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ppyopulii · 2 days ago

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📋 the study of prosody.

PREVIEW. pros·o·dy. noun. the patterns of stress and intonation in a language. an example of its use would be the study of the following phrases: i.) if you want me, ii.) if you want me, iii.) if you want me.

FEATURING. stargazer!yoon jeonghan x linguist!reader GENRE(S). yearning, fluff, friends to lovers, suggestive (minors beware.) LENGTH | WC. <20min | 3.4k words EXPLICITS. cursing, one (1) mention of a spider, r ends up on yjh’s lap, car makeout session, light marking, grinding, yjh calls r sweetheart, lowk sub!r & sub!yjh (they are so effing down bad for one another)

JAY’S MUSINGS. been in the Craziest jeonghan brainrot for So long. someone help. for my beloved ashi, @junplusone, as we will now unfortunately promptly disappear again as stem major curriculums pick up once more. i offer u my love thru begging jeonghan. tysm for beta-reading. (p.s. slightly inspired by @mochacoda's night d(r)ive!! there is so much love written into her words it consumes me whole. pls go take a look <3)

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE. if you want me, you better speak up by ljh. understand by keshi. striptease by carwash. touch tank by quinnie. better half by jeonghan (ft. omoinotake).

i.) if you want me,

“Bog time?”

Jeonghan looks up from the GPS on his phone, an eyebrow quirked up at your out of the blue words. He has the address of a random park punched into the navigation, finger hovering over the Start Route button, but he easily swipes out of the tab as if it was a mere thought in the back of his mind.

“And what might you mean by,” he lazily curls two fingers in the air in quotation marks, “Bog time?”

To his question, you simply offer your phone to him. There’s a curve to his smile as he takes the device and stares at the screen; it’s directions to a wetland park about nine minutes out from your location, in some suburban neighborhood. Pictures show a few benches around the small pond and a trail leading behind to the forest.

You beam at him, eyes sparkling in the sun’s last rays of the day, like a pet showing its owner a present they brought back from the outside. “A bog! Have you ever been to one?”

Jeonghan hands you back your phone, fingers sliding against yours, and looks to the sky thoughtfully. He rests his hand on the steering wheel of his sleek black Toyota Camry, the leather glinting with shine, tapping his finger to a beat you wished you knew.

“Not until tonight, I haven’t,” is his smooth answer; and before you know it, he’s pulling the shift into drive and pressing hard on the gas.

Loving Yoon Jeonghan is easy.

It’s more of an afterthought for you at this point. You grab the last bag of his favorite chips at the convenience store? He’s planning his move to steal it as if you weren’t going to surrender it to him without a fight, but you play along anyway to indulge him. There’s a spider in the kitchen? He’s cheering you on for moral support as you grab a cup and some paper to trap it, but it takes one tremble of your hands for him to click his tongue, say you’re too slow, and get the job done for you.

His quick-witted, ever playful banter keeps you on your toes. You thrive in the presence of him like a sponge soaking up as much water as it can—except, unfortunately for you, you’re constantly on the verge of having it all flood out and drowning in it.

Because while loving Yoon Jeonghan is easy, wanting him is a whole different story.

Loving doesn’t result in an ache in your heart every time he talks about his latest date with someone. Loving doesn’t cause the burning pit in your stomach that surfaces when he leans over, just right, to whisper something only meant for your ears.

Love, to you, is the noun you hold for Jeonghan, stored in your hands when you light-heartedly swat him away with a tsk—and want is the verb that jumps out of you when he effortlessly catches your wrist in his hand, honey eyes gleaming in your lamp’s light.

“Yah, we’re here.”

His teasing tone snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink in surprise. There’s no parking lot; his car is stalled on the side of the road, the headlights flickering for a moment before turning off.

“Where’s the bog?” you tilt your head in different directions, trying to get an unsuccessful glimpse of your surroundings.

Jeonghan snorts and pushes a lock of blonde hair behind his ear. “You tell me, dude. Can’t see shit out here.”

“Language,” you scold, before unlocking your side of the car and stepping out onto the sidewalk.

