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shokocide · 6 days ago

Text

PONYBOY - CHOSO KAMO

summary. You came to Dustwell looking for a fresh start. To live a new life in the beat-up house your grandfather left you. Getting involved with the local ranch hand definitely wasn’t on the agenda—and ending up in his bed? Yeah, that wasn’t part of the plan either.

word count. 15k (oh what the hell-)

content. mdni fem!reader, cowboy!choso, slow burnnnn, they want each other but wont do anything about it, he fell first but she fell harder trope, he's lowkey protective, alcohol consumption, pet names, smut, oral (fem rec.), fingering, FERAL choso, p in v, cowgirl (because save a horse), rough sex, multiple orgasms, praise, creampie, overstim, aftercare

author's note. WHAT ARE THEY FEEDING THE CHOSO ARTISTS OH MY DAYS

The house looks smaller than you remember. Maybe it’s the dust-soft edges or the way the sun hits it, turning the old wood siding gold like a sepia photograph. You stand at the edge of the gravel driveway, hands on your hips, squinting through the heat shimmer rolling off the hood of your car.

Inherited property. That’s what the letter called it—like it was some gift. But all you see is a sagging front porch, weeds elbowing through the cracks in the steps, and a mailbox hanging on by a single rusted screw. The whole place smells like dry earth, wood rot, and a faint hint of motor oil.

You spend the afternoon sweating through your shirt, dragging boxes inside and swatting at flies that seem personally offended by your presence. The floors creak in protest. One of the cabinet doors falls off when you open it. You curse out loud and immediately apologize to the empty house, like your grandpa might still be listening somewhere.

There’s no air conditioning. The ceiling fan makes a sound like it’s chewing on itself. You prop open the back door and hope the breeze isn’t carrying more hornets.

By the time the sun starts to dip behind the trees, the living room’s half-unpacked, your hair’s sticking to your neck, and you’re dangerously close to throwing a box labeled “KITCHEN — FRAGILE” straight through the window.

You need a drink.

The bar—locals call it The Pit—is tucked between a feed store and a mechanic’s garage on the edge of town. It’s not much to look at from the outside, just sun-bleached siding and a rusted-out neon sign that reads “OPEN” if you squint hard enough. But inside, it’s cool, low-lit, and smells like wood polish and whiskey.

You get exactly three steps in before every head turns. A beat passes. Then the low hum of conversation starts back up, like nothing happened.

The bartender is a woman with blond streaks in her braid and she’s wearing a plain tank top and jeans, no name tag. She raises an eyebrow as you approach.

“New in town?”

You slide onto a stool. “That obvious?”

She pours something golden into a glass. “Around here? Everything is.”

You take a sip. It burns, in a good way.

“Movin’ into the old place a few blocks down?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod, and she hums like that means something. Maybe it does.

She gestures vaguely toward the back of the bar, where a wall’s been plastered with old photos—rodeos, family cookouts, black-and-white shots of horses mid-stride.

“Lotta history out there,” she says. “That land’s got roots deeper than the well.”

You glance at the glass in your hand. “Hopefully no ghosts.”

She smirks. “Nah. Just nosy neighbors, rattlesnakes, and one too many cowboys who think silence is a personality trait.”

You laugh, tired but genuine. You don’t ask for names. Not yet.

The bartender leans back on one hip, wiping down a glass with a rag that’s seen better days. “You’ll meet the whole town soon enough,” she says, voice easy. “Mornings at the diner, Friday nights at the Pit. Someone’ll swing by your place, offer help you didn’t ask for. Happens every time someone new rolls in.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That supposed to be comforting?”

She grins. “That depends. Some of ’em are harmless. Some of ’em don’t know how to mind their own business.”

A photo behind her catches your eye—framed and slightly crooked, tucked between shelves of mismatched liquor bottles. It’s black and white, a bit worn at the edges. A man stands in front of a horse, head bowed just enough that the brim of his hat hides most of his face. He’s wearing gloves, a long coat, boots scuffed to hell. There’s something still about him—something heavy.

“That one?” she says, catching your gaze. “Choso.”

You don’t look away. “He local?”

“Mhm. Works the Dustwell Ranch a few miles out. Sticks to himself. Comes in when the nights get long or the work gets worse.” She pauses, then adds, “Quiet, mostly. But folks around here know better than to mistake that for soft.”

You blink. The photo stays with you longer than it should.

“Lemme guess,” you say, setting your glass down. “He one of those cowboys you mentioned?”

She chuckles, dry. “He’s the reason I mentioned them.”

You nod slowly. “He’s… not bad-looking.”

The bartender smirks. “Yeah, he hears that a lot. Doesn’t do much with it, though.”

You glance back at the photo. “Not the friendly type?”

“Polite,” she says, “but quiet. Keeps to himself. Doesn’t stick around long when folks start talking too much.”

You hum into your drink. “So, not exactly easy to get to know.”

She shrugs. “People’ve tried. Never really seems interested. Doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with him—just one of those men who likes his space.”

You let that sit for a second. Then: “You saying I shouldn’t bother?”

She smiles without looking at you. “I’m saying if you’re the curious type, just don’t expect straight answers.”

You head out just before sunset, boots crunching on gravel as the heat finally starts to ease off the land. The air smells like mesquite and dirt, with a hint of something sweet on the wind—wildflowers, maybe. The road that runs past your place stretches long in both directions, flanked by open fields and fences that lean just enough to say no one’s been out here fixing things in a while.

You don’t take a phone. There’s no signal anyway. Just the breeze, the cicadas, and the sound of your own steps as you walk past fences wrapped in rusted wire, thistles pushing up through the cracks in the asphalt.

There’s not much out here—just land. Wide and quiet. Like it’s still waiting to decide what to do with you.

Then, about half a mile out, the trees start to thin, and you catch sight of a gate.

It’s big—old wood and iron, solid in that way that says it wasn’t built for decoration. There’s a sign nailed across the top beam. The paint’s worn, but the lettering’s still clear:

DUSTWELL RANCH

You slow without meaning to.

Beyond the gate, the land stretches open again—miles of pasture rolling out beneath a soft orange sky. You can just make out the edge of a barn in the distance, roof sloped, doors cracked. A couple of horses stand near the fence line, heads down, tails flicking lazily.

You rest your hands on the top of the gate. Not climbing it. Just looking.

You’re about to turn back when you hear it—the low groan of leather, the thud of boots hitting packed earth.

Someone’s moving out there.

And then, farther out—near the barn—you catch sight of a figure. Broad shoulders, long stride, dark hair pulled back under a white hat. He moves like the heat doesn’t bother him. Like the land’s just an extension of his own skin.

You can’t make out his face from this far, but something about the way he adjusts the strap over his shoulder—smooth, practiced—tells you it’s him.

Choso.

You don’t call out. You don’t wave.

You just watch, quiet, until he disappears around the side of the barn.

You stay a moment more before turning back, heading home before the sky goes fully dark.

You decide to take a look at the general store the next afternoon.

The little bell above the door jingles as you step inside, and you’re immediately hit with the scent of wood and old paper. The general store’s got everything—canned beans, rope, seed packets, and even a rack of novelty postcards that look older than you.

You wander through the aisles, basket on your arm, grabbing some cleaning rags and a stubborn bottle of wood polish. You’re reaching for a pack of nails on a higher shelf when someone steps into the aisle at the same time you do.

You both stop—almost head to chest.

“Whoa—sorry,” you say, laughing a little.

He steps back without much of a reaction, but his eyes linger. It’s him. Cowboy hat, button-down rolled to the elbows, gloves tucked into his back pocket. He’s taller up close. And quieter, too—like the kind of quiet that says more than most people do out loud.

“Haven’t seen you around before,” he says, voice low and easy. “You new?”

You nod, trying not to stare. “Yeah. Just moved in. My grandfather left me the old place off Hollow Creek.”

He tilts his head. “Big property, that one. Lotta trees.”

“Also a lot of creaky floors and suspicious plumbing,” you joke.

That gets him—just barely. A small huff of a laugh, like it surprised him too.

“I’m Choso.”

“So I’ve heard.” you smile at him before offering your own name.

“Well,” he says, eyes crinkling just a little at the corners, “welcome to Dustwell, darlin’.”

And just like that, he tips his hat and keeps walking, leaving you in the middle of aisle three, staring after him with a half-full basket and a flutter in your chest.

The FaceTime connects with a familiar ceiling view and the soft clink of ice in a glass.

“...Are you lying dead in a ditch or just ghosting me now?” Shoko’s voice is dry as ever as she finally appears on screen, sunglasses on, cigarette in one hand, something suspiciously alcoholic in the other—even though it’s barely 3 p.m.

“I’ve been busy,” you whine, slumping onto the couch. “There’s a lot to unpack.”

“Yeah? Unpack the hot cowboy you texted me about at midnight and then never followed up on.”

You groan into your palm. “It wasn’t that serious! He just—he was at the store. I bumped into him. Literally. And he’s tall and—hat, gloves, boots, the whole deal.”

“Cowboy cosplay or actual cowboy?”

“Actual cowboy, Shoko. Like... brawny forearms and slow drawl. Called me darlin’.”

She sips her drink. “Mmm. Cowboys are usually good with their hands. You should test that.”

“Shoko! I don’t even know the guy!”

“Perfect. No expectations. Just vibes.”

You gawk at her, scandalized. She shrugs.

“I'm just saying—man’s probably got calluses in all the right places.”

You grab a pillow and yell into it while she just watches, smug.

You peek out from behind the pillow. “You’re the worst.”

“I’ve been called worse,” she says, exhaling smoke. “Now show me.”

“Show you what?”

“The cowboy, obviously.”

You blink. “Shoko. I’m not a stalker. I didn’t take a picture of him.”

She raises a brow. “Miss ma’am didn’t sneak a pic? I taught you nothing.”

You groan. “It would’ve been weird! I didn’t even know what to say after he walked off. I just stood there like an idiot with my bread and canned soup.”

“That’s hot. Very romance novel of you.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” she says, smug. “You’re just mad because your little prairie crush made your brain short-circuit.”

You bury your face again, voice muffled. “He had that whole rugged, fresh-off-the-ranch thing going on, Shoko.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay, yeah. You’re done for.”

You sit back up, defeated. “It was just one interaction. He probably won’t even remember me.”

“Oh, he’ll remember. You’re new in town. He absolutely noticed. And if he’s quiet and broody like you said, that man’s probably thought about you seventeen times since then and doesn’t know what to do about it.”

You blink at her.

“You’re scary.”

“I’m right.”

You sulk into the couch. “What do I even do with that information?”

Shoko grins slowly. “You go to the store again. And you wait.”

You squint at the screen. “That’s your plan? I just... loiter in the soup aisle until he appears?”

“If he’s got work boots and a quiet drawl, yeah. Linger,” Shoko says, entirely unfazed.

You groan. “He probably won’t even show up again. It’s a small town, not a Hallmark movie.”

“Which means he’ll show up everywhere,” she counters, raising a brow. “That’s the rule. First hot man encounter? You will see him again. At least three times. One of them in an inconvenient setting.”

You pause. “Like what?”

She smirks. “Public restroom line. Town fair. Your porch. Shirtless.”

“Okay goodbye,” you say, jabbing the screen to hang up, and her laughter is the last thing you hear before it goes dark.

You drop your phone on your stomach and stare at the ceiling, brain already drifting.

You weren’t even looking for anyone. This move was supposed to be peaceful—slow mornings, quiet skies, maybe a dog. You were going to find yourself or whatever people in dramatic life transitions are supposed to do.

But now there’s a man with sleepy eyes and dust on his jeans, and you can’t stop replaying the way he’d said darlin’, like it wasn’t the first time he’d said it and like he wouldn’t mind saying it again.

You sigh.

And the worst part?

You already need eggs.

You need eggs.

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, when you head back to the little general store the next day, pretending it has nothing to do with a six-foot-something man in a cowboy hat.

Nope. It’s all for the eggs.

You meander through the store, making slow, aimless rounds. Produce. Aisles with three different kinds of cereal. Laundry detergent. You’re halfway through the snacks when you realize you’re not shopping anymore. You’re lurking.

You make a show of studying a can of chili you have zero intention of buying.

Still no sign of him.

You check your phone. It's been almost 30 minutes. You’ve looped the store twice, possibly three times. The cashier’s starting to give you that polite, “do you need help with something or are you casing the joint” smile.

You give up and finally head to the register with the single carton of eggs you came for.

No Choso.

No deep voice. No gloves in his back pocket. Not even a damn cowboy hat on the horizon.

You leave the store feeling... not disappointed, exactly. Just... aware of how silly you probably looked loitering in front of a shelf of trail mix like it was hiding romance.

You sigh and clutch the eggs a little tighter.

Guess he won’t be everywhere after all.

You’re not looking for him.

You’re just taking a walk.

That’s what you tell yourself as your feet find the same dusty road that runs past that ranch. The sign’s old but well-kept, carved into smooth wood with curling ends, tucked beside a wide gate.

You think about turning back.

You don’t.

There’s a low sound—rhythmic, heavy. Hooves. And when you glance up, there he is.

Horseback. Broad-shouldered. Hat low over his eyes. A quiet silhouette against the gold-tinted sky, steering a few cattle into a separate pen like it’s second nature. The reins in one hand, the other resting lazily on his thigh.

You freeze. Not even dramatically. You just stop walking.

And when he spots you, he pauses, too. The horse slows under him, and he turns his head just slightly, eyes squinting under the brim.

“You again,” he says, like it’s not surprising at all. “You lost, darlin’?”

Your stomach does a stupid flip.

“No,” you manage. “Just walking.”

He nods like that tracks. “It’s getting late.”

You shrug, trying not to stare at the way the reins rest between his gloved fingers. “Needed air.”

He hums—low and easy. “Air’s better out here anyway.”

You take a breath like you need proof. It is better.

He shifts a bit in the saddle, posture relaxed. “So. You just out sightseeing?”

You huff a laugh before you can stop it. “Just wanted to familiarize myself with the place.”

That gets a tiny smile out of him—small, but there. He tips his hat. “Well. You ever wanna get closer, Dustwell has open trails past the fence. Just mind the mud. And the bulls.”

“Oh,” you say, blinking. “Cool. Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” he says, clicking his tongue once to move the horse forward. He nods at you as he rides past. “See you ‘round.”

You don’t say anything. You’re too busy trying not to grin at nothing like a complete idiot.

Shoko was right.

You’re done for.

The bar’s quieter tonight.

Dim, warm lights. A slow, lazy country tune playing on the old jukebox in the corner. You slide onto a stool, nod at the bartender—same one from before, hair up in a messy bun, a dishrag slung over her shoulder like it’s part of the uniform.

“Back already?” she asks with a grin. “Thought you city types got bored easy.”

“I don’t scare that easy,” you say, returning the smile. “And besides… the drinks are good.”

She snorts. “Flattery won’t get you a free round.”

“Damn. Worth a shot.”

She pours you something light, something crisp, and leans against the bar, elbow propped lazily. “So. You settlin’ in okay out at that old house?”

You nod. “Trying to. Place has character.”

“You mean termites?”

You laugh. And then, because maybe the alcohol’s working faster than expected, you say it—

“I met Choso though. Kind of. Ran into him out by the ranch. Real quiet.”

The bartender lifts an eyebrow. “Tall, broody, horse-riding kind of hot?”

You gesture with your glass. “Exactly.”

She hums knowingly. “Sounds like him.”

“Yeah. He was pretty nice though.”

“Mhm. Doesn’t talk much. Just keeps to himself.”

You nod along, about to say something else when the bell over the door rings.

And of course—

Speak of the devil.

There he is.

Choso. Same dark clothes, same quiet presence, the brim of his hat low over his eyes as he steps into the bar like he doesn’t know you were just talking about him.

Your mouth goes a little dry.

The bartender glances at you and smirks.

“Well, well,” she murmurs under her breath. “Looks like fate’s got a good sense of timing.”

You straighten in your seat instinctively, like posture is going to fix the heat crawling up your neck.

The bartender leans in closer, voice pitched low just for you. “You want me to bring him over?”

Your eyes go wide. “Absolutely not.”

She grins like that’s not an answer. “Too late.”

Before you can stop her, she cups a hand to her mouth and calls out across the bar, casual as anything—

“Hey, Choso! You want your usual?”

His head lifts slightly. His gaze shifts, one beat to the bartender, the next—unmistakably—to you.

Then he nods.

The bartender grabs a clean glass, but before she moves to pour, she shoots you a wink. “Be a peach and slide down one seat, would you?”

You blink. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m always serious about good company.”

You hesitate just long enough to regret it, and then Choso’s already making his way over—long strides, quiet steps, the click of his boots drowned out by your internal oh no oh no oh no loop.

He settles beside you without much fanfare, tipping his hat a little as he sits.

“Evenin’,” he says, low and smooth.

Your heart’s doing something ridiculous, but you manage a smile. “Hey. Fancy seeing you again.”

The bartender places his drink down and looks way too pleased with herself. “Y’all have fun,” she says, backing away with her towel slung over her shoulder like a mission accomplished banner.

Choso glances after her, then back at you.

“She always like that?” you ask.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Only when she senses blood in the water.”

And there’s something playful in his tone this time. Barely there. But it makes your stomach flutter anyway.

You raise a brow. “That so?”

hides a smile behind his glass.

“So,” you say after a beat, “do you always ride in dramatically right after someone talks about you?”

He tilts his head. “You were talkin’ about me?”

You pause, caught.

“…No?”

He hums. “Huh.”

You shoot him a look. “Don’t act like you weren’t eavesdropping.”

“Didn’t have to,” he says, calm as ever. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

You open your mouth to respond, probably with something clever—or at least less humiliating—but he leans an elbow on the bar, eyes on yours.

“Darlin’, I can tell.”

Your jaw drops. “I was not-”

“It’s cute.”

You swat at his arm lightly, but he just chuckles under his breath—barely there, but there.

Somehow, the small talk slips easy after that. Talk of the town. The best place for coffee in the morning (“It’s not the diner,” he warns). At some point, your shoulders stop feeling so tight. And by the time the bartender swings by again with a smug little grin, you're both halfway through your second drinks.

You glance out the window—dark now, and quiet, the kind of still night that makes everything feel slower.

“I should probably head back,” you say, setting your glass down.

Choso finishes his sip and nods. “I’ll walk you.”

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Simple as that.

So you agree.

Outside, the night air is cooler than it was when you stepped in. Crisp in a way that feels nice after being inside with too many people and too many thoughts. Choso falls into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You glance at him. “You always this quiet?”

He shrugs, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “Talk when I need to.”

You hum. “That’s fair. I talk even when I don’t need to, so… you balance it out.”

There’s the ghost of a grin at the edge of his mouth. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

You nudge him lightly with your shoulder, and he lets it happen without comment.

It’s quiet again. Not awkward, just… easy.

You don’t live far, and the walk feels shorter with someone next to you. Before long, your porch light’s glowing just up ahead.

“Well,” you say as you stop in front of your door. “Thanks for the company.”

Choso nods. “You gonna be alright out here on your own?”

“I’ve survived worse,” you joke. “Like moving boxes. And small talk with ranch-hands.”

That gets a real smile out of him. Barely-there dimples. Trouble.

