a willow dancing on air before covering me 🎵

"Hi," You murmured, hip resting against the counter, glancing from the cheap coffee maker over to his tall frame hovering in the door frame. The only splotch of color against all the gray walls and tiles, a familiar warmth surrounding him you swore you could feel even across the room.

"Good morning," Suguru greeted, clearing his throat before hesitantly stepping in.

"Want some?" You offered, gesturing to the almost-full pot, the bitter aroma wafting up to your nose as the dark liquid continued its slow drips.

"Sure," He muttered, taking a few steps closer while you got on your tiptoes to reach the mugs some idiot had shoved on the top shelf of the break room cabinets. The rest abandoned in the sink from other coworkers who refused to wash what they used. "Here, let me."

His body brushed against yours as he reached up and plucked two out with ease, passing one down to you before stepping away, like he just remembered where you were. Who you were.

A cluster of female voices, a flurry of whispers and giggles coming from the hall carried through. He stiffened at whatever gossip he was overhearing, his mouth twitching down in a frown while you poured the coffee into his mug.

You could guess what they were saying.

The rumor floating around the desks of those with nothing better to do that you'd only gotten your secretary position by sleeping around - as if your shitty job stacking papers and scheduling meetings was worth getting fucked for.

They mistook your bosses favoritism (i.e. not getting screamed at or fired for minor mistakes) for something more, oblivious to the real transaction defining your relationship. It was simple, really.

The rich always found a way to get richer.

Your father had thought Naobito Zenin was his friend rather than just a boss. Convinced to take the fall for his money laundering operation when someone tattled, and in return, Zenin promised to take care of you. Which just meant paying the bills for your cramped studio apartment and offering you a job as his secretary after you finished college.

You used to think he was a fool for accepting.

What was his other option? Let the lawyer the Zenins had on retainer frame him for it anyway?

"You should say something to HR," Suguru quietly spoke up, bringing the mug up to his lips. He wasn't looking at you. He rarely did here.

"That'll make it worse," You shrugged. You'd gotten used to it by now. You'd never told Suguru the truth, but he was one of the few that had never believed any of the rumors in the first place.

He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, one of the few things you'd actually bought with your own money, wrapped with the receipt and snuck in his apartment to deliver under his Christmas tree last year after he kept showing up late to work. Because, unfortunately, whether you liked it or not, you were more than a little fond of him. His dark brows furrowed together as his lips started to part, probably about to scold you for something.

But your time was up already.

“I have to get back to my desk,” You sighed, offering a small smile, fingers wrapped tight around the mug, heat seeping through the ceramic as you started towards the door.

Suguru watched you go, oblivious he was the reason you actually stayed.

No rent or bills was nice, but years of saving and skimping and stealing everything else, you could afford to leave. The Zenins might make it hard to fully find freedom, considering they'd been buying your silence and cooperation for years now, but it wouldn't be impossible with your skill set to search for someplace new and snag a job you actually liked and live the sort of life Suguru kept trying to convince you to have.

It was just that - as fucked up as it was, you sort of liked your routine here.

Getting off work and going back home just to slip on your bodysuit, prowling around museums and exhibits, sneaking into the homes of the ridiculously rich and cleaning out their safes while they were busy vacationing somewhere warm. Stealing something that wasn't yours, holding it in your palm and hiding it away just because you could. Suguru didn't always stop you either, sometimes waiting until you made it back home with your haul just to treat you like a cat who brought something dead inside. He never appreciated it when you pointed out he was the one who broke into your apartment.

And even if it was sorta his fault you ended up here and stuck under the thumb of the Zenin corporation, you didn't want to move away from your father either. You left work early the last Friday of every month to visit him, although ninety percent of your coworkers were convinced it was just a perk you received from sharing a bed with the boss.

As if you'd ever touch that wrinkly old bas-

“You're late,” Mr. Zenin grumbled, frowning when you stepped through the door to your tiny office that people were forced to walk through to get to his far nicer one, an apology already on your lips before you noticed he wasn't alone.

There was a man currently lounging in your chair, feet propped up on your desk, beaming a million-watt smile your way before raking his fingers through wild white strands of hair. He was strikingly handsome - in a way that weirdly reminded you of Suguru, the same innate gravitational pull they possessed - radiating something blinding and bright that just begged you to look at him, study his sharp features and the pretty blue glimmer of his eyes, the way he left the top few buttons of his shirt undone to draw your attention down to his broad chest.

“I'm, um, sorry, sir,” You stammered out, having trouble dragging your eyes off of him over to your employer.

“I have someone for you to meet,” He spoke brusquely, glaring for a second at the stranger before turning back to you. “This is Satoru Gojo, heir to-”

You didn't need him to tell you. You'd heard that name a million times. The rich, prodigy playboy who inherited daddy’s tech company before he hit twenty-five. You were pretty fucking sure you'd even robbed his place before once. Actually, scratch that, twice.

He was swinging his legs off the desk, a pen rolling into the floor that he, of course, didn't bother to pick up, strolling over to you with lazy strides, one hand slung in the pocket of his slacks before he stuck out the other one for you to shake.

He was tall up close, at least the same height as Suguru, looking down at you with a curious expression you quickly decided you disliked.

“It's nice to meet you,” You softly said, putting on your best polite smile as you reluctantly slid your palm in his to shake. His hand was soft, not a single rough callous to be found as his tight grip squeezed your palm, taking a few seconds too long to let go.

“You too,” He flashed another brilliant grin, his voice laced with the sort of cockiness money couldn't buy, that probably came in a package deal with the silver spoon he'd been born with.

And so softly you almost missed it, he murmured your name you guessed your boss must've told him, a small purr rolling off his tongue like he was testing how it sounded out loud.

“Have an office cleared out and set up for him on this floor. He's investing in the new research project we’re starting next week.”

You couldn't tell if your boss was pleased or not about that, his thin lips pressed tightly together as he gave the orders. There was the implication that he must be investing more than just money if he was sticking around, that whatever deal they made had more to it than what was written on paper.

“Sure,” You nodded, sneaking another peek at today's guest to find he was already looking back at you.

“You'll be assisting him for the duration of his stay.” Condescension dripped from his voice, like he was trying to explain physics to a five-year-old, offering you up to Gojo as if you were a piece of meat, a dessert he was sharing. The whore everyone whispered you were. “I trust you'll do what he asks.”

“Of course,” You automatically replied, thankful for the excuse to escape from him, even if the project only took a couple weeks.

“Gojo also has a proposal for us,” Zenin informed you, and maybe it was just how long you worked for him, but all your senses started to scream at you that something wasn't quite right here. You were pretty sure the hairs on the back of your neck were standing up, your eyes darting cautiously between both of them for any clues to give it away.

Even the fake plastic plant in the corner seemed to wilt under the weird energy, the thick tension pressing down on your chest.

Why else would he say us? Why not just say the company? It's not like he ever considered you anything other than a liability to keep in check before, despite the empty words he'd mutter when others were around, vague assertions that you were like a daughter to him when he was the old-fashioned sort of asshole who'd sell off his own family for a few stocks. You guessed you kind of were though - your father had transferred legal guardianship of you to the geezer before he'd been locked up.

“Oh?” You blinked a few times, brushing your palm off on your skirt before taking another sip of your coffee, just needing something to do with your hands before the panic could claw its way out of your throat.

You were too distracted searching his face for answers that you didn't notice what Gojo had pulled out of his pocket until he was holding it out in his palm.

The crushed blue velvet of a ring box, an amused smirk twisting up on his face when the information your eyes sent your brain finally registered, your mouth falling open just to snap shut just as quickly.

“I don't understand,” You finally said, blinking like that'd do anything to change what you were seeing.

He popped open the box, a diamond ring sitting pretty in the center, probably worth more than a year of your salary judging by the quality of the cut, the clarity of it, set in a thin white-gold band.

“Marry me.” As if that wasn't the fourth and fifth word he'd ever said to you.

“No.” You couldn't help but laugh, glancing back over at Mr. Zenin in disbelief, just for him to cut you a look that screamed you were already fucking this up for him.

An actual proposal was not on the fucking calendar today. You know, a memo or an email or any heads up would've been nice.

Gojo laughed with you, not so subtly sizing you up with that searing stare while your boss scoffed.

Maybe you were being pranked. Or this was some cruel joke orchestrated by the universe to fuck you over in some new and exciting way.

“She'll come around,” Zenin huffed, dusting lint that wasn't there off his clothes, casually deciding you were both a waste of his time judging by the disgusted way the lines and wrinkles in his face pulled together.

“Mind if I explain my, ah, situation to her myself?” Gojo talked down to him, patronization bleeding through his cutting tone. In all the years you'd been stuck working under the asshole, you'd never heard anyone bold enough to speak to the head of the Zenins like that.

“Fine.”

And he was seething over it under the surface, but Zenin just nodded, his face stuck in the same permanent scowl you were used to as he turned back to his adjoining office, throwing you one last glare meant to remind you of what your place was.

Gojo relaxed once the thick door thudded shut behind him, his jaw unclenching, hard lines starting to soften when he sprawled out in the chair sitting across from your desk. He made it look small, dwarfing your whole cramped desk area when he stretched his long legs out.

The effect seemed to stretch to you, left with a faint impression you were just some little plaything shrunk down to size in his palm to toy with.

The way he watched you was unnerving.

Sweeping over every minute movement you made, tracing your outline as you bent over to pick up the pen he dropped, and he might as well be licking his pretty pink lips if he was going to eyefuck you like that less than five minutes after he met you.

You rolled your eyes automatically, tempted to shove him in the box everyone else slotted him in, but you held your tongue, setting your pen and coffee down before sitting in your chair.

It was hard not to be a little intrigued. But that wasn't nearly enough to outweigh the overwhelming impression you were thoroughly out of your league here. Prey for once instead of the predator.

“What do you want?” You deadpanned, not particularly feeling like keeping up the proper act around someone who seemed like he couldn't care less about being polite.

“You,” He cheekily grinned, leaning over to slide the ring box across the polished veneer of your desk, as if he was seeking your approval.

“You're not funny.”

“Not trying to be,” He casually shrugged, tilting his chin back to yawn. “Besides, what more could you want in a husband? I've got more money than I can spend, a pretty face, I'm great in bed, y’know, I'm a real catch if you think about-”

He wasn't entirely wrong - he was probably the most eligible bachelor in the city. But people like him only ever used people like you.

"Don't you usually go for, I dunno, models or something?" Not secretaries.

"Those are just stupid rumors," He waved it off, pretending to be wounded by the shallow assumption. You faltered at that.

“We don't know each other,” You pointed out, pushing the box back towards him with just the tip of your index finger.

Even the brief contact left phantom burns, and sure, you knew it was just your mind messing with you, you nearly shivered at the touch.

“Is that so?” He hummed, a glint in his eyes that felt dangerous.

“I thought you wanted to explain your situation,” You repeated his words, back molars grinding down on the inside of your cheek and considering the probability you were about to bite off far more than you could chew with him.

“My board of directors wants me to settle down, you know, what's good for the company image, blah blah blah,” Gojo talked with his hands, rolling his eyes like the memory of the conversation annoyed him. “I told them-”

“I don't see what any of that has to do with me,” You coldly cut him off. Couldn't he just get an actual girlfriend? If he had even just asked you for a date, you might've considered.

Well, probably not, but still.

Maybe you would've slept with him to make Suguru jealous, although -

“I take marriage very seriously,” He pouted, interrupting your thoughts as he sat up straight to scoot his chair closer, like his proximity alone, the pressure of his presence would make you give in.

“Clearly,” You murmured sarcastically.

“What if I said it was love at first sight?” He whined, cocking his frustratingly perfect face to the side, pushing out a plush lip.

For a second, you did sorta wish he was being honest. That someone could really fall for you so easily, so openly.

“You've never seen me before today, and you showed up with a ring,” You sighed, a weird mix of adrenaline and anxiety settling in your stomach, tempted to flick his forehead just to see what sort of expression he'd make when nothing you'd said so far seemed to phase him at all.

He opened his mouth to make one of those stupid noises on game shows when you got an answer wrong, the corner of his mouth twitching up like you'd accidentally stumbled into a trap he set.

“See, that's where you're wrong, sweetheart,” He purred, pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping a few times until he found what he was looking for. He stood up, rounding the corner of your desk, one huge palm landing on the chair next to your shoulder, almost brushing against you, before leaning down. His cologne enveloped you, something sweet and fruity but synthetic somehow, clouding your senses.

Your heart jumped up into your throat before he even held it out in front of you, the same instincts from earlier rearing back up to screech at you to get up and go. But you were frozen in place, and he hit play on the video on his phone, the view from a hidden security camera in the walk-in closet of a familiar penthouse, focused on an even more familiar figure. You.

Sure, the mask went over your eyes, and the skintight bodysuit was a far cry from the button-up and pencil skirt you were currently wearing, but he knew anyway.

You could feel your blood running cold, heart sinking through every story of the building and crashing into the concrete at the realization you'd been bested by Satoru Gojo, of all people.

A week. It took you a full week to figure out his security system and loop all the feeds and disarm all the alarms to break in. Just to miss one? One that must've been behind the fucking mirror if you were remembering the layout of the stupid closet he'd caught you in correctly?

Why the fuck would anyone even put one there? And more importantly, how did he figure out it was even you?

“You think that's me?” You lied through your teeth, hoping none of the panic racing through you bled through your voice.

“Wait, my favorite part is coming up,” He grinned, ignoring your question and directing your attention back to the screen.

You watched yourself rummaging through the small lockbox shoved in the drawer of his dresser, pulling out a necklace with glittering gemstones, aquamarine or blue topaz, as close to the same shade as its owner's eyes as it could get. The oblivious you glancing over to what you thought was just a mirror, holding it up to admire the way it draped across your throat before shrugging and stuffing it back inside.

You hadn't even taken that much from him. Just some loose cash he wouldn't miss, a few coins that looked like collectibles. You'd only returned the second time because you were bored and wanted a second look at his watch collection, snooping and sneaking around the other mostly empty rooms of his place that appeared to go unused, no photos or trinkets or anything other than overpriced furniture and abstract art, thinking about how someone could probably live in one of the spare rooms without him ever even noticing.

“Do you have any proof that it's even me?” You huffed, watching yourself tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, counting the bills with carefully manicured nails. “Or do you just go around accusing random women of stealing from you?”

“You should've taken the necklace,” He shrugged, his shoulder bumping into yours as he shut his phone off and shoved it back in his pocket, ignoring your questions entirely. “Looked good on you.”

He wasn't even entertaining your lie.

“Yeah?” You couldn't choke out anything else, cotton stuffed in your mouth while you tried to ignore the suffocating weight of this new development weighing down on you.

Was this it? He was just blackmailing you into whatever he was planning just out of some pettiness? You'd be stuck as his latest accessory, play the part of a perfect fianceè or wife or he'd send you to jail?

“Now that I have your attention,” He dramatically sighed, returning to his seat. “I hope you'll hear me out.”

You didn't exactly have another choice.

“I'm listening,” You mumbled, unable to stop your heel from tapping the floor, anxiety building and boiling underneath the surface.

“Usually, I'd just tell the board to fuck off, but I guess you could say our interests aligned this time,” He murmured, his loaded gaze focusing on you when he slowly enunciated interests to let you know precisely who he meant by that. “But uh, how's that saying go? If you scratch my back, I'd be more than happy to scratch yours.”

He winked, and you knew that he'd probably prefer you scratch his back in a different way, although you were currently closer to clawing out the same eye he winked with.

“Oh? Is that what you call blackmailing me?” You avoided his intense stare, folding your arms tightly across your chest. It didn't make you feel any less vulnerable, any less exposed in front of him.

“I'm not ‘blackmailing’ you,” He huffed, like it was preposterous for you to even presume that. “You're free to say no. If you want, you can even come steal my TV next. I'll help carry it out.”

You laughed again, baffled on what you were supposed to make of him and this then. Was this some insane play to prove to you that you could trust him?

“So what? You fell in love with some cat burglar you're convinced is me and wanna get married now?”

“Exactly,” He grinned.

“You do realize how ridiculous this sounds?” A headache was already forming behind your eyes while you rubbed the inner corners, squinting at the white-haired manchild you somehow found dropped in your lap, pouting and pleading to become your problem for the rest of your life.

“What can I say? I like a woman with a hobby,” He teased, and even when you knew he was just toying with you, it was hard to fight the temptation to play into his hand.

Sure, you were suspicious, but how much of your feelings were swayed because you were looking for excuses not to commit? Your heart was already holding that space for someone who never asked you to.

“You're delusional,” You muttered.

“Okay, klepto,” He mocked in a low drawl, nipping back at the bite in your voice.

“Whatever,” You weakly shot back, desperately working over how he might've figured out it was you. And if he'd pieced that together - could you have accidentally given away Suguru’s identity too?

No way.

He couldn't know, right? You were careful to not be seen with him outside of his apartment or yours.

Suguru could take care of himself against thugs and criminals, but Satoru Gojo had three things neither of you did, money, power, and connections. He seemed harmless enough, but was that just the mask he wore? The instinct to shield Suguru came naturally, the need to protect him even if the cost was yourself.

If he did know, you would willingly walk into the snare, let yourself get caught in his trap.

“You still haven't heard my offer yet,” Satoru reminded you, snapping you out of your panicked spiraling, readjusting the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt casually so the blue veins bulging against his muscles forearm stood out.

He was playing dirty - a stupidly smug smirk on his face catching where you were looking, like he had some sixth sense that let him know you were unfortunately attracted to him no matter what you said to the contrary.

“Are you gonna tell me then?” You cleared your throat, sitting up straighter in an attempt to look composed.

His face hardened into something surprisingly serious.

“Your dad took the rap for the Zenins, right?”

Checkmate.

There wasn't any teasing left, but it was still so easy for him to just bring up something you'd kept concealed for years.

You couldn't shove down the lump in your throat, just staring blankly at him. Was your heart still beating? You couldn't even tell if you were breathing, every higher function shutting down one by one while he continued talking.

“He’ll be in there for what? Another ten years if he gets out early?” He tilted his head innocently, like your lungs weren't burning, this stranger who waltzed into your life like he knew every secret you struggled to lock up.

“What’s your point? You're stalking me?” It came out hoarse, strangled.

“It's public information,” He shrugged, reminding you that your family's shitty situation was just a few searches away for anyone else who wanted to know.

“What makes you think I care?” You bluffed, as if you weren't actively attempting to convince yourself not to care.

“I could get him out in a few months,” The devil in disguise offered, punctuating it with a dreamy little sigh that made your heart stall. “Maybe sooner.”

“Why would you do that for me?” You mumbled, finding yourself glancing back over at the ring on the edge of your desk.

Why was he trying so hard? For someone who was so obviously broken and glued back together in too many places to count?

A no-longer-small piece of you wanted to put your faith in him.

To think someone could stare at all the skeletons in your closet and throw a silly sweater on them instead of burying them six feet deep, that wouldn't shy away from the shadows you came with and choose you anyway.

“C’mon, you think I'd just let my future father-in-law rot in prison?” Gojo chuckled, all saccharine and sincere when you half-expected him to crack some stupid joke about you having daddy issues.

You simply didn't know what to say. It'd be stupid to take him at his word.

But he had you by the throat and you couldn't even tell if it was intentional. When you'd been starved for affection long enough, every touch felt like love even if you were being choked with it.

He showed up with a ring because he knew what your answer would be.

“Can I think about it?” You heard yourself ask, struggling not to give in immediately. His head tilted to the side, stretching his long legs out as his eyes dragged back over your face. Every second of eye contact was intense, like he was studying every line and freckle he could find.

“Course,” He smiled cordially, the iciness in his features melting into snow you could sink in, soften the landing of the emotional free fall he'd shoved you into. “We’ll be seeing each other quite a bit anyway, right?”

Shit. You'd almost forgotten you'd pretty much been designated his to boss around and follow for the foreseeable future.

“Yeah,” You nodded numbly.

"Do you prefer flowers or chocolate?" He changed the subject, trying to snag a folder from the corner of your desk before you went to swat his hand away.

"Flowers, but you really don't-" You huffed, but he pulled back before you could smack his fingers, chuckling.

"Got it, sweetheart," He chirped. "More chocolate for me then."

"You think if you buy me flowers a few times, I'll just fall in love with you?" It was posturing, pretending to be unaffected by his magnetic draw and his enticing offer. Married to a gorgeous man who was obsessed with you? Who was offering to protect you and your family?

He might've had his own motivations - but each time you ran through the variables, you came to the same conclusion. It just wasn't one you wanted to face.

"I'm pretty irresistible," He hummed, cocking an eyebrow up as he casually bragged.

You scoffed.

“Just so you know, though, I don't share,” He murmured, soft and low, his words sinking into your bones as he stood up from the chair, running his fingers through his hair once more before heading for the door. “If you say yes, you're mine.”

Was that a promise or a threat?

Everything about him seemed too good to be true. Did freedom for your father and breaking away from the Zenins just mean locking yourself in a new gilded cage? Or was even just a piece of him genuine?

“And I'll be all yours, sweetheart,” Gojo winked. You hated how much it sounded like he meant it. How easily he could swear his loyalty like you had done something other than steal and lie to earn it.

If he really belonged to you the way he claimed he did, could you offer yourself back?

He slipped out of the door, leaving you with his words and his ring.

It was excruciating not to open it. To stop yourself from taking it out of the box and slip it on your finger just to see how it would fit. Picture yourself wearing it every day for the rest of your life.

Would it be selfish to say no? Screw over your father and potentially yourself and even Suguru? Or was it selfish to say yes and abandon him to take the easiest way out?

What sacrifice were you willing to make for who?

Suguru didn't love you.

Your relationship mostly consisted of arguing and fucking just to argue again, although it was the quiet moments that came to mind now, the rare silence where you were nestled against him and he'd stroke your hair and you'd imagine every morning being like that in some other life where he wasn't him and you weren't you.

Where kissing him didn't hurt, where you didn't have to fight and claw and scratch for one more fleeting minute with him.

Nausea curled in your stomach thinking about never getting another one. A dull ache chipping away at your resolve to do the right thing for once if it meant you wouldn't have to get robbed of him, but the harder you tried to cling to hope, the faster the idea of you and him sank.

He was the hero, and you were just be someone he felt like he had to save.

Maybe it was just how you were born or made or molded, but you could admit that you were selfish. You'd always been able to take what you wanted without guilt pricking at your conscience, after having everything ripped from you before. Untethered and scrapping by when nothing you owned ever felt like it was truly yours.

But everything shifted after him - and you no longer knew if anything you were doing was for yourself anymore, or if it was just another grab for his attention. Suguru saw you, even when you were hard to look at, held you even when you were all your sharp edges threatened to scratch him.

It'd never been hard to love him, but it would be to leave him.

Would he watch you go again how he always did? With those dark eyes that had their own storms behind them he'd never want you to weather with him? Or would offer one of those quietly kind smiles you couldn't stand and a soft "I'm happy for you," when you held up the ring on your finger?

He'd probably mean it too, and it'd hurt worse than anything else he could've ever said.

You were on your feet before you could keep second guessing yourself, fist wrapped around the soft ring box and striding through the door down the hall to the elevators. Whatever you decided, you'd return the ring back to Gojo first. You didn't want to have to hold onto it, or you might waste all your time opening and closing the lid just to stare at the impressive diamond inside, knowing it'd only be a matter of time before curiosity killed the cat and you tried it on.

If you were going to marry the idiot, he'd better propose to you properly at least.

It probably wasn't too late, you could catch him in the lobby or before he made it to his car outside, although he was the type you'd expect to have a chauffeur or someone whose job was just to drive him around. Zenins wouldn't be able to say anything about your absence either after essentially attempting to pimp you out to him.

You pressed the button for the elevator, folding your arms back across your chest to tuck the box underneath your bicep so no one would be able to see it. Waiting for the groan of the elevator shaft creaking its way upward as your heel tapped impatiently against the pristine tile, chewing hard enough on your bottom lip that it broke the skin.

There was a dying ding! when the elevator stopped on your floor, obviously in need of maintenance when the door opened for - well, great.

“Are you alright?” Suguru asked before he even stepped out, squinting cautiously at your rigid frame, studying your clenched jaw and the raw spot you just bit on your lower lip before his eyes flitted up to meet yours, something dark stirring behind them as his voice dropped lower. “Did something happen?”

It was more than that though - he'd probably picked up on how fast your heart was racing even before the elevator stopped, your unsteady breathing that'd given you away. He stepped closer, pushing the limit of the acceptable proximity one should have with someone who was just a coworker.

His warmth didn't cut through the cold though, shuddering out a sharp breath as you automatically stepped back.

“It’s nothing,” You shrugged, staring at the floor as the elevator door started to shut again behind him. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look-”

“What are you doing up here?” You tried to change the subject, glancing behind you at the empty hall for another excuse not to look at him. You felt sick. You couldn't tell him. About the ring or the proposal or the fact your other identity had been found out and he might be too or even just about your father.

What would he do in your shoes?

Accept it for his family? Or turn it down for you?

(You knew he would've accepted it - that he would've considered it the right thing to do.)

Did he notice the box tucked under your arm? It felt like a loaded gun about to go off at any second, a grenade with a loose pin that might pop out before you could throw it.

“Zenin has to sign off on my promotion,” Suguru slowly said, watching the way your face went slack at the good news. It was good, you tried to tell yourself, even though the petty part of you pestered you to ask when that happened, wondered why you hadn't even known they were considering promoting him, why he never told you.

He deserved the recognition and the pay bump a promotion came with. Deserved someone who he'd be able to celebrate his wins with instead of someone he was supposed to win against.

“That's great,” You managed a smile, one you both knew didn't reach your eyes even if you meant it. “Seriously.”

You could see his frown out of the corner of your eye, but he looked away towards the offices down the hall in the way that let you know someone else would be coming soon.

Another remind your time with him had always been limited after all. And the sand in the hourglass was almost out.

“Let's talk ton-”

“See you around, Suguru,” You muttered under your breath, pressing the button again for the elevator as you heard the first heavy thuds of footsteps and the creak of a door opening.

He didn't say anything again.

When the elevator arrived and you stepped inside, you only allowed yourself to look up right before the metal door shut behind you, catching one last glimpse of him in the closing crack only for his back to be turned.

His hair swept off the back of his neck in a bun, a few strands artfully sticking out and a faint bruise under the collar of his lab coat peeking out from the last kiss you left there.

The image stuck in your head, nailed front and center as you pushed the button for the lobby, the box in your hand feeling heavier with every second that passed.

Every strained feeling washed over you in waves, worry and anxiety and the sort of hurt and regret that made your bones ache and your leg nervously shake during the elevator's slow descent down. So what if you were about to sign your life away to a stranger?

If it meant security, that your father would get out and you had the sort of access to Satoru Gojo's resources that you'd be able to keep Suguru safe even if his identity was exposed, that could be enough for you.

Who knows - maybe you could learn to love someone without strangling yourself in the process.

The elevator stuttered to a stop for a few more people to get on, just to for them to press the button for the floor below, happily chatting between each other while they ignored you.

You might've missed Gojo entirely by now, and he could be on his way back to his penthouse or his company or even off to look at wedding venues.

But no, when you finally got off at the lobby, you could see his figure standing outside the glass front door, his phone pressed to his ear while he ran his fingers through his hair.

His side profile was painfully pretty in the light - the sun catching his eyes when his sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, his sharp jaw and cheekbones even more defined while he talked. If you ever had kids with him, they'd definitely be winning the genetic lottery - and the real lottery, too, you guessed if any of the whispers were true about the size of his inheritance.

You hurried across the mostly-empty space, ignoring the dirty look the receptionist threw your way when you pushed open the door and Gojo turned to fully face you, hanging up his call and slipping his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. His crooked grin had you considering turning and running the other way for the nth time today, but you held the box back out for him to take.