The neighborhood is quiet save for the occasional hoot of an owl and the wind’s loud escapades through the trees. You shiver and tuck yourself into the knitted sweater you had chosen for tonight, the wind picking up ever so slightly as if to mock your choice of clothing. Jeonghan is on your side before you can even think of yanking him out of the car, much to your dismay. He shuts your door and shines the flashlight of his phone onto the dewy lawn grass.

“What even is a bog?” Jeonghan queries as the two of you begin to walk in a seemingly random direction. “Just a wetland?”

“Basically, yeah. The thing we’re going too isn’t really a bog. More of a pond with some swamp aspects. I just think bog’s a funny word.”

Your shoes scrape against the cement. From Jeonghan’s light, you can see up ahead that just across the road is the sign from your Google Search, signifying your destination is close. Your eyes trace the trail winding behind it into the forest.

“Explain it to me.”

Startled, you glance back. Jeonghan’s face is faintly illuminated from the light bouncing off of you. If you were to focus well enough, you would be able to outline the slope of his cheekbone and the way some strands of his hair brushed against it ever so softly.

“The word bog? Are you serious? It’s really nothing,” you try to argue, turning back around.

“Come on. Try me.”

You heave a sigh. “Alright. If you want me to.”

“Yah. ‘Course I want you to.”

The air feels a little thicker now, but you swallow the feeling back and press forward as the grass gets taller. You wish it was warmer; maybe, if you were lucky, you’d be able to hear the night calls of a toad, or see fireflies milling about the shoreline.

“Gaelic origin, mostly. Just an adjective that describes something that’s soft and damp. There’s also some roots back to Ireland—they had a word that describes moist ground.”

While you’re explaining, Jeonghan carefully takes the lead, shining his flashlight onto the wooden sign marking the entrance to the trail and oncoming wetland. He hums in response.

“Nerd.”

You smack his shoulder blade.

“Ow—fuck, okay, I’m sorry!”

He’s laughing, and like the death of a star your anger explodes into oblivion, rolling your eyes good-naturedly as you shove him with your elbow. “You were the one who asked.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right.” You glance at Jeonghan from within your peripherals while he speaks. There’s a flicker of surprise as you take note of his small smile that curls with an emotion you can’t quite read.

“Can’t help it, y’know,” he muses aloud. “To want is a cruel thing.”

ii.) if you want me,

Your breath evens as the concrete path gradually gives way to wooden boardwalk. The two of you walk quietly side by side, the water’s surface still and reflecting the moon’s light from above. Jeonghan had mentioned earlier that it was a waxing gibbous, and that a super moon would be occurring in a few nights’ time.

Moments were always stolen with Jeonghan—not because you two didn’t have the time for each other, but more so because you two seemed to have all the time in the world to spend in each other’s presence. Inseparable like the twin stars marked by the constellation dubbed Gemini, you grew so used to his existence that it took outrageously spontaneous adventures like this one to really cherish him.

Or, in this particular case, curse him and his ever observant nature.

“You want me to do what?”

“Just come here,” he urges, opening his arms a little wider.

Your hesitance is palpable, but ultimately, you relent, wiggling your way into his warm embrace. His hoodie is worn with seasons of journeys that you’ve accompanied him on, and it’s always been a comfort you’ve relied on for warmth.

Just… never with him alongside it.

“There you go,” Jeonghan’s lips skim the crown of your hairline and you shudder, the motion backfiring on you when he only presses you closer to him. “Y’know, you usually know better than to wear the thinnest knitted sweater known to man on a night like this.”

“You could’ve just given me your hoodie, you know.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to do that. Then I’d be freezing. This is a win-win.”

“You’re insufferable,” you say, and bury yourself further against the fabric.

The self-proclaimed bog is forgotten as the two of you find more interesting things to take notice of. Once more, a comfortable quiet overtakes you two, with your eyes following the sway of a tree’s branches and Jeonghan focused on the sky above. A moment to journal about later, maybe, with a fern taken and pressed to be studied after it dried. Perhaps tonight you’d snag the formidable prickles of the pine tree nearby. You’d always be interested in how words took shape after nature, the conifer’s history included.

