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shokocide · 2 months 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 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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semprvivum · 1 year ago

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ahhhh i wanna start gardening already

#probably gonna wait til april but might start some seeds indoors soon #not sure exactly what im gonna grow yet but definitely cherry tomatoes and red sunflowers #also thinking about cilantro yarrow bee balm chamomile and lavender 🤔#maybe black eyed susan ... maybe cosmos idk #oh and weed lol #i gotta start growing more flowers for beneficial insects so hopefully i can keep thrips and spider mites off my weed and tomatoes this year

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staargxzer · 1 month ago

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𓂃　 ⁺ ₊ slow downˊ˗

⭒ synopsis ᵎ 〜 headcanons for dealer!ellie x good girl!reader in a college setting. enjoy ;) ⭒ content ᵎ 〜 mdni top!ellie, bottom!reader, fingering (r!receiving), strap-on (r!receiving), mention of weed, degradation, dacryphilia, mirror sex ⭒ word count ᵎ 〜 1.1k ⭒ notes ᵎ 〜 some short headcanons as an apology for being away

⁺ you’re the kind of girl who colour codes her notes and religiously says “thank you” to bus drivers. you would’ve never even dreamed of smoking weed, but here you were. texting a dealer, on your own, because your friend had convinced you that ellie’s weed would calm your nerves. everyone who’s anyone knows ellie williams. strap god, weed extraordinaire, chaotic lesbian. the epithets pile up. but to you? ellie’s warm, charming, and a demon in bed (but everyone knew that, too).

⁺ ellie shows up to your dorm smelling like weed and oil, guitar case slung haphazardly over her bare shoulder and licking sugar off her thumb from the gas station rock candy she had bought on the way there. it was weirdly seductive. she knows you're innocent from the moment her murky half-lidded eyes met your own blown-out ones. the way you introduced yourself only reinforced her idea that you had definitely never done anything like this before: “hi… i’m __, i think i texted you?” as if she might say no. “yeah, sweetheart, y’did. you usually this nervous?”

⁺ when you tell her you’ve never smoked before, she goes soft. not sweet, by any means, but interested. next thing you know she’s rolling up a new joint with the weed she brought and making you take the first hit, coaching you through every movement. “don’t hold it too long. there you go, nice n slow. i got you, baby” then, “you ever kiss someone?” she’s asking while leaning into you, barely giving you time to even process her question before her lips are moving against yours with a fervor that could scare the gods.

⁺ after that, you’re all she thinks about. not the girls who beg her to eat them out at frat parties. you, with your pink lipgloss and apologies and virginity she wants to destroy.

⁺ ellie talks you into coming over to hangout for a “smoke sesh”. promising a genuinely chill night and bribing you with the opportunity to see her play her guitar (something nobody’s ever gotten to see). the chill doesn’t last long. it’s not ellie’s fault, really. who could keep their hands off of you when you’re smiling so pretty and your eyes are falling closed after only two hits? she’s touching you slow, her hand building up your thigh and ghosting over the heat radiating from your cunt. “anyone ever touch ya here?” you shake your head and she’s suddenly grinning like a devil. “want me to be your first?” you nod this time, and her smile grows impossibly wider. you don’t even realize your rocking into her hand until you hear her chuckling into your ear, breath hot on your neck, “i’ll take care of you, baby.”

⁺ she goes so slow. kissing down your stomach and latching onto your thighs. she pulls your panties down with her teeth, just to be able to see the blush grow across your cheeks.

⁺ she eats you out like she has all night. you’ve never been touched like this before, and every whimper and squirm only fuels ellie’s fire more. her eyes are gazing up at you when she slips her finger in for the first time. she relishes in the feeling of your core, the way you squeeze around her whenever she hits just the right spot and the sound of your gasps when her tongue brushes against your puffy clit.

⁺ ellie was known for hitting and dipping, but for some reason she just couldn’t shake you. maybe it was the way her hands carved into your hips so perfectly, or the way your whimpers sounded so sweet in her ear when she was plunging her fingers knuckle-deep into your sopping cunt. whatever it was, ellie knew she couldn’t let you go. you’re her favourite thing to ruin.

⁺ she won’t stop texting you. ‘you up?’ ‘wanna come over and let me make you cry again?’ ‘miss your thighs around my head’ once she knows what she wants, she’ll do anything to get it. you’re officially ruined for anyone else. you walk through the campus glowing, thighs sore, deep-purple marks hidden beneath your classy turtleneck. no one suspects that the quiet good girl with a pastel tote bag gets fucked into the stratosphere three times a week by ellie fucking williams.

⁺ she starts bringing her guitar when you two meet. she plays songs that no one’s heard before, ones that are clearly about you. she’ll sing to you in between rounds, with your head in her lap and your panties somewhere across the room.

⁺ ellie gets territorial. your hers, and everyone needs to know that. she makes you sit on her lap everywhere, hand always on your waist and a nasty glare directed at the frat boys who try to talk to you. she loves to mark you up, leaving hickeys all over you. especially in places only she’s allowed to see. she’ll lend you her clothes and beg you to wear them into class. you do, one day, draped in her oversized red flannel. everyone recognizes it and the whispers are insufferable. ellie loves it. “ya look good in my clothes, baby. gonna look better out of ‘em later.”

⁺ she is most definitely a service top with a bit of a domination kink. she loves to corrupt you, have you falling apart on her strap and making you say filthy things. “c’mon, sweetheart. you gotta use your words or i can’t touch you.” she makes you beg, and once you do (breathy and soft, hands covering your reddening face) a huge grin takes over her entire face and she fucks you harder than ever.

⁺ ellie is skilled with her strap, there’s no arguing about that, but she for sure prefers to watch you come undone on her fingers. something about feeling you clench and gush around her knuckles just gets to her.

⁺ she’s a mirror sex fanatic. everything about it makes her crazy for you. holding your chin up between her pointer and her thumb, forcing you to watch the tears stream down your face as she pounds you from behind. “you’re so fucking pretty when you cry f’r me, y’know that?”

⁺ she definitely likes to delve into degradation every once in a while, particularly after she’s dealt with a rude customer. “look at you, dick drunk already huh? act like such a good girl at school and then take me like this? fuck.”

⁺ and, after putting you through the filthiest sex you could imagine, ellie wraps you right up in one of her clean hoodies and tucks you against her chest. “did so good, baby. so perfect, all f’r me.” she’s soft when it counts, rough when it turns you on.

#stargxzing #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #lesbian #wlw #ellie tlou #ellie tlou smut

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inthelow · 2 months ago

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SMOKE SPRITE — jeon jungkook.

Pairing: fem! reader x jeon jungkook

Summary: you and Jungkook aren’t that close, you were supposedly be dating his best friend… then why is he about to fuck you in the back of his car?.

Genre/Warning: literally porn with a little plot. just blowjob tho; mentions of cheating but not really; some cursing, etc.

author note: wrote this in 15 minutes cuz i’m ovulating;; is just a short and horny kinda-drabble with jungkook because why the hell no?

part 2 / part 3

you can find more in this masterlist.

Jungkook knew he was doing something wrong.

The night didn’t go the way he planned it at all. It was Saturday, his friends had invited him to go out to get drinks. Things were supposed to be steady and normal. He was supposed to met his group of friends who he liked, go to the bar he knew very well, have some drinks to be more extroverted and then make an excuse to go home a little early than usual because he was tired… Nothing happened that way. It was 2 am and he wasn’t home, he was in the back of his car kissing you.

Something was definitely wrong.

He knew you for quite some time, you shared a lot of friends so it wasn’t new that you hangout a lot. You’ve never been that close though, you’ve had some good times together but you were closer to Yoongi and Namjoon and lately you seemed to be in a kind of special relationship with Taehyung, he didn’t know if you were just fucking or trying to date but he knew that his friend was head over heels with you, there wasn’t a moment where he didn’t try to talk about you.

So why was he kissing you right now?.

He wanted to find an excuse. He tried to think what had happened in the last hour that made you both make out in the back of his car, were you really that out of it?, was he really that desperate for some touch that he was betraying his friend?. He knew it was wrong but why did you feel you so good?. Kissing him that way, your hands grabbing his hair with desperation like he would run away from you any moment - he should, his hands felt so warm in your legs, you were on top of him not giving him any way out, maybe it was your fault. It wasn’t like he could just push you away… right?.

His mind went back to a couple minutes ago, both too drunk to drive, too drunk to know what you were doing. He was supposed to grab his wallet from his car to order a taxi for you both since you were the last two to leave the bar after ordering too many shots for some kind of competition you were having, he didn’t remember what was it. You weren’t supposed to see his weed, he wasn’t supposed to asked you if you wanted to smoke, you weren’t supposed to say yes, he wasn’t supposed to sit next to you in the back of his car to smoke, you weren’t supposed to look at him with those tired red eyes, he wasn’t supposed to lean in to kiss you, you weren’t supposed to kiss him back.

All his effort to think straight went to hell when your lips touched his.

He thought you looked so hot, smoking weed next to him, coughing and giggling like that. He didn’t have to get hard from just hearing your cute giggles, but looking at you was his last straw, wearing that cute little short dress, breathing heavily, pink lips, red eyes, that sharp eyeliner that made you look like a cat, he knew he couldn’t just… not kiss you. Throwing the rest of the weed away before grabbing your hair to stamp his lips on yours, it was everything for him in that moment.

You were so intoxicated for him, his mind was in another universe but you were everything he could see and feel. Your lips felt so good against his, your hands were quickly to grabbed his hair, like you were waiting for him, that made him even more excited. The way he could feel your desperation too, the way you crawled on top of him and made him put his hand in good use, he wanted you so much, lost in the feeling of you.

He knew the right thing would be to push you, to ask you if you weren’t with his friend, he knew he had to do it even if you denied it because he had listen to Taehyung’s rambles about you for weeks, a good friend would push the girl away… no, a good friend wouldn’t even had made the decision to kiss you. He knew the right choices he had to take but he just pushed those thoughts far away from his mind before moaning in your mouth.

You were a minx.

Taking shots with him, making a competition because you knew he wouldn’t say not, pointing out the weed, kissing him back. You had looked so innocent all night, just drinking and chatting with your friends, even flirting with Taehyung in front of everyone, touching him and giggling in his ear before deciding to sit next to him, before deciding to take some shots with him, before deciding to stay longer with him, before saying no to his friend’s offer to take you home because he was already tired, before drinking more with him, before going to his car, before kissing you.

No, you weren’t innocent at all.

Did he make you this intoxicated too?.

“Let me touch you” he sounded so needy, so desperate to put his fingers or mouth between your legs.

You pushed him a little before smirking. You were a fucking demon, he could just come in his pants at the sight of you. Your hair all over the place, your swollen lips, your heavy breathing, your lazy eyes, he wanted to eat you all.

Did Taehyung actually get that lucky?.

You didn’t say anything, your hands going to his pants to unbutton and tug them down. He was so gone, so out of it and he could sense that you were the same as him, maybe to into it to think straight, maybe too high to actually understand what you were doing. He wanted to know if you were so worked up like him, were you wet?. If he moved his fingers to your core, could he play with your wetness?, could he make you come easily?. He knew he could if you gave him the chance, he could touch you so good, he could give you all the pleasure you wanted.

He threw his head back when your fingers touched his clothed cock, teasing him slightly with the tip of your fingers, rubbing them up and down to feel the length and form of it. He tried not to moan when your hand finally wrapped around it, closing his eyes and sighing when you started to move your hand slowly, you started kissing his jaw and neck. He knew he was going to come so easily, he tried to think of something else, how the his vision wasn’t the best, how everything felt light and dizzy, how the fogged up windows make everything hotter… nothing was working when your were touching him like that.

