You stand a bit shocked at the man addressing you like it’s not your last name on his uniform.

“Mr. Fushiguro, I should inform you that it’s your CEO you’re talking to” the boy beside you speaks up, he’s wearing a white helmet and the unknown man a yellow one.

“Great, so you are able to afford the OSHA fine if they decide today is a good day for inspection, but I’d rather not have another pointless safety training just ‘cause no one had the balls to tell you to protect your pretty ‘lil head” his expression doesn’t change a bit with the new information. You find that respectable, especially having so many people stuttering when talking to you.

If you were to say that you don’t get even a little bit amused by people being nervous in your presence Nanami would have to warn you about perjury. 

It’s quite a change to have a blue collar employee sticking to the rules and not batting an eye when the highest possible authority of the company is standing right in front of him, especially when that someone looks like he just got out of a sexy construction men calendar… not that you have ever seen one of those. That’s just what you think they might look like, plus that scar only adds up to fantasy.

You clean your throat, “I appreciate your work ethic, Mr. Fushiguro” you repeat the name so you won’t forget, “I wasn’t aware of the rules” you side-look the young man beside you who’s now staring at his own feet embarrassed since it was his duty to inform you.

“Call me Toji” you take the helmet and put it on, “By the way, you’re supposed to wear trousers too and… literally anything but that” he points with his chin to your high heels thinking how that alone was a safety hazard not just on a construction site. Toji leans closer “but I’ll let it slide, ‘cause you have quite beautiful legs.”

You are left mouth agape, internally appreciating that he didn’t say that out loud — after all being sexualized when you are trying to impose respect would require you to put a show and fire the man — but also makes you question if he was straight forward with you because of his work ethics or because he does not respect you as his superior. 

Not that you wouldn’t let him do disrespectful things to you, but still!

You’re taken to where the rest of the directors are, they’re easy to spot — a bunch of men in suits that clearly don’t belong to the place — surrounding a table with the blue prints. They greet you and you realize this is the first time you see all of them around a table and not sitting, poor guys must be dying for a room with AC right now.

It’s not like you belonged there either, with your tailor made beige suit that had a pencil skirt instead of the newly-discovered-necessary trousers and how-the-fuck-you-thought-that-was-a-good-idea high heels. But in your own defense you did visit a lot of construction sites when you first started at the company all those years ago and that’s much more than the white collar men in front of you can say.

The main architect starts to give you all an status of the project being interrupted by the senior engineer every few minutes, the last one clearly thinking he’s better than the first even though neither of them lifts a finger in this ground.

Your sight is drawn to the man that scolded you before, while the architect is pointing to something on top of the construction and everyone else is shielding their eyes from the sun to find it, you’re looking straight ahead to Toji who’s currently lifting an apparently very heavy sack of cement on his shoulder and taking it all across the site. God, he’s strong.

His handsome face shines with sweat, you’re sure the wife beater he has on also violates some OSHA code, but who would be crazy enough to report that? Not you for sure, the view is worth the OSHA fine.

Especially when he drops the sack with a grunt and uses the shirt to wipe his face, revealing a torso you’re sure Michelangelo would die to use as inspiration to sculpt into marble then having people saying ‘whoa that’s real art’. 

You wonder if someone would scream at you for touching that piece of art.

Unfortunately you don’t expect to get caught ogling by the subject himself. So the best thing you can do is find whatever the architect is pointing to and pretend to pay attention like you should have from the beginning instead of eye fucking one of your employees.

“Hey, boss” you hear on your way out of the site and back to your cozy office where you wouldn’t get your ankle broken that easily. You turn around and see Toji catwalking his way to you.

“Technically I'm out of the hazard zone, mr. Fushiguro” you justify your lack of a helmet which you ditched a few seconds ago.

“Toji” he corrects you, taking his own helmet off “and I’m not this uptight, unlike some people here today” he mutters the last part looking behind him to some of the directors that seemed to be looking for tiny errors on the project so they could fix it and justify being there.

“Well, what can I do for you?”

“I’m pretty sure you're being robbed.” 

“What?” you look around, “What do you mean?”

“You’re paying for double the stuff that’s actually being delivered” he took a sheet of folded paper out of his pants, you reach for it but he pulls it back, “I have proof and I can say names.”

“Did you say that to your field supervisor?”

“Please, who do ya think it’s signin’ under this?” he rolls his eyes.

“So you came to the CEO instead? You’re going behind some big backs here, sir.”

“Look, miss, I want a promotion, I know a lot of big shots will go down for this and I’m the only one capable of handling the people here. Besides I stand by what I said before, no one has the guts to do this so I’m taking a big risk and I deserve compensation” he hands back the paper and this time he let you take it. You stare into his deep green eyes suspiciously, the man has the looks of a fantasy villain with his sharp features and dark eyelashes, you're not entirely sure if you should believe him.

“Give your number to my assistant, we’ll schedule a meeting in the office, you tell me everything you know and I see what I can do about it.”

“In the office? Didn’t know you allowed commonores in your castle” he smirks.

“Only the pretty ones” you wink and his smile grows wider. 

“How long have you known about this?” Nanami questions.

“Not even 24 hours” you sit on your white couch signing for him to take the seat in front of you.

Your lawyer does that thing you find really hot where he unbuttons the coat of his five digit worth suit before sitting down. You admire Nanami’s elegance while he roams his eyes through the paper, he has a vest between the coat and the dress shirt. Navy blue suits him so well, matches his eyes. He makes you think every man should wear vests, but of course not every man can pull it off. Honestly, you find it hard to believe there's anything Nanami can’t pull off, but you haven't seen your lawyer without a suit… ever. 

Maybe he looks bad with a plain T-shirt? 

No way. 

Perhaps with an overall and cowboy hat? 

Mmm the image makes you wanna ride something. 

What about emo hair, eyeliner and a band tee? 

No, you can’t imagine Kento with emo hair, no chance he had a rebellious phase except if his parents wanted him to be a surgeon and he became the best lawyer in the city just to piss them off. 

“I’m glad you came to me first, but we’ll need to involve auditing and probably internal affairs. That’ll probably put the project on hold for some weeks, also I’ll need more evidence than this” he shook the one paper sheet that was merely a quotation of supplies even you could understand is way too much for a single building.

“I got the guy for that, say the word and Yuuta will arrange a meeting” you pointed to your assistant sitting outside.

