scent of smoke, but the fire wasn’t the problem anymore. Not really.

You should leave. You should let this be what he wanted it to be—one clean break, one final cut before you could crawl too deep under his skin.

But then he said it.

“I didn’t want you to know.”

Barely above a whisper. A confession that sounded like it had been ripped from his throat against his will.

You froze. Turned back.

Touya’s gaze flickered to you, but only for a second before he looked away, jaw locking.

You swallowed against the tightness in your chest. “Why?”

Nothing.

Not right away, at least. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like he wanted to reach for something, maybe even you, but wouldn’t let himself.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because you look at me like I’m—” He stopped himself, mouth pressing into a thin line.

You tilted your head, stepping closer. “Like you’re what?”

Touya scoffed, rubbing a hand down his face before running it through his hair, shoulders tensing. “Like I’m fixable.”

That knocked the air out of you.

“Touya…”

His fingers curled into fists, a sharp breath escaping through his teeth. “Don’t.”

But you couldn’t not. Not when he was standing there like this, when the usual cocky bravado had cracked just enough for you to see what was underneath.

“You think I’m trying to fix you?” you asked, voice softer now. “That’s not—” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “That’s not what this is.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I just—I care about you.”

His head snapped up at that, eyes narrowing like the words had physically hurt him.

You took another step closer, slow, careful, hands open at your sides like you were approaching something fragile. “You don’t have to push me away.”

His throat bobbed.

For a moment, just one, you thought he might actually let you close the distance. Thought he might let his shoulders drop, let you see him without all the fire and sharp edges.

But then he stepped back.

Not far. Just enough. Just enough to tell you what he couldn’t say out loud.

His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to keep his expression blank, but his voice betrayed him.

“I do have to.”

Your chest tightened. “Why?”

Touya’s jaw clenched, eyes darting away. “Because if I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’ll hurt more when you finally realize I’m not worth it.”

Something in you cracked.

You wanted to scream. Shake him. Make him understand.

Instead, you just let out a slow breath. “That’s not gonna happen.”

He huffed, a small, tired smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”

The worst part was he truly believed that. He thought it was only a matter of time. That you’d come to your senses, see him for what he thought he was, and leave him behind before he could stop you.

And you could tell, deep down, that he was already bracing for it.

You hesitated for half a second before reaching out slowly, carefully and letting your fingers brush against his wrist. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the faint, uneven texture of his scars.

His breath hitched.

Not a flinch. Not quite.

But he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t look at you either, though. Just stared at the ground, breathing unsteady, like he was trying to decide whether or not to bolt.

You squeezed, just slightly. “I’m still here.”

A pause.

Then, softer than anything you’d ever heard from him—

“…For now.”

And that? That was the closest he’d come to asking you to stay.

—

Dabi never liked to stick around after fights. He was a hit-and-run kind of guy burn what he wanted, say something snarky, and disappear before anyone could pin him down. But for some reason, he had been lingering more and more after your encounters. especially after how tense the last encounter everything had been weird. Yes you had found out he was Touya but he had also found out his current chase has been cozy with the thing he missed the most.

You weren’t sure why. You weren’t working together, you weren’t allies, but somehow, you kept running into each other. And somehow, neither of you had killed the other yet.

Tonight was another one of those nights.

You had spent the last half hour chasing him through an abandoned district, dodging fire and insults in equal measure. Eventually, it turned into a weird kind of truce he had gotten bored, you had gotten tired, and now you were sitting on a crumbling rooftop, catching your breath while he lit a cigarette.

He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night air. “You’re getting slower.”

You shot him a glare, still panting. “Or you’re getting faster.”

He snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

You leaned back on your hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, for a guy who’s so dedicated to burning society to the ground, you sure do waste a lot of time chatting with me.”

Dabi hummed, tapping ash off the side of the building. “Maybe I like watching you get pissed off.”

“Oh, yeah, that definitely tracks.” You rolled your eyes, glancing at him. “So? What’s the next step in your grand villain plan?”

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You shrugged. “Eh. If it’s anything like your usual, I’m guessing ‘fire, explosions, and traumatizing civilians.’”

Dabi let out a low chuckle. “Not a bad guess.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, casually, you spoke.

“Had dinner with your sister again.”

You hadn’t looked at him when you said it, but you felt the way he tensed beside you.

It was subtle. So subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you had been around him enough now to catch the small things. The way his fingers twitched slightly against the cigarette, the brief pause in his breathing.

His voice was even when he responded, but there was an edge to it. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. She made this crazy good teriyaki chicken. Even got Hawks to shut up for a full five minutes.”

Dabi scoffed, taking another drag. “Miracle worker.”

“Right?” You smirked. “Shoto was there too. And Endeavor.”

Dabi’s expression immediately darkened at the name, his grip on the cigarette tightening. “Sounds like a real fun time.”

You ignored the bitterness in his tone. “It was something, that’s for sure.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees. “Y’know… she still talks about you.”

Dabi went completely still.

You kept your gaze ahead, pretending not to notice. “Not all the time. Just little things. The way you used to joke around when you were kids. How you’d always eat the last piece of tempura when nobody was looking.”

Dabi let out a short, humorless laugh. “She remembers that?”

“She remembers a lot,” you said, softer this time.

Another silence. Dabi stared at the horizon, jaw clenched. His cigarette burned between his fingers, the embers crackling in the quiet.

You watched him carefully. For all his arrogance, all his cruelty, there were cracks in the walls he had built. Moments like this, when you could almost see past the fire and spite when the boy he used to be bled through, just for a second.

But just as quickly, he shoved it down.

He flicked his cigarette away, standing up. “This was fun, hero. Let’s do it again sometime.”

You frowned, watching him. “That’s it? No snarky remark?”

Dabi gave you a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll make up for it next time.”

And before you could say anything else, he disappeared into the night.

But as you sat there, watching the last of the smoke fade into the sky, you couldn’t shake the feeling that for just a moment. he had hesitated.

—

You both sit there in the car, letting the last wisps of cigarette smoke curl out the windows. It’s quiet, save for the occasional rustling in the nearby bushes, which based on the location could either be a raccoon or someone plotting a murder. Either way, not your problem.

Touya exhales sharply, flicking his cigarette out the window. “So, what now?”

You glance at him. “What do you mean ‘what now’?”

“I mean, what the hell are we doing? You kidnapped me from rehab, bought me food, let me pollute my lungs in peace feels like there should be a next step in this weird-ass bonding experience.”

“You want a scrapbook?” You lean back against the seat, stretching. “Maybe a trophy? ‘Congratulations, you survived rehab and only complained about it 47 times!’”

Touya scoffs, side-eyeing you. “That’s lowballing it. I complained at least 93 times.”

“Yeah, I stopped listening after the first 50.”

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before running a hand through his already messy hair. “Whatever. This whole thing is pointless.”

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize I was supposed to plan a grand Welcome Back to Society party,” you say, deadpan. “Should I have rented a clown? Gotten one of those shitty banners that say ‘You Did It!’ in Comic Sans?”

Touya huffs a laugh but quickly wipes it off his face, like he refuses to let you win even a little. “Yeah, I’d rather set myself on fire again than be subjected to that.”

You smirk. “Damn, next time I’ll actually do it, then.”

Another silence stretches between you, but it’s not comfortable. You can tell he’s restless, fidgety, like he’s trying to swallow down some actual feelings and it’s making him physically ill.

And sure enough—

“…I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.”

There it is. The actual problem.

You tap your fingers against the steering wheel. “What do you want to do?”

He gives you an exhausted look. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d be doing it?”

“Hey, some people like being miserable. You’re one of them.”

“Fuck you.”

You grin. “There it is.”

He rolls his eyes and slouches further into his seat. “I’m serious, dumbass. Like… what now? What the hell am I supposed to do? Get some boring-ass job? Become a ‘functioning member of society’ or whatever bullshit they kept telling me in rehab? What if I just don’t?”

You shrug. “Then don’t.”

Touya blinks. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” You throw him a look. “Did you want me to give you a whole therapy monologue? ‘You got this, king! Chase your dreams! Live, laugh, love!’”

He gags. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“There you go, then.”

He mutters something about you being insufferable under his breath before rubbing his face with both hands. “Ugh. Whatever. This whole thing sucks.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to being alive.” You stretch again, popping your back. “Anyway. Let’s go.”

Touya frowns. “Where?”

“I dunno. But if you’re gonna sit there having a melodramatic crisis about your future, we might as well do it while driving.”

He stares at you. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“You’re so fucking mean,” you shoot back, starting the car. “Buckle up, jackass.”

He groans but does it anyway, muttering complaints the entire time.

And with that, you pull out of the parking lot, heading absolutely nowhere by just you, a moody ex-arsonist, and a whole lot of sarcastic insults to get you through the night.

#touya todoroki #dabi #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #light angst #my hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha keigo #bnha endeavor #shoto todoroki #todoroki family

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xwinterwidowx · 2 days ago

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this is based on my personal hc that whenever Shadow gets angry or sad, he curls up into a ball and doesn't talk to or be around anyone. if you enjoyed this please comment/repost and like i love reading what you guys have to say!! i still have more fics coming up i just have to finish writing them hopefully i can do that tn <3

Shadow had been a lot of places. Hence, he had picked up some things along the way. One thing was that when he was sad, he would curl up into a ball and not speak or eat. He would stay like that until he felt better. Unfortunately, Sonic didn't know about this because he had never seen it happen, and Shadow hadn't told him. So when he walked in and saw Shadow like that, he started teasing him.

"Shadow? What'cha doing? Looks like fun." Sonic sits down next to the black ball of hedgehog quills. "C'mon, Shads, you can't be that mad, can you?" When Sonic gets no response, he starts being even more annoying than usual. "Faker, Im bored! Lets do something, please." After a few minutes of this, Shadow just mumbles a few words that takes Sonic a few seconds to comprehend.

"Go away, Sonic."

"Go away? Why?" Sonic looks confused, and if Shadow wasn't mad, he would've found it adorable.

"Im not in the mood for this."

"When are you ever? Come on, Shadow!" Sonic groans out of boredom.

"Sonic, stop!" Shadow yells as he rolls out of his ball. Sonic takes a small step back.

"Shadow? Are you okay?" He tries stepping forward but Shadow just steps back again.

"Yes, I'm fine," he growls. "Just go away. I'm not in the mood."

"Shadow, if somethings wrong, you can just tell m-"

"Nothing's wrong! Can't you just leave me alone? You're pissing me off!" Sonic feels his heart ache at how angry Shadow looks but he doesn't say anything. He just leaves, and it only takes Shadow a few mere seconds to realize what he did. He immediately starts walking after Sonic. "Sonic," he murmurs when he catches him. "I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry."

"Shadow, its fine... you don't have to say that, its okay to be mad."

"Not at you. Not when you didn't do anything wrong. I just... I can't control my anger sometimes. You didn't do anything wrong, sun-sun."

"I was annoying you," Sonic mumbles and buries his face in Shadow's white fur.

"You didn't know I wasn't in a good mood." Shadow scratches behind his boyfriend's ears and smiles when he hears a soft purr from him.

"I still shouldn't have done that. Are you okay?" he murmurs.

"I've just had a long day. A long week, actually. I haven't been able to relax properly."

"Do you wanna go relax now?" Sonic grabs Shadow's hand and starts walking back towards their room. Shadow just nods and lets Sonic drag him to their room. They get on the bed and Sonic lays on top of Shadow. "Tell me what happened this week."

"Are you sure you want to listen to it?" Shadow questions.

"Of course I do. As long as you-"

"Scratch your ears?" Shadow snorts and starts doing exactly that.

"I'm listening to whatever you have to say," Sonic smiles.

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legallyfem · 2 days ago

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💐 — I’m just a girl…

awkward/lover boy travis x oblivious reader

♪ ⁺ ➺ new upload! ⌢ 　　⠀ 𝜗𝜚ㅤ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ﹏ ⠀⠀⠀⠀°(ˊ ᵔ ˋ )°　　⠀𝄒!　　⠀

∿⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓉸ྀི⠀⠀⠀⠀𓈒⠀ 𓈒⠀⠀⠀⠀wc :: 619⠀ᥘ⠀ׄ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ♩ ⠀⠀warnings :: fem reader intended, fluff　　୧

➺ ✿ ̣̣͙ a/n :: woah. i haven’t posted since the 2nd… HEY YALL!!! i’m gonna be going on a travis like rant so i’m gona post like 5 travis fanfics don’t be mad at me… he’s just been my favorite character for like weeks on end and i need to get this off my chest. I WONT ABANDON U GUYS AGAIN I PROMISE აㅤㅤㅤㅤ

⠀⠀rules ⠀⠀masterlist

you and travis had a well established friendship… relationship? who knows. friends since middle school, you guys would always tell each other everything, but it always felt like there was something he wouldn’t tell you or he would sometimes ignore you the whole day, sitting alone at lunch while u stood behind him and slightly tugged at his shirt sleeve to sit with you.

(he really just had feelings for you and was a total drama queen about it.)

travis was always a closed off person and often avoided human contact as much as possible. he could be a complex person sometimes but it just takes a while to get to know him to understand him better.

most people just think he’s weird or only know him by the title flex (which he absolutely hates) or just ‘the coaches son’, which is better than flex. he’s okay with not being one of the most popular people there. after all, he really had all he needed, someone he could lean on, decent grades, and a friend that could double as a tutor! (you are the ‘tutor’ in question) what else could he need?

ever since you to met back in 5th grade, he’s had feelings for you, but he knew you were a bit.. hard in the head? and it took a while for you to understand certain feelings, so he just didn’t even try to confess.

he did try to make some moves though, like holding your hand for a bit longer than normal, sharing rations of food, hugs lasting a big more longer and he tried his best to make them feel more passionate, to maybe be a hint that he feels something for you.

he was always scared you didn’t feel the same way, but he also knew it wasn’t totally impossible because you were really never involved in any guy drama or have ever had any crushes from 5th grade all the way to your sophomore year in high school. he always found it weird because he thought this was the women’s ‘peak’ of crushes but he never spoke on it.

he is very insecure and very careful on everything that he does that involves you. he tries to not make things awkward but it’s in his nature. any conversation could quickly become awkward, but also quickly revive with how fast topics flow when he’s around you. you to could talk about anything for hours and he would never get bored. he cannot hold eye contact to save his life though. he’s always looking down at something or looking away, and if he is able to look you in the eye it’s because he either is fidgeting with a pencil or just a random rubber band.

like stated, he’s tried multiple times to try to get the hints accorded that he has some sort of feelings.