“Done thinking about it already?" He teased, leaning in like he might just brush his nose against yours. "Or is it the ring? I tried to pick out one you'd like but if you want to pick out a different-"

“Convince me,” You were pretty sure you were just pouting instead of standing firm, but you didn't want him to think you were some pushover for him to play with. That he could just buy you off, even if that was precisely what was happening. “Show me you're serious.”

“Go on a date with me tomorrow,” Gojo insisted, something almost electric buzzing in the vibrant blue of his stare focused on your frown.

"Like dinner and a movie, or-?" You hesitated, trying to think of the last time anyone had ever actually invited you to a real date and drawing a blank.

"I think I'd rather surprise you," He hummed, delight dancing behind his excited expression. He almost seemed cute like this - so eager to please you might mistake him for a fuzzy housecat instead of the sneaky snow leopard your body kept trying to convince you he was.

“Fine,” You reluctantly accepted, shoving the box against his chest this time, his shirt wrinkling under it. Your mouth opened to ask what exactly you should wear, but he interrupted before you could.

“My number’s on your desk,” He casually said, putting his hand over the ring box but covering yours in the process, his soft palm and long fingers pressed firmly against the back of your hand. “Send me your address. I'll pick you up.”

You glanced anxiously back inside to look for any wandering eyes pointed your way through the glass. No one was watching, but you got the impression he wouldn't have cared if they were.

“Gojo-”

“Satoru,” He corrected easily.

“Do I get any details about this date?” You huffed, trying to pull your hand back just for him to hold it there, squeezing softly as the faint lines next to his eyes crinkled.

“Shouldn’t you let me take care of everything, sweetheart?” He teased, humming as his thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your knuckle. It was such a small touch, but it almost made you shudder, all your nerves on edge waiting (hoping) for something more intimate than just the pad of his fingers.

You nodded slowly, supposing that maybe you should let him take care of it if he was going to actually prove himself to you.

“Just don’t be late,” You mumbled, all the polish and the poise you'd spent so long perfecting already cracking in front of him. The walls of your throat were painfully dry, making it hard to even spit out the few words you managed. Your head felt fuzzy from all the information that'd been shoved in it, all the adrenaline from earlier starting to wear off until only exhaustion was left.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” He chuckled, the warm rumble of his voice refusing to roll through you, another reminder that if he had it his way, you'd be hearing it for the rest of your life.

“And if you're going to propose to me, do it right next time.”

You managed to yank your hand free of his, letting him hold onto the ring box, an invisible weight lifting off your chest once he laughed and slid it in the same pocket as his phone.

“Yeah? You wanna see me on my knees for you?” He teased, lighting up at the blush that dusted your cheek at his infuriating(ly accurate) insinuation.

“Says the guy begging for the chance to get on his knees for me.” Your comeback didn't have much bite to it when you couldn't manage to meet his eyes.

“If you want me to beg, you know, you just have to ask,” He sighed, reaching out to maybe cup your face or touch your hair, something edging dangerously close to affection before you took a small step back. A pet skittish around her new owner. “Although, personally, I’d prefer-”

“I’ll give you my answer before the research project ends,” You stopped him before he could finish saying something else that'd rattle around in your brain for the rest of the day.

“Sure,” Satoru coyly smiled.

That gave you what? A few months to make excuses and find reasons to fight what you both already knew?

It was just a matter of time before you said yes.

next chapter

ongoing taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @marrymenanami @faerie-soirxx @you-transfix-me @levislug @sukuxna0 @nylve @madamechrissy @msheds0519 @armani78 @ourfinalisation @monster-effer @celloccino @aspiring-bookworm @aldebrana @kasukuna @keliskamo @r0ckst4rjk @myahfig4 @lyrasea @sukunadckrider @itadorisrealgirlfriend @okayiamkassandra @starriesworlds (forever tags): @sugurusfavemonkey @chsuguru @universal-s1ut

Especially when you look so damn good. You visited a hair salon this morning to get the perfectly seductive curls, pinning them up into a high bun with rivets and wisps of curls cascading down from your up-do. It goes perfectly with your wine red cocktail dress–body-hugging, sexy, and has a high slit at the thigh. You paired it with some Loboutine heels and your favorite MAC lipstick. 

Perfect for seducing a certain vigilante. 

You press two fingers to your right ear, right against the tiny ear piece that could be mistaken for an earring stud. “Testing, testing, 1, 2,” you speak into the earpiece. “This is Nightowl about to enter the vicinity. Target not yet in sight.” 

There is a bit of fuzz and then a familiar voice belonging to one of your fellow agents. “Roger that, Nightowl. We’ll be in the building as soon as you give the signal. Target should be inside.” 

You feel that familiar stomach flip; the one you usually get before a mission that often vanishes by the time it begins. Nowadays, you don’t get nervous anymore having done this for years. You learn to adapt and to sneak, turning into someone else for the time being until the mission is complete. “Roger. Over and out.” 

You square your shoulders and slink into that seductive, secretive persona that you keep in your closet for missions like these. Any mission where you must seduce someone and take them off guard is when you pull her out–the mysterious, sly sex kitten that knows what she wants and how to get it. Nobody can resist her…not even a certain bat-based vigilante taking over Gotham City. 

With a strut in your step and a sway in your hips, you walk over to the museum and walk up the steps to the double doors. Every click of your Loboutine heels prepares you for tonight’s festivities. Everything that can and might happen. Everything that you either are or aren’t prepared for.

You love nights like these. You crave for them. You feel electric as you walk into the museum, smiling when you hand the host your invite. You notice the way he checks out the curve of your tits in your dress and the shape of your red lips. He barely checks your ticket because he’s too busy checking you out. 

You smile and bat your lashes, thanking him. This means your job should go easy tonight. 

When you fully step into the museum lobby converted into a party room, it is in full swing and brimming with luxury, excitement and the energy of the rich, nightlife crowd. The room is surrounded by glass cases of history on display: historical artifacts, old paintings, gems and jewels glittering with temptation. All for the taking. 

You would gladly snatch up all of them if you could, but you’re after just one in particular. 

It is shockingly easy for you to blend in, but then again, as a renowned agent and jewel thief, you know exactly how to do so. It makes it easy to slink past staff and security to the ‘Staff Only’ room and snatch a random employee tag. 

You pin it to your dress and slink back out to the party without anyone noticing, the weight of your secret weapons strapped to your thigh and in your purse grounding you. 

As soon as you walk back out into the party, you are bombarded by the sound of a live band playing and the aura of luxury. It is all around you—on the snack table where a crystal bowl of punch and champagne flutes sit; in the tasteful decorations; the conversations and laughs of the guests decked out in their best designer

You keep your clutch close to your side, your little Glock hidden beneath your switchblade shaped as a lipstick tube…and your lipstick. You can’t ever leave the house without your MAC. You press your fingers to your ear again, keeping your voice low. “Night Owl within the vicinity. Target not in sight yet.”

You begin to look around the room, scanning it to find the man of the hour. You studied his appearance for weeks before coming here. Though you have no idea what he’ll be wearing tonight, you know that once you see him, you’ll know that it’s him. 

And sure enough, you do. You find him sitting at the bar in a tailored black suit, all long legs and looking so tall and big even while sitting. He is nursing a club soda in his big hand as he reads off a pamphlet about the upcoming presentation tonight and tonight’s auctioned items, his blue eyes shifting as he reads. 

There he is: Nightwing, in the flesh. You feel your throat tighten and your heart pound against your ribcage. Your agency has been on this man’s tail for months the same way he has been on theirs, tracking down his real identity. When they finally found him, your boss slapped his manila folder on your desk and smiled at you. “We got him,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.” 

Nightwing has been a thorn in your boss’ side for months now, cracking down on his most skilled agents and traffickers. Every Gotham newspaper shows a new arrest on the front page, courtesy of Nightwing and his stupid tight spandex suit and charming grin. No one has ever seen him out of his mask or suit…except for now. And you are more than excited to expose him tonight. 

Smuggling is an art form itself. It requires much time and discipline. Being a spy is exactly the same, requiring a precise form and act that makes you your boss’ top spy at his underground agency. 

Which is why he chose you for the job. If anyone can get Nightwing on a silver platter, it’s you. You’re more than happy to do so. Anyone ruining your job and chances at getting your hands on some more pretty prizes is evil in your eyes. 

The plan is simple: get the man comfortable, perhaps get some drinks in him, seduce him enough to take your offer for privacy in the basement, and then bam! He gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you get your hands on the museum’s newest find: a diamond worth millions. One of history’s finest artifacts recently dug up and shipped here. Never before seen. 

With the taste of danger and another pretty thing in your roster on your tongue, you strut over to the undercover vigilante and take a seat next to him, catching his attention immediately. It’s almost comical. You give him a small smile of acknowledgement as you place your clutch on the polished bar. 

You then wave your manicured nails at the bartender, flashing the vigilante your glossy, red nails. “Bartender, a Brandy Alexander, please.” The woman in the white and black uniform nods, getting started on your drink. You sit in silence for a moment, both of you testing the other to make the first move. 

You glance at Nightwing, eyeing him curiously as he pretends to read the pamphlet sitting in his lap. His pants seem to stretch across his muscular thighs…not that you’re checking him out. “So are you gonna say something or just act like you’re not staring at me?” he asks without looking up at you. 

You blink at him, taken aback. “Sorry?” He finally turns to look at you, smirking, his blue eyes devastatingly pretty. Damn him. “Pardon the bluntness. I had a glass of champagne earlier. But I can feel your eyes.”

You raise your brow at him, feeling your own smirk curl onto your lips. “Oh, really? How do you know they were mine?” The vigilante shrugs, sipping his club soda. “I’ve been to parties like this before. Or rather, auctions for historical art pieces and valuables.”

“So have I,” you reply, nodding in thanks when your drink is given to you. The vigilante watches you take a sip, eyes zooming in on your red lips. “Hm. Well, you’re certainly dressed for the part. I notice the name tag. You work here, Ms. London?”

You damn near forget about the fake name on the tag you stole and nod, smiling. “That, I do, uh…” You pretend to look puzzled, pulling an annoyingly attractive chuckle out of him. “Satoru,” he replies. “Gojo.” So your agency’s research was correct. Nightwing and Satoru Gojo, a Gotham-based college thirty-something year old, are, in fact, the same person. 

Quelling the excitable flip in your gut, you shake his hand, ignoring how big and calloused it is. “Pleasure to meet you, Satoru. I’ve been working here for a year now, so dresses like this are the norm for auctions. I’m glad you like it.”

A small blush coats Satoru’s cheeks, making him slightly endearing. He has two sides to himself it seems…or three, counting Nightwing. “Heh. Well, I’m sure everyone does. It looks very…expensive.” You giggle, eyeing his clothes. “As does your suit.”

He quirks a brow at your compliment, happy with the praise. “Ya think so, huh? Guess that Bloomingdale’s employee wasn’t bullshittin’ me then.” He flashes you a white-toothed grin, dimples popping. He is so charming that it’s disarming, making you slightly uncomfortable. You’ve never felt this way about a target before. 

“I can’t say I’ve seen your face around here,” you say, still turning up the heat. After all, this is your job. “I would’ve recognized you as a regular.” You make sure to put a flirty tone in your voice to catch his attention. Sure enough, it does. 

“I’m a lover of the arts. Got an invite from the Gotham Art Museum as a member and took it. Plus, there’s a free bar, so why not?” He smirks, sipping his drink. “That’s usually what brings people in here,” you chuckle. “Unless you’re an art buff.” You sip your drink too, leaving a red stain on the glass. 

Satoru’s eyes flick from the rim to your face, your wicked ways working on him. “Oh, I am. Nothin’ like gettin’ your hands on somethin’ as valuable and precious as a piece of art. A painting, a sculpture. Even the finest jewel.” His tone is so sly; so seductive. He’s trying to work his charm too…but why?

“Oh?” you purr, hiding your suspensions. “How so? Is it the history that turns you on? F-For art, I mean.”

Satoru chuckles at your little intentionally unintentional innuendo, ducking his head in a way that is both boyish and sexy. “Yeah. Plus, they’re just so damn pretty. I mean, look at this necklace here!” He shows you a photo of one of the artifiacts–a gorgeous necklace from 1800 England dripping with sapphires. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks. 

You nod, struggling to not inhale his cologne as he leans in to show you the photo. “It is,” you hum. “There are plenty of more pieces I can show you, if you’re interested.” He eyes you then, his blue eyes like the purest oceans. “Very. Lead the way, Ms. London.” 

You smile as you finish your drink for that liquid confidence and stand. He presents you to his elbow and you take it, trying not to get too excited over how easy this is. It may seem that way, but you need to be on your toes. This could go very wrong in an instant. For example, falling victim to the vigilante’s charms as he smiles at you and leads you around the party. 

You show the items you’ve seen on the museum’s website, feeding him info you researched and bullshit you make up on the spot. He seems to eat it all up, sipping a glass of champagne, even getting one for you to clink his glass against. Satoru doesn’t seem bored by anything you tell him, nodding in interest and slipping in little jokes between your presentations to make you giggle. 

After about two hours of your “roleplay”, things start to accelerate when you’re on your second glass of champagne and back at the bar for a mocktail. You’ll need to at least be semi-sober for this next part. As you’re reaching into your clutch for some cash to pay for your mock martini with olives, someone beats you to it. 

An older gentleman with a horrible combover grins at you, not even trying to hide his lecherous eyes. “Here. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t buy her own drink.” 

He slips you a bill, standing a little bit closer to you than you’d like. “I appreciate that,” you giggle, taking the money from him just as the bartender returns with your drink. “How can I repay you for such a kind act?” 

The old man pretends to think, puckering his lips in a way that you’re sure is supposed to be sexy. “Just your number. I could make sure you don’t have to ruin those feet walkin’ around for your job anymore.” He nods down at your fresh pedicure and designer heels, licking his chapped lips. 

You swallow your repulsion, feeling Satoru’s presence sitting behind you at the bar. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t take numbers from married men.” With joy, you watch the old man’s smile fade and he slinks away, giving you the dirtiest look known to man. Satoru nods, impressed. “You got quite the eye.” You shrug, sipping your crisp mocktail. “When you work here long, you learn to catch on.” 

He reaches over, clinking your glass with his new drink: a Brandy Alexander this time. “I could’ve told ya he was married though,” he chuckles. His laugh is smooth and rich yet deep and lethal, like a shot of whiskey. 

You turn to him, raising a brow at him as you sip your martini. “And how would you know that?” you question. “He didn’t have a ring on his finger.” You only knew because you saw him with his wife when you came in. 

Satoru chortles again as if you’re some dumb little girl he needs to school. “Don’t have to. Rings can come off, ‘specially at events like these.” He takes a sip from his drink, eyeing you across the rim. “There’s plenty of pretty women like yourself swimmin’ around here for the pickin’.” 

His gaze is hot like fire licking across your exposed skin. The air that the old man left tense becomes even more so, but you straighten your neck and regard him with a smirk. “Like me?” you scoff. “I doubt he could’ve even been able to afford me.” 

You take another sip of your martini, leaving a red stain on the rim, before fishing out the toothpick rowed with olives. You pluck one off with your teeth, knowing that he is watching. ‘Just keep up the act. Hook, line, and sinker.’ 

“And how would one afford you?” he asks, curiously glistening in his eyes. “You merchandise? Up for grabs like these beauties here?” You swirl your tongue around in your mouth, sizing him up. You try not to think about how fun it is to flirt with him. To tease him. This is your job. “Depends on how much you’re willing to bet on me.” 

That’s what finally breaks the tension and Satoru’s smile grows rather lustful. “Maybe we can discuss somewhere more private,” he suggests. He slides his hand into yours and you allow it, ignoring how your heart pounds. “You got a room?” 

You take a sip of your drink, smirking. “Plenty,” you giggle. Satoru mirrors your smirk, eyeing you down into your stool. “Little spitfire, ain’t you?”

You laugh as he helps you out of your stool. You do your best to act like your knees aren’t weak and that his touch doesn’t send electric shocks through your body. You tell yourself that it’s just because your mission is going so well. Finally, you’ll get what you want. “So I’ve been told. I’ve got just the place for us though. Follow me before someone knows we left.” 

Satoru nods, his expression like molten fire as his eyes lay on your ass when you walk ahead of him, hand in hand, towards the elevator. The auction is underway so people are preoccupied, meaning it’s easy to sneak away with the vigilante to the basement. 

Minutes later, you’re getting pinned against the basement wall and Satoru’s lips are on yours. He showed surprising self control in the elevator, even when you felt the sexual tension building and his hand on your waist growing tight. The basement is quiet and empty, only filled with supplies and other museum artifacts moved for safe keeping. 

You moan against Satoru’s kiss, his soft lips just as heavy as the darkness descending upon you. The silvery moonlight is the only light cutting through the open window above, illuminating Satoru’s snow white hair and handsome features. His hands cup your face as you grasp his shoulders, welcoming his big frame pressed against yours. 

You’ve kissed many targets before. You’ve even slept with some. Not that you’re proud of it, but it’s the name of the game. However, with Satoru, this doesn’t feel like a simple roleplay or job. His lips are soft and chaste of champagne, making you drunk. It’s so dangerous. You need to stop this now. 

Luckily, the glittering of an object catches both of your eyes, causing you to stop kissing. Satoru keeps his roaming hands on you as he gazes at the glass case of a gorgeous diamond glistening with all kinds of yellows, pinks, and lavenders. “Wait…is that the newest diamond?” he questions. “The one found in a cave in the Himalayas?" 

You nod, slinking your arms around him as you gaze at the diamond. “Yeah,” you purr. “They brought it in a month ago to present tonight.” And if anyone touches it, it will start an alarm. You know from sneaking in here weeks ago for a tour of the museum, committing every room to memory. 

With your eyes trained on Satoru, you give him a lustful stare, body tingling in anticipation. “Now shut up and take off your clothes. Step back a bit for me so I can undress.” Satoru grins and begins to do just that, reaching for his tie as he blindly steps back, the glass case right behind you. 

Click.

You freeze when you feel the cold barrel of a gun in your back, making your muscles tense. “Hold it right there,” an unfamiliar voice croons. “Move one inch and you won’t like what happens next.” You do as he says, not moving, while Satoru glares at the stranger over your head. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses. 

The stranger chuckles, his voice deeper yet softer than Satoru’s. “Now is that anyway to greet your friendly neighborhood vigilante?” he jokes. “‘Specially since I could’ve just left your dumb ass here.” The gun cocks, making you gulp. “Turn around,” he orders. 

Slowly, you turn and sure enough, you’re staring at yet another Gotham vigilante that’s been bugging your boss: Red Hood, in the flesh. Dressed in his red and black uniform, muscles outlined in his suit, his long, black hair cascading down his shoulders and back. A white streak shoots through one lock in his face, right over his indigo eyes peeking over the red mask covering his mouth and nose. 

Satoru glares at the vigilante that seems to be flipped around from the same coin, just a different side. “Seriously, Suguru? You stealin’ my target from me now?”

Target? 

“Don’t use my real name,” Suguru aka Red Hood growls from behind his mask. “And you were ready to fuck my target, Nightwing. Don’t you realize this woman is tryin’ to play you? She wants someone to take the fall while she steals the diamond.” 

Slowly, you turn to stare at Satoru, hoping that you aren’t this stupid. Sure enough, the white-haired man rolls his blue eyes. “Why else would I have come down here so willingly? I’m not that much of a whore, asshole.” 

He turns to you with a smile, popping open his top to reveal the black suit with a big blue bat symbol stuck on his chest. “Pleasure to meet you by the way, Night Owl.” You gape at the bat symbol then at his face. You can’t believe it! You’ve been had! “You…you tricked me,” you hiss. 

Satoru doesn’t even look the least bit apologetic, but why would he? “Sorry, but I couldn’t have you tossin’ me to the cops. I know you ain’t gonna flap your gums about my secret identity…unless you want people to know who you are too.” 

Your eyes widen an inch, your stomach flipping with fear. He’s blackmailing you? “See, I’ve been after you for quite some time now,” he continues, giving you that stupid grin that you want to smack off of him. “You’re the most wanted jewel thief in Gotham. Frankly, I just wanted to see how far you’d think I’d fall for your plan.” 

“Fuck you,” you growl. “Neither one of you is gonna arrest me for this. The cops and Batman are all the same: fuckin’ idiots.” Suguru and Satoru share a look, silently deliberating. “Good thing they got us,” Satoru chuckles. “We’re not as dumb as you think we are, honey.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Suguru hums, the gun still cocked at your head. “You don’t give us superheroes as much credit.” You keep quiet, simpering with anger. How could you be so dumb? How could you be so reckless? So–

Crackle-crackle. “Night Owl!” your fellow agent yells into your ear. “Come in, Night Owl! There’s an initial target! It’s–”

“Tell your people that you know already,” Suguru says, close enough to hear the feedback of the "conspicuous" ear piece in your ear. “And tell them that we’re about to give you an ultimatum. All you have to do is surrender and–” 

POOF!  

The vigilante can’t finish his sentence because he’s getting a mouthful of the pink smoke bomb you slipped out of your bra. It is tiny yet lethal; a new weapon created by the tech department at your agency. It comes right in handy, creating a thick fog that fills the entire basement with pink smoke. “Goddamn!” Satoru coughs. “What the fuck was that?!”

Quickly, you turn around to knock the gun out of Suguru’s hand, the fog allowing you the perfect cover. Then you give him a swipe with your leg, tripping him backwards. Though he perfectly catches himself and kicks his legs back up to stand upright, you’re already pulling a tiny remote from your clutch and aiming it at the ceiling. 

“Sorry to cut this meeting short, fellas,” you chuckle. “But I’ve gotta run. Nice meeting you!” Then with one click, a rope with a hook at the end extends from the remote and punches a hole into the ceiling window. You zoom up right out of the building through the window before releasing and landing on the museum building’s rooftop.

Unfortunately, the fog is a little bit more potent than you realize. It explodes from the broken window, traveling up onto the rooftop. Right under your nose. You breathe it in without even realizing it and begin to cough, your throat and eyes stinging. Those fuck ass scientists! 

Quickly, you hurry to the edge of the building and stare across to a skyscraper. You could zip across that no problem. You could be out of here in just a….whoa. You suddenly feel light on your feet and your vision grows wavery, everything suddenly foggy and unfocused. 

“Oh, fuck,” you exhale before you feel yourself falling forward, about to hit the pavement…and you would’ve if Satoru didn’t catch you. He grunts as he grabs your arm and hugs you to him, positioning you so he’s carrying you bridal style.

You stare up into his blue eyes peaking out of his black mask before your vision is eaten up by darkness. “We’ve got you now, sweetie,” he whispers. “We’ll take good care of you. You’ll see.” 

“Wakey, wakey, babydoll. Let us know you’re still alive.”

Slowly, your eyes peel open and you’re staring into the ocean blues behind a black mask. The man attached to the mask wears a black and blue spandex suit with black gloves and boots. If it isn’t for the white hair and silky voice, you would not have recognized Satoru. “She lives!” he mockingly gasps. “Thank God. We thought you died on us, honey.” 

He grins at you, blinding you with his white teeth. You groan as you come to your senses, feeling achy and unbalanced. Slowly, you sit up, finding yourself on the floor in some secret room–it consists of a tiny cot bed, wooden boxes of food supplies, and a stool that Red Hood occupies. Suguru, you heard Satoru call him. He is still in his suit, but his mask is gone, revealing his handsome features and the snakebites embedded in his plump, pink bottom lip.

“W-Where am I?” you mutter. “Why do I feel so dizzy?” You place a hand on your head, still coming back to reality. You look around, seeing the towel under your head and your dress still intact. Did they…move you here? 

“You passed out after inhalin’ that smoke shit you blew at us,” Suguru explains from the stool, using a pocket knife to stab a hole in the drywall. He twists it to the right to the left, focusing hard on his movements. 

“I-I did?” you whisper. Then you panic, your memories flooding back. The smoke bomb. “Oh, no, no!” you gasp. “I have to get outta here! R-Right now!” Quickly, you try to rise to your feet only to slump back down, still dizzy. 

“Ah-ah, little miss,” Suguru tuts. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere right now.” He rises from his stool, arms crossed. His sleeves are rolled up to expose his muscular arms inked with tattoos but you ignore them…or you try to. “And who’s gonna stop me?” you growl at him, glaring up at him. 

Satoru glances at the both of you before rising to his feet, whistling. You watch him waltz over to a painting hanging up on the wall that you didn’t notice before and sloooowly moving it aside to reveal a tiny hole in the wall that Suguru surely made. “Well, them for one,” he replies, showing you a sliver of the museum lobby where you once were.

Only now, it’s surrounded by Gotham City cops. ‘Shit!’ you think. panicked. Someone called the cops?! What if Batman shows up too?! 

“And definitely not if you’re feelin’ weak,” Satoru adds, crossing his arms over his buff chest. “Whatever that sneak attack was is sneakin’ up on you too.”

You don’t answer, grabbing your clutch beside you and then feeling around your ear for… “My earpiece,” you gasp. “W-Where’s my earpiece?!” You begin to look around, searching the small room for the tiny black dot. “You’re what piece?” Satoru asks, confused. 

“That thing that her team was talkin’ in her ear with,” Suguru explains. “And don’t look at me. I don’t have it. Must’ve fallen out while you–”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish because you’re rising to your feet again only to stumble, falling into the wall. The two vigilantes quickly descend upon you, using their strong hands to help you out. “Hey, hey, relax,” Satoru gently says. “Sit down and take a breath.”

You watch them suspiciously as they sit you down on the edge of the bed, leaving you be once you’re off your feet. Why are they being so damn gentle with you? “Now explain,” Satoru firmly says, leaning against the wall. “Who are you? What’s the thing with robbin’ these museums?” 

Instead of answering, you keep quiet, stubborn and bratty. Satoru rolls his eyes at you like you’re a disobedient child. “Listen, we’re gonna be here for a while, so you may as well talk…unless you want us to alert one of these cops.” He picks up his fist and raps it quietly on the wall, making your heartbeat scatter.

Damn these damn vigilantes! Always one step ahead of you. “I’m a spy,” you begrudgingly confess. “I work for an underground organization that deals in jewel trafficking. I was tasked with stealing the diamond in the hopes of leading Batman to my boss.”

The two vigilantes share a look, silently talking to each other. Are they wondering what they'll do to you? How to torture you to make you talk? Will they use Suguru’s pocket knife to slice off your dress? Will they strip you down and spank you till you cry? Make you suck their big cocks until you’re begging for them to fuck you? Slide themselves inside of you and fill you up until you’re begging for them to stop?

You blink at the sudden onslaught of dirty, nasty thoughts and the images flashing across your brain. Where the fuck did that come from? 

And then you feel it: that warm flush that engulfs your body like you just stepped into a sauna. Then you feel your heartbeat accelerate, pumping hot blood until you can practically hear it throb. You press a hand to your forehead, finding it coated in sweat. What is happening to you?

The sound of Satoru’s silky voice doesn’t help your situation. If anything, it makes your body feel even weirder. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, sweetie. And for what it's worth, sorry to ruin your mission too.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side and squinting at you as if he’s just now seeing you. “You’re a lot prettier than that diamond though.”

The compliment comes out of nowhere and he looks just as perplexed as you feel from it. “What?” you and Suguru both ask. You blink, seeing how pink Satoru’s cheeks are, noticing how Suguru is pulling at the collar of his skin-tight suit. 

Then it hits you. “Oh, no…the bomb! It’s working on us!” you lament, instantly scooting as far across the room as you can. As you try to check for loose structure in the wall to knock down and escape, the vigilantes share a confused glance. “What do you mean?” Suguru demands. “What the hell was in that thing anyway? Jesus, are you two as hot as I am right now?”