“Tell me, dear” he put the sheet aside, taking that posture that intimidated you a bit, “A blue collar worker just saw your pretty self on the site and handed criminal evidence? Just like that?”

You open your mouth, thinking what to say that won’t sound like you are being taken advantage of, and failing.

“Oh darling” he says a bit too condescendingly for someone that technically works for you, “Thought I told you about being too naive” he leans on the couch, making himself comfortable like you’re about to have The Talk.

“Kento, is not like that” you cross your arms defensively, “He said he wants a promotion, how risky that would be?”

“Thought you would say that” he takes his phone and hands it to you, “So I did my own little research.”

“What’s this?” you find yourself looking at a picture of the man you met yesterday. 

Only now you could see tiny numbers behind him indicating his height and he held a plaque with his name. He looks way younger, still very handsome, you wonder how popular he used to be in his youth, with a face like that and the implication he was arrested was enough to make every girl’s bad-boy-dream come true.

“What was he accused of?” you ask out of curiosity.

“Not relevant, also sealed records” he breaks eye contact and that’s enough for you to understand he actually knows it and he did not get this information by any legal means.

“So what? The man got a bit of trouble with the law when he was young” you shrug, remembering even your ex husband had a little rich boy “criminal” file, if you can even call the dumb shit he did outta spite for his parents an actual crime.

“HR will find out about this, then you’re going to have to justify why you’re recommending a filled man for a managing position.”

“And I’ll tell them he actually found out about a theft scheme and whatever public-pissing crime he did will surely be overlooked.”

“Darling, you have to start thinking about your image, we’ve been through that before” he tilts his head.

“You don’t like my image?” you question playfully twirling your hair, Nanami smiles for a brief second.

“You know what I mean: your image towards the board, you barely made the votes necessary to be where you are today.”

Indeed, you owned the company and no one could take that away, but the CEO position needed to be voted and you only got the necessary votes because your ex-husband had the strongest voting rights and part of the divorce agreement was that he voted for you, so his, plus a few more other members of the board's votes and you made chief executive officer.

“Fine, then write a contract, he tells everything including testify if he has to in exchange of the supervisor position and I’ll pitch it to the board before any decisions are made” you uncross your arms raising from your seat.

Bringing the board into the conversation made you nervous, most of them don't like you and you’ve been trying to prove yourself for months. Even though you worked your ass off way before marrying the owner all they saw was a hurt ex-wife making pretend.

“Atta girl” Nanami raises too, buttoning his coat back and placing his hands on your tense shoulders. Nanami smells like what you think it should be every handsome lawyer's trademark scent, cause damn that smell would make you sign anything he gives you.

“Don’t worry much, you’re doing great” he presses a bit and you melt.

“Take me out to lunch?” you pout.

“I would love to” he lets go of your shoulder, “Unfortunately I have a hearing, but I'll be back for that meeting soon, okay?”

You sigh in defeat, getting even a few minutes of Nanami’s time for yourself is as hard as it can get, only a corruption scheme to get him to come to your office in such short notice.

“Ma’am” Yuuta says from the speakerphone, “Your ex-husband is calling” you groan, throwing your head back.

Of course he would want to interrupt your moment with Nanami.

“I can get you a restriction order” your lawyer offers jokily (or not).

Aside from being the company's lawyer, Nanami Kento was also your divorce attorney, which you managed to get only after agreeing to give him your company's account if he managed to land you the CEO position. Like everything in this merciless corporate world, it was give and take, you got what you wanted – not surprisingly so, afterall Nanami, even though is not a divorce specialist, is the best. Still, you like to think of him being more than another contractor of yours.

“I appreciate the offering” you smile tiredly, Nanami kisses your hand like the gentleman he is before leaving your office, “Yuuta, I’ll take him– it. I’ll take the call” you sit back behind your desk massaging your temple “Put him through.”

“Hello, beautiful” he greets over the speakerphone in that always so cheerful tone.

“Satoru, what do you want?”

“No chit-chat? It’s the least you could do for me after I gave you the company” entitled as always…

“You didn’t give it to me, you gave it up for the rest of your assets” you remind, already sick of this same discussion over and over.

When the divorce was officially on the table you told Kento exactly what you wanted: the company. The one thing you knew your ex husband would hate to lose, but also didn’t love as much as his lifestyle – which would be brutally affected if you decided to go for the 50% you were entitled to.

So through a carefully written agreement you accepted way less than you were owed in the form of full ownership of the respected construction company and title of chief executive officer.

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other. How have you been?”

“Fine. Just tell me what you want, I actually take this job seriously and have important things to do.”

Oh god, he would tease you so bad if he knew about the corruption scheme, and the worst part is that, eventually, he will know. Gojo has ears everywhere around here.

“Nanami” he says simply. You start to look around your office, wondering if he has cameras there.

“You… want… Nanami?”

“Yes, beautiful” he confirms slowly like he's talking to a kid that has just learned the alphabet.

“Why? You know what? Nevermind, I don't want to know. No, you can’t have him” you lean on your chair, denying Gojo gives you great satisfaction.

“It’s not for any bullshit reason, alright?”

“I don’t care, Satoru. Besides, I don’t own Kento, you can approach him anytime” you smile knowing he would never be able to do that without you.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” condescension drips from your phone and onto your desk, “He won’t represent me even if I run for president.”

“So you need legal representation? You’re not calling me from jail, are you Satoru?” you mirror his condescending tone, surely he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Thought you didn't care, or would you bail me out? Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t have the money for that” he laughs, arguing was never a thing with him, he would mock you and find a way to make you doubt your accusations. Gaslighting is it? “I’ll give it a shot, just so you know, but this is a great opportunity for you to ask something in return.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Think about it, baby, I’m sure there's plenty of things I can do for you” his tone is lower, more seductive.

“Doubt it” you roll your eyes hearing his chuckle.

“Yeah? When was the last time you had–” 

You hang up.

Then sigh loudly and press the button to talk to Yuuta.

“Yes, ma’am?” you scrunch your nose, still not used to being called that, Nanami said you should let your sweet assistant call you ma'am or madam at least in front of others since you could use the recognition of your authority.

“Please put Geto on the line.”

“Certainly” you wait, stepping out of your heels and digging your toes on the fluff carpet under the table.

“Hi, doc” you salute your psychologist.