He dips his head a little, eyes on you. “You ever need somethin’, you know where the ranch is.”

You raise a brow. “And what exactly would I be needin’?”

He takes a small step back, eyes flicking to your porch light, then back to you.

“Dunno,” he says, and this time his voice is a little rougher. “Thought I’d leave the door open.”

And with that, he tips his hat—just slightly—and turns to walk off.

[you]: okay wait

[you]: I get it now.

[you]: the cowboy thing.

She replies in two seconds flat.

[shoko]: took you long enough

[shoko]: you gonna test the hands theory or what

You stare at your screen and groan.

[you]: SHOKO.

[you]: i’ve met him 3 times.

[shoko]: and that’s just the BEGINNING

[shoko]: trust the process

[you]: i’m blocking you.

[shoko]: you say that every time sweetie

You huff, turning your phone off, and get up to get ready for bed.

You huff, turn your phone off, and get up to go to bed.

You lie down, stare at the ceiling. Think about the unpacked boxes still in the hallway. The weird noise the fridge made earlier. And then—like clockwork—your mind drifts.

Choso.

You don’t even know him. Had one conversation, maybe two. But of course that’s enough for your brain to cling to the one decent-looking guy you’ve seen in town so far. Tall, quiet, unfairly attractive. Of course.

You roll over, annoyed at yourself.

He’s probably just...normal. Works with his hands. Doesn’t talk much. Wears the whole rugged cowboy thing like it’s not a big deal, which makes it worse somehow. And okay—fine, the “darlin’” thing did something to you. That’s on him. But it’s also on you for letting it live rent-free in your head all day.

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

You didn’t come here to get distracted. Definitely not by some man with pretty hands and a nice voice and a face that should be illegal this far out in the middle of nowhere.

No. You’re here to get your life together.

Unfortunately, your life now involves a cowboy you can’t stop thinking about.

You shut your eyes and try to pretend you’re not already in trouble.

You’d been at it for over an hour now—sweating under the midday sun, brow furrowed, and jaw clenched tight. The damn wooden plank on your porch just wouldn’t fit right. You’d hammered, yanked, cursed, and even tried sweet-talking it at one point, like that would somehow make it cooperate.

It didn’t.

You sit back on your heels with a frustrated sigh, wiping at your temple with the back of your hand. The rest of the porch is a patchwork of replaced and rotted wood, and the one plank holding everything up just refuses to be tamed.

“Y’look like you’re about five seconds from fightin’ that board.”

You jump a little, glancing up to see Choso standing by the gate—hands in his back pockets, hat pulled low, a half-smirk tugging at his lips.

“Don’t tempt me,” you mutter, rising to your feet. “I’ve about had it with this thing.”

He starts walking toward you, boots crunching softly in the dirt. “Need a hand?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no, I—I got it. Don’t worry. I know you’ve got your own work to do.”

He slows to a stop at the edge of the porch. “Ain’t in a rush. S’not a burden if I offer.”

You hesitate. He’s not the kind of man you ask favors from lightly—partly because he’s always so quiet, so distant. But he’s looking at you with a kind of patience that softens his usually sharp features.

“…Alright,” you say, stepping aside. “But only because this thing’s winning, and I can’t have that.”

He huffs a quiet laugh and crouches beside the plank, examining the fit. You expect him to just get to work—but instead, he peels off his gloves, sets them aside, and reaches up to tug his hat off his head.

You blink.

Because holy hell.

You’d only ever seen glimpses of his face before—just enough to wonder what he was hiding beneath the brim. And now that it’s gone, it’s like the sun comes out in full.

He’s beautiful. Not the kind of pretty you’d expect from someone who works rough and silent—no, he’s got the kind of beauty that’s sharp. Angular cheekbones. Long lashes. Hair tied back but loose strands frame his face. And that tattoo—dark and striking across the bridge of his nose—only makes it worse.

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

“...What?” he asks, not looking up, already focused on the wood.

“What?” he asks.

You swallow, trying to play it cool. “Just… didn’t know you had a tattoo there.”

He nods once, unfazed. “Had it a long time.”

“It suits you,” you say before you can think better of it.

Choso pauses. His eyes flick to yours—slow, unreadable.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, then goes right back to work.

The two of you work in near silence after that. He makes quick work of the stubborn plank, fitting it with practiced ease, fingers steady and sure. You hold nails when he asks, pass him tools without thinking. It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel awkward—just natural.

At one point, your hands brush as you hand him the screwdriver. Neither of you say anything. But you feel it. The spark. The stillness.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. His brow is furrowed, lips parted slightly in concentration, and there’s a bit of sawdust on his shoulder.

He catches you looking.

You snap your gaze away.

And in your chest, something shifts. Something soft. Warm. Familiar in a way that unsettles you.

You like him.

It hits you like a whisper—gentle, but impossible to ignore.

When the board’s finally in place, he sits back and nods once, satisfied. “There. Should hold now.”

You clear your throat. “Thanks. Really.”

He glances up at you, hat dangling from his fingers. “Told you I’d help if you needed.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Guess you did.”

The two of you sit there for a minute longer, side by side, watching the wind stir the grass. It’s quiet, but not in a bad way.

Like maybe you don’t need to say everything out loud.

“You want somethin’ to drink?” you ask, brushing your palms on your thighs as you stand. “It’s not much, just some lemonade. Store-bought, not even the fancy kind.”

Choso shifts a little like he’s not used to being offered anything. Like you’ve surprised him.

You catch it, that pause—and suddenly feel a little silly. “You don’t have to, obviously. I just thought, you know… in return for saving me from an early death by splinter.”

He huffs out a laugh, low and amused. “Didn’t know I was savin’ your life.”

“Oh, you absolutely were,” you say, feigning seriousness. “That board had it out for me.”

He looks at you for a second too long. Then: “Alright. I’ll take a glass.”

You try not to grin as you head inside, calling back over your shoulder, “Don’t run off. I’m only sharing if you stay and actually drink it.”

When you return, two slightly sweating glasses in hand, he’s still sitting on the porch step, hat resting beside him, hair a little mussed from the heat and work. He glances up as you hand him his glass.

“Thanks,” he says, fingers brushing yours briefly.

You sit beside him again, both sipping in a quiet that doesn’t feel awkward—just easy.

It’s small. It’s nothing.

But your heart is beating just a little faster anyway.

Choso tips his glass back, slow. “Did a good job, y’know.”

You glance over. “On the porch?”

“On the house. All of it.” He shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal. “Most folks would’ve given up or hired it out. But you stuck with it.”

You blink, surprised by the softness in his voice.

“Thanks,” you say, quieter than you mean to. “I wasn’t sure it’d show.”

He nods once. “It shows.”

Then he stands, stretches a bit, picks up his hat. And just as he steps off the porch, he glances back at you.

“You’re settlin’ in alright,” he says simply. “You should stay. It’d be nice if you do.”

And then he’s gone—hat pulled low again, boots crunching down the gravel path.

You sit there a moment longer, lemonade glass half full in your lap, brain absolutely fried.

You should stay.

Goddamn it.

[you]: shoko

[you]: SHOKO

[shoko]: it’s literally midnight

[shoko]: did something catch on fire

[you]: NO

[you]: but I’m gonna die anyway

[you]: he said it’d be nice if i stay here

[you]: WHO SAYS THAT

[you]: I HAVEN’T STOPPED THINKING ABOUT IT FOR TWO HOURS

[shoko]: it means he thinks you should stay there

[shoko]: probably with him, in his weird cowboy brain

[you]: SHOKO PLEASE

[you]: THAT’S NOT HELPING

[you]: I CALLED LEMONADE “LEMON WATER” AFTER

[you]: I’M SO STUPID

[shoko]: oh you’re down bad

[shoko]: adorable

[shoko]: pls keep embarrassing yourself. it’s entertaining

[shoko]: also

[shoko]: call me when you kiss him

[you]: FUCK YOU.

The Pit is quieter on weeknights. Less rowdy, more murmured conversation and old country music buzzing from the jukebox in the corner. You’re at the bar nursing a whiskey and soda, trying very hard not to think about the way Choso had looked at you like that porch was the only thing standing between you and him.

“You look distracted,” drawls the bartender as she wipes down a glass.

You smile sheepishly. “Long day.”

She hums like she doesn’t believe you, sliding the glass onto the shelf. “Well, you’ll wanna unwind before Saturday anyway. Big weekend comin’.”

You blink. “Saturday?”

“You didn’t hear? Dustwell’s annual Fall Festival.” She leans an elbow on the bar, grinning. “Whole town shows up. Good food, live music, terrible dancing.”

Your brows raise. “That sounds... kind of amazing.”

“Oh, it’s somethin’. Bit of everything—bonfire, market stalls, pie contest, all that small-town charm.” She leans in a little. “You should come. Be a good way to meet folks.”

You sip your drink. “Will there be whiskey?”

“Enough to drown a horse,” she deadpans. “C’mon. You might even have fun.”

You hesitate. Then nod, smiling. “Alright. I’ll check it out.”

She straightens, clearly pleased. “Attagirl.”

You pause. “Is it the kind of thing people go to alone?”

“You won’t be alone long,” she says, smirking as she grabs a bottle from the shelf. “Trust me.”

You smile into your glass and murmur, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She laughs and moves on to the next customer, leaving you sitting in the low golden glow of the bar lights, your drink slowly warming in your hand.

You swirl the ice once more.

You’re going to that festival. You already know exactly who you hope to see there.

You tell yourself it’s just a small-town festival.

No need to overthink it. Just food stalls, some live music, maybe a bonfire if the wind stays down. But somehow, you’ve tried on three outfits already and you’re still standing in front of the mirror, arms crossed, trying to decide if you look like you’re trying.

Your fingers smooth down the hem of the floral babydoll dress you finally settled on—light, flowy, soft against your skin. Not too short. Not too loud. Just enough.

Your boots are worn but clean. A bit of balm on your lips, a brush through your hair. You pause over the mascara.

“Stupid,” you mutter, swiping it on anyway.

You’re not dressing up for him. You’re not.

You grab your bag and give yourself one last look in the mirror. The dress sways with your movement, delicate and easy in the late afternoon light.

You look… nice.

And if a certain broody ranch hand happens to notice?

Well. That’s not why you’re going.

(Probably.)

The lights strung up over Dustwell’s main road flicker warm and golden, casting a glow over the small crowd that’s gathered. There’s laughter, music, chatter—a rhythm to the evening that thrums low and pleasant.

You should be enjoying it.

But your eyes are elsewhere.

You move through the crowd slowly, aimless, pretending to admire booths you don’t quite see. A table of carved wooden animals. A local honey stand. Rows of pies, flaky and golden. People pass with plates stacked high, cups of cider sloshing, the scent of cinnamon in the air.

And still, you keep looking.

Your boots crunch softly on gravel as you round the corner near the bonfire pit. A flicker of orange firelight glows against smiling faces. Couples sway to the drawl of a country ballad being played live somewhere off to the left. You scan each cluster of people with careful, almost casual glances.

He’s not here.

You try not to feel stupid about it.

Choso never said he’d come. Hell, you never even asked him. Maybe he’s back at the ranch. Maybe he hates crowds. Or maybe he just didn’t think about you at all.

You sigh through your nose and roll your shoulders like that could shake the disappointment off.

“Pretty dress,” someone says beside you, voice too close, too sticky with alcohol.

You tense.

Some guy, clearly drunk, sways into your space with a grin that’s more grease than charm. He’s got a beer bottle in hand and eyes that crawl. You step back slightly, but he follows, grin widening.

“You look real sweet tonight,” he adds, leaning closer. “You local?”

You step sideways, the movement polite but clear. “Just passing through,” you lie.

He follows. “Nah, I’ve seen you before. Came in not long ago. You’ve been out at the old farmstead, ain’t you? Near the ridge?”

Your mouth tightens. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

He laughs, too loud, too bold. “Well, we’re meetin’ now, ain’t we?”

“You here alone?” he asks, leaning in. “Don’t seem right, someone like you walkin’ around without a man.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you say, voice firm but polite.

“Aww, c’mon now—don’t be like that,” he drawls, reaching like he’s about to touch your arm.

You stiffen, heart starting to pound—

Then suddenly, there’s someone else.

A wall of quiet tension slots between you and the sleazy stranger, solid and unmoving. The guy stumbles back half a step as the air shifts.

You don’t even need to look up to know who it is.

Low and slow, that familiar gravel-edged voice speaks:

“This guy botherin’ you, darlin’?”

Your heart kicks hard in your chest.

Choso stands between you and the drunk, broad shoulders blocking the man from view, voice calm but carrying a warning beneath it.

You swallow, then nod.

Choso doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t raise his voice. Just says, “Get lost.”

The guy laughs nervously. “Hey, no trouble—just chattin’, that’s all—”

Choso shifts. Barely. But something about the way he straightens, the silence that falls around him—it’s enough.

The drunk mutters something under his breath and stumbles off.

For a beat, it’s quiet.

Then Choso turns, finally, and his eyes rake over you—slowly, like he’s still processing what he’s seeing.

“You alright?” he asks.

You nod, heart fluttering so loud you’re sure he can hear it. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His gaze lingers a second too long before flicking away. “Shouldn’t be lettin’ creeps like that get near you.”

You smile softly. “Wasn’t exactly planning on it.”

He huffs, almost a laugh, then gestures toward the booths. “You eaten yet?”

“…No.”

“C’mon then,” he murmurs. “I’ll buy you somethin’.”

You fall into step beside him.

Maybe you weren’t just looking around after all.

The two of you drift past the bonfire, not saying much at first. There’s an ease to it—like neither of you feels the need to fill the silence. Just the scrape of boots on gravel, the occasional burst of laughter from nearby, and the soft hum of music carried on the wind.

You pause at a food stall where an older woman is selling fried hand pies. Choso buys two without asking—one for you, one for him. You raise an eyebrow as he hands it over.

“Thought I wasn’t hungry,” you say, amused.

“You looked at it twice,” he replies simply.

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “You always this observant?”

He shrugs, chewing. “Just when it matters.”

You try not to read too much into that. You fail.

You wander with him toward a quieter part of the festival, where the booths thin out and string lights dangle lower from wooden poles. Kids run past in a blur, chasing each other with glow sticks. There’s a tent set up nearby with hay bales inside for resting.

You slip into the edge of it to take a break, brushing your skirt down as you sit. Choso stands nearby, arms folded loosely, watching the crowd.

You can’t help sneaking a look at him. The way the firelight hits his profile. The way his jaw tightens when he’s lost in thought. He’s wearing that same beat-up hat—but you’ve seen what’s underneath now. The soft waves of his hair. The scar, beautiful in its own way. How gentle his eyes are, even when his face looks like it’s forgotten how to smile.

“You don’t like crowds, do you?” you ask softly.

He glances over, amused. “Figured that obvious?”

You laugh. “You’re standing like a bouncer outside a saloon.”

He huffs. “Just keepin’ an eye out.”

“For trouble?”

He looks at you for a beat. “For you.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Your fingers fidget with the edge of your dress—until you feel his gaze lower.

“That dress,” he says, voice low like he almost hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “You look real pretty in it.”

You blink up at him, caught off guard. “…What?”

He shifts his weight, gaze still on you but softer now. “I mean it. Real damn pretty, darlin’.”

Your heart jumps at the nickname. God, it sounds even better tonight. Heat crawls up the back of your neck as you glance down at the floral fabric bunched around your knees.

“I almost wore jeans,” you murmur, smiling despite yourself.

He chuckles, and it’s quiet but deep. “Would’ve looked good either way. But I’m glad you didn’t.”

You peek up at him again—and he’s still looking. Not just at your dress, not at the way your hair’s curled around your shoulders—but at you. Really looking.

He gestures to the edge of the hill beyond the festival. “C’mon. There’s a view you might like.”

You follow without thinking.

And maybe this isn’t a date. Maybe you both keep pretending it’s not.

But as he walks just ahead of you, turning back now and then to make sure you’re still with him—you feel it settling in your chest.

You follow him past the last of the booths, away from the warmth of the fire and the noise of the crowd. The grass grows wilder out here, untamed and soft beneath your boots. String lights give way to open sky, and above you, the stars stretch wide and scattered like sugar spilled over velvet.

Choso walks a little ahead, hands tucked in his pockets. His pace is slow, easy. Like he’s making sure you can keep up without looking like he’s trying.

“D you always bring girls out here?” you tease, nudging his arm gently with your shoulder.

He glances at you, amused. “Ain’t much of a crowd person, remember?”

“Still didn’t answer the question.”

That almost-smile tugs at his lips again. “No. First time.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but your heart makes a quiet little flutter behind your ribs.

The hill slopes up just enough to make your calves ache by the time you reach the top. But the view? It’s worth it.

Below, Dustwell looks like something out of a painting. Warm flickers of light. People like shadows moving between tents. Music floating up faint and distant. And past it all, the open stretch of the plains—blue-black and endless.

You exhale softly. “Wow.”

Choso settles beside you, just close enough for your arms to almost brush. “Didn’t oversell it, huh?”

You shake your head. “You didn’t say anything about it being this beautiful.”

He glances sideways, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something else.

Instead, he hums low in his throat and says, “Figured you’d see it yourself.”

A breeze kicks up, catching the hem of your dress and lifting it just enough to make you shiver. You cross your arms, rubbing at your sleeves, and without a word, Choso shrugs off his jacket.

You hesitate. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he says simply, already draping it over your shoulders. “But you’re cold.”

The jacket smells like cedar and sun-warmed cotton. It’s too big, but in a comforting way. You sink into it without thinking, and when you glance up to thank him, he’s already looking at you.

Not shy. Not teasing.

Just… honest.

And something about it—something about him—makes your pulse slow, heavy in your ears.

Maybe this isn’t a date.

But it feels like one.

And right now, that’s more than enough.

You both fall into a quiet lull, watching the horizon blur at its edges. The night wraps around you, soft and vast, and with his jacket warming your shoulders, something inside you loosens.

You hug it closer. “I wasn’t even sure I’d stay at first,” you admit, voice hushed. “Dustwell just… felt like a name on a deed. Not a place I’d belong.”

Choso doesn’t interrupt. He waits, like he knows there’s more.

“I thought I’d fix up the house, sell it maybe. Move back to the city,” you say. “But then I started patching up things. Talking to people. And then…”

You glance over, offering a small smile. “Then I met you.”

His gaze is steady, unreadable—but his jaw flexes, just barely. Like your words landed somewhere deeper than you meant them to.

You shift slightly, brushing hair away from your face. “You ever get that feeling? Like maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if it doesn’t make sense yet?”

He’s silent for a beat too long.

Then, quietly—“Yeah.”

The word hangs between you, heavy and fragile.

You turn to face him fully now, searching his expression—and find that he’s already looking at you.

And there’s something in his eyes. Something new.

Tentative. Quiet. Intense.

His gaze flickers downward—just once, just enough to make your breath catch.

To your mouth.

He swallows, throat working. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, ’m gonna start gettin’ ideas.”

Your heart slams in your chest.

And then he leans in—slow, so goddamn slow, like giving you every chance to pull away.

But you don’t.

Your hand finds the edge of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric on instinct—like you need something to hold onto to keep you grounded. His fingertips skim along your jaw, featherlight, until his thumb brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He doesn’t pull away.

And you don’t either.