“oh, hey, [reader]. you look pretty today…” he mumbled as he scratched the back of his neck, watching you sit down next to him with a smile on your face.

“oh, thank you travis! i tried some new things today.” you said, putting a loose strand of hair behind your ear as u got your stuff out of ur bag, waiting for class to start.

during this same class, he would make moves by moving his seat closer to your, interlocking his pinky with yours for a slight second before quickly moving his hand away and acting like nothing happened.

“what was that?” you whispered towards him as your hand moved to your desk.

“what are you talking about…? literally nothing happened?” he mumbled as he looked at you for a slight second before turning his head away, attempting to dismiss your worries.

part 2 tmr… imma get this short smuts out before i come back to this…

#travis yellowjackets #travis martinez #yellowjackets #yellow jackets #travis martinez x reader #travis martinez x you #legallyfem talks #legally blonde #fluff #Spotify

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girlwhorizzed · 6 hours ago

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BOYFRIEND!JJ X READER

— when all you want is to be perfect for your boyfriend.

you'd been self conscious of yourself since you started dating jj maybank.

you were… different in just about every sense of the word from the other girls that jj would bring around, which is why you became self conscious—even your appearance played a big role in the difference, you were all soft and sweet. you dressed nice, always in cute summer dresses and pretty blouses and skirts. it was rare to see you without your make up done.

despite you being the complete opposite to his usual type, both of you just sort of clicked in an almost immediate, almost unexpected way. jj had never been with anyone like you before, so that in itself was new and exciting to him — someone he’d always thought he’d be bored of within a few days or weeks, but with you, he found himself clinging tightly to each day with you. you were different — and it was the best thing that could’ve happened to him, you were his first sweet thing.

but, you couldn't help but want to be.. better. kiara had given him the same confused, almost judgemental look everyone did when told he was now dating and official with you. no one felt you suited him and his lifestyle one bit — sure, you were a sweet, fun girl, but they all thought you’d bore of jj pretty soon, and he’d grow bored right back.

which is why your determination now to prove them wrong at this house party. you’d never been one to put yourself out there like this before. dressing in skimpier clothes, wearing more makeup, and making an effort to act more rowdy and rough than the sweet, quiet girl you normally were. you’d even started going out of your way to smoke with him, and even drink when he offered. you were determined to impress him, determined to be the girl he really wanted, even if it went against everything you actually were.

and tonight — your efforts are paying off quite nicely, your actions finally gaining the wanted response. you looked every bit the bad girl now, with your make up slightly smudged from all the dancing you’d done and the aroma of alcohol stuck to your clothing. you were determined to impress the boy that you loved. your determination was admirable, in a sense. but it was a complete disaster, in another.

it was getting increasingly obvious to everyone around you that you were completely different from how you usually were, the people around you confused — but most of all jj. his eyes followed your every movement, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. eventually — he makes a beeline to you, grabbing you by the elbow and pulling you into a room — away from the noise of the party.

you can't refrain yourself from being a silly giggling mess, the weed intake from the passed around blunt has got you dumb and fuzzy. "whattt? wha- what's wrong w'you?" you hiccup out, stumbling over your kitten heels due to the poor lighting and the loose cracked floorboards.

he holds you up, his hand gripping your elbow a little tighter than it needs to be as he closes the door behind him. he makes a ‘shh’ sound and with the mix of alcohol and weed causes you to almost collapse against him, but he pushes you off. he juts his chin before tugging his red cap off his head; clutching it firmly. he can see it in your eyes, in your stumbling around, and the way you speak — you’re just downright high.

he lets out a scoff of frustration at your question, shaking his head and closing the door behind him. he looks you up and down with his jaw clenched, not finding any real amusement in this. “sit down.” he tells you firmly, giving your ass a harsh push to seat you on the random bed.

you’re taken aback by the force of the push— you stumble over yourself, falling back onto the bed with a little “oomph” sound leaving your mouth. you just about manage to steady yourself, propping yourself up by your hands on the bed behind you — staring up at him with a grin.

“w-what?” you murmur, feeling a bit stupid for the way you’re acting — but also not really giving to much care into it. his reaction hasn’t escaped you either, and you feel a sense of triumph over seeing him all frustrated and worked up over you.

he rolls his eyes at your dumb grin and fluttery eyelashes, staring you up and down as he stands over you. you’re absolutely inebriated and acting stupid, but it just seems so out of character to him that it’s honestly pretty worrying. he doesn’t have a clue why you’re acting like this but he certainly isn’t amused, he’s completely put off. “fuck is wrong w'you? why the hell are you acting like this?” he steps closer to you, folding his arms over his chest.

the grin on your face falters, a pang of insecurity hitting you at the sight of his cold expression. your mind starts racing with worry, you've done something wrong. “i just — i just thought, uh — i mean —” you sheepishly respond, the words coming out in a meek, quiet voice. trying to figure out a good explanation for your behaviour, but you can’t, the words getting stuck in your throat. you feel stupid now, seeing just how un-impressed he is, realising that you’ve embarrassed yourself completely.

you bring your legs up onto the bed, hugging them to your chesthe look of confidence that you had so desperately tried to exude completely gone as you’re met with his harsh reaction.

the cocky persona you had adopted that night slowly fades away, your true self coming through when under his sharp gaze. he takes in the sight of you, curled up on yourself, arms wrapped tightly around you in an almost protective manner — as if you’re trying to get away from him. the sight is sad, if he’s being honest. he sighs softly, shaking his head. he’s still stood in front of you, just staring down at you. “what are you doin’?” he asks, and his voice has softened — not as cold and harsh as it was before.

“i jus’ wanted- i jus’ wanted to be perfect for you.”

you’re unable to look him in the eye, your voice coming out soft. you look down at your lap, fidgeting in your position — clearly embarrassed. you had put so much effort into acting different, acting more ‘perfect’ and ‘exciting’ for him — but it was a failure. you were ashamed and embarrassed.

he stands and thinks quietly to himself for a moment, studying you, analysing your words. his expression remains passive, but he feels a pang of hurt and guilt deep within him at your statement, your words cutting straight through him. he clenches his jaw for a second, before stepping closer to you.

“you’re bein’ stupid, yknow that?”

he suddenly grabs you, forcing your legs to drop down to the bed, and yanking you forward so that he’s between your legs, his face now just inches from yours.

you’re completely defenceless under him, the way you’re currently positioned not at all helping. your legs are on either side of his hips, his knees in between yours, and his head is lowered so that his face is mere centimetres from yours. his eyes scan your face, but there’s an expression that you hadn’t been expecting to find on his face. his eyes are soft, and there’s a hint of concern in his expression, his gaze flicking back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

“you’re stupid if you think you’ve gotta be something that you’re not— for me, or anyone.” he says, tilting your head up to hold his gaze. “you’re fine, exactly like this, like yourself. don’t go tryna be something else, somethin’ you’re not— you’re stupid if you do that.” he shakes your head a little for emphasis, making sure you’re staring back at him.

you swallow nervously, staring up at him as he continues to hold your head, staring intently into your eyes.

“i mean it.” he mutters, nodding for emphasis. “don’t wanna any of this nonsense again, a’right? you’re fine as you are. don’t change for me.” his voice is firm, but there’s a softness to it that you rarely hear — you’ve never heard him sound so genuine and sincere, his words coming so close to a confession.

“m'kay. i get it.” you reply weakly, your gaze never breaking from his, and he’s suddenly very hyper-aware of the fact that he’s stood between your legs— you’re so close to him, right under him— but he pays it no mind, his hand still holding your jaw to keep your attention on him. you’re nodding in agreement, and he loosens the grip on your jaw, instead choosing to rest his hand there, cupping your cheek.

he stares down at you, taking in every single one of your features. he takes notice of your make up, the way you’ve done your eyes, the way you’ve done your lips, how your hair is styled. he knows instantly that all of it isn’t something you would’ve done if you weren’t wanting to impress someone — wanting to impress him. “so you’ve just been tryin’ to be the girl you think i want, eh?” he gives your face a little squeeze, watching you.

before you can manage a response, a sudden involuntarily twitch in your legs, your body craving the friction that’s so close to you but so far from you at the same time. you can’t find the words to explain to him why you’ve suddenly changed how you look, so you instead just try to find a way to feel him. you bring your hands up to rest on his chest, trying to steady yourself as you start to move your hips up, trying to find friction from him. your face burns with embarrassment, but the weed’s doing enough to keep you feeling braver than you usually are.

he pushes himself away from you a little, holding you by your hips as he shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “nah.” he’s blunt, and he’s quick to get you off of his chest “nah, not like this. you’re not getting it.” he makes a gesture with his hand, as if to say ‘up.’ he’s suddenly all too aware of your lack in state of awareness, you’re not in a right frame of mind. the second you’re up, he turns you around in a swift motion. “c’mon mama.”

you want to protest so bad, the weed causing all this abrupt hornyness— but he already has you standing up and now he’s behind you so he can’t see your whiny face. before you can even begin to complain, you have a harsh smack on your ass. you let out a little cry at the surprise, your knees instantly buckling. “walk.” he mutters in your ear, giving your ass another firm grab — this time just as he pushes you towards the door.

you don't walk and instead stand at the door, which jj instead opting to just grab you by the elbow and usher you out of the room and the house. it’s a pretty quick walk back to his truck, you manage to trip yourself up several times, you being stupidly high to walk on uneven concrete — which earns you a few scoffs and frustrated grunts from him. at some point he’s simply just given up on trying to let you walk by yourself, opting to just hoist you up and slinging you over his shoulder instead.

you finally let yourself go limp over his shoulder, not bothering to fight him or protest at being dragged around like a ragdoll. you’re too high and too exhausted to care anymore, all of your previous confidence and bravado completely gone now. “m’m sorry.” you grumble as you feel a bit dizzy from being upside down like this, holding on to his shirt.

you let out a soft sigh as he opens the door to his truck, putting you down so that you’re sat on the seat. he fastens the seatbelt around you as if you’re a small child, you look up at him with glossy, tired eyes.

the ride back to your home is quiet and the volume of disappointment speaks, even if it's quiet— it's practically radiating off the blonde sat closely next to you. his jaw is clenched together, a usual little habit he'd picked up when he's thinking seriously or fed up. not to mention he rejected you when you began to hump yourself against him.

he’s still pissed off, but not in the way you’d think. it’s not the way he’d normally react to something he’s pissed about, but instead there’s a sense of concern there. he doesn’t glance at you once as he drives, just staring straight ahead at the road with his jaw clenched. he feels conflicted, frustrated with knowing you’d put others opinions of you over what he thinks of you, and feeling concerned for you — because the girl he fell for was nothing like how you behaved today.

it takes less than 10 minutes for him to reach your home, driving slightly over the speed limit. he pulls up outside, putting the gear into park and glancing in your direction once he’s done so. he doesn’t know what to say, but he knows he has to say something. he looks at your expression, finding those glossy eyes still staring back at him. he sighs, knowing he can’t just kick you out of the car like this.

your somewhat asleep, resting your head against the window you've leaned into and closing your eyes— he pats your back soothingly to wake you up, you look back at him with glossy helpless eyes.

god he hates that look — he hates feeling so helpless, and all because you’d gotten high off his weed and he’s left to deal with it. what he also hates is, despite it — he still feels the need to take care of you. it’s not like you actually did anything wrong, but the fact you’d gone to great lengths to try and look a certain way for him makes him both flattered and frustrated. he shifts in his seat so he’s fully facing you, still looking you in the eyes. “i’m gonna walk you up.” he eventually states.

your expression instantly changes, the look of despair replaced with a hopeful look. you’re nervous, and you know it’s a long shot - but you still can’t help the words that come tumbling out of your mouth, words that you didn’t even plan on saying. “can you stay the night?” you ask, the words quiet and meek.

he can’t help the way his eyes widen in shock when you ask that question. he wasn’t expecting it, no part of him was expecting you to ask something like that. he had planned on doing the chivalrous thing and just seeing you safely into your home, probably making sure you’d locked up and you had some water to drink before he would head home, you'd never asked him to spend the night before. he blinks twice to make sure you understand and comprehend what you've just asked of him.

you nod at an extremely quick pace, you’re desperate for any sense of reassurance, any sign that he actually cares about you. despite his cold exterior, you’re still holding onto that little bit of hope — that you still mean something to him. after this whole night is over with you'll return back to your true self.

you nod shyly, your voice quiet. “please stay. i don’t want to be alone right now, i won’t be able to sleep if i am.”

your pleading look has his resolve crumbling instantly. he’s annoyed with the fact he’s so pussy whipped, but he’s also pissed at the idea of you not only high but being home alone — vulnerable, and he can hardly bring himself to say no. he lets out a long exhale - frustrated and yet, there’s some hint of defeat lacing his voice. “fine. but we’re sleeping on the couch.”

you don’t know where the sudden confidence comes from, maybe it’s the weed making you less insecure than normal or maybe it’s the fact you know he’s unable to say no now— but you find yourself arguing back with him, your eyes still pleading as you stare at him.

“no! we’re sleeping in my bed, your my boyfriend!"

a small smirk makes its way onto his face at the demanding tone you use despite you being so small and timid looking. he raises his eyebrow at your words, amused at the way you try to assert yourself and demand what you want from him. he leans back in his seat a little, tilting his head back to look at you properly. “yeah? i’m your boyfriend?” he asks incredulously, but the smirk is still there.

you’re suddenly a lot braver now you feel you’ve got his attention, having found your confidence again. you nod enthusiastically, puffing your chest out a little. “duh! you’re my boyfriend.” you affirm, before letting a soft pout take over your lips again, “so we’re sleeping in the princess bed!”

he lets out a scoff at your sudden change to being confident, the contrast between now and earlier in the night is almost laughable. but then he sees the way your eyes fall to a soft, and how your expression dips to the cute little pout - he can feel himself already giving in.

he lets out a sigh, nodding his head in agreement. “alright, princess. we’ll sleep in your princess bed.”