“Sugar, I told you there’s no need to address me like that, hurts my feelings” his honeyed voice is everything you need to hear in such stressful times.

“It does? Maybe you should see a therapist to talk about that, I have a great recommendation” you can’t help but smile like a little girl when talking to him, being playful is a way to cope with your harmless crush.

“Just great?”

“He’s the best, I can assure you” he laughs, “Do you have a few minutes?”

“For you, absolutely” your face warms up then you remember the subject of the call and cools down again.

“It’s Satoru.”

‘It’s always Satoru’ Geto thinks.

“He just called wanting something, I told him no and he made that same old joke about me not having money” you huffed.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Helpless? I don't know, he must think I’m poor now or something” which is ridiculous, you’re not nearly close to his patrimony as you used to when you were married but what you have is still fuckload more than what it takes to be considered poor.

“He’s trying to remind you of what you lost when you left him, this is just another manipulation technique, my love. Don’t let him get in your head” you need this as a mantra to hear every time your ex-husband calls, “Did he bring up sex this time?”

“No, but he was about to.”

“And what did you say?”

“Hanged up” you hear him snorting.

“Well, that can work on the phone, but what if you were talking face to face? What would you have done?”

Geto knows a lot about you. Obviously since you pay him to listen while you ramble and complain. Still, feels overwhelming having someone recalling your previous actions, especially the ones you're not exactly proud of.

“Tell him to shut up, throw a stapler on him, call security, threaten him with a restriction order.”

“Would you really?” Geto likes to take a joke you make and dig on that.

“Well, probably not the last two…” 

“Have you been looking up restriction orders?”

“No, that was a joke my lawyer made early. A restriction order would be too… bureaucratic? Also unnecessary, afterall Satoru he never physically hurt me or threatened to.”

“That would be a good way of making him leave you alone for a while since you're not able to fully detach from him” you sat up.

“That's not true! I’ve been doing everything by myself lately, don't even have time to think about him! I’m detached, doc.”

“Wanna know what I think you would have done if he made that sexual comment face to face with you?” you gulp and Geto takes your silence as consent to continue, “I think you would let him go forward with it.”

You make an offended sound but don't fight his statement, “And what would happen next?” he tones the question like a professor trying to make the class complete a sentence, you keep your head down and mouth shut, “You would’ve let him sweet talk you into sleeping with him again.”

“You don't know that” you murmur.

“It’s a pattern, love. This is how abusive husbands keep their wives from leaving them or even telling anyone about the abuse. They use sex to make them think how good it is to be with them despite everything else.”

“Satoru was not abusive.” you defend your ex-husband firmly, “And I already left him!” you defend yourself less firmly.

“And he still thinks he can have you back! You know why?”

“Because I’m a catch that he shouldn’t have cheated?” Geto stays quiet for a few seconds and you feel a lump in your throat forming. That was supposed to have sounded more like a joke but you're still too hurt for that clearly.

“That as well, but you really think he regrets it?”

“He seemed pretty sorry in the divorce mediation” you murmur recalling his lost-puppy expression.

“The meeting where he signed a paper that would make him lose his company and his wife? Gee I wonder why” the little sarcastic remark made you smile and shake your head, your psychologist using sarcasm against you is quite funny, “My point is, if you really want to be independent from him you ‘gotta stop letting yourself be attracted back like a magnet” you let his words sink in hearing some papers being ruffled on his side.

“I’m giving you homework.”

“Oh no…”

“Find your own sexuality, you can watch porn, masturbate or even better: have sex with someone. Anyone but Satoru, because right now that’s what he’s using to control you.”

“Geto, I don’t know about this. Porn is too gross, masturbation is too ineffective and sex is too…” you trail off.

“Vulnerable?” he completes.  

“I guess…”

“It’s been a few months since you last slept with Satoru, right? How’re you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” you rub your face.

“You know what I mean” he's strict and you let out a long sigh.

“I feel frustrated, sometimes stressed and distracted” all caused by the men you have to deal with including the handsome psychologist putting some sense in you. Not exactly what you wanted him to put in, but oh well…

“Exactly, in your current state it’s only a matter of time until you end up on his bed. You gotta decide if you are willing to: find porn that is not gross, masturbate more effectively or let yourself relax and be vulnerable.”

Is easy to like Geto Suguru, he’s handsome, has a sweet voice, he listens without interrupting (manterrupting is a big no-no for this job thankfully). Sometimes it is easy to hate him too, then you have to remember he's saying what you need to hear not what you want to, though your ears could use some tickling from time to time.

“Still with me?” he says after you remain quiet.

“Yes, doc” he says your name in a warning tone, “Sorry, Suguru.”

“All good for our appointment next week?”

“Hm” your thoughts go to the newly found out corruption scheme that will need your attention the following days, “I’ll ask Yuuta to confirm with your secretary alright?”

“Whatever works best for you, love.”

“Bye, Suguru.”

“Don’t forget your homework.”

🏷️ @rinntvrou @sakurasimppp @sad-darksoul — to be tagged in future works of this series please comment “@ me” in this post.

note: i’m not sure if tickle the ears is a known term worldwide but means “saying or suggesting things to please even if untrue”. also i have some big plans for kinktober so next chapter might take a little while to be posted, let me know your thoughts <3

You, on the other hand, were his exceptionally giving wife. Your days as an air stewardess filled you with grit and knowledge of different views—opened you up to worlds of possibilities where the idea of a better world was right within reach. You grew up with a sense of responsibility for the environment. What humans gave to mother nature, it would be returned back tenfold.

Reusing, recycling and reducing were important in your life. Sadly, Reo was not of the same opinion as you were.

He was brought up in a life of excess. Surplus flowed in his blood with the idea of more guiding his life. He strived to do more, see more, gain more. Always and every time without fail. 

“They’re trying to help save the planet, love,” you hummed, curling yourself onto his chest. Reo tutted and pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up the slope of his defined nose, curling one defined arm around your waist. 

“Fat load of help that would be. You should put your money where your mouth is if you want to achieve such a feat. Tch.”

Your stomach sank slightly at his words. You never expected him to spew such a fascinating statement. The text you had received from a long-time friend burned in your messages, and you had mulled over how to respond to it. How to respond to her desperate plea to help support her waning environmental lobbying agency.

Kira Ryosume was one of your oldest colleagues. She was a dear friend who offered you a lot of advice when you were just a novice air stewardess. She was a decent person who deserved to have her dreams come to life.