The air between you grows thick, weighted with everything unsaid. His hand lingers just beneath your jaw, rough from work and calloused in a way that feels real, solid—so unlike anything you’ve ever known.

You swear your heart’s beating so loud it’s echoing in your ears.

His eyes flicker from yours to your lips and back again, like he’s giving you every second to say no.

You don’t.

His nose grazes yours, warm breath fanning across your skin. Your lashes flutter as your eyes fall shut.

Then, finally, his lips press to yours.

Soft. Barely there at first. Just a brush. A question.

You sigh—yes, God, yes—and that’s all he needs.

The kiss deepens, coaxed open by quiet urgency and something tender just beneath the surface. His palm cradles the side of your face now, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

He tastes like mint and something a little smoky, a little wild. He kisses like he’s not used to having something this gentle, this good, and he’s afraid it’ll vanish if he pushes too hard.

But still—he leans in closer.

Your spine meets the wooden rail behind you, but you hardly notice. Your hands slide up to his chest, the warmth of him soaking through his shirt, steady and sure. One of his hands drifts to your waist, grounding you, tugging you infinitesimally closer.

And God—you feel it. That shift.

That invisible line you just crossed.

When you finally part, it’s only because you need to breathe. And even then, his lips brush yours once more. A quieter kiss. A promise.

He doesn’t move far.

Forehead resting against yours, he murmurs, voice husky, “Been wantin’ to do that for a while now.”

You smile, lips still tingling. “Yeah?”

His eyes don’t leave yours. “Yeah.”

You blink up at him, dazed. Your lips still buzz where his mouth had just been, and your heart is doing something stupidly dramatic in your chest—fluttering like it’s got something to prove.

Choso pulls back just enough to see you, really see you. There’s a small crease between his brows like he’s still unsure if he overstepped.

But all you can do is stare.

Then—God—you laugh.

A quiet, breathy little sound that slips out before you can catch it.

He tilts his head. “Somethin’ funny, darlin’?”

Your hands are still resting against his chest, and you shake your head, cheeks warming. “No—no, just… I think my brain short-circuited a little.”

That earns the faintest smirk from him—just the barest curve at the corner of his mouth, but it feels like sunlight cracking through clouds.

“Well,” he drawls, voice low and rough, “you did look real pretty tonight. Could’ve warned me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to play it cool despite the way your pulse is still racing. “Is that how you kiss everyone?”

He huffs a quiet breath—almost a laugh—and dips his gaze to your lips again. “No,” he says, low. “Just you.”

That does something to your chest. You feel it settle there, warm and certain.

Your voice is quieter now. “Why me?”

His eyes meet yours again, steady. “Ain’t figured that part out yet.”

And just like that, the shyness dissolves into something quieter, sweeter. You lean into him, your hands settling over his heart. It’s steady. Comforting.

He doesn’t rush the silence. Doesn’t push.

The noise of the festival still hums in the background, but it feels like a distant memory now—muted beneath the rush of your heart and the warmth still lingering on your lips.

He steps back a little, just enough to breathe, but not enough to lose the closeness. “You wan’ me to walk ya home?”

Your answer is immediate, quiet. “I do.”

You fall into step beside each other, the path dimly lit by strings of warm bulbs and the fading firelight from the festival. The ground crunches under your boots, and the night air wraps cool and easy around your skin. He doesn’t speak at first, and you don’t mind. You like the silence between you—it’s comfortable. Safe.

Then, as you near the edge of town, his hand brushes yours.

Just barely.

You glance over at him. He’s looking straight ahead like nothing happened, but there’s a soft pink creeping up the side of his neck.

You don’t say anything. You just let your hand shift a little closer.

The next time they touch, it’s on purpose.

Fingers slide together slow, like testing the weight of something new.

He doesn’t pull away.

And neither do you.

By the time you reach your porch, the stars are scattered thick above you and the crickets are singing like they know something you don’t.

You stop at the steps, not quite ready to go inside.

Choso stands just a step down, taller than you even now, his silhouette all shadows and moonlight. His fingers are still loosely curled around yours.

He looks at you, quiet.

You look back.

Something thick and tender swims in the air between you.

Then, just as you’re about to speak—he leans in again.

But this time, it’s different.

Softer. Slower. Like he’s savoring it.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin, and his lips meet yours in a kiss that’s warm and unhurried. Like a goodnight. Like a promise.

It doesn’t last long—but it doesn’t need to.

When he pulls away, you’re still standing there, blinking, trying to catch your breath.

“Night, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.

You open your mouth to respond but—nothing comes out.

He smirks, just barely, and tips his hat before turning back toward the road, boots crunching softly as he walks away.

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding, pressing your fingers to your lips, heart racing.

[you]: shoko.

[you]: he kissed me.

[you]: just… kissed me. said “night, darlin’” and walked off like it was nothing.

[you]: i think i forgot how to stand for a second.

You watch the typing bubble blink in and out a few times.

[shoko]: and how was it

[you]: …really good.

[shoko]: knew it. told you he had a thing for you.

[you]: you also said he probably talks to horses more than people.

[shoko]: and apparently he kisses better than both. proud of you.

You huff a laugh, dropping your head back against the couch.

The room is quiet. The porch light still glows through the curtains. Your lips still tingle.

You pull your knees up to your chest, phone resting in your palm.

And when sleep finally pulls you under, it's with the weight of his touch still lingering and his voice—low and warm—tucked somewhere in the back of your mind.

The days that follow feel different.

Not loud or sudden—just quieter in a way that stays with you.

Like the way his eyes linger a little longer when you talk. Like the way he leans in when no one’s looking. Like the way your hand always seems to find his when no one’s around to see.

There’s a moment in the barn—just the two of you, the air heavy with hay and late sun—where he kisses you slow, with one hand braced against the stall and the other at your waist. You laugh into his mouth, and he smiles like he can’t help it.

Another time, it’s behind your house, just after he helps you carry firewood. You thank him and mean it—and before you can say more, he cups your jaw and kisses you like he’s been thinking about it all day.

Sometimes, though—sometimes it shifts.

Like the night you're sitting side by side on your porch steps, your knee brushing his, your laughter fading into something quieter. His eyes darken as they drop to your mouth. He kisses you, slower this time. Deeper. And when his lips trail down to the edge of your jaw, when his hand skims along your thigh—

The porch light flickers.

A car rumbles by.

You both pause, breath caught in your throats.

He pulls back with a soft exhale, forehead resting against yours for a second longer before he clears his throat and leans away.

Another time, it’s the hayloft—warm, private, the dust floating golden in the air. He’s hovering above you, lips at your collarbone, fingers curling just under the hem of your shirt—

Then the barn door creaks. A voice calls for him.

You sit up, flushed and breathless, heart thudding hard in your chest.

He mutters something under his breath, presses a kiss to your temple, and climbs down first.

It’s never awkward. Never forced.

Just moments that build. Stretch. Hold.

And it’s always him who pulls back—like he's afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t.

The air seems lighter, the walk into town quieter, your thoughts a little louder.

You find yourself smiling at nothing, fingers ghosting over your lips like they still remember the weight of his. And when you catch sight of him across the way—hat low, shirt clinging to his shoulders from the heat—you swear your pulse stutters.

He doesn’t say much when he sees you, just tips his head in that lazy way of his, mouth curling faintly at the edges.

But as you pass by, his hand brushes yours—just for a second. Barely there. Like a secret no one else is supposed to notice.

And you swear your skin hums from the touch.

Later, when you're out by the edge of the property replacing fence boards, he shows up with that same quiet timing he always does. He leans against the post beside you, hands in his pockets, watching.

“You’re gonna get splinters, y’know,” he drawls.

You shoot him a look. “Then maybe you should help.”

He does.

And this time, when he kneels beside you, handing you nails and steadying the board with one hand, his knee brushes yours and stays there. There’s no flinch, no apology—just a glance up, a half-smile passed between you.

When he stands, he offers a hand to pull you up. You hesitate a moment too long before taking it, your fingers curling around his, warm and sure.

“You always this helpful?” you tease.

He shrugs. “Only when there’s pretty company.”

You try to roll your eyes, but the way your heart kicks in your chest ruins the effort.

It starts with a rumble.

The sky’s been moody all morning, clouds hanging heavy like they’re waiting for the right moment to split open. You’d taken the risk anyway, walking into town for some supplies, telling yourself you’d beat the storm back.

You don’t.

You're only halfway down the winding road back to the house when it hits—sudden and sharp, fat drops pelting the dust and kicking up the smell of rain-soaked earth. Within seconds, you’re drenched. Your dress clings to your skin, hair plastered to your face, and you’re shivering as you trudge along, arms wrapped around yourself.

You barely hear the truck pulling up beside you over the roar of rain.

But you definitely hear his voice.

“Darlin’?”

You blink through the downpour, and there he is—Choso, leaning out the driver’s side window of his old pickup, hat pulled low, brow furrowed in concern.

“You tryin’ to drown out here?”

You shake your head, a breathless laugh escaping you despite the chill. “Thought I could outrun it.”

His eyes flick down, taking in your soaked dress, the way you’re hugging your elbows. His jaw flexes.

“My place is closer,” he says after a beat. “C’mon.”

You hesitate only for a second. Not because you don’t trust him—you do, more than you probably should—but because stepping into that truck feels like crossing into something else. Something charged.

Still, the rain’s cold, and your feet hurt, and his voice is so damn gentle.

You nod.

He’s out of the truck in a blink, jogging around the front and opening the door for you like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t send a flutter through your chest. He holds the door open as you climb in, and when your fingers brush his wrist, they’re warm, solid. Comforting.

Inside the cab, the heater’s on, and it smells like cedar and something faintly smoky. Choso reaches behind the seat, grabs an old flannel, and without a word, drapes it over your shoulders.

You glance over at him, your hands gripping the soft fabric.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes fixed ahead as he pulls back onto the road. Then, voice low: “Ain’t gonna let you freeze out here.”

You look over at him again, and this time, he catches your gaze.

The silence stretches.

“You always play knight in shining armor?” you tease, trying for casual, though your voice is soft around the edges.

Choso doesn’t look at you right away. His fingers flex around the steering wheel. “Nah,” he says eventually. “Don’t usually have a reason to.”

The hum of the engine fills the cab, steady and low, and the rain tapping against the windshield makes the world outside feel far away—blurred and gray and quiet.

Inside, it’s warmer. Safer.

You clutch the flannel tighter around you, the sleeves hanging over your fingers. The scent of it—woodsmoke, leather, something him—makes your chest ache just a little.

“Didn’t think the weather’d turn that fast,” you murmur, glancing out the window.

Choso glances over. “Storms move quick out here,” he says. “You’ll learn.”

You smile faintly. “Guess I’m still adjusting.”

“You’re doin’ alright,” he says, voice low.

The silence returns, but it’s not awkward. It settles over the two of you like another blanket. Comforting. There’s something steady in his presence, something grounding, and it creeps in slow, calming your nerves until your body starts to relax on its own.

He makes a turn, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulls onto a long, dirt path lined with wild mesquite trees. You didn’t realize how close his place actually was.

Your eyes feel heavy. Maybe it’s the warmth. Maybe it’s the rhythm of the road.

Maybe it’s him.

You glance over, watching him quietly—his jawline, the way the rain beads on the brim of his hat. Without thinking, you lean a little closer, until your head gently rests against his shoulder.

Choso’s muscles tense just slightly beneath you.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, starting to pull away.

But his voice stops you—soft, quieter than usual.

“It’s alright.”

And so you stay.

For a minute, maybe two, neither of you says anything. His shoulder is solid and warm beneath your cheek. You close your eyes.

“You get used to the rain, too,” he says after a while. “’Specially when you’ve got someone to ride it out with.”

There’s a pause. Your fingers twitch under the flannel.

“Think I’d like that,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer, but you can feel the way his breath shifts. Like he wants to say something but bites it back.

The truck rolls to a stop.

“We’re here,” he says gently.

The rain’s still falling when Choso gets out and jogs around to open your door, hat tilted low to shield from the downpour. You hesitate for a second before slipping your hand into his, jumping down from the truck. His palm is rough and warm, and when you look up at him, his eyes are already on you.

The walk to the front porch is brief but soaked. By the time you’re inside, boots tracking mud onto the wooden floor, your clothes cling to your skin and your hair’s dripping water down your neck.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” Choso says, tossing his keys onto a hook near the door. “Towels are in the cabinet. I’ll find you somethin’ dry.”

You nod, teeth chattering just a bit. “Thanks.”

The bathroom smells faintly of cedar and old cologne. You dry off as best you can, toweling your hair and arms. When you step out, Choso’s waiting in the hall with a bundle in his hands—a soft, well-worn hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that’ll definitely be too big.

“Hope that works,” he says, eyes flicking over you quickly. “Didn’t figure you’d want jeans.”

You smile, hugging the bundle to your chest. “Perfect.”

When you come out dressed in his clothes, sleeves past your hands and the waistband of the sweatpants rolled over once, he’s in the kitchen, pouring you a mug of something steaming.

“Here,” he says, holding it out. “Hot cocoa. Not coffee—it’s late.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t peg you as the cocoa type.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. “I ain’t. But you seem like the kind who’d need somethin’ sweet after a cold walk home.”

Your stomach flips.

You sip slowly, the warmth seeping into your fingers. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you. There’s a quiet in the room again—not awkward, just…thick. Charged. Like something could happen if either of you let it.

Then, he tilts his head a bit. “You look good in that.”

Your gaze snaps up to his.

“In what?”

He nods at the hoodie. “Never liked how it looked on me, but it suits you.”

You laugh softly, heart in your throat. “I look like I’m drowning in it.”

“Still suits you.”

You barely register the shift in the air until you feel him move behind you—slow, purposeful. His boots echo quiet on the wooden floor, and before you can even turn, he’s there. His arms plant on either side of you, palms flat against the counter, caging you in without a word.

The space between your bodies buzzes with unspoken something. His chest nearly brushes your back, and when he dips his head, breath warm at the curve of your neck, you freeze.

Then—soft.

The faintest brush of his lips against your skin. Once. Then again. Featherlight, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to want this much.

You manage a breathless laugh. “I’m starting to think this was all an excuse to bring me here.”

You feel him smile against your neck, a quiet huff of amusement. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

Your heart skips, and before you can respond, he presses one more kiss—just below your ear this time—and murmurs, voice low, rough:

“Glad you agreed to come.”

You shift slightly, finally daring to glance back at him. “And if I hadn’t?”

He lifts his head, eyes locking with yours now—closer than you expected, darker too. “Guess I’d be missin’ out.”

The tension between you crackles. You're not sure who leans in first, but suddenly the distance isn’t so wide anymore.

His mouth crashes against yours this time—no hesitation, no space to think, just heat.

It’s clumsy at first, teeth clashing, breath hitching, but neither of you care. Your fingers tangle in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer like you’ll fall apart if there’s even an inch between you. He groans into your mouth, low and rough, one hand sliding around your waist to press you flush to him, the other threading into your hair.

Your back hits the counter as he crowds you in, lips hot and relentless, kissing like he means to memorize every inch. Tongues meet, the kiss deepening into something hungry, something that’s been simmering just below the surface for far too long.

His fingers splay across your lower back, gripping like he can’t stand the thought of letting go. Your hands wander—his jaw, his neck, the soft strands of his hair now damp from the rain. He kisses you like he’s starved, like this moment has been clawing at the edge of his self-control for days. Weeks.

When you gasp against him, he takes the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip, chasing it with a gentler kiss right after—contrasting, addictive. You pull him closer, like you’ll crawl into him if he lets you.

The only sound in the room is the soft rustle of clothing, the quiet thud of footsteps shifting, the desperate sound of mouths colliding again and again—wet, open-mouthed, aching.

Nothing else exists. Just the warmth of his body, the taste of his kiss, and the way he’s kissing you like he never wants to stop.

His hand slips beneath your hoodie, palm warm and steady against your skin. It’s not rushed—he touches like he’s memorizing, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice thick. “’Bout you.”

You shiver, not just from his touch but from how needy he sounds—like he’s been holding back and it’s finally breaking loose.

His teeth graze your jaw, your neck, and then he’s kissing lower, slower, the kind of kiss that makes your knees threaten to give out.

“You gotta tell me to stop,” he says, breath hot against your skin, “or I’m not gonna.”

But your hands are already tugging his shirt up, fingers greedy against the lines of his stomach, and the way you say his name—low, breathy, a little wrecked—has him cursing under his breath.

He’s everywhere—hands and lips and heat.

You barely notice when his hands shift—one to your thigh, the other braced at your lower back—until your feet leave the ground.

You gasp, arms locking around his shoulders as he lifts you like you weigh nothing.

“Choso—”

“Not here,” he murmurs, voice rough in your ear. “You deserve better than a fuckin’ kitchen counter.”

The heat of his breath sends a full-body shiver down your spine, but there’s something else too—the way he carries you, steady and certain, like he’s done thinking. Like he’s made up his mind.

He walks with you through the dim hallway, never once breaking eye contact when you look up at him.

“You sure?” he asks, even though he’s already halfway to his room.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah.”

His mouth twitches and the second you’re in his room, he’s setting you down on the bed like you’re the most important thing he’s ever touched.

Then he’s on you again, lips trailing down your neck, hands at your waist, tugging at your clothes like they’re in the way of something holy.

He leans over you, breath still heavy, eyes dragging across your body like he can’t decide where to touch first. You’re in his hoodie—his hoodie—and there’s something about that that makes his jaw flex, like the sight alone has undone him.

“Didn’t think you could look better in my clothes,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly. “’Til now.”

His fingers curl around the hem, and he lifts it inch by inch, knuckles brushing your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your chest—leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He pulls it over your head with care, like he’s unwrapping something delicate, and tosses it aside without taking his eyes off you.

Then his hands slide to the waistband of the sweatpants.

He hooks his fingers under the fabric, ready to ask again—ready to take it slow. But when he tugs it down your hips and catches the bare skin beneath, he freezes.

There’s no fabric. No lace. Nothing.

His breath catches—sharp and audible—and his hands go still.

“...You’re not wearin’ anything underneath,” he says, almost like he’s making sure he didn’t just imagine it.

You nod, watching the understanding settle across his face. “Yeah. Didn’t wanna put them back on. You handed me your clothes, so I just…”

His hands tighten at your hips, knuckles flexing against your bare skin like he’s trying so fucking hard not to lose it.

“Jesus,” he mutters, low and hoarse, like the image just broke something in him. “You’ve been like this the whole time?”

Your breath hitches, and that’s all the answer he needs.

The shift in him is instant—his mouth is back on your skin, kissing a line down your stomach, then your inner thigh, slower this time, deeper, like he’s savoring the thought.

Hands spread your legs with a kind of reverence, eyes locked on you like a man seeing something sacred for the first time.

And when he settles between them, shoulders anchoring your thighs apart, it’s not just lust in his expression.

It’s awe. It’s hunger. It’s devotion.

He exhales slow, like he’s trying to ground himself—but the tension in his shoulders says it’s a losing battle.

“Fuck, baby…” he murmurs, voice barely there, lips hovering just over your skin. “You got no idea what that’s doin’ to me.”

His fingers dig into your thighs, spreading you wider as he leans in—and when he finally drags his tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate, it pulls a gasp straight from your chest.

