#bc i just tried to post a text post into a tag and it worked

[moonkhao]

okay so either the tags are broken or tumblr decided to shadowban me for posting 2849372 gifsets in the past two days. how fun :D

[luxrayz64]

do u ever in your mind have a vision so beautiful you mourn that it doesnt exist and then remember that u can draw. anyway heres the glass coffin scene if they were pikmin

[gayafsowhat]

Anyone want to be mewtuals... We could commit word crimes together (share and beta our fanfics)...

[izzy-b-hands]

Putting on last year's trans rigs stream from Drawfee before i have to get ready to go out with my mum and her bf today (bc i have the worst feeling in my gut he's gonna make that An Thing for me if given the chance today, aka whenever i eventually need the restroom while we're at Mystic)

[scionshtola]

i started writing a whole thing about mir and her mom and then i realized i accidentally gave the briadis family the perfect set up for a tragic family empire tv show

[prncples]

[m-aximumjoy]

in celebration of my/our love Angel being introduced this past week I’ve been working on a re-paint of the Handkerchief Moment and not to toot my own horn, but I’m really proud of how the background came out and particularly of these two

Ignore the big ol’ hole it’s for Aki (heh)

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

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@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

[cutielando]

FIC IDEA WITH LANDO: So reader recently moved to Monaco bc of her job (any remote job u want and content creater) anyways she is working at a café just to get some money and lando is a customer. He flirts with her and stuff and she writes her number on the cup without him noticing at the moment. The reader then like a week later mentions it to her friend and talks about how he did not respond yet and like what exactly happened not knowing her friend was on live and her fans get invested and call this mystery boy “café boy” (kind of like Alix Earle with nfl man) Then McLaren invites the reader to the paddock and lando sees her and then have like a talk together in his drivers room and he mentions how he was nervous to text or something. After she makes a soft launch post captioned “my café boy 🤎”. IF U DO IT PLEASE TAG ME!

my coffee boy | l.n.

a/n: thank you so much @idkyet101sblog for the amazing idea 🤎

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yourusername my new home is pretty damn beautiful

📍Monte-Carlo, Monaco

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user1 mother is finally living her dream 😭

francisca.cgomes yayy!!!!!❤️❤️

yourusername ❤️❤️

yourbestfriend can’t believe you left me behind 🥲 JK I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU ❤️❤️

yourusername i miss you already 😭😭❤️

user2 who is she?

user3 she’s a content creator and up-and-coming model🫶🏻 she makes a lot of F1 content since she is very good friends with Kika

user2 how come i’ve never heard of her until now?

user4 she’s only starting to become famous and accustomed to the public eye, maybe that’s why

yourmother so proud of you!!❤️❤️

yourusername love you mom!!!!

user5 if i don't grow up to be just like Y/N, i'm giving up

Real life

Moving to Monaco had always been your dream. Living in the beautiful country right on the water, starting a new life in such a peaceful place and being able to follow your dreams.

It had been your dream ever since you were a little girl.

However, moving to Monaco was in itself very pricey. It hadn’t been easy, gathering the money you needed to lead a relatively comfortable lifestyle in the exclusivist country, but you had managed to do so.

And now, you now had to step up a bit until things got going for you.

And you figured that working at the local coffee shop was the best solution. At least just until you got settled in your new home country and your career kicked in.

You knew that Monaco was the home to a lot of athletes, especially Formula 1 drivers, but you didn't really expect to meet any of them. Monaco was not really as small of a place as people thought, you wouldn't just run into an F1 driver in the street that casually.

No, you run into them at coffee shops.

You had been minding your own business one day, thankful that it was still early and people were not yet coming for coffee. But then the entrance bell rang, and your eyes met the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

The one and only, Lando Norris.

You didn't want to seem like an obsessed fan, so you tried to keep your excitement at bay the best you could.

"Hello" he greeted when he approached the counter, that famous smirk adorning his features.

"Hi. What can I get you?" you asked sweetly, praying to God that he wouldn't notice the furious blush on your cheeks.

"I'll just have a cappuccino, love" he asked, giving you a dazzling smile.

You blushed even more and nodded, getting to work on his drink.

He didn't say anything else for a second, he just watched and admired your movements as you effortlessly prepared his coffee.

"I haven't seen you around here before, and trust me. I would have remembered a face as beautiful as yours" Lando suddenly asked, leaning forward against the counter.

You almost did a double take, not wanting to get your hopes up. Was he actually flirting with you? Were you just dreaming?

You cleared your throat before you answered, which made Lando smile even more cockily.

"I just moved here a couple of days ago, got a job with a modelling agency and figured I would work for some extra money until the modelling gigs kick in" you explained, looking at his from the corner of your eye to see his wide eyes when you mentioned being a model.

"With a face as beautiful as yours, figured you were a model of some sort. Nobody would pass on someone as pretty as you"

You blushed again, thankful that the shop was almost empty and people couldn't see you falling apart just from talking to the man.

"Do you flirt with every barista you meet, Mr. Norris?" you teased, pouring the drink into a to-go cup.

"Just the insanely pretty ones"

You chuckled and shook your head, taking the sharpie in your hand to write his name on the cup. As soon as you wrote his name, your hand moved on its own, scribbling your phone number underneath and the message 'call me <3' next to it.

Biting your lip, you gave him the drink with a smile, biding your goodbyes.

"I'll see you around, Y/N" he said, looking at your name tag.

"Okay" was all you could say, your mind too fuzzy to come up with a better response.

He turned around just before he exited the cafe, winking at you before departing.

What the hell had just happened?

♡♡♡♡♡

Much to your disappointment, a couple of days had gone by without a single text from the driver.

You hadn't thought much of it, way too busy with unpacking and such to even think about your encounter. It was our friend who kept asking you about it, going out of her mind when you mentioned you had given your number to an F1 driver.

"Y/N, come here, you left me all alone" Samantha, your friend, called out for you from the living room.

You sighed, unwillingly getting out of your very comfortable position on your bed and walked into the living room.

Not even paying attention to what Samantha was doing, you fell on the couch face first, your sore limbs tired from the short walk from the bedroom to the living room.

"I was very comfortable in bed, thank you very much" you mumbled, but Samantha paid you no mind.

She knew how grumpy you got in the evenings, so she had learned to ignore your comments in such instances.

"Has he texted you yet?" she asked, making you glare at her.

"I don't know how many times you've already asked me that and how many times I've given you the exact same answer. No, he hasn't" you grumbled, hiding your face in your pillow.

Samantha hummed, casting a sneaky glance to her phone.

"But like what exactly happened?" she pressed, making you sigh.

"It's not that interesting of a story. He came in the coffee shop, ordered a drink, we flirted a little and then I wrote my number on his cup" you explained once again, and unbeknownst to you, your fans were going wild over the information they had just heard.

Samantha almost wanted to laugh when she saw the dozens of comments flooding in, calling Lando the "mysterious café boy" that hadn't texted you.

"If I were him, I would have texted you the minute I walked out" she defended, making you sigh.

"But you're not him. There are numerous reasons that could explain why he hasn't texted me, he's a busy guy, Samantha" you defended, getting up from the couch to head back to your bedroom, so done with the conversation.

Samantha waited until the door was closed before switching her attention back to her phone.

"And there you go, ladies and gentlemen. Our girl is finally finding love" she giggled, clapping her hands.