A dream of finally passing an environmental bill which would mandate large corporations to register for the Carbon-Neutral Treaty. As expected, none of these businesses wanted to take part in such an altruistic event unless their bottom line would be greatly boosted.

¥20 million. She needed that amount to even think about publishing the treaty.

You flattened your lips and eyed your husband. Mikage Reo’s defined abs and biceps pulsed in the half-light from the designer lampshades by your side table. After two years of marriage, Reo was still delectable to you—one of the finest men you ever had the pleasure of sleeping with. After all, he had made the impossible possible by getting you to commit to him for your entire life.

Slowly, your hands roamed down his torso, touching the notched scars of his body from those years he played pro on the soccer fields of the world. Grazing his rosy pink nipples, you heard his hitched breath exhaled in your hair, spurring you on. Counting the moles on his abdomen, you gently traced the burst of his lilac happy trail, leading straight to the sharp ‘V’ carved delicately above the band of his sweatpants.

“Sweetheart,” he grunted, unable to stop your caresses because why would he? 

Reo lived for any attention you gave him. 

The one thing you were intimately acquainted with about your beloved husband was that he hated anything which was not a challenge. Truly—a consequence from his upbringing which saw him getting everything he wanted anytime. Your lips curved upwards into a sinful smile. He was always so fun to ruin.

Achingly slow now, you tugged the expensive Calvin Klein band down, dipping your fingers beyond it to graze his stirring length. Reo’s hips started to tick when you massaged the flushed pink tip between your thumb and forefinger, though he tried to play it cool.

Unexpectedly, you tightened your fist around his length, drawing it up slowly, and your grin grew wider when you felt a spurt of wetness running down your wrist. 

Reo hissed and set his phone down onto the side table, removing his glasses. His abdomen tightened, and you felt his heart thump unevenly under your cheek. You perched your chin on his left pec, gazing deeply into his glassy lilac eyes. Judging from his flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips, he was already drunk on your touch, his will crumbling to leave him susceptible to your misdoing.

And you loved the rush of power it elicited in you. 

“What’s gotten into you?” 

His voice was a low, scratchy whimper. You pressed yourself closer to him, lips in the hollow of his neck, the teasing puffs of your hot breath raising goosebumps on his skin. 

“Can’t I pleasure my own husband?” you breathed, batting your lashes at him. Completely having him at your mercy. 

Reo grunted, his mid-length purple locks brushing your shoulder when he used one large hand to part your thighs, cupping your mound. In retaliation, you snapped your legs closed, trapping his hand there and giving him a grin in response to his confusion.

“Wanna focus on you, baby.”

He moaned in surprise when he felt your wrist twisting around his leaking cock head. “I—hah—w-wait…” You started to jerk him off faster now, and Reo’s chest took on such a pretty flush you couldn’t resist tonguing his pebbled nipple. 

Your husband was not an idiot. He had years of experience to sense that you were trying to get something out of him by riling him up. Though, Reo was drawing a blank as to what exactly you needed.

“You w-want something,” he tried to sound accusatory, but it came out as a breathless mewl instead. “S’that true? T-tell me.”

You unlatched your lips from his throbbing nipple, doe eyes wide on him as you slowed down your pace. Reo’s hips stuttered, that glassy look in his eye growing lucid at your little laugh.

“You got me.” Sitting up, you kept your palm loosely around his cock, shifting your hair out of the way to slip your nightgown straps down, revealing your perky nipples to the cool room. Reo groaned at the sight of you shifting in between his legs, that vixen-like smirk still on your face and his cock now in between your breasts.

The sight of a globe of spit falling from your mouth and onto his throbbing tip made him curse under his breath. Reo stopped you before you could put him in your mouth with a hand on your cheek, his expression flustered and brows knitted.

“Well? What is it? A new bag? More clothes? Tell me what you want, my love, and I’ll try to make it happen.”

It was remarkably easy to leave your husband in a bind with such simple actions, especially when you pretended to think his preposition through, letting him stew in his frustrated silence, the hand around his cock still leisurely pumping him up and down up and down base to tip base to tip until he shuddered lightly.  

“L-Love?” 

“¥20 million,” you murmured, and before he could react at the amount, you dragged your tongue slowly and seductively across his soaked head, lapping at the beads of precum staining down his length. Leaving him reeling from both the pleasure and the shock of such a demand. 

Reo jerked back like he had been electrocuted, hissing loudly. “Fuck! F-fuck… what do you need with that much money?” He fisted your hair in one hand, completely entranced by your plush lips wrapped around his cock.

You let him go with a soft pop, humming. “You said it earlier. Those damn environmental agencies. I want to donate some money to them to help them solve the pollution companies like yours cause.”

Reo’s eyes widened, and he sputtered indignantly; his fury lost in a moan when you started to deepthroat him.

“Shit,” he cussed, low and hoarse, watching you with heavy, lidded eyes when you need to bob your head up and down his cock. “S’all it is to it? You wanted to play a hero? Baby, you started to try harder than that.”

You hummed around his length, fully expecting his resistance. Drooling around his pulsing length, your eyes met his, framed by your determination, he could only fist the sheets as you took him down to the hilt. Reo groaned, loud and husky, when your nose touched his lilac pubic hair. 

“S-shit, baby… you know that’s not fair…”

Reo’s whine was adorable, and so was his cluelessness to the next ace you had up your sleeve. Keeping your teary eyes locked on his, you started to shallowly use your mouth as a makeshift sleeve to tighten and suck his cock for what it was worth. 

He could barely hold back a loud yelp when you played with his balls along with your maddening movements.

You sensed he was close from his heavy breathing. Reo was fisting your hair for dear life, his thighs trembling underneath your body.

Before his pleasure could culminate in one swooping orgasm, you pulled back, letting a weak stream of his cum hit your chin. Ruining his release with an angelic smile.

Reo sagged back against the pillows, huffing like he had just finished a game. “Fuck… you’re mean…” 

In answer to his astute observation, you licked your lips and gathered his cum slowly dripping down your jaw to suck it off your finger. His taste was clean and musky, and you made sure to show him how much you appreciated it.

“Mmm… you taste so good, baby.” 

Reo whimpered at the sight of you fully removing your nightgown, leaving you in the nude. 

You took the chance to straddle his lap, manicured nails wrapping around his cock again and tugging playfully. 