You are–it feels like the room has grown to about 100 degrees and is quickly rising. “It was an aphrodisiac bomb,” you weakly explain. “It was made with bi-products to help distract my target and weaken their defenses by using arousal.” 

You don’t look at the vigilantes as you continue to tap against the wall, searching for a way out. But are you really searching or just pretending so you don’t succumb to the temptation of the two irresistible men standing behind you? 

“Wait, you used a fuckin’ aphrodisiac on us?” Satrou growls. “Is that why I’m so goddamn…” He pauses, letting out a broken exhale that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

“This shit is workin’ fast,” Suguru exhales, suddenly sounding a lot closer. You feelin’ it too?” He’s asking you, but you don’t answer. You don’t even turn around, too afraid of your loss of control. You can’t trust yourself anymore. 

“I-It doesn’t matter. We have to get out of here now.” You try to stand again, bracing your hands on the wall, but your knees buckle, loose like jelly. “Oh, no!” you whimper, tears springing into your eyes. 

“Hey, hey,” Satoru coos. His hands are on you, gentle and supportive, helping you stand upright. “Relax, doll. You’re okay.” Not the pet names. God, no, anything but those! 

“You don’t understand,” you whisper, trying to wrangle yourself out of his hold. He feels too good, his broad chest pressed into your back. If this continues, you don’t know what will happen and that scares you. You’re supposed to be finishing this mission! 

“What don’t I understand?” he murmurs. “Tell me.” But you can’t. You can’t focus on anything except his strong, gloved hands on your waist and his silky voice in your ear. Slowly, he turns you around to face him and you’re staring deep into his sapphire eyes glistening at you from beneath his mask. 

“Your eyes are really pretty,” you hear yourself softly admit. His lips curl into a proud smile, all dimples and charm. “Thank you, baby. Yours ain’t too bad either.” 

And then suddenly, you’re kissing. You don’t know if you lean in or if he does, but at some point, the tension that the aphrodisiacs caused reach a boiling point, steaming and overflowing. Satoru’s lips are just as soft as they were earlier in the basement, but this time, his kiss is slow and seductive, taking his time to taste you. It feels so, so fucking good. 

“No,” you whimper against his lips, some of your common sense still lingering. “T-This is all wrong.” Even so, your hands feel up his chest, indulging in how big his pecs are beneath the spandex. 

Before Satoru can protest or argue, the thud of footsteps behind you stops him short. Suguru’s hand caresses your hair, brushing it away from your neck. “Only thing that’s wrong here is me not bein’ included,” he rasps. You begin to tremble, sandwiched between their big, hard bodies, each of them towering over you. You’ve never been so intimidated in your life. 

Satoru chuckles, soft and sexy, as his thumb strokes your cheek. Though he’s speaking to Suguru, his eyes stay planted firmly on you. “Join in if ya want. There's plenty of this bad girl to go around.” His fingers trail down to your chin, tilting your head up to stare up at him. “You deserve some punishment for pullin’ that little stunt on us, don’t you?”

Suguru hums in agreement, his fingers tangled in your hair. You can’t think, too distracted by the mingling scents of their cologne and your own arousal. “I-I don’t…” You dig your teeth into your bottom lip as Suguru toys with your dress zipper, making your skin tingle. “You don’t what?” the vigilante pushes, a teasing smile in his voice. “You don’t know? Oh, we think you know quite well, little lady.” 

“Y/N,” you murmur. “My name is Y/N.” Not that you hate the petnames, but it’s also because you want to hear them utter your name. Satoru smiles, pleased. “Pretty name. Better than that London shit you were goin’ with.” He is teasing you and it’s working its magic on you, totally hooking you to your targets.

Their kisses don’t make shit any better for you. They each share you one after the other, snatching you away if one of them is taking too long with your lips. Satoru’s kiss is more possessive and sloppy while Suguru is slow and seductive. However, their lips are soft and their tongues are tantalizing, drawing soft moans out of you as they push against you, trapping you between them.

You can’t get enough of their tastes; their tongues sliding against yours. Their big hands are roaming your body. Suguru sucking on your bottom lip while Satory caresses your neck, soft sighs and moans traveling between you. It is electric. It is magic. It is perfection. 

Your limbs feel loose like jelly. If it isn’t for the vigilantes holding you up, you’d definitely crumble to the floor. They have made you weak. Satoru chuckles as if sensing this, teasingly licking a stripe across your throat. “Poor baby. All she needed was a little attention.” He takes your hand and places it on his very hard, very throbbing dick. “And maybe a little dick too,” he pants. 

“Definitely not little over here,” Suguru teases. Oh, you can feel it. He is just as big and just as stiff as Satoru, pushing into your backside. You are sweating at this point, your pussy throbbing impatiently at the feeling of their bulges packed tight in their suits. “Don’t know about you though, Satoru,” Suguru smirkingly says.

Satoru tsks, rolling his eyes. “Liar. You know all about the weapon I’m carryin’, don’t you, baby boy?” Suddenly, he’s reaching over to grip Suguru’s arm and yanking him in for a sloppy kiss. You stare, shocked and aroused, their soft moans drifting through the air as their lounges slip against each other.

You weren’t expecting some hot shit like this…but you ain’t complaining either. Your body responds immediately: hard nipples, flushed cheeks, and a very wet pussy that drips down your thighs. Satoru’s blue eyes tick over to you and he pulls away, smirking. “Oooo, baby girl’s gettin’ turned on from seein’ her guys kiss, hm?” he chuckles. “What’s the matter, honey? Can’t take it?” 

Both vigilantes stare at you, their teasing making you shy. “N-No,” you stammer. Suguru raises a brow, not convinced. “Oh, no? Then prove it.” 

Suddenly, you’re indulging in your first three-way kiss. All soft lips, tongues, and moans that travel straight to your core, making it warm and fuzzy. Your pussy drips slick down your inner thighs as Satoru grinds against your front while Suguru rubs his cock against you from the back, making you feel every inch of them. The taste of champagne coming off of their tongues is intoxicating, making you drunker than any alcohol could.

Satoru pulls away, pulling his fat, pink tongue away from you. “Bet these lips would feel real good around my cock,” he whispers. You shiver at the dirty statement, biting your bottom lip. 

Suguru agrees with a hum. “Absolutely. How ‘bout it, mama? It’s okay to need a nice, fat dick in here, right?” His thumb swipes your bottom lip, making you tingle all throughout your body. 

His smile fades as he watches you watch him, his gaze molten hot and lustful. You have no choice but to watch him unbuckle his pants with one hand and unzip the front of his suit, pulling his cock out. Your eyes widen at inch at his long, thick, pulsing shaft protruding from a nest of black curls. Especially at the glistening silver ball at his bulbous head.

Red Hood has a dick piercing.  

“Suck that dick f’me,” he demands, his tone firm and serious. “It’s the least you can do for the trouble you caused.” You feel your eyes watering and your lips quivering. Everything in you is screaming at you not to comply…but there is one part nesting in the deepest, darkest depths of your being that is interested and curious. You’ve always wondered how Red Hood and Nightwing looked and tasted…and now, you’re about to find out. 

But as you kneel on the bed before Suguru, facing his thick cock, you start to gulp. He smirks, cocky, dick bobbing in your face without him even using his hands. “Too big, mama? Don’t worry. You can try on this.” He then glides his gun out of his bat belt and holds it out to you, making your eyes widen and your heart pump. “Suck, slutty girl. Let’s see whatcha got.” 

And to your utter surprise, you wrap your lips around the gun and suck. You stare into Suguru’s eyes as you blow the pistol in your face, its cold metal warmed by your soft, lush lips. Satoru watches, just as astonished and aroused as Suguru is, as your throat sinks lower down the barrel. “Mmm, no gag reflex? That’s my kinda girl.” 

Suguru’s violet eyes grow dark with lust as you bob up and down the gun, hollowing your cheeks. “Mine too. Keep those eyes up here, mama. Let me see that pretty face.” He reels you in like a fish on a hook with those eyes, hooded and piercing, drinking in the way you suck off his gun. Your spit coats the cold metal, your lips quivering when you catch his finger on the trigger. 

You can only hope that it’s unloaded, but to your surprise, you don’t feel fear; only a thrill. But you get a thrill like no other once Suguru has had enough of the foreplay and decides to finally feed you his big dick. “Time to show me what that mouth can do…other than talk back.” 

You stare at the thick cock in front of you, the silver balls teasingly glinting at you. Swallowing your pride, you start by kissing and licking along Suguru’s shaft, introducing yourself to his dick. He softly groans and hums in enjoyment at your ministrations, pushing his hips forward.

He does so in a way that makes his cock slip between your lips and in your mouth without your permission. You gasp as his thick cock passes the threshold of your mouth, the taste of him all over your tongue. “Mmm, that’s a good girl,” he moans, using one hand to grab the back of your head. 

His deep thrusts cause your hair to loosen from its updo, your curls falling down. Quickly, they are swept up by a fist, held up out of your face so you can focus on swallowing the dick down your throat. “Allow me,” Satoru hums. “Can’t suck good dick if your hair is in the way.” 

He then pushes you forward onto Suguru’s dick, making you take him deeper. You force yourself to open your throat and to breathe through your nostrils in an effort not to choke. “Shit,” Suguru groans, watching as your lush lips stretch around his dick, taking him to the hilt. “You’re so good at this, angel. You make me wanna fuckin’ cu–” 

“My turn. You’re takin’ too fuckin’ long,” Satoru quips, tearing you off of Suguru’s cock. The long-haired vigilante glares daggers at the Nightwing as he takes his place, smirking down at you. “Be prepared for some greatness, sweetie.” 

Zzzzip. Satoru smirks as he unzips his pants and slides his dick right out for you to behold. He is just as thick as Suguru but lightly curved, leaning with a hook. He is all smooth skin and muscle, not a stitch of hair coating his pelvis except for his thighs. “Like whatcha see, naughty girl? That sneak attack made me so hard f’you.”

He bites his lip as he wraps a hand around his cock, stroking it oh-so slowly in your face. The little beads of pre-cum at the head drizzle down his shaft like the droplets of an ice cream cone. 

He hisses as his thumb strokes the sensitive underside of his head, his bottom lip quivering. “A-Ah–catch it, babes. Don’t let me go to waste now.”

You don’t know what possesses you to stick your tongue out to lick up the salty droplets. Maybe the drug or how hot he looks so desperate for you. Either way, you lick up his pre-cum and then suck on his cock like you mean it, hollowing your cheeks to take him easier. Suguru watches close by in both envy and arousal, stroking his fat dick as his eyes flick between you on your knees and Satoru fucking your throat.

Satoru lets out a loud, throaty groan, one hand tangled in your hair. “That’s it, cutie pie,” he groans. “Take that fuckin’ cock. Y’know, you’re almost better at this than ya are fightin’.” He pushes in deeper, making you gag and nearly triggering that button in the back of your throat, making you gag. Satoru loudly groans at the feeling of your throat flexing around him. “You should think about changin’ occupations…bein’ a little cocksucker is way more fittin’ for ya, pardon the vulgarity.” 

He begins to fuck your face now, slowly at first, but he is still brutal and rough. You have to force yourself to keep breathing to avoid throwing up all over his dick. “You could be my little cock slut,” he growls. “My baby. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” 

Yes. 

You gurgle and gag in response, your throat forced to flex around his cock interrupting its natural state. You feel as if your throat and mouth are being molded into his personal fleshlight with the way he fucks your face, grunting and groaning like a desperate man. His balls slap against your chin, filling your nose with the scent of his cologne and his dick, making for an extra arousing aroma. 

“Time’s up,” Suguru says, his voice rasped with need. “You’re either sharin’ or you’re not, Satoru. Don’t be greedy.” He practically shoves the Nightwing out of the way, making Satoru roll his eyes. “Well, sorry,” he snorts. “I didn’t realize you were feenin’ for her mouth, Red Hood. Just look at all that pre-cum!” 

Sure enough, Suguru is dripping pre down his fist, oozing down to his heavy balls. Satoru smirks as the Red Hood taps his cock against your plush lips, softly moaning. “You gonna drink it all up for him, baby?” he coos. “Be a good girl and lick it aaaalll up for us.” 

You do so, licking up Suguru’s pre-cum before he pushes in and uses your mouth again. And then passes you off to Satoru. They allow you to stroke both of their dicks in time with your sucking, alternating between each one in your face, throbbing hard. Their groans and whimpers egg you on, making you ignore the ache in your jaw and how your mascara drips just to hear more of their pleasure. 

You’ve never been used in such a way. You are being resorted to nothing but a toy. A hole for the vigilantes’ own use. Saliva drips from your chin and down onto your tits, making you slick and pussy like another part of you between your thighs. The more they fuck, the more your cunt throbs and pulses in anticipation for it to be fucked the same way. 

What is wrong with you? You can only ask yourself this question with every passing moment that your mouth is used like a fleshlight, blowing each dick like it’s your job. Soon, the vigilantes have had their fill though they haven’t cum yet. “Not bad, cutie,” Satoru pants, cheeks flushed. “Now we gotta give our girl a reward, don’t we, Sugu?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Suguru hums, stroking loose hairs out of your face. “Need to make sure you’re ready for us later.”

Excitedly, your eyes tick down to their throbbing dicks again, your pussy throbbing impatiently for either one…or both. Then you catch the glint of Satoru’s handcuffs dangling from his belt. He smirks, taking them out for you. “Oh, you want these?” he teases, dangling the cuffs in your face. “Can’t say I ain’t been wantin’ to cuff your ass all night. I think it’s fittin’ for a naughty girl like you.” 

He crooks his finger at you, causing you to stand on wobbly legs. You softly gasp when he suddenly forces you to turn around, facing the bed post. “Hands behind your back, pretty. Let’s hike up this dress too.” You swallow as you obey his sultry command, allowing Satoru to carefully cuff your hands behind your back.

Meanwhile, Suguru kneels down to hike up your dress over your hips. As he does, their groans of arousal at the sight of your plump ass in your lace panties make you gush in your panties. Before you know it, you’re getting bent over the edge of the bed, presenting your ass to the both of them. “Good, baby?” Satoru murmurs, thoughtfully stroking your ass. You nod, unable to speak.  

SMACK!

You gasp as his palm connects with your ass, hard, making tears spring into your eyes. “What was that?” Satoru asks. The fiery sting makes you flinch, but your pussy has never been wetter. You’re feening at this point, needing dick like you need water to drink. You look over your shoulder at Satoru, drowning in his molten hot gaze. “Yes, I’m okay, sir,” you whisper. 

Satoru and Suguru share a praiseful smile, cooing at your obedience. “So polite! Why weren’t you this sweet earlier, hm?” Satoru hums, pressing a kiss to your ass. But then Suguru tugs on your wrists, making you grunt. “Such a little brat,” he growls. “Lucky for you, mama, I love me some bratty girls.”

Satoru hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to your panties, making you whimper. “Me too…so just what should we do to a bratty pussy like yours?” His bottom lip drags over your ass, his fat tongue licking down, down to your inner thighs. Suguru kneels with him, teasing you with his soft lips and cool tongue piercing, bathing your skin in his spit.

Your body feels unbalanced and your legs are wobbly. To some degree, you’re thankful for the bedside to hold you up as you feel Suguru’s big hands glide down your ass and thighs. Then, suddenly, you feel his breath caressing your asscheeks and something cool on your skin. 

You realize what it is when you feel your wet panties slice off of your body. A knife. “Don’t fret, mama. This is just to get these panties off…but if you want, I can use it on the dress too.” He presses the cool metal of the knife into your thigh, making you feel the jagged edges. 

“You can be a good girl for us, can’t you?” he whispers, a wicked smile in his voice. He doesn’t give you the chance to answer before lightly licking you against your slit. You gasp, your wrists straining against the cuffs. His big hands glide up to force your hips back, causing your ass to jut into his face. “F-Fuck!” you stammer, gasping as sparks of pleasure explode through your core. You can’t even grip anything because of your cuffed wrists, so you resort to curling your toes in your heels.

“Don’t leave me outta this,” Satoru purrs. “I want a lick too.” You feel him give your ass a wet, open-mouthed kiss, making you moan as Suguru slides his fat tongue up to tease your clit. “You can handle both of us, can’t you, babydoll? A tough girl like you?” 

Neither of them give you a chance to answer. Instead, your pitiful moans and slutty whimpers answer for them, filling the small room along with the soft, wet sloshing of their tongues caressing your dripping pussy. They hum enjoyment, licking and sucking away at your pussy that seems to grow wetter with every ministration of their tongues. 

“O-Oh, shit,” you whimper. “Mmm, fuck!” You try to hold back your moans, but you can’t. Plus, the knife against your thigh doesn’t allow you. One wrong move or something that Suguru doesn’t like, and that knife could be cutting your skin…and that turns you on like you’ve never been in your life. 

So let them do as they please. But you don’t really have a choice either. All you can do is shake and shudder as Sugruu sucks on your ass and Satoru swirls his tongue around your clit before he dips the muscle inside of you, moaning at your taste. Your mouth falls open on a loud moan, his soft lips cushioning your clit. 

Satoru lightly pulls on your pussy lips, earning a whimper from you. “Isn’t this so much better than fightin’ us, baby?” he asks before French kissing your cunt once again. He kisses you sloppily and messily, his tongue licking and sliding this way and that. 

At some point, you hear him and Suguru making out with your pussy between them, their soft moans and hot pants fanning across each sensitive part of your pussy, making you a panting, overstimulated mess. You push your ass into their faces, riding their tongues, desperation blooming in your core along with the familiar warm, budding sensation of an oncoming orgasm. 

“Please!” you whine. “A-Ah…oh, fuck, please!”

Satoru smiles, still licking and sucking your pussy with all of the vigor of a hungered man. “I like you beggin’,” he replies. “Do it again for us, nice and pretty.” You have no choice when he continues on slurping on your cunt and fucking your hole, his nose swiping against your clit. 

“Please, please, please!” you sob. “Please let me cum!” Your begging must satisfy the vigilantes because their tongues move a little faster, their pace causing your body to quake against the restrictions of the cuffs. Their hot, wet mouths cause your orgasm to wash over you quickly yet powerfully, controlling every part of your body. You let out a whine of pleasure as your cum explodes in their mouths, drenching their lips in your juices. 

While you’re still cumming, Suguru, ever the sadist, presses his thumb against your clit as his knife skates up to press against your pussy lips, the cold metal making you whine. “Cum more for us, baby,” he coos. “You can do it.” Then Satoru is shoving his tongue up inside of you, making you damn near scream. Fuck!” you explode as your orgasm peaks, making your eyes roll back and your legs shake. 

You don’t even realize that you’re squirting until you hear the vigilantes exclaim in surprise, catching every drop in their mouths. “Oh, shit, she’s a squirter!” he says with glee. “That’s too fuckin’ sexy.” 

Your eyes roll back as your hips buck and your pussy quivers, more and more of your honey exploding onto the vigilantes’ tongues until you are absolutely spent. Even when you slump against the bed, exhausted, Suguru stands behind you, dick up and ready to blow. Pla-pla-plap goes his cock slapping against your sensitive clit, making you hiss. 

“We ain’t done yet so you’d better get it together,” he softly demands, his big hands gripping your ass. Instantly, your stomach grows fluttery with butterflies and your core grows warm. You know exactly what is coming next. You can’t stop. You can’t avoid it. And more frighteningly, you’re not even sure if you don’t want it. 

Especially when Suguru finally slides that big, thick, long cock inside of you. Slick and open from your orgasm, he makes his home between your velvety walls, making you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt in your life. He groans into your ear while your mouth falls agape on a silent moan. “God, you’re tight!” he hisses, already bumping his hips back and forth against your ass. Slow and deep. 

You think you’re already feeling pleasure until Satoru gets involved, still kneeling behind you. He hooks one of your legs up and Suguru takes control, keeping your leg hiked up as the Nightwing tilts his chin up to face your pussy getting stretched out on some dick. “C’mere, you two,” he pants. “I wanna hear you both scream.” Then his fat tongue is caressing your clit and Suguru’s balls as the vigilante pounds you from behind. 

You are a moaning, whining mess, damn near drooling in pleasure. Suguru digs his nails into the fleshy part where your ass meets your hip, his fingers indulging in your body. “Fuck, baby!” he grunts into your ear, panting hotly. Even he can’t get a grip on himself. Your pussy feels too good wrapped around him, stroking him of all he’s worth. 

“Take it,” he demands. “Take that fuckin’ dick. You know you need it.” His other hand grips your neck, keeping a strong grip on your throat as he fucks into your wet heat. “So let me give it to you,” he huffs. “Lemme give you everything that pussy needs!” 

His hips hammer harder and faster into your ass, making it quiver and recoil. Your moans are loud and high-pitched, unable to be silenced due to his pistoning thrusts. He fucks you like a machine, pumping in and out, out and in, his cock pulsing inside of you. “F-Fuck!” you stammer. “Wait, S-Sugu! You’re going t-too fast!” 

Your pussy feels like it’s going into overload, being stuffed too much and too quickly. Satoru’s tongue doesn’t make things any better; he is a master with his tongue, giving you sloppy licks and sucks as his partner fills you up again and again. Tears spring into your eyes as Suguru grips your throat tighter, cutting off your air for just a moment. “Oh, but you can take it, can’t you, tough girl?” he chuckles. “You’re bein’ so good already.” 

Short moans and gasps leave your lips as he continues to squeeze, still fucking you dumb. Your knees buckle and your head feels fuzzy from the overstimulation and the grip on your throat. The pleasure somehow mounts to astronomical heights, leaving you a dumb, mindless mess. 

You’re about to cum. Your target is going to make you burst all over his big, fat cock as if you’re his lover and he’s deserving of all of it. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you warn. “Please, please let me cum, sir! I can’t take it!” You grip the cuffs for dear life as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Your knuckles go pale, an indication of the pleasure you’re experiencing. 

Satoru chuckles, enjoying your torture, staring up at your bouncing tits above him. “Aww, but the fun just started, baby,” he condescendingly coos. “You gonna cum already? Is that vigilante dick just too good?” You whimper in response, your eyes fluttering closed. 

SMACK! 

Satoru slaps your clit hard, making it sting. “I don’t hear an answer,” he growls. You sob, tears threatening to drip down your cheeks. “Yes! Yes, it feels so fucking good!” you babble. You can feel yourself careening closer to orgasm, your head going blank as you get closer to the edge…

And then Suguru slows his pace, putting an end to your euphoria. “Then we’ll need to make it feel extra good,” Satoru cackles, his blue eyes glittering with wickedness. “I wanna fuck her too, Suguru. Don’t be greedy now.” He stands up, his hand on his fat, hard dick pulsing for you. 

Suguru looks between you and Satoru, raising an eyebrow. “So you wanna steal her other pretty hole? Is that it?” You blink, the gears in your brain turning, processing what your “other pretty hole” means. They can’t possibly mean–

“W-Wait, wait,” you protest as Suguru maneuvers your body, turning you around so he’s holding you up. You squeak, staring at a wall of broad chest and tattoos inking his pecs. “I-I’m not–”

“Ready?” Satoru finishes, smirking as he gets behind you, one leg hiked up to expose your dripping pussy to the both of them. “Don’t worry, babycakes! We’ve got you. That’s what these fat tongues are here for.”

Again, you’re bent over the bed and the vigilantes’ are sharing your hole again. Only this time it’s your asshole. They spit and slobber into your puckered hole, your asscheeks pried apart in their gloved hands. All you can do is moan and whine as they lick and suckle on your asshole, even using their fingers to gently fuck you there until you’re good and open. 

“Oooo, look at that gape!” Satoru cackles, grinning at the way you’re so stretched and open now for some dick. “You’re nice and ready for me now, cutie pie. You’re gonna look so beautiful stuffed with our dicks.” 

You whimper, your body burning with need and arousal. You’ve never been this horny in your life. You suspect that Batman will come at any minute to toss you in a mental facility because of how diabolically, deviously horny you are for his protégé. “Let’s get these cuffs off of you,” Suguru murmurs, taking Satoru’s key to unshackle you.

Once you’re uncuffed, you’re sandwiched between the vigilantes again, a prisoner in two walls of muscle. You are facing Suguru again, your arms around his neck, moaning as he gives you a slow, sloppy kiss, while Satoru is behind you. 

He rubs his cock against your asshole, making you whimper at the feeling of something so hot and hard trying to enter you there. “Don’t you wanna be a big girl for us?” he coos. “Don’t you wanna prove how tough you are?” You feel his tip lightly brush your entrance and flinch, nails digging into Suguru’s chest. “T-Toru,” you stammer. “Please…”

Satoru shushes you, peppering your neck in minty, champagne-spiked kisses. “S’okay, doll, we’ve gotchu. Nice and slow now…” He nods at Suguru and together, they hold you up by your leg and sink deeeeep inside of your holes.

You gasp, your eyes widening as you see twinkling stars. There is a slight burn as Satoru shoves himself in your asshole, but it is numbed by Suguru in your pussy, pleasure and pain mixing into one. After some slow, gentle strokes, they go harder, deeper, faster. Skin against skin. Moans in your ear. 

You feel stretched. You feel full. You feel used. And you feel absolutely, positively amazing. 

“Ah, fuck, baby, yes!” Satoru moans into your ear, pawing at your tits and ass like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t. “God, you–ngh, feel so fuckin’ good!” 

Suguru locks a hand around your throat and presses his lips to your ear, his lip ring cool against the shell. “A pussy like this would make me ditch the cape. Make me rob a fuckin’ bank for you.” 

He loosens his hold on your neck, allowing you time to breathe. But you can’t breathe. You can’t even speak. Your mind is full of cock, unable to focus on anything but Satoru’s big thighs slapping against yours and Suguru’s handsome, flushed face, their dicks pummeling into you. Their thrusts grow quick and brutal, turning your pussy and asshole into mush, making your clit sing and your brain fall right out of your noggin. You are gone. And so are the vigilantes. 

“Ngh–Goddamn, you feel so good,” Satoru groans, gripping your ass so hard that he’ll leave fingerprints. “How are you this fuckin’ tight?” His hand comes around to toy with your lips, his long fingers prying them apart so you can suck on his digits. 

“You’ve got me so c-close,” Suguru grunts in your ear, stammering out his words. “N-Need…oh, fuck, I need to go harder.” Harsh pants and heavy breaths leave his lush lips as he fucks you faster, his balls slapping against your clit. “You want that too, mama? Do you want us to make you cum again?”

You bounce on their cocks between them, leaving crescent marks in Suguru’s shoulders as you dig your nails into his skin. “Ah, yes, yes, please! Make me cum again!” The two vigilantes slow their thrusts for a moment to share a look, silently telling each other the same thing: let’s slut this girl out.

Suddenly, you’re posted on your back with Satoru underneath you and Suguru on top, forcing you into semi-mating press with Suguru holding your legs open for his partner. Your moans and whines of pleasure bounce off of the walls as Suguru taps his dick against your pussy, ready to give you deep-dicking like you never had. “Ready, baby?” he whispers against your lips. “Beg for it.”

“Suguru–”

SMACK!

This time, both vigilantes spank you, on your pussy and your ass, the double assault making you yelp. “Beg,” Satoru growls in your ear, gripping your throat. His cock is nestled deep in your ass, not moving, just there, driving you to the brink of insanity. You can’t think. You can only feel. 

“Please fuck me,” you whimper out. “Make me cum again, sirs. Please.” 

And so they do. They fuck you until you’re seeing stars and forgetting all about your stupid mission. They fuck you with all the mercy of sinners, drilling your holes. They fuck you into the rickety little bed until it rocks and squeaks, fuck whoever hears. Satoru fucks up into your ass while Suguru rams your pussy, the push and pull of their thrusts pulling your soul right out of you. 