He groans against you, deep and raw, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes, almost in disbelief, like he wasn’t expecting you to be this ready for him. “This all for me?”

You nod, breath ragged, and he huffs a short, wrecked laugh against your skin. Then he’s back at it—mouth open, tongue greedy, sucking your clit into the heat of his mouth before pulling away just enough to tease you with the flat of his tongue.

It’s messy. It’s focused. He’s focused—like he’s been dreaming about this and finally has you where he wants you, and now he can’t stop. Won’t stop.

He grips your thighs tighter when they start to twitch, holding you in place, tongue fucking into you with slow, devastating precision. He’s learning what makes you squirm, what makes your hips buck, and he goes after it again and again—hungry, deliberate, obsessed.

Every so often, he pauses just to kiss you there. Open-mouthed, lingering kisses, like he’s trying to make it tender and filthy at the same time.

And when he speaks, it’s into your skin—low and reverent and wrecked.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls. “Could stay down here all night. You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me make you come on my fuckin’ tongue?”

You can’t even respond—your fingers are in his hair, clutching hard, and he moans at the way you tug, like your need turns him on even more.

He doesn’t stop. If anything, he gets deeper, more intense—tongue and lips working in tandem, determined to push you right over the edge.

And the look he gives you when you start to unravel? It’s pure worship.

Like you’re a miracle.

He doesn’t rush.

Doesn’t tear into you like he’s trying to make a point. He just stays there—mouth warm and steady, tongue moving slow and sure through your folds, like he’s figuring you out by feel.

And the second you react—hips tilting toward him, breath hitching—he locks onto it. Keeps going in the same rhythm, like he’s memorizing what works.

His grip on your thighs tightens just slightly, holding you open, but never forceful. Just firm. Like he doesn’t want to miss a single twitch, a single sound. One hand slides up, settling on your hip, grounding you, keeping you right where he wants you. The other stays on your thigh, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin, keeping you calm. Or trying to.

Because it’s not calm anymore.

There’s nothing showy in the way he moves—just focused, hungry pressure. Every lap of his tongue has intention behind it. He’s not trying to tease. He wants you to come, and it’s obvious in every breath, every groan, every time his mouth seals around your clit and pulls a noise out of you you didn’t know you could make.

When you start to shake, he pulls back just a little—enough to look at you.

“Almost there?”

You nod fast, too far gone for words, and that’s all he needs.

He goes right back in, tongue and mouth working in sync now, no hesitation, no breaks. Just pressure, just heat, just him, fully focused on pulling you under. The tension builds quick—sharp and tight, spiraling—and he doesn’t stop until you fall apart.

Even then, he lingers. Soft, slow, soothing now. Gentle licks while you come down, his hands smoothing over your hips like he’s making sure you’re still breathing.

He stays between your thighs for a moment, just breathing, eyes dragging over you like he’s trying to decide if you’re real. Then his hand slides down—slow, careful—and his fingers spread you open with a quiet, appreciative hum.

“You’re still dripping,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

He runs a thumb through the mess he’s made, not teasing, just... feeling. Like he needs to know how soft you are, how warm. Then he shifts up slightly, mouth still close, and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh before slipping one finger in—slow and steady.

“Still with me?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, biting your lip, hips twitching at the stretch.

“Good.”

He keeps it gentle at first, letting you adjust, watching your face the whole time. Then he curls his finger just right, and the sound you make has him swearing under his breath.

“Fuck… yeah. There it is.”

He adds a second finger, just as slowly. It’s a snug fit, but you’re wet enough that he doesn’t have to push hard—and he doesn’t. He’s careful, steady, easing you open like he wants to take his time.

Like it matters.

And it does.

“You’re takin’ me so well already,” he says quietly, more wonder than praise. “Gonna feel so fuckin’ good around me.”

His fingers work in a steady rhythm now—deep, purposeful, hitting the spot over and over while his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing soft, slow circles that have your thighs shaking all over again.

“Think you can come like this?” he asks, almost curious. “Wanna feel you squeeze around my fingers before I even get inside you.”

He keeps going until your legs are trembling again, until you’re arching into him without even realizing, until he knows you’re right there—

And he doesn’t stop until he has you falling apart a second time.

You’re still catching your breath when his fingers slip free, slow and careful, like he doesn’t want to lose the warmth of you just yet. He presses another kiss to your inner thigh, then one just above your hipbone, working his way up your body with this quiet, steady intensity—like he’s been waiting forever to touch you like this.

When he finally settles over you, his face is close, his hair still damp at the ends, a little wild from where you’ve tugged at it.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and quiet. Not just a throwaway check-in—he means it. Like if you said stop right now, he actually would.

You nod, still flushed, still reeling.

He studies you for a beat longer, eyes scanning your face like he’s looking for any sign you’re not sure. But you are. And when your hand curls around the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss, that’s all he needs.

His mouth moves over yours—slow this time, less frantic than before. It’s warm. Intimate. Like he wants you to feel how much this means to him. And when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“Still not rushin’ you,” he says, almost like a promise. “But I want you. Been wantin’ you since the day we met.”

You swallow, heart pounding, and ease up onto your knees.

“Then let me,” you murmur. “I want to.”

He nods—small, reverent. His hands fall back to the mattress like he’s surrendering himself to you completely, and you shift, climbing into his lap with shaky hands and a tight chest. He watches you the whole time, eyes dark but gentle, tracking the way your thighs settle around his hips.

You lean forward to kiss him once—slow, almost nervous—then sit back and reach for the waistband of his sweatpants.

And that’s when your breath catches.

He’s big.

Thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip, and heavy against his stomach. You don’t even have your hand around him yet and he looks like he shouldn’t fit.

Choso sees your hesitation—feels it, maybe—and his voice comes quiet. Steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you whisper, eyes still locked on him.

You reach down, fingers curling around the base, and he shudders under you. The sound he makes is low and wrecked, like even the idea of you touching him is too much.

You guide him toward your entrance, breathing a little harder now. Every nerve is alive. His leaky tip brushes against you and he groans, fingers twitching against the bedsheets.

“Wait,” he says softly, his voice suddenly closer, steadier. His hand comes to your thigh, grounding. “You alright?”

You nod—quick, almost frantic.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I just—you're big.”

His thumb strokes gently along your skin. “I know, baby. You don’t gotta rush, alright?”

Still, you press down—slowly, inch by inch—and your body gives, stretching around him. He’s thick, the burn immediate but not unbearable, just enough to make your eyes flutter shut, jaw tight as you try to breathe through it.

He sees it all.

Your thighs shaking. The hitch in your breath. The way your hands scramble for something to hold onto—him, the sheets, anything.

“Takin’ me so good,” he murmurs, sitting up just a bit to cup your face. His thumbs brush beneath your eyes. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You blink down at him—and that’s when the tears slip, soft and silent.

“Oh, hey,” he whispers, thumbing them away gently, kissing the edge of your jaw. “Shh… you’re okay. You’re doin’ so good for me.”

His hands cradle your hips now, steadying you. Not forcing—supporting.

“You feel like heaven,” he says, eyes flicking down to where you’re still taking him. “You’re perfect. So fuckin’ perfect like this.”

Your breath stutters as you sink just a little more, and his jaw clenches hard.

“God, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You pause with most of him inside, breath shaky, overwhelmed—but full. And when your eyes find his again, he’s already there, watching you with a kind of quiet awe.

“You’re okay?” he asks again, softer this time.

You nod, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“I want to,” you whisper.

Choso smiles—soft and aching.

“Then take your time,” he says. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

You breathe deep, hands braced on his chest, hips trembling as you sink down the last few inches. The stretch burns, your body aching with the effort, but the way he looks at you—like you’re some kind of miracle—keeps you steady.

And then you bottom out.

Your thighs meet his hips. He’s all the way inside.

And for a second, everything goes still.

Choso’s head falls back against the pillows with a ragged breath, jaw clenched so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind. His fingers grip your hips, not to guide you, just to anchor himself—like he needs something to hold on to or he’ll lose whatever grip on reality he has left.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Baby—fuck, you—”

His eyes squeeze shut and he groans, long and low, like he’s never felt anything like this before. Like you’ve just undone him completely.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, voice shaking. “You feel so fuckin’ good, I can’t—can’t even think straight.”

Your hands slide up his chest as you breathe through the fullness, the pressure—every nerve raw and pulsing.

He blinks up at you, eyes blown wide, flushed and wrecked. His hands move again, gentler now, one cupping your waist, the other smoothing up your spine until it cradles the back of your head.

“You okay?” he murmurs again. “Still good?”

You nod, breathless, lips parted. “Yeah.”

“You’re takin’ me so good. Can’t believe you’re lettin’ me in like this. Feels like—feels like I’m dreamin’,” he murmurs, kissing your chest, your collarbone, wherever he can reach.

You shift your hips just slightly, and he groans, clutching at your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Don’t move yet,” he begs, forehead pressed to your sternum. “Just—just stay like this a minute. Let me feel you.”

And so you do.

You sit there, chest to chest, buried deep in each other, his hands trembling against your skin, your breath feathering against his ear. No movement. No rush. Just the overwhelming heat of him inside you, the way he kisses your shoulder like he’s saying thank you without words.

Like he can’t believe he gets to be this close.

You start to move—just barely. A slow roll of your hips, careful and unsure, easing yourself into the rhythm.

Choso groans, low and guttural, his fingers tightening where they rest on your hips. You feel him twitch inside you, thick and heavy, and when you do it again—just a little deeper—his head drops back with a gasp.

“Baby…”

It’s a warning. A plea. His restraint is hanging by a thread.

But you do it again—grind down a little harder, a little slower—and that thread snaps.

He surges up with a grunt, hips bucking into you hard and sudden, burying himself deeper than before. You gasp, eyes wide, hands flying to his chest for balance.

“Choso—!”

“Fuck, I can’t,” he growls, mouth at your neck, voice cracked and breathless. “You feel too good—too fuckin’ good—I tried, baby, I did—”

He thrusts up again, rougher now, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. You moan loud, back arching into him, completely overwhelmed.

He groans against your shoulder, hands gripping your hips like a man possessed, guiding you into a rhythm he can’t hold back anymore. Snapping up into you over and over, messy and hard and desperate.

“So tight—so fuckin’ wet—” he pants. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

You whimper, nodding against his mouth, and he kisses you hard, open and gasping between thrusts.

“This what you wanted?” he mutters, teeth grazing your bottom lip. “Me losin’ it underneath you? Fuckin’ you like I need it?”

Your only answer is a cry—his name—and that breaks him even more.

He pounds into you now, rhythm rough and frantic, his body trembling under the weight of it all. Every thrust drives him deeper, drags a moan from your throat, makes your vision blur with heat.

His thumb brushes your clit, fast and precise, and your whole body jerks.

“There you go,” he breathes, watching you with wild eyes. “C’mon, baby. Wanna feel you cum on me. Wanna feel you lose it—right fuckin’ here.”

And with the way he’s fucking into you—relentless, possessive, absolutely wrecked—you know you won’t last long.

Your climax crashes through you like a wave—sudden, shaking, too much. Your hips stutter, thighs trembling where they’re locked around him, mouth falling open in a gasping moan.

“Thaaat’s it,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, slowing his thrusts but never stopping, easing you through the high. “That’s my girl. Fuck—so pretty when you come for me.”

His grip on your waist loosens just slightly, letting you ride the tail end of it. You collapse forward onto his chest, boneless, breathing hard, face tucked into the crook of his neck as your walls flutter helplessly around him.

He groans.

And then it happens.

In one fluid motion, he moves—sits up, grabs you by the hips, and flips you onto your back like you weigh nothing. Your gasp barely escapes before his mouth is on yours, hungry, his body heavy and burning over yours.

He thrusts back into you hard and deep, and your whole body jolts. He’s panting now, fully gone, sweat beading at his temple, hair sticking to his jaw in damp strands.

His hips slap against yours, hard and fast, rhythm brutal. Gone is the careful restraint.

“Fuck—you’re still so tight,” he pants, driving into you again, harder. “So warm—could stay inside you forever.”

One hand grabs your thigh and pushes it back, open, spreading you wider so he can get even deeper. You cry out, toes curling, fingernails dragging down his back.

“Hold it there, baby,” he says through clenched teeth, eyes locked on where you’re joined. “Just like that—let me have it.”

His other hand drops between your bodies, fingers finding your clit like he knows exactly what you need. He rubs tight, fast circles, dragging a broken sound from your throat.

“You’re gonna give me another one,” he growls, pace relentless. “You’re gonna fuckin’ take it.”

And with the way he’s pounding into you—feral, possessed, hand on your thigh, breath hot against your cheek—you know he means it.

You’re not leaving this bed until he’s satisfied.

You’re soaked—sweat-slick and breathless beneath him, body trembling with the aftershocks of your third orgasm but he’s still moving—still buried inside you, deep and hard and relentless.

“Cho,” you whimper, voice wrecked, eyes fluttering.

“I know, I know,” Choso breathes, hand still working tight, precise circles against your clit. “One more, you got one more for me.”

You’re not sure if it’s a question or a command—but your body responds before your mouth can. Hips twitching, walls fluttering again around him like you need him to wring the last of it from you.

His thrusts grow rougher—sloppier, deeper—his control unraveling fast. His hand moves from your thigh to your face, tilting your chin toward him as he leans in, eyes locked to yours.

“You feel what you’re doin’ to me?” he hisses. “Can’t hold back anymore—fuck, baby—”

And then he slams into you one last time, hips grinding deep as you clench around him like a vice.

That’s all it takes. You break.

Again.

Your fourth orgasm rips through you without warning—violent, breath-stealing, almost too much. Your vision blurs. Back arches. A sob breaks in your throat as your body clenches, pulsing wildly around him.

Choso loses it.

“Fuck—fuck—oh my god—” he snarls, buried to the hilt as his body goes rigid, cock twitching inside you. “That’s it—fuckin’—fuckin’ takin’ me just like that—”

He cums hard, groaning deep and wrecked, hips jerking as he spills into you, warmth flooding deep. One hand cradles the back of your head, the other gripping your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

You both stay like that—panting, sweating, shaking—his body heavy over yours, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut tight like he’s afraid it’s all going to disappear if he opens them.

Finally, he exhales—slow, shaky, almost a laugh.

“You alright?” he whispers, voice hoarse, thumb brushing your cheek.

You nod weakly, barely able to speak. “Mhm.”

He smiles, kisses your forehead.

“You were so good for me, angel,” he murmurs. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

You flinch a little when he pulls away, already missing the weight of him, the heat.

“Be right back, darlin’,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. His voice is low, rough around the edges, but there’s something tender in it. “Gonna get you cleaned up.”

You nod, barely able to do more than breathe.

He disappears down the hall, leaving the room bathed in the quiet aftermath—your heart still hammering, skin tingling where his hands had been. He returns a minute later with a damp, warm towel and kneels beside you, moving slow, careful.

“Still doin’ alright?” he asks, voice softer now.

“Yeah,” you whisper, and he gives a small nod, gaze never leaving yours as he starts to clean you up.

“Did so good for me,” he says. “Took me so damn well.”

You try to hide your face, but he catches your chin between his fingers, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

“Don’t go shy on me now.”

Once he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and climbs back into bed, pulling you into him like you belong there. You do. Right now, you do.

For a long while, it’s just the sound of your breathing—yours slowing, his steady. One of his hands drifts up and down your back, lazy and unhurried, like he’s in no rush to let the moment go.

Then, quietly, “Didn’t think I’d ever want somethin’ like this.”

You glance up at him, chin tucked near his shoulder. “Like what?”

He hesitates, eyes on the ceiling. Then, “You. In my bed. Not just for tonight.”

Your breath catches, heart stumbling. You don’t answer right away. Instead, your fingers find his, lacing together.

“I’m not in a rush to leave,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to his chest.

Choso doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales slowly—and the arm around you tightens, pulling you in like he’s afraid to let go.

Then, just above a whisper, you hear him say, “I’m glad you’re not.”

There’s a quiet honesty in it that makes your chest ache a little. You nuzzle closer, fingers still laced with his, and let the silence stretch comfortably between you.

No need to rush. Not tonight.

author's note. not my proudest work but to be fair, i did write this while going through major writer's block. i still hope y'all enjoy it <3

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madamechrissy · 2 days ago

Text

Blueberry Yum Yum - oneshot preview/taglisttt

Pairings - Fratboy Plug Sukuna x Nerdy stoner reader

This will be a cute ass lil smut oneshot where you fuck your plug and he gets down bad from your coochie aha, reader is a freak, Sukuna will whimper. will be smutty and explicit, preview here is just mentions of sex and weed smoking, college AU

Comment to get tagged babesss you know the drill, will be out next week 🫶🫶🫶 preview below!

"What if we like... had sex?" Sukuna starts coughing up the thick smoke of his purple haze, wondering if it's fucking laced with something as you sit there, blunt in your hand and your legs crossed, casually smoking it as if you brought up the fucking weather.

"The fuck did you say!?" He demands after he catches his breath, you inhale your blunt now, you're by far his nerdiest client, you shocked him when you asked to buy from him the first time.

You scream good girl, certified Velma from Scooby-Doo - annoying 'actually - jinkies' nerd. The two of you even hanging out was a fucking anomaly, a mathlete and a frat boy, one he didn't try to figure out. He enjoyed selling weed to you and smoking with you, hearing your stupidly intelligent thoughts, he enjoyed looking at you too. Sure you were fucking gorgeous in that soft, sweet way.

So what the fuck was this!?

"It's been a while," you murmur, handing him the blunt back now, he takes a huge rip, coughing again as you speak. "If I'm not really your type it's cool."

"If you're... you... I..."

"Shit, it's fine. Calm down. Just was thinking it'd be fun." He keeps staring at you, mouth wide open, and you sigh, rolling your eyes. "Dude it's fine don't freak out. Forget it."

"Forget it? The fuck?" He's glaring ruby eyes at you, while you take a wad of money our of your little black backpack, decorated with anime pins all over and a ridiculous amount of keychains.

"Here," you hand him the cash, fingers brushing for a moment while he just stares. "Shit, I made it weird."

"Yeah you fucking did. Who just says that?" He glares right at you, thin brows low over his narrowed eyes, those sooty pink lashes too fucking pretty and long, god you're jealous of them!? Are they so pretty because you're baked?

"Sukuna, you've fucked like half the girls I know, I have heard you're pretty good at it." He blinks again at that, a rare blush to his cheeks, not fitting his cocky persona while you put out the blunt, letting it smoke against the tray. "Here's the money. Thanks again."

You turn, and he grips your wrist, pausing you, it feels way too good. Not only has it been way too long, Sukuna was fucking hot, every time he got too close you felt that heat, you literally clenched when he just brushed a big hand across your shoulder to grab something. And your boyfriend broke up with you six months ago, you thought maybe it would be fun to fuck him, Sukuna is sexy as fuck and chill. Now you want to disappear, clearly reading the room wrong as usual.

You suck at that.

"You wanna fuck me? What like... some friends with benefits? Or one time shit?" He stands, hovering so fucking tall, you turn and look at him, blazed whites of his eyes red, you swallow nervously, eyeing the tattoos on his chest in that thin white wifebeater that's just unfair to wear around you while you're ovulating, you can see his nipple piercings through it, and it's doing too much.