“Changed your mind yet, rich boy?” You had not used that taunt on him for years now since the both of you had gotten married. Reo’s nostrils flared, his blood rushing south once more to thicken his girth in your teasing hold. The number of times he had punished you for calling him that stupid term… and you were riling him back up, spreading your legs and circling his leaking tip around your soaked entrance. 

You were asking for it now.

Reo enjoyed knocking you down a peg or two when he flipped you onto your back, your wide eyes and tiny squeak sending his ego to the orbit.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, fisting his length and slowly easing into you, splitting you wide open with his thickness and determination. Your nails stabbed into his shoulders, and your cry of ecstasy was smothered by his palm over your mouth. “You drive quite the hard bargain there, missy and I’m interested.”

Your muffled wails soothed him; made a woozy smile appear on his face. Such a pretty little crybaby, Reo thought. Too bad you tried to take control of him. It was a shame. He was prepared to give you enough orgasms tonight to leave you bed bound tomorrow. He watched, entranced, as your eyes rolled back into your head, only the glimmering whites exposed.

All the teasing you did culminated in a slippery mess between your legs. It looks like Reo wasn’t the only one affected by your teasing. 

His smirk deepened when he moved one hand in between your sweaty, writhing bodies, thumbing your clit in greasy circles; holding you down as you tried to push him off from the overstimulation. 

Reo chuckled, low and deep, when your mewls reached his ears.

“Always have to put you back in your place, huh?” He breathed, cocking one perfect lilac brow up. “When will you learn? You’re mine. I own you. You can’t just pull this shit on me.”

Somehow, his fingers ended up in your mouth, choking you while pinning your tongue down to the base of your throat. 

Reo clicked his tongue, arrogance dripping from his faux grin of sympathy when you buckled and twisted in his hold. “Too much?” 

Your garbled rendition of his name had the monster in him feening for more of your submission. He clasped one hand around your neck, holding you down as he parted your lips with one sturdy thumb.

“Open wide. Wider.” 

You obediently unhinged your jaw, slowly unfurling your tongue out for his scrutiny. Reo wasted no time in gathering a globule of spit, letting it dangle teasingly from his lips before the taste of him smothered your tongue.

“Swallow.”

You do, your walls rippling around him in response to his dominance. 

“Fuck. S’a good girl.” His unexpected praise makes both your pussy and heart clench; leaving you yearning for more. 

Reo could play nice and let you take the lead on some days, but tonight, you had pushed his buttons hard enough.

His cock drilling into you was enough of an indication of his frustration, and the ex-pro player didn’t care for your high strung whines when he pulled out of your swollen depths, about to leave you unsatisfied and covered with his cum when you rolled him onto his back, swiftly gripping his wrist to impede his movement. 

Reo yelped, and before he could chastise you, your palm landed lightly across his cheek. The simmering orgasm you had started an hour ago fizzled in his veins, and he growled, jaw and cock smarting. “Why you—”

His words were cut off by your lithe fingers slipping him back into your heat. Reo was powerless to stop you from sensually grinding down his cock, your half-hooded eyes and quivering tits enough of a consolation for his wounded ego when you took back the power and control. Those large, veiny palms of his cupped the flesh of your ass, kneading surely, appreciatively. Enjoying the sight of his wife riding him to oblivion as his cock twitched and tightened once more.

The coil in his belly started to tighten, and before he could completely blow his load, you stopped all movement. 

It took every ounce of self-control he had to not jackhammer up into you like a mad dog, a snarl twisting his handsome features.

“Y/N—”

“Sign the check,” you murmured, leaning back slightly to give him a full view of his cock splitting apart your messy folds. It was strategic—this little seduction game of yours. You knew he couldn’t resist watching you play with yourself, his voyeuristic nature emerging to greedily drink in the sight of your curves contrasting with the hard planes of his abs. Reo gulped audibly when you traced one hand down your torso slowly, straight to your throbbing clit; rubbing yourself right in front of your stunned husband.

His purple eyes grew hazier, like he was close to dropping into a stupor. Unbidden, his mouth fell open and soft little pants emanated in choked exhales that were endearing.

“The check, Reo,” you mumbled firmly, picking up your pace, arching your back and using your knees to support you on the soft mattress while you flexed and bucked your hips around his aching length. The promise of his release hung like dew in the air, close enough for him to taste; to quench himself off the thirst. 

He snapped the same moment you gasped, hanging onto the cliffedge of your sanity; your pussy shivering and begging to cum around his girth.

“Fine!” he spat out like a curse, and as if his words were a dam, the explosive passion sprung forth, drowning the both of you in its currents. “I’ll sign the damn thing later. Now. Ride. Me.”

Reo’s punctuated command broke into a growl, and you spared no more time bracing your hands on his shoulder, swivelling and circling your hips like your life depended on it. Like your sanity relied on the feeling of his hot cum shooting straight into your womb.

His eyes rolled back into his head, and the bruising grip he had around your hips was unyielding. 

You screamed out his name, lost in the ecstatic stupor of both your bodies joining together; rejoicing for a release which was sorely denied for these past few agonising hours. You felt like you had turned into jelly; your body sagged forward, mind in a dizzying circle.

He brought you into the sanctuary of his chest, arms like steel ropes around you as he met your grinding with a few hard thrusts of his own; bringing the both of you down the edge and straight into blissful hellfire.

The flames licked at your abdomen, your throat, leaving you teary-eyed and whining his name.

Reo’s purple mane was a mess, bleeding across his pillow like an ink spill. His harsh breathing collided with your cheek, and you moaned his name, shifting lightly in his arms. Feeling his cock twitch and his cum drip out of you. 

“Reo…”

He hummed, kissing your temple—a sweet ending to such an intense session. “I’ll send the check to you tomorrow, my love.” Your beloved husband rested in the afterglow, stamping another soft kiss onto your forehead absentmindedly while your breathing evened out. “You know I can never refuse you. Consider it my late birthday present for you.”

“But, you already gifted me that Hermès bag, love,” you mumbled, trying hard to not droop off into sleep. “You spoil me too much…”

“Isn’t that what I promised you when we got married?” He huffed a laugh. “I told you—just ask me, baby.”

His words landed on the soft terrain of your unconsciousness, and Reo sensed more than saw you drifting off. His expression broke into a tender smile, and he smoothed his warm, rough palms down your bare back.