It doesn’t take long for that knot in your core to snap. “Oh, fuck!” you whine, damn near screaming for all to hear as you cum hard around Suguru’s cock. You don’t have time to warn them–it just happens, exploding out of you. Suguru moans as you tighten around him, drawing his cum right out of him. “Cum for me,” he groans. “Shit–c’cmon, baby, cum! Give it to me!” 

Your orgasm hits you hard and intensely, sending you on a trip as you thrash in the vigilantes’ hands. Your pussy and ass grip their dicks tighter than a vice as you cream onto Suguru’s cock, coating them both from cockhead to balls in your juices. They share a slutty moan in pleasure by how tight you’ve grown, gripping and stroking them until they have no choice but to cum. 

Satoru’s thrusts grow sloppy as your asshole massages the spunk out of his dick, making him whine in pleasure. “Gonna cum!” he whines. “F-Fuck, I’mma cum for you, baby!” 

“Me too,” Suguru groans, eyes squeezed tight from how tight you are. How velvety and wet you feel. “Take it all…all of it! It’s all for you.” 

You gasp as you feel two hot loads of cum shoot deep into your holes, making you gasp. The moans of release that escape the men are fit for a porno, their thrusts growing sloppier and erratic as they chase their orgasms inside of you. But that isn’t enough for them. Slowly, still hard as rocks, they pull out and have you on your knees so they can pump the rest onto you. 

Their moans, gasps, and grunts fill the room as warm spunk hits your face, dripping down your cheeks, lips, neck, and juicy tits, making your skin sobbing wet and sticky with him. Your breath comes out in short puffs of air as you recover from the vigorous fucking, completely spent. You kneel there, body aching, pussy and ass sore from being stretched. 

You feel perfect. Even when the effects of the bomb begin to wear off, you still feel that addictive satisfaction that comes after some good sex. Even when the vigilantes recover and that awkwardness grows in the room, you feel no regrets. You can’t help but wonder what it means. 

After a while, still in the bed with each other, Satoru is the first one to speak. “Well, uh…that was unexpected.” He clears his throat, cheeks flushed pink. Even Suguru looks shy now, his muscles glinting in sweat. You don’t say anything, too afraid to do so. You aren’t too sure what to say anyhow. You desperately want to say something to cure this horrible silence, but Satoru beats you to it. “So…what do we do now?”

Suguru, tying his hair up in a long, sexy ponytail, looks around for a solution. “Guess find a way to get out of here without alertin’ the cops. What do you think?” He looks at you now, expectantly. 

You feel hot with their eyes on you now, a lump growing in your throat. “U-Uh…well, sure. But it might be awhile before the side effects of the bomb wear off.” The words are out before you can stop them. What exactly are you implying? That you want them to stay? That you want more? 

You open your mouth to try and take it back, but Suguru is already agreeing: “She’s right. We’ll definitely need to recuperate.” You gape at him, surprised, and see the little wink he shoots you. Satoru yawns, stretching his muscular arms high over his head. “Sounds like a plan. I think that bomb had a sleep potion too!”

You feel those damn butterflies return, realizing that tonight isn’t over. “But there’s only one bed though,” you state, looking at the small, rickety bed you’re sitting on. The vigilantes just smirk at each other and then at you, making you burn. 

“Then I guess we’ll have to share,” Suguru coos, raising an expectant eyebrow at you. That won’t be a problem though, will it?” 

You don’t dare tell him that it isn’t. You just let them sandwich you between them in the bed, limbs tangled and the afterglow engulfing you the same way your vigilantes do. You can’t hide the satisfied smile that grows on your lips as silence descends upon you again…but this time, it’s nothing but bliss. 

“We should be safe to depart here,” Suguru murmurs, coaxing you to walk up the small staircase to the rooftop first. 

You do so, your high heels clicking across the gravel as you sneak into the night air. The vigilantes follow right after, now in their super suits and masks. After some recovery and after-sex cuddling, Suguru passed you a towel to sob up the cum from your skin and Satoru found your clothes.

After slipping your dress back on like nothing happened, you snuck out of the room with the vigilantes through a loose floorboard that dropped you into the basement. From there, you went out the back of the museum and up the fire escape to the rooftop, figuring that escaping by air would be better than risking being seen by a cop. 

The side effects of the bomb have since worn off, but the feelings of lust are still there. After such amazing sex with the two heroes, it is impossible to not crave more. You stand before them now in the night air, the starry sky the perfect backdrop for them. Satoru clears his throat, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, uh…this was fun. Pretty interestin’ night, I’d say.” 

“Yeah,” you awkwardly say, your heart pummeling in your chest. You stare at both of them, trying to get a sense of where their heads are at from their eyes. “So you guys gonna go back to the batcave to discuss this or–” 

Beep, beep, beep!

“Night Owl? Come in, Night Owl. What's happening over there?!” The panicked voice of your boss comes from in your clutch. You gasp, unzipping it and fishing out your earpiece. You had it this entire time?! 

The vigilantes look just as shook as you feel when you clear your throat, already sensing the inevitable. “Night Owl is present, boss,” you say as firmly as you can into your ear piece. “I’m alive. Um…just out of curiosity, how much of that did you hear?”

You desperately hope that your boss is clueless as to what you’re talking about, but you know you won’t be that lucky. Judging by his awkward pause, you guess he heard everything. “Uh…just enough. Did you find the targets?” 

You try to think of something professional to say while also letting the vigilantes off the hook, but Satoru speaks for you. “Oh, she did!” he chirps with a grin. “And now she’s about to make us talk with some extra torture device. Thanks for checkin’ in!” 

Quickly, you end the call and toss the ear piece back into your clutch. “I’m so totally fired,” you sigh. Satoru shrugs, placing a hand on your shoulder, making your skin tingle. “You could always come work with us. Wouldn’t mind havin’ you around for some Gotham bullshit.” His smirk is sexy yet genuine. Not a hint of humor in it. He’s serious. 

You cock your head at him, sizing him up with your eyes. You did your best to fix the makeup that the cum wiped off, including your pretty eyeshadow and mascara. “I thought you work alone,” you tease with a hand on your hip. “Especially you, Red Hood.”

You nod at the tall, long-haired vigilante who has been checking you out for all the minutes you were chatting with Satoru. “I do…but you’ve got some potential.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, eyeing you up and down. “You’d definitely need to be trained to be my trusted sidekick though.” 

Your body zings at the flirty banter between you, so natural and easy as if you’d been doing it for years. “I’m nobody’s sidekick,” you scoff, eyeing the superheroes down. “But I’ll give it some thought.” Satoru rolls his eyes like you’re playing so hard to get while Suguru chuckles. “Fine. In the meantime, you keep your hands to yourself.”

The Nightwing puts his hand out for a shake. After some time sizing up his intentions, you take it, shaking his head, only to gasp when he pulls you into his body. His lips are suddenly at your ear, his voice low and hushed. “Unless you want another personal visit,” he purrs in your ear. 

Lucky for you, you know how to play the game of seduction. Plus, the idea of toying with the sexy vigilantes of Gotham, making them lose their cool, doesn’t seem too unexciting. “Hm. I may just take you up on that,” you hum into Satoru’s ear, gently kissing his cheek and leaving a ring of gloss there.

You do the same to Suguru, standing up on your tip toes to give him a kiss. You feel his body stiffen as you leave a sticky print there, marking him up. Then you take a step back, smiling coyly. “Thanks for the fun tonight, boys,” you purr to them. “And for the souvenirs.” 

Their dreamy expressions turn to confusion, brows scowled. Your smile widens as you flash them the diamond in your clutch before quickly getting out your rope gun and hitting the button. 

Before either of them can yank you back, you’re soaring through the air across the rooftop and landing perfectly in your heels on the rooftop across from the museum. You turn back to them staring at you in awe, but they are smiling. “You little sneak!” Satoru yells across the night at you. “We’ll get you back for that, Night Owl!”

You blow each of them a kiss, winking. “Lookin’ forward to it!” you giggle. “Farewell, batbrains!” 

And then you strut off into the night, feeling like a new woman. 

THE END.

“y’alright, love?” one of them drawls, leaning against the wall, arms folded loosely over his chest. “look a bit peaky.”

you glare at him over your book, unimpressed.

“gee, i wonder why.”

his grin only widens.

“haven’t the foggiest!”

you don’t believe it for a second. but before you can fire back, fred (or maybe george, you’re not sure anymore) is plucking the book from your hands, flipping through the pages idly.

“good read?” he muses, thumbing through the text “can’t imagine it’s half as entertainin’ as last night.”

your cheeks burn. “oh, piss off.”

but he doesn’t. obviously. instead, he leans in, tucking himself into your space. he smells likes like butterbeer and ink, which made you decide he’s fred.

“actually,” he murmurs pensively, “was thinkin’ we ought to have a bit of a repeat performance.”

“again?”

he grins. and it made your stomach flutter. “reckon so, yeah.”

“fred,” you whine, half-exasperated. “i can barely walk.”

“right, right. s’pose we should give you a break.”

and then—

“good thing i’m george, then, innit?”

your stomach drops.

“what d’you say, love?” he sniggers, fingers skimming the inside of your wrist. “gonna let me have my turn, or am i gonna have to start convincing you?”

wait. wait. your eyes narrow in suspicion.

“hold on.. i thought you had your turn.”

“oh, i did,” he agrees. “but you’re so accommodating.”before you can so much as protest, he’s already hoisting you up, making his way toward the nearest empty classroom.

“you two are the worst.”

“yeah, but something tells me you love it,”

"Mm," you smirk. "Your crew wouldn't let me forget it. I think Johnny left handprints on my dress every time he tried whipping me across the dance floor. I saw Simon chatting with one of the servers out by the smoker's area though."

Kyle shakes his head, huffing a laugh. "They need better socialization. Proper embarrassing, that."

You tuck your fingers under the straps of your dress to give your shoulders a bit of a break before you're defrocked for the night. "Well, John behaved himself at least."

"Ah yeah?"

"I mean, I was getting yanked left, right, and centre by everyone, but I saw him at the table minding his own most of the time. I think I chatted with him for a minute before someone grabbed me." Four more bobbypins get sprinkled in the growing pile. You watch Kyle's face as you add, "I'm really glad he came. For you."

Kyle doesn't talk about his dad much; since you met Kyle two years ago, he's only told you a few things. His dad gambled away the family's money and was then found in a hotel room by some of his buddies. The way he explains it, John Price has been more of a father figure to Kyle than his own dad was. "Taught me everything from work ethic to integrity to knowin' when to keep my mouth shut and when to speak." You had teased playfully, "Did he show you how to please a woman, too?" And he'd grabbed you in a headlock jokingly.

There was a period of a few weeks when Kyle's crew wasn't a sure thing at his wedding; his best mates, but due to the job, highly unstable in terms of personal schedules. You and Kyle had even discussed an elopement instead, but he'd assured you that he would at least attend his own wedding. In the end, all four made it. Simon's suit looked hastily assembled from people's laundry lines like in a movie, of course, and Johnny hadn't stopped hitting on you or your bridesmaids. John, though — ever the stalwart figure, standing beside Kyle as you were walked down the aisle by your mom and little sister.

Your dad wasn't dead, but he was only slightly more involved: he lived somewhere in southeast Asia, always moving, always somewhere new, and always sending random email updates that could've been sent to his dentist as well.

"You two were so sweet up there," you continue. "You almost sobbing. John patting you on the shoulder so you hold it together. But you can tell him I'm pretty sure I saw a little shine in his eye, too," you tease.

Kyle's eyes squint at you. "Did you?"

You nod, accidentally pulling away from him combing out a large bobbypin and you wince. "Jesus, please tell me you got them all." Your hair's mostly down your shoulders now, looking all the way fucked up from whatever magic the stylist'd had performed this morning and her copious amounts of hairspray to hold it all together.

"Almost there, babes." His face turns into one of concentration, the kind he gets when he has to fix the dishwasher or when you bring up filing taxes. Finally, he finishes and you stand, with his help, and bend over to shake everything out. Two more bobbypins fall loose to the hotel carpet and Kyle's face is unimpressed.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower quick; I cannot sleep in this hair and makeup."

"Sure, babe," he says, unlacing your gown to help you step out. He hangs it up for you — you won't bother getting it cleaned, with its dirty hem and sweated-in lining, nor will you do anything special with it. Donate or keep as-is. Try it on in ten years as a laugh. He undresses, hops in the shower while you're on your tenth cotton pad doused with micellar water, and then laughingly takes himself to the cool white bed that's calling your name and your achy feet.

The shower, with its multiple showerheads including a waterfall one, is heavenly and you end up sitting on the tile floor, not minding one fucking bit if you catch some wayward hotel germs at this point. You wash your sticky hair three full times, your arms protesting by the end, and don't even bother with conditioner. A swipe of body wash for now will do, and your eyes are closing as you rinse it off.

You hear the chatter of the television from the bedroom part of the suite. Not exactly what you had in mind for your wedding night, although you were too exhausted to really care if you had sex — not like you've got virginity on the line or anything archaic. Plenty of married friends told you that they or their partners had been too drunk or tired to have sex on the actual wedding night; you just didn't really want to watch a football match instead.

"Babes, do you mind if—"

You come round the corner in your hotel robe, pristine white from your neck to your shins, and see your husband.

Sat with John at the little sitting area of the suite.

Whiskeys in hand, turning to look at you as you freeze, wet hair down your back, and then force yourself to reset.

"Oh! Hey, John," you smile curiously, too brightly.

Could be that he forgot keys or wallet or somesuch up in the suite — this is where the lads got ready. A little weird that Kyle would offer him whiskey, but Kyle's got a streak of people pleaser in him, especially with his boss/mentor/father figure.

You wander over to the arm of the Kyle's couch, and he easily wraps an arm round your waist as you settle there, draping the robe to not expose any bits to his boss. "Forget something?"

Might even be seen as rude, but it's your fucking night, for Chrissakes. Loads of couples would already be fucking by now. Who comes by unless it's an emergency? Your arm around Kyle's shoulders is deceptively casual, but you ply your fingers into the collar of his shirt and press them into his neck — a soft what the fuck…?

To his credit, Kyle clears his throat, giving the early signal that he's about to usher a hanger-on out the door. Boss or not, you want him gone.

John answers you with a simple and casual, "No."

Your eyebrows draw down just slightly, as if he's suddenly switched to a different language. Giving him the benefit of the doubt. He doesn't strike you as oblivious, nor ignorant to social cues. The few times you've made his acquaintance, at a pub or restaurant, he's always been lovely, professional, and remote in a perfectly appropriate way.

"Oh." You match the abruptness. You tap into Kyle's still-damp skin.

"Did I ever tell you about Gaz's first mission with us?" John asks, and it's such an absurd question, because of course he didn't, and he knows he didn't. And he knows you know he didn't. You stare at him from your perch, squinting an eye, trying to puzzle out what he's doing here.

"No, John, I don't think so." The warmth is evaporating from your voice very quickly, replaced by thin impatience.

"Ah," he leans back in the armchair like a fucking mafia don, the whiskey sloshing up the glass just a skosh, his dark suit pants stretching as he widens his legs. He's built bigger than Kyle, the weight distributed differently, thicker around the stomach and arms, whereas Kyle's thighs are like redwoods. "Well, it was…where again, Gaz?"

"Kastovia, Cap'n." Kyle supplies it so easily without hesitation that you could be fooled into thinking you're sat at a sticky pub table, just having a laugh with his crew.

John slaps a knee like something funny's been said. "Would've bet the farm that our man here was gonna gip all over his trainers."

You give a forced smile, no longer caring if it seems rude. "Yeah, well…" You scrape a long, manicured nail into Kyle's collarbone as John takes a swill of his whiskey. "I'm getting pretty tired, actually. Long day." Your smile's dropping. "I'm gonna go lie down."

Standing up unsteadily, even though you feel like the booze that flowed through you through the reception has now dried on the vine with this intrusion, you give a chilly goodnight to John and walk around the corner into the bedroom area. It feels insane, given there's all of five feet between you now, but it's some sort of separation.

You plug your phone in, not bothering to look at all the messages that've come in from guests and wedding party and the no-shows sending late texts, and tuck into your side of the bed.

Minutes go by, and you're seething. You feel your heart rate spiking, and you're scraping your teeth hard against your lip like you did as a kid when you needed to calm down quick, but it doesn't work. You shuffle the bedding a little, making plenty of noise.

Still, soft idle chatter.

When you sit up to plump the pillows loudly and pointedly, you realize, with a sinking stomach, that with the stupid-ass layout of this hotel suite, John's armchair is within sight.

And he's looking right at you.

You inhale sharply, and call, while staring at John, "Kyle?"

Kyle comes round the corner, and you finally get to see his face since walking into that room. He strides quickly to your side of the bed and when he tries to kneel beside you, you frown and move him so that he's in between your line of sight with John.

"Kyle." Your eyes say it all: What. The. Fuck.

You feel disgust rise in your gorge at your new husband, seeing this strange and pitiful look in his face. He's trying to placate you and John at the same time, while utterly selling you down the river. Suddenly, the idea of not fucking Kyle tonight falls from too bad to good fucking luck. Kyle can read your expressions and knows when you're furious or disappointed or any shade in between, and he can see it painted plain across your bare face, and he still makes his fucking face look like that: sad, pleading. Like you're making him do something.

He tries to cup his large hands over yours, and you pull them away with a silent snarl. "John," you call out, and your voice is harsh and brooks no arguments.

"Babes, please—" Kyle starts.

"—John, I'm tired."

"Please, baby, don't—"

"I would like you to bring Kyle elsewhere if you insist on having a conversation this late on our wedd—"

"Stop." And suddenly, the pleading look in his eyes turns flat, the features of his face sharpening and reshaping themselves into an expression you've never seen him make before. The tone in his voice is frightening and new, to you anyway.

"Kyle." You're pulling away from him now.

And then, you see John looming behind Kyle's back, standing, drink still held loosely in his grip. Watching this marital argument unfold with a curious look. "Gaz, mind your manners with your new bride."

Your eyes refocus on Kyle, and you see something ripple across his face, and then his eyes go soft again. "Babes, let me expla—"

"Gaz, take a seat."

He already is. He's sat in front of you, on the bed, half-squashing your thigh. You watch in disbelief as Kyle stands and walks to the armchair that John was sitting in. Watch as his arms lift the chair and bring it over to the foot of the bed.

"What the fuck," you yell, and yank the covers back to stand up. "What are you doing."

John sits at the end of the bed, dipping the covers down, calm as can be. "May I?"

"May you what?! Stay? No!" Your voice is near-hysterical.

"Babes…" from the armchair, too soft to even make it count.

"Gaz," barks John, and his voice, soft with you, is a command. One he'd use in combat, one that Kyle would hear through his earpiece, and sure enough, Kyle quiets again.

You unplug your phone carelessly and whip it in front of you like it'll help. "Whatever the fuck this is," and you point between them, "is fucked up."

John's voice carries over yourself, firm and steady, and you feel like your words will only batter up against it like an unbreakable wall. "Take a breath. Emotions are running high. You've had an extremely long day, hm?" He lifts his chin, eyes locked to yours, forehead lines wrinkling like whatever he's saying is so fucking reasonable and if you just shut up and listen, you'd see his reason. Shakes his head as he says, "You've done a lovely job today, sweet'art. Sound. Lovelier than any bride could do." Head comes down and you feel your head almost automatically go in sync with his own motions like he's got a hand guiding you.

"I want you both to leave. Now." You do sound calmer, and you're furious at John for the command. You don't even bother looking at Kyle. "Or I will call the fucking cops, okay?"

John takes a slow, practiced pull off his glass. "Nah, you don't want to do that, love."

Why is on your tongue, but then he'll lead you wherever he wants.

Trembling, you open the lock screen on your phone, fumbling with the passcode twice.

"Gaz'll lose his job, love. Tomorrow."

In a rapid cycle, you think —

— bullshit

— Kyle's supporting his mom and little brothers since his mom lost her job; he is their only means of staying afloat right now

— how the fuck does this equal that

John seems to see it all mapping over your pinched eyebrows and mouth. "'m not jokin, love. The lads and I have a foundation of trust, and summat like that cannot be broken."

You're failing to see the big picture and you want to scream and kill both of them for not seeing it before John leads you there himself, that infuriatingly calm look on his face. Imperial.

"Call it a trust exercise, hm? A condition of employment, or summat. The lads know. Gaz knew when joinin' our crew, eh, mate?" He lightens the tone but doesn't budge his gaze from yours. This is for your enlightenment. Your teachable moment. "A lad who breaks his promise is as good as dead, love."

Pulling your eyes off John, you find Kyle and he's got a hangdog expression and posture to match. Like he didn't get himself here by being a bootlicker to the core.

"Is he dead or just unemployed then?"

A casual shrug and a roll of the lips. "All the same to a company man like Gaz."

Nausea roils and pitches in your stomach, the booze souring and threatening to surge up. "So, what? You want a fucking blowjob or something? Some disgusting frat ritual that you two cooked up?"

The smile on John's face is almost paternalistically kind, and you do gag then. Your stomach tightens, your core squeezing, and you're on your feet and running to the bathroom. You bring up dessert and alcohol and bile, and hot tears run down your face, finally escaping. You don't let yourself sob and you don't hide.

You stare at your reflection in the large mirror; your eyes are large and haunted, the line between your eyebrows permanently fixed now, and you feel as if you've aged ten years. Robotically, you brush your teeth, avoiding your tongue so as not to gag again. You brush your hair for something to do.

A part of you gets up and walks out of the hotel room. She gets an annulment from Kyle before the ink's dried on whatever papers were signed during the ceremony. She screams about it with friends and family and curses Kyle Garrick's name until the whole town knows what a pathetic bootlicking loser he is. She breaks all contact with his sweet family and never sees him or them again. When she finds out that Kyle's disappeared forever — willingly or not — she doesn't care at all. The wedding is a fever dream she brings out decades later like a party favour, something to laugh about and shock people. She's better off for it.

The part of you that stays in the bathroom has met Kyle's mom. Has felt her tight, thick-armed embrace that folds you in so easily and wonderfully that you almost cried the first time she hugged you. His little brothers, round-faced and pure-eyed, giggly and awkward when you come round, asking if you want to watch them play their video games. Has listened to Kyle beg his mom to move into a better apartment so the boys can be in a nicer catchment area and improve their chances in life, beg her to use the cheques he now has set up on an auto-deposit system because she refuses them in any other form. Has been in the apartment, seen the cracks in the walls that his mom covers up with family pictures — so many of Kyle, the biggest being military one, with the widest brightest smile.

Kyle disappearing from your world is a bad two years.

Kyle disappearing from theirs is a family ruined.

You press your hands flat over your stomach. Take a deep grounding breath. And open the bathroom door, walk barefoot in your robe until they're both in sight. If they were conversing, they've stopped.

Kyle won't look at you. John hasn't stopped.

The drink is no longer in his hands, set down somewhere.

You don't know what to do. Where to go. And there's that moment, in this silent hysteria passing through you, that you're unsure whether to go straight to the bed or drop to your knees or slip the robe off. Of all things, that's what stops you from your forward momentum.

"C'mere," John says lowly, leading you into the shallow end. He widens his stance, sock feet on the carpet, and you know to stand in front of him. You don't know this man anymore. A friendly face in your wedding party, he's now a stranger, a threat.

You walk to him. His chin lifts and he keeps his eyes on yours until you're straight-on, navel at his eye-level. You will not look at Kyle, so you watch John; no more surprises, no more being caught off-guard. You will watch as the crash happens in slow motion. His arms, dress shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, flex a little as he lifts them up to gather the thick collar of the bathrobe. He skirts his hands across your shoulders, down your elbows, forearms, and then back up to the collar. He widens it open, but the robe tie holds your nudity at bay for now. Sweat is gathering at the nape of your neck already, under your breasts, behind your knees.

"Lovely," he says, his voice darker than before, eyes almost glazed a little.

You won't catalogue his features in return. He is an older man with features unlike your husband. It's a reprieve of your current unreality to keep him abstract in nature — head with hair, dark eyes, moustache, suit.

Then the tie is being tugged at and the robe is falling open in front of him. You got waxed for the honeymoon; flying out tomorrow night to spend 12 days travelling around Greece. You didn't want to shave. The spa treatments this past week — exfoliations and hydration and illumination — have done you a service: you're slippery smooth and oiled and glowing. John's eyes flicker all over you, sending heat where his gaze lands, though heat could be nausea. You watch as he stares at your breasts, the marks from the dress still impressed upon your skin, your stomach, your bare apex. He drags his bottom lip in between his teeth and makes a sucking sound, letting the lip fall back out into place slowly, appreciatively.

His hand, hairy and veined, comes up and then his thumb drags lightly across your pebbled nipple. Then the one. Then both. He cups your heavy breasts and lifts them slightly, letting the weight distribute in his roughened palms. Heat scores through you.

You think of saying something scathing, but can't conjure up anything hurtful and awful enough. You just keep your eyes open, inventorying John's hands on you. They slip down, letting your breasts fall back to skin, and then he grips your ribs, a panegyrical noise coming from him. Then, he's pushing your robe off, slipping down your sloping shoulders until it fluffs around your calves.

Somewhere, Kyle makes a pitiful whining sound.

John draws his hands around your waist, then to the flare of your hips, tilting his head as he examines you. His fingertips are gentle but firming, not lifting off, not missing an inch of your skin.

A pound of flesh; Shakespeare's words from a high school English class float up. What are you if not Kyle's pound of flesh freely given? Are you a bride or a sacrificial offering?

His hand flattens into a vertical line and then slots up between your grazing thighs, right until it's notched against the plump, silky lips of your pussy. Your eyebrows tilt down in question. Then his hand makes a see-saw motion back and forth, a slight glide with your curvature, and then his thumb fits itself between the lips to place over your clit. You watch, expressionless, as he stares straight ahead at his work.

You're not wet. Damp from sweat, yes, but not wet. You're grateful for the fact of that; John'd be the type to interpret that as tacit approval or encouragement. His thumb waggles over your clit, but his heart's not in it, like he's just testing you. Like you're a machine with buttons and dials and he's figuring out the order of presses and twists to get the machine running.

Fury lights you up suddenly, a new spark in you. You're sick of being at the mercy of men, your body treated like some trial run for their ego. You know your face is pulled down in disgust at John as he works at you, and you resolve yourself: no stroke of hand will make you come. He will fuck your body and take his pound of flesh and you will leave and never see these men ever again.

If you're a riddle he wants to work at, he'll make a meal out of it, just like a man with an ego the size of the country. You will not be a map or territory he can win through strategy or brute force.

You hold back a little hiccup sound, a bitten-off inhale that John catches like he'd smell gunpowder in the wind. "No," you breathe softly, pleading; an animal caught in a trap, baying for mercy. His thumb strikes true, rubbing harder against you, the line of his index finger slipping up into your shallow depth as he juts his hand back and forth. "No," you add on, adding a tortured texture to your whisper.

"Let'er go, sweet'art, nice 'n easy now." He soothes you, like shushing that injured and frightened animal.

You let yourself tremble for a few seconds, and then clamp your thighs together tight, tight, tight, the muscles squeezing his hand out of the space altogether as you fawn over, your hand clasping onto his tanned forearm like you're so desperate to be rooted to the ground, he's the closest thing to stability. "Noooo," you warble out, your eyes shutting tightly, your hands shaking uncertainly, like you can't even trust to touch him.

You should've been a goddamned actress.

He shhhs you kindly, his thumb still wiggling where he can fit it over you, and it does feel like a cousin to a welcome sensation, but not enough.

You think you hear a snuffling sound from the chair.