“I wanna taste you.”

Yeah, he was going to come so fast.

“Please.”

He would have punched himself in the face at how needy he sounded but the way you smile proudly at his desperation was so hot, he wanted to surrender for you in an instant.

He didn’t know how you fitted in his car’s floor but in less than twenty seconds you were kneeling in front of him, looking so good between his legs. He bit his lips at the sight, you looked so good like that, looking at him so fucked up. Your hands went straight to his underwear to tug it down. Your eyes opened with excitement when you saw his cock jumping out hard and ready to be taken to your mouth.

“You have a pretty cock, Jungkook.”

He sighed, his eyes all black and with pure lust. He never heard anyone say his cock was pretty, big yes, good also… pretty? it was the first time. He was hard as a rock and his tip was shinny with pre cum and red, begging to be taken care of. You looked like you were going to devour him. He asked himself if you did the same with Taehyung… When you stuck out your tongue to taste all of his length before giving a small kiss to the tip, he begged to God that you didn’t.

Your lips wrapped around his tip before sucking in, he threw his head back to the seat. You started sucking his cock so slow and hard that he thought it might be the best head he ever had, maybe too fucked up to even remember the ones before. But you were so good, taking him little by little until his tip hit your throat and you gagged on it. He took your hair in his hands to give you more access to confort, he sighed and moaned, closing his eyes to not look at you because he knew he would come faster if he did.

You were so good for him, on your knees, taking his cock in your mouth.

You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be doing this. Jungkook shouldn’t be letting you doing this…. Jungkook thought that maybe it was Taehyung’s fault, he was there with you, why didn’t he take you home?. He should have, maybe if he stayed a little longer, maybe if he stayed glued to your side you wouldn’t be here, maybe if he actually touched you good you wouldn’t be here. Did he touch you?. Did he get the pleasure of seeing you like this too?. It was Taehyung’s fault for not insisting in taking you home, for not taking care of you. Yeah, If anything, it was Taehyung’s fault that this was happening.

And Jungkook wanted to thank him so bad.

Your tongue circled his cock tightly before sucking again, he gritted his teeth hard at the sensation. Your right hand squeezed the beginning of his cock, moving it up and down as you sucked his tip with determination. You were good, so good for him. He wanted to tell you many things but he just groaned when you started to gagged on his cock, moving your head up and down and letting him move his hips to fucked your mouth the way he wanted.

“So good, fuck- you’re so good…”

He felt his core tighten, his head getting dizzy and his mouth dry. He hissed and complained when you grabbed his thighs to pushed him down, backing away your mouth from his cock.

“It’s only polite to look at me while I suck your dick, don’t you think?.”

He came.

When he opened his eyes to see you, the world stopped momentarily for him. You on your knees with your ruined mascara and red eyes, with a line of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock, with your hands clawing at his thighs, with your hair being a mess and being held up with his weak hands. You were the devil made in person. Your lips wrapped around his tip and he didn’t take his eyes off of you while you swallowed all of his cum, your eyes didn’t leave his either, and he knew you had ruined sex for him. Nothing would feel as great as this. His hands grabbed your hair harder and his legs tense at the sensation, his eyes felt heavy and everything became more dizzy and slow. It was perfect, he had to close his eyes to steady himself, his breathing was unstable.

It took him a couple of seconds to come back to reality. When he opened his eyes you were still on your knees, lips glossy and eyes black and mischievous. His hands left your hair to your cheeks, with his thumb he cleaned his cream left in your jaw and lips to make you suck it. He felt himself getting turned on again, were you a witch?. How was it that you had become the epitome of sexiness for him. He narrowed his eyes when your tongue touched his thumb, tasting his cum while looking at him. He was going to come again.

You let go of his thumb to pout “kiss me?.”

He usually didn’t like to kiss after giving or receiving oral sex, he didn’t seemed to into it nor he like it that much, it wasn’t his favorite thing. He didn’t know why he took you from the hair to stamp his lips into yours, grabbing you with strength so you could sit on top of him again. He moaned at the taste, thinking how good it was to taste himself in your mouth, how good you tasted, how hot you were. He asked himself how was it that he didn’t like it before, he asked himself how because now it was the best meal he ever had. You made everything so hot, he wanted to make you feel good, he wanted to show you that he could make you feel as good as you made him feel.

“So good, pretty. You were so good” he said before kissing you again.

The fingers of his left hand dug into your hair while with his right hand he held the back of your neck to keep you from getting away. His tongue sank into your mouth, wanting to savor every bit of it. His heart pounded with excitement as you let out a small moan, he was sure he was going to get hard again the way your hands were rubbing his abs and chest under his shirt.

His lips traveled to your neck, he was becoming desperate again. He had come only two minutes ago but he couldn't stop, he needed to make you feel good, he wanted to see you come undone in front of him, he wanted to see you tremble and moan, he wanted to see your legs shake and make you unable to form any coherent word, he wanted to see you lost in pleasure, he wanted to taste you, to know your flavor, he wanted to put his fingers inside you, getting you so wet until he could fuck you, slow and hard… or fast and soft, any way you liked, any way that would make you moan louder.

His hands travelled down your body, making the tip of his fingers touch every part of your body until his palm got to your thighs, you were burning hot, so warm for him. He rubbed your skin slowly, his hands getting closer and closer to your core. His heart beat faster when he got to pull your dress up, finally being able to see your black underwear. His thumb went straight to your warm, finally feeling the wetness even in your panties…

“I’m gonna fuck…”

Ring!, Ring!, Ring!.

You pushed him away slightly, your phone vibrating on the other seat to your left. You both look at it, the name of the person shining in your screen with a picture of you and him smiling at the camera.

Kim Taehyung.

You pulled away from him, taking your phone and sitting next to him to answer “Hello?.”

Jungkook froze in place. What was happening?. He was going to fuck his fingers into you, maybe even taste you later, why were you answering Taehyung like nothing had happened?. Why were you fixing your clothes and sitting pretty next to him while talking to another man?. why were you so normal about it? Like if some minutes ago you weren’t chocking on his cock. He should have taken your phone away or throwing it outside his car. He should be kissing you again and fuck you, making you feel good. But no, you were talking with Taehyung on the phone and he wasn’t able to do anything, he didn’t have the right to, he didn’t feel like he had to.

“What is it?” he asked when you groaned annoyed.

“Tae…” you sighed, still looking fucked up “, yeah, yeah, yes, I know, no, yes we are. But…” you complained before pushing your phone to Jungkook “. He wants to talk with you.”

He grabbed your phone with frustration before opening his mouth to talk with his friend.

“Hello?.”

“Bro, why is she so fucked up?” he didn’t sound mad, just worry “. I thought you were gonna take her home.”

“I was… I am…”

“God, you sound the same too.”

“We just… smoked a little.”

“Shit, of course you did” he sighed, Jungkook heard some noice in the background “. I know I shouldn’t have let you take care of her. I’m on my way to the bar, don’t fucking move.”

Taehyung hung up.

Jungkook’s blood boiled, he wanted to tell Taehyung that he was about to take good care of you if he hadn’t call, that you actually took good care of him, really good care. He was so annoyed by his friend.

“He said he’s on his way.”

“He’s so annoying” Jungkook wanted to shot himself in the head when he notice the way you said it, with a smile on your face, with a cute tone in your voice, did you really like him? “. We should get clean” you chuckled “. I’m going to the bathroom first.”

You didn’t give him time to stop you, slipping away from the car to wash yourself in the bar’s bathroom. He groaned at the frustration, throwing his head back and regretting not being the one to touch you first.

Sitting in the back of his car with his pants and underwear down to his knees, your lipstick on his dick and lips, his shirt wide open, the flashbacks on you on your knees, the taste of you in his mouth and images of you in his mind… he knew he was really fucked up, he wanted you again.

hehe, just wanted to make a whiny and needy jungkook. i didn’t edit shit cuz im lazy and this one kinda sucks lol

might do a part 2 so let me know if you like it >_<

#reader x jeon jungkook #jk x reader #reader x jk #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bangtan x reader #bts x reader #bts one shot #bts fanfic #jungkook smut

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kaiijo · 11 months ago

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HOT THINGS HE DOES — [WIND BREAKER]

characters: sakura haruka, suo hayato, kiryu mitsuki, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma, togame jo content: gn! reader, reader has smaller hands than hiragi notes: i love them, your honor

sakura haruka ✶

runs his hand through his hair. sakura doesn’t know why you watch him so intently when he cards his fingers through his hair. in his mind, he’s just trying to get his bangs out of his face but to you, he looks so effortlessly cool

he’ll definitely get flustered if you voice your thoughts to him while giving him a long once-over. he definitely starts blushing and stuttering and looking anywhere but your eyes with crossed arms. he’s actually short circuiting and you take the opportunity to run your own hand through his hair, feeling the smooth flow of his locks between fingers.

nirei akihiko ✶

very perceptive of your needs. it’s like he can read your mind. you need a bottle of water? nirei’s already handing it to you. you want a sweet treat? nirei’s already bought it from your favorite bakery. you wanted to get a limited-edition keychain but they ran out at the store? don’t worry — nirei’s already bought matching ones for you

there’s something about how in-tune he is with you that has your face warming and a smile breaking across your face. you’re just as in-tune with him and his needs as he is with yours

suo hayato ✶

always smells good. suo takes care of himself and has a nice natural scent, but when he wears his favorite cologne, he smells nice and clean and good. it makes your heart jump when you catch the notes of his cologne and you like to bury your face in his neck when he wears it (and maybe kiss his neck a little too)

his cologne also lingers on many items of clothing — shirts, sweaters, coats — which results in you stealing a bunch of his things so that you can keep his scent around you when he’s not with you

kiryu mitsuki ✶

hand on the back. kiryu guides you around with a hand on your back, making sure that you are with him and comfortable and safe. it makes your heart skip a beat when he places a hand on your lower back, his palm warm even through your clothes

you especially love when you’re on a romantic dinner date and his hand in on your lower back as he leads you to your table, still holding you as he slides your chair out. you can’t stop the little giggle that bubbles in the back of your throat

umemiya hajime ✶

gardening shirtless. there are two parts to this — one, you love that umemiya gardens and how attentive he is to his plants; two, you love when he does it shirtless. umemiya looks like he was carved by the gods and it’s always hot to watch him pull weeds, water the plants, and hum to them the sun’s making his bare skin glow

you also like when he stands up to wipe sweat off his brow and you get to see the way the sweat glistens on his skin. it makes you contemplate dragging him away from his gardening for some personal time

hiragi toma ✶

comparing hand sizes. hiragi hands are so big and nimble and you especially love how big they are compared to yours. he doesn’t understand your obsession with grabbing his hand and pressing your palm against his

he indulges you whenever you ask him to compare hand sizes, fingers curling over the tips of yours. you know that his hand is bigger than yours but it makes your light-headed to see the real thing

kaji ren ✶

stands up for you. kaji is the one to advocate for you when you won’t do it yourself and there nothing you find more appealing. there’s something so attractive about him when he tells your waiter that you didn’t order a certain item or something else like this. he’s not mean or aggressive, simply direct and firm when he does so

it makes you feel cared for and that someone is looking out for you. kaji also holds steady eye contact when he makes his request and there’s a steel to his gaze that sets your face aflame

togame jo ✶

casual lean against the doorframe. but not just any door frame lean; togame does the book boyfriend lean, with a forearm braced against the doorframe and him slanting toward you to best listen to whatever you’re saying. he so attentive and confident when he does that you can’t help the way your heart skips a beat and your eyes involuntarily flutter when you meet his eyes.

he also knows the effect this has on you so sometimes he’ll cage you in between the wall and his body, one arm above your head. he gives you a small lazy smirk and it has you pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss

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corvidcrossbow · 1 year ago

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~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

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orphicsun · 7 months ago

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CAMGIRL ELLIE

Camgirl Ellie AU: Ellie Williams x Fem! reader

Description: Ellie is a broke college student whose options are either selling weed on campus or doing filthy things on live for her mainly female audience. When another famous camgirl joins one of her lives, she is about to have the collab of a lifetime.