“Sleep well, Y/N.”

With your body fitted snugly against his like a jigsaw piece, Reo let himself drift off to join you in sleep, amused at your wily ways to get him to say yes. 

Why you did it, he would never know. 

After all, Reo meant what he said when he told you to just ask him next time. 

He meant it when he said he would do anything for you.

— feedback and rbs are appreciated <33

And you’d reassured him it wasn’t like this was final or anything- though in retrospection he wonders if that was just a witty trick you came up with to get out of there as quick as possible- you just needed some time to yourself to think things over. To lay the pieces out and try to put them back together.

Those photos you found stashed far back in his phone’s gallery, the ones with your beloved boyfriend’s hands (and you know they were his, the same rings and callouses and all) enveloping a chick’s ass while she’s facedown, her friend already ruined by him and plastered, were plenty reason enough to cut ties permanently.

But you were gracious enough to take a deep breath, and step back from it all.

A sweet mercy on your end, Oliver can admit that much, because he knows this situation could have ended far worse. But egoistical or not- Olly likes to think he’s not a half-bad guy, and despite his womanizing past and the incriminating evidence he honestly completely forgot he had saved, he would’ve imagined you’d be a bit more… understanding.

I mean, come on babe, that shit was from several months ago- he can’t even remember the names of those girls.

But when he tells you, in an admittedly poor attempt on his end to placate you, that those girls were just one of many and none of them meant anything to him at all, you kind of just blow up all over again before inevitably sinking onto the couch and going quiet.

Oliver swears he didn’t mean to hurt you like this- truth be told he never really wanted you to discover his less than reputable ways from before, all the meaningless hookups and partying and— but sweetheart, you gotta understand, they were just that; meaningless. He just forgot to delete those photos is all, and maybe you should be happier about that because that just means he wasn’t thinking about it much in the first place- like he said, he hardly remembers it.

But that just plants the daunting question in you that your boyfriend couldn’t really answer right then—

What else has he forgotten about?

What other dirty secrets is he hiding behind his back, the things he thought were better left unsaid- how long have they been hanging in the air for?

Some days after the incident, you’re debating whether or not you made the right choice. I mean, sure, those chicks he insisted meant absolutely nothing to him and the countless ones prior too, were from veritable months ago, but you can’t deny the painful throb in your chest all the same.

Or the niggling sense of self doubt, either, the one that raises the idea of- are you not good enough?

God knows the amount of girls Olly split in two and charmed with that playful, wolfish smirk of his, how many women he led to his bed and made love to…

And you can’t help but feel disgusted now, knowing those same lips that possessively brush across your temple and kiss you goodnight have probably done the same to another girl- one that somehow you feel is certainly prettier and better and more experienced than you.

Those same strong hands that gently cup your face and fix you omelets for breakfast, pull out a chair for you at the fancy restaurants he brings you to-

Now all you can see in your mind’s eye is that stupid fucking photo, and you feel awful all over again.

It’s just some time away.

𑁍

People fuck up.

It’s a universal truth.

Most of the time it’s only ‘cause of love, though, and Oliver just supposes every good thing’s gotta come with a dose of the bad, too.

He’s fucked up. So maybe now all his aimless introspection is only out of some inner sense of guilt- one that isn’t loud in its devouring, but instead quiet.

Oliver sits silently with the things he wish he didn’t do, the pictures he regrets snapping and the bimbos he should’ve never sunk his cock into.

He’d scrub them away from himself if he could; you know, being called a whore is never a very pleasant thing, and after Sendou heard the news of what happened and started getting mouthy- well, it did a few things to poor ol’ Olly.

One) threw a hot coal into the pit of his tummy, the kind that burns slowly and in the backdrop- it’s not fiery enough to call immediate attention to, but it simmers for long enough to leave a subtle, decent-sized hole. And two) after that hole’s been opened, it makes room for bad, more guilty thoughts to start filtering in. Some of that frustration wanes and suddenly, Aiku’s kicking himself for the things he’s done.

Toweling his hair, he frowns at the sorry man he sees in the mirror after he wipes the fog from it, and he tosses and turns at nighttime, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded under his head. Thinking about you, those awful fucking pics he took— and it’s a slow yet weighty revelation, over two weeks into your relationship’s strike:

Oliver is undeniably in the wrong here.

…It wasn’t a flat-out lie to say he never really had a girlfriend in the past- because the several ones he did all eventually fled crying or broke things off with him within days- but he was aware how misleading it was even when he first told you, and he realizes that you, being his sweet little gullible girlfriend, would be pretty shocked to unearth those… vulgar souvenirs in his gallery.

There was a time he used to like them, you know.

Jerking off to those candid photos, treating each like its own individual treasure he could return to whenever the bed felt cold or he was pent up from one thing or another.

Now, Oliver feels sick to his stomach just thinking about it— He doesn’t-…. He hates it, you know? …Everything about this situation is just horrible, and he knows he’s to blame for it all.

It’s hardly been three weeks since you all but shoved him off your townhouse’s doorstep and tearfully shooed him away, but his chest harbors an inexplicable ache and it feels like forever’s gone by without a kiss on the cheek from you.

You told him you needed some time away.

Sweet little you, biting back heartbroken sobs and unable to set your wounded gaze on his, brushed away all his dastardly mutters and excuses and promised it was temporary. That you’d tell him when you’re ready again to talk things over, to sort out all of his lies and half-truths. Saying on your boyfriend’s belated way out your door, please, Olly, in that shivery, pretty voice of yours, refusing to accept his outstretched arms, j-just let me be, I’ll call you when I’m okay.

And receiving that final text out of the blue saying the two of you were done for good- shit, baby, that hurt him. You want nothing to do with him, you want to forget you ever loved each other, like he was never there and you were never one of his stupid little side chicks—

But like a loyal mutt, or perhaps just like a dog to its vomit, Oliver comes right back.

𑁍

Palms pressed to the cool wood of the door, you can feel them growing clammy by the second.

It wasn’t the last thing you expected upon answering the doorbell, per se, but you can’t help but feel a rush of visceral emotions all the same. All unpleasant, none of them particularly easy to sort out.

It makes you dizzy, seeing your now ex-boyfriend crowded just on the other side of the door, his handsome face a little warped by the fisheye.