John grabs you by the hips, firmer this time, and now you're about to make acquaintance with the bulge in his suit pants that you'd been ignoring. You jolt with him as he pushes you back suddenly, so he can stand — you haven't stood beside him in a long time, not even tonight, and he's so tall — and unbuckle his black belt and pants. He folds them neatly, which almost makes you roll your eyes, and then sets them on the other side of the bed, lest you make a mess out of him.

Nausea resurges, but you use his distraction of undressing as a disguise. Your eyes cast down, waiting for your next punishment like the proper maiden role they've cast you into. And then, your husband's boss's cock is hanging, half-hard, in front of you, framed by heavy hairy thighs and a coarsely-haired torso. You breathe in deeply, getting little to no air in the end, pummelled once more by your reality.

His cock is thick and veiny like his hands, throbbing red at the end where the blood's flowing as you stare more at it. His balls match everything else, substantial and weighty.

"C'mere, love," and his voice is throaty and raspy now, rubbed raw.

You stand so close to him that his cock jumps up, hitting your skin between your bodies. Then he places hands on hips to move you between himself and the bed. You start to climb on the bed, but you're corrected; he wants you bent over. The height of him and the height of the bed are at odds, but he maneuvers you both, like this is a common occurrence for him. Maybe it is.

Ass-up, hands on hotel bed, tits hanging off you, eyes trained down. You feel his cock rub at your pussy, and then he pauses. When you expect him to jam himself in, it's just silence and nothingness.

Instinct brings you head around to see what he's doing.

He's staring hard at you, chest working harder. He looks fucking furious, sending your breath knocking back down your throat in surprise.

"Curious."

You whip your neck back into alignment.

"Never met a bird who managed to have an orgasm and not be wet by the end." The trapped, cowed animal suddenly becomes his quarry.

Fuck.

He leans forward and pushes your back into an arched position, and then you hear a hawking noise that sounds like a fat glob of spit, and then his fingers are smearing it over your pussy rudely, wiping the residue off on you like he's disgusted with it.

You feel his fingers push in against the mouth of your pussy, downward, downward, against the ribbed tissue. The previous manipulation was almost gentle and Victorian in nature compared to this filthy finger-fucking, where it's like he's trying to humiliate you with how wet you can sound. Proving you wrong. Making you eat your lies.

Your knee collapses inward for a half-second, and whatever that causes in terms of change in friction or direction becomes something that you have to bite back in earnest. You correct your legs, straightening, and then John's pushing you down further by the head, your drying hair a grateful distraction as it falls around your face.

There's the squelching sound that you hate. His fingers speed up, making it louder, echo around the room to cover up Kyle's sniffles. You don't like being fingered, but John doesn't know this — shouldn't know this, unless your husband's betrayals go bone-deep. It feels like something, an intensity of sorts, but it's never something you've been able to come from.

After a few minutes, John must sense this. You wonder if he's feeling frustrated by your body's refusal to play along, now that your pretense's fallen away.

You don't, of all things, expect his mouth.

It changes the game board in a heated excruciating moment. Something about this evening felt like it would follow a tradition from time immemorial: a blowjob to get things started and then straight to vaginal sex.

You don't really understand John's play here, unless it's just the humiliation of it all.

Besting the chosen man.

You're just a battlefield being fought between these men. Hasn't Kyle, at this point, thrown out the white flag? Or is it not about his surrender at all? You don't know military or war terms, but it feels like the winning side, long after actually winning, go on to rub it in. And this — making your husband cower in the shadow of his mentor's prowess with his woman. A taking, but not just a taking — a full and complete victory by making her come.

Overkill.

Cruelty.

These thoughts help distract you from his hot, wet mouth slobbering over your pussy, lapping from clit to perineum. This isn't for you, the pawn. Your orgasm, which will assuredly build if he continues, despite your best efforts to subdue it, is part of the overkill. Instead of playing with the sensations, like you would with yourself or Kyle, or urging yourself toward it, you fight it by the inch, not wanting to concede to the steady climb.

Your wrists ache where the joints are bent, and you shift forward to roll them one by one. John latches his hands onto the backs of your thighs as if you're trying to escape, and the sound that rips from his mouth is filthy-hot, something you'd think about for ages if this were a man you actually wanted, like a dog guarding a prized possession. You're wet now — he secured that fact about you.

Kyle is technically in your peripheral vision now, but you won't even tilt your head in his direction. You let him watch his boss lave at his bride's pussy, and you wonder if he can tell you're going to come at some point. That your fingers are starting to curl up in the coverlet. That your hips are starting to shake ever so slightly, though you're refusing to sink back against the wiry moustache and his full mouth and strong tongue.

Quickly, too fast to process, John's head is under you on the bed and he's pulling you down on top of him so that your pussy is pressed tight to his mouth. "Ri' me," he says, muffled by your soaked lips, and you realize this is so much worse. He can lick you with broad stripes and suck your clit all he wants from this angle, but if he's determined to steal your orgasm, you are sitting on his face and your body will eventually start doing the work.

You hover. It's all you can do. His arms come up and band over your thighs until you're snuff against him, but he can't force you to grind on his face like you'd need (like you want).

Because the thing is, Kyle being just outside of your vision makes you remember why you're here, why your flesh is up for someone else's taking. That fury dissipates when you look at John as the tax collector; Kyle is the one to agree. Kyle is the one who knew and still said yes.

What is your pound of flesh here?

Is it pleasure?

Instantly, your brain rearranges itself. You are an unwilling participant, but you are not powerless. Kyle watching you get fucked by John will hurt him. Kyle watching you get fucked by John and have an unwilling orgasm will hurt him worse.

But Kyle watching you become a willing participant will be better than any divorce paper you could serve him.

With John's tongue on your pussy, you finally turn your head to the side to look at your husband, a failure in a beautiful suit. His face is tracked with tears, and his eyes are locked on where John's mouth is latched to you. He's shocked to see you look at him, his sweet lips dropping open in a stupid o.

More shocked when your face contorts with your impending orgasm, beginning to rush and flow over you as John clamps over your clit, bearing down to chase you to it. Your eyes stay on Kyle as your mouth drops open, mirroring his, your eyebrows drawn down as you cry out a long gasping moan, the first you've allowed to escape, as your orgasm barrels through you, finally coursing through you after John's efforts. Heedless of anything but Kyle's disgusting sad-sop eyes, you come down onto your elbows and forearms, and grind your hips into John's face to the point of smothering him, chasing the tail ends that will slip out of your grasp if you still for too long. Your cry becomes guttural and sharp and aching in the room over the sucking wet sounds, the soundtrack to the scene of Kyle's doing.

You fucking hate him.

John's hands are squeezing your thighs so tight, it almost makes you squeal, but you don't care at all. Leave the marks, leave a bruise, leave evidence of what happened here.

"Attagirl," you finally hear him breathe out, panting and overwhelmed, under you. And then, in his quick combative fashion, you're being maneuvered how he wants you, which is now with your head nearly hanging off the bed, closest to Kyle, legs wide open, the bride's cunt for the taking. The final claiming possession.

John is all-encompassing like this, stretched out over you. Heavy and covered in hair, muscle under fat, with his cock fully hard now, darkened and starving. You think he'll go right into missionary.

Instead, he nestles up along your side, his hand scraping down to the wet silk of your bare mound, and he makes another throaty sound of approval at the stringy moisture that has made its way up from his ministrations. You look up at him, the closest your faces have been this whole time, and notice how sopping wet his moustache now is.

His eyes are whiskey-amber. Lashes long. Eyebrows dark blades. A little freckle on the nose. A full mouth under the moustache, wet with you. The arm under him comes up around and curls around your head and hair, almost protectively. He leans in for a kiss and you can't explain it, but it doesn't feel at odds with everything else being done.

(A noise from Kyle)

His fingers play over your clit, lightly, seeing what you like, eyes fixed on yours. And you stare right back, your body telling him what you do — lower, there, slower, circles. His hand tightens around your head as he feels your muscles flex, your hips dipping down into the mattress then back up into his fingers, and all of a sudden, you're lunging up to kiss him this time, your mouth locking over his, and that's where you let your moans go: only to him. Your teeth catch on his lip and your tongue is lapping away your own taste, but it's taking something of him too.

You say absolutely nothing as the orgasm hits you hard and brutal, your legs pistoning out on the cover, heels slamming down for leverage, hips flying up then down, but John's hand never leaves you, continues to rub and rub and rub so perfectly at you that your gasp is hellish and bright and louder than the sound of your wet skin and Kyle's sobs.

Before you come down fully, floating and drugged, John rolls over onto you fully. He pulls your legs open and you gasp when his hard cock slaps against your sensitive clit, bucking instinctively as it grazes you.

"Good fuckin' girl, y'are," he mutters gruffly, stern replacing soft, and then his cock is filling you, pressing so beautiful and thick and full. Your voice stutters out in a long agonized sigh, and he smiles down at you.

His hands come down and play with your nipples, sending electric ripples through you, as he fucks you slowly, setting a leisurely pace that you match, a long delicious sprawl of minutes spent at this. One, or both, of you starts to get restless. His thumb coasts down to your clit and he jags it back and forth lightly, not too much, until you squeeze him so tight with another orgasm that he lets out a hoarse shout of his own.

"Fuckin' 'ell, sweet'art," and then he bullies back into you fully against the swollen tissues, and descends over you with his broad body. He props himself on his forearms on either side of you so you're nice and close, nearly eye-to-eye.

His mouth finds yours again, swallowing you up, your aftershock moans as his cock drags slow and strikes deep. You wrap your legs around him, bringing him deeper in, and he groans gorgeously into your throat.

"Gonna give ya my cum, luv," John says for everyone. "You're gonna take it f' me, 'kay?"

You nod eagerly, some otherworldly being now in your marital bed.

"Yeah?" He pants, and you want to scrape all his words out just for you. "Gonna fill this beautiful lit'l cunt right up w' me. That's what ya deserve, innit."

"Yes," you breathe out hysterically.

He's fucking you so perfectly, you never want him to change it, but you know the best part is next: that moment when he will turn from John the strategist, the leader, the mentor and father figure and boss and best man, and become John the needy, the starving, the helpless. You need him at that apex. Hear the groan spiral out of him, need to see that look on his face and the stutter of his stroke and the utter unravelling of his power deep in your cunt.

"John, please," because you know just what men need to hear in the end and because you do want it anyway.

You use your heels to push your bodies, with your synced rocking motions, further back until your head is hanging off the end of the bed. Until even upside down, you can look at Kyle.

"Just f' you, love, fuck— you feel so fuckin' perfect — god—" John's moaning in anguish and then that delicious agony is washing over him, his eyes widening and glassy and mouth slack open and hips slamming sloppy and sharp to chase his own end.

You keep your eyes wide open on Kyle, the moan pulled from you as your own battle cry. "Yes, yes, yes, John, please."

Hot cum in you until John seems to short-circuit, pulsing until the last drops have been sucked from him, until he's heavy on you. He finds your face upside down over the edge, sees the tear tracks that leaked from gravity into your hairline, and then both men are staring at you as you begin to laugh. Painful and deep from your core, hysterical, as cum spills out of you when John pulls out, tears running down now.

Your legs are shaky as you stand, colt-like, and you're shivering as you walk to Kyle's chair, the laughter yanking your nerves tight. You can't stop and it's filling the hotel suite. You get to the chair and when you finally see his wet eyes, it makes you laugh harder.

The hysteria makes you reach down and scoop John's cum out of your cunt and holding Kyle's mouth open with your other hand, feed it to him off your fingers until you're emptied and scraping for any more residue. The more milky cum you see on his stupid mouth and on his fool's tongue, the harder it hurts to laugh but it's the funniest thing you have ever done in your whole fucking life and you can't think of a better punchline to this joke.

-

You balk—what was that supposed to mean?

Geto huffs out in priggish laughter like he could read that exact sentiment on your face. Instead, turning back to the group surrounding you two, clutching feathered fans and flutes of champagne like it would hide the way they were listening in.

And oh, were they listening in.

The twirling couples on the dance floor were ebbing themselves closer and closer towards your corner of the gathering just to overhear. Dukes upon ladies upon elderly merchants were stuffing themselves behind the draperies and seasonal lilies - all to bear witness to your brush with him.

It was common knowledge among The Ton that the viscount of the Geto Estate and the viscountess of yours - well, you - would rather trek through mud than even bear to stand in the same room. Something about old family disputes and a few business dealings gone wrong - as long as you two didn’t have to speak to one another, then all was…tolerable.

Which was impossible when it just-so-happened that you both were debuting yourselves in the market for marriage this season.

Coincidentally. 

And it’s a wonder that you can stare up into his handsome face and not want to slap it. Scowling, “If you believe that for even one second I would consider being bedded by you-”

“Of course not.” The dark-haired man waves off, baritone lilting into that teasing purr it does whenever he knows he’s about to leave you seething. “The Ton might know me to be a rake, but not even I should fall so low.”

A few whispers pluck up, even louder than the orchestra. But you only raise a challenging brow, meeting Geto’s half-lidded gaze head-on. “Is that why you stare at me so?”

“Hm?” Geto tilts his head, and his long, long braid of inky hair sways behind him. Leaning in with an almost-believable look of confusion, “How so?”

“You’re aware how so, Lord Geto. You’re doing it at this very moment.”

“I fear I am befogged, My-”

Another step.

Out of pure pride, you physically stop yourself from taking a step back- “Not-”

Another. 

“My Lady.” 

And another. 

Geto Suguru was fully in your line of vision now, obscuring your sight of the wide-eyed aristocrats around you both. And you could hear your etiquette tutor screaming bad manners at you inside your head as you freeze, almost chest-to-chest with the most alluring bachelor of this soirée. Perhaps even this season, though the sane part of you would not admit that.

And you could take in each and every detail of him.

From the broad, towering stature of his body, fitting out his intricate black n’ gold suit so sensually, at least a head above most of the audience- to the strands of raven hair framing his cheekbones. He had plush lips that were so rude, and delicate features that might have been carved by the devil himself. You almost understood why it was claimed that several ladies fainted each time he stepped into a room.

Geto Suguru was beautiful.

And he was staring down at you like he knew of his effect, so close that you could count each inkling of grey in those amethyst irises.

“Enlighten me.” Geto hums, scorched breath heating your face. His tone dips low—“How do I look at you, pretty lady?”

You have to force your larynx to strangle out, “Like- like you wouldn’t mind if I boxed your ears for calling me that.”

He looks like he expected no less of you. “What a dangerous mouth.” And could not be any happier than he was now. Before you can even think, Geto sweeps your right hand into his and plants a second, soft kiss. “Yet, indeed I would not mind, My Lady.”

Somewhere behind you, you’re hearing a few elderly ladies laugh fondly, as if the pair of you were the sweetest courting couple. 

And Geto straightens his tall figure back, tipping his head in a bow. “I bid you the most excellent season.”

You narrow your stare, “And to you, Lord.” Under your breath- “Uncouth fellow.”

Under his- “Bluestocking.”

“Rake.”

“Prude.” 

“Cease it.”

He bats his lashes innocently, volume raising just a pitch. “May you find a husband just as…charming as you, pretty lady.”

You smile back, “And may you find any wife at all, Lord Geto.”

His dark brows raise, cheeks tinting red just slightly—before Geto waltzes back into some other corner of the heavily-decorated hallway - surely to sweet-talk more débutantes than he can possibly remember. 

You’re left, slightly breathless, as you turn back to your little group. Now tittering amongst themselves as the crowd begins to disperse, whispering. 

This season was undoubtedly in full swing.

“Well…” You’re starting, more to cut through their nonsensical rigmarole than anything. You tip back your glass of champagne in one gulp, “With that blessing, I believe it is certain that I shan’t find a husband this season.”

Oh, how mistaken you were.

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

While you may have been reading Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo & Juliet’, the most fortunate Ton attending last night’s soirée were living in it. And where scandal waltzes, Viscount Geto Suguru is most sure to ask for a dance.

Handsome, alluring, and sly as a cat; this author’s reliable informants have whispered that only one feigns allergy to his lordship’s charms. Yes, gentle reader, our one and only headstrong viscountess found herself pulled into the midst of Lord Geto’s courtship, despite their famous family feud.

Those who happened upon the interaction shared sordid details of the blossoming couple’s plans to—forgive my forwardness—bed, and the viscount’s notorious flirtations. Gentlemen, this author kindly suggests that you surrender your bouquets, because witnesses claim that Viscount Geto was all the viscountess could speak of all night.

Of course, his lordship was no better with her. It leaves no question why both heads of estate have debuted in unison. 

I, for one, cannot contain myself at the thought of perhaps the most promising match of the season.

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown.

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.

.

“Quite the news this fine day, don’t you think?”

“Of course you would be the type to read a washrag such as those papers.” You don’t greet Viscount Geto Suguru at the horse races, and he doesn’t seem inclined to greet you, either. “Does it help memorize your prospects?”

Whether it be out of pure petty regards, or the fact that the crowd surrounding you two was gawking at the conversation, you were unsure. And you find your fist clenching into the fabrics of your silken riding robes, realizing that so many onlookers had scrambled and piled to seat themselves next to you. And that left only one open seat - next to him.

With as much of a dignified huff as you can muster, you sit next to Geto and swear you hear a few gasps from behind. Training your eyes firmly on the ready line of horses ahead, perhaps if you pretended that he was a tree stump you were seated beside and nothing more-

“How should you know they’re washrags unless you’ve read them, too?”

Your head snaps towards Geto- only to find that he was already looking at you. Rosy lips curled till there was a dimple at the edge of his smirk, eyes twinkling. 

You sputter hotly- “Wh-what?”

He’s repeating, despite it behind a rhetorical question. “How should you know they’re washrags unless you’ve read them, too?” The viscount tips his high hat back so he can twist his features with mock curiosity, leaning in. “Does it help memorize my prospects, My Lady?”

“Your prospects are of no concern to me, Lord Geto.”

“Is that so?”

“My Estate was simply in uproar at my association with such an ignoramus fellow such as yourself, of course.” You’re looking down at him somehow, even though he managed to tower his frame above yours. Shoulders against shoulders. Scoffs against scoffs. “My poor ears had no choice but to be punished with those fibs this morning.”

And it was quite true…almost.

With the mantle of head falling on you, your family weren’t ones to question your choices in dalliances. No matter how…questionable.

So when you’d been delivered your copy of Lady Whistledown’s society papers, you’d expected to see yourself in it. Perhaps a line or two about the altercation with Geto - at most, a paragraph.

But finding the story spun to last the entirety of the scandal sheets left your poor Estate rumbling at the impact of your scream. Hell, one of your attendants had sent urgent summons for the palace healer - and your friend - Shoko.

Only for her to smack a cold washcloth over your forehead and threaten you to stop reading.

Too late; you’d already flipped through all there was to - and so had half the kingdom, certainly. You had not found yourself in the middle of Geto’s courtship, you had not talked about plans of bedding. 

And you had most definitely not spoken of him all night - it was miffed complaining! Only complaints! You two were far from the most promising match of the season. And at this rate, you would find yourself unwed and squabbling with a certain viscount till you were aged.

In fact, the reason you found yourself early at the horse races was for the sole purpose of forgetting that those papers ever existed - and Geto. 

Unfortunately for you, he seemingly had the very same idea. And here was the pretty, buttoned-up problem, startling you out of your whirlwind of thoughts with two fingertips tracing the shell of your ear.

Pointer and middle, tracing the shape like a frigid breeze. 

“Poor ears. Poor ears indeed.” Geto tuts, and you could catch the snicker threatening to break across his maw. “So it was merely a soirée tale that you were speaking of me all night, My Lady?”

Something at the pit of your stomach lurches, and your words come out higher than they usually were. “But of course. Surely you can’t be that involved with yourself to believe that you were all I could think of all night?” You’re sure that you’re being watched now, instead of the awaiting race.

And at his shrug you find yourself almost incredulous - almost wondering. “Why, then am I to believe that you spoke of me all night, like the papers claimed?”

Another infuriating shrug - and you don’t know whether it’s the mere action or the absence of an answer that leaves you biting back an audible groan. A strange part of you almost wanted to know. 

“Fear not, you will find out, I assure you.” Almost like he was reading your face, Viscount Geto glances at you - then back at the race. 

You hated to admit it, but he had chosen the perfect seat. It was in the very first row, with your line of vision optimally falling upon the kicking horses, readying for sprint. It was one that you would have chosen yourself - and, often, you did. Except for the days that Geto Suguru had arrived first to the races, and you had to situate yourself yards away, of course.

The dark-haired man stands up and continues, “In a bet.” 

“A bet? And I am to trust you?”

“Believe it to be but business.” Strong arm stretching out to point, you reluctantly follow his finger to the stark white stallion in the far corner of the starting line. Keen eyes yellowish, long mane coiled. “I wager that the Geto Estate’s Rainbow Dragon shall beat yours in this race. In the rare instance I lose, I shall share the answer you seek.”

You, of course, would never be left behind. And you stand up yourself, toe-to-toe.

You’re staring at your own estate’s horse - your short-haired, cream Manta Ray. It would be a close one. You’re feeling anticipation bubble up inside you as the announcer raises his pistol to the sky, finger tracing the trigger in a signal to start. “And if, heavens forbid, you win?”

Geto’s lips curl up in a smile. “The two of us shall cross that bridge when we come to it, pretty lady.”

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

Yesterday’s races ended in a sweep-all for the Geto Estate’s Rainbow Dragon, as my avid horse-racing readers may already be aware. But like all good gossip of the season, it doesn’t simply end there!

Lord Geto Suguru was witnessed not only basking in the victory of his stallion - but also his latest blossoming courtship. The Ton was positively abuzz at the presence of the viscountess, and it is rumored that the very special pair were discussing the announcement of their engagement. Why, this author has her pen at the ready if the lord and lady wish for a certain set of papers to report on their romantic activities. 

However, some of my informants swear that the couple was seen in a muddy squabble towards the end of the race, and it is certain that agreeing upon wedding decorations is difficult for even the most fated of matches. Isn’t it a passion that just makes one swoon?

But patience is a virtue, dear reader. And, for now, we will have to wait to see this wedding come to fruition. 

Until then, I suggest you don your finest silks, tinker your most exquisite embroidery, and practise those curtsies - for this author has reason to believe that Her Majesty’s watchful eye will soon gaze at The Ton in search for her new Diamond of the season!

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown.

.

.

.

It was not a bridge that should have been crossed.

It was a bridge that should have been deconstructed, made a mull, and absolutely burned. 

At least, Viscount Geto Suguru imagines that’s what you must have been pondering that day after the races. After all, there’s not much else that would provoke the notoriously level-headed viscountess into storming away so fast that you’d nearly planted right into a spectacular pool of mud.

(You had, in reality - and so had he, in his valiant attempts to save you. But there was a silent understanding between the both of you to pretend that didn’t quite happen, and that neither had been drenched in clumps of mud that day.)

But it was all to be blamed on his immediate request upon winning the wager, as if he had kept this in mind all along. His request: for you to join him at the upcoming Royal Diamond Ball. 

Join him.

Not simply as a reluctant acquaintance, not even as an unlikely cordial friend. But on Geto Suguru’s arm. 

But that was a week ago. And here you were. 

Your fingers quivering on his firm, bulging bicep through his velvet jacket. Being escorted inside the ball by the very man you’ve despised for so long.

It was gorgeous, and even more. Spirals of florals cascaded from each nook and cranny of the enormous chamber, lit with flickering candles that illuminated the ballroom like miniature suns. It was Spring, diamonds, and the thrill of heady romance. The dazzling silks of each débutante fought for attention - and yet, it was stolen instantly by you.

It was like the orchestra had suddenly drowned their music underwater the moment you two made your grand entrance; every dancing couple misstepped, every mouth gaped mid-sentence or mid-bite, every pair of eyes snapped to you.

You swear, by the far end of the royal ballroom, you could see Her Majesty the Queen straighten upon her throne to steal a closer look.

Fuck.

“Why, as expected, we’re all The Ton shall gossip about for weeks, My Lady.” Geto’s confident croon graces your ears, and he suavely leads you to one gilded corner.

Standing beside you, he bears no hesitation before leaning in- shoulders brushing shoulders, the viscount’s deep voice curling around your eardrums. Slow. Almost sensual. “You shine everyone else down, pretty lady.”

“Shamming it with flattery won’t win me over.” You’re massaging your temples, weary.

“I could never lie to you.”

It had been a week of this.

A week of having the notorious Geto Suguru make each of your attendants swoon with his mere presence inside your Estate. A week of him driving you positively crazed, teasing you with that coy mouth until you snapped. A week of him observing you, hard enough that once Geto had presented you with a dark blue satin gown for tonight, studded with tiny diamonds - it had your perfect measurements.

It was tailored to you, and it tailored him to you.

And he was proudly running his thumb down the sleek fabric of his waistcoat, the same shade as your dress. Long hair tied back, medals dazzling. “I believe I always have been honest with you, My Lady. In every instance but one.” Silently, he stares at the dancefloor behind him as the orchestra muses out a slow, romantic waltz. Then back at you, with an open palm and a deep bow- “May I have this dance?”

“You wish to dance with me?” Almost balking.

He pretends to give a sweeping look around the hall, “I see no other prettier lady, nor one I would like to dance with.”

“And I see no gentleman I wish to dance with. At all.”

“Oh, my apologies.” Geto edges closer, and you already know the next words to befall from his mouth won’t bode well for you. “I have failed to realize that you are frightened.”

Scoffing, “Frightened of dancing with you? Oh, please-” You’re carefully watching the playful raise of his dark eyebrows. The way his palm curls open in your direction ever-so-slightly - yet, still not completely, as if he was the one almost frightened. 

And you can only nod. “Fiend seize it- but only because it wouldn’t do well for you to go without dancing the entire night, your prospects shall be rather put off.”

“I am honored by your benevolence, My Lady.”

“Charmed.”

“Smitten.”

“Cease.”

Tentatively, you’re led to the middle of the ballroom.

Where Geto was slowly - almost agonizingly - stepping into your heated proximity. His near-trembling hand falls upon your waist, the other clasping your hands.

And, sweetly, you’re being twirled. Your feet instinctually find their rhythm with the lilting melody, forming little boxes as you’d been taught during dance classes upon classes - never touching, constantly orbiting each other.

“Curious.” You’re the first to speak, staring into Geto’s lowered, questioning eyes, “I believed you would be more…” Trailing off at the gentle, gentle drag of his hand down the back of your bodice. “-uncouth.”

He tugs you even closer, “Would you like me to be?”

“It would be better if we leave the scandals to the wed.” Squirming in his arms, you somehow manage to burrow yourself even deeper. And you can feel the whispers, the eyes-

“Should you wish us to be?”

Breath catching, “What?”

“F-forgive me-” And there’s something you can’t quite understand in his pupils as he looks away, though that only displays the burning rouge of Geto’s high cheekbones. “I jest-”

“You find amusement in enraging me, don’t think I haven’t noticed, Lord Geto.” His predatory eyes widen. You dare to tuck a palm onto his cheek and make him look at you, an action that sets the gallery alight with whispers. “But right now, I do not believe you jest. Or should the reputed rake of the season fear speaking his mind with a prospect?”

It was in the way his face was scarlet, in the thud-thud-thud of his heart beating through his chest. And in the way that you had made Geto Suguru of all people stutter.

The crowd bustles ever-closer, craning their bedazzled necks to spy a better look when Geto tucks his sizzling face into the crook of your neck. Whispering, “Of course I fear you.” Scandalous, and yet, neither of you could bring yourselves to care at this very moment. “Of course. Oh, you’re no prospect, you’re the bane of my existence.”

And then the viscount hums gutturally - drinking in your scent, your slight gasp. He lets it all out into the skin of your throat—“But no. No, I do not jest at all, My Lady.” 