If only Lando would have the courage to make the first step.

♡♡♡♡♡

You had always been a fan of Formula 1, you got that from your father. He would always bring you with him to races when you were younger, and his love and admiration was passed onto you from a very young age.

However, you hadn't attended a race in a while, you hadn't had the opportunity or the time to go to one.

Until now.

McLaren had contacted you a couple of days before the Silverstone Grand Prix, inviting you as their VIP guest for the weekend. And who were you to refuse a weekend with the team of the guy you were crushing on?

That's how you found yourself walking towards the McLaren hospitality, bag clutched tightly in your hand as you approached the brightly papaya colored building.

Sighing with a smile on your face, you had just put your hand on the handle when the door opened from the inside and Lando stepped out, stopping in his tracks when he saw you in front of him.

The both of you froze, not knowing how to react. The first one to break the tension was Lando, who smiled at you widely.

"Hey, Y/N. Long time no see" he said, making you chuckle and nod.

"Yeah"

He nodded, and silence settled for a split second between the two of you before he spoke up.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't text you. I saw your number, even saved it in my phone and was meaning to say something. I was just too nervous to screw things up, cause I really like you" he confessed, making your heartbeat quicken significantly.

Your eyes widened, and relief finally settled into your troubled mind. There had been so many thoughts and theories in your head about why he hadn't contacted you. Maybe you had misread the situation, maybe he wasn't interested, maybe he didn't see your number written next to his name, countless possibilities had been swirling around in your head.

But now, you were finally content. He was just nervous, bless his heart. If you were being fair, you would have been way too nervous to contact him if the roles had been reversed.

"Don't worry, it's okay" you reassured him, which made Lando feel better.

"I want to make it up to you. How about dinner tonight? My treat, I'll show you around the city" he suggested, his eyes full of hope.

You couldn't possibly deny him, so you found yourself nodding.

"Great" he smiled and leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek before departing towards the garage.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile.

He hadn't forgotten you after all.

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yourusername my café boy 🤎

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francisca.cgomes i’m so happy for you guys!!!❤️❤️

yourusername thank you babe!!!✨❤️

user1 who is that????

user2 i’m so jealous 🙂‍↕️🥲

pietrapilao ❤️

yourusername 🫶🏻

user3IS THAT LANDO?????

user4 why would you think it’s lando?

user5 some people saw him with someone at the race and think this is his girlfriend

maxfewtrell smooth

yourusername thanks 🙂‍↕️

user6 this is basically confirmation that’s Lando 😭

maxfewtrell don’t take my word for it, people

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[sugar-omi]

Hi! Your writing is amazing and makes my day every time I see you post. Could I request Cove while trying for a baby with a female MC? He’s so sweet and emotional I can totally imagine it would be equal parts super fluffy/adorable and spicy/hot Thank you! ✨

omg ty thats so nice of you to say!!! also tysm for this rq, i've been waiting for someone to ask smth like this bc i was worried i was the only one thinkin shit like this!!! also i think this is a bit more horny than fluffy, which is why i tried to make up for it w lots of kisses from cove LOL but ykw.. i feel like a part 2 wouldnt be so bad either 👀

tags : NSFW, ok for fem/nb readers, after step 4/wedding dlc, buff cove lol, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation, cove w oral fixation(? a bit implied), cunnilingus, cove "uses" a nickname that you can "insert" bc i can but also cant see him using pet names, + he calls u good girl, "multiple choice" dialogue (just read 1 of the colored text "options" than continue w the rest of the fic, theres no links or anything <3)

synopsis : you and cove try for a baby.

cove tries to be calm.

and he is! after a bit of panic of course, caused by his worries but excitement for fatherhood but also you want him to.. to... oh god he's too embarrassed to think about it, from finally deciding to have a baby the only natural next emotion is calm! he is cooler than a cucumber!

but now you're laid out under him, as beautiful as ever, and even after years of being together cove can't get enough of you; especially when you're so sweet to have like this.

"cove.." your gasp drug cove out of his daze.

you reach up and cup his face, cove leaning into your touch. "y/n.." he kisses your wrist.

"what're you thinking about?"

cove flushes. there's no way he could tell you exactly what he was thinking, saying that he found the idea of coming inside was totally different from thinking it and he was not ready to that something clicked in him when you finally talked about being ready for a baby...

"you.. just- just you, and how lucky i am." cove decided to distract you by kissing down your neck, leaving a new mark under your ear. thankfully it worked, although maybe you just gave it up because you already know what's going through his head.

he starts working his way down your body, and you fall back on the pillows and let cove treat himself to your cunt.

cove tossed your panties somewhere beyond the bed, his days of nervously folding your panties over. and he latches onto your thighs, sucking more marks into your skin and his fingers lovingly work your clit.

"cove.. i wan' more..." you tangle your hands in his hair, tugging on the strands. wordlessly he moves on to your twitchy core, his tongue slipping inside and lapping up your slick.

cove's boisterous ministrations has you grinding against his face, gasping as he works your sensitive clit and adds a couple fingers to the mix, speeding up the process so he can be inside you.

cove hopes you don't see him grinding against the mattress.

he sits up, his fingers spreading you open easily. while you're panting dozily, cove's fingers abandons your cunt so he can grab the lube from the bedside.

"habit.." cove laughs it off sheepishly.

he instinctually reaches for a condom, but realizes and a wave of heat rushes over him. you won't be needing those for awhile...

cove meets your hooded gaze, a knowing look in your eyes.

you grin, full of mischief. "guess we're gonna have to break it."

cove growls lowly, slapping a hand over his eyes. it does nothing to hide his blush and he curses himself when his cock twitches against his leg.

deciding to come out of hiding, cove peers at you from over his nose and you feel your own heart pick up sped at the stark look of his eyes. something about cove seems like he could devour you, but when he leans down to kiss you so tenderly you think otherwise.

cove poured the lube over his hand, coating his length and he hisses at the heat between his hand and cock. hazily cove thinks that this is the hardest he's been since he was a clumsy teenager.

cove captures you in another loving kiss, wanting to be close to you as he sinks inside.

this is your first time going without a condom, being connected like this has both of you holding onto each other, your nails scratching down his shoulder at the new but welcomed sensation.

this isn't the first time you and cove have done it unprotected, but it has been awhile so you both can't help but pull the other person closer, needing more.

cove buries his face in your shoulder, shaking from how wet and hot you are inside like this. he can feel the way your gummy walls flex around him and he pulls his hips back- the whine that comes out of your taut throat has cove closing his eyes and taking in your every sound as he moves so slowly, so sensually but so lovingly when he grinds his hips into yours.

finally, he finds the strength to remove himself from your shoulder, needing to see your face in ecstasy.

cove looked down at your own blissed out face, and if he could see his own face he'd notice that his own face his flushed and if it was possible, his pupils would turn into hearts from how lost in pleasure and love for you he's in.

he situates his hands on your hips, the pads of his thumbs rubbing affectionate circles into your skin.

"ah- cove, cove.. please move." you reach for him, intertwining one of his hands with your own.

he gives a kiss to the back of your hand, and when he rears back his hips to start a rough pace, if you could you'd think that the kiss was an apology for the way he's using your cunt.

cove's grip on your hand and hip is solid, it grounds you and the only thing you can think of is how deliciously cove is fucking you, his cock brushing and bumping against the sensitive and deepest parts of your insides.

you whine loudly and can't help but throw your head back because it's like he's going faster and when your eyes return from their trip to the back of your head, you open your eyes to feast on the sight of your husband/boyfriend.

and it's self explanatory why you're more aroused than a just moment ago; cove's hair is mused from all your tugging, and his glasses are long abandoned so that way he can see the way his cock pumps in and out of your cunt and the creamy ring around the base of his dick.