#jj maybank #jj obx imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank prompt #outer banks #fem reader #girlwhorizzed #not proofread #jj maybank ˖ ☘︎ ﾟ꒰͡ ͜ Ï ͜ ͡꒱#anyway how are u guys #this is based off me btw 😆

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multiheadcanons · 2 days ago

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THE FUNNY SEX NUMBER

enjoy you nasty freaks. i SURE AS SHIT enjoyed writing it!

scout: scout is probably the most straight guy on the team. like 90% straight. there’s a couple of guys he’d be willing to suck off, but he really just doesn’t see a lot of dudes he absolutely HAS to have. sometimes he thinks about his team a little too much while he’s jerking himself off, but when he looks at them and he’s not sexually frustrated he doesn’t really feel anyway about them, at least not sexually. 5.5 inches, not impressively girthy. curves to the left. circumcised. casual masturbator. generally lazily stroking himself while his mind wanders. really only masturbates if he’s bored, or can’t sleep. this bostonian is a certified woman lover, he likes a lady with a looooot of curves. loves those women who look like the epitome of a woman. big tits, fat ass, soft belly, and you better have cellulite or don’t come talking to him. he likes his ladies all natural and unshaven. plastic surgery HATERR. truthfully, he doesn’t care what you do with your body. body positivity and all that shit. but he thinks that’s the biggest waste of money a lady could choose. if a woman tells him she’s had work done his libido immediately plummets into hell. he becomes the straight GBF. if he wanted to fuck plastic he’d get a pocket pussy. keep your liposuction to yourself, DOCTOR. he likes having a lot to hold. watching his hands sink into skin makes his dick twitch so bad. once got sucked off by someone with a tongue piercing and that was a religious experience for him; official piercing appreciator if you can do something with it. oral lover, though he’s not good at giving or receiving. he squirms, and his legs twitch. if you’re too good he’ll kick you off, sometimes he’ll literally kick you. at that point tie the man up. eyes roll to the back of his head once you get to the base. he can’t even make eye contact with you if you actively have his dick in your mouth. and he talks too much. he’s not very good at dirty talk, he’s just a stuttering fool. gets way too excited if you ask him to eat you out. if he doesn’t push you on the bed and drop to his knees he himself will fall on the bed and slap his cheeks. he’s prepping your seat. break his fucking nose. swipe his shit like a credit card. he gets so lost in the sauce. he’ll be focused for a moment, but it always devolves to him kissing and sucking on your clit. he’ll kiss your pussy more than he’ll actually kiss you. just so grateful for the opportunity to appreciate a woman every time he’s given one. busts quick by the time you’re done with foreplay and he actually slides into you. he really does his best to make sure you’re prepared, if he didn’t tongue fuck you to climax, but he cannot swing with the big boys. it’s okay, give him ten minutes and he’ll be ready to go. and if you don’t want to wait, his face is right there. take your seat! hates missionary, not because he doesn’t want to see your face, but because he just can’t get deep enough. wants to be able to reach between your bodies and spread you open further. likes you face down ass up so he can spread them cheeks and thrust. fucks like a rabbit. you could beg him to take it slow and you’ll get a solid three pumps before he just pistons into you. he likes it when his partners are vocal. it’s motivational. quiet cursing and low groans. breath hitches into a high pitched squeak as he cums. thick. coats your fingers and sticks them together. very acidic. not fun to swallow a whole load, but good to taste. spit it in his mouth though. see how that goes. falls asleep very quickly after sex, but is awake long enough to give you some aftercare, mainly cuddles. if he wakes up in the middle of the night y’all will have sex. sorry not sorry. he’ll either wake you up as he’s moving you into a preferred position, or you’ll wake up as he’s sliding into you. doesn’t like hickies. not enough meat on his bones to make a bite feel good, and he hates to say it but also not really: if he doesn’t like you his dick is perma-soft. it’s sucked back into his body. he can’t do casual sex because he has to know you a little bit to like you.

soldier: the second straightest guy on the team at like… 80% straight. he can’t help it if he’s looking his good friend demo the man in his eye and plants a fat one on him. and kissing your engineer friend— everyone should kiss their engineer friend, why would you not kiss your engineer friend? got the best damn lips since a bouquet of tulips, kiss your engineer friends, you’ll see. soldier is a stacked, jacked, and juiced man with an average libido. a large frame with some nice squish before you hit solid muscle, and he likes his sexual partners similar in stature. there’s nothing better to him than two people in peak physical condition getting it on. good seven inches. thick. circumcised. got a vein on the underside. masturbation is a tool he doesn’t use often. prefers a good old circlejerk with his teammates. a couple have said yes to him on that, we won’t say any names here. soldier is a man who likes to get to the point. there is not any foreplay unless you force foreplay. you get about a minute of making out and you better be ready to go. unless he really thinks you’re pretty. he can’t help but touch artwork. it’s not even that he doesn’t like it, he just doesn’t consider it because he himself doesn’t need it. he really doesn’t even want you to suck him off, he would like to put your ankles by your ears and go for it. but if you ask, he’ll oblige. don’t ask him if he needs it reciprocated, you will be harshly shut down. he hates receiving oral, he worries about teeth. he loves his penis very much, too much to let it be harmed. not the kind for gentle sex unless it’s a lazy morning and you wake him up with it. he is a quiet guy. he doesn’t go out of his way to dirty talk, per se, but as he makes what he thinks is casual conversation during sex, he’ll grunt out a remark here and there. how good you feel. how pretty you look. he’ll ask if it feels good or if you want another position. if he’s feeling particularly tender, he’ll slow down. pulling all the way out and then slowly pushing back in. he likes watching you squirm. he’s almost waiting for you to beg. will always cum inside of you unless you beg him to do it elsewhere. feels like a waste to him otherwise, but he will admit it does something to him to see you looking up, mouth open and tongue out to catch his load. it’s the only time he just wants to stick his dick in your mouth and start pumping. sometimes, if he’s feeling really nasty, he’ll slap you. not hard, but enough to make your cheeks pink. in the height of sex, he doesn’t really care about your reaction unless you start crying. another man with thick, sticky cum. doesn’t taste bad, actually. a little bitter. it almost leaves… a burn? like when you eat pineapples. you have to tell soldier what you want. if you want him to be gentle with you, let him know before he’s balls deep. if you want him to be rough and treat you like a sex doll, tell him before he’s hard. he will do what you like, he can do what you like, but if you don’t ask he’s not intuiting it from you. otherwise, as his sexual partner, you are there to spread your legs and invite him in. never minds giving a reacharound, but if you invite a vibrator to the party he gets hesitant. only while the things not on though. once he gets the thing on and located where you want it he’s enthralled by how much more lively you get. dick appreciator. he does believe in the school of thought of pretty penises and ugly penises. he will make fun of you if he thinks your dick is ugly. but will NEVER make fun of a lady. unintentionally a cruel master. does not bottom. will not bottom unless it’s your birthday or you’re terminally ill and it’s your dying wish. and don’t expect him to like… bleach his asshole. come fuck him like god intended you to. likes his partners unaltered. don’t shave. if you think he likes you enough don’t shower either. likes the smell of musk and sex together. post coitus is nice. he’ll wrap an arm around you, ask if you’re good. ask if you enjoyed it. then, and this is the important question, he’s gonna ask if you want more. say yes.

pyro: pyro doesn’t even think about sex. so anytime they have a sexual encounter with themselves they’re rediscovering how sex feels. it’s a confusing, exhausting process for them. sometimes their mind wanders. and they don’t really register why they feel the way they do. just that they’re angrier, twitchy, and the damn suit is so uncomfortable. and as they’re pulling their suit, trying to give themselves breathing room, they’ll brush their own hand against their hips and be filled with a heat. a very specific heat, that overtakes them from their stomach to their feet. and then they go “oh.” and they have to go take care of themselves and get their head back on straight. they do not last very long. they’re touched so rarely, they get a good couple of slow rotations of their hips and maybe a hesitant nipple rub in before they cum with a shudder, letting out surprised gasps before they lengthen into a satisfied groan. and they slump on their bed. they hate the mess it leaves. both on the bed and in their mind. in a way, they are absolutely snapped back to reality, because it’s like they can’t stop thinking about sex once they start. they’ll sit uncomfortably close to their teammates, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of them, and let their mind wander. sometimes they’ll just reach out and run their hands down their teammates bodies. there’s too much confusion and frankly, concern for the team to react in an aggressive or otherwise negative manner. they’ll lay on medic’s operating table and both of them can tell that the table is shaking from how badly pyro wants to be touched. and it’s so cold in there. they need that warmth. medic has never, and will never, interact with pyro sexually. it’s less of an ethics thing and more of a moral stance. he sees pyro as a friend, and can’t allow himself to be part of pyro stooping below the pits of hell for touch. he’s willing to commit crimes with pyro, and is that not a friend? refuses to ask about what’s under the mask on principle. if pyro was a little less desperate, and more sexually secure, and more mentally there, they would realize they want to hate fuck the enemy spy so bad it makes them look stupid. pyro goes out of their way, cornering the spy in dark, empty, small spaces. and stares. sometimes it gets them killed, yes. but if spy would wait, he would see that pyro just wants to look. get lost for a minute in his eyes. see the momentary fear before the plan begins to hatch in the frenchman’s head. maybe touch a little. maybe press against each other. maybe a little petting through their clothes. nobody can read spy better than pyro can. because pyro just hates him. pyro sees him everyday and cannot stop the distaste. they think so much about spy. it’s not enough to kill that man almost every day. they need that nasty frenchman carnally. lighting his cigarette is foreplay. switch royalty, relishes in being full and thoroughly enjoys filling others. doesn’t like being teased. whimpers, borderline sobs those first few thrusts, regardless of if they’re bottoming or topping. it just feels too good, it wipes their mind completely blank. pyro doesn’t last long. sex goes at their pace; if they say they’re done, get off. needs aftercare so bad. wants to be held and gently touched and told how well they did. told how good they are. sex opens the door for regret for pyro, and they don’t want to regret being open with people. they want to be open with people. dirty talk can’t even be dirty, you’ll freak them out and they’ll think what you’re saying is true. unless you’re spy, he can call them what he wants. only takes the mask off if they’re absolutely overheating. otherwise it stays on. will beg for you, if you ask. eager to please, eager to be pleased, and if you’re nice enough, everyone can have a good time. pyro just may not want the good times to end. eventually they will have to, so that pyro can focus on the field. but also, if you offer to meet them in a crawlspace, they won’t deny you. just give them a time so they can at least pretend to be an asset to the team.

demo: mmm, bisexual king i love you tavish finnegan degroot mwah mwah. will kiss, lick, suck and fuck anyone with a pulse. giant women, short kings, mediocre gender nonconformists, everyone can get in the ring with demo if they think they can handle it. hell, he’ll flirt with a hole in the ground if the crack is nice. no real type, be your version of sexy and he’ll eat it up, just pucker up and get close. he doesn’t bite... too hard. okay i lied, yes he does. loves biting, loves hickies. loves sucking on your bottom lip until it’s raw. foreplay is a full body experience. he’ll sweep you in his arms as he kisses you, he envelops your body with his own, he’ll swallow you whole if you let him. there is not a trace of skin he will leave untouched, and his body is hot, like fire. the cold air around you will shock you as he pulls away from your body. you can’t help but pull him back. the heat is intoxicating. it makes him laugh. he can’t help but poke at you. ask if you need him that badly. and if he really likes you, you’re his new favorite pastime. can and will spend hours holding you in his lap with one hand and fingering you with the other, watching where and how you twitch, what makes you sigh, what makes your breath catch in your throat. tells you how pretty you look as you squirm in his lap. very attentive lover. solid six and a half inches, uncut, no lean, clean shaven. big balls. has a prince albert. he likes the sound skin makes when it slaps together. his easy going attitude does lend itself to sex. when you’re ready for him, you just let him know how you want him and he will go until you ask for something else. one of the few men on earth who understands “just like that” means just like that and “right there” means right there. appreciative when you get on top, though. he’s got the energy to talk to you then, let you know how pretty you look, how grateful he is for you. he starts slurring his words when he’s close. eloquently stated compliments turn into brutish groans of how good you feel. how he can’t be deep enough inside you. how it’s just not enough for him. is kind enough to pull out and cum on himself. unless you ask otherwise. wipes it off with his fingers and puts them in your mouth. cum is watery, and tastes as such. maybe slightly salted water. decent aftercare. wipes you both off, makes sure you’re okay, and if it’s not nighttime, he’s going to continue about his day, in a notably less lax, more focused manner. he’ll see what he can get done today in his post nut clarity. willing to bottom if he’s feeling particularly pretty (spoiler alert tavish always feels particularly pretty), but he’s kind of a brat. snarky, almost scathing shit talker until you push inside of him. the yapping stops very fast as he opts for deep breaths and quiet curses, his breathing turning into pants as he clutches at the sheets. bossy. demands more. harder. deeper. fuck him like you’ve got some life in you. and he’s not riding so don’t ask. will tie you to the bed if you tell him to “do whatever”. probably likes feet. not enough to have a fetish but he likes a pretty, soft foot with a polish on the toes, he’ll kiss them. good at massages, if by massages you mean maybe five minutes of a truthfully nice massage before he can’t help but start palming himself through his pants. maybe not the smartest idea to ask him to give you a massage. unless that’s what you wanted. drunk sex is nasty. and rowdy. and wet. he can’t keep focus on anything other than how good you feel and how good he can make you feel, and he makes it known as he slurs in your ears about being his good little toy. he’ll push you to the limit when he’s drunk. heavy handler, digging his fingers into your sides to keep you in place so he can use you as he sees fit. it almost hurts but the man’s gifted where it matters, and that’s hitting your g spot. he’s got the motion of your ocean down. he’ll clean you up after. don’t worry. you might have fingerprint sized bruises after. he’ll ask if you want to shower off after the first few rounds. that is a trap. say yes.