.

.

.

Geto Suguru has been in love with you since the very moment he laid eyes on you.

All those years ago. Since the moment he’d attended the horse races as the all-new viscount of the Geto Estate- only to wind up seated next to you, the equally fresh viscountess who won the race that day and didn’t hesitate to goad in his face. To challenge him. To scoff at his flirtations.

But, right now, he believes himself to be almost as deeply in-love with the pretty, pretty wet noises he was pulling out of you.

“N-ngh, mmm, Lord Geto-” Skirts pooling around you. Thrown over the armrest of a couch in some hidden-away gazebo of the royal gardens. “Fuck!”

All Geto has to do is drag the rough, honed edge of his thumb between the swollen lips of your pussy before you’re gushing. The slimy stream of slick that makes the viscount lick his lips greedily, “You utter my last name even whence I’m between your legs, My Lady?”

Barely - just barely - you manage to raise your head mere inches off of the dampened cushion. 

Whirling it over your shoulder to where Geto was kneeled on the floor from behind, “W-would you rather I call you a hngh- ‘buzzard’ or a ‘chit’, then?”

“Now, isn’t that simply hurtful—” He’s crooning out, and something in his voice was dangerously husky. And the next few syllables escaping his smoky throat were barely even audible past the embarrassing squeeeelch of your thin undergarments being tugged to the side. Snapping the side of your thighs- “What do we say, hm?”

“S- oh! S-” Strangling out moans at the feeling of the chilly night air tickling your slope.

He’s edging even closer, tendrils of his breath heating up your wet pussy. He was so ravenous that specks of Geto’s dewy drool dripped down onto your legs. “Yeeees–?”

“Cease it!”

The very moment that response is being mumbled from your lips, Geto’s departing something from his - a large, sticky wad of spit that splashes between your sultry pussylips. He’s sticking a thumb between your folds and watching as his mess webs up your entrance.

“Forgive me, I must clean that mouth o’ yours up, pretty lady.” Before striking your cunt with yet another wet hit of saliva. “Again.” And another. “Again-”

You’re whimpering, spine arching into the perfect curvature on top of the loungechair. And Geto only swabs his thumb on the fleshy insides of your pussylips, teasingly. Grunting, “Such a wanton mouth on ya.”

“Please-” You could feel his flicking lips reaching closer, mere millimeters away just to make you sob in need. “Please- I only have so much patience-”

“I’m well aware-” And before you know it, your pussy’s being stained with another knotted glob of saliva. And as you moan, he’s snickering- “Consider that revenge for the harm you’ve done to my- oh, heart. And this…”

The way that he’s then easily sinking in nose-deep was just pure greed.

Raw, primal; the minute that Geto’s scratchy taste buds hit the front of your cunt, he’s slickly slipping and easing his tongue in everywhere. Anywhere. 

Poking n’ prodding. 

Lapping up every ounce of slick clinging to your pussy like he was a man dying of thirst- and he was addicted to your hot core. Oh, he was addicted. Your knees drag on the couch cushion once Geto takes ahold of your waist and hauls you deeper down onto his handsome face.

“Mmmm–” His glossy, puckered lips slurp at the wet folds of your pussy. You’re feeling the underside of his tongue slither down to flick at your clit and makes you drool - from both sets of lips. “She’s more hah- honest than you. Aren’t you, pretty lady?”

The straight line of his nose bridge tucks in even deeper, in such a lecherous way you feel so stuffed. “I-I’m not-”

“Not you.” And you could almost hear the roll of his hazed peripherals. 

The smug, sleazy grin across his face as Geto tickles your glistening hole with his tongue. You were clenching ‘round nothing, feeling such a delicious streeeetch once he’s pumping inside. Muffling out- “Her.”

And the Lord Geto Suguru that you knew was suave. He was smooth. 

But the man between your honeyed legs was simply messy– just thrust after aching thrust of his maw. Geto’s attractive jawline was stretched so wiiide open, damn near swallowing you whole. He flattens his tongue just to pry apart your walls - again.

And again. “Aren’t you?” And again. Letting off some of the most sinful noises that make your heart race, “Aren’t you, pretty lady?”

Calling your treacly pussy by that nickname that drove you wild. 

“Who’d have thought that you’d be oh- hiding suuuuuch a gorgeous, gorgeous lady under all that snark and mouth.” Almost grumbling at the fact that he wasn’t granted this chance earlier.

“Heavens- you’re f-fast-” And Geto’s rovering his gaped mouth all over, not leaving even an inch of your outer pussy. 

Mercilessly, he’s thrashing his textured tongue on the roof of your cunt and you have to throw your hand behind you and shove back at his forehead.

Unsure whether you wanted to hold him or push him away.

But you didn’t have to choose - Geto’s making the choice for you. 

In a swift instant, he’s fighting against your strength and gnawing down on the thin fabric of your underwear. Murmuring, “And- these-” Soon enough you’re hearing the sharp rip-rip-riiiip of him tearing your undergarments with his mouth. “-skirts.”

“Suguru–!” You’re trilling out, watching as Geto spits out the tattered remnants of your panties. 

Quickly, both his hands smear open your bloated pussylips. And he doesn’t waste a second - not even a nanosecond - before diving deeper. 

All bared open for him, he’s flopping out his lengthy tongue to soften up your tight hole. Making you feel his flicking, wet crown with thrust after thrust- “You’re so- soooo fucking wet.”

“You’re- hah!” Choking on both sobs n’ whines as his perky tastebuds sizzle against the sweet spots of your walls, Geto was fucking you with his tongue the way he was aching to with his cock. “-talking f-far more than you should, Lord Suguru.”

“And what shall you do about it, My Lady?”

He was about to find out.

Oh, he didn’t have a clue. 

The viscount was practically stunned as you immediately lurch your hips away, chasing your pussy with a pathetic whine.

But you’re holding firm- dragging him up by the intricate, posh lapels of his jacket. You’re helping Geto impatiently lay himself down on the couch, face straddled between your two thighs. Backwards.

So his mouth was hovering underneath your pussy, and yours was gulping impatiently as you struggled with the buckles of his dress pants. Such a lewd sixty-nine position that made him crane his head up n’ lick between your tender folds with a whimper, “Mmm, let me partake in my dessert at once, My Lady.”

“Patience is a virtue.” You tut, finally succeeding in undressing his lower half. And oh-

Oh, fuck.

You gape. 

Geto Suguru…was huge. 

About eight, perhaps even nine solid inches that throbbed even fatter the more intensely you were staring at him. Huge and pretty- the first thing you’re making out is the ruby-red cap of his shaft, glossy with a syrupy layer of precum. 

Your needy thumb wipes it off, only to have Geto’s leaky orifice weep out even more of his sticky sap. Drip-dripping down the ridges of his thick cock, travelling between his four prominent veins, disappearing into his slightly unruly tuft of jet black at the base. They looked like they’d positively ruin you from the inside out.

And Geto was bucking up like he wanted to do exactly that. 

“‘Nough-” He’s cutting himself off with a gasp, “Enough admirin’, fuck! Just- oh.”

So, so sensitive. You’re blowing your heated air down on the mushroomy tip of Geto’s erection, and watching as he sprays out in pre. 

Grinning, “Language. Seems like someone was on the verge of cumming in their pants, Lord Suguru.”

“I’ve fucked my fist raw to the image of your furious face at the- hngh, races that day, My Lady. Have mercy.” He’s babbling out, such pure honesty from just how pussydrunk he was. With your pussy mere millimeters away and dripping like a waterfall into his mouth.

The top of Geto’s tongue spanks down on your teary slope the very moment that he perks his hips up. Pre-glazed tip swabbing your lips like those shimmering lipstains you’ve seen some other nobles wear.

He feels the hot cavern of your mouth plop! down on the thickness of his cockhead and titters, “I should do well to wax that chatty mouth of yours shut, yes?”

The only response you can force your body to even do is to bully your hips down in a lewd attempt to suffocate the rude words spilling from Geto’s mouth.

Pushing down. Dragging your cunt sloppily. You think he might sputter, you think he might even choke out a slight protest- but what you certainly didn’t expect the viscount to do was to anchor your grinding hips with his two hands.

Shoving you deeper down his ajar maw. And you swear you feel him gasp out a little—“S-suffocate me.”

Groaning into the flared ridge of his dick, you’re swirlin’ your textured tongue around a few times. Before having done enough damage - because Geto was simply left rutting his hips primally. Unlatching, “Wh-what-”

“Suffocate me, My Lady.”

He doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t even set himself free for air—he’s only forking his tongue between that first rim of muscle. Licking up your walls, reaching for your heart. Again n’ again until it’s all loosened up enough for two of Geto’s slender, doughy fingertips to bludgeon against. 

Pap after slimy pap of his fingerpads, “Open up, pretty lady.” Wheezing against the outer part of your pussy, “Since you like- ngh- talkin’ so much- fuck! Open those pretty lips up for me, I beg.”

Sensually, ever-so-sensually, his knobbly digits are stirrin’ inside. 

He’s pricking his crowned fingers against each and every spot inside you, half-thrusting back just to fit even deeper. And it sounds out just deafening squelches.

Spurred on - you couldn’t fall behind to Viscount Geto. In a split-second, your lecherous tongue dangles out, tracing the pulsating veins simply covering his cock. 

The patterns of his length scrape spots inside of you that you weren’t even aware existed, and Geto didn’t have to fuck his mazing cock up into your mouth to have you choking. To have you cryin’ at the probe of his merciless cockhead. 

“H-hck!” Sobbing out, you’re suckin’ a few inches of his ramrod erection like your favorite ice cone. And he was just so big that the insides of your cheek streeetch out farther than you ever knew possible, “Two can play ngh- games like so.”

“Just like I claimed. How daaaangerous this unlady-like mouth of yours ngh- is.” As his middle and his ring finger pump into your velvety insides, Geto twists his thumb ‘round to press on your throbbing clit. 

All at the same time. 

Watching with a grin once you’re shrilling out in utter pleasure, white flashing behind your eyes. He’s spitting once more, letting a fragile string of spittle connect your cunt to each lick after lavish lick. You whine, “P-please, My Lord.”

Ah- 

Geto’s glassy eyes roll to the back of his skull. 

He keeps trying to breathe- but his body won’t even let him. Geto’s suffocating himself on your pussy, cock twitching right near the back of your throat.

You’re relaxing your neck to lodge him even deeper as you constantly moan and moan those very same words - My Lord - and he feels like he’s on the verge of fainting. Fast. 

He has to do something. Faster. 

Before you can brace yourself, the viscount swiftly slips off the family signet ring on his left hand. Pushing it onto the index finger of his right and bullying it between your folds.

Making sure that your cunt walls feel every frigid groove, “F-fuck! Feels good, huh?” At your dazed moans, “Accept my betrothal and I shall don more than one ring. And if you can- hah, take me on, pretty lady, you can take this-” He’s bucking up meaningfully, buttery tip bruising the roof of your mouth. Watching you flutter ‘round his ring, he can’t help but lap at your sloppy hole once more. “And then….fuck…”

And then he’s pumping his ravenous fingers inside even harder. Rough enough that the mountains of his knuckles sting, being slammed red on the folds of your pussy.

Geto’s cocktip pummels the soft back of your throat and you buck down in need- accidentally rovering his ringed fingers ever-deeper. Pushin’ his golden ring against the splotchy area of your g-spot, “O-oh my god, Suguru—”

“Th-there.” He’s breathing out, raggedly. Eyes widening. And as soon as Geto discovers your most favorite spot, he’s obsessed. “This is for the way you’ve been- been driving my screws loose for, ngh, years.”

He’s jerking his slick-soaked wrist into the perfect angle to swab your cute insides, you’re just crying out prettily after each scratch of his fingerpads. “This is for all the horse races I’ve oh- lost to you.” Pump after pump. He spits once more on your wettened pussy and growls, “And mm- this is for the way you make a fool of me, without even trying.”

“C-can’t help it-” Gurgling, the deepest corners of your throat were all flooded with the caramel salt taste of his precum. And yet, you were indignant despite the dizzying movements of his tongue.

Another slap of his scratchy underside, Geto was rovering his mouth so deep that you’re struck with the point of his chin. Almost punishing. “This is for how insatiable you leave me.”

“Please-” You’re jerking atop him at the flashes of bliss, hands struggling to cup his swollen balls. They’re so heavy in your palms as you massage, struggling out- “I believe I’m…”

“Ohhh— what’s that?” And it takes a few more squelching noises, a few more nods of Geto’s flushed face for you to realize that he wasn’t even talking to you. It was back to your sopping wet pussy, plugging each orifice up with both his fingers n’ his flicking tongue. “Yeah- yeah, and this is for how long you’ve held this pretty lady out from me.”

“Please-”

Three-more repeated slams, you’re pushed so close to the edge by now that even the slightest motion makes your pussy weep. Geto huffs at the pearly slick coating him, tongue gifting a fat thrust just to feel your cute clenches. “And this is for making me fall in, ngh, love.”

“I shan’t last-”

“Why don’t you apologize, viscountess Geto?”

You’re practically ripping yourself off of his strawberry-red tip, your maw stupidly opening ‘round a few wanton syllables- “I’m s-sor-”

And, in reality, Geto doesn’t let you apologize. Of course, he doesn’t let you. 

Why should he make you apologize for putting him in a position like this? One that was precisely where he carnally desired to be.

Your voice breaking mid-sentence, within a few seconds he’s forcing in a fourth finger and straightly rummaging your g-spot. Racing straight towards where your hot, puffy core needed him the most. And you’re feeling the four thud-thud-thud-thuds against your bundle of nerves, skirting down your slippery walls to reach for your womb.

It’s enough to push you over the edge, your abdomen bursting with white-hot pleasure. Babbling, “I’m orgas- oh, mm-” Body wrenching stupidly on top of his muscular core, “Cum—ing, My Lord.”

Your toes curl, mouth wafting down to the very tip-top of Geto’s veiny cock without even realizing. It’s as if your entire body was set alight with just how good you felt like this.

And he’s just so focused on fucking you through peak after peak. Mentally counting the seconds between each lurch of your hips, you’re riding his pretty face sloooooppily. 

So hypnotic that he barely even registers it once your swollen, puckered lips reach for the rock-hard tip of his shaft. Placing such a sweet, loving peck—“S-Sugu—”

The first thing you see is white- buzzing inside your vision after each bang of Geto’s fingerpads on your g-spot. And then the next creamy white you’re spotting is from the leaky end of his cock- spurt after spurt of ribbony cum.

The viscount completely drenches the lower half of your face, just from you kissin’ on him like that. Over and over- you half wonder whether it hurts for him to stuff out such sheer volumes. 

Thick, gooey clumps of seed stick to your lips, and Geto groans as he feels it splatter down onto his toned pelvis. Creating a little puddle that you’re smearing with your thumb, after his spraying cockhead was finished. You plop your glazed fingertip into your mouth and shoot Geto a look over your shoulder, “Wh-what was that about- hah, revenge, My Lord?”

His half-lidded pupils dilate, practically heart eyes by this point.

“I-I…”

Throat husky, voice botched. The suave, swift smooth-talker barely gets out two syllables before tearing off his coats, his layers. Swiftly wrenching you upwards onto his naked body: your back against his flexed abs. 

He was just Herculean, from the naturally chiselled ridges of his core, to the blush that was taking over his pecs. The long tendrils of his raven hair tickle your spine as you’re pinned backwards.

Geto’s hands twitch where they clung onto your waist- almost as if they were about to flip you over. To bend you down, down, down in half like he’s always wanted to.

But one look at your beautiful, shaken features and the viscount is sure he won’t last.

And he did want to make a good impression, after all. He could cum just from seeing your face too close up.

So Geto’s pryin’ apart your shaky legs with a swat of his palms, buttering up your soppy slit with the crowned edge of his shaft.

“O-oh.” Your mouth drops at the sheer size difference, you swear he must have swollen even bigger since pliably manhandling you into this position. Because the massive girth of Geto’s reddened, rock-hard cock was intimidating in comparison with the circumference of your slick hole.

As red as a few luscious strawberries, and just as plump.

His glistening cocktip slides down your folds, struggling to stuff himself between them - and you wonder whether you could even take him.

“Nonsense, pretty lady.” Did you dare utter that out loud? He spanks your sap-flooded cunt once with the curve of his length and makes you squirm. “You shall take it. You shall.” Unsure whether he was talking to you or your pussy. And yet, he sounds so reassuring. 

So breathy.

So ruined.

You’re swivelling your head behind to look at Geto, and his cock twitches at the eye contact- oh.

It’s only then that you realize it’s not high, needy reassurance seeping into Geto’s rough tone - it was primal need. And you can’t help but press back into his glissading pecs, cushioning his heated length with your thighs. “And what if I shan’t?”

Geto wheezes, “But-”

“Where are those lordly manners?”

Geto near-sobs, “Please!”

So complacent. There’s no other fight, you’re only gasping once two greedy palms wrench apart your thighs and immediately sinks his ravaging cock inside. 

And you ponder whether you might have to be the one begging for mercy at his sheer size. 

The globed, fleshy knob of Geto’s shaft unsticks your gummy walls, clinging onto him like bubblegum. You’re being molded to his very size without even trying - with only a few rapid, urgent half-thrusts just to fit inside. 

He wasn’t even pounding up into you properly, and yet the viscount already had you stupidly drooling with a few strokes. Pump after pump- he grips onto your thighs and glues you to his muscular body. 

“Please- p-please.” The haughty noble simply couldn’t stop, crushing you to him. Holding you still just to bump your entire body up with pressurized pumps. 

About two more inches of Geto’s veiny cock gets sucked up by your cunt and he finds his temples sweating. Dark brows scrunched, face flushed. “I desire to be- inside- all of it, haaah.” The overworked edge of his tongue darts out and tastes the tears trailing down your face, ones you didn’t even realize were there yet. “So- so incredibly. You don’t understand, I’ve a-always desired to be inside you like this, My Lady.”

And the line of Geto’s slit was so pretty when you gazed closely at it earlier, but right now it just felt so mean engraving up n’ down the roof of your cunt.

As if that wasn’t sinful enough, one of his palms unlatches from where he was spreading your unstable legs apart. Flattening on top of your tummy, and feeling for the proooobing push of his fat cock easing inside.

Geto presses down on that cylindrical outline with a groan, “I believe you’ve finally- hah, beaten me, viscountess.”

Although it certainly didn’t feel that way.

Geto Suguru had you cornered. All wrapped up in his big, beefy arms- you were seeing stars with every slight buck of his ravaging cock. 

Filling you up from the inside - and as if his staggering size wasn’t enough, cobwebs of precum n’ cum were sploshing around your innards by now. Filling up your tiniest crevices, his cockhead spears into you like a flashlight in search of your g-spot. In search of the bottom of your pussy. 

Twitching, leaking, blushing.

You’re reaching your hand out and half-blindly intertwining them with his. Squeezing- and that makes Geto flush.

It makes him instantly drill his toned hips upwards in a singular, rigid jackhammer. Geto immediately skids his plump cock against your sweetest spot, hard enough to make you bawl. Hard enough that the rickety lounge creaks in protest.

“I-I’ve sunken in…” He’s breathing, something airy in his tone. Something akin to disbelief. 

As if to make sure, your viscount rovers his length even deeper- feeling for that slimy trailway by pressing down on your stomach. Your toes curl, the dual pressure of both his palm and his girth making your mind spin. “I’ve really- really-”

“Yes- hck!”

He can’t even have you speak like this. Can’t even let you breathe.

The muscles of Geto’s hips strike your bottom with a stinging smack! of skin-on-skin - bottoming out. Ruggedly, he weeps out a generous few dollops of precum near your spongy cervix.

Probing in deep-

“H-heavens!” You think you’re seeing the pearly gates with his sloppy, driving cadence, “Why in the heavens are you this- oh, big?”

“I hear no word of her complaining.” Geto has the audacity to hover his plush lips near the shell of your ear and bite. He almost chuckles, “See? Honest.”

Purposefully, his ringed fingers drag on the perky nub of your clit. Toyin’ in sultry hearts like he yearned to hear those dewy squelches, like they were now his favorite song. 

Again and again. Geto’s trying to synchronize the bruising pumps of his cock with each swivel of his thumb. 

“Your walls cling onto me like they- hah, never wish to let go.” He’s whispering in your ear, snickering at the way your poor cunt was swallowing him up. Sucking him impatiently back in, he’s forced to fight back against your pretty pussy just to fuck you crazy. “Is this how you really- ngh, feel inside? Do you think she’s falling for me, My Lady?”

And the only thing you can do is clamp down your velvety walls until he whimpers—“Honest.”

Just then, Geto cranes his neck over- targeting the slippery slope of your cunt with a glittering stream of spit. Aim so precise from all those noble hunting trips, and yet, he’s making just enough of your mess that your inner thighs are left with a sheen of slobber. 

It startles you into a yelp, body restless. “I-in your most- ngh, fantastical- oh, dreams.” 

“Is that so—?” Something dark was crackling at the back of his throat, and it’s enough to make your hips falter in their bucking pursuit.

For a split-second- before Geto throws a forearm over your front and pins you to him. He was pounding you cleanly into midair by this point, stopping you from escaping. Stopping you from even thinking of running from the frenzied motions of his fingers.

Ruthlessly, he’s pinching your clit and slightly draaaagging. “Was it in my most hah, fantastical dreams that you would gaze upon me like that during every soirée?” 

You’re looking away, veins boiling with heat. “I-I have no notion of what you prattle on about-”

He cuts you off by letting go of that cute lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you, immediately gripping your throat and manhandling you into a kiss. 

The glossy edges of Geto’s lips suck on your whiny tongue, moaning. “Mmm, make no fuss, pretty lady. You and I are one- oh, fuck. I can barely even recollect how many shallow, strait-laced suitors I wished to brawl for simply looking your way-” 

And oh- oh, there was something in his tone that was jagged. Dark. Low.

“-for I was looking at you like that, too.”

You didn’t even think it was possible - but you feel him engorge even bigger from right inside of you. So swole, the curvy tip of Geto’s cock pokes into the entrance of your womb and makes you keen.

Hiccuping through tears, “Please- fuck.” You were drooling like a spring, every whipping lash of his erection against your g-spot made your taste buds sizzle. Humping back into him as if you were in heat- “Fuh-fuck! I didn’t know it could feel this- ngh, good.”

But the more, more, more you were grinding back into his racing tempo, the lazier he was dragging his cock down your cunt. 

Faster and slower.

Faster and sloooower, making you recount the pattern of his mazing veins. He’s sensually rubbin’ your g-spot raw, and it’s rendering Geto himself absolutely pussydrunk. “Were you aware that it makes me i-impossibly harder to have you blustering around me? To have you yell at me?”

And now he was fixated on a sloppy staccato.

Your toes curled after each pathway of his globular, glazed tip - from the very forefront of your hole to target your battered g-spot. And then allllll the way back to rest against the spongy platform of your cervix.

It was a voyage he was repeatedly thrusting over and over and over.

“To- to have you…” Still continuing on with his inebriated conversation, after every slimy clench you were blessing him with. “To have to pretend your eyes weren’t- oh, falling upon my lips each time we argued- it killed me, My Lady.” 

One of his rolling thumbs slips inside your damp hole like he was trying to pry you even wider open. Bottomed out and still rutting against the very back of your cunt- if Geto could bury himself even deeper then he already would have.

“Killed me to- to pretend I didn’t want to silence that gorgeous mouth right in front of The Ton, hah.” He almost giggles near the corner of your ear, writing his name on the very tip-top of your clit and feeling your body go limp at the sensation. “Killed me to not- mmm, really give them gossip for the entire season.”

Your head falls against his firm clavicle, the area of Geto’s pecs were so firm n’ cushy. Again and again, your poor lower half was a complete mess, flooding with heat. “S-Suguru- mmpf.”

Before he’s spitting straight between your unfastened mouth. 

“Forgive me, my mind is not at the place to- oh, handle that smart mouth.” Drag after drag. Your pretty, breaking tone was what was sure to have him shattering before you did - and he didn’t want that. Not at all. 

So concentrated on the gift of unravelling your honeyed pussy that Geto doesn’t even realize he’s said that out loud-

“Before me, hm?” Grinning behind you, his trembling hands are nothing against the gyrating bounces you start up. Fucking back into his spearheading cock, all you have to do to disarm his strong arms is to clench– and Geto was all yours.

All ruined.

You’re smugly declaring, “How about a- hah, a wager?”

Murky amethyst eyes widen, “A w-wager?”

“I wager I will make you orgasm first.” The filthy words are pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them, “In the instance I win, I- oh, claim the first row at the races for two months.”

“And in the instance I win…”

You’re peeking up in curiosity, “Yes–?”

But Geto only leans in, gravelly tone grating sexily against your ear. “You will remember it, I assure you.”

His long, silken hair was messy now- numerous Stygian strands plastering across his forehead, others, thrown over both your shoulders. And you can’t stop yourself from clawing behind and tugging- enough to make him groan.

Prolonged cockhead stirrin’ inside of you, he’s jostling you up, up, up–

Thwack! 

“Cum.”

Perhaps it’s the utterly lecherous feeling of Geto’s plump, heavy ballsack spanking your cunt. Perhaps it’s the way he pinches out your clit after drawing such a cute heart on top. Perhaps it’s just him- but you’re crashing into a high you weren’t even aware was simmering.

But as soon as it bursts - it’s fiery. It’s frying the ends of your nerves with pure bliss, it’s leaving your vision a kaleidoscope of tears. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, cumming—”

You can only hold onto Geto’s muscular frame for dear life and let him ride your own orgasm out.

Spitting through solid, rovering paps of his cock, “Hah! What did I- oh, it’s my victory lap, is it not?” Still milking himself in vicious jackhammers, Geto streams out yet another wad of saliva down onto your pussy to hear the wet noises as you cum.

To hear the way he was thoroughly dragging you through the bursts of your high. You claw onto the couch and shriek- “Inside, I beg of you- I wish to feel you- hngh, inside, My Lord.”

“P-pardon?” His voice breaks. Breathily disbelieving, the primal pumps of his prolonged inches only accelerates - as if Geto was aiming to fuck the answer out of you. Inside. Inside. 

In and out in and out in and- “I wish for it all here- inside.” You’re guiding his free hand to claw back down your front, feeling for that bump of his globular cock. Babbling against Geto’s mouth, it takes you no longer than a split-second to spit- “Always have, Suguru.”

And that’s enough for his weeping, rawly-red orifice to burst into the hardest orgasm of his entire life.

Geto doesn’t stop until he’s dragging himself dry on your walls. Filling your creamy cunt up with so many knotted ounces of seed that you can feel it slickly sliiiiiding down your walls. Trickling out from between your legs. 

You squeeze your thighs together and squeal at the hot glue of cum sticking them together, “Fuck- fuck! Just like that-”

“I’m s-so fond of you. I’m so in love…” You hear his confession whisper against your eardrums like the viscount had nothing more left to lose. 

You’re still tender, and each unsteady spurt of his cum sprayed inside makes your spine zap with something carnal. Your own high still a few tingles, you fist your fingers into his night-dark hair, pulling him in.

And something in his hoarse breath catches- and Geto finds himself biting his honed canines into the skin of your throat. 

Making you moan, head unfogging ever-so-slightly. “A-are you aware that we are still obliged to attend Her Highness’s ball, Lord Ge-”

“Suguru.”

“Lord Suguru?”

“No, nothing but Suguru.” He finishes off for you, finally finished marking after a few more bite-shaped indents of his teeth. He’s still sluggishly jerking his cock inside, completely splashing n’ trickling sap over your tender spots. “And are you aware that I have ha-hah! reaped the victory of our little oh, wager?”