Content / Warnings: Femme camgirl reader, headcannon-style fic, explicit content, Jesse and Dina make cameos woah, Ellie is all cute and nervous for the first half, masturbation on camera, fingering & oral sex, use of strap-ons, reader is on receiving end, feminine reader, use of petnames (baby and mamas), breeding kinks, mult. orgasms. Enjoy the ride.

Word Count: 3.3k

★ Camgirl Ellie who is a sophomore in college, so broke and extremely desperate come with the territory. Like, Taco Bell is a luxury broke, and desperate as in she has applied to every job around campus. She even thought about dealing for a while, but as much as she loves a good smoke sesh, she'd rather not risk getting kicked out of school for something as dumb as selling blunts.

★ Camgirl Ellie who laughed when her friend Jesse suggested her being a camgirl.

"Why the fuck would I give old creepy dudes jerk-off material?"

Jesse laughed, grabbing a handful of cheetos from the bag in her hand. "Dude, you wouldn't be doing it for men. I mean, look at you." Jesse took a good, hard look at his friend; the several silver rings across her five fingers, a short-sleeve blue button up layered over a white wife-pleaser, and for god's sake, a pair of jorts that only Ellie could pull off. "You're clearly not for the male gaze."

After much (15 minutes) contemplation, she decided that maybe it'd be fun to get attention from girls and money at the same time.

★ Camgirl Ellie who is actually rather awkward and quiet around girls in the real world, cursing "fuck" under her breath when she sees a pretty girl but just doesn't know how to impress women in a way that doesn't come off as too forward or weird. That being said, she actually likes having a persona online where she can say anything she wants, and she definitely abuses the fact that she is allowed to say anything she truly feels like saying, and women will go crazy for it.

Sitting on her couch, propping up her iphone 11 on the coffee table with a pop socket she got like, 6 years ago so that the fans have a wonderful view of her stroking a strap-on with cheap lube she picked up from her local Walmart. Her bush is slightly peeking out from the harness, and the fans are getting filthy. Not as filthy as camgirl Ellie, though.

"Fuck, feels so good on my clit.." she groans, throwing her head back dramatically.

dykeluvr69 commented: oh my god y'all her happy trail i'm throbbing

wet4williams commented: i wish i could ride that strap

andersonsabs33 commented: mid💀

Ellie squints, anticipating all the thirsty comments, and scoffs at one, her hand jerking away from the silicone shaft for a moment to tell off some random.

"Suck my dick, andersonabs33."

fairydustonmyclit_2 commented: me next please!!

★ Camgirl Ellie who doesn't always have to be explicit to even get views. She finds that focusing the camera on her fingers while strumming her guitar can work wonders online. If she has had an exhausting day or is feeling anxious about getting naked in front of an overwhelmingly growing audience, she can always just show off her hands or say sweet things to her fans.

★ Camgirl Ellie who is not a virgin. She's had a few past girlfriends, no casual sex, but is pretty experienced from her long-term relationships. That being said, she never once has considered doing actual sex on camera for money. That changes when another famous (and nearby) camgirl joins her livestream.

Ellie's once again on her couch, two fingers doing figure eights on her clit as the view count rises. She's basically man-spreading to give her girls the best view possible, and not holding back from letting out breathy little groans and loud curses. Her fans go crazy when she has her tits out, so her sports bra is hitched up, her perky tits free and her nipples stiff.

"F-Feels so good, holy shit, wanna cum for my girls so bad," she groans, closing her eyes. Ellie doesn't view real masturbation as anything like her online work; if she were actually to be playing with her pussy all alone with no audience, she'd cum by now. But that doesn't make a profit, no. Longer time is important, and the more she ups the antics, teases her fans, the more comments can come in. The more donations arise and all that good shit.

Ellie teases her entrance with her middle finger, and her eyes flutter open as she eases the digit past her puffy folds.

She reads through the chat to hold out from cumming too quickly.

elliessluttygirl commented: i wish that was my hand playing w ur pussy ellie:(

Ellie smiles, curling her finger and moaning. She smiles lazily. "Yeah, slutty girl..wish it was yours, too."

As she adds a second finger upon the majority request in her comment section, she pauses at the feed.

urfavfemme has joined the livestream. Say hi!

Holy fuck. Ellie hasn't seen your videos, but the pink checkmark on your name means you're verified. Suddenly, Ellie is nervous as hell now. How is she supposed to act now, with some famous, probably fine woman watching her? She swallows and continues bucking up into her palm, but her fingers are slightly shaky now.

urfavfemme commented: ur pussy is so pretty.

Ellie laughs nervously at that. What the fuck is happening? But maybe she can use the situation to her advantage.

" 'urfavfemme', huh? Cute username," she coos, a little breathlessly because now she's getting closer to cumming, her nerves dying down as her fingers massage her sensitive walls. Ellie is so fucked up, she thinks to herself. She doesn't even know what you look like yet, why is she getting so crazed by you complimenting her?

urfavfemme commented: i wanna see that pretty pussy squirt please..

Ellie moans and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, trying to wrap her head around it all. She gets dozens of comments just like these, thirsty ass girls drooling to her playing with herself or showing off a strap-on. Why is it that the idea of you, a self-proclaimed 'femme' making these comments is the thing that makes her belly all hot with the familiar ache of true need?

pixiestickpussy commented: holy shit this is so hot

wet4williams commented: is it just me or is smth going on with ellie and this camgirl chick

imonherefortheporn69 commented: i checked out the girl's content she's super hot dude

Ellie's head is spinning at the whole situation. It's overwhelming and she wants to just turn off the camera, but she's so close and getting desperate to cum. It is just so fucking hard when all of her girls are in an uproar over you.

urfavfemme commented: stretch me out on those fingers.

"Oh- Oh, my fucking god!! 'm cumming-" Ellie can barely keep herself from crying out as the waves shoot through her body throughout, a finger covering her clit to extend the orgasm that hits her so deeply. Her fingers are soaked more than usual, juices trickling down her knuckles. Her other palm is massaging over her tits, and for a moment, she forgets she is on camera. Forgets the thousands of people watching her, probably fingering themselves just like her. The though that is usually so overwhelming is forgotten.

Her body is warm, and if she could describe how this nut feels right about now, she'd say it's hot pink. It's light lightning, and for some reason, all she can repeat in her head is "thank you thank you thank you urfavfemme" because seriously, this has been one of the most insane experiences of her life. When she finally comes down, she has to take a few moments to catch her breath.

The aftermath of it all hits her. She did not just cum like she does in private. The usually dramatic orgasms the viewers got are nothing like that, and for what? Some girl she hasn't even seen yet?

The comments are going off, praising her and thirsting like she's never seen before, but she is still panting and flushed on her couch.

urfavfemme has donated $1000.

urfavfemme has left the livestream. Bye!

Ellie is quickly turning off the stream with a half-assed goodbye, and collapsing back onto her couch. She cannot believe that she just lost control like that. Her mind is processing the huge donation, too. A whole thousand is more than she's ever gotten in donations on a single live. How famous are you?

Ellie can't dwell much, because as her body cools down, she realizes how soaked the towel she is sitting on is. Oh, my god. She actually squirted on live.

★ Camgirl Ellie who searches up your username on google a few days following the squirting contest incident, and is soon brought to a url that hits her like a flashbang as soon as it loads on her ancient ass laptop. Her screen is covered in pink, and a pretty white font with your username is front and center. She then sees your face and nearly nuts. You're fucking gorgeous, definitely out of her league.. How are you the same girl that talked her through an intense orgasm over a livestream the other night?

★ Camgirl Ellie who spends the next few hours watching your videos. She has found a new obsession, that's for sure.

She has hearts in her eyes watching you bounce on a fairly-sized dildo suctioned to your floor, helplessly groaning with a hand down her basketball shorts as your pussy swallows the length of the toy. Your moans are what really gets her. You sound like anything but the pornstars she's heard, instead moaning like you're really getting it. And suddenly, Ellie wants to be the one to give it to you.

★ Camgirl Ellie who types out various messages to send to your gmail so conveniently linked on your website until she finally settles on something not too awkward

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Collab? Dear urfavfemme,

You were in my livestream the other day. I'm Ellie from the camgirl website, and I wanna know if you'd like to collab? (If you're around my area, of course).

Reading it back after she sent it, she sighs. That looks way too fucking professional for a request to do porn together.

★ Camgirl Ellie who anxiously waits for about an hour, not even Borderlands 3 able to distract her before she finally gets an email back.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Collab?

Hi!! I'm in Fairview, WY if you're near? I'd love to collab:)

★ Ellie, who is freaking the fuck out now. She hadn't had sex in two years since Dina traumatized her with the worst break-up possible, and you're one of the hottest girls she's ever seen. Plus, she is only an hour away from you.

Jesse laughs when she rants to him about the whole thing.

"So you've got a fine ass girl offering to have sex with you? What's the problem?"

Ellie scoffs and gives him a glare, but there isn't any true malice. "That's the problem, idiot! She is way hotter than me. Plus, I haven't even had any practice in so long. What if I can't make her cum? What if I embarrass myself on live in front of both of our fan-"

"C'mon man, you gotta get out of your head about this. Does she seem nice?"

Ellie nods.

Jesse sighs, and slightly softens his tough-love look. "Look, she is probably just as nervous as you are. Give yourself a break, and go have fun with the pretty femme girl."

★ Camgirl Ellie who shows up at your apartment a little earlier than she meant to. She didn't mean to speed, but she was nervous on the road, anxiously tapping the steering wheel.

★ Camgirl Ellie who is greeted by you in a robe and what she assumes is going to be either nothing or lingerie underneath. That makes her heart beat even faster. She feels like she's gonna puke from how nervous she is, you're even more gorgeous up close.

★ Camgirl Ellie who takes in your bedroom compared to her own small apartment's bedroom. You've got posters covering your walls of various artists like PinkPantheress and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts; your bedsheets match your whole feminine vibe, and you have a whole camera set up with a stand. There's a box with a harness and different sizes of dildos inside of it. All of this is making Ellie even more nervous, like, shit her pants nervous.

You seem to take notice of her nerves, because you have clear concern on your face as you guide her to sit on your bed.

"You okay, Ellie?" voice so sweet and soothing, it could make her heart stop.

"Yeah..I'm okay.." she sighs, and anxiously chews on her lip, "I'm just like, me.. and you're super hot and all-"

Ellie's self-doubt is choked off when you cup her face, leaning in. "Do you know why I donated?"

"Why?" Ellie sounds shaky, a little confused on where this is going.

You give her a sweet smile, your glossy lips catching the ceiling light. You lean in even closer so that you can speak quietly, intimately. "I thought that you were easily one of the hottest camgirls I've ever seen on the website."

Ellie's eyebrows shoot up at that. "No fuckin' way you think that.."

Your smile doesn't falter, and you lean in even closer. "I do. I want you to fuck me, Ellie."

★ Camgirl Ellie who didn't know how passionately one could eat a pussy until she got a taste of yours. With the camera all set up and the live on, viewers roll in quickly at the promise of a collab between their two favorite lesbian camgirls. Ellie never forgot about the camera when it came to her solo steams, but you just have an effect on her that makes her head dizzy and her pussy throb, and all of a sudden she has her tongue deep in your wet pussy, alternating between tonguing your hole and tasting your clit. You're sprawled out on your bed, completely naked with Ellie between your thighs, and your moans are even louder than usual. They're angelic sounds that make the comments roll in like crazy.

dykeluvr69 commented: ellie eats pussy like a madman and i am so jealous rn

andersonabs33 commented: she's too sloppy with it, slow tf down girl.