As if on cue, Jeonghan’s voice is pulling you out of your thoughts in asking about the tree before you two. You respond in turn about the specifics of the pine.

“Doesn’t that have another meaning? Pine?”

“Mhm,” you hum noncommittally. “The tree existed first, then the verb pine came about later; means to long for or seek after, similar to yearning. They both actually stem from two different Latin words—pine tree from pinus and pining from poena. Cool how they ended up as the same word though, huh?”

Jeonghan is surprisingly still for a while. Leaves rustle nearby, being stirred by the wind, and you bite your lip.

Even though he’s heard you ramble about nonsense background contexts of words a thousand times over, the silence scares you. Sometimes you still fear Jeonghan will be bored by your constant, monotone voice, as if he was only listening to reply rather than understand.

“Hey, look up. D’you see those three stars up there?”

You glance above the tree you’re studying and nod against the fabric of his hoodie. The three stars in question are a straight shot line, banded together diagonally like a belt. Above those, another group of stars come together to form the torso of a man, one arm held out to hold something akin to a bow.

“Orion and his belt,” you confirm. “You’ve told me his story before—the hunter who boasted about killing all animals, right? I remember arguing about the right myth to follow.”

“Yeah, well, there’s more to it,” Jeonghan chuckles and wraps his arms a smidge tighter around you. You try to ignore the electricity shooting through your veins, piercing your heart like a lightning strike.

He lowers his face so that his mouth is close, so close, right by your ear. Freeing one of his hands from your embrace, he tilts your chin up with his fingers ever so slightly, pointing at a faint cluster of stars somewhere above and to the right. You squint your eyes to focus better as Jeonghan softly begins his story.

“The Pleiades were seven sisters who were sought after by Orion. Their father was Atlas, the Titan condemned to holding up the sky, and once barred to his eternal punishment, Orion took this chance to begin his pursuit. He was persistent in his chase for the sisters, wanting to win any of their favors through any means possible. Zeus eventually had enough of Orion’s attempts and turned the Pleiades into doves to free them; however, they asked to be placed in the sky to be closer to their father. That’s how the constellation we know of now came to be formed. Unfortunately for them, Orion took to the skies soon after and continues to chase them to this day.”

It’s your turn to fall speechless. Something about the tale makes your bottom lip jut out in a solemn expression; eternal punishment of any form, be it to hold up the sky for forever or to be chased unwillingly by a hunter in various forms, makes your heart ache. You stubbornly hope there is an end to your own suffering, fingers shaking as Jeonghan pulls his hand away from cupping your face.

“Don’t worry, though,” he whispers; his tone is so gentle it has you leaning into him subconsciously. “The Pleiades are safe. All Orion can do is long for, or pine after them, as you so dutifully defined for me earlier.”

“I’m glad.” Your voice, low and full of emotion, is almost lost to the wind as it begins to surge. “Sometimes feelings just can’t be returned, no matter how much we desire them to be. I would want them to be happy.”

You stare woefully at the sisters. Jeonghan’s gaze remains fixated on you.

“Me too.”

iii.) if you want me.

As you stare up at Orion and the Pleiades, your gaze rests on the silhouette of the tree before the two of you. The branches sway in the wind, catching the breeze, and you trail the outline of the tree across the sky. From just the right angle, Orion seems to lean against the pine, his weight being supported by the sturdy evergreen like it had grown specifically for him to rest upon. The thought makes you smile.

“Isn’t it crazy?” comes your muffled murmur from against the material of his hoodie; Jeonghan makes a noise for you to continue.

“Just.. how perfectly nature fits within itself sometimes, like one big recurring metaphor. As if the mother of the universe finds her favorite verses in the stars and rewrites them over and over because she can’t get enough of them.”

The wind begins to die down; there’s no need for you to be bundled up within Jeonghan’s arms, but you stay, waiting with bated breath for his response.

“How so?”

Perhaps it’s the late hour that boldens you with no room for overthinking, your phones tucked neatly away in your pockets as to not distract you. Your heart is throwing itself against your ribcage as you muster up a confession.

“There’s so many tales like Orion and the Pleiades, as sad as it is. But there are just as many triumphs as there are tragedies, all recreated over and over. The universe—she’s trying to tell us something. She’s telling us to find love in each other, and therefore, in ourselves.”