"ah- i love you. y-you're so beautiful..." cove soothes you, kissing your cheek.

"i- oh fuck right there!" your nails run down his chest, cove is going to be a mural of hickeys and scratches. "i love you too, ahh- cove!"

cove lets go of your hand in favor of your clit, already knowing your body well enough to know when you're going to cum.

"fuck... that's it, y/n, cum for me."

"hah, cove! f-finish with me, please. want- want..." you pant, hazy and driven to babbling from the way cove has worked you up all night.

"i know n/n, cum with me. that's it, good girl." cove leans down to kiss you.

tangled in a passionate kiss, your moans blend together as you finish. cove grinds his hips into you, his cock rubbing the deepest part of your insides and painting them white.

he falls into your shoulder, panting and planting a kiss there.

cove gets up, realizing you don't need a wall of muscle crushing you.

"y/n..."

he starts to pull out, and cove has another revelation that he did not think this through...

his cum is leaking from your spent hole, more cum pushing out with every squeeze of your insides, still twitchy from your orgasm.

"yes cove?"

cove swallows, meeting your eyes and he feels embarrassed that you already know what he's going to say. and that you clearly know how much this is turning him on.

"one.. one more round? i'll be more gentle, i just uh.."

you put your ankle on cove's shoulder. "cove, fuck me again."

cove tenses up, this is gonna end up being a long night...

[princesssmars]

i love your shiv nsfw fic!!! you're so good at writing them, could you write another shiv roy x female reader smut fic? it's so hard finding them these days

no strings

a shiv roy x reader.

your time studying abroad is nearly over, and you luck out with a job working for a luxury boating service. this summer the billionaire roy family is vacationing, and the youngest daughter gives you an exciting proposal.

wc : 1.391

contains : fluff. semi angst. smut. talks of fxfxm threesome. exhibitionism : tom watches you and shiv go at it. oral and penetrative sex (receiving).

a/n : anon why did i literally have a dream with tom and shiv the night you sent this...and you are so right why is the shiv tag so dead omg i came a year after the show ended thinking i’d be fed 💔 also thanks for saying i’m good every time i write smut i laugh bc i’m a big baby.

when you signed up for a summer job, you sure as hell weren't expecting this.

at least you had the excuse of this not being a very croatian or italian custom. coming here to study was something you did on a whim, and wouldnt be the first time you made a crazy decision just because, you still had flashbacks to the time you skinny dipped with people who you had just met at a bar an hour earlier.

thankfully over the years your exploring ways had toned down to a reasonable amount. after all, you couldnt be a luxury stewardess who was always getting in to trouble. the clients did insane background checks, seriously, one old bastard asked what it was like going to such an average kindergarten.

but for now, it was fine. it paid well, you only had to serve rich pricks for a few days at a time, and it was helping pay off your student loans. plus if you bat your eyes at the right people you got a considerable tip.

your coworker and friend, petra, suggested you do a little more for some extra money, but you shrugged it off with a laugh each time. the last thing you wanted was to have some crazy millionaire getting too attached to you and causing trouble in your normal life.

but your final semester has ended, you’ve made plans to move back home to jersey at the end of the summer, and that only leaves you with a few more jobs until you’re done with this job. you tried, you really really tried to keep your wits about you, but one of the clients is contacting you before the family lands to the boat with an offer.

a threesome. with her and her husband. no strings attached.

the service you worked for normally declined telling you the names of who your team will be working for, even going as far as to lock your phones on the boats to make sure you weren’t posting them during their private time.

but even you, now living halfway across the world, knew about this family. the roys, owners of one of the biggest media conglomerates of the past era. it was hard not to see reports in the morning from atn news, or the insane amount of advertising you’d see about their international mediterranean cruises.

(well, after their recent scandal about sexual misconduct in the fucking senate, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be seeing too many ads anymore.)

you were sure it was the daughter of the family calling you, recognizing her voice over the phone and being confirmed when she met up with you before she got on the boat. she was gorgeous and a little scary, enjoying the scent of her perfume when she slides the nda over to you to sign.

it was exciting, working on the boat and seeing her eyes occasionally trailing your figure. maybe it would’ve been more enticing if every time her husband looked at you he didn’t look like one of those hanging cat posters. shame, he was cute.

you’re cleaning up one of the tables after the family had eaten a crazy short dinner. you’re still reeling after witnessing how dysfunctional these people were when your phone buzzes on your pocket, courtesy of shiv pulling a few strings. the text from her is just her cabin number and a time that’s ten minutes ahead. short and to the point.

when you knock on the door you can hear a conversation on the other side come to halt, fast footsteps coming to the door before yanking it open. you’d seen her earlier in the day but got did shiv look gorgeous, ginger hair framing her face as the soft lighting of the room illuminated her bare shoulders.

she’s smiling at you, all sickly sweet as she leads you into the room before locking the door behind you, telling you to just sit on the bed. the bed is large and soft, and your mind wanders about how these people can have whole hotel rooms on the ocean and still be so unhappy when a throat clearing knocks you out of your thoughts, the husband sitting in a chair across the bed to your left. he gives a little smile and a wave and you do it back.

“this is tom. he’s just gonna watch us for a while, ok?” she checks in with you, crossing her legs as she sits next to you, softly moving your hair behind your shoulder. you nod. “good. tel us if you don’t like something.”

you try to nod again but her palm is on your cheek and bringing your face to hers, soft lips kissing you like she’s starving. her tounge is in your mouth, and when you try to move your body to sit on her lap she’s pushing you back, resting your back on the bed. you can faintly hear the fabric of tom’s clothes as he moves on his seat.

she urges your pants down your legs, barely waiting for you to kick off your shoes before she’s rubbing you through your panties, biting and nipping at the skin of your neck as you left out small moans into the air.

“sure you don’t wanna touch her, tom? she’s so soft, so pretty.” she licks a line up your throat and to your mouth, swallowing your moan in her mouth. her husband doesn’t reply and you don’t dwell on it for long. you’ve heard of exhibitionists before, looks like her husband is one of them.

you bite her bottom lip and revel in the groan you feel in her mouth and chest, your own muffled noise escaping when she stuffs a finger inside you. she’s using her thumb to rub at your clip while she thrusts, pulling away from the kiss to look at your face.

it feels good but it’s not enough, which you make clear when you beg her under your breath to give you more of anything. thankfully she doesn’t seem to be in a teasing mood, not thanking any time to push her second finger inside of you.

“oh, fuck-“ your leg kicks out and you fist the sheets as you focus on the pleasure. it’s clear she’s done this before, skilled in the way she hits your g spot at just the right angle and rubs your clit. her head turns to likely look at her husband, while yours flops on the bedsheets.

you’re so distracted you don’t notice them having a small chat, mind on cloud nine. you do notice when she dips her head to kiss your chest that’s exposed after she unbuttoned your shirt, then dips lower, and lower, and lower-

when you feel her mouth circle your clit in your mouth you let out an airy moan, feeling the ball in the pit of your stomach grow. she eats you out just like she kisses you, sloppier than you expected for someone that’s looks as polished as she does. her hands are squishing the fat of your thighs, and when she shakes her head from side to side in your pussy you cum, trying to soundproof your moans into your arms as the other clutches at her head.

she helps ease you down from your high, placing kisses on your clit and your thighs and even cleaning you up with her mouth as you let out fast shaky breaths. you’re given maybe a few minutes of relaxation before she’s tugging your pants back up, buttoning up your shirt before giving a quick pat to the top of your thigh.