heavy: i hope you’re a size queen. heavy is a guy with a lot of weight on his shoulders. he wants to lay back and let someone else take the reigns. ride him to your heart’s content. suck him off. do what you want. he’s just not doing any work to get you there. unless you beg for him. a satisfying eight inches. thick. circumcised. no notable veins. likes a good cockwarmer. enjoys just being inside someone. likes the heat. he’ll fall asleep like that. just pull you close to him and he’s done, he’s going beddy byes. he doesn’t really care if he cums or not, it takes him so long to get there that he gets bored before he gets close. frankly; he thought he didn’t care about sex because he has a lot of responsibilities. he thought that until he saw the medic. now he’s just pretty sure he’s kinda gay. because he does still appreciate a womanly figure, and he is aroused by women regularly, but he wants that german biblically and constantly. in the bed. on the floor. against the wall. on the battlefield. in the shower. in the car. on the operating table. behind the building. in the park. in the rain. missionary. doggy style. 69. butterfly. corkscrew. cowgirl. rocking horse. he wants that man wrapped in a bow. stuck in the washer. naked and asleep in his bed. in a nurse outfit. stockings included. cuffed bound and gagged. he wants to make him cry. he wants to overpower and overwhelm that man and die inside of him. he wants to fuck that man until he’s stupid. until all he can think of is how good he feels. he wants to make messes of their clothes and sheets and bodies. he wants to break those stupid fucking glasses. heavy’s killed medic before. he knows what it takes to crush him. he wants to know what it takes to break him. medic will talk to him and he’s gone. thinking of the best place he can go to take care of this poor man. the doctor asks if he’s still with him, he answers honestly: “no.” if he’s asked what he’s thinking about, it’s another simple answer: “you.” the doctor doesn’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. he’s touched nonetheless. heavy blinks and sees medic naked, writhing and panting underneath him in the fractions of the second his eyes are closed, and he opens them and the doctor is right there. clothed, if marginally concerned. he hears his name so clearly as the doctor pants it out to him, but as he turns to face him, it’s simply “heavy”. both the fantasy and the reality are comforting. they leave him satisfied. quiet during sex, if not actively asleep or feeling a little more domineering, and when he’s the latter he’s not… a particularly nice partner. he doesn’t yell, or hit you. but mercy is not given. he’ll go slow, if you beg for it. but if you’re just bitching he’ll say that. he’ll scoff as he presses into you, affirming that you can take it, you can be his good little doll and take it or you can be a disappointment and leave. frankly, getting heavy to do anything you want comes with a lot of begging and bargaining. he enjoys the psychological warfare, in a way. he is kind, but he doesn’t have to be. he doesn’t always want to be. he’ll eat you out, but you’re not allowed to cum. he’ll finger you, but only one finger. don’t get greedy. or do. see what he decides is a better compromise. he pulls hair. he can encompass an entire scalp in his hand, and he pulls back with careful control. significant eye contact. gentle biter. also a licker. he loves tasting the sweat off your skin, it’s addicting to him, and it’ll always lead into him biting down, running his tongue along the indentations his teeth make on your skin. if he’s more lax, gives ample warning when he’s close. if he’s feeling a little mean, you’ll just have to wait to hear his breathing change. cums with a long, warm sigh. doesn’t pull out. won’t pull out. pulls you closer and snuggles up. get comfortable. so warm. almost stiflingly so. with his arms draped over you and his breath on the back of your neck, there’s no escape from the heat he emanates. does not go for more than one round, but if he doesn’t cum then it’s all one round, right?

engineer: PUT THE HORSE IN THE STABLE, YOU DO NOT NEED IT FOR THIS RIDE. the ultimate fantasy he has, anytime he’s a little horny, is him walking into his workshop and seeing a siren on his workbench, or his bed, or on the floor, naked and natural, either reading a book or tinkering with something or watching tv, doesn’t matter, just that whoever it is is sexy and will invite him to come sit next to them, and won’t pull away when he gets handsy. likes belly piercings, he thinks they’re hot. is an ass man. loves squeezing hips and ass and thighs and watching his hands sink into the skin, he starts to drool. please ride him. please ride him on the bed, on the floor, in a chair. he does spank, and he will put you over his knee to do so. he’s aiming for bruises. a rough lover, but very kind with his words. knows how to use his accent to keep you engaged. likes to talk to you. almost doesn’t shut up. it would be worse if he didn’t sound so damn sexy. it’s almost condescending. like you’ve never had sex before. almost forces your hips to rock against his as he croons compliments about how well you’re doing; and asks whether he’s making you feel as good as you’re making him feel. kisses with tongue, and he will stick his entire tongue down your throat. he wants to taste you in your entirety. the man’s a maker, and that includes toys. did someone say sex machines? exhibitionist. ties you up, sets up a camera, turns the machine on, tells you to behave yourself and leaves. if he likes you he’ll give you a kiss before he goes to continue on his day. and if he really likes you he’ll tell someone else to check in on you. they don’t get to touch though. and don’t think you won’t get a say! if you make a very nice request on who comes to check in on you he’ll see if he can swing it. he’s not asking scout, and he thinks it would actually traumatize pyro, so pick one of the other six. it makes him feel better about himself having someone see you in such a vulnerable state. it’s a hard brag, he’s not gonna lie. you’re the treat he’s waiting for back in his workshop. loves coming back to you, ruined and exhausted. he’ll pull you off the machine, and clean you up, before you hear his overalls hit the floor. engie has a really nice dick. a filling 5.5 inches, circumcision done by an angel, thick. balls are picturesque. tip gets bright red. it just looks so good. you just want to suck it. it looks like it’ll explode if you don’t put it somewhere inside you in seconds of him getting hard. and he doesn’t say anything about it, but it almost looks painful. you’ll relieve him though. he loves teasing you with his dick too, he’s so mean. he makes you beg for it. taps it against your cheek; runs the tip, beading with precum, along your bottom lip. cum is very salty. almost not good. but are you gonna tell him that when he’s asking you to swallow? be his good baby and you’ll get rewarded. his major weakness is criers. he starts to feel so bad, it kills his mood. unless you’re crying because you want him that badly. then you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. you should beg for him to stay. he ultimately won’t, he really wants to, but he’ll allow himself to be a little late if it means you’ll stop crying. he won’t bully you as hard, even if he thinks you look cute with tears running down your cheeks and dick in your mouth. this man will tie you up in the basement and use you until he’s bored, and then he will leave you to die. as overwhelming as it all is, if you’re looking for longevity, sexual relationship wise, or you don’t want to get hooked only to wake up on a random tuesday and find he’s gone, permanently, force him to pump the brakes. or take charge yourself. he might be a freak but he’s not heartless, he might really like you! but if he just sees you as his sexual partner it’s harder to break through because he’s only focused with the mutual physical benefit, and not really thinking about forging a bond. and one more thing. get out before his post nut clarity hits or you’re not gonna get another opportunity to. he won’t be done with you.

medic: HERBERT LUDWIG!! medic sees sex with women like he sees recreational drugs. a very nice treat every once in a while, but he overdid it when he was young. it’s just not something he’s nearly as interested in anymore, unless the lady in question is one of a madly curious kind. he’s found more niche interests. harder drugs, so to say. reality shifting mind fucking eldritch edgelord looking for a well hung stag who can peer into the void and cum on its face, aftercare not wanted. literal edgelord, he won’t let you cum without punishment. favorite thing to say is “not yet.” he loves being overstimulated. he personally isn’t going to stop until he’s crying for you to give it a rest. but if you try to stop, he’s going to beg you to keep going. he’ll fall asleep on you if you last that long with him. he needs a safe word, desperately. yes, you may fuck him on the operating table. as long as you return the favor and let him operate. will stick his dick in a wound with a chuckle. unnecessarily loud. like a cat in heat. with all credit to the man, he tries to be quiet, but if you’re good… he can’t help it, okay. stick something in his mouth to shut him up or risk getting caught. be careful though, he bites. had a prince albert. an appreciable six inches. six and a quarter, if you ask him. thin. large veins on the underside. curves to the right. circumcised. he will choke you out on his cock. pushes you down until he can feel your throat spasming around the tip, and that gets him hot. don’t be scared to return the favor! choke him out! slap him! he likes it! you might give him a heart attack if you slap him out of the blue, maybe warn him first. or don’t! he won’t mind! too much! he has a fantasy of being collared and led around the field by a leash. it’s one of his favorite fantasies. it’s not even sexual, not in his mind anyway, but it always gets him off. the idea of heeling dutifully into open fire. without the choice to back out. not that he does anyway, but the idea that whoever’s leading him around has his life in their hands much more than he does theirs, and then they let him die makes his blood rush. he doesn’t even get to the part in his imagination where he gets actually hit with the bullets, he’s cum well before then. he’s going to wear his glasses and they’re going to fall off, learn to dodge them. picturesque back muscles and biceps. the bulk of the weight of the medigun is on his back and in his hands. he has got traps and delts for days, i just know it. the way they’d flex in dim lighting. i know he looks so good naked in a bed. asleep, awake and reading, half covered (or fully covered) by the comforter. he’s not laying in a bed naked and uncovered. get him a blanket. and put his cum in a brita. watery, and it tastes as such. slight tang. and i don’t care that he probably smells like bleach and blood and viscera. i just know the smell of the infirmary post sex is addicting, like sucking on a button battery. and the doctor will never deny a rimjob. he keeps clean. he’s a particularly boring top because topping bores him more often than it doesn’t, unless you’re suggesting something particularly intriguing. it’s not the worst thing in the world, it feels good, just not good enough to cum. it’s good foreplay, he’s engaged with it enough, he’s even notably nicer as a top! doting, playful, kind— if you could put it that way! but it’s because he’s getting bored. and he’s really hoping you’ll take note and return the favor, whatever that may mean to him. it’s hard to keep the doctor’s attention and interest, sexually. he’s a busy man, and he’s got a lot of things he can do that he has decided to put off to indulge himself. the second he thinks there’s something better to do he’s going to go do it, and he will be notably frustrated that he wasn’t satisfied on his end. so maybe don’t initiate unless you’re sure you can swing it with him in the way he needs it. he’s not the easiest man to be around when he’s frustrated. and if you’ve disappointed him once he’s not going to give you the opportunity to do so again.

sniper: depends on when you catch him, really. snipes is a man that can do it all if it’s asked of him. he will certainly try to give you everything you need. you want a night under the stars so good you’ll cry while he tells you about how the glow of the moon illuminates the tear stains on your face and makes you that much more beautiful that will leave you sore and emotionally depleted the next day while you look over and see he’s made you some coffee? he can do that. you want to get chased through the forest for thirty minutes up to nightfall (depending on how good you are at surviving) that he tossed you in until you get genuinely panicked that you’re lost and he gets bored watching you run around in circles (literally, you’re just making big circles and you’re not actually getting anywhere) and blows a tranq dart in your asscheek and you wake up bound and naked in the van? he can do that too. either way you get maybe one really good session a month with snipes. and it’s in that one session that lasts maybe 48-72 hours, that you need to take advantage of it and make him do everything you could ever want him to. otherwise, don’t bother him with anything too fancy during the day. suck him off, put your genitals in his face to lick on, call it a day. master of the quickie, talented with his hands. hard biter. gets him off faster. and the faster he can satisfy you both the faster he can get back to his own business that he’s got for the day. snipes is really busy for a guy who seemingly does nothing all day, but trust him, he’s got a full plate. do you think he actually pays attention to the no-compete clause? its amazing what an ad can do for business. i digress… tall guy, big hands, long dick. satisfying seven inches, but not girthy at all. left ball is bigger than the right, saggy and uncut. that man hasn’t worn underwear since he was ten. you know he’s freeballing it. whole thing gets real red and oozes precum. snipes does not take long to get going, to bust, nor recover for another round. he’s just not interested in the general messiness of sex. to him it is a thing done to procreate and if he’s not trying to procreate he shouldn’t be doing it. and most of the time, he’s not trying to procreate. does his best work irritated, but do not pester him too often. though, if you ask very nicely, he’ll let you suck him off in his nest. he cannot state enough how much he needs both hands to do his job. he can spare his dick. he can’t spare a hand or an eye to help you out. so get what you need then get off. but, when he’s feeling a little more tender and he can spare you a night, and he can tell you’re needing attention… he’ll show you a better time. will NEVER fuck in the base no matter how inclement the weather gets. he’d rather get frostbite. he’d rather get ticks. and you can theoretically be as loud as you want outside. at least if anyone hears you they won’t see you unless they’re creeping. speaking of which, he is also a creep. he’ll watch you through your bedroom window, hide under your bed, watch from a crack in your closet. if you let him, of course. he’s only vocal when he feels like he can be. which is not in a room. but when he’s in the van, or you’re out in the middle of nowhere, he’s begging for you. pleading for you. grabbing at whatever he can and burying his nose in the crook of your neck and using you as a personal inhaler, then he bites down. once he’s latched on, you’ve got a solid ten more thrusts out of him before he cums. and it’s pathetic. it shakes him, his voice will crack, and he will fall limp, holding you as close as he possibly can. even if he pulls out. he doesn’t care. you can both be dirty. and he lays there for a moment, taking you in in the darkness. if he doesn’t get lost in the post nut clarity, he’ll grab whatever fabric is closest and wipe you both off. then he’ll ask if he can grab you something to drink or anything to eat. but he’s not gone from the bed for more than a minute. he will come straight back with what you need and crawl back into the bed. he gets great sleep after sex.