"I thought like once, if we liked it sure we could do it more. If we're both single and... get along... plus you're hot."

"Yeah I am." He grins and you roll your eyes.

"You know... never mind."

"Wait brat, shit." You sigh, looking up at him now, as he turns you two him, his cock twitching just looking at your dilated eyes behind thick glasses, your parted lips. His fingers brush against the softness of your sweater, watching your nipples press against the material.

"It's cool if you dont want to. Like I am chill about it promise." He fingers the edge of your sweater, blitzed off his ass wondering if you're some fucking dream for a moment. But he feels the heat of your skin as his fingers slip up your waist.

"Think you can keep up with me, huh brat?" He murmurs then, snarky with his smirk. You step closer, your finger drifting up his hard chest.

"The question is if you can keep up with me, Sukuna."

Taglist open!! my pairings are as ridiculous as ever lol

Perm tagss @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

#sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader #story preview #taglist open #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #divider by kodaswrld #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #ryomen x reader

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tonycries · 3 days ago

Text

Jujutsu? Gnarly.

Synopsis. Control his jujutsu powers when he first puts it in? Impossible.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Kashimo x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, when it’s so good he loses control, ínnapropríate use of jujutsu, GOJO’S POWERS, rough s, matíng presses, Geto’s tentacIe curse, true form Sukuna, dp, cervíx kíssing, marathons, ratio technique, unlimited void, creampíes, cúmplay, chokíng, FÉRAL men, dúmbifícation, exhíbitíonism (Higuruma), pet names, swéaring.

A/N. KASHIMO MADE THE CUT YEAHHH-

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - P*SSY KlLLER?!

“Please- ngh, Toji—” You can’t help but trill at the sloppy movements of Toji’s tongue, swipin’ and slurping it’s way carnally between your slick, dribbling folds.

The slimy end of his muscle curves in just right past your entrance and you find yourself sobbing, gushing out the creamy remnants that Toji had pumped you oh-so-full with just mere minutes prior. And he’s parched.

Smacking his scarred, puckered lips whilst they stick with his seed like a white gloss, watching you only grow wetter and he’s gasping—“Oh.”

Mossy eyes drooping, swollen length spent n’ still aching.

Just about the only guttural noise he can make, the only thing he can even register before creeping two calloused hands underneath your boneless thighs. “A-again.” Toji pants out, hypnotized. Manhandling - barely even realizing the superhuman strength he’s using to pliably bend your knees up, up, up to your heaving chest.

“B-but Toji–” You’re nervously eying the poor, sagging bedframe. “You broke the bed-”

“And?”

It doesn’t matter how many times he’s stretching out your walls to the extreme with his red, hard cock, how many times he’ll be eagerly eating your dripping pussy out with all his cum - Toji Fushiguro will always want more.

Will always feel the crowned tips of his digits twitching with need already, digging a few blossoming bruises along your cute inner thighs. Letting out a sultry breath of ‘fuck’ before in a split-second you’re reeling with the whiplash of being shoved down onto your hardwood floors.

Off the bed, at his mercy.

With Toji’s big, beefy biceps cushioning the impact to your body, he’s pinning your squirming hips down with his v-line and snarling- “Here-” The curvaceous tip of his shaft so scorching hot and wet where he’s rubbin’ straight down your slit in impatient gyrations, “Again. Right here.”

“O-on the hngh- floor–?”

“Bed’s broken, doll.” All the explanation that Toji’s granting you with, hovering so tall and proud between your legs.

If he needed only half of his heavenly restriction to shatter your mahogany bed, then he didn’t even need a fraction of that to nudge your jittery legs apart. Coating your outer pussy with an opaque glaze of pre, Toji spanks the bulbous underside of his cockhead and grins at the puddle he’s smearing down your thighs.

And just that first, squelching smooch from the top of his strawberry shaft to your teary orifice makes the hulking man shiver. Makes him pant.

Makes him slouch until you were caged by his meaty chest, draaaagging his caramel-salted lips across your own, “But I’m not.”

And then he’s easing in.

“Sh-shit.” Your numbing legs can’t even thrash, can’t even move with the full weight of him pressing into you. The stretch of his utterly fat, bulging cock was so much that your spine’s pushing you up against his every ridged ab, gripping onto Toji’s muscular back for dear life.

Easing and easing- more like rummaging. Rough, forceful ruts of his bulging crown that’s swabbing right ‘round your hole. He’s so thick that even the softest, sweetest clench makes Toji throw his perspired head back and hiss with sensitivity.

SLAM!

“Oh.” The surface beneath you thunders dangerously with the vibrato of his left hand striking down on the floor. Grunting, “Don’t tap out-”

Roaming one of his thick thumbs between your legs, Toji’s further prying apart your sappy folds with a drawn-out sluuuurp to stretch your cunt. Making sure you gulp down each single, barreling inch. “Don’t run.”

And that groaned warning was targeted at the way your jittery legs had started to plant down on the floor and push.

Unsure of whether to run or swerve your hips back for more, more, more.

You’re sobbing, the prettiest hitch in your voice that makes his heavy cock jolt. Feeling a fresh few dewdrops of precum sprinkle all the way near your throat. “It’s just s-shooo big, Tooooji–”

Toji’s hooded eyes dilate until he’s looking feral, such a vulgar grin plastering across his lips once he’s giving you a wild buck at your cries. “Ohhhh– come- hah! come back here, mama.”

Calloused, mean fingertips curl over your gulping throat to haaaul you all the way back down the floor. Swatting your ass against the messily tufted darkness of his happy trail, veins popping up down his arms. He looked so unfairly hot with pearls of sweat twinkling down his temple, greedy gaze half-hidden through his bangs. “No runnin’.”

You couldn’t run away even if you tried.

He had you pushed into the sloppiest mating press, scooped up in his arms until all you could feel was his bullying, fattened cock.

“Mmm— hngh! Toji, you’re in so d-deep!” And Toji’s giving a thorough push that has his puckered pink tip lodging all the way into your cervix, the texture of his zig-zagging veins making your knees weak. “S-so full.”

“Riiiight? Again- again.”

And it wasn’t just his full cock splitting your insides, you’re hiccuping after each syrupy splosh of his cum pooled within you. Slick strands of seed leaking out of your slit and gluing your thighs together like adhesive-

“Need it all inside.” Or, at least, it would’ve if it wasn’t for the way that Toji’s hand lifts briefly off of your throat to smear over that overspilling mess. Drenching the pads of his fingers with a frothing of white he shovels between your gasping maw– “Again. Need to…”

Dazed. He trails off, glassy green eyes drifting down to concentrate on your tummy - your womb. Like he could see something you didn’t.

Moaning, Toji’s rugged cadence shifts like lightning to precisely strike your quivering g-spot. Looking down at you with the most lecherous pussydrunken grin whilst you tremble, “-breed you, doll.”

Ah- there.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- think you already hngh- have–!” You’re whining, flinching at the sudden sizzling somewhere above your head.

“Not enough.”

And it’s only then that you realize that Toji’s simply hoisted his other hand off of the wooden ground to reveal a burning handprint. A crater. “Heh- broke the ngh- floor, too.”

That very same powerful palm clinging on instantly to the side of your hips once Toji curves your gyratin’ tempo to directly match his. Lifting you nearly into midair, he’s using you like some cute, glorified doll to plant hit after hit on your bruising g-spot.

Over n’ over, no one’s ever treated your pussy like this before - like his own personal dartboard, and he was hitting every bullseye. “Fuck- i-it’s so much–”

Slide-slide-sliiiiding the ridge of his mushroomy tip down that splotchy area you loved so much, “Not enough-” And you’re feeling a shockwave run down your spine at the way big, bad Toji Fushiguro sounded on the verge of tears. Breath hitched, tone octaves higher. “More need- more.”

“P-please-” You’re strangling out the same set of syllables again and again into his scorched red ear, tangling your fingers across the flexing knots of his deltoids-

And Toji, oh- Toji’s letting goosebumps line the middle of his broad back at the touch. Immediately snatching your hands with his sap-soaked one, “Like haaa- feelin’ me, huh?”

You could feel the power radiating underneath, could feel his rapid, rabbity heartbeat as he gropes your hands all over him. “F-feel me then. This body.” Punctuated with thrust by thrust, your eyes roll backwards as you feel his spherical circumference bruise deep against your womb. “This cock.”

From every strong tendon, to his tensed ladder-like abs, to the valley of his shuddering pecs— your mouth waters at the feeling of his muscles.

Even more so when he lazily wraps your fingers around his throat- “Choke me, mama.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 7:3 Fuck-nique

“R-rough…?”

And it takes everything in Nanami Kento’s strong, battle-worn body to keep his voice steady for you, feeling the raw swipe of his blushing tip past your pussylips and already hissing.

Parched Adam’s apple bobbing with a few strangled coughs, “My wife wants it–” His half-lidded gaze locks on your face, your spit-glossed mouth already dropping into a pretty, cockdrunken ‘oh’ as you nod over your shoulder. “-rough.”

In lewd response, your soppy cunt only squelches out a few dollops of glazing slick. Slipping down the sides of Nanami’s swollen shaft and making his puffy veins glisten in the dim lighting, “You’re probably stressed after that hah- jujutsu mission today, Ken–” Your fingers start caressing a soft massage into his tense forearms, “You can take it out on- ngh…me.”

Oh.

If he hadn’t lost his sanity before then he sure has now.

And Nanami’s thick, ravenous fingertips brush your thighs and twitch with primal strength. It only takes a split second - barely even a nanosecond - for him to pick your jittery limbs up and push push push down.

To fold you into the world’s meanest doggy style while you whine. “My pretty wife wants it rough…”

The only thing sweeter than his cooing, deep tone was the saccharine kiss he’s planting down on your entrance with his cherry-red tip. “-then you’re gonna get it-” The single nicest thing Nanami gifts before mercilessly pinning your hips down with his weight and siiiiinking in with a primal noise. “-rough, my love.”

“Fuck-” Your eyes roll back at the sudden stretch, the pryin’ intrusion of his barreling girth sticking against your walls like a second skin. Stretching n’ stretching. “Oh my– mmm, Kento!”

Nanami swears he’s trying to hold back, he swears he’s trying to keep himself under control when he first puts it in.

But the tiniest glide of his sensitive pink slit across your glossy insides and he’s gnawing down on the inside of his cheek, letting out a sharp gasp. “Oh.” Before shoving your arched spine down and rutting-

“Oh fuck-” You’re yelping, feeling the bullying push of his crowned tip brush near your fucking lungs. His bulging shaft swabbing every tiny crevice to mush, “You’re in so- you’re- hck! Kentoooo–!”

And the only thing you can say is Nanami’s damn name.

The only thing stringing together in the heaping mess of what used to be your brain as he reaches over with his towering frame. Thighs against shaky thighs, fat cock against your sloped pussy.

Pushing and pushing with a few vulgar strokes until you hear faint pops! of your joints. Using his inhuman strength, your husband’s cradling your hips- the only thing holding you up whilst he hauls over one of his meaty thighs n’ presses down on your lower spine with his knee.

Bending you, stretching you.

“Shit- shit, m’sorry, darling.” Puffs out his sweltering gust of a gasp against the back of your neck, Nanami’s grip on you bruising while he tries to steady himself. His sanity.

You’re so soft n’ warm- it feels like heaven, and he’s trying to ease his bulbous tip back for your pussy to get used to. Spraying out a fountain of pre as he pulls out– and then gyrates down a slow, sensual thrust all the way from his reddened mushroom tip down to about halfway, sweetly. “Hate to knock you around- fuck. I can’t have you hurt, my love. Forget going rough, relax f’me and I’ll- I’ll…”

But you don’t relax.

You do the exact opposite - you clench.

And oh- oh, Nanami’s shattered.

He can’t even think, can’t even remember to breathe before there’s a sudden surge of tightness in the heady air. Your irises blinking at the millisecond of flashing black and red light- before disappearing all the way into the depths of your skull once Nanami twitches.

Like a madman, he’s bashing your poor g-spot dead-on - and the sheer force of it is so strong that you’re feeling your toes curl, vision blurring.

His plump, puckered tip wedges right into that sweet spot in your walls, hard enough that it leaves your cunt stinging with a bruise the size of his fat circumference. Once. And then again, in a rough, ragged drill of his toned hips.

A bullseye- thrice. A hatrick.

“Oh- right- there- mmm–” You don’t even need to say it, because Nanami’s striking three direct hits each second, his cadence sloppy. Fast. Hard.

“Look at thaaaat–” Croons out a scratchy bass from above, and it takes you a few blinks of your wet lashes to realize that the one talking was your husband. He’s never sounded this raspy, this ruined. “-you’ve got me a-all worked up n’ now…”

Comically, your pupils are swirlin’ in circles inside of your eyes with each whack! whack! whack!

Spittle dangling out like he’d just opened a floodgate the moment there’s another flash, and then a sizzling drag of his split-ended crown weepily pressing on your g-spot, precisely.

Your bleary gaze adjusts to the flickering bedroom lights as Nanami carries out his sultry pace, gasping. “W-wait did you just- fuck!” And again, the air pressurizes against your skin as he’s drilling into you animalistically. Filthy half-thrusts that leave your g-spot aching, your ass scratched with his tawny happy trail. “Kento, did you just use- ngh- black flash?”

“Hmmm–?”

Mewling, “Thrice?”

“Oh.” He’s so damn pussydrunk he didn’t even realize, didn’t even register the cursed energy zapping from the ends of his fingers and down to your restless body.

Dazed, Nanami experimentally creeps down his fingertips to give your perky clit a squeeze– and watches in awe once you’re writhing n’ singing out the cutest whines at the vibrations of jujutsu.

Thrice, huh? Without even knowing - just using his powers to reach your most favorite spot like he knew you wanted.

Your husband pushes up the drooping metal frames of his glasses and almost wishes he didn’t- the sultry sight of your pussy too much for him. All bulging and quivering to oh-so-desperately take his entire barreling size, he can’t help but give you a rewarding little smooch of his curvaceous cockhead.

Letting the slick syrup of his pre dribble allll out of your folds at the sheer volume, “B-black flash…so I did, my love.” That ratio technique coming in way too fucking handy to measure out where your g-spot was, Nanami lays his knee down deeper at the base of your back n’ lets your boneless body sag. “And she liked it.”

Deep down into the mattress he was fucking you into, deep down into where he was letting his powers spark with another flash.

“Oh- I’m–” Your mouth gapes haplessly back n’ forth, no sound dragging out because Nanami’s pounding every ounce of breath from your lungs with a single more thrash into your tenderest area.

A fourth black flash - his record.

The black and red light dotting behind your eyelids once his strawberry divot comes hammering against your g-spot and pushing - a slip n’ slide that drags his ridged, veiny shaft down your walls and hitting your spongy cervix with a thwack!

Reeling you straight over the edge before you’ve even realized what’s happening.

Eyes clenched, body shiver, maw hanging open upon the torrents of spittle- You’re throwing your head back and sobbing in carnal bliss as Nanami shifts his body closer.

Jujutsu crackling out of him in oodles, it twitches out of his touch and leaves your swollen lips stinging once Nanami cranes over to lap away your goblets of drool with his tongue.

“F-four.” He grumbles, low. Almost in disbelief. Almost gone. Letting the slimy curve of his tip probe thoroughly into your exact bundle of nerves, “Let’s break my record, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Tentacular.

“Keh– so damn messy.” Geto whispers, feeling the soggy wetness of your cunt open ‘round his bulbous tip. That cherry pink curve piercing its way just past your clamping entrance, “This is what you wanted- right, gorgeous? This…”

And he doesn’t finish the tail end of his sentence - he doesn’t have to.

Because you’re feeling it, instead. That sudden, slimy tendril slipping over your slick-glossed inner thighs. Kissing just the puffy outer edge of your pussy as Geto sinks in-

“Oh- oh!” You’re gurgling back a moan at the reddish coil of your boyfriend’s tentacle curse, one he’d summoned hours ago and was teasing you with ever since.

Letting the pointed tip of one tendril slip n’ slide playfully down your stuffed slit as he stays torturously still, edging you with flicks of pleasure that have you keening. Squirming endlessly, “Puh-please! Wan’ more- Suguru, more.”

“Ah ah, gorgeous–” And fuck- Geto Suguru has the audacity to bring the biggest, fattest one of the eight cursed tentacle meanly spanking down on your drivelling slope. Letting a wet thwack! sing out into the heady air while you sob out– “You can’t be heh- whining like that. Use your big girl words.”

“But- but-”

But you couldn’t - not when Geto was prying you open like this.

Not only was his hard, reddened cock massively big, letting his plump girth roam around your glazed insides- he’d managed to slip in one of those cloyingly sticky tentacles, too.

Just the first few inches of its curly tress, spreadin’ your folds apart until Geto could let his girthy cock sink allll the way in. His size was just so damn staggering that you’re finding your head dizzy, the sheer stretch having you tumbling your sweaty scalp back into the futon-

“Manners manners.”

For only a split-second, before he’s crawling himself forwards, two of those dextrous tentacles following you to lift your head up. “Look at me when I ngh- put it in.” Hazed amethyst peripheries locked on you, “And tell me- haaaa- tell me what you want.”

Mewling each time his rock-hard length and a singular tendril bully inside to push the button of your g-spot. Rubbing it sensually, crowning it with a sleek frosting of buttery pre, “I— hck! Sugu, I– mmm, right there.”

“Awww, my poor girl can’t even speak.” Geto’s cooing down at you, tone ragged. It’s not like he was doing any better- fuck, he really wasn’t.

He was just shivering at the warm gushing of your wet cunt, so soft and blissful that he can’t even put it in at first without losing control of his powers.

The tentacle curse was unplanned. You and that sweet pussy liking it was even more unplanned.

And Geto lets his meaty thighs widen with an out-of-control pound that leaves your inner-thighs stinging, he’s holding back his hitched breath. Blinking away the lusty haze in his vision, swabbing your orifice with yet another rut after rut like a madman.

“Heh– and yer legs are s-sooo weak.”

You’re flinching once two more tentacles coil in rings around both of your jittery legs and leave them hanging over Geto’s broad shoulders, one kissin’ your ankles in place to keep them tightly held.

Lips gluing together with saccharine sweet spit, “Sh-shit you’re even deeper now.”

Groaning, “All you’re doing is ngh- drooling. How rude.” His raven lashes come fluttering down at the squelch! your slick cunt lets off once he skims a pale thumb down your middle. Flooding even there.

Leaving your teary slit open allll for him to admire while he fucks you like he’s angry. Like he’s trying to make you slobber out even more. “C’mon- hah.” Geto’s big, buff body shudders with something visceral at the bolt of cursed energy running down his spine, “C’mon, let’s show her some of our…ngh- manners.”

And it takes you one-two-three thrashes of Geto’s scorching hot tip entering your hole, impaling your pussy n’ hitting right against your g-spot for you to realize that he wasn’t talking to you.

Not at all.

He was talking to the greedy coils of tentacles wrapping further n’ further around your body like you were the cutest lil’ gift. Two toying over the nubs of your nipples with their sultry suction, two more tying your ankles together over Geto’s shoulders.