This time, Ellie is far too blissed out devouring you to even pull away and tell the troll to fuck off.

"Mmmph, pussy tastes so fuckin' good.." You can't make out her muffled declaration, but the vibrations on your clit have you creaming for her.

Your pussy just sings for her. Three orgasms in, and she hasn't even used the strap she's wearing yet. She wants to savor every soft whimper you make when she nibbles on your neck before making out with you, tongue shoving into your mouth so that you can take your own perfect pussy on her tongue.

★ Camgirl Ellie whose fingers curl inside of you relentlessly, pumping into you, coaxing out orgasms like it's nothing. To her though, it is truly everything. You cry like you're pleading for her to never stop. It feels like hours that she's been tending to the perfect cunt you've got between your legs, and she doesn't know where she even learned half of the shit she's done. It isn't too hard to please you when she craves your sounds, though. She craves the feeling of your thighs squeezing the apples of her cheeks, making her lightheaded.

★ Camgirl Ellie who saves best for last, finally rubbing girthy silicone against your clit, making you whine in the process. That sound goes straight to her clit.

She grins with a newfound confidence, one she think that she has been given from a witchy ritual or something, not lesbian camgirl sex.

"You want me to fuck you good, baby? Fuck you 'till you squirt on my dick like you made me squirt?"

"Please, fuck, Ellie..." You're babbling nonsense at this point, legs spread wide and knees almost to your ears at you nearly sob for her dick.

"C'mon mamas, I wanna hear you beg for me." She taps the tip against your clit repeatedly, holding you down by the back your thighs to keep you from trying to squirm for more.

"Please, Ellie!! Fuck me, make me cum. I want your dick."

Ellie groans as she finally parts your soaked folds with the tip, sinking into your heat slowly as to not hurt you, but she soon finds that your walls are just swallowing her completely. All that foreplay must've really paid off.

★ Camgirl Ellie who practically goes from a nervous wreck to a pornstar in a matter of minutes, because she insists that she can feel how tight you are around her huge dick.

"Fuck, baby. Gonna fuck this pussy so good, gonna make you scream my name." She manhandles your legs around her waist so that she can hold your hips while she pounds into you, creating a whole bonfire of heat in your pussy.

"Feel you so deep in me, Ellie!" You almost break when she starts leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

"Yeah? Gonna make you feel me in your tummy, mamas. Gonna put a baby in you." Where in the hell did that come from? You both roll with it, if not getting even more riled up by the idea of Ellie cumming in you and knocking you up.

"Please, Ellie. 'm g-gonna cum for you-" before you can finally have your orgasm, it's ripped away as she pulls out of you. You can't even protest or make a loud whine before Ellie is flipping you onto your stomach, frantic to tuck one of your pink pillows underneath your tummy. She lines back up with your sloppy hole, slamming back into it to earn herself an actual sob from you.

You cry into the pillow, not from pain at all. No, this is probably one of the best fucks you've ever had in your life. Ellie doesn't start slow again but rather pistons her hips into yours, bony hips slamming into the fat of your ass upon each thrust until you finally get the intense orgasm you need.

"Pleaseknockmeup-" you cum with a broken cry, a couple euphoric tears streaming down your face. Your poor bedsheets, all soaked from you and Ellie's pussies and your tears. At this angle with the pillow raising you, you believe you can truly feel Ellie all up in your stomach. The waves are more like knots of a rope being snapped in half deep inside of you, and Ellie only keeps you riding the pleasure with her little sloppy grunts audible behind you.

Ellie groans as the friction to her own clit is vastly more intense with each grind to meet your body, and now she is humping your ass to get herself off. After she cums with a "gonna fucking cum in this pussy", she goes limp on top of you, her sweaty body covering yours, her tits pressed against your back in a way that is more comforting than arousing now.

★ Camgirl Ellie and you who entirely forget about the live and fall asleep in your bed together, snuggled up with you the big spoon, and the cum-coated strap on thrown somewhere across the room. Your bodies are flush against each other and your hands are wrapped around Ellie’s stomach, holding her closely.

fairydustonmyclit_2 commented: aw this is actually kind of cute

pixiestickpussy commented: i wanna be sandwiched between them wtf

limpbizkitsbitch commented: ts gonna be awkward when they wake up

andersonabs33: quit being a miserable bitch

limpbizkitsbitch: ironic coming from you🌝

andersonabs33 has left the live. Bye!

#ellie williams #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #the last of us part 2 #ellie smut #ellie williams au #ellie x you #ellie x fem reader #lesbian sex #wlw #dividers by enchanthings #dividers by anitalenia

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arbitrarykiwi · 9 days ago

Text

Needa Fix?

Nam-Gyu (Player 124) x DrugDealer!Fem!Reader

Summary: in desperate need of a drug fix and no money to pay for it, Nam-Gyu shows up at the pretty girl dealers house hoping she’d be kind enough to help him out.

Warnings: smut (18+) , p in v sex , oral (f receiving) , nam-gyu begging , drug use , drug dealing , withdrawal , talk about sex for drugs , spit , cum play , drugs like lots of drugs , creampie , probably more , read at your own risk

He was not particularly sure why he came here. He had other dealers that sold harder shit that would even deliver. Maybe it was the fact he knew they wouldn’t spare him a second of their day if they knew Nam-Gyu hadn’t a cent to spare. You however? The sweet lil’ dealer that was like a princess? Maybe you could help him.

Bi-weekly pay had gotten to him. Week one of his lavish expenditures had left him eating sleep for dinner on week two. He had run through his supply of drugs the other night at one of Thanos’ party and with literally no fucking money to buy the drugs he thrived on, Nam-Gyu was not well off.

He tried to get through it, he really did! But the shakes, the brain fog, the migraines, body aches and every other symptom in between have gotten worse. So that led him to walk the 3 miles to your cozy apartment in hopes that you would be kind enough to help him out.

He doesn’t remember the journey, he really just remembers coming face to face with your front door and the brightly colored door mat. Lifting a shaky arm, Nam-Gyu knocks on the door, hoping that you wouldn’t kill him for showing up unannounced at 12am.

“H-heeeyy..”

You look at the jittery man on your doorstep, hand scratching at the back of his neck and heart practically beating out of his throat, “I needa buy.” He’s the picture image of withdrawal. Sheen of sweat, jaw clenched and you can tell the way his body is locking up to try and stop the violent jitters that wrack his body.

“Nam-Gyu?!” You say adjusting your eyes to the backlit Nam-Gyu standing on your porch. It had to be at least midnight. “Fucking hell…” you groan, “I told you to text before coming here.” You’re irritated, blocking the door opening with your body. You give him a once over, eyebrows knitting together, “what the fuck happened to you.”

“Look I-I know you told me to text before I came around but I really need something right now. You always have the best shit- fuck please- I sold the rest of my shit for rent, I-I don’t have anything it’s been days-“

He’s raising his voice, desperately pleading with you to give him a moment of your day despite him turning up out of nowhere. The last thing you need is one of your neighbors getting suspicious of some odd man on your doorstep. You already have people uneasy with how many people come and leave from your house in quick intervals.

You’re groaning, reaching out and gripping his shirt, “Get the fuck in here. You’re acting a mess on my porch.” You’re practically throwing him into your house and slamming the door shut behind Nam-Gyu.

“Fuck thank you, you have no idea how much I need this- I-i mean I really did try to find something else, didn’t want to bother you- but no one fucking answered!” He’s practically pulling his hair out, hands sliding up his face to grip at his hair in a state you could only describe as anguish. You can hear how dry his throat is, each syllable coming out in a creaky broken rasp.

It’s times like these that really make you with that you didn’t deal drugs. Sure, you dealt pills, shit harder than weed- but a good dealer always tests her product and none of your product would do that to someone. Nam-Gyu was coming down off some harder shit.

You feel bad in a way, he’s not a horrible guy and seeing him like this is upsetting. He’s definitely a sarcastic asshole, but, many a time he’s been the one to actually talk to you while picking up, ask you about your day, albeit in a disinterested voice and a slight eye roll. He’d maybe compliment you here and there- he didn’t just toss you money and bolt off your porch.

Your knitted eyebrows relax themselves as you witness his state, “Jeez…‘s okay…” you mutter, trying to calm him down some. “I’ll…uhh get you somethin.” You say pointing behind you in the general direction of your product. He was in a pitiful state, sweaty and gnawing on his inner cheek so hard you’re sure he’s going to bite through his skin. You almost didn’t want to leave him like that just in the middle of your living room

You knew he normally did shit harder than what you were dealing. You were wondering why he even came to you. There had to have been someone else who would have answered. Guess that just means you’re good at your job?

Nam-Gyu watches as you shuffle off awkwardly down the hall. If he didn’t feel like his whole body was on fire he probably would have laughed at what you were wearing- a nightgown with some cutsey designs and fuzzy slippers (bunny ears included). This was who he was getting his drugs from?!

You come back with a few bags in your hands, tired eyes counting over your inventory. “I mean, I got whatever you need…” you say, trying to get this over with as fast as possible, you want to go back to bed.

Nam-Gyu nearly drops to his knees when you come back with all the drugs he could only hope to do. “Fuck yes! I- uh…y-yeah, yeah. Uhm I don’t know, fucking pills of some sort.” He’s tugging at the collar of his shirt and huffing out a shuddering breath, blown out pupils fixated on the bag of colorful pills.

You’re walking over to a chair in your living room, sitting down and popping open one of the small baggies you got, you’re dumping the pills into your hand and examining them- you’re really not sure what you want to give him (you really don’t want to give him anything but it’s not your place to deny him as his dealer if the dude was gonna pay).

You don’t realize it, but Nam-Gyu sure does. When you dump the pills into the cupped hand that’s raised over your lap, excess powder falls through the gaps of your fingers and onto your exposed thighs. He’s raising his hands back to his hair, gripping at the strands and pacing.

Blown out pupils latch onto the dust, he can only imagine the relief that would come if he just had that small amount- just the sprinkling of dust from the pills he knows are good as fuck, would help with the body shakes, the tense jaw, the racing heart and the ungodly amount of sweat, surely!

His body moves on its own accord, Nam-Gyu is dropping to his knees in your living room and crawling towards you, towards that sweet powder he needs.

Lifting your head up you just look at him, dumbly. You’re rightfully confused, this is insane. Nam-Gyu, out of all people on all fours in your living room, crawling towards you. You can’t speak, you’re just genuinely too dumbfounded, watching him come closer and closer.

It’s genuinely jarring, seeing him reduced to what he is right now, hair stuck to his face by the sweat that coats his forehead. His eyes are hollowed, ringed by dark circles that emphasize the pleading, desperate look he has in his eyes as he shakily crawls towards you.

Chin practically over your knees, you can see each breath he takes. “What the fuck are you-“ your voice dies into a surprised gasp when Nam-Gyu’s mouth drops open and his tongue lolls out, diving towards your thighs. You still don’t even realize the powder ecstasy that litters your thighs, all you can think to do is cup the pills into your fist and raise your other arm up to press your palm against his damp forehead.

He’s surprised how strong you are, you’re stiff arming him away from his goal and keeping your elbow locked, looking down at him incredulously. Nam-Gyu looks up at you from his position on the floor, on all fours, eyebrows upturned in a silent plea.

“What the fuck…” you repeat, looking down at him with a look of ‘are you fucking serious?!’.