Your mouth parts, “And is this what you wish for? To bite me?”

“Not at all.” Biting you a few more times after then, Geto finally angles his head to face you fully. To take you in. To memorize. To slip his drenched family signet ring onto your left ring finger. You’ve never heard him sound so sincere- “All I wish for is for you to marry me, My Lady.”

“Suguru…” You shiver, his overstimulated cock pulses at the sound of that. Rutting harder. “You don’t require a wager for me to marry you.” And it’s just astonishing how pretty he looks when he flushes. 

As he whines, you smile. “I shall do so anyway. And you can’t stop me now.”

Somewhere in the back of Geto’s mind, he knows there is much to plan - a proper engagement ring, first of all, with the biggest diamond of all the land, and then the family proceedings, The Ton announcement, the honeymoon. 

But, for now, Lord Geto Suguru is content curling up in your arms. “I should expect no less from you, viscountess Geto.”

And his ravenous hips are still squeezing against yours, still needy. 

Still feral.

You didn’t think you’d be escaping from him that easy, did you?

“Now, about my reward for that wager…”

.

.

.

Dearest gentle reader,

One might just ponder whether the speculations from last week’s royal gathering hid a divine ability to read the future. For the absence of both Lord Geto Suguru and his viscountess beau did little to quell the suspicions of a blossoming romance, particularly when neither party was in attendance once Her Majesty the queen announced our viscountess as the Diamond of the season.

And yet, my trusted sources fervently claim that the most scandalous noises were heard deep in the groves of the royal gardens where both disappeared.

But perhaps daring whispers are of no import - however, this author must note that both were observed meandering back late into the ball, guiltily satisfied, thoroughly marked in bites. Yes, of no import at all, certainly…

And I am delighted to share that this is not the mere extent of the romantic antics between our beloved viscount and viscountess.

Why, it is this author’s greatest honor to impart to you: the Diamond couple of Her Majesty’s Diamond Ball has officially announced their union with the most enormous diamond seen this season!

You have most certainly read that right, as Viscount and Viscountess Geto safely arrive from their voyages across the sea, The Ton may look forward to the wedding of the year. 

Cease those shattering hearts at once! Who would have imagined that the most charming, handsome bachelor would transform from ‘rake’ to ‘Romeo’—with a capital ‘R.’ Shakespeare should weep!

It is said that Lord Geto is positively enamored with his fiancée, and I personally hear from sources close to the happy couple that this romance had been blooming for a long time, for none other than each other. How delightful that it should blossom right for us to gossip about.

Now, I don’t know about you, dear readers, but this author will be hastening to the tailors at once - and I suggest you do, too. We have a wedding to attend!

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown.

A/N. Also watched Superman and suddenly I believe in love again so here’s this.

You nearly jumped out of your fucking skin, head snapping back to see him suddenly standing right in front of you. He was prettier up close. Long white lashes framing those startling eyes, bottom lip jutting out as he waited for you to say hi back. 

But everything below his face looked a lot less human from here. 

Shaped like one. Sounded like one. 

But he was…slimy? In the actual physical sense? Like he had all the pieces, all the parts needed – but most of them had been replaced with that strange jelly-like substance.  

You shouldn’t speak. You should turn around and-

“Hi,” you heard yourself say, breathing shaky as a slow smile crept across his lips. 

Too late. 

In hindsight, you were screwed from the second you read the sign. Condemned the moment you decided to come down this way. 

There was nothing to do but catch up with whatever the world had planned for you.

“Are you-” You couldn't even finish asking it, blinking at him too fast, like if you did it enough times, you'd open your eyes and realize you were dreaming or hallucinating. 

He chuckled, and the consistency of his chest tremored with the force of it. He wasn't translucent, not quite, but there was a faint shimmer to the slime when the sun cut through the trees. “Am I what?” 

You had no idea what he was. 

And that made it so much worse. 

You knew what to do if you saw a bobcat or a bear. For some reason, you sincerely doubted your pepper spray would work on him. Even if you could grab it from your bag, with the way he was watching you, the blue in his eyes sparkling, thick white lashes fluttering, you had a feeling he’d stop you before you could snag it. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted, something foggy starting to settle over your brain. You felt the muscles in your face move, your brows pinch together, your lips twitching from a frown to a smile. If you tried, you could control it, but your grip was weak, and the willpower you did have was already wavering. 

“I’m Gojo.” He said it like you’d understand. Observing you expectantly, waiting as if he thought you'd introduce yourself too. 

“I should go,” you awkwardly replied, stepping back just to trip on a tree root and fall flat on your ass. 

Before you could even stand back up, barely managing to prop your elbows up, he was already kneeling, hovering over you with a concerned expression. One of his hands settled on your thigh, right below the shorts you were wearing, the slime colder to the touch than you anticipated.

“Why?” He asked, almost whining. “You just got here. We haven't even said hello yet.” 

You were pretty sure hi should count, but you didn't think trying to correct him wouldn't work in your favor. 

There was the feeling of something damp spreading higher up your thigh, but it was really his proximity, the intelligence in his stare when it was centered on you that made your pulse pick up, heat pooling in your stomach the longer it lingered. 

You had never seen anything or anyone like him on any endangered species list, but you didn't think he was the type to need protection. 

All it took was a single look and you were reconsidering where your own spot was on the food chain. 

“Are you going to eat me?” Use his goo or slime or whatever it was to dissolve you?

He laughed again, and it was so friendly, you felt temporarily disarmed. “Is that what you humans do?” 

You were so stuck on the fact he said you humans that you failed to notice or do anything to stop him from suddenly hoisting your legs up in the air – and hooking them both over his shoulders. 

“Well, if that's what you want,” he continued with a soft hum. 

One foot started to rise, but it was hard to move against it, the substance covering him sticking to you too, attaching itself to your skin so it was difficult to strain against. 

Some slime just slipped off of him, two blobs of it somehow rolling up to your shorts – and dissolving those instead. 

You squeaked, like the moment wasn't mortifying enough, but he was just casually smiling down at you, shrugging his shoulders like this was normal. Natural.

He leaned down, close enough you could feel his breath, and you were convinced he was going to take a bite. Sink his teeth in your throat or tear a chunk out of your tits. He just sniffed. Long and hard, his nose brushing against your collarbone as he groaned into you. 

And then he kissed you. A clumsy peck to your throat, soft lips making you shiver. But he didn't stop with one. You didn't stop him either. 

A little voice in the back of your brain screamed you should. 

But his mouth felt nice. He felt nice. 

The haze clouding your judgment only seemed to get thicker, clouds blocking the sun and any sense you had left with each consecutive kiss he left. Each extra second his slime seeped over your skin. 

You weren’t scared or struggling. Weren’t squirming. 

All it took was a lazy smile between long licks down your chest, and you were slipping further under his spell. Sinking into the grass, while his slime sunk into you. You blinked, and your shirt was gone too, scraps of fabric floating in the midst of the slime starting to coat you, the color fading and the material so thin that you wouldn’t have recognized it if you hadn’t just been wearing it. It wasn’t that it snuck up on you – it was more like you softened into something malleable enough for him to maneuver. Turning into putty for him to play with while his tongue dragged over your stomach as he slowly moved lower. 

His palms were surprisingly soft. Firm, too. You guessed he could change his form at will, be solid when he wanted and slough bits of him off if he wished for that instead. If you closed your eyes, chose to ignore the cool slime on your upper half and what was clinging to your legs, you could pretend it was a normal guy’s head between your thighs. 

That this was just some risky outside sex in the woods, letting a stranger suck on your clit like candy rather than, well, whatever he or this was. 

“God,” he groaned, and your eyes were open again, staring down at the messy strands of white hair hanging down in his face as he lapped at your swollen bud, dragging his tongue back over it in a devastating circle. “You taste delicious.” 

“N-no biting,” you stammered, barely breathing as he latched on. Sucking harder, faster, fumbling to find a steady rhythm when his fingers discovered that there were more fun bits of you for him. 

Fingers shoving inside of you, two of them, you thought, but it was hard to tell when almost all your nerve endings felt like they were on fire, a warm weight in your bones and a not-so-subtle heat spreading from your stomach to your brain until even your thoughts were tinged with the flames. 

Would it really be so bad to have sex with him? 

Was it really wrong when it felt right? 

Besides, he had to be lonely out here all by himself, right? Who knew how long it’d be until someone else came along? Maybe there wasn’t even anyone left of his kind for him to mate with. 

You were doing him a favor. As long as fucking the wildlife wasn’t considered a felony. 

“One bite?” Gojo’s voice was a muffled whine, refusing to even breathe, still messily planting open-mouthed kisses to your cunt. 

“Be careful,” you heard yourself say, but inhaling hurt when you couldn’t get the air to go down to your lungs. His teeth nipped at your clit, just enough to make you jolt. 

“Like that?” He asked, cocking his head to the side and glancing up to measure your reaction. 

“Mm, mhm,” you weakly nodded, your limbs starting to feel almost limp when he went back to making out with your swollen clit. 

“See?” He mumbled with a mouthful of you. “I’m friendly.” 

Maybe if your mind was still functioning with more than just a couple brain cells left, you might have lingered on that more.

Your eyes scrunched shut, your fingernails curling into your palms as your hips arched up off the ground. Everything was sensitive, but the slime kept spreading, slowly covering your skin until it was practically up to your neck. It almost felt like a bath, submerged with just your head floating above the surface. You weren’t sure how sentient it was when it wasn’t a part of his body anymore, how much he was able to slip off and still maintain that mostly-solid form he was in now considering how much of him was on you. 

But every time you tried to think about that, his fingers felt like they stretched out, somehow reached deeper, exploring every part of you until they abruptly pulled out. You moved on instinct, feeling like an animal who was only made for being fucked. You went to grab him, but your arms had been sucked in the slime, and your energy was too sapped for you to do anything except whine about it. 

A hot hunger had started to boil inside you, only getting more intense, his sweet scent enveloping you until the rest of the world had fallen away from your focus. And he was the only thing left. 

“Gojo,” you breathed the name he’d given you, blinking as a tiny voice in the back of your head attempted to bring up the point that it might not even be his own. Maybe he was an alien or some weird species and that was just what they were called.

But judging by the pretty smirk curling up on his lips when he looked up at you, readjusting to hover over you, readjusting your legs effortlessly to hook them over his waist. You felt more like jelly than he did, responding to everything he did without being able to move yourself. 

“You remembered,” he happily hummed, as if he hadn’t just said it…five minutes ago? Ten? You couldn’t tell. The seconds were dragged out, impossible to separate or count when even simple sentences refused to stay in your head. 

His unnaturally blue eyes were holding you hostage, keeping your eyes on his while his hands moved. You wanted to look, to watch whatever he was doing, but you felt it anyway. The swollen head nudging its way between your thighs. 

He didn’t shove it in though. No, he experimentally slid it between your folds, like he wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, waiting for some reaction before you bucked your hips up to try to catch it and guide it inside. 

“P-put it in,” you were begging, eyes glazed over and glossy as you wiggled as much as you could in the slime. “Please.”

His cock throbbed, the tip leaking a mysterious substance that seemed like more slime onto your saliva-soaked clit just to make it more sensitive. 

“I like that face,” he bluntly said, a light laugh leaving his throat before he let out a low breath. You watched his chest move, your own straining, heart stalling every few beats. His head tilted to the side, blue eyes squinting, “Push your bottom lip out more.” 

It was embarrassing how fast you followed his instructions.

But your reward was him burying his cock inside you. You weren’t sure what you expected. For it to feel like a normal one? Or the same, just slimy? The latter couldn’t really cover it. It was cooler than you expected, sure, more like jelly than something totally solid. But it was still hard. Still thick. Still bullied its way in to the hilt when he bottomed out, but he didn’t stop there. 

You hadn’t considered the fact he could change his cock to make it a perfect fit. To fill you up completely. 

Shape himself to you, to hit all those sweet, sensitive spots he mapped out before that left you squirming and squealing now.  

You heard the noises you were making, the guttural gasps and the choked-out moans that sounded like they belonged to an animal being ravaged than you. Gojo was louder, rutting into you without any actual pace, just the pulse of him pumping his cock in your cunt and the pressure building at a steady beat in your stomach. 

“You’re cute,” he complimented, a coo that excited you more than it should, made you squeeze him harder. “Do you have a mate?” 

You gawked up at him, eyes narrowing as you tried to work out what the fuck he meant when his next sloppy thrust nearly made you forget. 

“W-what?” You shook your head. “I-I don’t-”

“Good,” he grinned, shoulders slumping like he was relieved. 

What he knew about humans was a mystery when he was fucking you like an expert. 

But your body didn’t really care for all the curiosity brimming in your brain. No, all that really mattered to it was finishing what he started. 

Your oversensitive clit wasn’t just aching anymore. It was practically throbbing, a constant thrum of electricity racing through you with every one of his thrusts, needy and hungry for attention. 

“Touch me,” you whimpered, hips writhing as his brows scrunched together. 

“Where?” He asked, and a humiliatingly high-pitched whine escaped your throat from being too weak to even show him where you wanted to be touched.

His hand traveled down your chest, over your peaked nipples and down past your belly button, pausing to wait for you to nod or shake your head. 

“Lower,” you instructed, and he listened too. 

His thumb dragged over it, but the slime worked almost like a suction cup, like another mouth had latched himself onto you, cool and wet and sloppy. 

You couldn't tell if he was melding to you or molding you to him. 

But the heat had clawed its way inside your heart, your pulse pounding harder while he pounded into you. Reduced to a twitching mess, lips permanently stuck parted as you panted for any air you could suck in. 

You knew you should warn him not to cum inside of you. Say something about it, at least, even if you had no idea if he could even get you pregnant. Except, every time you opened your mouth, nothing would come out. 

Cumming wasn’t a conscious decision. 

Just one he made for you. Shoved over the edge by the overwhelming sensations trying to rewire – or maybe fry – your neurons. Your thighs were trembling, your body shaking as you tried to cling to your sanity through the intense waves of pleasure. 

Your high didn’t distract you from the sudden stretch. Everything was slick, soaked. But the burn of being spread open even wider, your cervix prodded open, it was only soothed by the cool feeling of something slimy working his way up through it. What felt like a hundred little orbs pushing up to plant themselves inside your womb. 

Eggs.

Soft, gel-like ones, squishy enough to slosh around and leave you squirming as he unloaded one after another. Groaning loudly, enough to echo among the trees when he released them, his body vibrating as he came inside you too. 

You were staring past his shoulder at the sky, loose wisps of white hair in the fringes of your vision as you reeled from the eggs moving around in your stomach, adhering to your room with more of his slime, you supposed. You were still shaking when he pulled out. Still leaking cum and slick, probably leaving a mess there on the leaves and the dirt. 

“Can you stand up?” He asked, all innocent like he hadn't just filled you with fucking eggs in the middle of the forest. 

You blinked up at him, but you didn't have the strength left to shake your head. You wanted to look down at your body, but something stopped you. Maybe your brain refusing to let you see what the aftermath of having sex with a guy made of slime looked like. 

He wasn’t fazed. Just running his hands back over you, through the slime covering your skin, his fingers moving through it easily as he traced something through the mess. He pushed your thighs further apart, examining you more clinically. 

“Gonna take a couple of days to absorb those,” he chirped, tilting his head towards the bulge of your stomach, the eggs he deposited deep inside you. Your relief that they’d be absorbed instead of fertilized was washed out by the second realization that he was saying it’d take days to go away. 

You tried to speak, but just another soft squeak came out, the slime you were surrounded by practically thrumming, as if it was happy to have you in it. And the whole situation, as strange and fucked as it was, was still unfairly hot. 

Gojo chuckled again at you clenching around nothing, one of his hands brushing your hair back out of your face before glancing over his shoulder at the empty trees and the sun slowly setting overhead. 

“Well, I can’t just leave you here, huh?” 

You were fucked. 

Literally and figuratively. 

You woke up to a sticky feeling between your thighs and the sort of dark that swallowed up any light. You tried to sit up, your brain felt too foggy, your body too heavy. 

It took a few seconds for your sight to adjust, squinting down to discover you were still nude. But the concerning bit was the bump of your stomach, still swollen from before. Your limbs weren't listening to you, moving too slow as you attempted to prop yourself up on something gooey. 

A bed. Sort of. 

It was just more slime. More eggs, if your eyes weren’t betraying you. All globbed together in a big enough pile to rest on. It wasn’t swallowing you up this time, only leaving a faint hint of the stuff on your skin when you managed to pull yourself halfway up. 

Still no clothes. 

Naked and alone in the cave of a creature that was of…questionable intelligence? 

You guessed you were too since you had sex with him. 

But in your defense, he was attractive, slime and all. And he had a bigger dick than any human you’d ever met before. 

You hadn’t made it to your feet when he strolled in, his features flickering from contentment to a hardened frown when he noticed you were attempting to get up. To go. 

“You should rest,” he spoke firmly, hurrying over to kneel next to you. 

His cock was still out, and you hated your still fucked-out and fuzzy body for immediately directing your attention there. Honestly, this probably would be more fun if you didn’t have to worry about doing a walk of shame back to civilization nude and now carrying the eggs of an anomaly of nature. 

“I should go home,” you murmured, reaching up to rub your forehead, rubbing out the crease between your brows. It wasn’t like you liked your job. Or even your life that much. But it was still yours. And you couldn’t just take a break from it to play mate with a weird new species in what could barely be considered a bed. 

“You have my eggs,” he said it like it meant something else – something you just weren’t understanding. 

“They’re, not, like fertilized?” You squinted, but he just looked down at you, offering one of those smiles that was condescending without trying to be. 

“Of course not,” he chittered, as if it was an absurd assumption. You were human. He wasn’t. How could they be fertilized? 

But then again, how the fuck could he put them in you in the first place? 

“Then-” You started, but he just shook his head.

“That’s just how we greet each other,” he hummed, kissing your forehead casually. His speech was a little stilted, like he learned secondhand. Was he watching hikers? Observing people like you were the ones that belonged on a nature documentary? “How do you?” 

“Um, saying hi?” You blinked, and he tilted his head to the side.

“That’s not very personal,” he contemplated. 

Yeah, that was kind of the point. 

You didn’t say anything, your stare flicking from him to the dim surroundings. The walls were damp, also coated in a similar slime to the stuff still on you. There were trinkets, treasures he must have collected over the years – hair clips and handheld mirrors and even a ham radio, all things that were probably left behind by a hiker. A wedding band was stuck to the wall, and you wondered if he even knew what it was. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, and you reluctantly nodded. 

Did he even have any food here? Would he hunt for something?

“A little,” you shrugged, your stomach grumbling at the mention of it. There wasn’t much light, most of it from the luminance from his own slime. You had no way to tell how long it had been.

Were you asleep for an hour? Three? Half a day? 

Would anyone even come looking for you? 

Wondering wouldn’t do you any good. And honestly, it seemed like you had some more pressing problems when Gojo just sloughed off a chunk of himself, holding it out in his palm with a smile. 

“It’s good for you,” he grinned. 

Were you five years old? 

No. 

So why the fuck was-

He pushed it between your lips before you could protest, and the sentient slime was already sliding down your throat and choking your breathing. 

You weren't what to think about the fact you could feel him in your stomach two different ways now. 

“Do you want more?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Um, no,” you politely declined, swallowing the last of it down to join the rest. You could still taste him on your tongue, coating your mouth. Every part of him was sweet. Not like chocolate, or even fruit, but a flavor that was all its own. 

All him.

“Are there others like you?” You carefully asked, glancing towards what you guessed was the only exit.

“I’m on my own here,” he shrugged, not exactly answering your question either. He looked at his little collection of stuff, trinkets that he must have been gathering for years before you came. “Sometimes I see humans out here. But you’re my first.” 

The first one he spoke to? Or the first he fucked?

You stared, and he continued anyway, “My favorite.” 

Would he really just let you be a fond memory when he was speaking to you so soft and slow while he did his best to enunciate it correctly? 

“Are you lonely?” You heard yourself ask next. Prodding wasn’t appropriate, wasn’t what you-

“Not anymore,” he grinned, poking your cheek and leaving a damp streak of slime there.

“Gojo-” You wiped it away, working on your resolve as you tried to figure out how to get out of here. 

“You’d make a pretty mate,” he interrupted, missing the obvious cue that you were trying to cut ties and run. 

“Thanks, but um, I’m human,” you explained, scooting towards the edge of the slime – which was now climbing higher up your thigh, 

“I can still stuff you full of eggs,” he unhelpfully pointed out. “We could make it work.” 

No, you didn’t really think you could. But he didn’t budge. 

“You wouldn’t be able to reproduce,” you attempted to phrase it in a convincing way, like you would consider it if things were different. 

“Some members of my species can actually reproduce asexually,” he chimed in, a solution for every problem you conceived. Shit. 

So you did something stupid. Maybe as dumb as you saying hi to him in the first place had been. 

Instead of telling him you weren’t interested, or flat-out saying no, you came up with a new excuse on the spot. You pointed out the wedding ring, a weird fluttering in your stomach as you scrambled for some convenient excuse to distract both of you from what he said. 

“Humans wear those when they’re, uh, mated,” you explained, almost saying married. “We have our own ritual.” 

“Oh?” His eyes lit up, looking back at the ring. “Do you want that one?” 

“No,” you answered too quickly, cringing as you recovered. “Usually, the females get one with a diamond on it.” 

He squinted at you, like he hadn’t heard the word before.

“A big, sparkly rock.” 

“I can do that,” he grinned. 

You could still back out. Say thanks, but no thanks. But you didn’t. 

Just let him lay his hand over your swollen stomach as he rubbed it affectionately. Honestly, when he touched you so softly, you couldn’t help but think you were the one taking advantage of him. 

“You should rest though,” he reminded you. “I’ve got everything you need here.” 

He meant it too.

His eggs were apparently nutritious enough to satisfy your hunger and keep your hydrated, and he even had a few books to prevent you from being bored, ones he explained that he found in campsites. Not that he ever stopped talking long enough for you to read more than a few sentences at a time. But most of his treasures were stuff he’d found in the caves, souvenirs that had never ended up being sold. 

Including the only item of clothing – a v-neck with a misprint on it, which was probably supposed to advertise the park, but was missing half the text, only left with fading words on the back that said ‘All I got was this stupid t-shirt’.

You went hiking and all you got was stupid eggs and a slime guy who thought you were his mate. 

After what you guessed was a day, maybe even two, Gojo still hadn’t left – or given you the opportunity to make a break for it. But your stomach had yet to go down, the eggs still shifting around uncomfortably when you tried to move too fast. 

But even he had things he had to take care of. 

He got out of his makeshift bed, the nest he had created, padding across the floor when he thought you were asleep. In your head, you counted to a hundred, waiting for some sound or sign of him returning before you opened your eyes. 

You felt bad about it. 

Terrible, actually. To leave him (and his cock) behind? 

Truthfully, you’d fuck him again if you could do it in the comfort of your own home – where you could wash him off afterwards. 

You tried to stand up, touching the wall and recoiling at the squish of it, the slime sticking to your hand as you took it away and wiped it on your skin without anything to clean it with. God, you couldn’t wait for a shower. 

To clean yourself completely, to wipe your body clean and feel like yourself again. 

But of course, nothing could go quite like you planned. 

And right as you found your footing, there was the feeling of something, well, popping inside of you and the sudden gush of his slime leaking down your thighs. You immediately felt the effects. Your whole body was woozy, knees going weak and sending you to the floor, but that just made more of the eggs pop inside your womb. 

You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. 

Processing all the confusing physical stimuli slamming through you at full force. The searing pleasure draining what was left of your brain power, leaving you dumber by the second as you blindly sought out something to fill the sudden empty ache between your damp and leaking thighs. 

You needed him. To be full again.

The more you writhed, the more you wiggled and whimpered as you blindly struggled for friction, for just a fraction of pleasure to drown out the demand in your veins, the more eggs popped! 

It was hell. Heaven too, but the lines were so blurred you weren’t even sure which way was up anymore. The only thing you were certain of was that you were on the fast track to one of the two if you didn’t get fucked soon. 

That you’d die, drown in the need, if someone didn’t do anything about it. 

You were crying his name, real tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your fingers clumsily fumbled for your clit. But it didn’t feel good enough. No, it barely even dented the desire. Did nothing to soothe the ache or ease the burning that was being etched into your bones. 

It might have been three minutes. Or three hours. 

Time had faded into the background, some vague concept far beyond anything you were capable of understanding anymore when footsteps slowly approached.

Blue eyes peering over you, gel-like fingers grabbing your chin and forcing your face up.

“Poor human,” Gojo purred, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Need help?”

You nodded, feeling pathetic as you accepted your fate.

Welcomed it. 

Would it really be to stay if it meant he’d make you feel good? Forever?

Having sex with him was better than any former frat boy or finance bro you had the misfortune of being with before. He had his own place. Wanted to take care of you. 

Lust was blinder than love. 

And you could barely see at all when he spread your thighs, flipping you onto your stomach just for more of his eggs to get crushed in the process, head barely floating above the next dizzying wave of intensity. 

He lifted your hips up, leaving your tits bare and brushing against the cold cave floor as he pushed his cock through your soaked entrance. 

Was it more him or more you at this point? 

Slime, cum, whatever it was, he didn’t need any lubrication, no preparation, just pushing his way in to fill you up and satisfy whatever you asked from him. 

He fucked you harder than he had the first time, more comfortable, more casual about it. Already readjusting to your tastes, like he had learned what you liked already. Testing new boundaries, stretching you further, using his knees and the string of slime between them to spread your thighs out even more. 

It was mind-melting. Enough you were starting to worry that every thrust was erasing what few brain cells you had left. But you couldn’t stop. 

Couldn’t do anything except babble for more between his hips rocking against your ass, his slime enveloping you the same way it had before. Covering you like a second skin, adhering to your body and holding you in place for him to fuck how he pleased. 

And pleasing him had started to trigger some biological reaction in you, the pleasure and pressure in your stomach skyrocketing at the sound of his broken moan behind you. The warmth and wetness of his mouth on your throat over one of the few spots his slime hadn’t reached yet. 

“Mmph,” you started to moan, but some of the slime had reached your mouth, sliding in and stuffing it full. 

He wanted to consume you just as much as you wanted to consume him. 

It felt like the fire was going to burn you up and leave you in a pile of ashes on the floor if you didn’t get to cum soon. 

The slime in your mouth and the one in your cunt was overwhelming, your impulses leaving you grinding your hips desperately back against him, begging to be bred – even if he was effectively shooting blanks. 

But more of him had found its way back to your clit, attaching expertly this time, making every sensation just as strong as it’d been outside, your body hurtling towards your orgasm right as the now familiar sensation of eggs started filling you up again. 

It should be more embarrassing. More alien or strange. But it almost felt natural. Like you’d been built for this and you had just realized it a little late. 

He didn’t pull out this time, keeping you plugged shut as he pumped the last handful of eggs in, leaving you more swollen than you’d been this morning as he lewdly moaned. 

“Is that better?” He muttered, and you couldn’t believe you still wanted more. 

The itch of it had settled under your skin, your body seeking out his heat, squirming to be closer to him instead of pulling away. 

What had you even been trying to do? 

Leave him? 

You couldn’t. 

Would he be willing to move in with you? Trade in his cave and take his favorite trinkets to come back to your place? Be your stay-at-home slime boyfriend?

And if he wasn’t, would staying here suck so much?

Being fed and fucked full of eggs? No work? No worries? 

Just conscious of the next time you’d get laid? 

“You think too much,” he muttered disapprovingly, musing your hair as he tried to clear a spot on your shoulder for him to press his face against. 

His hands were on your arms though, one of them holding up your limp left limb to look at your fingers. 