And, hell, Geto was even using one to curl around your pretty throat and help drag you past every recoil of his whacking hips. Just the slightest parting from your gummy cervix was way too much for him to handle, he needed you there to take it all - and he needed it now. Always.

But your sobbing cunt? That was all for him- “Dirty giiiirl—” for now, that is. The softened end of one tendril sneaks past your saturated pussylips and squeezes- bullies a singular inch through your entrance. “You want me or that? Tell me- tell me.”

“I- ngh- I want.” The only thing you can do is blubber stupidly as that fat muscle slithers in deep- scouring your dewy wet walls easily for your sweetest spots. Each one.

Pinching and rubbing your pulsating clit, letting his cock dig into your tenderest depths.

So much that you’re almost starting to crawl away—

“Where’re we goin’, gorgeous?” Geto snickers, an innocent blush spreading all over his handsome face at the adorable sight of you being dragged back down by his tentacles when you start to run.

He’s fucking you - with both. Hard, rough. And after bashing his ruby red tip against your g-spot, Geto’s heading straight for it again with his cursed technique.

Choking, hauling, Geto pushes one in between your spit-slippery lips and makes you keen. “Theeeere we go. Open that mouth-” Whining, you’re letting off the most primal splat! of puddled saliva as he grins. Wrenching your unfastened jaw open when you could only babble, “What cute hngh- noises. Speak f’me now, smart girl. My biiig fucking cock, or…”

Though, you felt anything but with the fuzzy feeling of your cockdrunk brain right now. Stupidly letting your maw sag to the side as he fills you up doubly, “Both-”

Geto leans in mockingly close, one of his palms cupping his ear to listen for your sweet sounds. Drawling, “What’s thaaat?”

“B-both, Suguru–!”

Oh- both.

And for just a second you think that Geto has stilled - you think that he’s stopped fucking breathing. Just a low, strangled few pants wrenching from the back of his throat-

Before he snaps his hips and strikes you with an ambushing whack of his bulging crown, followed up by the sluuurping snake of one of his tentacles pushing and pushing. Stretching your pussylips so wiiide with the circumference that you swear you see cartoonish stars floating above his head.

Only to realize that it’s cursed energy, something oh-so-carnal as Geto flicks the slick tip of his tendril in tempo with his sloppy dick. Drilling you double, drilling you until you see double.

“And now…” Geto coaxes you into a carnal embrace, sweetly pecking the top of your perspiration-covered head before he’s extending even longer. The thick veins decorating all over his shaft pressing into your sides, his cursed technique throbbing- just waiting.

Waiting for that perfect moment to grow even bigger inside of you. And the best bit was he wasn’t even fully in control anymore - too pussydrunk to, just by feeling you.

Geto grins at that soft gasping ‘oh!’ you let out once you realize, leaning down to darkly murmur. “Let’s count how many hah- inches before I…get even bigger, gorgeous.”

♡ KASHIMO HAJIME - ROSE (TOY)

Kashimo didn’t think he’d be here - four hundred years in the modern day and held hostage by your sweet, sweet pussy.

Fuck- he feels himself claw a powerful hand down the side of your smoothly gyrating hips, gliding your swollen pussy further down his cock and he’s bucking-

Greedy. Desperate.

His other hand trembles with the weight of your softly buzzing rose toy, lightning sparking between his fingers to make it vrrrrr louder between your legs. Electrified.

This was dangerous. He’s already feeling the cursed energy rush, already making up his mind to gently jostle you off for the greater good- but instead, he’s swiping his cherry-red tip between your folds and pushing.

“Fuck- fuck.” Words departing in seething hot pants, Kashimo can’t help but grit his teeth and reel his slender hips back. Only for the clamping wetness of your walls to make him dizzy, “You seriously feel like this?” Something high-pitched, in disbelief. “S’the hah! sweetest lil’ cunt in the world, blossom.”

“Ngh- nghhh fuck! Hajime…” You’re cutely mewling out, the feeling of his thick, bulging cock opening up your snug walls was so addictive. And that burning stretch already had your poor knees weakening along with your sultry bounces.

Pap after pap after pap- Kashimo counts each slam of your sexily restless ass cheeks against his pelvis.

Feeling his skin already start to redden, he’s grinning. Drinking up everything sloppy slurp ringing from below whenever he’s striking your dewy orifices, “Shhh sh sh, little one.” Boring down at you with half-lidded azure eyes so intense, “Let me hear- this fucking- pussy.”

And it’s the first time he’s feeling something like this, the first time he’s mazing his weepy cocktip to glue against the surface of your cervix and feel you squeeze.

“Fuh-fuck!” He bucks, he pants. Eyes flickering with lightning-

And Kashimo doesn’t know what’s louder - the crack of your nearby bedroom lamp shattering into a zillion pieces, or the way your rose toy notches up until its vibrations are damn near deafening.

His power out of control - all leveraged against you and that cute cunt.

Whimpering, you back arches oh-so-sinfully once he’s dragging the lecherously suctioning tip just across your clit. Teasing you with the soft suckling of your toy, “H-how hck! I thought the battery would be ngh- dead by now.”

“Oh, it is—” He’s crooning from below you, beryl strands of his bangs plastering to his sweaty forehead as he looks up at you. Kashimo’s grin is just so satisfied once he toys with your perky clit until you’re whining n’ sniffling, “Such cute lil’ things you hah- have these days…”

And you’re watching on in confusion when Kashimo keeps giving your teary pussy one kiss from your vibrating rose toy. Another. And another, a sleazy grin spreading all over his face at the way it makes your dewy cervix twitch with each clench.

Again n’ again.

“S’too bad that-” Before suddenly wrenching that hot pink toy away across your dampened sheets- immediately out of battery without his cursed energy. Unneeded now. And giving your awaiting cunt a good spank of his electrically buzzing fingerpads, “-I can do it even better.”

He’s right- fuck, he’s more than right.

In only a split-second, Kashimo has his probin’ cockhead buried deeply between your damp folds and his fingers pinching your swollen clit. The light jujutsu power on them making your head throw back with a moan– “O-ohhh fuck! Tha’s cheating, Hajime-”

“Shush- what did I ngh- say? Not you-” Purposefully, he’s rudely swatting your cunt more to let the sparks of lightning zap down your spine all the way from your drooling cunt. “Though, I do like when you heh- scream, blossom. But I wanna hear fuuuuck– her.”

His fingers were like living, moving vibrators - just making your sensitive slit quiver all over with your arousal.

You’re so wet that it’s formulating a cute puddle where you were riding him, thighs twitching when you’re slipping and sliding all down his hungry cock. Your stuffed hole repeatedly letting out the sexiest wet squelches-

“Oh? Oho? How chatty.” Kashimo snickers from between his clenched snarl, pearly whites spread in such a wiiide grin hearing your pussy this way. Nodding as if he was in conversation, “S’that sooo–”

You’re flinching once his sultry eyes target your own, flattening his feet on the ground to look right into your stare as he mazes his crowned mushroom tip along your walls. Hitting your cervix and making sure to leave a slightly bruised crater for you to feel afterwards, “Guess what this- hah! naughty fuckin’ girl just asked me, little one?”

“Wh-what?” You yelp, voice cracking once he twists his thumb on top of your sensitive nub to draw a tiny lightning bolt.

“She wanted me…” Kashimo drawls out, trailing off as the side of his veiny shaft slaps your sweetest spots. Rendering you speechless and shivering at the lightning bolted texture, “-to go even harder.”

And oh, you knew that look on the incarnation’s face.

You knew it- that wild, wide-eyed look of absolute fucking madness before he lurched his hips off of the overworked bedsprings. Making your maw dangle with a shrilling gasp when he’s milking his swollen, red cock on your warm cunt.

Kashimo snickers, “Can- can you even imagine?” The prominent cuts of his v-line massaging up into your lower tummy, over n’ over punctuating each syllable. Each breath. “G-going harder.”

“O-oh, fuck–” You’re squirming restlessly at the way his fingers only seem to buzz even harder with lightning cursed energy. The way it was seeping out of him now, making your overhead lights flicker, making the air turn static.

“Well- I can only- listen to every fucking word she says.”

And maybe it’s the way that the flicks of his cursed energy jolt down your slit even needier, maybe it’s the way he’s roaming his knobbled thumb even further between them to draw a sweet, sweet heart. Plump, pink-colored tip giving your g-spot one of his countless mean hits- this time sending white-hot sparks skittering down your walls. Either sheer brute force or jujutsu - you don’t even know before you’re throwing your head back and cumming.

Eyes blearing with so many tears, voice wobbly as you call out– “I-inside.” Gazing down at Kashimo’s slightly wide-eyed, shocked pupils. “Cum inside, Hajime.”

And in all his over four hundred years of living, this might be the first time his powers had ever been so out of control.

Every single light in your house shatters, the power shuts, Kashimo’s long lashes streak with miniscule flickers of purple lightning as he finally finishes off. In the most unsteady, heavy way.

“Oh shit- shit shit shit- this s’all your fault.” He’s filling you up with so many weighty ropes of cum, letting the lecherous knots slick down your pussy channel and stick to your cervix like an adhesive. “All your fault all your- ngh!”

Swivellin’ over one of his slender fingertips where your hole was slobbering out in a milky sap, you yelp after each mindless rut of his body. Washboard abs massaging your front, thwacking each driveling ounce leaking out of him.

“D-don’t even think I can cum anymore.” He trails off, finally realizing the darkness in the room. The way he’d just left every ward in Tokyo without electricity.

Kashimo’s sapphire eyes glow as he pummels his sticky wads of seed deeper, buzzing fingers still twitching. Lips curling into a smile the more he toys, the more he makes a mess. Thrusting, “But that’s how losers think.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Blush blush blush

Choso was so good for you like this- he was so gone.

Just the first, most innocent peck of his glittery wet cocktip swipin’ down your slit and he’d found himself cumming. Pretty eyes clenched tight, face burning, rosy lips sagging with awe—

“I’m ngh- s-sorry, baby–” He’s babbling, the cutest wobble shivering his wet-sheened lips. With one set of his slender fingers wrapped ‘round his fat hilt, he’s pushing to let the raw entrance of your cunt swallow up his creamy wads ravenously.

Choso tumbles his head back and moans at the sinful sight, his own dry Adam’s apple bobbing with an overeager swallow. “Sorry- made such a mess.” Stirring the entrance of your drenched pussy with the crowned tip of his cockhead, “Gonna clean it all up- d-don’t you worry about a thing, baby.”

You’re cooing, running your dominant hand through his sweat-polished locks. “Aww– s’okay, Cho. It’s your hah- first time, after all. We can stop now if you-”

“No.”

And that wasn’t just a plea - it was a beg.

Before you know it, Choso’s pulling your boneless legs over his shoulders. And he’s so strong, dazed eyes boring into yours whilst he effortlessly folds you in half into a mating press that had your ass cheeks lifting off the bed.

Rippling deltoids pushing forwards, his twitching hand angrily pumping his red-hot hilt. “Nonono- no.” Choso whispers wetly, his heated breaths fanning your face. “I can do it again- ngh- watch me-”

“But, baby, if you can’t-”

“I will.” And you’ve never seen your sweet boyfriend sound so ragged, it’s as if his gentle baritone was holed with rasps and something primal. Choso’s dazed, mindlessly creeping over one of his other clammy hands to squeeeeze your cheeks rudely together and make you watch. “M’gonna get h-hard again for my baby. I will.”

And it’s only then that you’re seeing - properly seeing.

The way that Choso’s sexily slashing tattoos grow deeper over his nosebridge, the way his entire body flexes with cursed energy- oh.

He’s using his powers. And your eyes immediately snap to the way his right hand curls snugger over his bulky base and buzzes with blood manipulation technique.

Choso’s bulbous, red tip was so hard with every ounce of blood rushing between his legs that it’s twitching weepily. Slobbering ribbons of pre frothing over your pussylips and making your cunt gleam with sap.

“S-see?” He utters out, guttural. Broad pecs glittering with beads of sweat after every feverish heave, he was working himself overtime. Working himself for you. Spank goes the way that he’s swatting your slit with his veiny shaft, “You want it like this? Haaaah- got m’self all ngh- needy for you again.”

Your hips buck up impatiently, making Choso’s bawling divot bump directly against your sloppy hole and watching him whimper. “Cho– want it inside.” Mouth watering, he was just so hot. “Every inch, promise?”

“P-promise.” Oh, Choso would kneel at your feet and vow an oath if you showed even the slightest inkling that you wanted him to.

And his mouth saps over with a fresh bout of drool at the feeling of your dampened cunt letting him in, pushing past your dewy wet folds to give your walls a carnal scrape of his weepy orifice.

“Promise- promise, oh- I promise-” He’s babbling away, chestnut eyes glazing over with tears of primal bliss as he’s rocking his hips into yours. The slimy abrasions of his veins leaving your back arching- Choso wasn’t even fully finished with using his blood manipulation, yet.

Not even fully done- and yet, he’s just so addicted. Just so greedy with the notion of pounding your pretty pussy like it deserved. Still fisting the sensitive base of his cock, “Gonna m-make myself real hard. Gonna make you feel hngh- reeeeal good with my fucking cock, baby.”

“Cho- oh- fuck!” You’re mewling, your own salty tears hitting your lips at the sheer stretch. “Y-you’re so big.”

And really, Choso was just so big that his big, bulbous cockhead was pushing into your lungs. Making you feel every inch of his prolonged length inside your hidden nooks n’ crannies - and that lil’ power of his was only making him bigger.

Harder.

Oh-so-big that you were almost struggling to fit all of him-

Whining, “No- nonono it’ll fit, baby- promise it’ll fit.”

Fuck- had you said all that out loud? Choso’s hooded gaze was frenzied with a low look of panic, the tough lines of his hipbones bashing your inner thighs with his fervor. His ruts.

Gulping, “I need it to fit.” And yet, he was bulging and bulging so long and wide inside of you that every motion forwards made you shrill out. Blood manipulation going out of control, flaring his soaked slit up until he’s molding your soft walls to his each precise measurement. “Want it- need it a-aaaaaall the way up…”

Your mouth parches like the fucking Sahara as you watch Choso snakingly guide his free hand along your middle. Drawing a line straight up from the very top of your clit- up, up, up past your womb. Your tits, your collarbones, until he’s levelling his touch over the beginning of your throat. “-here.”

Chuckling to himself - oh, he was going to make that a reality.

And the sudden burst of cursed energy was telling you the same thing, “B-but you’re only getting even mmm– bigger, baby.”

“And you’re only getting s-soooo much fucking wetter.”

Pushing and pushing. He was fucking you as if he would pass out - as if he would die - if he wasn’t all shoveled all the way between your plump, puckered pussylips.

Choso’s touch was sizzling with power by now, every area of contact with your skin rubbing your flesh all raw and lewd. He didn’t even have to furiously jerk off his long shaft anymore, so engorged with lust that it almost hurt.

Out of control.

But it hurt him more to not be all the way inside of you- he puffs out. “T-take a deep breath, baby–”

Still reeling from that probin’ girth of his, your tit heaving tantalizingly as you gasp. “I-it’s fitting, Cho-”

“It’s fitting-” He’s echoing in utter disbelief, the glittery flaps of his mouth sagging into a perfect oh! when he’s straining to hear that squelch-squelch-squelch of each bloated inch being bullied inside of you. Growing even bigger with delight- and his lecherous cursed energy, Choso lets out a shocked ‘fuck’ once his rounded ballsack spanks your cunt with a thwack!

Struggling to clamp your glossy walls around his thick circumference, the tightness makes him close his teary eyes with a whimper. Still growing bigger- “Baby- m’I getting ngh- pregnant tonight or are you?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - King of Doubles

“Fuck- fuck.” Sukuna shutters his devilish crimson eyes in an attempt to veer off that embarrassing set of heart-eyes taking over his gaze.

Hell, he even shakes his head- he even grits his sharpened canines every time he’s hitting the roof of your pussy with every deep plunge. But it still didn’t work, and he’s feeling his mask of cursed energy start cracking, already reaching out and radiating off of him in waves.

Rovering each globular end of his shaft along your tenderest, mushiest spots, he groans. “This is all your fault- and yours.”

“Wh-whose?” You’re blabbing out stupidly, taking a few seconds to actually follow the King’s line of sight down to where your cunt was greedily trying to gulp him up. Fuck- you’re realizing with a jolt, he was talking to your pussy.

The first time you’re actually letting him lodge both massive, dual lengths inside and it’s driving you wild. Your legs thrash with each sunken inch, needing more– “Oh- mmm– s’too much, Kuna.”

“Too much- too much?” Sukuna mocks, octaves higher in a derisive tone that really doesn’t match yours. Breathes stuttered, tone thick. “I’ll show you too much, fucking brat.”

He was on the verge of losing it.

And all it takes is a singular bat of your eyes - and suddenly you’re no longer sprawled out all prettily on Sukuna’s royal silk sheets. You’re being lifted cleanly into midair- legs dangling, gravity drooping, clinging onto his seven-foot frame and at his completely n’ utter mercy.

Two of his clawed hands creep downwards to grope a good handful of your ass cheeks, grinning as you gasp at the change in positions. “Look what yer doing- do you even hah- realize?”

He’s holding you up like it’s nothing, letting your cute human hands scrape all down his muscular back. Shit, those barely even feel like kitten scratches to him.

“Ngh- o-oh my god, mm– s-so big, Kuna. Feel you so deep-”

“That’s it, easy there-” Sukuna feels the second cursed mouth smeared across his abs drool at the sopping wet squeeeelch your cunt lets off once he’s sinking even deeper. “Filthy fuckin’ pussy- sucking up both.” Letting gravity do its lecherous thing while he’s holding you up without a care in the world- acting as if he wasn’t absolutely shattering at the feeling of you taking both his bulging twin cocks for the first time. “Eeeeeeasy there, girl- s-stay still and take it.”

Holy shit, did you just make Ryomen Sukuna stutter?

Your head snaps up in shock, looking at him with the prettiest teary gaze. “D-did you just-”

“Shut up.” Gasping, fuck- he couldn’t lose face like this. And before you know it, the King’s pushin’ your gaping maw towards his cushy, shuddering pecs.

Letting your mouth slobber a sloppy piling sheen of saliva, two of Sukuna’s arms nestle safely underneath your legs and push you up higher. Rummaging your pussy with a few vulgar strikes that have your pupils circlin’ your eyes-

Determined to fuck you dumb.

“Shut up and take it a-all up to here now.” Your throat bobs with a swallow once the pointed curve of one of his claws draws a horizontal line halfway across your tummy, nearer to your throat than not. “Otherwise your king will be hah- displeased, little human.”

“W-wan’ it all, Kuna–” You’re whining, the doughy heels of your feet latching around his broad waist. He was just so monstrously massive that you’re straining to even cling on, crawling up to caress his neck. “I want both- ngh!”

And it wasn’t just his aching, swabbing girths that were rummaging your insides uncontrollably- with just the slightest reach to the top of his frame, Sukuna’s second mouth is slithering its slimy tongue tip between your inner thighs.

Making sure you feel the rough texture of his tastebuds when he’s swiping it between your teary pussylips and lapping up every inch of you from the outside.

“Shit-” He’s moaning out over the sweaty crown of your head, the arched length of his spine shivering with zaps of electricity. Narrowing his gaze downwards, “Wh-who told you to…”

And he can’t even finish his damn sentence.