“that was fun, huh?”

you laugh, nodding your head since you can’t find the words. you push yourself up on your arms, staring up at the woman above you as she smiles down at you. your eyes drift to her husband who’s still sitting on the armchair, face flushed and taking in quick breaths like he’s the one who just got fucked instead of you.

“yeah, yeah it was fun.”

you collect yourself, fixing up your hair in the mirror on the wall as shiv leads you to the door.

“saw in your file you’re from jersey. maybe we’ll call you sometime once all this shit blows over, yeah?”

this summer couldn’t end fast enough.

[thatdeadaquarius]

About language brainrot. Imagine writer creator reader who finally learns how to write in Teyvat's weird symbols and they want to publish their book. They decided to do it anonymously to avoid the "aaaaaah our creator wrote the holy scripture" sort of situation. Except it didn't work. The reader's style is too different from the rest of the world, so even if they tried to simulate the flowery speech it wasn't effective.

Another thing. Reader who decided to read some local books to practice their reading. They asked for something simple and similar to their speech. But the only books merely similar to it are 2000 and more years old. It's funny how the older text is the more you can understand it. On this note. If reader write something i feel like it would be hard to understand for Teyvat's people.

Imagine a reader who is autistic or has any other NDs imparing their communication skills. They practically trained themselves to say sertain phrases in sertain situation. But it doesn't work in Teyvat. And everything just stacks at each other. Difference in speech, being a God (so people react weirdly to you), bad communication skills, not understanding nonverbal cues and so on. There's gonna be a lot of misunderstanding. I imagine how followers would walk on the eggshells not to upset and angry their God and reader who does the same not to say something people will get wrong. Again.

Reader who regained all their memories of creating Teyvat, they're super powerful and stuff. But they still struggle with the modern language. Because all the memories are like millions years old.

✨️NEXYLAZA UR SO FUCKING SMART AND CREATIVE✨️ UR BRAIN>>>>>> EVERYTHING

GIF Akashi (black hair) is all the people who read the Sagau/Isekai Genshin tag and Bokuto (silver) is STILL ME RANTING ABOUT LANGUAGE IN TEYVAT LMAO

They cant escape me, sorry people who just wanted to read SAGAU normal things, im filling up the tag💀

I HAD OTHER ASKS BEFORE THIS ONE AND AS I GOT THRU EM I WAS "OMMGGGG WE'RE GETTIN CLOSER TO NEXY'SSSS ASSSKKKK EEEEEEE"

YOU ARE A GODDAMN GENIUS

DHALALWKDHDHS

ME ABOUT THIS ASK:

(^ lol biblically accurate deadaquarius)

I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO BEGINNNN

BRAINROTTING OVER UR ENTIRE ASK!!

♡

Also, its getting kinda old now, so here is the blunt language v. Teyvat's flowery language post for reference! :)

Hhhhhhhhhhh

IF U WRITE STUFF

AND UR IN WORDY TEYVAT LAND

AINT NO WAY,👏

U COULD EVEN, 👏👏

GET CLOSE👏👏👏

TO THESE BITCHES SPEECH👏👏👏👏

◇

Like,, imagine right now if i told you to write me 4 pages of an essay in entirely early 18th century vernacular.

(For reference: when the story Pride & Prejudice takes place)

... like??

Bitch aint no way u can do that and actually show that to a historian or an actual living person from that time period

and them actually say "wow! An excellently worded 18th century essay!"

💀.

◇

So tying into that whole, "the only simple texts are like literal cunnieform clay tablets or sm shit"

Your writing to them just sounds like if a scribe just copied off what one of those tablets said just onto paper HAHA

And like, if u try and dress it up, it just ends up sounding like its from a slightly later time period

Like if ur casual writing sounds like 1 million years ago, u being flowery sounds like 8-7 thousand years ago u cant win LMAO

◇

Omg ur trying to go to that-

wait whats it called,,fuck i dont know Sumeru good enough yet

The.. HOUSE OF DAENA GOT IT

Yeah so ur thinking "Oh what better way to learn a dialect?/vernacular than reading books by them!"

And u basically snatch Alhaitham at the soonest possible chance to take you there

(Bc when i went in, it was just random lore books everywhere so)

Needless to say you have no clue how this place is organized, so u convince him to direct you to books u can easily read first

Like as close to your speech as possible!! U tell him :)

.

..

...lol

It literally takes like 3 hours to get something readable LMAO

Bc when the poor feeble scribe initially brought you smth he thought was pretty old and close to ur speech, like just first thought,

... It sounded like it was from the middle of the 18th century to you lol

So, with a "hmm" and a squint at the dusty book you'd already given up on

Alhaitham slowly went around the library making a stack of books, dropped them off in front of you... not a single sentence.

...then he made a stack of scrolls...

..nope..

...a stack of stone tablets...

.....getting closer?? it was really weird seeing Shakespearean language carved into stone....

...and then, with a conversation to a second library secretary deeper in the library, past a caged area of shelves to protect them...

...he escorts you behind the restricted section towards the back filled with glass display cases.

(Several of which contain the most ancient looking sets of artifacts you've ever seen)

...Finally, u arrive at a long glass case of several clay tablets.

Half of which sound like they're from the 1910s-20s, and the other, even older half, sounding straight out of the 2000s..

..

....

......

...Good god.

(Good..you??)

These crazy speaking bastard-previously-video-game-characters were right.

...

You are suddenly, viscerally hit with the image of Zhongli's idle, "Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember, but where are those who share the memory?" 💀

◇

Alhaitham side eyes you,, (he looks,, very interested, yet also kinda concerned??? HIM, CONCERNED????!!!)

"Ahem, the texts before thy Greatest Lord art the eldest- well, perhaps, more appropriately, the eldest and most intact, pieces of written language known to our humankind."

...

....aYOO MAN 😭😭

...Ur just staring at these half cracked, baked clay tablet thingys, full of slang from like 2003-

Alhaitham coughs.

"Uh, thanks. ...Sorry about all the.. trouble with this..."

BRO HOW OLD DOES HE THINK U ARE NOW-

"This task assigned to mine own person was of no trouble to my mind or spirit, Greatest Lord, fret not about it any longer."

And with a sort of shell-shocked atmosphere surrounding both of you, Alhaitham walks off to check out some other restricted books, hovering nearby yet also trying to give u space LOL

Top 10 cursed images: Seeing "Chillax, bro, dude, and weeb" carved into ancient clay tablets that look like they would be part of the Egyptian exhibit back in ur world 💀

◇

You eventually just kind of end up writing a couple pages after studying the writings, going younger and younger (nothing has ever made u feel more powerful...yet also more old..)

You stretch, just as Alhaitham finally has made his own little stack of creaky old books

He seems very curious to read what u wrote, peaking a glance over the top of his book every so often (lol nerd, cute nerd... but NERDDD)

You just offer the academic lunatic what he wants 🙄

"Haha, wanna take a look? Some drafts are... closer than others..."