Hiding behind the peephole like some creepy Tom, you watch the man silently for a few lengthy moments as he paces in short steps. Oliver’s never been the type to lose his cool easily, but witnessing him now is something that calls vague worry on your end- because his hands are shoved in his pockets and those heterochromatic hues flicker over the ugly striped carpet of the hall with impatience.

His thoughts are racing, within the scruff of his chin his lips are pursed and you notice his dark hair’s a little mussed.

He’s still stupidly handsome though, and perhaps for that reason or another, you begrudgingly resign to unlocking the door after two more persistent rings of the bell- and that initial clicking sound on your end is really all he needs before bunting his shoulder into the door and stepping in.

The fullness of his presence kicks you back by a few feet, but your old boyfriend swiftly closes the distance with a meager step or two, grabs your face in both his callous, eager hands- and kisses you.

And just between the two of you, your eyes are starting to feel a little teary, but if the brunette feels the dewy warmth of your lashes starting to gather or even hears the sad little whimper you offer, he doesn’t show it.

Instead he groans, clipping the kiss short despite the better part of him telling him to go completely feral, and pulls away some, his warm hands still swallowing up your soft cheeks.

And he looks at you.

Like, fully looks at you, entirely, like he’s seeing something new but simultaneously seeing the same beautiful thing he has been for months now. (You’re all he sees, do you get that? he wonders, and in the same heartbeat he realizes he’s completely wrong in that hope.)

Something glitters in those plum-colored, greenish depths. Obsession yet warmth, too- something unmistakably bright paired with a deep-rooted hunger that sort of scared you. And there was, more shockingly, repentance too. All consuming and loud despite the wordless act he’d been carrying since he all but barged in- something so regretful woven into the chiseled lines of his face.

And it must be a handful of seconds, the two of you awash in the grey light of the moon in the threshold of the living room, before he looses a heavy huff and a depraved little smile sows into his cheeks. Yours are still warm; he feels them getting hotter as he cups them, his thumb rubbing fast-paced circles into the soft skin there.

“Kiss me back?”

It must be guilt that seizes your heart next- or something potent and very close to it- because your ex-boyfriend suddenly starts to look a lot like your now-boyfriend and the kicked-puppy countenance hits a place very near and dear to you.

“O-Olly—“

And there’s just no way you don’t know what you’re getting into when you call him something like that, so good ol’ Olly really hopes you don’t mind it when he shifts both his hands over the curves of your hips and presses you further back into the cozy home, using that clever pout to his advantage to completely rob you of words.

What a snake, you vaguely think to yourself when you find the backs of your knees hitting the couch and collapsing onto it. What a handsome, horrible, womanizing fucking snake.

And his cheeks are tinged a selfish rose when he sets you down gently, chewing on his bottom lip when you find the nerve to shoot him a bleary glare and make the honorable, short-lived attempt to squirm away.

“Great, Olly. Ya just came back to screw me-?”

“Nah,” he retorts quicker than you can finish your sentence, and he’s got this deeply infatuated twinkle to his split-dyed hues that makes you go entirely still beneath him.

“I’ve been a little bad as of late, haven’t I?” He says almost sheepishly. “You know I’m sorry, though. And now I’ll show it- if ya’d let me?”

He presents it as a choice, yet you’ve got the sinking suspicion that there is nothing on earth you could possibly say to careen the intentions he’s made such quick work of illuminating.

“I-If I said no?” You stammer back, but Aiku spots that delicate pink starting to imbue your cheeks and your thighs tremble in anticipation— cute, really, but even so, he doubts you’re fully aware of just what exactly is about to happen. The things he’ll do. What he’ll render you beneath him.

Olly’ll make you feel so good, baby. He’ll make you cum so hard you shake and the ceiling spins. Your fists will ball and you’ll cry his name into the night- so loud despite your valiant efforts to stay quiet that the neighbors overhear. And he’ll deliver a really good reminder as to why you’re his girlfriend and he’s your boyfriend.

But sweetheart, pretty girl, you should know that the good always comes with a dose of the bad and, well, if you try to fight him even just a little bit, this could end drastically different from perhaps how you’re expecting.

Oliver looses a chuckle. Low, raspy.

His cigarette smoke wafts off his leather jacket in unseen plumes of cherry spice and fire when he shrugs it off and lets it crumple on the carpet. (All together, your sort-of boyfriend is like one big hot tamale that burns too good on the tongue to properly taste. Or maybe that’s just the childish side of you wishing he’d be a little more wholesome. Men are, too often, shockingly cruel.)

Flickering, simmering. He touched those girls and never felt ‘em— he’s with you now and just seeing you makes him feel like he’s consumed by wild flames in a forest. He thinks he’s fully fine with that.

“Well, baby. Honestly, I don’t think you will.”

And with that, his index loops under the waistband of your shorts and he pulls them down. Your panties come next- frilly white lace over black cotton, Oliver was expecting something baby blue or striped but this is by no means a bad surprise, either.

You writhe a little bit. It might be from the nerves, the fact that you’re still uneasy from the recent events and the wound is still raw.

But a sizable part of Oliver wonders if it’s because it’s been weeks since he last touched you and you’ve always been so endearingly sensitive.

‘Specially down there.

Your face shifts when he insinuates himself over you and dips his middle finger between your folds; he’s pleased beyond belief to find a wetness there, but that’s not exactly what he’s searching for.

No, what he’s seeking, heterochromatic hues trading keen, unbalanced glances between yours, is something else entirely.

Lust is something. He wants to be the only man who can get your panties in a bunch when his name rises in conversation, and the idea of you suddenly becoming very aware of your thighs after a less-than-innocent promise of his gives him a deep-seated satisfaction. But he wants something more, too.

Wants your heart to swell when he raps his knuckles over your door. Your tummy to flip when he says I love you. Wants you to smile and beam when he inevitably gets down on one knee and asks perhaps the single most important question of his life.

And your eyes, swarming with pretty tears, beautiful despite the way you unceremoniously screw them shut when he peppers sweet, sensual kisses over the swell of your breast, tell Oliver all he needs to know.

“Good girl,” he tells you after the first, frail moan he drags out of you.

After that it’s easy to coax out more, because despite your pride demanding you to keep a straight face and your attempt at holding a rational thought- Oliver’s hands feel so fucking good and with that doting, murky look in his eyes, it’s sort of hard to stay mad at him.