You swallow back any possible regret and finish, “Personally, I think I’ve received the message pretty well through you.”

There’s a sharp intake of air. You feel Jeonghan exhale a breath, tingling your skin, and his lips are so close they kiss the shell of your ear as they move.

“I agree. I guess we are yet another recreation of her favorite tale of love, then.”

Something shifts in you; an unspoken agreement that has your head reeling when he doesn’t let you slip away from him on the way back to the car. Your fingers are grasped lightly in his, and soft giggles tumble out of you when he fumbles to open the door of your side. They fall silent as he slides in, adjusting the chair back and looking up at you expectantly. His hand is out for you to take.

“Well?” is all he says, and the single word’s implication hits you like a freight truck.

Aren’t you going to be with me?

The wind howls, delighted and amped up from the excitement swirling within you. Your hair whips around your face protectively, tears beginning to stain the apples of your cheeks. There is nothing in your mind except for the way Jeonghan’s wisps of blonde hair fall away from their place behind his ears. You ache to fix them.

“Are you sure?” is all you can croak out.

His eyes shine in the moonlight, and with no hesitation he replies, “Yes, if you want me.”

Your weight rests on his lap in a painfully easy manner. The car door clicks shut and is swiftly locked, and before you know it, Jeonghan’s hands are settled around your waist.

“Hi.” You squeak ever so eloquently.

Jeonghan has his face mere inches away from you. His nose tickles yours in a sheepish laugh. “Hi to you, too.”

“Did you mean it?” you blurt out with trembling fingers, daring to clutch onto the hem of his sweater as if he’ll blow away with no warning. “Are you serious about this?”

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” he teases. “Are you saying I’ve been implying something tonight?”

“I want to say so. I want to believe that you have been.”

The way your name falls off his tongue is pure silk, and you swear he’s reinvented a new meaning to it just now. Who knew that meanings could be born from different intonations?

“Please,” Jeonghan breathes your name again; it’s a borderline whine that rushes the air out of your lungs. “Just let me want you. I’ve been denied it for so long.”

The kiss that follows is searing, burning with the desire you’ve wrestled with shoving back into your throat until now. You aren’t entirely sure who’s lips pressed to who’s first, but what you are sure of is the moan that slips from Jeonghan’s mouth, his breathing harsh and ragged.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and you have half the mind to tell him to mind his language again when he interrupts you by squeezing your waist. “You’re so goddamn hot.”

Laughter bubbles out of you. Jeonghan glances up at you in surprise, his eyelashes fluttering with confusion. You giggle and cup his cheek.

“Weren’t you just versing poetry to me thirty seconds ago? What happened to that?”

He just shrugs and leans forward to press a feverish kiss to your lips. “The duality of man.”

“The duality of man, indeed,” you murmur.

Your fingernails scrape along his neck enticingly, tangling in the tufts of his blonde hair. You give an experimental tug and revel in the gasp he lets out, a whimper being drawn out of you.

Jeonghan tilts your chin up and begins to pepper your jawline with kisses, each more passionate than the last. He’s pushing your sweater’s neckline to the side by the time he reaches your collarbone, spurred on by your quiet moans and high intones of his name, nipping marks into your skin. Red blooms across your shoulders from his love bites.

“I didn’t know you were a biter,” you quip through gasps. “Should’ve figured, though.”

His fingers, running along your curves from under your sweater, suddenly pinch your butt. You yelp and whine at his antics while Jeonghan just laughs.

“Better than you, sweetheart,” he smirks, rubbing circles into your skin as a silent apology. “All bark, no bite.”

You kiss him to shut him up, tongue sliding against his before beginning to suck on his bottom lip. He tastes like the honey lemon tea you shared earlier at the cafe. You wonder if you taste the same.

A wave of heat scores through you at the thought, wanting nothing more than to eternally be enveloped by his scent, his taste, his everything. You don’t even realize how hard your hips are pressing into his until he breaks the kiss with a groan, bucking up into you with a delicious sigh.