The scribe immediately puts his book down, not even saving his page,

"I would be honored, Greatest Lord."

Is he excited?? 💀 omfg

U very slowly hand ur most recent practice pages over, he curls his hand under his chin "hmm" ing

...Alhaitham shakes his head

"My..deepest apologizes My Creator, but this still seems, at the earliest, from when papyrus was invented, and not yet even into scrolls..."

OK BUT ALHAITHAM WOULD GENUINELY GIVE NO FUCKS ABT CRITIQING YOU, HE MAY BE MORE POLITE ABT IT BUT EVEN IF U DID MAKE THE WORLD HES GOING FOR IT

KAVEH HAS A HEART ATTACK BC HIS ROOMMATE GOT ONTO GOD LMAO

U let ur head plop on ur pile of papers, srry babe youll never be as fancy as Mr. Darcy 😕

And as ur resting there, contemplating just walking out and finding smth to eat instead- same

Alhaitham picks up another draft.

Except it's your first attempt.

As in, you didn't even try, first attempt.

You just made some bullet point notes or some Bs, in ur regular. modern. language.

Alhaitham knocks his chair over standing up so fast-

(HE GETS SHUSHED BY THE RESTRICTED LIBRARIAN LOL, also another person unafraid to scold God lol)

...he says its a perfect example of the oldest records they've found of writing on the continent, most of which they haven't even translated yet

He asks u to teach him how to read this/speak like this lol

♧

(^^^not my best work but hope yall got smth outta it💀)

I WAS LITERALLY GONNA MAKE A WHOLE POST ON THE NEURODIVERGENT EXPERIENCE OF BEING A GOD IN TEYVAT

ESPECIALLY OF THE LANGUAGE BARRIER VARIETY!!!

THERES JUST

ACK

aCK HDHAKD

SO MUCH

TO SAY

!!!

AHHHHH

OK BUT LIKE

IF WE ACTUALLY TOOK THIS TO THE EXTREME IM IMPLYING IT WOULD BE

LIKE TEYVAT SPEAKS SEVERAL DECADES BEHIND U- MAYBE EVEN ACTUALLY

CLOSE TO PRIDE AND PREJUDICE TIMES SPEECH

THEY WOULD LITERALLY BARELY COMPHREHEND YOU

IMAGINE TRYING TO TALK TO MR. DARCY 😭

THATS LITERALLY ALL OF TEYVAT

JUST

???¿¿?????!!! <- THEM ALL THE TIME

ESP IF UR NEURODIVERGENT

I THINK IT WOULD BE EVEN MORE PROOF FOR THEM TO THINK UR GOD

BC UR BEHAVIOR WOULD BE "OFF" TO THEIR NEUROTYPICAL ASSES,

YOUR FACIAL EXPRESSIONS,

LIKE UR MASKING MAYBE BUT

U CANT KEEP THAT SHIT UP ALL THE TIME-

ESP IN CRAZY ISEKAI CIRCUMSTANCES

AND LIKE-

(ok ill tone it down before i also get shushed)

U used to be a player!!

Which would maybe mean u got rlly comfy playing Genshin all the time!

...like i know im kinda stimming when im gaming (and my natural stim is rocking so yeah no way they wouldnt notice that 💀)

So, since u may be still yknow unconsciously wanting to be comfy (esp around ur mains/team/favs)

U probably have stimmed a little around them, which, not that neurotypicals dont stim, but like

They would notice after awhile

And esp people like Alhaitham, Zhongli, Ningguang, Xiao, Ei, Aether/Lumine, Kaeya, Diluc, Kazuha, Heizou, Shenhe, Kokomi, Sara, Albedo, Dainsleif- !! GASP- !! <- my bbygirl omg i forgot abt u before now im so sorry </3

(once again i have not checked a character list, forgive my sins my readers)

^^^ Are like pretty focused on you/observant, so they'd eventually pick up on it first probably

..

...

....which allsssooo means they're like, collecting all ur neurodivergent thingys lol to compile as EVIDENCE AGAINST YOU AS TO WHY THEY KNOW UR THE CREATOR LMAO

◇

Honestly the biggest factor against u is definitely social interaction,, srry love :/

(if it helps, its bc i know itd be my downfall too thats why thats there ^ 😔)

Mostly bc i have this idea/theory? obervation? that when I especially met Adepti for the first time

Esp ones that werent as close to human society for as long as some others (like think Xiao vs. Ganyu)

And for literally every other non-human people we've met so far in Genshin-

They kinda- they kinda, radiate neurodivergent energy??

Like, they're not adherring to social norms, and not in like a bad way,

But its still rlly obvious (i mean also its probably exaggerated for us as an audience) that theyre not human pretty quickly

coughzhonglicough

COUGHVENTICOUGH-

oh geez wow excuse me, cold weather must be gettin to me- ahem hem-

Anyway, like what Nexy said in the ask,

...

...Yall are all just tiptoing around each other 😭😭

Bc these ppl arent from Earth countries,

All their behavior is weird to you 😭

U dont know how to mask with them yet 😭😭

THE UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF MISCOMMUNICATION THAT HAPPENS ALREADY WHEN UR NEUROSPICY VS. NEUROBLAND PPL

IS LIKE, ALMOST WORSE??

Bc they cant even understand ur phrasing bc its so simple 😭😭😭

◇

Tldr: "Being Neurodivergent means ur a god, confirmed." - says all of Teyvat's denizens

◇

NEXYLAZA.

MY BELOVED.

I AM IN LOVE WITH UR BRAIN.

IF I COULD GIVE IT A HUG I WOULD🫂✨️👏👏👏👏

BC I WAS ALREADY LIKE IN THE BACK OF MY MIND LIKE-

*rubs my little rat gremlin hands together*

"hmHmHMMMM BuT wHaT iF mAYbE yOU reMeMbeREd cReATinG TeyVAT, hmHMHMMMMM"

AND FOR VERBALIZING IT WITHIN BLUNT LANGUAGE AU- !!!!!!!

(one of my favs, if u cant tell)

I would (platonically) kiss you right now dude.

Instead I give this:

♡ ily

And also, I AM GOING TO MAKE A WHOLE POST ABOUT THIS-

MAYBE EVEN A FANFIC, OR ONE SHOT AHDHAKFHSKLAAL-

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY BELOVED PARTNER IN CRIME <333

PSPSPSPSsppspspspssss Last Time! CLOSES TOMORROW @1pm CST: VOTE on my 100+ followers celebration POLL :)

Tell me what u wanna see me write about! PSPSPSPSpspspspssss

(U can vote even if ur new! :] )

THANK YOU FOR SUBMITTING THIS ASK

THIS IS A TREASURE OF MINE NOW

GONNA HIDE IT IN MY LITTLE CAVE OF SCREENSHOTTED SAGAU POSTS <333 hehehehehehehehehehe

THIS IS LIKE PT2 TO MY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE POST AHHHHH

NEXY BIG BRAIN ILYSM <3

Cheers,

🌒🌧🌊Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza lol ur own ask im a menace sorry