And Nam-Gyu whines.

“Y-you’re going to fucking waste it.” He’s fighting against your hand, pushing towards your thighs and the multi colored power that dusts your skin. You finally follow his line of view, realizing how much you dropped. And he was right, you would have just dusted off the powder anyway, it was such a microscopic amount that you didn’t even pay it any mind to begin with, why would you save it?!

It’s a moment of silence, so quiet you can hear Nam-Gyu’s breath and your own. He’s not just breathing heavy though, he’s panting. Like a dog begging at your heel for a treat he’s been deprived of for far too long.

You don’t know why, but you’re slowly easing your arm up. Maybe it’s to see the lengths he would actually go to, to get his fix? Maybe it’s because you think your idea of what he was going to do was so far out of his character, he was going to do something different than what it looked like it.

Nam-Gyu is instantly pushing against you, crawling towards you and lowering his head to your thighs. He does exactly what you thought he was going to do.

You’re pulling your hand away from his forehead and you’re gripping the armrest of your chair, drawing in a sharp breath. Nam-Gyu sits up on his knees, placing large hands on your legs and ghosting his lips against your thighs. What the fuck were you even doing?! Letting this client of yours lick fucking powdered ecstasy off your bare thighs?!

But you don’t stop him.

You jump a little when you feel the warmth of his tongue lathe up your left thigh, tracing a wet line through the powder up your leg. He’s slow at first, licking one long stripe and pulling back. His mouth closes, tongue rolling around in his mouth to savor the bitter flavor of the mini dosage. The second he feels the slightest bit of a rush, he’s diving back down and running his tongue along your other thigh.

You just watch, you can’t do much else. Heart thrumming in your throat you watch as his tongue licks up and down your thighs, coating the pink muscle in the powder you weren’t even going to think twice about. Every little bit of ecstasy that begins to coarse through his veins just makes him want more. He becomes sloppy, tongue licking over spots he most certainly has been already.

Each lick eases Nam-Gyu’s symptoms little by little. It’s still not enough though. How could it be?! He is a connoisseur of drugs far harder than yours, a little powdered ecstasy isn’t going to give him the relief he needs or the high he desperately craves.

Gravity works wonders though. As he pulls away the slightest bit, trying to see if there’s any spot he’s missed, he sees what he believes to be the jackpot- the small pile of powder that has collected between your thighs. He can see it, just under the hem of that stupid pink nightgown you’re wearing.

It’s calling to him like a siren calls a sailor- he’d be going into treacherous waters to get it, he knows you well enough to know there’s a 50/50 chance you might snap his neck for even trying to get at the pile of white happiness.

Withdrawl overtakes rationality and he’s going for it. His hands tighten their grip on your knees, beginning to push them apart so he could lick along the insides of your thighs.

You jolt upright, hand flying to his hair and pulling at it, pulling his face up from your thighs. Hrs practically drooling, tongue still stuck out and fighting against your hand to get more.

“I have actual pills Nam-Gyu!” You say, rattling the pills in your hand, “quit licking at the powder like a fucking dog.” The fact he’s doing all of this for so little makes your clothes feel tighter than they are. And the way you’re speaking to him, looking down at him like he’s some freak makes his pants way tighter than he’s ever going to admit.

He seems to snap out of it a bit, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and sitting back on his heels. If he had a tail, you’re pretty sure it would be wagging. “‘M sorry.” He mumbles, wide eyes looking at you with the most desperate look you think you’ve ever seen. “I want the actual pills.” He nods frantically, hands still gripping your knees.

“Yeah…okay..” you say, finally uncurling your fist that holds the pills but not the fist that holds his hair. You try to tell yourself the wetness that’s between your thighs is from Nam-Gyu’s tongue although you know you pulled him away before he could even get up that far. You rub your eyes with your free hand, you can’t believe this is what you night turned too.

“I’ll do the normal 25 for two.” You say simply, looking down at him. You get a front row seat to the way his face falls. His eyes dart around, trying to look anywhere but at you. The sheen of sweat that lines his forehead thickens, beading faster and faster. “Y-yeah, no, yeah, of course…” he nods as best as he can given your hand still in his hair.

Looking at him a bit skeptically, you release the hold you have on his hair and look to the three pills in your hand. Not wanting to get up to get another bag you say fuck it and pop one in your mouth, holding it under your tongue and dropping the other two pills into the small baggie and zip it closed.

Nam-Gyu doesn’t even move. He could put on a whole show of getting out his wallet and looking into the empty money slot but he doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t have the money, he wouldn’t be on his knees licking off ecstasy scraps off your thighs if he had the money to pay you for drugs.

And you were smart, you’ve done this long enough and sold to Nam-Gyu for long enough to know there’s no way he’d be looking at you like a desperate puppy on his knees if he the means to pay you for the pills. But, when you look back from the bag of pills to Nam-Gyu, seeing his eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering like he was about to cry seeing you take the full pill so easily- not having to worry about paying some dealer- you keep the charade going.

You hold the bag up in front of his face, “you want them or not?”

He nods, reaching for the bag. You’re snatching it away, watching as he fumbles and nearly falls over trying to chase after the two measly pills. Catching himself by planting both his hands on your thighs, he’s looking back up to you and panting, the minimal high from the small dose off your thighs now dwindling. He needs more.

“Payment.”

“I-I I can pay you next time! I swear I’m good for it! W-with interest too!”

You scoff, laughing in his face, “I’m not a bank or a loan company.” Your fingers are curling over the bag of pills and pulling it away from him.

Nam-Gyu can see the way your tongue rolls the pill around in your mouth. He can see the way your pupils begin to dilate and cover your irises, he fucking needs that. He always thought you were interesting for that- you’d let it melt, slowly dissolve into your bloodstream rather chewing it like he did.

He’s frowning, realizing he’s not getting far with that proposal. His eyes dart around, hands tightening their hold on your thighs. He’s trying to think of anything!

“Let me eat you out.”

“What?!”

He’s looking directly into your eyes, desperate and completely serious. He’s shaking so hard at this point, being so close yet so far from the thing he needs most right now. Those sweet fucking pills.

“I’m good at it! I’ll- I’ll make it worth your while! However long you want!” He says, wide, wild smile on his face. Nam-Gyu sees your very obvious confusion- eyebrows scrunched and face flushed. “F-for the pills! O-of course!” He laughs nervously. Fuck, did he just fuck up his relationship with, arguably, his favorite plug??

“You’re….” Your voice trails off as you try to think of what to say or even how to say it, “You’re trying to… whore yourself out for drugs?” Nam-Gyu can feel his dick twitch in his pants when you word it like that, your words sort of slurred with the pill you keep tucked under your tongue.

You cannot believe this. Nam-Gyu reduced to a begging mess willing to sell his body for some pathetic pills. Though the thought of him eating you out makes the wet spot between your legs, that you will swear was from Nam-Gyu licking your thighs, grow wetter, you don’t want him to only do it for pills.

“Yeah.” Nam-Gyu responds simply, hands sliding up your thighs, “I don’t have money but I can give you that at least!”

You scoff, “That’s a little pathetic.”

Nam-Gyu’s eyes flutter shut, he’s drawing in a shaky breath and he’s canting his hips upwards, trying to ease the strain his pants put on his growing erection. Though he fucking loved the sound of you calling him pathetic, he knew where the idea came from. He knew what you thought and he thought it was stupid you even assumed this was only for drugs, like he wouldn’t be down to eat you out any other time.

He would. Oh, he absolutely would but the time never arose. You two lived different lives that only intersected at a small intersection. Nam-Gyu knew your life wasn’t all about drug dealing- you had a degree on your wall for fucks sake- drug dealer or not you were far better than him. Too good for him.

“F-fuck I-I’m not just saying this because I want the drugs…well I want the Fuc-fucking drugs but I wouldn’t j-just whore myself out like this to anyone!” He’s rambling, every other word cut off by a shuddering hiccup.

You raise an accusatory eyebrow, a grin now beginning to spread across your face, “so, you’d just whore yourself out to me?” You bite your lip, resolve crumbling the longer you watch him on his knees, fingertips absentmindedly digging into your thighs as his need for the high he had for a split second ago heightens once more.

Nam-Gyu’s eyes widen, realizing exactly what he said, what he was implying. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, he’s so fucking hot he feels like he’s burning from the inside out. Fuck, is he going to vomit? He literally just begged you to let him eat you out for two fucking pills. What has he come to.

You can see the way his eyes literally can’t meet yours anymore, the way his breath is quickening in pace becoming short, rapid pants as he tries to think of anyway to remedy a situation only he saw as a failure.

Too out of it, too far into withdrawal and teased by the slight nirvana the minuscule amount of ecstasy he got off your thighs, he doesn’t even realize how you’ve shifted. You’re tossing the two bagged pills across the way and onto the couch of your living room and lean down.

One of your hands captures his chin, fixing your hold so your thumb is on his bottom lip and your pointer finger is hooked under his chin, forcing his gaze back to you. “Beg for it.”

His eyebrows scrunch, lip almost instinctively rolling into a defiant snarl, “huh?!”

“You want your fix right?” Nam-gyu’s breath hiccups once more as you roll your tongue in your mouth and push the bright purple pill in between your teeth, holding it there- showing him that the pill in your mouth was the one he was about to get.

“Y-yeah, I want it. F-fuck please, it’s been fucking days since I’ve been fucked up.” He’s pulling his hands off your thighs and clawing at the fabric of his pants.

You push back off the chair and slowly stand. When Nam-Gyu teeters on his knees placing a hand on the ground like he’s about to push himself up to stand with you, you strengthen your grip on his chin, putting his focus back on you. You can see the way he struggles- he’s not used to this.

“I didn’t say you could stand.”

He looks up at you, eyebrows scrunching like he’s angry- yet he doesn’t move. He’s bigger than you, he can easily overpower you and stop you at anytime but he doesn’t. He’s just keeps his chin tilted up at you and lets you continue.

“Now beg for it.” Your words are spoken through clenched teeth as you keep holding the pill to be visible.

“Y-you want me to beg for a pill, that’s..that’s been in your fucking mouth a-already?!” He shudders out, almost in a hiss if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing that just wouldn’t cease.

You’re sucking the pill back into your mouth, “You have the money to pay for a pill that hasn’t been in my mouth?”

The way you say it in such a mocking tone, the way you tilt your head ever so slightly and squint your eyes for emphasis- just rubbing in the fact he has no room to complain.

Nam-gyu opens his mouth to protest, to call you a bitch even- but that wouldn’t get him the high he desperately needs- he’s closing his mouth and pouting. He needs something, anything at this point. It’s a deep, almost engraved need that has his mind spiraling at the sanctity that even that pill, the one that was a third of the way dissolved in your mouth by now, would give him.

He’s swallowing thickly, fidgeting awkwardly on the floor in his kneeling position, “P-Please.” It’s soft, like he’s testing it out, seeing if that’s all he needs to do.

It’s not.

When he realizes that you don’t even flinch, you just continue to look down at him with a twisted grin, he lifts his hands to his hair, scratching at his scalp and moaning, it’s an exasperated, needy groan that just proves how bad he needs this small fix. His eyes are rolling back and screwing shut like he’s battling with himself (he absolutely is).

He doesn’t even get the solace of looking away to gather himself, your hold on his chin keeps him looking up at you. “F-fuck…holy shit, a-alright, fuck!” Nam-Gyu is nearly yelling now, face flushed and taking on a new sheen of sweat that begins to come back full force. “Please! I fucking need it. Y-you have no..no fucking idea!”

There it is again, the upturned eyebrows and quivering lip that makes your cunt throb in ways you didn’t think was possible. Oh, you could get used to this. Your grin widens, “You gonna text before showing up again? Like I’ve told you a thousand times before?”