You feel him, hard and hot and sorely needy, and you take the chance to grind back down against him, adoring the way his shuddering lips chase yours. The world is lost to you; all you know is Yoon Jeonghan, and he simply is enough.

“I want you,” you suddenly say, pausing to take in the sight below you.

His cheeks are flushed, yours no doubt no better, and his hoodie is barely hanging on to the lower half of his torso. Pale, muscled skin peeks out and tenses at your touch sliding up his abdomen. Jeonghan is glowing, and tears prick the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by emotion.

“I want you,” you repeat, lips ghosting his. “But I want you to want me, too. Do you?”

“Dumb question,” he whispers back. “That’s never been something to ask of me. It’s always been pure fact, like the origin of the word bog. Pine has different Latin roots, Orion chases the Pleiades, and I want you.”

A sigh escapes you, and you let yourself press once more to him, answering his confession with a kiss.

I want you. Your body, made by the universe, retells your story over and over as it moves in time with his own. I want you and I want you to want me and I want us.

Jeonghan eagerly kisses you in return as if to say, Go ahead then, take me. Take it all. I want you.

Take everything in me, and leave nothing left but us.

#🎶 ppyopulii’s discography #seventeen #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan imagines

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babyboywilson · 3 days ago

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If youre still doing hilson requests...

Can you do one about them examining Castiel (spn) and have it be a funny mix between the two?

Idea that i have is house just assuming dean/cas are together and dean assuming house/wilson are together and it just becomes the spiderman meme akskaksjjk

the file on house’s desk detailed a man who was near death - ribs shattered, punctured lung, lacerated spleen, bloodwork that indicated DIC. but that wasn’t why the file was on house’s desk. the case was shunted to house because, after performing CTs, MRIs, and x-rays, there was no abnormalities seen. the man had been wheeled into surgery, and when chase had excised into the abdomen, the spleen was perfectly intact. the thorax showed no sign of a punctured lung, and the ribs were completely normal with no signs of any breakages.

“i’m telling you, this man came into the ER a few hours ago and he was minutes from death. and now… he’s completely healed. its as if nothing happened in the first place,” cameron said. “people barely heal from all those injuries to begin with, let alone being perfectly healed in 3 hours.”

house dropped his cane down onto the floor and marched out of his office. “only reason i’m going to the ICU right now is to prove you wrong,” house said. “clearly your skills have slipped since you left the team.”

cameron rolled her eyes. “my medical skills are perfectly fine. i’m telling you, this was some kind of miracle from God.”

“no such thing,” house grumbled.

pushing into the ICU, house glanced at the apparent patient cameron and chase had been working on. the man seemed perfectly normal, standing and tugging on a long brown trenchcoat. another man was perched on the end of the bed, quickly handing some silver object to the man in the trenchcoat. the man in the trenchcoat brushed his fingers against the other man’s and he offered him the softest look as he uttered his thanks.

veering off to the side, house spied wilson sitting at the nurses station. moving to perch himself on the edge of the desk where wilson was hunched over, house bumped wilson’s shoulder with his leg. “get a load of the guy in bay 5. apparently he came in a few hours ago looking like he’d fucked a meat grinder, and now he’s up and walking like he’s danced through a healing portal.”

wilson glanced up, leaning his forearm against house’s left thigh as he twisted around house’s body to glance at the man in bay 5. “who knows, maybe he’s blessed with magic healing from a deity?”

“asshole,” house muttered, shoving wilson’s arm off his leg and grinning when wilson half fell out of his chair from the unexpected movement.

without another word, house bent down, snagged wilson’s sandwich and took a bite. “be back once i’ve interrogated handsome man and his leather-jacket boyfriend.”

“don’t talk with your mouth full,” wilson grumbled, snatching the sandwich back from house and taking a bite just to prove a point.

“yeah yeah,” house muttered, snagging his cane and thumping over to the men in bay 5.

“let’s get out of here before anyone notices-” the leather jacket wearing man started to say.

house thumped his cane down in front of the trenchcoat man. “too late for that.”

leather jacket man pushed himself off the bed and smoothly stepped in front of trenchcoat man. “you’ve got the wrong guy. cas just had a mild concussion. he’s fine.”

house dragged his eyes up and down leather jacket man’s body. “not from what the file says. your boyfriend should be dead. and yet, handsome over there is walking out of here as if nothing ever happened.”