[leclerced]

https://www.tumblr.com/enchantecafe/739424546511257600/oscar-with-a-biker-or-motogp-reader-i-cannot

i love motogp reader and oscar wag thank you for putting my thoughts into words omg

i like to think the other drivers don’t believe him when he first tells him about his gf… i feel like they’d be like.. cmon oscar no need to lie until biker reader is up on hee podium dedicating her win to him.. maybe kisses him on camera after she wins first (aka like that one photo of charles)

the way i wish i could just brain rot about this instead of working on my assignments is unreal

-🌷

link

ugh i just realized i accidentally tagged that as 🫀anon instead of 🌷 im sorry they’re side by side in my recents 😭🫶🏻

lando teases him for having a crush on her and liking all her posts when they start dating but once they make things official and decide to tell people, he tries to tell them and they don’t believe him. can imagine he tells lando first and lando is making fun of him when daniel walks in and asks what they’re talking about. lando pulls up her instagram and is like, “you think oscar could pull this chick?” and daniel looks through the hot biker girl’s page and looks at oscar, cozied up on a couch, and laughs before they begin making jokes about how she would run circles around oscar. oscar gives up on convincing anyone until he goes to her race on an off weekend and she kisses him on the live cameras. fans go crazy and even though the drivers probably aren’t watching the race, they’d see it the next time they get on social media and soon enough he’s getting apologetic texts from other driver’s, congratulating her on her win and them the relationship.

or they could find out because she comes to one of oscar’s races and i can imagine drivers recognize her and try to chat but she keeps excusing herself quickly until she gets to the mclaren garages. oscar’s waiting for her and opens his arms when he sees her and she jumps into his arms for a hug bc they haven’t seen each other in forever and everyone is like, “holy shit he was telling the truth, how the fuck are they together? how did they meet??”

imagine them making out in the garage and he’s blushing and keeps pulling back when she tries to deepen the kiss, uncaring that they have an audience.

[izzy-b-hands]

im sitting here, first edible of the day kicking in, and i just realised i haven't been yelled at for picking my lips in months. im safe here, i can stim like that and Housemate doesn't care and that's

really really lovely. wish I'd realised it sooner!

[skazoo]

still do.

↳ choi jongho x f!reader

he couldn't stop loving you, even if he tried. and he did try for some time. it just didn't work.

length. 3.7k

genre. exes (and friends) to lovers, fluff, crack and a sprinkle of inevitable angst (i'm sorry).

warnings/tags. language, mention of death, mention of illness of a loved one, implied depression, .

networks. @kflixnet k-labels

notes. hello with another "this was supposed to be just teeth rotting fluff but somehow turned a little depressing and angsty on its own, i swear i didn't touch anything" do we see a pattern here? bc i do. i offer this lil jongho fic after sm time of absolutely nothing but i've finished my exams literally the other day, (DURING PRIDE MONTH!?!?? unacceptable) hope you like it!!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

it’s a well-known fact —to your friend group, to the employees of the cafè on the way to your apartment, to the old lady that sells flowers at the corner of the big building you work at��� that choi jongho not only likes you but he’s irremediably and unequivocally in love with you.

and that is still not right because jongho doesn’t just love you, no, that would be too obvious, too easy. he still loves you. 

if he goes back enough in his memories, jongho could say he’s always loved you.

he’s never been one to believe in love at first sight so when wooyoung drunkenly introduced the two of you at his birthday party, and he found himself unable to breathe let alone speak a coherent sentence to you, he immediately panicked. was he having a heart attack? a stroke? he was healthy, an athlete! how could this be happening to him!? he even made his own doctor hate him with all the panicked questions he asked the poor man on the phone but apparently, all he needed to relatively calm down was wooyoung’s loud laugh as he told him that he simply had a crush on you.

did he have a crush on you? 

you, with your beautiful smile and melodic laugh and sparkling eyes and– okay, yeah. he did have a crush on you but who wouldn’t!?

strong argument indeed, he thought.

that fateful night was only the start of a happiness he didn’t know he was able to experience.

you became friends, then best friends, then something more and then you were kissing, sleeping, and cuddling in bed together, going on cute little dates, and showing more PDA jongho ever imagined doing. 

he thought you were happy with him. navigating life with the same confused curiosity all young adults seem to innately possess.

then something happened that he couldn’t have ever predicted. and not because he wasn’t paying attention to you or because he was slacking off with his boyfriend duties, no. it came as a complete shock to everyone —you included, in a sense— because the signs just weren’t there. 

out of the blue, without notice, you broke up with him. after a year and for reasons that are still beyond his comprehension.

questions thundered into his mind asking why you had come to the heartbreaking decision, why you had sent him a ‘we need to talk’ text at 2am in the morning, and why he’d later found you at the front door of his apartment with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, soft whimpers vaguely sounding like ‘sorry’ and ‘it’s not your fault’. 

if he thinks back to that night, jongho gets chills from how scared he was; holding your body to his chest, not knowing what to do or what to say, not knowing who hurt you or why you were hurting.

when he thinks back to that night —something he finds himself doing more often than his heart can take— jongho clearly remembers the silent promise he repeated in his head at least a thousand times after you went back to your apartment. a promise he’s set on keeping.

and it’s for that very promise that he now sits in the crowded cafe downtown, drinking an overrated caramel macchiato and hiding behind a book he has no interest in.

at least it’s what he tells himself. that he came to the same coffee shop you told him you’d be meeting your date at because that’s what friends do. he tells himself he’s wearing a mask and sunglasses inside because he can and will love you platonically if that’s what you need or want. jongho tells himself a lot of things and he hopes he’s strong enough to believe in them in a way that will make them reality sooner or later.

but it’s not like two booths away from him you’re faring any better.

are people outside your friend group really this boring and uninteresting? have men always been this arrogant and full of themselves? was your current ex-boyfriend the exception that proves the incredibly unfair rule? 

when you met jongho you knew you were lucky. hot college athlete with sarcasm to match yours and a badly concealed heart of pure gold? you knew you hit the jackpot. but you weren’t ready to realize that he really was one in a million men that actually put in the effort to go beyond the bare minimum.

why is it, though? 

the question threatens to break loose all the pent-up frustration this date is generously providing you with and you opt to ignore it and hide it in the back of your mind for another occasion. one that includes cheap wine, pizza, and an equally bewildered yunjin sitting on your couch with funny socks and mouth full.

for now, you only limit yourself to throwing a fake smile at the obnoxious man sitting in front of you who’s spent the entirety of this heinous date talking exclusively about himself and his crypto-currency business. 

he’s finishing what you think is a long rant about the stock market when he moves to get up.

you think you’re finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel but he just lets out an annoying chuckle and looks at you with his small and pig-like patronizing eyes. “don’t worry, love. i’m not leaving you i’m just going to ‘powder my nose’, how you girlies say.” he winks and you resist the urge to gag at how… slimy he looks and feels.

as soon as he’s out of sight you let yourself slump on the small table, groaning a bit as you do so.

what were you even thinking? you tell yourself that today is going to be a well-suffered lesson for your future self: no dates with people that quote elon musk as if he’s some kind of greek philosopher.

your hands reach for the phone in your bag on their own. the last message you received was a sarcastic ‘have fun’ from wooyoung in the group chat but other than that everything is quiet, seemingly wanting to punish you for going against your friends’ advice to bail on the guy as soon as you saw him treat the barista like shit.

under the group chat, jongho’s name glares at you. 

you would be lying if you said out loud that this date didn’t have the sole purpose of distracting you from the claustrophobic guilt you’re feeling lately. 

jongho had never really cried in front of you but you swear if you could you’d erase the image of his damp eyes looking at you with confusion on that ugly night. and if you have to be honest you’d erase the encouraging but strained smiles he gives you now that you’re back at being friends too, because they don’t do anything but make you feel a shittier person than you already think you are. but maybe you deserve it. maybe this is finally going to be the occasion in which you understand that your actions have consequences.

your fingers work quicker than your brain can catch up, and before you realize it, you open again the conversation with jongho that ended before you went out and start typing.