spy: if spy knew that the only thing he had to do to get pyro off his back was fuck the thing until it got bored he would’ve done it years ago. sex is a tool that spy knows how to use, and thoroughly enjoys using on any and all sexes. a man who will not deny himself a good time, he has been an active member of many orgies, and found his stride in one on one, one on two, and one on three, and one on four settings. once you get to five he starts struggling to keep up alone. a lovely six inches, uncut and shaven with no notable veins. capable hands. talented tongue. that’s why he starts losing ground past four other sexual partners at a time. but for those lucky four, he’s a drug most are unwilling to quit on their own. king of gentle sex, god of a rough session; and the mask stays on either way. and he’ll admit— if there’s a glory hole he’s using it! almost physically unable to not stick his dick in random holes. spy does have a high libido, but he is never hurting for sex. almost like demo’s shit list, but for sex, spy has multiple pages of a roster of people’s full government name, pictures, current phone number, and preferred sexual acts included. he can comb through to find exactly what he’s looking for at any time, and it’s pretty obvious when he’s on the hunt for an addition to the list. he’s fun, he’s flirty, he’s smooth, obscenely smooth. smooth like the ice cream of a root beer float. sweet like one too. he’ll show you a great time before you’re even thinking of sex; then he springs it on you. he is not very… subtle, in that sense. it’s very quick from one of the best dates you’ve ever been on to “take off your clothes”. and you’ll do it too. loves a good ride, he will lay back and watch you, stifling groans and fighting his eyes closing just so he can watch himself enter and exit you. loves snowballing, he likes the taste of himself. he thinks if you don’t you have self esteem issues. he is just as pleased to be on top of a good ride. he’s willing to cut loose a little more if he bottoms, a little more open to making some noise. he’s an encouraging lover in that sense; he can be whatever you want as long as he’s in the mood for it. but he won’t contact you if he isn’t currently interested in your sexual style. and do not contact him, because he will contact you when he wants you. he is the only one in his life who is allowed to solicit others for sex. approaching him for sex first will get you laughed at, rejected, and you’ll probably be the topic over coffee for the next morning. he might still call you in a couple days, though. and adventurous as he may be, that does not make spy a cheater. but anything he does couldn’t be considered cheating because he’ll never get into a committed monogamous relationship again. he might try a polycule if the people in it are interesting and different enough. and he’s got an insane swinger radar. it’s a little funny, because he hates swingers. with a deep seeded vitriol. the second you approach him with the “my partner and i noticed you from across the bar and we really liked your vibe—” he will tell you to fuck off. aggressively. and he’s spot on, every time. he also will not cuckold, or be the bull in a cuckolding relationship. he is a big kinkshamer. both in and out of bed. even if he likes the kink you’re proposing, he’s gonna make you feel like a freak about it first. then he’s gonna do it. “you want to tie me up? that’s disgusting, that’s crass, here’s the rope, do it right.” “why would you be interested in my feet? i only just got a pedicure. don’t suck on my toes, i hate the sensation.” cum is thick but not sticky, with an after burn almost like liquor. fun to play with and to eat. he’ll even eat it out of you if he cums inside. sloppy eater. not because he’s bad, but because he loves oral. he gets a little lost in the sauce, and can and will be down there for a solid hour. deep, wet kisses, yes he does use tongue. it does something to him to be connected to you by a string of saliva. post coitus is nice. he’ll share a cigarette with you. then he has to go do his job.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 heavy #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 engineer #tf2 pyro #tf2 spy #tf2 demoman #tf2 demo #can i maintag this?? should i maintag this??#i don’t know how you tag this stuff anymore #well tell me if i need to add a tag and i will

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peaches2217 · 7 months ago

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WOOOOOOOOOO

I GOT A HATEFUL MESSAGE ON ANON AND I IMMEDIATELY DELETED IT WITHOUT GIVING THEM THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT

I am FLOURISHING!

#I’ll probably delete this later but I’m proud of myself so I’ll celebrate for a sec! just for now 😅😅😅#I surmised a couple days back/sometimes last week that I’m an easy target for such anons #because I always respond sincerely to hateful messages and just assume whatever I’m being told or accused of is true #I got another one earlier today that I couldn’t tell if they were being hateful or sincere but poorly worded but either way it stung #and while I did respond to it I ended up taking it down #I intend for this to be my method for dealing with hateful or questionable anons going forward! no more feeding the mean voices!#what better way to get them off your back than to bore them with a lack of reaction? 😅#I try to be open and communicative but it can (and routinely does I feel) backfire on me… so sometimes the answer really IS just giving up #people can think what they want. I’m just having a good time with my fat hairy italian and his statuesque princess wife #peaches screams into the void

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arolesbianism · 10 months ago

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Thinks oh so hard abt raccoon au printing pod doomed yuri.... What if you were a robot in love with your fellow robot but your past human selves had to fuck it all up and murder eachother 🙄

#rat rambles #oni posting #for context in the raccoon au both olivia and jackie get printing podded dw abt the logistics too much imagine joshua was involved or smth #but basically olivia semi unintentionally ai-ed the two of them after severely wounding jackie #it was the climax of years of brewing resentment and rage so she was acting quite irresponsibly #the two as pods both awken around the same time on different planetoids #you see the reason Im so committed to this idea is not just because of fun character stuff but also because of hypothetical gameplay stuff #the idea of starting on two planetoids that your dupes cant physically travel between but still having to manage both colonies through #teamwork between both colonies has always been an idea Ive been a big fan of #plus I get to imagine the two talking to eachother not knowing that they're like so mega divorced and also they both kind of sucked in life #and by kind of I mean one did an attempted murder and the other was jackie lol #it also gives me the fun space to play in to compare how I imagine ai jackie would be like compared to ai olivia #I imagine her being a lot more eager to build her colony at first until she starts finding gravitas stuff and starts throwing hissy fits #and by that I mean she gets genuinely rly upset and tried to go into denial before eventually cracking under the weight of her own memories #shed try to disctract herself with progress but since the dupes are deliberately designed to avoid progress shed get frustrated fast #now the duped Can invent new things and grow but jackie wouldn't know that and she'd assume they literally can't #she doesnt view her dupes very kindly and without the carrot of progress she'd start spiraling fast I think #this mixed with raccoon au stuff makes for a very messy combination since not only is there the this was all for nothing feeling but also #the this in question involved actively backstabbing the person she loved most and watching as she grew to hate her so much that she #attempted an actual murder against her and somewhat succeeded #and also said person is still around and is berating you for breaking down because she's better at repressing her memories than you #raccoon au jackie is rly the only one I think itd be particularly interesting to keep around post world ending because she already had some #very repressed guilt before the end so the idea of peeling off the film on that amd letting her pop is fun to me #I also like the idea because it forces olivia into a position where shes left for the rest of time with a woman she hated #and not knowing what to do with that as she finds herself feeling less and less towards the woman she one loved and hated #for raccoon au jackie removing her from the life she had before makes it all crash down on her that much harder #and for raccoon au olivia removing her from it makes it all feel oh so small in retrospect #this ofc differs massively from how Id characterize canon olivia and jackie as canon jackie would likely make for a much more boring pod #and rabbit au jackie can't be there because then shed just reassure olivia that shes done nothing wrong ever and theyd go back to their #doomed codependent toxic yuri ways for the rest of time

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months ago

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Oooohh i have a request!:

Playing “never have i ever” or something like that with logan and wade (maybe along the lines of a boring friday night with nothing else to do) and you admit to never having an orgasm by anyone but yourself

Flash forward you’re in logan’s arms and wade is eating the fuck out of your pussy, and then they switch 👀👀

i’ve written something similar two the second part here, but i love the never have i ever idea! // divider from @strangergraphics

boredom isn’t something heroes are used to. there’s always something happening somewhere, someone needing to be saved. but tonight, everything is quiet. the three of you were suspicious at first, but you checked every police scanner, news outlet, and all of your contacts and came up with nothing. the bad guys had decided to take an evening off, and now you were stuck with nothing to do.

you, wade, and logan all sit around in the living room with bottles of beer. you and wade stare at the mindless gameshow on tv while logan rests his eyes. you’re definitely bored, but wade is restless. it’s like he’s itching for something to do, like his body is physically unable to handle the inactivity.

“why don’t we play a game?” wade asks, startling logan awake.

the two of you look over at wade. “what kind of game?” you ask.

“i don’t know, ‘never have i ever?’”

logan rolls his eyes, then shuts them again. he’ll deny any “old man” comments, but he really is one. you elbow logan in the side and he opens them again.

“come on, it’ll be fun,” wade pleads.

“it’s not like we have anything better to do,” you say to logan. reluctantly, he agrees.

you reposition yourselves in the living room. you sit on the couch, leaned against the arm with your feet in logan’s lap, who sits on the other end. wade sits on the floor by the coffee table, his beer on the table without a coaster next to him.

“this is your game, wilson. you start,” logan says before taking a sip of his beer.

“no, don’t drink! you only drink if you’ve done the thing i say,” wade scoffs. how can logan be so old and still know nothing about fun? “okay, okay. never have i ever… gotten arrested.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him while logan takes a drink. you’re almost certainly wade has been arrested before. “i don’t think you’re playing this game right,” you say. “you have to say things you’ve never done.”

wade scoffs. “i haven’t been arrested, thank you very much. all the cops who’ve tried have mysteriously ended up with broken noses.”

you roll your eyes at him. “my turn now? never have i ever… cheated on a partner.”

both of them take drinks, wade with more shame than logan. ugh, men.

then it’s logan’s turn. “never have i ever worn a dress.”

you figure it’s targeted at you, just because logan’s a dick, but to your surprise, wade drinks too. logan raises his eyebrow at him, silently urging him to elaborate.

“you wish you saw that, huh, peanut?” he taunts instead. logan makes a face at that.

“i’m thankin’ god i didn’t have to.”

you play a couple more rounds, all three of you exchanging stories and sipping from your bottles. it takes a lot to get them drunk, but you’re starting to feel it. there’s a collection of empty bottles, mostly beer, but halfway through the game, wade decided to up the ante with some liquor.

it’s wade’s turn again and he says, “never have i ever been with two guys at once.”

he means it as a joke. he doesn’t expect anyone to drink. there’s no way logan would do something like that, and you’re too innocent. that’s why his eyes practically pop out of his head when you throw back the shot.

the game turned sexual a few rounds ago, but it was pretty mild stuff. talk about doing stuff in public, kinks, freaky shit like that. nothing as interesting as this.

both wade and logan turn their full attention to you, eager to hear this story.

“what?” you play dumb.

“two guys at once?” wade asks. you shrug.

“it wasn’t anything.”

“nah,” logan says, sounding interested for the first time all game. “you gotta tell us.”

you sigh. “it was a while ago. i met this couple at a bar and they said they were looking for a third. i had nothing better to do and they were both hot, so…” you trail off, shrugging again.

“give us the gory details. how’d you do it? daisy chain?eiffel tower? double cowgirl? triple spooning? come on, tell us,” wade rambles.

“you’re a fucking perv,” you tell him and he doesn’t deny it. “it was just normal dp.”

logan raises an eyebow. “that stands for double penetration,” wade tells him.

“i know that. i’m just wondering how you took it all,” logan says.

you’re used to this kind of talk from wade. the man thinks with his dick so much that you question if he even has a brain. you’re not, however, used to this from logan. he’s no prude, but he usually doesn’t participate in these kinds of conversations with wade.

“must’ve been a tight fit,” logan adds on.

you look between the men and their interested faces. you’re still pretty bored, the game having grown stale a while ago, and now you’re a tipsy. you want something exciting and right now, you’re feeling bold enough to persue it.

“do you wanna see?” you ask them.

wade and logan share a glance, but it only takes a second before they’re replying “yes” in unison.

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madamechrissy · 1 month ago

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Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- making out, masturbation (toru hehe), teasing and some very kinky ass thoughts, but mostly TENSION. Eventually - Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink. Gonna be a miniseries, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. WC this Part- 7.5k

Songs for this - Lose Contol // My Boo // Friends

This was supposed to be a oneshot but it's going WAY too long, so I'm separating it into three parts! (Also ty for 5k hehe) Comments and reblogs appreciated <3

Masterlist - Part Two>>>

Part one

“You love me, right?”

You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, he’s been your best friend all throughout high school and even before you’ve known him. You’re sitting across from him, while he’s sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.

“What’d you get into this time, Toru?” You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.

“Excuse me, missy? I’m just asking if you love me.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. “Of course, you know I love your goofy ass.”

Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you haven’t today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.

Being Satoru Gojo’s best friend wasn’t for the weak.

“How much you love me, hmm?”

“What is it you need, an alibi?” He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.

“M’not Suguru, shit… no, I need a really big favor. Like… the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.”

“Okay this isn’t a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?” Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.

“What if I said I’d help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?”

“Satoru, I don’t want your money, I do fine okay?”

“Your car is old enough to drink.”

“Fuck off!” Your glare makes him snort in laughter. “It is not, it’s like… not even old enough to vote… I don’t think.”

“It’s old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?”

“Satoru this isn’t Pretty Woman-”

“I love that movie!”

“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.

Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.

You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.

Not you and Satoru though.

For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.

“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.

“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”

“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”

“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.

“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”

“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“If I want to, what exactly?”

“Marry me?”

“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.

“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”

“Satoru…”

“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”

“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”

You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”

Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”

You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”

“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”

“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.

“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”

“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.

“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”

“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”

“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”

“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.

You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”

“Alright.”

“What!?”

He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”

“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”

“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.

“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.

“Satoru, you're insufferable.”

He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips. “Aww you’re still such a brat, since middle school.”

“You’re the brat here.”

“Meanie.” You both stick your tongues out, and when he’s walking you over to your shitty car, he wraps you in a big hug in his strong arms, making you melt against him. “Mwah, mwah, mwah you’re the best friend ever.”

“Oh, stop.” He’s smacking kisses on your head as you inhale his cologne, sighing as you contemplate just what the fuck you’re doing. “When do we do this?” You ask, pulling back a bit and looking up at him.

“I can have things going in a couple weeks, something super simple, like I said we’ll just live our lives, just be friends, it’ll be fine. Like a really long sleepover, hmm?” He teases, grinning now, putting back on his shades.

You figure, what’s it hurt? Your apartment is shitty, your car is old, Gojo is your best friend, and you’re down to help him avoid a miserable marriage for as long as he can. You nod then, smiling. “A long sleepover.”

One week of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

Satoru Gojo thought he would control himself decently living with you, considering how many times you’ve slept over, how many movies you both have crashed out on the couch together. He’s seen you in bathing suits over the years, he’s caught glimpses of your pretty body of course, he knows how beautiful you are and he’s always maintained himself.

Satoru treasures you far too much to fuck it up in any way, despite the amount of times he’s almost lost it. Aside from Suguru, you have been the most important person in his life, and perhaps you’re closer now. But he can’t help but compare other girls to you over the years, and he usually makes quick work of the small relationships that he has with them.

However, what he hadn’t anticipated? Living with you walking around in your fucking panties and a crop top.

You nearly took him out the first morning you were here, when he went to brush his teeth, he has a huge house but of course you went to the main bathroom that divides his room and the room he set for you, it’s the bathroom you used when you stayed over. So he should have maybe anticipated it, but nothing prepared him for you bent over the sink, washing your face.