“See,” he beamed, slipping a ring on the wrong one, a hint of wetness on it that you hoped wasn't blood. “We're mates now.”

Even now, they’re smushing you between them on the couch, manspread thighs against your own, you never get any space with these two.

“Hah, i’ll throw your ass right off rainbow fucking road,” Sukuna’s grinning like the psycho he is when he nudges your cart, your cute little Yoshi flying off.

“Ugh, you dick!”

“Sukuna,” Choso sighs and shakes his head. “Stop throwing her off.”

“Stop throwing her off,” you smack him with his mocking tone, getting back onto the road and speeding up. “Hah!”

“Not again!? You’re such a jerk!”

“I’ll avenge you angel,” Sukuna rolls his eyes when Choso runs Sukuna off the road, and his bowser goes flying, you snicker in laughter as Sukuna crashes out.

“Choso, my hero!”

“I’ll come fucking get the both of you,” Sukuna’s locked in, brows lowered – far too close to you now as if the couch isn’t big enough for him, his biceps flexing in a concerning ass way that makes you stop driving. “What brat, ya done?”

“I um…” you blink and focus once more, in time for Choso to lean forward, his elbow resting on your bare thigh so casually.

Casual.

You’re ovulating and losing mario kart!

“Mnh…”

They both look at you and you cover your face in embarrassment, slick dribbling down your inner thighs – you’re always wet around them but today is too fucking much, how many times a day can you change your panties? You could swear they keep coming up missing too.

“You all right angel?” Choso asks softly, tilting his head and looking at you far too closely, hand on your cheek. “You’re warm! Do you have a fever?”

“N-no,” Sukuna scoffs and yanks the remote from your hands, feeling your head for himself.

“You are warm, brat, better not be sick,” he tilts your chin up and smirks. “You lost big time, hah you suck.”

“Ugh!” You shove at him once more. “You suck! I’m fine!”

You three play another round and Sukuna won’t stop knocking you off, sending your car into a tailspin, you get so damn mad at him you toss the remote on the floor. Sukuna snorts when you cross your arms.

“Looking like a little spoiled brat.”

“I am not! You’re just rude!”

“Tch, can’t even lose a game,” you’re so irritated and so horny you can’t think right now, just glaring at the pink haired menace. “Don’t feel bad, I beat you at every single game, don’t I?”

“Sukuna stop,” Choso sets his remote down, wrapping a protective arm and tugging you against him. “Leave her alone, you’re really being a dick over it.”

“I am competitive, she’s the sore loser.”

“You’re not competitive, you’re being an ass,” you snuggle to Choso now and he blushes, your lips against his neck, tickling his skin.

“Thank you Cho,” you murmur, pressing a kiss, he sucks in a breath, hand tightening at your waist, Sukuna glares at the sight, smacking Choso’s hand right off you. “Hey!”

“You’re mad she’s snuggling to me.”

“Hah, right,” Sukuna stands up now, yanking you off Choso like the big brute he is, you kick at him and he smirks, yanking your ankle. “Think ya can hurt me, brat?”

“You’re the biggest brat there is, Ryomen Sukuna!”

“Wow, my full name – really,” you stick your tongue out and Sukuna bars you with his arms on the couch, making your breath catch. Just because he’s a dick doesn’t mean he’s not hot and ruining you with his proximity. “Admit you’re trash at Mario cart and I’ll make you feel real good, won’t have to fuck yourself tonight with your dildo collection.”

“Invasion of privacy! No, I won’t admit I suck,” you smack at his arm and then climb right onto Choso’s lap, he sucks in a breath at the action.

“Oh… Oh! Oh,” he’s gripping your waist with those big hands, dragging your heat against that bulge underneath his pants as you move your hips, his eyes darkening. “Hi.”

You giggle a bit at that, moving again, feeling Sukuna tense behind you. “Hi.”

“Get off his damn lap,” Sukuna turns your face towards him, just to get Choso smacking his hand away this time. “I’ll beat both your asses.”

“No you won’t,” Choso murmurs, turning your face to him now, thumb brushing little circles on your hip, making you even wetter. “I’ll make you feel good without you having to say you ‘suck’ at Mario cart. You don’t suck.”

“I can suck,” you whisper, leaning forward and giggling, Choso moans when you kiss his lips, and everything in your living room shifts.

It’s a desperate kiss once Choso gets a taste of you, moaning into your mouth and working your body against him, sucking in a breath, eyes fluttering shut, sucking your tongue in his mouth and rutting up against you. You whine out at it, you could almost cum from just feeling him, one of his hands entangling in his hair.

“Are you really gonna leave me out?” Sukuna asks, flipping you before you can think, now your back is pressed on Choso’s hard chest, Sukuna is kneeling, his hands pressing against your tits. You’re ovulating so bad they’re full and aching, your nipples sensitive when he brushes his thumbs on them. “You’re needy, huh brat?”

“Not for you and your Mario cart cheating tactics, mnh!” He uses a hand to tug up your shirt, your tits spilling out, earning his moan.

“Don’t want my mouth on them?” You can’t say no, not when Choso’s biting your neck, his fingers slipping up your shorts, making your thighs tremble, back arching for more of Sukuna’s touch. “Answer.”

“I am still mad at you, but I’ll let you do that,” he smirks as if he’ll get to fuck you – little does Sukuna know you take Mario Kart very seriously, and you’re planning on making your giant, pink haired roomie pay. “Mnh!”

Sukuna presses you back against Choso, grabbing your tit and wrapping his lips around the little bud, sucking it into the hot recesses of his mouth, tongue ring clicking against it and earning a soft moan. You move against Choso who whines out in response, cock licking so much sticky pre it’s drizzling against your inner thigh, his finger running over your panties.

“Ngh,” soft moans escape your lips as Sukuna sucks one nipple, the other toyed with by his thumb and forefinger, Choso’s running up and down your slit until you’re dripping wet. “Choso…”

“Even now?” Sukuna scowls and you grin, earning a sharp bite on your tit, leaving glistening teeth marks, you gasp in shock and he grins. “Marked you.”

“Freak,” you grumble, but he’s sucking your other nipple, and your hand finds its way in his pink silky hair, it’s so soft, you tug hard and he grips your tit hard, sucking it in his mouth as Choso toys your clit. “F-fuck… mnh…”

“You’re soaked baby,” Choso whispers, tilting your face to his and kissing you, messy with your tongues dripping saliva. “Like that?”

“Y-yes, ow!” Sukuna bites the fuck out of you again, earning your attention, you yank the fuck out of his hair and make him moan.

“Where’s my attention!?”

“I’m still mad, I already told you,” Sukuna tugs your shorts to the side, seeing how soaking wet you are, panties drenched.

“Already fuck yourself today?”

“Maybe,” he smirks. “Why?”

“Nothing – just that’s my cock.”

“What!?” You shove him hard, he’s chuckling and Choso’s damn near about to bust with how you wiggle. “You did not seriously? Psycho!”

“Bet you loved it,” you did, fuck him. “Could you take it all?”

“No – I mean!? Yep, hah wasn’t that -”

Before you can finish your petty lie, Sukuna’s kissing you, messy and mean with it, tongue ring clicking the roof of your mouth, you’re rocking back and forth, dying for them inside you. If you weren’t such a petty girl, maybe you’d let Sukuna slide his cock inside your cunt, where Choso’s running circles against your slick entrance – but you’re still mad about Mario Kart.

And now he’s making his cock your dildo!?

“You’re batshit insane,” you’re still kissing him though, Choso’s got your clit twitching and Sukuna’s pinching your nipples and rolling them, the simultaneous play is too much to handle. “You c-can’t just… mnh, d-do that.”

“That’s not fair, I wanna make you one,” Choso pouts as he sinks two fingers in your messy, needy cunt, you’re soaking them and quivering, sucking them up so damn easy. “Do you want one of me?”

“I do, stop biting, you dick!” Sukuna’s furious – how dare you give him all the attention when Sukuna is right there, he slips his finger down and Choso pulls his out with a wet pop, sucking on them and moaning.

Fuck he’s hot.

You’re a little lost when you realize Sukuna’s shoving two fingers deep, scissoring them in and out of your hole. “Hah your cunt is already fucked out, you must love my dick stretching your messy cunt out.”

“You w-wish,” your thighs are held up by Choso for Sukuna’s mean fingers to rock in and out of your cunt with loud squelches, your nails press into Choso’s forearms when he grips your tit, squishing it in his hand and rutting that leaky cock right on you. “Close, close… Sukuna!?”

“You thought,” he yanks his fingers out, smirking at the obscene amount dripping, slipping them right in your mouth. “Suck.”

You bob your mouth up and down his knuckles, cheeks all flushed and your eyes dazed, Sukuna moans at the sight, picturing how well you’d suck his cock, as you slip your tongue between those digits. Choso’s already fingering you again, your cheeks hollowed, eyes rolling back.

“I’ll let you cum baby,” he murmurs, Sukuna scoffs – Choso was always trying to ‘please you’ and this was no different, you’re sucking Sukuna’s fingers as his hand grips under your chin, Choso’s fingers making a mess between your thighs as you clamp down. “Go ahead, cum for me.”

“Mmph!” You’re drooling as Sukuna’s fingers go deeper, damn near choking you with them, orgasm making you squirt all over Choso’s lap, drops smacking against Sukuna’s pants, he groans at the sigh.

“Messy lil slut, look at ya, can’t handle a couple fingers?”

“Fuck off, was cummin’ for Choso,” Choso grins, his fingers easing out of your cunt with a messy pop as she keeps spasming, gushing arousal down onto the couch you’re sitting on. “Cho, come on.”

“Come where baby?”

“My room,” you stand and push past Sukuna, whose cock is so hard you can see it pressing out, he winces and has to adjust it when you’re crooking your finger. “You can watch.”

“Watch!? The fuck?”

You drag Choso – dopey grin on his face and all – giggling as you rush him to your room. “Yep.”

“I’m not just gonna watch you…” You’re stripped down right in front of them in moments, and both the boys have open mouths.

Listen, you’ve been waiting to fuck them, and cucking Sukuna seemed apt enough punishment after the shit he was pulling today. Your tits bounce when you turn to Choso, slipping off his shirt and running your fingertips across his tattooed chest, he snatches you up and kisses you, surprising you by how needy he is, you thought he may be shy.

He’s so not shy when he eagerly steps out of his pants, and you see all that white dripping through his boxers. “I am not watching.”

“You sit right there,” you point to your bright pink gaming chair, a big ass flower cushion and a plushy on it, Sukuna’s red eyes narrow – for a moment he does scare you, but not when he throws your plushy and pillow on the ground. “Hey!”

“Fuck off,” he sits in the chair and it creaks under his heavy weight, crossing his arms now. “Well, put on your little show – you’ll beg me to join.”

“You think so?”

“I know it, want all your holes filled,” his eyes drift down the curves of your body, his cock aching so badly he unzips his pants, watching your fucked out little gaze. “Like what you see?”

Who wouldn’t like that thick, veiny cock with the pierced reddened tip? Drooling white as he strokes it in front of you. Your throat goes dry as you consider if you can give him such a punishment, but you smile all mean.

“Admit you cheat at Mario Kart.”

“I don’t you brat!?”

“Then no,” you press Choso down on the bed, he’s tugging his boxers off, his pretty cock smacking his belly button, pre just dripping against that black strip of hair over his cock. “Oh… You’re so ready, aren’t you Choso?”

“Please,” he’s tugging you on him, giving Sukuna a view of your ass, your cunt gliding along Choso’s cock and dripping all over. “Oh pretty…”

He’s got a piercing too, right on his pretty pink tip, you’re running your slit right along it, hands braced on his chest, Choso's mouth wraps around your nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth. You’re whining out when he plays with the other, holding them both in his hands as you move.

“Your titties are so pretty,” he whispers, one hand slipping down to your waist, god he’s dreamed of you but not like this – gliding your cunt right on him? He could lift you and slam his cock so deep, but he also wants to let you tease him, edge him till he can’t help himself. “F-fuck… you’re so wet…”

“Rub it in,” Sukuna earns your laugh, peeking over your shoulder and arching so he has a look of your hole from the back. “I’d fuck you right in your ass first.”

“You would not!”

“Sure would, Choso can have your cunt..”

“I’ll take any hole,” you giggle again, kissing your roomie, his lips plush underneath yours, your nails press into his shoulders as his tip bumps your needy clit. “Ah! Choso…”

“Do you l-like it baby?” You nod eagerly, he’s sucking your tits again, dragging you down hard, his cock leaking more pre – so much he worries he did cum, but it’s still thickening against you. “Wanna fill you up with all my cum. Eat it out of you.”

“Mnh,” you’re leaning up now, gliding faster, watching Choso lose it, bruising your waist, his cheeks dusted with pink.

“You really gonna do all this for MARIO KART!? You’re such a petty little annoying brat.”

You glare and turn around, reverse cowgirl right on Choso’s cock, he’s whimpering and Sukuna’s stroking his cock, his lips parted as he takes in your body facing him. “You’re petty! And annoying, you never give me privacy!”

“Neither does he!?” Sukuna stands, his cock so heavy it’s just hanging, dripping on the pink fluffy rug.

“You’re making a mess, Kuna, all over my rug.”

His jaw sets, Choso’s fingers are pressing harder as he drags you up and down, gasping out. “Like you didn’t squirt on me!?”

“Can I put it in please?” Choso’s completely ignoring your spat – how can he think when he’s so close to being able to slide his cock inside your cute, soaking wet hole?

“Y-yes,” you let him lift you and grab his cock, wrapping his hand around the base, tip slipping in your hole. “Mnh!”

“Oh my god,” he drags you down in one stroke – deep inside – so much your tummy bulges for Sukuna to see, he groans at the sight, Choso lifting you and that mess of slick glistening. “You’re so f-fucking wet, god you feel so good.”

Sukuna’s gripping your hair and bending down as you ride Choso’s cock, ass bouncing up and down, nails pressing into his thighs to keep balance, he lifts your ass up and groans, fingers dimpling the plump flesh of your ass. “Making a whole show, aren’t you?”

You take your hand and swipe your thumb over Sukuna’s tip, licking it off and watching him lose it, only to rock on Choso’s cock more, feeling him hit your cervix, making you gasp out desperately. “You’re so deep, mnh!”

“Swear to god,” Sukuna’s stroking his cock when Choso sits up and puts you on all fours, slapping his heavy cock against your ass, you moan and arch, face precariously close to Sukuna’s cock. “Come on, fuck… just lemme…”

“You can jerk off near me,” You gasp out, a broken little moan spilling from your lips as Choso slams right back in, heavy balls kissing your clit, your head falling back. “You’re lucky to even get that.”

“Fuckin’ brat,” Choso’s groaning as you grip him with your gummy walls just fluttering, he can’t even focus on anything but the curve of your ass like this, the way his tip is pressing your cervix, how full his balls are.

Your thighs tremble, hands gripping the blanket, looking back at him all pretty as he splits you open on his cock. “Ch-choso… f-feels so…”

You break off talking when he shoves in hard, pinning you to him and rolling those hips – god Choso could fuck, you didn’t think he couldn’t exactly but you sure didn’t expect that. He slams again harder, pushing your face until your mouth is almost brushing Sukuna’s needy tip, just that has the six foot five man whimpering.

“Fuck… slutty lil brat,” you’d scowl or stick your tongue out but Choso’s hitting it too good, stretching you right out to his shape with messy strokes. Your mouth is open with your gasps, every stroke of Sukuna’s hand on his cock making your tummy clench any more.

“Y-you’re gonna admit you cheat,” you whisper, sucking in a breath when Choso grabs your shoulder and fucks in so deep it hurts. “Ah!”

“Stop fighting,” he whines out when you pulse around him, leaning over you and gripping your chin, turning you to him. “Just cum, lemme feel it milk me.”

Oh fuck.

You kiss him and let him rail you, as Sukuna has to watch the girl he’s jerked off to fuck his roomate – all because he just had to make her mad. He wishes it wasn’t so sexy hearing the skin smacking and your messy cunt squishing with every thrust, already about to bust like a pathetic loser.

“I’m s-sorry, fuck,” he mumbles, you pull back and Choso chuckles, slamming against you again, pushing you to arch more. “All right!? Shit you’re mean.”

“You’re s-sorry, really? Mnh!” He moans and grips your hair, jerking right in front of your face as Choso snaps his hips hard.

“Perfect cunt just gripping me, god jus’ like th-that,” he’s pussy drunk off you, he can’t help but be happy he’s inside and not in your bright pink cuck chair, or jerking it like Sukuna.

Not that he wouldn’t enjoy that too, but he’s been fisting his cock to you since the first day you met.

“M’gonna cum,” you whisper now, looking up at Sukuna and moaning, breath tickling the tip of his cock. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes, god just… can I just… cum on your tongue, fuck – I’ll let you win, n-next time just…”

You suppose you’ll take a little pity on him, opening your mouth with your little pink tongue out, letting Sukuna jerk it even closer, strings of puffy cum splattering all over your tongue, your mouth, your chin. It’s fucking filthy having it all over you as your orgasm hits, making you swallow all him up.

“Want me to cum inside your pretty lil hole?” Choso asks, you’re still swallowing Sukuna’s cum when he brushes it on your lips, stroking it so even more oozes from that little slit and decorates your lips.

You nod and arch, your nails now pressing into Sukuna’s thighs, Choso busting deep inside your cunt and all he can get is his tip grazing your damn tongue, he’s so desperate he’s happy for that. He’s groaning as he watches you get filled by Choso’s cum, your fucked out face and your crossed eyes.

“Wanna be inside next,” he mumbles, pulling back and groaning, your nails pressing into the tattoos on his muscled thighs as you tremble.

You’re flooded with Choso’s warmth, coating all your walls as he pulses, thickening even more, tip dragging on your spot over and over, making you both sensitive. “Took all that, so greedy.”

“Mhm,” you whisper, licking Sukuna’s cum off his thumb when he gathers it from your cheek, off your chin, slipping it in your mouth. “You came so much, Choso…”

“What about me you brat!?”

You grin and give him the tiniest kitten flick of your tongue on his tip, watching him jerk from just that. “I’ll maybe forgive you.”

“Maybe? Tch,” Choso pulls out of you with a messy pop, watching all his cum flood out of your hole, pushing it right out and dripping on your blankets.

“Look at all you took,” he plays with the sticky mess, fingering it right back inside and smirking at Sukuna. “I think she likes me more.”

“She does not, she’s just sadistic,” he’d be lying if he didn’t say that turned him on more. He helps you up on your knees, tilting your chin up and kissing his own cum off you, Choso’s kissing up your neck, as you feel him slipping out of you. “Evil little brat. You liked that dildo.”

“Maybe I’ll let you use it on me,” his brows lower as he glares again, Choso snorts against your neck, tugging you closer.

“Use my own dick on you!?”

“Then you can fuck me. If you’re nice.” You turn and straddle Choso again, kissing his mouth, he flicks his tongue and gathers the little bit of Sukuna’s cum off your mouth, moaning.

“Can I at least finger you, or am I still in trouble?” Sukuna pouts kind of cutely, you admit, so you nod, and let him kneel on the bed, fingering Choso’s cum back inside you.

Sukuna won’t knock you off rainbow road again.

at first, he figured it was temporary. you were just settling in, maybe a little too quickly, but regardless, it was probably just a phase. hell, he even thought he might catch a break during november. you know, the whole ‘no nut’ thing going around. but nope, you lasted three whole days. three. and on day four, it was like something inside you snapped— because you came back swinging harder than ever.

tuesday night. 12:46 a.m. toji was laying in bed, phone charging, pillow over his head, already exhausted from a long day of work.

and just when he thought he might get some peace, he hears it:

“fuckfuck, right there, oh my goddd—”

he groaned into the mattress. it wasn’t the porn. it was you. again.

and lately, it had started bleeding into everything. gotten so bad to the point where he swore he could hear you even when you weren’t home. he’d walk past your empty room during the day, fully locked up, and still think he could hear those breathy little whines echoing faintly from inside. your voice was imprinted on his fucking brain. sometimes when he closed his eyes, he swore he could hear the faint buzz of your vibrator like phantom noise.

you were haunting him.

then, the next morning?

like nothing ever happened.

you’d walk into the kitchen wearing your stupid little slippers and oversized tee like a good girl, yawning as if you weren’t the reason he was up all night, cock hard and jaw clenched. you didn’t even look at him with shame or guilt, not even an ounce of embarrassment.

like you didn’t just finger yourself to a compilation of tentacle hentai for two and a half hours straight.

toji had finally had enough.

+

you didn’t hear him come in.

not at first. you were too far gone— back arched, slick fingers stuffed inside you as another video played, screen propped up on your pillows. your thighs were shaking. your eyes were glossy. you hadn’t even cum yet, but you’d been edging yourself for almost an hour, pussy so wet the sheets were damp beneath your ass.

then the door creaked open.

you sat up halfway, blinking, chest heaving, “toji—?”

he didn’t say anything.

just stepped inside, shirtless and pissed off, dark hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed, eyes low with something you couldn’t quite place.

“what the hell—”

“you don’t know how to be quiet, do you?”

you flinched.

he shut the door behind him, locked it.

“every night. moaning. whining. crying into your fucking pillow—” his voice dropped as he stepped closer, towering over you now, gaze sliding down to where your fingers were still between your thighs, glistening with your arousal.

you yanked your hand back. “i-i didn’t think you—”

“didn’t think i could hear you?” he scoffed. “sweetheart, the whole building can hear you.”

your breath hitched.

you should’ve been embarrassed. maybe even scrambled to cover up. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. your heart was pounding, your pussy was throbbing, and your body was still soaked from the half dozen orgasms you hadn’t let yourself have yet.

“you know what your problem is?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he crouched in front of the bed, one knee pressed to the mattress. “you don’t know how to ask for help.”

you stared, wide-eyed, caught somewhere between panic and desire. he reached forward, grabbed your vibrator— warm, wet, softly humming, and tossed it to the floor.

“gonna shut you up for real.”

before you even got the chance to speak, he’s already dropping down between your legs, his huge palms spreading them apart, pulling your hips closer to the edge of the bed. his mouth was on your pussy right away. no teasing, no warm-up. he licks straight through your folds, wide and heavy, collecting all the slick you had worked up for the past hour.

“you don’t know when to stop,” he muttered, breath hot against your core. “so i’ll do it for you.”

his hands clamp down on your thighs, nails pressing crescents into your skin. his tongue works you open, licking everything, sucking on your clit before dipping down again. your whole lower half was a disaster. sticky and overheated, juices leaking down your crack while his spit slides over it, pooling between your thighs. he groaned into you, the sound rough and low, and the second he heard you whimper, he slid two fingers inside you without saying a word.

you gasped— tight around him already, walls fluttering from the stretch. he curls them instantly, fucking them in slow, deep strokes as his mouth seals around your clit and sucks hard.

“f-fuck, toji—” your voice broke a little when you said his name.

he doesn’t let up.

his fingers pumped into you steady, knuckles deep, thumb rubbing circles into your clit when his mouth pulls away just for a moment. he’s watching you now, watching the way you react— how you clench everytime he curls his fingers just right.

“you make this much of a mess by yourself, baby? fuckin’ dripping—” he muttered, voice thick, a string of spit still clinging from his lips to your cunt.

then he lets another glob fall, watching it land right on your clit before pushing it in with his fingers, leaning down again to lick around them, fucking you open with his hand.

you screamed.

your legs kicked, heels digging into the bed, hands flying to his hair— pulling, gripping, trying to stop him because it was too much.

he just moaned.

“t-too much, wait, wait, i—!”

you cum hard. your legs shaking, pussy squeezing around his fingers as your orgasm hits full force. you cry out as your vision went white and your brain flatlined. but he didn’t stop. he fucks you through it, tongue lapping up your cum, dragging it back into you with this obscene, slurping groan, like he couldn’t get enough.

when he finally pulls away, his fingers slid out soaked and glistening, he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, savoring every drop.

“get on all fours.”

you blinked, barely able to breathe.

“now.”

you scrambled up before you could think, limbs unsteady, body still twitching from the comedown. your chest rose sharp and shallow as you flipped over onto your hands and knees. hands trembling where they pressed into the sheets, ass high up in the air like you were presenting it for him— because you were.

you heard him behind you. the soft rustle of fabric, the harsh clink of his belt being unbuckled. his pants hit the floor with a heavy thud, and then, a wet slap.

his fist, pumping along his cock. slow, heavy strokes. breathing deeper now.

you didn’t even have to look back to know he was staring. you could feel it. the heat of his gaze crawling down your spine, burning low in your stomach. your walls clenched on nothing in anticipation, hole fluttering around the emptiness, desperate to be filled.

and then you felt it.

his tip— thick, hot, flushed— pressing between your folds, dragging slow through the mess he’d made earlier. he rubbed it up and down, coating himself in your slick, teasing your entrance while your hips jolted everytime he passed over your clit.

“this what you wanted, baby?” he murmured, breath warm against your back. “been fucking yourself for weeks just to stay empty, begging for something real.”

you nodded frantically, biting your lip so hard it almost bled.

and then he slammed into you.

you screamed into the pillow, whole body jerking forward from the force of it. he didn’t give you a second to adjust— just bottomed out, buried to the hilt, his pelvis flush against your ass.

“so loud,” he growled, fucking into you with bruising force, the sound of skin slapping against skin already bouncing off the walls. “so fuckin’ noisy all the time. whining, moaning, always actin’ like a dumb little slut in heat—”

you were gushing. literally.

your pussy took him deep with every thrust, swallowing him whole, over and over, no resistance. the flood between your thighs was nonstop. wet, loud, splattering out around the base of his cock with every movement. your thighs were already soaked. his were worse.

“you like this shit, don’t you?” he groaned, grabbing your hips harder. “like being used, fucked stupid, so wet for me i can barely stay inside, fuck, baby, you’re making a mess.”

you sobbed into the sheets, mouth open, jaw slack, eyes rolling. you didn’t care.

you were writhing, whining, gooning on his cock like you’d never touched yourself a day in your life, already close to cumming again because he was hitting so deep, grinding against that spot that made your legs go numb.

“p-please- need it, need more—”

“more?” he scoffed, laughing under his breath. “can’t even hold yourself up and you’re still beggin’? greedy lil thing.”

his palm lands a harsh strike to your ass, then grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back until your spine arched. he fucked into you harder, every thrust faster than the last, hips snapping against yours with a punishing pace.

“then take it.”

you came again.

a sharp, overwhelming release forced out of you, squirting all over his cock with a squelch so loud it made him groan, eyes locked on the mess coating his length. the spray hit his thighs, ran down his balls, made everything slippery. his hips stuttered for just a second, slick pouring out of you in waves as your pussy clenched around him, still trying to milk him for more.

“jesus- fuck- keep doing that and i’m gonna ruin you.”

you couldn’t even speak. couldn’t form words. your mouth was open but empty, tongue hanging out, drool leaking onto the sheets below you. all you could do was take it— whimpering while he used you like a toy, grunting with every heavy thrust, cock battering your walls over and over.

he leaned over you then, chest colliding your back, one hand still in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tight it hurt. his mouth ghosted over your ear.

“should’ve done this weeks ago,” he whispered. “then maybe you wouldn’t be such a brat.”

+

you passed out after round three.

he fucked you until your legs fully gave out. until your eyes rolled back. until your muscles seized, overstimmed, crying into the sheets and begging him to slow down.

he never once did.

he stayed buried inside you for a full minute after, cock twitching, both of you panting, drenched in sweat and cum and everything else.

you fell asleep on his chest.

and for once— for once— your room was quiet that night.

…though not for long.

because in the morning, he woke up to you already rutting against his thigh.

“toji,” you whispered sweetly, shameless as ever. “wanna go again?”

he dragged a hand down his face, still hard.