He nods erratically, falling forwards placing his hands back over your thighs as he shakes his head free from the hold you had on his chin. He’s surging forward, chin resting on your stomach and hands sliding upwards from your thighs to your waist.

Now he’s pulling you closer, keeping your gaze. You could swear he’s nearly crying now, eyelashes becoming matted with the way his eyes well up in pure desperation.

“Yes- ohmygod yes! I promise! I-I’ll text you, I’ll even call when I’m 5 minutes away when I’m heading to you! I-I fuck! I’m so s-sorry I showed up out of..out of fucking nowhere I just need something! P-please! You’re…you’re the only person I could think to go to.”

It’s full on rambling now, it didn’t take much for his resolve to fully break. You honestly miss half of what he says because you can’t stop staring that the outline of his erection that strains against his pants.

You nod, hand coming to cup his cheek and push him away from you the slightest bit. Fingertips ghosting lightly over his cheek and down to his chin, holding him much how you were moments ago, you only respond with one word, “Open”

And Nam-Gyu does. His mouth drops open before the word even falls from your lips completely. Tugging him forward slightly, you’re leaning directly over him. He lolls his tongue out eagerly, he’s not dumb- he knows exactly what you’re about to do and he couldn’t be happier.

You’re bending down slightly before you purse your lips and suck your teeth. In a slow, thick, glistening trail, you’re spitting the pill onto Nam-Gyu’s tongue.

The second the pill hits his tastebuds, surrounded by the taste of your spit- something he never imagined he would ever taste- he’s practically keeling over, cock becoming painfully hard. Snapping his mouth shut, he’s chewing the pill and sighing deeply.

You pull back, dropping your hand from his chin and smiling slightly. Nam-Gyu visibly relaxes, straightening his back and rolling his neck from shoulder to shoulder with a groan as the high slowly but surely begins to take over his body. You’re backing up and sitting back down to watch the show, how his chest heaves and now sweat beads down his neck. As much as you want to not be, you’re also focused on the outline of his dick.

You’re positive he’d stand and bid you farewell. Nam-Gyu only hung around you sometimes and sure you’ve had decent conversations with the guy but it’s always been under the same pretense- Nam-Gyu stopping by to buy drugs from you. Once he got that fix, after the stunt you just pulled- you’re certain he’d be fucking gone the second he got his bearings. The erection was just a symptom of his withdrawal desperation. You did erotically spit a pill into his mouth…But he also wasn’t exactly in the right mind.

Nam-gyu leans back on his hands, tipping his head to the ceiling and letting out a soft hum, the effects beginning to wash over his body. Assuming he’s gotten what he’s wanted and getting ready to leave, you go to speak,

“I can see you out-“

“Can I still eat your pussy?”

“Oh-“ your voice cuts off into a surprised squeak as you realize you two had very different ideas. Your wide eyes look over to Nam-Gyu like you’ve misheard him, his head still tipped back and eyes still closed. “Look- I don’t feel right having you whore yourself out for some pills…I’ll just give you one for the road if it’s that bad. You don’t have to-“

“I fucking want to” he’s cutting you off. “This isn’t about the pills anymore.” Nam-Gyu is snapping his head back forward to look at you and then down to his very obvious erection.

Once again, much like the beginning of the night, you’re looking at him incredulously, like he’s not even speaking the same language as you. Now you’re the one left with your mouth hanging open trying to find something to say.

“Fuck..” Nam-Gyu says breathlessly and exasperated much like he was before- like eating you out is something he needs, “Do I have to beg for that too?! I-I will.”

He’s crawling again, dear fucking god, he might kill you at this rate. You’ve seen his man get into rages that scared you when you’ve seen him working at Club Pentagon. You know all too well he’s a ticking time bomb of an erratic nature that freaks most people out. That terrifying image is whittled down to a pathetic, desperate man that crawls to you. He’s looking at you with wide eyes as he moves back into the same position when he was licking ecstasy off your thighs.

Ringed hands splay themselves over your thighs, gripping the flesh as he kneels before you. “C’mon, fuck, please, just lemme get a taste. I c-could fucking, ohmygod, i could fucking smell you when I was licking your thighs clean.” as he rambles, he’s staring down at your lap like he could see through the bunched fabric of your night gown that hides your pussy from his view.

“I…” He scrunches his face like he’s debating on saying something and it seems like the courage his high gives him wins over whatever battle he was going through, “I fuckin’ dreamt about eating you out. W-wanna know what you sound like when I suck on your clit…” his hands are sliding up your thighs, “Y-You made the cutest little squeal this…this one time when you got tickled by your best friend when I was here to pick up a-a month ago…been thinking, fuck..” he’s squeezing your thighs as he rambles on, “been thinking about if-if you make that same sound when you cum.”

You hardly remember the time he’s talking about- you know you had your best friend staying over a while ago- maybe they had scared you and tickled your sides and he had been waiting in the living room?! You didn’t know but his words made your mind fill with too much static to even try to dig the memory up.

He takes your silence as he needs to do more. Need to beg more. Be it the increasing intensity of the high he’s feeling or just the sheer need he’s been bottling up for a fix of drugs and a fix of you, he’s rambling on without you even telling him to.

“I jerk off thinking of you! The first time I came to buy from you after Thanos sent me your number I-I fucking went home and fisted my dick raw to the thought of you giving me head.” Nam-Gyu’s blown pupils bounce around as he looks around, trying to think of anything else to plead his case like he’s talking to his old parole officer when he broke his probation.

You let him speak, shifting under his hold as he rambles. The high makes his mind spin in ways that when he’s focused on talking, begging you to let him eat you out, he doesn’t even feel the way you throw his hands off of you. Hell he doesn’t even see how you flip your nightgown up, revealing your bare pussy- his head is tipped up to the sky as he begins to list nearly everytime he’s gone home hard just become he’s come over to pick up from you.

“Nam-Gyu.”

He finally snaps his head back to your eyes and looks at you, only when your eyes drop down to your cunt- directing his gaze- does he follow.

“O-oh fucking hell.”

He’s moving forward eagerly, throwing all caution to the wind. The only idea, the only thought he has is diving tongue deep into your cunt.

“Aht!”

Your hand is flying to the top of his head and pulling at his hair, scolding him like a dog. You’re pulling him back and closing your legs, shielding his direct view of your sticky cunt. “I didn’t say you could touch.”

He looks up to you, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip jutted out in a pout, “Wa-wait no please! I promise I’ll make it worth your while. F-fuck you have such a pretty fucking pussy.” Nam-Gyu is so fixated on the fact he’s seen your bare pussy, the fact you haven’t been wearing underwear the whole time, he’s forgetting what he’s trying to ask.

Part of Nam-Gyu is so overtly aware that he would never be in this position sober. On his knees and begging?! That wasn’t in his personality. The high of the drugs you deal, the drugs that you spit in his mouth, have completely melted any inhibition he’s had.

“You said you jerked off to me?”

The fact you don’t even address his rambling directly makes him leak pathetically, he’s nodding in response.

“Tell me about it. What did you think about?” Your voice comes out in a soft purr, legs falling open once more. With your heels tucked up on the seat you sit on and your knees falling outward, you’re spread open for him once again. Still holding him by the hair, you tighten your grip to make sure he still remembers what you said. No touching.

“I- uhh…oh fuck…” his eyes are darting around as he’s trying to think of the last time he thought about you with his hands around his cock, it’s hard to even think about something in the past when his face is level with your pussy. “Last m-month.” He pants out, eyes back on your cunt.

He’s pausing, mouth watering as he watches your hand trail down your stomach and to your inner thighs, “Go on…” you’re urging.

“I came to fucking get some weed. You- oh fuck.” Nam-Gyu chokes on his words as your hand run back upwards, sitting against your pubic bone, fingers sliding down the sides of your cunt and spreading yourself wide.

“Come on ‘Gyu, don’t tell me you haven’t seen a pussy before.”

“Not one this pretty, no.”

His response catches you off guard, no sarcastic remark, no angry glare, just the truth about what he was thinking. Something he hardly ever spoke outwardly. Nam-Gyu was closed off, everyone knew that. His inner most feelings were anyone’s guess- but right now, he seems like he’s spouting off exactly how he feels no problem.

“You- ohmygod- you were getting ready to go to the club with your friends…with the- the fuck, the VIP thing I gave you.”

“You mean the wristband?”

“Yes, fuck, the wristband. Oh my god, you’re gonna kill me.” Nam-Gyu groans, all sense of proper thinking going out the window when he watches two of your fingers pet at your clit. Light circles, barely any pressure, but with each complete circle around the pulsing bud, he watches as more of your creamy arousal leaks from your entrance. The worst part? He can’t even lick it up, you won’t let him, your other hand is still latched onto his hair, holding him an arms length away.

“You had this fucking outfit on- the black dress, the one that was far too fucking short and some heels.” Every word is an expletive at this point, “You fucking bent down to pick something up and I-I saw your fucking thong, pink with bows. And fuck your ass…I just-”

“You perv.” You scold with a teasing grin, “looking up my dress like that~” your fingers move lower, tracing around your entrance, “So then what? You went back home and fisted your cock to the thought of my thong?”

“If I say yes can I eat you out?”

“You’re so impatient. You want it that bad?” You can hear the way his breath hitches when you sink two fingers into your pussy, curling them upwards a few times. He’s fixated on how you writhe on the chair when your fingers sink deeper into you.

“Fuck yes I do…” he mumbles. He can get over how he’s actually in the position he’s in. The year or so he’s bought drugs from you he’s thought about fucking you stupid plenty of times. Nam-Gyu has fantasized about the day he actually got to see your cunt after getting to see the silhouette of it the time he just rambled on about- puffy lips hugging the frilly fabric of your thong, practically swallowing the fabric to the point of making the damn thing useless.

You slowly take your fingers from your cunt, shuddering at the feeling of your fingers dragging along your walls. Every feeling is heightened to the point of lighting up every nerve with a liquid heat that only makes your pussy leak more. You let the pill Nam-Gyu begged for melt in your mouth, you’re just as high as Nam-Gyu was now.

“Open”

You don’t have to tell Nam-Gyu twice. He’s leaning forward and grabbing your wrist with his hand, pulling your fingers towards his mouth. His lips wrap around your digits and he’s sucking, hard. His tongue is lathing in between your fingers and cleaning any sort of remnant of your juices off of your fingers.

Nam-Gyu decides then and there that your pussy might just be better than any drug he’s ever done. Even from the second-hand taste he’s getting, he’s already addicted. Who would have thought his plugs pussy could be so fucking sweet?!

You remove your fingers from his mouth slowly. Letting out a shuddering breath of your own when you see Nam-Gyu chase after your fingers the best he can. Fingers fully removed, you’re bringing the digits up between you two and admiring how they’re covered in his spit instead of your own wetness. Bringing your fingers to your own mouth, you’re wrapping your pink lips around them and moaning softly when the taste of him coats your tongue.

The high seems to hit Nam-Gyu all at once, the steady climb of the trip has reached its peak. Face level with your puffy cunt and eyes watching how you suck his spit off your fingers like you’ve thought about this exact moment before- the symptoms of his withdrawal are completely eased for the time being and forgotten about.

The symptoms of his withdrawal gone, he realizes just how depraved you’ve made him. He was on his knees licking at your thighs like a dog and begging for a pill that you’ve already sucked on. You’re withholding the cunt he’s dreamt about eating and gripping at his hair while he kneels before you- this isn’t him.

Confidence boosted and chemical courage running through his veins, you can see the shift that happens in him. Nam-Gyu’s eyes drop, becoming dark and hooded. His pout that he once wore turns into a wicked grin and his hands that he was being so nice about keeping in his lap? Oh, he’s putting them to use.