> you: wyd?

> jjong: you’re on a date

> jjong: focus

> you: what is this an exam?

> you: nevermind this was a bad idea…

> jjong: texting me or the date?

> you: shut up

> you: the date 

> jjong: aw i’m sorry i could have told you that like,, an hour ago

> jjong: oh wait 

> jjong: i did!

another groan leaves your lips, only this time laced with a small chuckle at his antics. you mark the message as seen and throw your phone back into the bag. 

you hope other people can't see how much you miss him.

while you’re too focused on burning holes in the bathroom door from how hard you’re staring at it, dreading the moment it will open to reveal your current problem, in the loud noise of the cafe you don’t hear the heavy stomps of someone approaching you from behind. 

only when you feel two warm hands plant themselves on your shoulders and you hear a familiar voice muttering to itself something that sounds like ‘found you’, you’re forced out of your angry trance state and you’re asked to quickly choose between either your fight or flight instincts. you throw a blind punch and the person creeping up on you folds into two.

but that’s on him because who creeps on someone sitting alone at a table and touches them without making themselves known? what happened to ‘hello, what a coincidence to see you here’? what happened to manners?

you snap your head to the figure behind you and you let your panic subside but your annoyance rises.

“how– what are you doing here!?” your words come out in a hiss that makes the old couple sitting in the booth behind you turn around and look at you with judgy eyes but that doesn’t affect jongho in the slightest.

“saving you? duh.”

“who asked you that?!”

“what– Y/N, you texted me even before you met the guy, may i add. and the message said: ‘please end my suffering.’ in my book that’s a cry for help!”

he’s right but you let out an affronted huff anyway. arms crossed and lips in a pout you know is childish. “whatever.”

you feel him staring at you with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk that you, oh so badly want to wipe off his face. 

“what?” you spat. your tone more embarrassed than you’d like to let on.

“what, what?”

“what the fuck are you smiling for?”

he throws his arms in the air exasperatedly. “am i not allowed to be happy now?”

“of course you are, it’s just… you being happy,” you air-quote to punctuate your suspicions on his current joyous disposition. “usually means wooyoung fell or someone got hurt.”

he laughs. “do you think so lowly of me, Y/N?”

“shut up.” the napkin you’ve been fidgeting with because of the irrational panic rising in your guts is now messily crumpled on the table and you groan at the whole situation. head in your hands and eyes closed. you’re so bad at this.

what happened to moving on? what happened to leaving jongho alone because he doesn’t deserve someone treating him like shit? you broke up with him supposedly to save him, but, not even three months in, and now that your mind is clearer you think it’s okay to want him back? to feel full again every time you talk about the things you did together and bask in the silence that follows with a warm knowing smile? you think it’s good to let your eyes wander to his face when you know he’s not looking, falling in love all over again? to feel your face involuntary stretch into a smile every time you spot him waiting for you outside work?

whatever your fucking problem is, you’re scared that you’ll come to find out its only solution is the person you fought so hard to push away. because what if you managed to scare away the last source of happiness you had? it’s selfish, you know, but it’s also the only thing you can think about as he looms over you; body so dangerously close to yours that you can catch the flowery perfume he always wears.

you think he’s speaking to you because his big hand is outstretched in your direction and his eyes are looking at you expectantly, with a veiled urgency.

“sorry, what?”

“i said get up and let’s go.”

“go where exactly?”

he rolls his eyes and you keep to yourself the striking resemblance he has with a spoiled child right at this moment.

“c’mon, we’re living this tinder nightmare here.”

“oh, are we?” you ask equal parts amused and curious of where this little skit of his is going.

when his deadpan expression doesn’t shift into one of his gummy smiles at your slightly annoying antics you know something impulsive and possibly embarrassing is about to happen and you know you will be the only person who will have any sort of unnecessary remorse out of the two of you.

your hands fly to your parted mouth and you hiss at him again. “are you serious!?”

he smiles.

“jongho, no.”

jongho yes, the mischievous look he throws you seems to proudly announce. 

he checks the toilet door one last time before gently grabbing your arm and not-so-gently yanking you out of the booth. a surprised squeal leaves your mouth but not a word of protest is heard from you.

“oh my god, i’m really doing this.”

his eyes are set on the door and he speaks without looking at you. “doing what?” 

“leaving someone like that while they’re in the bathroom! that’s so… i don’t know jjong, that’s so rude!”

you see his shoulder shake and you know if he were to face you right now you’d see one of his shit-eating grins. what you can’t imagine is the softness in his eyes as you call him with your nickname for him. he missed it. he misses you. painfully, completely, constantly.

his wide strides are followed by your frantic steps as he maneuvers the two of you out of the door and into the busy downtown street.

“so what? do you wanna go back in there and risk being bored to death by a guy that’s not even a quarter of what you deserve?”

“wha– no! i just–”

“then why should you feel sorry for that sad excuse of a date, uh? like, really, he took you to the most overrated place he could think of, Y/N. he didn’t even know you don’t like coffee!”

you chuckle at the frown of deep offense that blooms on his face. his lips in an affronted pout. “but that’s what the date is for, jjong. he couldn’t have possibly known.”

he stops in his tracks when he’s far away enough from the crowd in line waiting to be granted entrance to the place you just left. 

“i do, though.” an imperceptible strain to his voice as his eyes search yours in a way that’s almost desperate. “i know you don’t like coffee and that you like to sleep on the right side of the bed and that you just have to sing that ridiculous song to tie your shoes because otherwise, for some inexplicable reason i still have to understand, you can’t.”

has the world around you stopped? your ears are ringing from the deafening silence and you feel like everyone around you has stopped breathing and is waiting for you to say something to the boy in front of you who stares you down in determined distress.

“i know you, Y/N.”

you know he deserves an explanation. him more than anyone in your life. him more than yourself, even. jongho with his proverbial patience that let you cry and consoled you the whole night even after you’d told him you were breaking up with him. jongho that didn’t push or torment you with questions the days after. jongho who accepted —maybe in pure and raw self-preservation— to go back to being just friends, with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips because that’s what you’d told him you needed at that moment. his kindness that, more often than not, you’re convinced you don’t deserve.

“i know.” you close on yourself, your arms coming to hug you tight so that he can’t see the cracks that constantly try to spread over your skin. “i know you do.” an imperceptible whisper that threatens to drown in the buzz of the busy city around you.

“then why?” his eyes are pleading and his voice is quiet when he speaks again. 

“i know i should give you time and i know you’ll tell me one day but please–” he gulps down a lump that you know he’s had for at least three months. one of worry, confusion, and guilt. one you know you gave him.

“–please, give me something. anything.”

silence.

“Y/N, please say someth–”

“my mother was sick, jongho. she still is.” the line you’ve dreaded crossing for so long is no longer a line. the wall that’s been standing in between you and everyone else now has a hole in it. 