Not when you’re rocking your hips back into the dampened gape of his cursed maw, letting Sukuna’s split-ended tongue toy the tiniest lecherous circles over the buttony nub of your clit. Spanking– he swears, “Nghh- and who told you to-”

He couldn’t even control his damn second mouth anymore.

You taste so damn sweet that he can’t help but grow bigger, stretching your slippery walls out to the maximum.

Panting, slouching, ears popping with the pressure of cursed technique so strong that the King of Curses himself is struggling to steady the tremble in his meaty thighs. “Keep those h-hands to yerself, brat, unless you nghhh- want me to-”

You gasp- Sukuna wasn’t just inflating from the protruding end of his double shafts, he was growing taller. More muscular.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his jujutsu energy let his true form rip through even more. No longer toning himself down for you, he’s struggling to fight against the powers making him well over eight feet, oh-so-large.

“Y-you have…” You’re muttering, eyes widening as you trace your fingers over the sharp, pointed ends of the horns that’d just grown from his skull.

Horns. He had horns now.

More monster than man.

And Sukuna shivers just as soon as your doughy fingerpads scrape near the base, just as sensitive as if you were tickling his aching cocks. “O-ohhh– you’re ruining me, girl.” Peripherals darkened, trying to reel himself back in. Trying to wield his cursed energy. “You don’t know what you’re haaah- up against. You don’t know if you can even take it.”

Almost pleading- and yet, you’d never step down from that.

It turns out that his horns were where Sukuna was the most intimately sensitive, “But I wan’ that, Kuna—” You’re whining, lower lip jutting with a pout as you grab onto both those long tusking projections.

“O-oh.”

Using it - using him to roll your hips back in swivelling gyrations, bludgeoning the spheroid circumference straight into the gooey depths of your pussy. Slamming n’ slamming the thrashing fringe of his tip into your g-spot.

Growling, “You asked for ngh- this, spoiled brat.” He couldn’t shift back even if he tried, Sukuna throws his head back with a shiver as his frame chisels further.

Now damn nearing nine feet, he’s pushing his deeply barreling lengths into you until your cunts painting the tattoos on his hilts all translucent. “So you’re gonna- fuuuck- take it.”

Sukuna’s second mouth laps up the glittery sploshes of your arousal as you whine, and you can’t help but notice that his canines had grown so sharp. He was so much bigger, stronger, cursed energy stifling you to him until his fat, veiny cock was all you could think about.

“And then-”

“Th-then?”

So utterly dumb with his vicious pace, he’s planting a striking bash dug into the spongy wetness of your cervix that finally - finally - bottoms him out. Gasping, your eyes flap confusedly open at the feeling of something hot…and swollen kissin’ the base of your ass cheeks.

What was…oh, fuck.

“Then…” Grinning toothily, Sukuna watches on as you’re swervin’ your cunt back to feel more more more of his aching knot. A knot— all to plug you up from the inside, fat n’ throbbing. He has to slouch nearly his entire body to whisper in your ear, “-you’re gonna squirt on my knots as thanks, spoiled lil’ human.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “Next.”

Gojo’s blindfold dangles haphazardly off of your clammy neck as you instantly gape- his rasping baritone sending shivers where it hits the top of your arched back.

Scorching a light breeze down your spine where goosebumps pebble, the strongest lays one hand on the right of your ass cheek and pulls out with a squeeelch! That lewd noise making him twitch, making him gasp–

“Oh…” He’s grumbling out, plump n’ pink mouth sagging into a gaping oh! at the heaps of creamy white cum that dribble from between your pussylips.

It’s making such a mess down his milky upper thighs, a syrupy ringed frothing falling from between your stuffed, driveling cunt. “Next.” Rounded tips of his fingers pushing and pushing it all back in where it belonged. Breath hitching, “Next.”

Fuck- you don’t know where it even began.

One second your husband was off on one of his usual missions, and the next he’s teleporting back and kneeling at your feet to fuck your sweet, sweet pussy. Mouth already watered because of the sheer saccharine scent— “Fuck me.”

Though, that was hours upon hours - rounds upon rounds ago.

He’d begged, and right now he was groaning at the plop! of wetness ringing out from your entrance. A free hand curling just around your gasping throat-

“Look.” Gojo utters, something primal seeping into his tone as he sinks in. “Look.”

He doesn’t even need to tug on your sweaty crown with tendrils of his cursed energy, Gojo’s choking your tender airway upwards. Making your fluttering, lust-filled eyes stare right into the mirror propped up at the end of your bed.

And oh- oh.

The sight that greets you makes your heart race.

Gojo Satoru - but not like you’ve ever known him.

This was the strongest that curses and sorcerers alike feared- half-opened eyes aglow, skin skittering with pale blue lightning, he looked like he’d just crawled from hell just to drag you down with him. And he was ravenous.

The crescent nailmarks curve deeper into your skin, Gojo leaning his own smoky throat closer. “I want you to look at me while I breed you, sweetheart.”

“B-but Toru–” You’re whining, your teary pupils roaming ‘round the surface of the mirror. Catching on the way the unbolted pieces of furniture in your bedroom were floating at the sheer pressure of his jujutsu. “-the- ngh- your power-”

He was so out of control as he slipped just a few inches inside, letting that cute strawberry-pink tip of his get swallowed up by your entrance. You’re clenching and sparks of cursed energy burst–

“Satoru, the bed!”

Oh, the bed.

Gojo was in so deep, losing himself to the soft n’ sweet clench of your cunt so much that even the damn mattress was starting to hover.

At your cute shrilling yells, he’s looking around airily as if in a daze. You’re peering through the half-fogged reflection at the way that his hoarse larynx rips out a tiny, ‘oh’. Immediately snapping his fingers—

“Fuh-fuck!” It wasn’t just the flying furniture that topples - it’s you, too.

Straight onto the soaked silken sheets of your shared bed- or, at least, you would have if it wasn’t for Gojo’s clasped hand trapping your throat. Holding your woozy head up whilst the rest of your hips sticks to the rickety bedsprings, the weight of him - the weight of his cursed technique - too much for you to handle.

“Wh-what did you-” You’re letting out a softly whining gasp at the press of charged atoms near your slick outer pussy.

Suddenly, it just felt like your walls stretched so much wider - yearned for his fat, plundering cock so much more. And Gojo can only look down at the mess he’s made with a dopey grin, “Unlimited void, huh?”

Posing it as a question- he didn’t even realize.

“Didn’t mean to oh- mmm yeah—” Letting the dampened ends of his bangs tickle your neck, he’s rubbin’ his curvy cocktip against the gummy roof of your pussy back and forth back and forth back and forth. Deeper. Harder. “Ooooo– didn’t even mean to hah- do this, my girl.”

Whimpering, your hips buck back greedily in tempo with his once he dips just the tail ends of a free hand past your quivering folds.

Eyes widening, breath stuttered- Gojo can’t help but hold back his ruined whimper and rut. “Oh, s’really unlimited void.” Sending a splosh of sap to hit the sides of your walls and pool at the very bottom of your womb. “Was an accident but…”

It’s so noisy the way you’re dripping with creamy knots of his cum, all down between your thighs. Squeeelch goes your pretty pussy, and he’s finding himself greedily swallowing.

Now he could fit all he wanted into you.

Nodding along as if he was in conversation, “If you ngh- insist, sweetheart.”

“Toru- who are you–”

“Her, duh.”

Rolling his hazy azure eyes- and if Gojo was talking sweetly to your pussy, it sure didn’t mean that he was pounding into you nicely. “Next” Repeating like a mantra. “Next.” Drilling away like he was crazed, like he couldn’t fight back the urge to reach underneath you and push down on the inflation of cum n’ dick outlining your pretty tummy. “Next next- next.”

Your teeth rattles with the splashing swat of each ribbon after ribbon of thin, wiry cum he’s milking out of himself. Dragging the zig-zagging veins of his shaft repeatedly into your gooey orifices until his overworked divot was sputtering out more seed.

He needed this- needed you to be all full to the brim.

Just to feel how wet you were with his icy white sap, Gojo pushes his v-line against your hips until you’re keening. Roughly lining the inside of your sweet spots with a precise glide, he’s feeling the insides of your flooded cunt and smiling. “Mmm– you’re about to cum.”

The Gojo Satoru above you was drooling- whimpering.

Gaze locked. Cock ravaged.

He was fucked out.

And so were you- all it takes is one, two, three accurate hammers against the bulbous orb of your g-spot before you’re hitting your high. Whining drunkenly as you finish off, Gojo lets off a syrupy swing of his length to stir your insides before he himself cums. Dry.

If you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed how the lights were now permanently off, how every glass object in your bedroom shatters. In practically every ward in Tokyo, actually.

And somewhere in Gojo’s out-of-control, powerful senses he’s registering the sudden spike of cursed energy- surely, the alarm bells were going off for every sorcerer in the area.

But ah, he’s the strongest. And the strongest was more focused on you right now.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You jolt when you feel the burning stare of his Six Eyes– Gojo snickers. Pushing you down further to cream himself, reverse cursed technique seeps out of him like a second skin when he hears the faint pop! of joints. “It’s gonna be- hah…a girl.”

Blinking back the stupid circles your dilated eyes were traveling, you’re still twitching with the euphoric remnants of your high. “A-a girl?”

“Mhm.”

It doesn’t matter if it makes him shiver like no other- flickers of blue cursed energy shatter across his muscular body as Gojo plants another slurring thrust on your rummaged pussy. Feeling his fattened tip freeze just where his eyes saw your womb to be- “Let’s make it twins.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Jailhouse Fuck

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The thrice-repeated slamming of Higuruma’s gavel left you hostage to his rudely probin’ cock, locked in your husband’s domain and at his mercy ever since you’d decided it was time to put his work aside for a little…relaxation.

He didn’t even mean to call on his jujustu- but fuck, if it didn’t feel like your pussy was even sweeter when your body’s being pressurized with charged atoms of energy.

“O-oh, please, Hiromi–!” Calls out your hoarse throat, head tumbling back stupidly as you buck your hips on top of his toned ones. It just felt so filthy to be riding Higuruma right then n’ there in his office chair. “It f-feels so good-”

Tugging on the black velvet of his tie, he’s staring up at you through such heady half-lidded eyes. “S’that so?”

And fuck- you’re noticing the way that his courtroom domain seems to only radiate with even more waves of cursed energy. The way that split-ended circle at the end of his lengthy shaft was pouring out dewy sprinkles of precum, flooding your poor insides.

Grunting, Higuruma plants his hand on the side of your ass to hold you still whilst he impales your cunt with a thorough thrust. Dead-on your g-spot- “Bullseye.”

“Mmm– r-right there!”

“Can feel you hah- clenchin’ around me so much, sweet angel.” He’s puffing out as a sigh, circling his hips underneath yours to make his blushing red tip stiiir your insides sensually. “You’re not lasting long.”

Responding with the cutest pout- oh, how it makes his aching balls tighten even more. “Can’t help it–”

And here, in his domain, Higuruma was even stronger.

The coldness of his matching wedding ring sizzles against the clammy side of your hips, manhandling you with a mere fraction of his strength to ride his cock even sloppier.

Higuruma wrestles you up n’ down his veiny shaft like he was trying to milk himself, like he was gliding the pointed end of his dick against your gummy walls with the aim to bruise. “Mhm- oh yes, you can’t ngh- help it, sugar.”

And though he’s nodding his head along n’ agreeing, there’s something dark seeping into Higuruma’s deep tone that makes you falter.

Something he doesn’t have the patience for - something his thoroughly pussydrunken mind can’t even stand right now.

“Ah ah-” With a soft spank near your right ass cheek, he claws down your clammy flesh and makes you slam your hips down. “So…” Stinging with the ridges of his sculptured pelvis, rubbed all raw with his black happy trail. Glancing somewhere over your shoulder, “Do you think she deserves to cum?”

And fuck- fuck, how could you have forgotten that lil’ part of Higuruma’s domain?

You two had a cursed audience - that massive shikigami your husband called ‘Judegman.’ Looming near the edge of the domain and closely watching as he ruined you on his lengthy cock.

Feeling your heart race in embarrassment and something else. “H-Hiro, that’s ngh- fuck, you’re so mean-”

“Now now, don’t make me haaaa- hold you in contempt of the court, angel.” He’s cutting through your babbling mewls, and shit- you catch that dimple near the corner of his lips as Higuruma grins. “We have…exhibit evidence here.”

Once more speeding up his relentless cadence, he’s slamming against that goopy g-spot of yours and instantly making you see stars. Your maw falling open with a few glittered beads of saliva that hit his broad pecs with a splatter!

Both you and the wooden chair sing out in croaky synchronization with each bucking swerve back where he was drilling up into you. Pummeling you with all his long inches, “Please- please let me cum–”

“Behave.”

And he wasn’t just silencing you - Higuruma was reaching for that sexily dangling tie still around his neck. Slipping the soft fabric over your mouth to wrench it cutely shut, he finds himself pulling back with a snicker at how pretty you looked with your whiny mouth all gagged. “Order in the court.”

Toying with the perked outer edge of your clit, he gives you a striking whack there right on time with a particularly harsh probe against your g-spot. “Hmm…I don’t think she deserves to ngh- cum.”

Watching as you muffle out a shriling plea-

He only swats your sensitive nub with a rapid spank, “How about it?” Further dumbifying you with the most lecherous drags of his cock- and despite riding him, it was allll on him now to ruin you. “Think she ngh- deserves it?”

You know the question’s not directed at you, but you’re still nodding. Lurching yourself closer to where grunts were spilling through Higuruma’s mouth after every push of his barreling thrusts.

So hot and soft inside you that- fuck, even he was weak to the way you’re gazing down at him with the most adorably dazed eyes. Occasionally criss-crossing when his plummy tip kisses your favorite spots, “Do you deserve it, angel?”

You were burning. You were being split apart.

And the only thing you can do is give your wailing answer– strangled through the tie and yet still reaching your husband’s ears as a constant ‘yes yes yes yes!’

“S’that sooo–?” Gruffly, Higuruma lifts the edge of his frigid wedding band to glide down the slope of your pussy. Watching as your creamed pussy quivers and gushes. So sinful. So addictive.

And he might be a damn good lawyer- but fuck, was he weak for his wife. And he languidly watches as the golden glint of his ring gets covered in all your translucent slick, “Well-” Looking right in your eyes when he’s bringing it up to his spit-glossed lips to suck. “-the verdict says…”

You barely even hear what his cursed shikigami says - barely even need to know, because in a split-second Higuruma’s face splits with a snarling, feral grin and he bucks.

Smoochin’ your g-spot so hard that it propels you from your edged agony and straight into heaven. Oh- you’d been judged, and you’d been allowed to cum.

And Higuruma was making sure that you’re riding it allll out to your heart’s content-

“Ride me. Use me.” He’s groaning, superhuman reflexes carrying your weight easily to swivel his slimy tip inside n’ drag out peak after peak. The driveling gloss of Higuruma’s precum collects all over your g-spot and makes you feel hot all over, your orgasm making your vision flash.

Toes curling, your mouth unhinges so wide that that rude tie flops straight into your lap.

Lips moving with those next few words of yours before you’re even registering them in your melty mess of a mind. “F-fill me up, please, Hiromi?”

“O-oh.” For perhaps the first time in your marriage, Higuruma opens his mouth and falters. Stoic bass cracking, huffed pants coming out heavy, you feel his domain crackle with a sudden surge of powerful energy– he’s never been more gone. “I don’t have any objection to that, sugar.”

A/N. Heheh first time writing for a four-hundred year old man kinda nervous.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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milkstick · 3 days ago

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۫ ꣑ৎ . kento's broad shoulder will always be your lifeline during missionary style.

18 + mild overstimulation. clinging. physical dependency.

“fuck, you feel so good..” he murmurs each word punctuated by a thrust that hits so deep you gasp, your fingers digging into the firm planes of his shoulders.

you cling to him nails biting into his flesh and he groans a rare crack in his stoic facade, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“holding on tight, aren’t you, love?”

“c-can’t help it..” you stammer voice breaking as he angles his hips, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your hands slide up gripping his shoulders harder, feeling the power in them as he holds himself above you, his thrusts growing sharper, more insistent.

“kento—fuck—you’re too much.” your words are half plea, half praise, and he leans down, his breath hot against your ear, making you shiver.

“too much?” he repeats voice dripping with that quiet confidence that drives you wild.

“you’re taking me so well, though.” his lips brush your jaw, then your neck, and he thrusts harder, deeper, the bedframe rattling as you moan, your thighs trembling around his waist.

“keep holding on, sweetheart. im not stopping.” you whimper, overwhelmed your body arching into him as he sets a brutal pace, each thrust sending shockwaves through you, your pussy clenching around him like you’re trying to pull him deeper.

#nanami smut #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #kento smut #kento x reader #jjk kento #kento x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk #꣑ৎ k. nanami ── written by kai

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holeforzenin · 2 days ago

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⟣ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐀𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇

⟣ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — Toji x reader, Kento x reader, Satoru x reader, Choso x reader, Ichiji x reader, Yuki x reader

⟣ 𝐓𝐰 — Degradation + dumbification. blow job in Toji’s, backshots in Nanami’s, pussy eating in Gojo’s, Breast play in ichiji’s, breeding in choso’s, face sitting in Yuki’s. They’re prob a lot of grammar errors.

⟣ 𝐀/𝐍 — First multiply character fic in honor of my birthday, what do we think!!? :333

⟣ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

Toji’s grumbling could be heard from the hallway as you padded into the bathroom, catching him zipping up his pants, a lazy yawn stretching across his face. You glanced at the toilet seat, then back at him with a deadpan expression. “Are you serious right now?”

He raised a brow in confusion while looking over his shoulder. “What?”

You stepped past him and pointed accusingly at the droplets scattered on the seat. “You really can’t just wipe the seat? It’s not that hard, Toji”.

Toji huffed, crossing his big arms over his broad chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “You’re really gonna whine about that?”

“Yeah,” you shot back, hands on your hips. “I live here too, you know. It’s gross”.

His eyes dragged over you, amusement flickering in the green depths. “Didn’t know you were so prissy, sweetheart”.

“Didn’t know you were so lazy,” you quipped, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and wiping it yourself with a dramatic flourish. “See? Easy”.

Toji’s jaw ticked, but the smirk was still there. “You wanna be a brat about it?”

“Maybe,” you chirped, tossing the tissue into the bowl and flushing with a pointed look his way. “Maybe if you actually cleaned up after yourself, I wouldn’t have to nag you like I’m your mom”.

He clicked his tongue, stepping forward until your back hit the sink, his hands bracing on either side of you as he towered over you. “That right?”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Guess I should shut that mouth up for you, huh?”

The smugness was gone, replaced with a flicker of thrill as you tilted your chin up defiantly as if you were challenging him. “You could try”.

Toji didn’t waste another second. His large hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he forcefully pushed you down to your knees, the cool tiles biting against your skin. His belt clattered as he quickly unbuckled it, gaze locked on you with a feral sort of glint.

��Open up, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice dropping to a deep whisper. You obeyed, mouth parting as he tapped the angry tip of his cock against your tongue, the weight of it heavy and demanding as pre-cum smeared under your nose and lips.