He moves quick, he’s not letting you get away now that he has you like this. He fights against your hand that holds him by his hair and loosens your grip. His hands grip at the back of your thighs, folding you in on yourself and pushing you deeper into the cushion of your chair. Nam-Gyu is lowering his face towards your cunt, so close that you can feel the tip of his nose ghost over your drenched folds.

He gives you no time to prepare, he doesn’t want you to have the opportunity to pull away and keep trying this shit you were doing. Mouth engulfing your pussy, he’s prodding his tongue into your entrance and sucking. The taste he got from your fingers? He needs more of it and straight from the source.

You’re jolting off the chair, squealing out his name and trying to close your legs around his head. It’s futile, his hands stop your legs from closing and even when he feels them begin to twitch shut- he’s pressing on your thighs harder.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Nam-Gyu huffs against your pussy. He’s looking up at you with a warning glare, blown out pupils fixated on keeping your gaze. He’s dropping open his jaw wide, laying his tongue flat and licking a devastating stripe up the entirety of your pussy. Reaching his destination, he’s flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Fucking bitch making me beg.” He’s talking to himself more than you, like he’s trying to tell himself to be mad and act as if he wasn’t turned on by being in such a pathetic situation. With every word he speaks he’s making sure his lips dance along your throbbing bud. He licks at it one more time, pulling away to examine you.

One of his hands releases your thigh, coming up to rest on your lower stomach as his thumb and pointer finger caress the sides of your clit, “You just wanted to hear me talk about jerking off to you like some fucking cock addicted slut..” he points out his eyes narrowed and his words laced with a mocking laugh-but he’s still panting, tongue practically lolled out of his mouth and licking at his lips pathetically trying to get any bit of your taste he can.

“Wanted to act all big and bad, making me beg like a dog in heat…fuck you’ve wanted this all along haven’t you?” Nam-Gyu’s eyes flick from your dripping cunt back up to you, expecting a response. You try to respond but he keeps petting at your clit making nothing but whimpers fall from your lips. He chuckles, “You nasty f-fucking bitch, you-you did want this.” He has a glint in his eye and a wicked grin.

He’s lolling his mouth open wide, dropping his tongue out of his mouth and letting a thick, warm glob of his spit pool at the tip of his tongue and drop down onto your pussy with a wet plap! Nam-Gyu is staring as his spit slowly follows the contours of your cunt, tracing over your clit and dropping lower to dribble down to pool at the edge of your quivering entrance. Fingers still playing with your throbbing clit.

“O-oh, f-fuck, Nam-Gyu~.” You pant out gripping at the fabric of your nightgown to hike it up further, eyebrows up turned in a desperate expression waiting for him to continue his ministrations. “Fuck- yes, needa hear you say my name, keep fuckin saying it- sound so pretty.” and he’s wrapping his lips around your clit once more and trying to get you to cry out his name more and more.

When you’re pressing your hips up into his face, greedily wanting more. Nam-gyu finally has the realization that the attraction was mutual, he can’t take it anymore, he’s removing his fingers from your clit and diving nose deep back into your pussy. Keeping his mouth on you, he drops both hands to shimmy out of his pants and underwear, pulling them down just enough to get his cock out.

He’s leaking at this point, as much as he’s trying to turn the tables and make you seem pathetic- the way his lower abdomen is covered in his mess, his thick cock is coated in sticky precum, more leaking out of the red and throbbing tip and adding to the mess that traces down each pulsing vein- now that’s pathetic.

You can’t pick where to look- where he’s slobbering all over your pussy, driving his tongue deep into you or where he’s frantically fisting his cock. Nam-Gyu is fucking his own hand with a vigor that has him groaning out into your sweet cunt.

“T-this is wha-what you should be dealing.” He grunts, “this pussy’s better than- oh fuck- better than any drug out there.”

“I should fuckin’ ruin you for- mmmph fuck, so good- for keepin’ this from me.” Nam-Gyu is whining against your puffy lips now, taking deep inhales of your scent like he’s trying to engrave it into his nose for days to come. “This sweet…” he’s pulling back to ogle at the mess he’s made of you before wrapping his lips around your clit and giving a harsh suck, “sweet.” Suck! “Fucking.” Suck! “Cunt.”

With a cry of his name, your head is flopping back bonelessly onto the chair. He has no real technique, his tongue feels like it’s everywhere at once and yet, it feels so fucking good. Your hand is scratching at his scalp and your hips are lifting up off the chair to grind on his face, babbling out phrases of praise and his name. Each time he hears the syllables of your name fall from your drool soaked lips, he’s fisting his cock harder.

The worst part? He won’t stop looking at you. His hooded eyes are locked on to every little reaction he drags out of you. How your breath squeaks when he tenses is tongue and flicks your clit, how your hold on his hair tightens when he sucks on your labia, and how sweet your lips look calling his name.

He’s watching you as he’s furiously stroking his cock. He’s staring while he’s dropping open his maw and giving your wide flat licks, making sure you see the way your creamy mess coats his tongue only for him to greedily swallow it down and do it again.

Nam-Gyu wants sure if it was the trip of the pill you gave him or just his pent up need for you but he cannot be satisfied. He’s thinking of every time he’s come to buy from you- your cute little self handing him some pill that was some shit Jehovah hasn’t even witnessed packed in a pink little baggie with hearts- he’s thinking of every time he’s been here and just thought about doing this exact thing- he has to make up for lost time.

“Na- oh my god- fuck!” You’re squealing and trying to shut your legs, everything he does feels so heightened- you took the same pill he did, after all!

He’s laughing into your poor cunt, dropping his cock in favor of pinning your plush thighs open. “Keep- mmm shit, so wet- keep your fucking legs open.” His voice is laced with a tone that commands your compliance, his eyes narrowing slightly like if you were to deny him of his feast he might go wild.

His thumbs dip inward, tracing the outside of your cunt before prodding their way into your weeping hole. Nam-Gyu nearly blows his load all over his own hand when he feels how tight you are, how fucking soft and warm and wet- just taking his two thumbs so easily, your cunt swallowing the digits greedily.

He needs to be inside you. He needs to feel you cum on his cock.

You’re far too gone to even get a chance to realize he’s moved, completely pulled off of you and has stood up. The mix of your high and the onslaught of his needy mouth has you blissed out beyond comprehension. He’s yanking you up off the chair and picking you up.

“F-fuckin makin- making me wait a year to fuck you….” He’s grumbling hands holding you up by your ass, fingers practically bruising you with an iron grip. He’s maneuvering you the best he can given the pants and underwear around his ankles. Your hands thread themselves in his long hair, tugging at the raven strands as you grind down on his cock that’s pressed between the two of you.

Nam-Gyu fumbles a bit as he turns around and drops himself to the couch. With you straddling his legs, hot cunt ghosting the underside of his cock, Nam-Gyu swears this is exactly how one of his wet dreams of you played out.

You’re looking down too, mouth hung open as you admire his weeping cock. He’s created such a mess of himself just by eating you out. He’s so hard you’re sure it has to hurt at this point. The tip is red and angry, leaking glob after glob of pearly pre-cum down his veiny shaft. Every so often it twitches against you, bumping against your needy clit.

“S-see what you do to me?” Nam-Gyu asks, fingers gripping harder into your ass. “Fucking leaking jus’ from eating you out.” He’s huffing, said his hands to shift your hips and grind your warm, wet cunt across his dick. “Dreamt of this…”

You’re removing your hands from his hair and placing them on his shoulders, letting soft whimpers fall from your lips anytime the thick vein on the underside of his cock drags against your clit. “Always wondered how you ride cock- mmmpf fuck- know you’d take it so well.”

He’s bucking his hips up into you as he rambles on and on about every single time he’s imagined fucking you exactly how you were now. Running his cock through your folds, coating himself in the cream that leaks from your abused pussy.

Nails digging into his shoulders you’re leaning forwards and colliding your lips with his to shut him up. It’s hot and heavy, messy with spit and tongue. Nam-Gyu is whining into your mouth, hips picking up the pace of humping against your sweet cunt. He’s never going to get over the feeling of your lips on his.

Pulling away from the kiss breathless You’re lifting yourself up the best you can with your thighs still shaking, one of your hands grabbing the base of his dick. As soon as your hand squeezes around his cock, more pre-cum oozes out and flows down over your knuckles.

“You’re rambling.” You huff against his lips, resting your forehead on his as you look down between you two. Dragging his thick cock head through your folds, you’re tucking your legs behind you. Hooking your feet over his thighs you’re slowly sinking down on him.

When Nam-Gyu realizes how you’re positioning yourself he’s sucking in a shuddering breath, fucking hell you’re going to kill him.

“I-oh fuck-“ you want to say more but you’re choked up. The second the mushroom tip is pushing into you, splitting you apart, you can’t even remember what you were going to say. The high you’re both experiencing is reaching a peak, you can feel every little bit of him in ways you never thought was possible.

Your mouth is already watering at how much the girth of his dick is gaping your walls. With a sickening, wet pop, Nam-Gyu’s cock-head sinks into you. It’s no where near all of him and yet you’re feeling the delicious dull throb between your thighs that tells you how wrecked you’re about to be.

“Oh- shit-“ he’s hissing out, gripping at your hips and preventing you from sinking down further, “g-gotta fuckin’ relax, squeezing me so tight.” You fight his hold and sink yourself down further. Nam-Gyu is falling back bonelessly on the couch, a whiney moan falling from his spit soaked lips as he feels more and more of his cock be swallowed by your hot cunt.

“‘M gonna fucking bust qu-quick” he’s whining, “wanna savor it, yeah? S-slow…or yer gonna kill me.”

“Y-you’re so biiig…” you’re whining out, one hand still guiding his cock into you the other holding up your cute little nightgown, bunching it up under your tits.

“D-don’t fucking tal- oh god- talk like that.” Nam-Gyu hisses. His voice is rugged and choked, he’s snarling trying to hold himself together- canine teeth clenched and eyes screwing shut. “You are going to make me blow my load so fucking quick.” It’s coming out in a breathless laugh, not a single one of his dreams of fucking hey could compare to the real thing.

He’s already mindless just by the way your walls were trying to suck him deeper even with his hands holding you up- your words are only making the shiver that runs up the base of his spine tighten, he feels like he can’t fucking take it.

“Mmmm, fuck, please~” you whine out, fighting against his hold and stuffing yourself with even more of his cock, “wan’ it inside…so fuckin’ bad…” you’re babbling on mindlessly, dropping your hips down. Nam-Gyu’s cock is prying your gummy walls apart, destroying your sopping pussy.

Blissed out beyond belief, Nam-Gyu lets you drop down. With a wet slap, your ass is connecting with his thighs and you can feel his heavy balls slap against your ass. The second you’re sinking all the way down you can feel his throbbing cockhead press on that sweet, sweet, spot that has you seeing stars.

“O-oh fucking hell.” Nam-Gyu gasps, head picking up off the back of the couch to look down where you connect. The way the circumference of his veiny length splits your puffy folds apart has him twitching deep inside you. Your poor pussy looks absolutely wrecked, gaped open and leaking- covering his pelvis in the sticky sheen of your wetness.

“I-I fucking dreamt about this pussy..” he’s nearly shaking, his hands on your hips are vibrating, digging into the fat of your hips. Now that he’s gotten the sweet taste of your saccharine cunt wrapped so tightly around him like a vice he never wants to pull out of. “Sooooo fucking wet….” He’s drawling on, lifting a shaking hand to put it in between you, thumbing over your clit.