“i was out of my mind just from the news of her condition, i– i wasn’t well mentally and physically just from that and i saw time slip through my fingers, felt every single second like a punch to the guts. i threw away all the clocks in my mother’s house, i started sleeping on the floor outside her bedroom, i– the week i told you i was busy with deadlines, we were still together, remember?” he nods, small but it’s there.

 “i spent those days obsessing over something that was not yet real. my brother had to slip me sleeping pills to let me close my eyes for even a second.” your voice cracks because the guilt you get from just looking at jongho always has to be added to the guilt you feel when seonghwa kindly asks you how you’re doing lately.

“i-i was a mess just from that and i didn’t want you to be with me when what i was scared of was going to finally become a reality. i didn’t want you to see me like that because i didn’t think it was what you deserved. and you may be unable to understand and yell at me that it had to be your choice and not mine but i still don’t think that what i did was wrong, i’m sorry.”

the apology floats in the air between you. it’s not articulate or rich but it’s the only one you can get out at the moment.

“my psychologist says– he says i’m doing better now. we agree that the worst is over but there’s this…  unknown that hangs over my head and every second that passes i don’t know if this guillotine will cut my head off or miss me by a hair.”

he just looks at you with that unreadable expression that scares you.

“i didn’t– i don’t want to go back to when the worst wasn’t over and i’m scared that if i give myself back to you i will take you down with me one way or the other.”

you don’t know what you expect him to say or do after you just vomited everything you’re constantly trying to keep hidden, on him, but his loud silence is starting to feel too heavy, unsettling.

he doesn’t feel present, his eyes unfocused and unblinking. 

he shakes his head as if to wake up from a trance and looks at you with eyes too full of love. no pity in them and you want to thank him for it.

“ba– Y/N why didn’t you tell me?”

the simple question throws you off. 

why did you do the things you did? 

why does anyone do things?

you want to cry and tell him that not everything has an explanation. not a logical one anyways.

“i don’t know, okay! i wasn’t sure how you felt! god, i didn’t know how i felt and–”

“how could i have ever felt!? we were together for more than a year, Y/N. i loved you. i still do.”

“w-what?”

he lets out a chuckle that is not mocking or mean or condescending, not one you would’ve expected from anyone else. it’s kind and soft and a little bit amused, much to your irritation.  “do you find it surprising?” 

you open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it. 

“i am in love with you, have been since the moment i saw you at that stupid party and when you told me you had to break up with me i just– Y/N, i couldn’t let you go or stop loving you, even if i tried. and believe me, i did try for some time, but it just didn’t work.” 

with tears clouding your vision you’re surprised you manage to find the time or strength to tease him. “you tried?”

and apparently, it is those two words that make him break out of the containment chamber he’s forcing himself to be trapped in. he smashes through the protective glass in true jongho fashion. a well-placed punch and the chains that kept him away from you thinking that’s what you needed, dissolve into thin air as he closes the distance, messily rushing to you and caging you in a desperate hug that steals the air from your lungs. 

you feel his hands claw at the back of your shirt and it’s the heartbreaking and deep affection that allows you to accept that you’re not difficult and you will not be. not to him, not to the people that love you.

he buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in like he wants to absorb you forever, then everything that happens next goes naturally, smoothly, following a line that was always supposed to be the one and only.

it fits perfectly. when you kiss and it's like the universe, your friend group, the employees of the cafè on the way to your apartment, the old lady that sells flowers at the corner of the big building you work at, knew it was meant to be.

you both stand with your eyes closed, embracing each other.

he wants to be a person who deserves you and whom you deserve. jongho loves you and he wants to be there, picking up your pieces, putting you together like a puzzle, taking his time. 

you sniff, looking up at him with what you hope looks like a soft expression and not some sort of a pained smile. “hi.”

“hey.” he smiles back, thumbs caressing away stray tears.

“you know that i saw you sitting there the second i stepped foot into the coffee shop. 

“you did not.”

“you were reading the book upside-down.”

he blushes but his arms tightens around you.

“i was not.”

[sunnydbd]

some fanart of HEAT STROKE! by @zorno-graphic on ao3 + 3L!Scar

text in second pic: You're a messy eater

uncensored link : ❤︎︎

twt : @ sunnybutlame

the rest of this post is just yapping abt the fic,, so light spoilers for heat stroke!

ngl im super nervous posting this and idk why??(i do, its bc im tagging the author..)

anyway, i didnt think this fic would ever be finished as the months went on and rolled over into next year but then i got the email notification and nearly screamed(yes that is embarrassing to admit..)

i cant, and probably could never, fully explain the sheer amount of detail that zorn put into this fic(and also the other fic ive read from them, Tweetheart, which is my roman empire) youll get more insight, and far less rambling brain slurry from the recesses of my animal brain, if you read both the fic and the comments as discussions on there are far more introspective citing direct quotes from the fic also have great author feedback, the rest of this post is something i wanted to note

the fic is riddled with contrasting elements(im mostly focusing on chapter 2 when i say this as its fresh in my mind) like in the descriptors, monologue, and characterization. 

comparatively Grian’s and Scar’s characters are complete opposites, Grian’s invasive to intimacy and outright tries to deny it(trying to physically leave their house) while Scar is the one who initiates the intimacy and craves vulnerability(not saying Grian doesnt initiates anything between the two just that Scar is less repressed.)

a similar example of this is in the sex scenes, the inherent intimacy of sex and how Grian acts during(practically begging sometimes) is contradictory to his established character, standoffish(once again im directing you to the comments as lovely user sheepfriend and zorn have a great conversation further explaining Grian’s character better than i am) while Scar is so delightfully pathetic and almost takes a submissive role(??) which is against his confident demeanor throughout the fic(dunno know where else to mention this but i love the uses of dog imagery for Scar its just so good, mwah chef kiss)

 in Grian’s inner monologue he feels remorse when looking at the scars hes caused on Scar’s body but then later on, still in his inner monologue, revels in the fact that hes left his physical mark on Scar(again reading those comments from sheepfriend and zorn give far more insight) 

water and thirst is often used as a metaphor for desire in the more intimate scenes, "Water sidling up to the hard coast that is Scar’s body, the firm landing strip of bones.”, “He’s thirsty, he realizes, the withering curling need gathering on his tongue and down his throat.” this imagery is very contrasting to their environment, which is a desert, and also to the catalyst of the fic, Grian’s heat(in an etymologic sense rather than in the context of the fic)

theres in fact no thesis statement to this long post aside from the fact that zorn loves the use of contrast(thats the entirety of the 2cents i wanted to chip in,) but if you want a far better explanation of the insane rambling i just wrote i direct you to this lovely post by zorn from his blog ! i recommend if you havent read HEAT STROKE!(or Tweetheart because its good !!) you should read the fic first and then the post as it really puts the vibe you get throughout both fics into words❤︎︎❤︎︎

honestly zorn's writings have greatly influenced my writing and(when i first read Tweetheart) got me back into writing, their writing style is so good and is chalk-full of detail and care i truly cant recommend their works enough or put it into words(which is why this paragraph is so rambling,,)the sheer amount of creativity and detail in every aspect of his fics❤︎︎❤︎︎

also, didnt know where else to mention it, i love the way zorn writes Grian's and Scar's dynamic(like?? hellofjdkj???)

i have no idea if this makes any sense i havent slept in hours and its catching up to me,,.