Your ass looked far too tempting in those damn boyshorts, half of each cheek tempting him to smack it, grab it, fucking lift you by it and slide into you. He was shocked when he was hard from the sight of it, he’s not inexperienced or not used to women, and he’s used to you, but something about the sight made him fucking feral, and he had to literally run to one of his guest bathrooms.

He now was almost used to you walking around in almost nothing, but this morning you’re in some little white tank top and he sees the outlines of the curve of your pretty tits, sees your nipples perked up, begging for his mouth. You’re wiping your eyes, yawning, using his Keurig to make coffee, smiling at him as if this is in any way normal or okay.

He gulps as you turn your attention to him, hair in a messy bun, his eyes struggle not to just stare at your body, he has to shut his mouth because it’s just slightly ajar. Satoru, a man who sees women naked frequently, fuck he has business meetings at strip clubs, nudity is nothing. But he can’t take it, take how your breasts are calling for him, how your thighs shift.

“Good morning, Toru! We have that event tonight, right?” You say sweetly, as his heart hammers in his chest, and then you feel his gaze on you, making your nipples tighten, more apparent as you look where he is now, biting your lip. “Shit, white isn’t the best color huh? How embarrassing… it’s kinda cold…”

“Yeah, cold.” He clears his throat, stepping closer, and your eyes drink him in, shirtless and built so perfect. You’ve seen him this way of course over the years, Satoru had no issue pulling his top off to work out, play a game of ball, but something about him in his soft sweats that show too much makes your brain run awry.

You should be immune to it, the god-like body Satoru Gojo has, how fucking perfect he is built, how pretty he is, but something makes your tummy heat up lately, especially when he comes closer, blue eyes lidded. “Um, I’ll make coffee?”

“Yes please.” He smiles sleepily, far too pretty, and you have to remind yourself, as you have all week, that you’re not with him, not truly.

It feels too easy, too comfy.

That was the point though.

“Got it.” You turn now, setting to put the pod in, tiptoeing to get his sugar, he chuckles deeply, reaching above you now, far too close to you, his bare chest pressing against your upper back. Your fingers grip the counters, feeling the cool granite of them, your breath catching.

“I’ll put them a little lower.” He teases, smirking as he sets them down, leaning a hip on the counter, and you smile, pretending to be calm, like your heart didn’t just beat out of your chest.

You’ve literally hugged this man every time you’ve seen him, you’ve even crashed next to him, why is he fucking with you so badly!? You suppose his presence in pieces was just easier to cope with than anything, but now your brain keeps having ridiculous images. Him having you up on that counter, your thighs spread, so intense you drop the spoon, it clatters to his tile floor.

“Shit, sorry.” You bend down, and your breath is right against him, over his thin sweats, and you look up at him, creating the worst images of his best friends he can ever imagine.

“It’s… fine.” He clears his throat, turning so you don’t see the clear evidence of what you’ve done.

“You okay, Toru? Tons of sugar, like usual?”

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff, as he glares at his cock, willing it to go down, you blink curiously at his back, wondering what’s wrong. You clear your throat again and hand him the cup, stepping next to him, he takes it, having put his cock up in the waistband of his boxers now, smiling nonchalantly. “Thanks sweets.”

“Of course! Can we go over a few things later today, before we go? I don’t wanna fuck anything up.”

“Of course we can. I also ordered you a dress and some jewelry, that cool?”

“Oh what? I have dresses, pretty ones!”

“I know, it’s really uppity bitches there though, you need something top notch.”

“Oh…” You trail off, a blush decorating your cheeks now, making you look even more tempting. “But you don’t know my size?’

Satoru brushes a tendril of hair that’s come out of your bun then, smirking just a bit. “Think I don’t know your size, sweetheart?”

“I… um…” Satoru has you flustered, dammit. “Oh?”

“Mhmm.” As if he hasn’t eyed your body a million times over. “It’ll be here later, I have to go to work for just a couple hours.” You nod then, for some odd reason wanting to kiss him, but you bite your lip instead.

“Sounds perfect, I have the day off!”

“Even better, go take a nice bath and relax before we deal with the snobby old fucks.” You giggle at him, you have always loved how he speaks of rich people, when he’s filthy rich, but Satoru? He’s very different.

He’s just…

Satoru.

Satoru’s heart doesn’t hammer in his chest, it almost falls out after he’s got his three piece pinstripe suit on, adjusting a skinny silk tie and peering at his silver Rolex, seeing what time it was, as you appear in front of him. The dress he picked out was a lacy black one, perfect for evening, but the way it hugs your every curve, the way your breasts are pressed up in that top?

You do a nervous spin, revealing your pretty back, the curve of your spine, the v neck so deep he sees hints of the dimples on your back. You turn back around, eyes glittering, enhanced with a little mascara and eyeliner, your lips the prettiest shade of red he can imagine. You look…

Beautiful.

Is that even the word?

How does he even explain it, when he’s speechless, when he feels his ears heat up at just how nervous he is to be in your presence then, eyeing a delicate gold necklace that hits just so in the hollow between your collar bones. You’re tilting your head to the side, hair falling softly in curls you’ve put it in, clutching your pretty little evening bag.

“How do I look, Toru? You look so handsome, but when don’t you.” You tease, and he tries not to look at the slit showing far too much of your pretty thigh, so tempting to slip a hand up it, find your surely pretty little pussy.

“You look…” He takes a breath, trying to act somewhat normal, smiling then. “You look… hot as fuck.”

You giggle then, rolling your eyes. “Oh whatever!”

“You look… amazing. Really.” He steps to you, giving into the temptation to brush the backs of his finger across the apple of your cheek, then across your jaw line, watching your breath catch, your red lips part, showing a hint of your little bottom row of teeth.

How would that pretty face look so fucked out?

God, it’s been a week, he needs to stop.

His hand falls, and you barely hold yourself together, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “You look beautiful, sweets. Gonna make quite the impression.” His husky admission makes you blush further, looking down and eyeing that little knot on his tie, as it’s like the entire room is holding its breath, everything so overwhelming, his nearness, his scent.

“Thank you, really for this dress. It’s so beautiful, and this.” You touch the pretty gold necklace, just making his eyes watch your pretty breasts rise and fall.

“Of course, it’s part of this, you know.” His little admission breaks you just a bit, for some insane reason, you felt like this was some date? You rein yourself in just a bit, smiling.

“Yes, but thank you. Shall we go, hubby?’

“We sure can, wifey.” You both laugh, the friendship of years prevailing finally, when you slip into the back of his limo with him, trying to ignore the feeling of his strong thigh pressing against yours, burning through the silky layer of the dress. “So remember the story?”

“Yeah, it’s easy to think of it happening, friends falling.” You then panic, as his blue eyes catch yours in the dark of the limo. “I mean-”

“No, of course it is. I’ll say that… I started falling in high school.” Because he did, god he did. After you all are about to be at the event, he notices it, your nerves, this just wasn’t your scene. “You look perfect, really.”

“Oh no…” He leans close, cupping your face, but it feels too good, your lips are too close.

“You do, gonna knock 'em dead, yeah?”

“We both will.” You smile tremulously, inhaling the night air greedily as you both walk up to the event, being ushered in. You’re clinging around his elbow as he casually goes about it, going into Mr. Gojo mode, you’ve seen him do it plenty over the years, still keeping his charm and sarcasm, but he’s just a force, the way he plays them all.

Knowing Gojo wants to take most of these people down is thrilling in its own way, you’ve always been enamored with how he fights for his principles, how real and raw he truly is with you about it. How humble when he’s come from everything, but still he knows that role he must play, and play it he does, his hand pressing on the small of your back as you two make small talk.

“I always thought of you two falling for each other.” Says your mom now, yes even your parents had to think it was true.

“I did too… so sudden though? Young love.” Gojo’s mom says, tossing back her silky long locks with a smile.

“What can I say? Your son is hard to resist, he’s so persistent. Like a cute little puppy.”

“A what!? Brat.” He’s glaring, but your parents and his mom are laughing, and you know it works, being real.

“Aren’t you two so in love?” Another person says later, as they observe Satoru placing a little peck on your temple, and he smiles with ease, not realizing the entire mess he’s making you.

“A beautiful couple. Gojo, you chose well.” One of his work friends says with a grin.

“We’re very lucky, both of us.” You say softly, stopping Gojo’s heart, when you peck a little kiss on his neck, tiptoeing in your heels, he turns then, your lips far too close, so close you taste the sweetness of his breath, and your eyes lock. “Aren’t we, Satoru?”

He blinks, realizing… you’re just helping him, and you’re nailing it. He tries to shove back the odd fluttering in his tummy, tilting your chin up. “We are lucky.”

The night ends up with plenty of dancing, plenty of schmoozing back and forth, and plenty of both of you being the perfect team. It was so easy, you both knew each other like no one else, the answers flow, the dancing flows, you’ve both danced in school before, you’ve partied together. You’ve been a plus one even as a friend.

Too natural, too perfect.

You soon need a breath, as you feel far too much as Satoru dances with a lovely girl, you recognize her, Gojo dated her and she’s a family friend. You assume she was a candidate for marriage as you recall her family ties, but seeing someone in his arms suddenly makes your heart break.

It’s only been a fucking week!? Can’t you keep it together!?

Later as you both get home, you’re taking off your shoes, wincing as the heels are off your feet, and Satoru looks at you curiously. “You okay, sweets? Kinda a long night of assholes, huh?”

“Oh it’s fine, Toru. Truly. Um… I recognized a couple girls there.”

“Yeah, they run in the same circles.” He takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves of that crisp white dress shirt, revealing the veins of his strong forearms, addling your mind further, how fucking attractive he is when he loosens that tie.

“Um, I know you said discrete, will you be… bringing them here?”

Satoru blinks at you, head tilting, soft white hair falling just so. “What? Bring who here?”

“Um, her, or any of the girls there really. If so I think I’ll probably… wanna know if you don’t mind? So I can make sure I’m in the room or whatever. A little notice?”

Satoru walks to you now, your head is tilted back when he hooks two fingers under your chin. “You think I am interested in them?”

“They’re beautiful. And we’re not together, so it’s fine! Just… a little notice would be cool?”

“And you, what if you bring someone over.” His jaw tenses, his words surprisingly sharp. “Will you tell me?”

You laugh softly. “That won’t even be a thing.”

“In a year?”

“It’s… never been a thing really.” You realize then, that you are almost spilling it, the fact that the entirety of your experience is one fuck in college, a two pump event that involved nothing really.

His brows draw together in disbelief. “Never? You don’t…”

“Listen, we’re best friends, but that’s private. Okay?” He nods, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck, looking down.

“Shit I mean you date a bit though?”

“Yeah, I do. But… it’s… I need to get out of this dress.” You say then, suddenly rushing to your room, leaving Satoru’s mind whirling.

How do you think he wants anyone when you’re here killing him.

“Toru?” You lean your head out from the bathroom a few moments later.

“Yeah?”

“This is embarrassing, but the zipper is stuck, and it’s so expensive… I don’t wanna fuck the dress up.” You murmur, he smiles, feigning ease as he steps into the bathroom, peering at you in the golden gilded mirror.

“No worries, got ya. Huh it is a little stuck…” He gently tugs at the zipper, humming a big. “Um… hang on I need to pull it up a bit.”

“Sure. Be careful!”

“You’re worried about this when I could buy you ten more tomorrow.”

“Still!”

He smiles at your reflection, hand palming your bare back then, making you bite back a gasp, body shifting in desire at just the touch, your eyes shut so he can’t see them rolling back, but he sees those goosebumps everywhere. He unzips it then, revealing lacy panties that make him pause, letting the dress fall, you’re catching it at the front, gasping.

“I think I got it.” He says huskily, unable to stop his fingers from trailing up your delicate spine, blue eyes so bright in the mirror they wreck you, while you barely hold the material on. “Need any more help?”

“No! I mean… n-no.” Shit shit shit.

You’re soaked from a brush against your back!?

“Got ya.” He smiles just a bit, leaving you now, resting his back on the door, hand running across his face, curious how he’s throbbing with precum from seeing your fucking back.

Two weeks of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend

You arrive at his work, the coworkers all greeting you so friendly, as his assistant Miwa escorts you, giving you both soft smiles. “Your wife is here Mr. Gojo.”

Satoru looks up in surprise, you’re in your pretty work dress, looking all cute and professional, holding a bento box in one hand, a boba in the other. You’re smiling brightly, as his lips part in surprise. “I had an early day and I thought I should bring some lunch?”

“Oh… oh thank you… Miwa if you could?”

“Of course, I’ll give you some privacy.” You hear her giggle and you smile at Satoru, looking as he’s leaned back in his big leather seat, smiling softly back at you, eyeing your hands.

“I get lunch made for me, shit I am lucky with my fake bride.” You snort, rolling your eyes and walking up to him, setting them on the desk.

“It seemed wifey to do? But also I really do have a short day, figured you might be hungry?”

Fuck you’re sweet.

Fuck you’re pretty.

God, you’re looking at him like that, leaned over just a bit, his eyes darting over your body that tempts him every day more and more, but your sweetness ruins him, the thoughtful nature you’ve always had, but now so geared to him. Is it all for show, he can’t believe it is when you open the bento and show him sushi, onigiri and greens placed so prettily his mouth waters.

“You ordered this, yeah?”

“No silly, I’ve been practicing. You helping me have some time off work has literally given me so much time… I hope they’re yummy? Oh, I didn’t make the boba though.”

“Why didn’t you get anything?” He asks, frowning.

“Oh I’m good, I just was dropping it off. You’re probably busy, taking down the villains huh?” Satoru’s words catch in his throat, looking you up and down again, before looking back down at the food in front of him.

“Stay a bit, it’ll… look good you know, us having lunch together.” He murmurs, lying out of his fucking teeth, as if he didn’t want to eat you then and there.

Your thighs spread, panties to the side, lapping you up?

Yummier than this. Killing him to imagine.

“Oh, um… where do I sit, over here?” You go to scooch a chair over, and he stops you.

“Nah those are heavy, come on.” He pats his thigh, earning your eyes widening, pulse fluttering as he smirks. “You’ve sat on my lap at parties plenty.”