You’re keeling over, falling forward so your chest is flush with his, swiveling your hips both into his touch and down on his cock. “You-hah- you fucking wanted this. Wanted me to whore myself out for- shitttt~”

You’re cutting him off by lifting yourself up then dropping back down with a wet smack! ass rippling against his thighs. When Nam-Gyu feels the tight, wet glide of your cunt up and down his cock and the fat of your ass jiggling against you, a switch is flipped.

He’s pulling both his hands away from you and shifting lower on the couch. Ringed hands come back with a vengeance, grabbing handfuls of your ass and pulling you to him. “Ri-ride me, fucking use my cock.”

With a wanton cry of his name you’re rocking your hips up and down his length. It’s devastating, sliding up and down his fat cock feels like you’re destroying your insides in the best way. “Mmpfh- shit- so, so fuckin’ good.” Nam-Gyu huffs from below you, not able to keep his eyes on one place for too long. Your face, your pretty tits bouncing in his face, your dripping cunt that’s creaming around him?! He can’t pick!!

“Nam-Gyuuu…” you huff, arms wrapping around his neck and gripping at the black hairs that sit at the nape of his neck. Your head is falling to his shoulder, nosing along his jugular.

Hearing his name fall from your mouth in the pathetic, needy cry it was he can feel his balls tighten. Everything you do makes his cock twitch deep insure you- and you can feel every fucking bit of it. “So fucking warm…” he sighs, more to himself than you. He’s positive he could completely lose himself in the ecstasy that was your tight, wet cunt.

He can hear every soft whimper and moan right neck to his ear, your breath tickling his skin. “Y-you’re so fucking deep.” You coo, your eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of your skull when you begin to roll your hips against him, grinding his cock deep inside you.

“Ye-yeah?” He chokes out with a breathless laugh, trying to keep any sense of composure he can. Nam-Gyu is not a virgin by any means but this secret crush, no, obsession, he’s had with you for the year you’ve been his dealer has bubbled up for so long and he had NEVER thought he would get to this point.

To him you were untouchable, so far out of his league that it was pathetic of him to even try with you. You were nothing like the sleazy bimbos he found himself hanging around during his shifts at the club. You were cunning, funny, so fucking smart that it pissed him off but yet, you were one of the largest dealers in the area with the best reviews. You were a walking fucking dream.

“You like it?” He hums, nudging your face with his cheek, you lift yourself back up with a moan, feeling his cock rock deep inside you with every minuscule movement. Leaning back a bit, you’re both looking down at how your swollen pussy is spread wide around him, puffy lips swallowing him greedily and stretched open so wide your clit is on perfect display.

Folds gaped obscenely to take in every inch he so graciously gives you, throbbing but visibly pulsating. “feeling how f-fucking deep I am…I’m ruining your poor cunt..” he gasps, mouth going slack and watering at the sight.

You whine, both at his words and the sight itself. Your dragging on hand off his shoulder and sliding it down your stomach and to your leaking pussy. Pointer and middle fingers tracing the edges of your cunt and the sides of his cock- you’re clenching when you feel with your own hands how your pussy is accommodating Nam-Gyu’s girth.

“Don’t f-fucking do that- oh my god…” Nam-Gyu chokes, he can’t even describe the things seeing you touch yourself does to him. He watches on as you trace the pads of your fingers around your clit, the sound of your wetness sloshing with each circle you make. You’re jolting against him, eyebrows upturned, biting your lip, moaning so sweetly and you’re oh so fixated on the same view. Nam-Gyu looks back up to you, sees how you’re just as wrecked about it as him he’s releasing your ass and bringing his hands up to his face.

Veiny hands drag down his face, he’s laughing in disbelief that he’s even gotten to this point, but he knows it’s inevitable…the high of those pretty colorful pill you spit into his mouth is making him feel everything 10x more.

“Yeah, I’m gonna cum quick.” It’s said like it was the conclusion of a whole conversation he had inside his head.

You look back up to him, finally, broken out of the trance you were in when you hear him, you have no time to ask him what he even meant- he’s planting his feet flat on the carpeted floor of your living room and snaking his arms around your back, caging you to him completely.

It’s an instant onslaught of rapid, depraved thrusts as Nam-Gyu pistons his hips up into your cunt. Wet squelches and slaps fill your ears and you’re digging your nails so hard into his shoulders that you’re breaking skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“O-oh! F-fuck!!!” You’re sobbing out. His cock has a down right evil curve that makes him hit your g-spot every single time. “Nam-Gyu!” You feel like you’re about to explode.

“Mhm….’s it..you take it so fuckin’ well.” He slurs, manipulating you up and down his cock like you were a fuck doll, “c-could fuckin stay in you forever.” Nam-Gyu is biting his bottom lip, turning his head to nuzzle himself into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Hands running up and down your back, he’s trying to touch anywhere he can. Nam-Gyu can feel his cock throb, pulse after pulse he’s chasing after the orgasm that he’s been holding back since the second he got a taste of your pretty pussy.

It’s so fucking good. It’s messy, sloppy, and desperate. You can feel the bloom of your orgasm deep within your cunt. You’re sobbing out, “yesyesyes! Jus’ like that- oh my godddd” you slur, completely cockdrunk at this point. You can’t remember the last time

You were fucked like this. Your head now falling to his shoulder and your fingers tugging at his hair Nam-Gyu is letting out a low hum of approval.

This is how he needed you. Fucked dumb. Fucked dumb by him.

“Uh-huh ‘s it….jus’ take it…” he’s sushing you, the idea of you using him is out the window. He knows he’s going to be a goner for sure, he’s going to busting quick in your gooey walls, he needs to feel you cum before he does. “needa- fuck you’re so wet..” he growls, nails scratching at your back and waist, “needa feel you cream around my cock.”

He’s shifting once more, nudging you to sit back upright as hard as it was, “touch y’self f’me again…wanna watch.” He pleads, eyes trailing downwards to look at the mess you’ve both made, “Fuck you’re so messy…” another groan.

Placing one hand on his knee and leaning back, your other hand goes straight to your engorged bud, tracing frantic circles that make your pussy spasm around him. He doesn’t let up, he’s jackhammering his cock into you, your sticky wetness spraying his abdomen with every thrust.

“It-it feels so fucking good~” you sob out, the wet noises of your sloppy pussy drowns out by Nam-Gyu’s whiny moans and praises. “I-oh shit- Nam-Gyu you’re gonna make m-me cum.” You pant, your orgasm imminent at this point.

He never thought he would hear those words in person. He would have accepted the fact that what you just said was something he conjured up in a fantasy he imagined while he was fisting his cock- but no, you’re saying it. You. Are really saying it.

“Ohhhh fuck me..” Nam-Gyu groans, he can feel the way his balls tighten he’s about to cum so fucking hard, “You close?” He says running one hand up your spine to grab at the back of your neck forcing your eyes back up. Making you look at him, he has to know what a pretty face like yours looks like when you cum.

“I can- fuck mmpfh- I can feel you clenching around me.” You nod in response at his words, the only possible way you can respond. You can feel him pulse and throb inside you, his hand on your neck grabs tighter, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Gonna let me c-cum inside? Needa fill you up so bad.” He’s looking up from your messy cunt to you, giving you a look that’s akin to a pleading puppy.

“Y-yes! Please, fuck- ohmygod! Just like that!” Your words are slurred and almost impossible to decipher. You’re body is locking up it feels so fucking good. All you can do is take it, your hips moving in tiny sporadic jerking motions as you let him use you while you rub your fingers against your clit.

“Fuck you’re not real…” Nam-Gyu gasps out, nose touching yours, breath fanning your lips. “Gonna cum so- fucking shit!- gonna cum so deep in your tight cunt….” His voice is turning to a snarl, his teeth clenched and you can feel the way his nose scrunches.

“Mhm!!!” You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood nodding your head, getting closer and closer to that sweet release.

“An’ your sloppy pussy’s gonna take it all…” he punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, “A-and I’m gonna….” He’s grunting, he’s so fucking close, “gonna cum in you over and over until your leaking my cum for days-“

“Cum f’me, pretty. Fuck- please…please I wanna feel it.” Thrusts now sloppy and erratic, he was so, so fucking close. Rhythmic, lewd wet slaps fill your ears, you can hear the sloshing sound your cunt makes with each drive of his cock deep into you.

“O-oh! Fuck! Yesyesyesyes!!” Words slurred and creaky, you’re meeting his thrusts with equally depraved and sloppy swivels of your hips and your fingers work harder against your clit. Your orgasm gushes out of you in a thick stream that splashes against his pelvis, cunt clamping down on his cock.

“I-oh fuck! You can squirt?!” Nam-Gyu says, somewhat pulled back into reality when he realizes somehow you just got better. Like all the lewd porn videos he’s watched, your cum is streaming out of you, splashing with every thrust he uses to prolong it. Your moans are practically squeals at this point, fingers still working against your clit fervently.

“Oh god- fuck- ‘m gonna cum- so fucking tight!” He’s growling, fingers gripping the back of your neck so tight you know you’re going to have an imprint of his hand there tomorrow. With a couple more brutal thrusts he’s slamming himself deep within you and cumming. It’s so much. Rope after rope, you can feel every gooey strand paint your insides in a warm white coating.

“‘M cuummminggg..” it’s a low, choked rasp that has your pussy clenching even harder around him. Much like he fucked you through your orgasm, you do it for him. Continuously slamming your hips down and milking his cock for all he has.

Nam-Gyu is whining, pathetic attempts at your name and praises of your pussy. Hips pathetically jerking into your cunt as he cums buckets into your cunt like a virgin who just fucked for the first time. And you just continue to fuck him- he’s in heaven. Every slide of your cum filled cunt up and down his length has Nam-Gyu vibrating with overstimulation.

He’s the one who has to stop you- adjusting his hold to your hips to still your movement. A soft whimper comes from your lips, the trip of the pill and the feeling of his cum leaking from you- already making you want to go again.

“E-easy- fucking shit- you fuckin’ milked me dry, baby- I-i needa minute…” leaning back on the couch and releasing his hold on the back of your neck, Nam-Gyu looks down at his lap.

He’s covered in a debauched mixture of his own cum and yours. He can see as it still leaks from you, creaming around his cock and adding to the milky white ring around his base.

“It’s so much…” your soft whine makes him look back to you. Face flushed, hair a mess, cute little nightgown still bunched in your hand- god you’re a dream. You pull your hand away from your clit with a jerk of your body.

“Mhm…” Nam-Gyu hums, “couldn’t help it…your pussy is crazy good.” He says teasingly with a soft laugh.

“Better than my drugs?” You question, equally as breathless, your smile matching his.

“If you were selling this pussy like you were selling drugs…..” Nam-Gyu murmurs, his thumb suddenly brushing against your cunt, tracing your swollen folds and collecting the mess between the two of you on his finger.

“Well for one I’d be upset becuase this….” He says, thumb tapping at your clit, “this pussy is priceless….” He laughs breathlessly.

You cringe at the joke and playfully slap his shoulder. Even with him still deep inside you, cock pressed up against your cervix, you banter like best friends.

“But, fuck yeah…’s better than any high I’ve ever had. And I’ve shot up designer shit in the back of Club Pentagon…” Nam-Gyu grabs your hips, shifting a bit- just trying to get more comfy on the couch. He doesn’t mean anything by it truly- his cock is so overstimulated that it hurts but he cannot bring himself to leave the warmth of your tight cunt.

When he sees how more of his cum is forced out of you, pouring out of your gaped cunt and around his cock?! Yeah…suddenly he’s ready to go again.

Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills @thequeenbmulan @infinetlyforgotten @gothinlove @seaweef @lov3lycosmos

((Lmk if you wanna be on my tag list or lmk if I missed ya so I can put you on the next one!))

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