Because he looks like he’s in love with you. And he doesn’t touch and slap and defile you like he did those girls in the photos- like they wanted him, like he wanted them.

Your plushy thighs clench and clamp around his thick wrist when he plunges two fingers inside your fluttering hole, earning a delicious little gasp from you.

“Hoh, gettin’ worked up, sweetheart?” Oliver laughs, yet his voice is husky. Weighed by ash.

His eyes start showing another lid when you weave a hand in his shaggy brown tresses, your boyfriend slowly slinking down down down, your legs disappearing under his heavy weight as he settles between them completely.

“Barely even touched you though,” he comments, still managing that snake-like little half smirk your way that makes your gut bubble with something close to humiliation.

You sniffle, thick eyelashes fanning out over your cheekbones (they shine like holographic discs in the golden lamplight beside you) as he hums and gathers the fat of your inner thighs in large, somewhat rough palms. (But he wants to be gentle, he reminds himself, he has to, it’s the only way with you.)

“Nonsense,” you mumble, “already forgetting you stuck two of your stupid fingers in me?” His lips curl a little tighter at that- and somehow, it pisses you off more.

“Stupid Olly.”

“Heel, princess,” he chuckles- yet there’s also an echo of pride there, like he’s happy you can spit when you need to, lower him back to his place. “And here I thought I was doing you a favor… Loosening you up ‘fore I gave you the real deal.”

To counter the furious blush of your cheeks, you attempt a scoff- but it comes out way too breathy and even to your own ears it sounds pathetic.

Little. Inferior.

“V-Very little about you is r—“

You gasp.

Tiny hands scrabbling to re-anchor into brown, neon green tinged locks, biting down on your lip hard to muffle a whimsy, whorish little moan.

“I know,” he comments, heavy-lidded eyes flickering up to you- and that stupid, complacent expression of his just drives you up the wall as he tongues at your hole. Suckling sloppy, openmouthed kisses along wet folds.

“Tell me about it, babe.”

Sticky with spit, your thighs tremble and quake- your cheeks must be as hot as two stovetop burners when your boyfriend (and he definitely can’t be your ex boyfriend anymore, not with the reverent way he touches or tastes or stares at you) plunges those thick fingers right back inside you and pumps.

His wrist flexes, that finicky tendon there disappearing before spiking up when his palm collides with your sweet little pussy, intentionally working at your puffy clit there.

“Oh no,” you breathe when that yarn ball of pleasure churns in your tummy, and you can just feel the colorful thin strings start to come undone. Unravelling apart, falling into shreds around you.

Snapping one by one in tandem, stripping you bare to your core— so slow yet so sure.

You whine it out again, voice so fragile and malleable in the cool air, and Oliver can’t hide the stupid, smug grin that carves into his cheeks.

To your surprise, he makes no awful quip about your rising fear of cumming too soon- not initially at least.

But when the dark scruff around his swollen red lips brush and prickle at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and he almost purposefully chafes it against your throbbing, needy clit— And you let out that angelic little keen of Olly—

Whew.

Olly waltzed into your house, forcefully barged back into your life, all under the intention of first making his amends— providing a much-needed remedy to the shitty situation. Whether that be by a few innocent, heartfelt kisses littered to your jaw or making you scream with delight on his fingers and tongue and cock- it sounded all fine and dandy to him.

But this- what you’re pulling on him now- it’s dangerous waters, princess. Yanks him from his self restraint and throws him in the deep end of a pool he’s not so sure he can fully resurface from.

Olly. You say, and not for the first time. He’s always thought he was a man of control, but with you he must be anything but, because it’s the final nail in the coffin for the poor aching bastard.

So, perhaps it’s a surprise he even manages a earth-shattering orgasm out of you (a loud one at that) what with the way he’s rushing— but once he does, he jerks up to his knees and cradles you close, moaning when he frees his twitching, heavy cock from its restraints and it nudges against one of your spent, slicked thighs.

Finally, he thinks to himself, murmuring a quick, hopefully reassuring dismissal to your shivery-voiced question of a condom.

And sinking himself in, he wastes no time at all, attempting at easing the both of you into it (‘cause you’re tight, so tight, and a vestige of his rationality begs not to hurt you, even if by accident) but failing miserably.

He loves you, baby, he really fucking does. Part of him wonders if you’d still unlock your door for him if you knew even half the grotesque little whispers making rounds in his brain- but in the same heartbeat he realizes you would, because you’re good like that- For him.

And despite it all, the bratty little huffs and puffs and the nit-picky attitudes you sometimes fall into- the stupid fucking pictures you manage to dig up in his phone’s gallery- your arms always hang open, and they’re always so warm when they wrap around him.

So to say he doesn’t feel even a shred of guilt would be a bold-faced lie, hips snapping against the underside of your hitched thighs and rattling your pretty little body beneath him- but a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do, and when your gorgeous eyes scrunch into this brief call of uncertainty despite the heaven he’s sure as hell giving you—

He’s just gotta do it.

…Good always comes with the bad, right?

Besides, this could be fucking perfect if you looked at it from a different angle- whether or not you respond with dignity or a full-blown fit of hysteria is entirely your choice, but Olly will be right there by your side either way.

A belly full of his seed, his children. His love. It’s something you can’t exactly scrub away, you know? And to be honest, princess, Oliver’s just a teency bit tired of this pesky push-and-pull bullshit you’ve teetered on for the past few months. Trying to get rid of him a couple weeks back certainly dealt a decent blow to his heart, too.

But you- pregnant with his kin and woefully stuck with him- tied to him with a glittering ring and his last name to match- for good—

“Oh, shit.”

And suddenly his balls feel real tight, all the intricate, strong planes in his abdomen tensing as the little muscles around his dual-colored eyes crinkle.

“That’s it, honey— Fuck.”

The idea tips him over the edge completely, hips stilling against you with a feral little groan as he spills inside. Ropes of hot, white cum fill you in what seems to be droves, clinging to smooth, fertile walls, reaching even deeper.

And by the time he finally pulls out- regarding that bleary, blissed-out look you send him with a hazy, lovesick grin- it’s oozing out of you. Down your legs, ass, imbuing the leather of the couch and soiling it for good.

And that’s just how he wants it.

He smiles, leaning down to plant a sickeningly sweet kiss to the glowing sheen of your temple, those heterochromatic hues twinkling with something you can’t quite place a finger to before he curls you against his chest.