“Y-yeah… but it’s… I…”

“C’mon, have a couple bites please, I’ll feel bad if you did all this for me and didn’t eat.”

“Satoru, you have bought me a new wardrobe and a car, can’t I make some sushi?”

“Sit.”

You sigh, it’s true you’ve sat on his lap, but the past two weeks of constantly being wet around him are taking their toll. You smile brightly, sitting on one of his thighs, praying he can’t feel it, the heat from your pussy as you’re pressed on a muscled thigh, and he’s picking up sushi with chopsticks, popping one in his mouth and moaning, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck that’s yummy. You made it for real!?” You giggle, nodding and trying to be more comfortable, it’s your Toru, right?

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. That’s got eel sauce on it, this one is the spicy crab.”

“You like spicy crab, here.” He pops one to your lips, and something feels too intimate, on his lap like this. “Open.”

Open.

Open!?

The pictures of you hearing him that while on your knees makes your cunt dribble, you shift nervously, clearing your throat.

“Open, silly.”

You do as he says, as he pops the roll in your mouth, and you chew, feeling the flavor hit your tongue, he grins now, popping another into his mouth, and you wonder if it’s easy for him to be this way. He’s so natural at it, sipping his boba and humming happily, all while his thigh presses where you’ve been aching for him, forcing yourself not to touch your pussy to the thought of him.

You can’t do that, it’s fucked.

You try to get up, and he presses you down, big hand on your waist, far too close when he leans the thick straw to your lips. “Take a sip, it’s so good.”

“Oh… um sure. Thank you.” You take a sip, lips pressing where his had, and he can’t stop focusing on how good your lips look, wrapping as you suck, cheeks hollowing and making his cock twitch.

You both sit there then, staring at each other, breaths coming just a little too quick from you, as he sets the drink down, but you stay on his lap. “Y’know… the event tonight, we should probably actually kiss? There will be cameras all over.”

“Kiss!?” He laughs then, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of part of it. You’re comfy with it right, not gonna fall head over heels.”

“Psh.” You already have, long ago, it’s all fucking hitting. “You’re so cocky, Toru I swear.”

“I can’t help it, my lips are so talented, you know. Makes girls fall.” He brushes his silky hair back, winking at you then, and you swear you can hear your heart in your goddamn ears.

“I remember you were pretty good.”

“Yeah, you remember?”

“Yeah it… was my first kiss.” You mumble then, looking away, sipping his boba nervously, he blinks rapidly, blue eyes wide in shock.

“What now!?”

“No biggie, we were like seventeen…”

“But you… never told me?”

“It was embarrassing.” Satoru’s mind races to that night, as does yours, as you sit in his office, just the hum of the fan and soft music playing from his little device, staring at each other, both in a haze.

You and Satoru Gojo were thrown in a closet together, you’re sighing as you’re pressed against him, peeking at your phone in the dark to see the time. Being too close to Satoru wreaked havoc on your brains at times, though you have known him so long, you couldn’t lie and act like you didn’t think of things… kissing him, maybe dating him? But you know they’re silly thoughts.

“Don’t freak out, we’ll just let 'em think we made out.” He says now, and you turn your eyes up to him, adjusting in the dark, but even here you can see the glint of those bright baby blues.

“Y-yeah. You’ve kissed plenty, though.”

“You haven’t really?”

“Um, no.”

Satoru’s gently turning you to him now, tilting your chin up while his eyes adjust to see your pretty face, you’re thankful it’s so dark that he couldn’t see your blush. “We could practice, you know.”

“Satoru!”

“What? A little practice between friends? You know you wanna kiss me.” He taunts, teasing tone as he grins.

“No way!”

“Not at all? I’m hurt, sweets.”

“Oh whatever, it'd be weird, we’re too close. Do you kiss Suguru?”

“Oh yeah, have you seen him?”

You both laugh then, when he leans down just a bit. “Well, if you kissed Suguru, I feel left out now.”

“We can’t have that. Show me what you do know, I’ll advise.”

“Kissing expert, hmm?”

“Mhmm.” You lean up then, as he bends down, your arms wrapping around his neck, you pause as his hands press against your waist, making your heart race. “Ya scared?”

“No! Goofy ass.” He’s chuckling until you lean up, pulling him down for a kiss, and your lips meet for the first time.

Your first kiss.

He pauses, your lips connecting just do something. Satoru at seventeen had done plenty of make out sessions, but they were fun, something to do, exciting at times, but nothing prepared him for it. For your sweet lips on him, tingling them, his heart beating in his chest.

Satoru falters, and he never falters.

He doesn’t slip his tongue in, he doesn’t pull you close, he freezes, so in shock at how good it feels, how right it feels. You ease back, nervous then, clearing your throat, as he hasn’t moved his lips. “I’m sorry I’m not…”

Satoru yanks you against him then, pressing your body on his, kissing you over and over, so deeply, taking your breath away, you’ve never felt something like this, you’re trembling as you feel his tongue slip against the seam of your lips. “Open them up for me.”

This isn’t silly Satoru, goofy ass friend, his husky declaration destroys you, and he uses the gasp to slip his tongue inside, swirling with yours, igniting something between you that night that you will both avoid talking about for years. When he presses you against the closet door, sighing into your lips, and you’re being picked up in his arms, as your mouths move over each other.

You both pull back, gasping as the timer goes off.

What was that!?

“If I’d known it was your first kiss, maybe I wouldn’t have… gotten so excited.” He says with a little pink on his cheeks.

“No, you didn’t cross any lines, Toru. Don’t worry.”

He wants to laugh, because oh, he wanted to.

If he’d had more time he’s sure he’d have lost it, whatever control he has now he did not have as a seventeen year old. “Was it a good one at least?”

“The best a girl could have.” You say softly, smiling at him then, making his heart race when you both sit there, far too close, and he swears he can feel your heat against the hand that’s on your thigh.

“I know I’m pretty amazing hmm?” He teases, trying to hide the raging storm inside of him, you giggle, shaking your head and standing finally.

“You’re a conceited little shit.”

“Hey!?”

You’re both back at ease, as he stands now too, looming so tall over you, his presence making it hard to remember why you’re here. “I should go.”

“We should practice, though, yeah?”

“I mean… you think we’re that rusty?” You try to feign ease, he smiles then.

“Yeah, we gotta be. We’ll bump our heads together or some shit.”

“Okay… um…” You take a sip of his boba then, clearing your throat and smiling up at him. “Let’s practice.”

Satoru brushes his thumb across your chin, your ass pressed against his desk and you’re pinned between it and him, your hands sliding up his starch white dress shirt slowly, eyes lowering to his glossy lips. He presses a kiss against your lips, and you then know it, more than ever.

Nothing is like kissing Satoru.

Nothing is like his lips making contact with yours, as your eyes close, the feeling of him working his lips over you so gently, making you tremble, making you ache in ways you have tried to hide, to avoid. He pulls back, cupping your face and exhaling, his snowy lashes low over cerulean eyes, his lips parted just so, as you both stare at each other, speechless.

You don’t know if he’s as affected, and neither does he.

“How’s that?” He asks softly, and you lean up, your fingers enwrapping in his hair, as two of his hands bar you on either side.

“Maybe one or two more? To look natural.” You whisper, and you expect a smirk, or something cocky, conceited, but he slams his lips on yours now.

His tongue is swirling against yours in moments, as you both devour each other, hungry and needy, kissing each other desperate, messy now. A kiss like you’ve never had, as his hands press against your hips, then he lifts you on the desk, your thighs around his hips, making you cry out. The sound causes him to lose any semblance of control, he’s biting your lower lip, moaning into your mouth.

“Mmm!” Your hands pull his hair now, as his slip up your bare thighs, and then you feel it, the hardness under his slacks against your heat, your panties already sticky and damp, and you pull back with a gasp.

Your eyes shoot up to his when you break apart for just a moment, and Satoru’s breath is coming in little pants, his fingers scrunching your skirt up your hips, yanking you closer. You whimper now, head falling to the side, and he’s kissing down the side of your neck, your breasts pressing against his chest, dying for him inside you, as he’s ready to fuck you right on his desk.

“Satoru… what are-” You’re trying to whisper when his lips find the shell of your ear.

“I need-”

Knock knock knock.

You both pull back, his eyes dilated to the point they’re dark, his hands still on your bare skin, as his eyes dart down your body. “Yes?” He manages gruffly.

“Twenty minutes until your meeting Mr. Gojo.” You hear, and he curses softly, turning away, trying to calm his nerves, his racing heart, all while you’re hopping down, trying to pull yourself together.

You’re almost darting out of the door when he sees you. “Shit, please…”

“No, no. We um… were practicing?” You manage to whisper, as his hand is over yours on the knob. “I got carried away.”

He laughs, without humor. “You did?”

“I did. I’m sorry I don’t even do this.”

“Just how… inexperienced are you?” He asks softly.

“A lot.”

Because she can’t help but compare every man to Satoru Gojo.

“Well, you can’t tell, you’re an amazing kisser.” You blush furiously, looking down, biting your lower lip.

“You don’t have to say it.”

“You are, shit. My god.” He brushes your hair off the side of your neck, exhaling, breath tickling you, setting your body on fire.

“Thank you, so are you. We will be good to go tonight, you think?” You whisper, so nervous to say what you want to, and he pauses, clearing his throat, his hand falling off your shoulder now.

“We’ll kill it. Thank you again for lunch.”

“Of course.” You brightly smile, trying to remember.

It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake.

As you’re repeating it in your head, Satoru is struggling to not lift your skirt up and fuck into you right on this door, he wouldn’t care if the entire office heard you scream his goddamn name. When you slip out the door he rests his head on it, the cool wood doing nothing to his overheated skin, hands clenching into his fists as he tries to calm himself.

What was that, what is that with you both?

He promised he would be respectful, he has to try to rein it all in, he has to make sure your friendship isn’t ruined because he can’t stop himself. Satoru tells himself that as he wills his cock to go down, but he can’t stop himself, soon he’s stroking it right in that seat, remembering feeling your pussy pressing against his length.

God he needs you, he shuts his eyes, imagining sinking inside you while he twists his hand up and down his length, desperate for any relief. He had some regulars he would call back in the day, but not only does it feel so wrong to do so, he doesn’t want anyone but you, he can’t even put a vision in his mind but you.

‘It’s fine, baby girl you can take me’ he murmurs softly, snowy lashes shut as he imagines fucking into you, stretching you god he bets you’re so tight, and he could feel that warmth, imagining you as he spits down on his pretty cock.

His pink tip is oozing precum while his head rests back in his office chair, he can still smell your scent, that shampoo you use, the body spray you have worn since high school, it’s you. He’d kiss every inch of your body, have you so ready you beg for him, fuck you so good tears pool in your pretty eyes, he can damn near feel is as his hand strokes faster and faster.

He lets out a soft groan, muttering a ‘that’s it, you’re so wet f’me, huh?’ to the very image of you on that desk, tasting your sweetness on his lips, while he pinches his tip, the precum and spit wetting his cock enough that the sound of him stroking fills his office. His breath quickens as he thinks of shoving your thighs up high, slamming into your cervix, ruining you.

As he cums white hot spurts all over his palm he cries out softly, the release feeling so good, he’s fought it, touching himself to you, but he can’t anymore. He quickly cleans up, panicking as he sees what he’s done, jerked off to one of his best friend’s in the world, someone who trusts him, and he’s not even holding himself together for shit now.

He exhaustedly leans his head against the desk as his alarm for the next meeting starts, struggling to remember this isn’t real, but his cock sure didn’t fucking realize that, and by the time he’s home and he sees you all dressed up for the next event? He almost has to go jerk off again.

You’re smiling all nervous in this beautiful glittering gown, and he’s once again speechless, trying to pull together his usual charm, but it falls flat. You look at him, concern clear on your features. “Everything okay Satoru?”

“Of course it is. Look at you.” He smiles, putting on the best show he can, as you wonder if you’ve over thought that kiss, he just seems so normal really.

Maybe he just got carried away, should you act normal too?But how can you, when just the brush of his hand on the small of your back shoots desire straight through your body. It’s only been two weeks, how could you hold out an entire year?

Sooo to have written this in a oneshot would have been INSANE but expect the next two parts very quicklyyy ;) Gojo is DOWN BAD my god- smut in the next hehe.

Part two

taglist #1: @plaggi @baepsays @victoria1676 @flwerie @luringfantasy @moncher-ire @allonyyourmom @kindablackenedsuperhero @evelynxxo @jkslaugh97 @sugurusfavemonkey @ninikrumbs @s4ikooo1 @bunheadusa @twinkling-moonlillie @chameleonsoul111 @nina-from-317 @naammiii @whippedbyikemen @alygator77 @uarmyhopeworldwide @1satoruu @theclassbookworm @jud3thedude @isleqt @mcromer2999-blog @silvarys @orikixx @jiejies-corner-store @assbutt-inlove-with-koreans @lordbugs @ari-sa @blue-musingss @minaa-06 @uhnosav @cvixmei @seeiin @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @honeybunnnnie @gojosukuna2268 @haruhatake @strychnynegirl @jinjen @give-em-hellkid

#gojo smut #satoru smut #gojo x reader #jujustu kaisen #satoru x reader #divider by cafekitsune #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #jjk x reader #friends to lovers #arranged marriage #jjk fics #gojo x reader smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo x f!reader #satoru gojo x female reader

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beloveds-embrace · 15 days ago

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Bakery/coffee shop au where you had a very specific policy: you never served people what they asked for.

It wasn’t out of spite, nor was it an act of rebellion against customer service norms. It was simply your way of making sure people got exactly what they needed rather than what they thought they wanted.

Most of your regulars had adapted to this- especially the elderly man who came in every morning demanding a single plain scone and left delighted with a caramel-drizzled apple turnover. But then you got a new group of people.

The first time they walked into your bakery, you knew exactly what kind of men they were.

Soldiers. Hardened, disciplined, probably running on fumes and caffeine, and if the way they carried themselves wasn’t an indication, it was their clothes. Though you weren’t surprised; there was a base nearby, and you’d wondered when soldiers would start dropping by.

They carried the weight of long nights and heavier burdens, eyes scanning every corner of your cozy little shop like it was some kind of trap. Which, to be fair, it might have been.