His grip on your hair tightened as he rammed his cock in, stretching your lips around him and feeding his cock to you inch by inch, groaning low in his chest as you hollowed your cheeks to take him in. “There you go…knew you were good for something other than bitchin’, he grunted, hips thrusting shallowly as you wrapped your hands around his thick thighs for support.

The sound of his breathing roughened, and his eyes stayed locked on the way your pretty lips latched to his shaft as you sucked him, a big spit and pre-cum mixture leaking down your chin as he fucked your mouth deeper, his hips rolling with a much rough rhythm that’s causing you to lose your breath. “Look at that,” he drawled, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth to catch the saliva pooling there. “So messy—Got no fucking room to talk except for taking this cock”.

You moaned around him, nails digging into his pants as he picked up the pace, groaning your name as your tongue flattened along the underside of his dick. His hips snapped harder, the blunt head nudging the back of your throat, forcing tears to prick the corners of your eyes.

His hand cradled your jaw, rough thumb brushing the bulge of his cock through your cheek. “Gonna make you clean up every time,” he rasped, voice deep and raspy. “Since you like it so much, fuckin’ slut”.

⟣ 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

You stood in the doorway of Kento’s office, arms crossed as you surveyed the stacks of papers cluttering his usually wooden desk. “You seriously just gonna leave them like this?”

Kento barely glanced up from his monitor, adjusting his glasses with a sigh. “Darling, they’re already organized,” he replied simply.

“Organized?” you scoffed, stepping further in to pluck a random sheet from the mess. “There’s three different client names on here. What kind of system is this?”

He paused, fingers halting over his keyboard. “A working one”.

You rolled your eyes at his sassiness, shaking the paper for emphasis. “It’s chaos, Kento. I don’t know how you can even find anything in this mess”.

His jaw flexed, gaze finally flicking up to meet yours. “I find everything just fine,” he replied calmly, though the subtle edge in his voice wasn’t lost on you.

“Clearly,” you taunted sarcastically, flipping through another pile. “This is why you can never find your keys. Or your wallet. Or—”

Before you could finish, Kento stood up—his chair scraping back with an annoying sound as he approached you with measured steps, the kind that made your heart thud a little harder because of how calm his demeanor was. He stopped in front of you, gaze sharp behind his glasses. “If you’re going to waste your time nagging me,” he began, his voice low and serious, “I think you should be put to better use”.

You barely had time to respond before he's manhandling you around with his strong hands and pressing your front against the desk, papers crinkling beneath you as his hand splayed across your back to keep you pinned there. “Maybe a little distraction will shut you up,” he murmured.

Heat pooled in your stomach as his warm palm slid down, nudging your legs apart. “Kento!”

“Shh,” he soothed, lips brushing your ear. “You wanted my attention. Now you’ve got it”.

His hands were deft, hiking up your skirt and yanking your panties down to your knees. The loud drag of his belt coming undone had you shivering, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach. “Think you’ll remember this next time you feel like running your fucking mouth?”

A shiver ran up your spine as you nodded. He chuckled at your obedience, fingers brushing over your slit and spreading the pre-cum dribbling out of his tip between your folds. “Good girl. Don't worry, I'll make sure of it”.

And with that, he was ramming his cock all the way in, stretching your poor pussy around him inch by inch over the cluttered surface, papers sliding to the floor and making everything even messier as he sloppily pounded his cock into your cunt, fingers gripping your waist with the kind of authority that left you shaking and whimpering. “Maybe I’ll mess this desk up more often,” he rasped. “Gives me an excuse to disrespect this pussy and shut you up like this”.

Kento squeezed your hips tighter like he was doing it on purpose, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he slammed into you like you were nothing but a warm hole to fuck, his breath hot and heavy against your neck, giving you goosebumps. “Fucking look at you,” he sneered, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging your head back just enough for his lips to brush your ear. “So mouthy until you’re bent over my desk like a little slut. Still think I’m disorganized, darling?” His hips snapped forward, the sharp slap of skin against skin punctuating his question, making your eyes roll back.

Your hands scrambled for purchase amidst the scattered papers, crumpling documents beneath your fingertips as his cock bullied its way deeper into your cervix, splitting you open with each unforgiving thrust that's ruining your poor pussy. “Bet you won’t be nagging me anymore, huh?” he growled, yanking your hair a little harder when you only moaned in response.

“Can barely think, can you? Fucked you so dumb already that you forgot how to run that pretty mouth of yours”. His hand left your hip to smack your rippling ass, the sting sharp and sudden, making you jolt against the desk. “I should leave you like this—bent over my chaos so you remember exactly where your place is”.

⟣ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

You stood in the middle of the living room, running your hands over your face as you analyzed the mess. Candy wrappers were strewn across the coffee table, littering the couch cushions and even dotting the floor like he’d just flung them around for fun. Gojo was lying on the couch, unbothered with his legs manspreading and almost taking up the whole couch, a lollipop dangling from his mouth as he scrolled through his phone.

“Satoru,” you called, voice sharp enough to cut through his blissful ignorance. He raised his head lazily, pushing his sunglasses up to peer at you with that usual cheeky grin.

“Mm? What’s up, sweetheart?”

You gestured around the room. “This. All of this. You’re gonna pick up your candy wrappers or what?”

He tilted his head, sucking obnoxiously on the lollipop with a loud pop. “I was going to…eventually”.

You scoffed, bending down to snatch a few wrappers off the floor. “Eventually? Satoru, it looks like Halloween exploded in here. You can’t just live in your own trash”.

He chuckled, tossing his phone aside and standing up with a dramatic stretch. “I dunno, I think it adds character. Like, ‘Welcome to Gojo’s Candy Kingdom!’ You want a tour?”

You rolled your eyes, chucking the wrappers into the trash bin with a huff. “If this is a kingdom, I’m moving out”.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he teased, stepping up behind you and wrapping his long arms around your waist, chin propped on your shoulder. “You’re really this mad about some wrappers?”

“It’s disgusting,” you shot back, but your voice wavered when his hands slipped to your hips, thumbs rubbing gentle, teasing circles.

“Mm…you’re right,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “I should really clean up my messes”. Before you could respond, you were spun around, and in one swift movement, he had you bent over the arm of the couch, your hips up and your tits smushed into the cushions.

“Satoru!” you squealed, squirming and struggling against his grip, but he just laughed, pushing your skirt up over your hips and exposing your ass with zero shame.

“See? Cleaning up,” he cooed mockingly, hands squeezing your ass with a playful slap. “Starting with you, sweets”.

You barely had time to protest before his eager mouth was on you, tongue quickly lapping between your folds with a kind of greed that had your knees trembling within the first second. “S-Satoruuu” you gasped, hands clawing at the couch cushions at your clit twitches on his tongue.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibrations making you whimper. “What?” he purred, tongue swirling around your clit before sucking harshly like it was a piece of flavorful candy. “Thought you wanted me to stop eating candy. Figured I’d switch to something sweeter”.

Your face burned, hands fisting into the cushions as he licked into you with unrestrained enthusiasm, slurping sounds echoing obnoxiously through the room, it was so embarassing. “Much better than chocolate,” he teased, voice muffled as he nipped at your inner thigh. “I think I’m addicted to this sweet pussy”.

You moaned, back arching as he buried his face deeper into your wet cunt, hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread for him as he slides his tongue back and forth on your folds and collecting your wetness and tasting it on his tongue. “Think you could get mad at me more often?” he murmured, voice all bright and playful, even as his tongue dipped at the entrance of your soaking pussy. “I’m loving this version of clean-up duty”.

⟣ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

The living room was a battlefield of toys—plastic cars, action figures, and stuffed animals scattered like remnants of some toddler rampage. You carefully stepped over a pile of building blocks, hands on your hips as you watched Choso lean against the wall, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded. He looked completely unfazed by the chaos, gaze drifting lazily over the room like it didn’t even register.

“Choso,” you called, voice sharp enough to break his trance. He blinked, head tilting as he looked at you, brows raised in mild surprise.

“Yes?” he drawled, voice soft and calm like the mess around him wasn’t something he should be responsible for. You gestured around the room. “You gonna pick up after your brothers, or are you just gonna let them turn this place into a war zone?”

He shrugged, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “They’re kids,” he murmured, eyes flickering to yours with that familiar, sleepy smile. “Not that big of a deal”.

“Not that big of a—” you started, but he cut you off, hands slipping around your waist and pulling you in close. His touch was gentle, but his grip was sturdy, holding you in place as he dipped his head to brush his lips over your neck.

“You’re so uptight,” he whispered, breath warm against your skin. “Always scolding me but I like it”. His hands squeezed your hips, pulling you against him with a low, rumbling sigh. “Maybe I do want you to keep me in line”.

Your breath hitched, hands bracing against his chest as he pressed forward, guiding you back until your legs hit the arm of the couch. He eased you down, eyes locked on yours with that predatorial look. “You wanna boss me around?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. “Make me clean up, take responsibility?”

Your cheeks burned, hands fisting in his shirt as he hovered above you, his heavyweight pressing you into the couch cushions. “Maybe I do,” you shot back, your voice stronger than you felt.

He chuckled. “Good,” he murmured, hands slipping beneath your skirt to squeeze the plush of your thighs. “Then make me, please”.

You barely had time to process his words before he hooked your legs over his shoulders, his mouth finding yours in a desperate, heated kiss. His hands were everywhere—gripping, squeezing any flesh from your body he could touch, and pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of your body. “Been thinking about it,” he breathed against your lips. “How cute you’d look all round and full—stuffed up with my child”.

Your eyes went wide because of how sudden what he’s saying was, a shiver running down your spine as his grip tightened. “Choso—”

“Yeah,” he groaned, cutting you off, his warm forehead pressed to yours, eyes glimmering with something dark and desperate. “Bet you’d look so good carrying it for me—wanna see you swollen. Wanna everyone to know that I did that to you, baby”.

His hands slipped down, grabbing your thighs and yanking you closer, his hips grinding against yours with shameless need as he humped his clothed cock against your panties, the bumpy outline of him creating friction and making your cunt leak against the material. “You gonna let me?” he whispered, his voice desperation as he awaited your consent. “Gonna let me fill you up? Make you mine for real?”

You swallowed hard, nodding before you could stop yourself, and that was all the permission he needed. He quickly pulled his cock out and slid your panties to the side before his hands grabbed at your waist, easily pulling you down onto him in one rough motion, the sudden stretch stealing the breath from your lungs.

Choso moaned loudly, his eyes fluttering shut as he bottomed out and felt your pussy clenching around him already, his hands gripping you tight enough to bruise. “F–Fuck! You feel that?” he rasped, his voice cracking. “Feel how deep I am?”

He starts pounding into you, every thrust pushing you deeper into the couch, his teeth grazing your neck as he speaks. “Gonna put a little baby in you—m’gonna keep you all full of my children”.

You clutched at his broad shoulders, your nails digging in as he set a brutal rhythm, his thrusts rougher than usual like he was on the verge of losing control. He’s panting against your neck, whispering filthy promises about how you'd be a wonderful mother and how beautiful you’d look carrying his child, how he’d keep you that way—barefoot and pregnant, marked and stuffed up by him.

His pace quickened, hips stuttering a bit and you could already tell he was close. The desperation in his movements mounting and he babbles into your neck. “Gonna stuff you,” he groaned, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Over and over until it’s overflowing out of your pretty little pussy—gonna make sure you’re mine”.

Your back arched, your body shivering under his broken pace but Choso’s hands held you steady, keeping you right where he wanted you as he used you but with love, of course. His breath was ragged, his eyes fluttering as he hammers himself deeper, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. “You gonna take it for me?” he murmured, almost pleading. “Gonna—fuck!—let me breed you?”

You instantly nodded, too fucked out to speak or think, and his expression shattered, his hips bucking wildly as he buried himself to the hilt, warmth flooding you in heavy, throbbing beats but his grip didn’t loosen, hands still holding you tight against him like he was making sure none of his seed would escape.

When it was over, he stayed there, panting against your skin, his hands still possessive on your hips. “Guess that means I gotta clean up the toys now,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t want you tripping with my baby in you”.

⟣ 𝐊𝐈𝐘𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈

The office was dimly lit, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across Ichiji’s cluttered desk. Papers were stacked in uneven piles, data sheets scattered, and a half-empty cup of coffee sat dangerously close to the edge. You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as you watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut in clear frustration. You felt so bad for him.

“You’ve been at it for hours,” you said gently, your voice cutting through the tense silence. His head snapped up, eyes heavy with exhaustion as he met your gaze. “Maybe take a break?”

Ichiji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t,” he muttered, eyes drifting back to the towering stack of reports. “There’s too much to do. It’s not going to finish itself”.

You stepped inside, moving behind his chair and placing your hands on his shoulders. His muscles were taut beneath your touch, tension coiled up tight that’s its aching. “You’re going to burn out if you keep this up,” you whispered, fingers kneading gently at the knots in his shoulders. “Just ten minutes, okay?”

His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, a shaky sigh slipping past his lips. “I don’t have ten minutes,” he replied, voice rough with fatigue.

“Five, then,” you coaxed, leaning down so your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “You can spare five”.

Before he could argue, your hands slipped lower, fingers tracing slow circles against his chest through the fabric of his uniform. He stiffened beneath your touch, eyes snapping open as you pressed yourself closer, your hands dipping to his collarbones. “You’re so tense, baby,” you murmured, lips grazing his temple.

Ichiji groaned, head tipping back as his hands found your hips, squeezing it almost desperately. “You make it so impossible to think,” he whispered with his voice strained.

“Good,” you shot back, voice lilting with mischief. “Stop thinking for a bit”.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His grip tightened, and before you could blink, you were pulled down onto his lap, his hands rougher than usual as they squeezed your waist. His head dipped lower, lips grazing the exposed skin of your collarbone before he suddenly surged forward, calloused hands cupping your breasts with a desperate kind of urgency.

“Ichiji,” you gasped, fingers threading through his black strands as his mouth latched onto the curve of your exposed chest, sucking hot, open-mouthed kisses against your soft skin. His hands fondled with them, thumbs brushing over your nipples through your shirt, sending shocks of pleasure down your spine.

But it wasn’t enough for him. With a low groan, he tugged your top up, baring you to him before his mouth returned—hot and fucking eager, his tongue dragging across your skin with feverish need. His hands held you firmly in place on his lap, keeping you pressed against him as his mouth moved, licking and sucking at every inch of bare flesh he could reach.

His breathing was ragged, eyes heavy-lidded with need as he buried his face between the swell of your breasts, mouthing hungrily at the soft skin there. “You smell so good,” he murmured, voice muffled, his tongue flicking out to trace the curve of your sternum before dipping lower, pressing desperate kisses along the underside.

You shivered, your nails scraping gently against his scalp as he continued, mouth working furiously like he couldn’t get enough. His hands squeezed your breasts, thumbs brushing your hardened nipples in teasing circles that made your breath stutter. “You taste even better,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, lips swollen and slick.

“Feel a little better now?” you teased, breathless and grinning as you cupped his cheek.

Ichiji just chuckled, his hands sliding back to your hips as he pulled you closer to his chest. “Not even close,” he whispered, eyes glimmering with intent. “I think I need another break”.

⟣ 𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐌𝐎

The living room was a mess of unfolded laundry—shirts, socks, and lacy panties scattered across the couch like an afterthought. You stared at the chaos, eyebrows raised as you picked up one of Yuki’s crumpled t-shirts. “You call this folding?” you asked, voice laced with disbelief.

Yuki was sitting on the couch as she scrolled through her phone. She glanced up lazily at you, eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s folded enough,” she replied, stretching like she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Folded enough?” you repeated, holding up one of her wadded-up hoodies like it was evidence of a crime. “Yuki, it looks like you just balled everything up and chucked it in the basket!”

Yuki just smirked, tucking her phone into her pocket and patting her lap. “You got a lot of opinions today,” she drawled, voice dripping with playful arrogance. “Why don’t you come over here and say it to my face?”

You hesitated, eyes narrowing. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” she replied, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Just wanna hear you complain up close”.

Against your better judgment, you stepped forward, and she caught your wrist, tugging you closer until you stumbled over her lap. Her hands were commanding as she adjusted you, making sure you were positioned just right.

“You know,” she mused, her fingers tracing slow circles along your hips. “You do talk a lot of crap for someone who’s about to get sat on”.

Your eyes widened, mouth parting to protest, but Yuki was already shifting beneath you, lifting her hips to slide her sweatpants and panties down her thighs in one fluid motion. The casual confidence in the way she kicked them off sent a thrill straight through you, and you barely had time to process before she grabbed your shoulders, pushing you back onto the couch cushions.

“Yuki, wait—” you started, but she just chuckled darkly, swinging one leg over your face and straddling you, her pushy thighs bracketing your head.

“Wait?” she mocked, hands settling on the back of the couch for balance. “You don’t wanna keep nagging me? Maybe list off my chores while you’re down there?” Her grin was wicked, eyes sparkling with mischief as she hovered above your face, she spreads her ass cheeks—letting you feel the warmth of her pussy on your face, so close your breath ghosted over her skin.

Her bare cunt was practically soaking—like she was waiting for this, sticky slick smearing across your lips the second she lowered herself, her folds warm and wet on your mouth. The taste of her was dizzying, all salt and sweetness as she ground her hips down, rubbing her pussy on you back and forth like she was trying to mark you with it. Her wetness smeared across your chin and cheeks as she rolled her hips in harsh circles, moaning softly above you as she used your facial features to get herself off.

“Look at that,” she purred, her voice sweet and sultry. “Already making such a mess of you.” Her fingers threaded through your hair, gripping tight as she rocked forward, her cunt dragging flat across your tongue with every roll of her hips. “Keep talking about how I don’t clean up—now you can clean this up instead,” she taunted, pressing her ass down harder like she was actually sitting on you instead of just hovering.

Your hands flew to her thighs, nails digging into her skin as you tried to catch your breath, but she wasn’t letting up. Her thighs squeezed your head, holding you still as she ground her soaked cunt in your mouth, the wetness spreading everywhere with every needy movement and her sweet scent filling your nostrils. “That’s it,” she cooed, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Lick it up. Make it nice and clean for me”.

Her juices were everywhere—your tongue, your cheeks, your chin—and she was so persistent, hips circling with purpose, smearing more of her arousal across your face like she was marking her territory. Her hand found the back of your head, pressing you even closer until your nose brushed against the tight ring of her ass, and she let out a shuddering breath when she feels it tickling her.

“Not so mouthy now, huh?” she murmured. “Bet you’re too busy drowning down there to complain”.

She rocked her ass harder, your tongue slipping through her folds, tasting every bit of arousal she rubbed against you. She moaned sweetly above you, the sound shameless and greedy as she kept grinding like a bitch in heat, wetness leaking down your chin and soaking the poor couch cushions beneath you.

“Maybe I’ll make this a habit,” she mused, eyes half-lidded with pleasure as she looks down at you—even though she couldn’t really see your face because her ass was trapping you. “Every time you wanna nag me, I’ll just shut you up like this—smother that attitude right out of you”.

You didn’t even try to argue—your tongue was too busy lapping up everything she gave, your mouth coated with her cream as she rode your face with lazy confidence, grinding herself against you and using you for her pleasure like that’s what you were made for.

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