Because nobody left your bakery with what they ordered.

The first stepped up to the counter. Blue eyes settled on you, sharp and assessing, like he expected you to obey just like that..

“Black coffee, love. No sugar, no cream.”

You glanced him over. Stiff shoulders, exhaustion hanging off him like a heavy coat. He needed warmth. Comfort. Something to loosen the knots in his back before they set in permanently.

“Got it.” You said.

Next up was the one in the balaclava. Tall, imposing, eyes dark as pitch. “Tea. No sugar, no milk.”

You raised an eyebrow. Tea wasn’t a bad choice, but judging by the way his fingers twitched against the counter, he wasn’t looking for something soothing- he was looking for something mindless, something habitual. He needed a bit of a shake-up.

“Sure thing.” You lied.

The third one leaned against the counter. The cap on his head was placed strategically to make him look more attractive than he already was when he tilted his head. “Americano.”

“Of course.” You said, already planning something completely different.

And then there was the last one. Built like a tank, with a mohawk and a Scottish accent.

“Black coffee.” He said.

You nearly laughed. Absolutely not.

With their orders taken- and their fates decided- you got to work.

A few minutes later, you carried their drinks to their table, sliding them in front of each man with a satisfied smile.

Mutton Chops was the first to frown. He stared at the London Fog in front of him, the soft scent of lavender and vanilla wafting up from the cup.

“…This isn’t black coffee.” He said.

“Nope.” You hummed. “It’s Earl Grey, steamed milk, touch of honey. You looked like you needed something smooth. Something to relax.”

He studied you for a moment, then grumbled something under his breath and took a sip. His beard twitched slightly- almost a smile.

Balaclava, meanwhile, was frozen in place, staring at his Mexican hot chocolate like it might explode. “This isn’t tea.”

“You do actually like tea, but I think you shouldn’t be ordering it.” You mused. “You just drink it because it’s simple and familiar. This? Better than tea for now.”

He didn’t respond, so you continued.

“The chocolate’s warm, familiar, but the spice gives it a bit of a kick. Keeps you from getting too comfortable.”

Cap Guy was next, looking between his caramel macchiato and you with a raised eyebrow.

“Not an Americano.” he (uselessly) pointed out.

“Americano is boring,” you said with a grin. “You seem like the kind of guy who enjoys something sweet. Indulgent.”

He gave you a slow, considering look, then took a sip. His lips parted slightly, eyes widening as the caramel hit his tongue. “…Alright. Fair play.”

Then there was Mohawk.

He had been quiet the whole time, but now, he gawked at the Black Forest frappuccino in front of him like you had just served him a live grenade.

“Are you serious?” he demanded. “I asked for black coffee.”

“And I ignored you.” You gestured to the drink, entirely unapologetic. “You’re buzzing with energy, but you’re also dead on your feet. Black coffee would just make you more jittery. This, though? Sugar, chocolate, cherries- it’ll wake you up and make you happy. Ta-da!”

He eyed the extravagant swirl of whipped cream and chocolate shavings like it personally offended him. Then, cautiously, he took a sip.

Silence.

Then, in a hushed voice, “…Steamin’ Jesus.”

“Well, I only steam milk here… but I’ll take this as a compliment. Enjoy, gentlemen!”

Yeah, you knew exactly what kind of men they were. It might be just a touch too confident of you… but you know they would no doubt return.

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circe69 · 17 days ago

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"had to get it in, couldn't wait around!" - s.r. x reader

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ who is it? simon "ghost" riley x you

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ what is it? enemies always fuck better, right? you hate him, or so you thought...

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ cws: unprotected p in v, angry simon turned soft, huge d!ck, knife play kinda? ass play, heavy make out. word count: 2.4k

"what the fuck was that about?"

you stomped into an empty, abandoned conference room and stood at the end of a long table, with one masked man sitting at the other end. your arms crossed themselves across your chest, and you popped a hip out to the side as you waited for his answer.

simon motherfucking riley was your arch nemesis. someone you didn't trust, never agreed with, and certainly never wanted to work with. but the world isn't fair. it keeps spinning even when you despise someone, and captain price couldn't care less about your feelings towards simon when it came to the thousands of lives you were saving every mission.

usually, if you're in a group, you don't dare speak to simon this way. you only nod your head at his commands and walk away, hoping that he's receiving the millions of telepathic "fuck you's" you put out somewhere into the universe. but now, you're alone, and there is no better time than the present to tell your lieutenant off.

"if you need to blow some steam, i suggest going for a few boxing rounds w' soap. he's always looking for-" he paused whatever ministrations he was writing on a file and looked up at you slowly, "an easy opponent."

you huff and smirk out of pure anger as you briskly round the table, making your way over to him. "I'm not here to fucking play around, lieutenant, I'm here to let you know I'm pissed because you gave everybody else an assignment overseas next month except for me." you paused and let his eyes meet yours as your strong volume turned into a whisper. "I've worked just as hard, if not fucking harder than the rest of these task force fuckers, and we both know I'd be a good shot out there."

when it comes to you giving your superior a piece of your mind, simon usually submits completely. he never fires back, to everyone else's surprise, and he always allows you to use him, so to speak, to yell at him and get everything out of your system before entering the world again.

but not today.

simon slowly stood up from his chair, keeping eye contact with you as he expanded to almost double your size in every factor possible.

the seconds felt like years as his eyes bore down into yours. your heart rate was doubling every time one of you blinked, and you had to tense every single muscle in your body just to remain stagnant in position. the silence was deafening, and as the seconds passed, you remembered everything you've seen this man do, every corpse he's thrown to the side like a piece of garbage in his way, every knife rusted and wasted because it's been buried deep in the jaw of his enemies, and the eyes that have seen all of this from the first person perspective, are staring right into your-

SLAM.

simons hand comes down onto the wooden table with the force of 10 men, it sounds like, and you couldn't do anything but jump. you flinch. you fucking flinch and it feels like you're waving a white flag.

His gloved fingers reach out to your chin and tug you by the jaw, forcing your face inches away from his, "I have fuckin' had it with your attitude. you can act like a bitch all you fucking want to price, to gaz, and I sure as fuck don't care about how you treat soap. but to me," he squeezes your chin to reinstate your obedience before drifting his hand to rest on your neck, "to me, you either respect me or don't say shit at all. so get used to swallowing your words around here from now on, cause there won't be anywhere else for them to fucking go but down your own throat."

coincidentally, you do swallow. hard and slow, and simons eyes watch and feel your neck bobbing as you begin to shake just slightly under his pressure. as he squeezes, a small squeak releases itself from your lips and you mentally kick yourself for it, knowing that's just what he wants. because once you let yourself go to the stormy waters that is simon riley, you'll never be the same again. he'll make sure of it.

"you say yes sir." his low voice whispered into the empty room, your face somewhere even closer than before, every minute that passes you move an inch. you still can't open your mouth, you're suffering from shell shock and there's no mercy to be found in the eyes of your shooter.

simon pulls out a blade from his thigh holster and presses it to your side, "say. it. now." he yells even louder. you feel the sharp sting of the metal start to break through the cotton of your shirt and tease your skin. a tear breaks free from your eyes, and you are completely gone. you're done for. absolutely dead in every sense but the physical.

"yes sir." you whisper, finally freeing yourself from some kind of paralysis. you feel the blade crash onto the table, as well as the sweet release of your neck from his hand. an extra wave of oxygen that you didn't know you were missing flowed though you in small gasps.

simon said nothing as he walked straight past you, out of the door, slamming it behind him. he left you, his knife, and a part of your soul, there in that room.

ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

it had been a few days since simon had blown any ounce of relationship between the two of you into ash and dust, and you can't tell if the looks simon gives you now are filled with rage or just empty. empty meanings, empty promises, because he just doesn't care. but ever since he's made it clear with you that he is not to be messed with, you've unfortunately want him more.

simon riley is a fucking apex predator, and in the past, you've just been standing there, petting him, taunting him, and expecting nothing to happen. well now, you not only expect it, you fucking want it. you dream about all the things he could do to you. but all the things he hasn't said just prove that he couldn't care less.

that night, the only news channel your small tv offers called for rain, a lot of it, mixed with thunderstorms and lightning. as you dry your hair off with a towel, you walk to your window and look outside. your stomach churns at the sight of the angry clouds heading your way. you absolutely despise thunderstorms, and you prefer for a long night because there is no way you would be getting any sleep.

"fuck." you whisper to yourself as it starts to drizzle.

you try to ignore it as you kick off your slippers and get under your soft covers, pulling your duvet all the way up to your ears to try to mute the sound. it was now raining harder, and occasional sparks of electricity lit up your room from the sky, so you tossed and turn all night until you finally fell asleep.

it wasn't until hours later that a large boom of thunder shook you awake. you sat up immediately in a panic, gasping for air and looking around you as if you were expecting anything, something to explain the sound. tears started rolling down your face not only in fear, but in frustration also. you were so upset and so tired. you needed something, someone. just to tell you it was going to be okay. you slipped out of bed with a shaky hand clutching a necklace around your neck as you opened the door of your room and walked out.

the cold air of the hallway caused your skin to raise up into goosebumps and your nipples to pebble through your thin tank top, and even as you crossed your arms over yourself, it wasn't enough.

you headed straight for a door right down the hall. one with a name on the wood that you never thought you would go to in need in a million years. but you didn't know what to do.

your small knuckles rapped on the door, right underneath a nameplate.

simon "ghost" riley

you hear heavy footsteps and several locks unfastening before the door swings open.

a maskless man appears, with no shirt, and a large hand rubbing the side of his face. he was no doubt asleep before this. his eyes squinted as he leaned against the doorframe, trying to adjust to the light. your jaw hung slightly agape at the sight of him, so human. so disgustingly human who's done such non-humane things.

his eyes swept over your face as he noticed the tear stained cheeks, reddened from lack of sleep and continued down your body, down your full teardrop breasts, across your bare stomach, your sweatpants that hung loosely off your hips, and no words were spoken as he grabbed you by both forearms and drug you inside his room.

you gasped as he moved you backwards towards his bed, his much larger and comfier bed, and you no longer had any reason to stop him as he drug you under the covers with him. you couldn't believe him as he snuck in close to you, silently, as if it were normal.

it wasn’t until you felt an arm come up to rest upon your hip, and the floodgates opened. you couldn’t stop tears from rolling down your eyes. you were so confused, so scared, so fucking tired. small whimpers and gasps of breath continued.

“shhh.” came from simon’s mouth as he pulled you closer and softly squeezed your hip.

“you hate me” you whispered back, sobbing louder.

“hm-mm, no.”

“yes, you fucking hate me and you’ve just pulled me into your bed,” you start whining louder as your hands reach up to cover your face.

simon’s eyes slowly opened to look into yours before swatting your ass ,”quit crying n' go to sleep.”

you only responded with smaller, shorter intakes of breath and sniffles.

“y’hear me?” he patted your ass where he had slapped it before.

you nodded and whispered, “yes sir.”

a growl tore threw simon’s mouth as he looked up at the bedroom ceiling before throwing his forearm over his eyes, “fuckin’ hell.”

this time it’s you who reaches out, as you place a small palm on his bicep. he flinches at the touch before sighing,

“c’mere puppy.”

you slowly crawl on top of simon, placing both hands on his arms before allowing your head to fall between his neck and shoulder. a warmth slithered through you as you relaxed into him, and as his hand slowly caressed and squeezed the fat of your ass, the warmth exceeded just below your navel.

you made the mistake of squirming, and he noticed.

he clicked his tongue against his teeth while pulling you closer, “stay still.”

“i-i’m trying to get comfortable-"

"well stop." he interrupted, "just relax."

the wind outside howled, as simon's breath and yours intertwined through the space between you. and just like the storms outside, simon was the most unexpected thing to ever exist. he was trying hard to not scare you off, to be gentle, even though every thing in him contradicts that. but you know better. you know that he is gentle somewhere behind that mask.

you squirmed again, "simon I just don't know what to do." you leaned up to look at him. and there it was, the look that he only gave you, the small and desperate iris' just begging for some kind of affection. even without much light, you could still see him grasping at the frays for you. seconds of intense eye contact went by for simon broke the silence,

"just kiss m'then."

you gasped, sitting back a centimeter, but then nodded. and leaned into his touch. into him.

the kiss was soft and delicate, your lips and his just barely overlapping as you took in his woodsy smell, pine and maple, but that was all it took to pull a groan from simon.

more, more, is all he thought as he grabbed you by the hips and prodded his tongue against your lips. you smiled at the action, and without hesitation, opened up for him completely.

it was nothing but violent, raw, and urgent, the way simon kissed you. you moaned into his mouth as he smacked the fat of your ass, "all it took," he mumbled, "all it took was a little tongue for you to shut the fuck up."

you whined at the loss of contact as simon struggled to pull your pants down, but it disintegrated as he swiped a finger between your thighs, "fuck." simon whispered at the wetness pooling from your sex. "how many times have I yelled at you and gotten you wet?" he said, as he flipped you both around so you were now in your back, head smushing the soft pillow.

you groaned as he discarded his sweatpants and boxers, leaving his cock to spring out against his stomach. "how many times, baby?" he asked again, "you think about me hurting you when you play with this pretty pussy?" his index reached out to circle your clit a few times.

you couldn't help it, your body was betraying you in real time as your walls fluttered around nothing. "yes, yes I think about it, I think about you all the time simon." your babbles spilled out of you like water, and simon was lapping it up.

he chuckled, "don't even n'to prep you, you're a fuckin' faucet, sweetheart." his lengthy cock, with precut oozing out of the tip, was begging to be inside you, begging to fill you up. as he grabbed his length and positioned himself to your weeping hole, he looked you in the eyes, "y'want this?"

your eyes met his and for a second, you felt some sort of fire igniting deep within you, why was he even asking? why did it feel like the monster he is was softening for you?

you grabbed his hip and thrusted yourself, notching the tip of him inside your walls. "yes, I fucking want this, simon."

he chuckled as he watched him disappear inside you, inch by inch, every fucking centimeter felt like a year lived without you. he needed to make up for it, because the one woman that he couldn't stand just happened to be the woman he couldn't live without.

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ghouljams · 14 days ago

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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?

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