“nothing happened,” the trenchcoat man - cas - said.

the other man cleared his throat, dropping his eyes to the floor as he muttered, “he’s not my boyfriend.” house watched, analyzing, as the other man half leaned back into cas’ space and his hand settled onto cas’ lower back. “we’ll be leaving now.”

house took a half-step back, pretending to let them pass, but at the last second he flicked his cane out in an attempt to trip cas. the man moved quickly, almost in the blink of an eye, shifting out of the way of the cane as his hand reached out to wrap around the other man’s bicep to steady him from the rapid movement.

house raised his eyebrows. “doesn’t seem like you have a concussion at all, do you, handsome?”

“back off,” the other man snarled.

“dean,” cas said, squeezing dean’s arm once. cas and dean’s eyes locked and they clearly had some silent conversation before dean stepped back in silent submission.

house smirked. “not your boyfriend, hm?”

dean glared and his gaze darted across the room, lighting up when he saw the man at the nurse’s station watching them closely. “I don’t think your boyfriend appreciates you hitting on cas.”

“i don’t have a boyfriend,” house snapped.

“oh really?” dean asked, stepping closer into house’s space and nodding his head towards wilson. “looked like you were sitting in that man’s lap. seemed pretty cozy to me, sharing food and touching.”

house glanced over at wilson and snorted out a laugh. “wilson isn’t my boyfriend. he’s my best friend. i just happen to steal his food just because i can.”

dean let out a derisive laugh. “looked like he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. seemed pretty boyfriend-y to me.”

“you can’t keep your hands off handsome man,” house pointed out.

“cas is my best friend.”

house glared at dean. dean glared at house. a recognition passed between them, a hint of panic. they both tore their eyes away from each other.

“c’mon cas, let’s go,” dean said, snagging cas’ wrist and pulling him towards the door. house let them go.

“what was that about?” house could hear cas asking as they left the ER, but he couldn’t catch the rest of the conversation.

moving back to the nurse’s station, house leaned against the desk by wilson; his eyes still on the place where dean and cas were.

“you just let them go? what happened?” wilson asked.

house didn’t reply, his gaze on the two men as they climbed into an impala. house caught the way dean watched cas get in first, something tender in the way his shoulders tensed and then relaxed as he watched cas settle into the car before dean climbed in himself. a moment later, they were gone.

waving a hand in front of house’s face, wilson called out, “earth to house. what’s going on?”

clearing his throat, house shook his head. “nothing. must’ve been a patient mix-up.”

wilson followed where house was gazing, but there was nothing outside the doors of the ER. shaking his head, wilson patted house’s knee and held out his sandwich for house again in a silent offer to share his food.

house took the sandwich without a word, suppressing a shudder as his fingers brushed against wilson’s as he took the sandwich.

#asked and answered #anon #house md #gregory house #greg house #james wilson #hilson #hate crimes md #malpractice md #hilsonvignettes #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #deancas #dcsnapshots

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laiqualaurelote · 2 days ago

Text

Charles only agrees to go to the drag show because he’s hungry.

“I know it’s not your scene,” Crystal is saying as she thrusts a flyer into his hands, “but I’ve got to be there for Niko and I don’t want to go alone.”

“Can’t be alone if Niko’s there,” says Charles absently. He wonders if Al Dente still has the two-for-one deal after 10pm.

“She’s tech-ing the show, you dumbass, I don’t want to be sitting in the audience by myself. Don’t worry, it’s super chill. Nobody’s gonna give you a lap dance — well, not unless you want one, that is.”

Charles likes to think he’s being a pretty great ally. Sure, his girlfriend left him for another woman, but he can’t even be mad about it because it’s Niko, who is the best and sweetest person on earth whom Charles could possibly be replaced by. If Niko’s decided to work a drag show, then all those queens are aces in Charles’ book. Which is not how queens and aces normally work, but Charles could use a new normal.

He scans the flyer. Lot of words, font neon and squigglier than he likes, but one name jumps out at him: BARBARA LASAGNA. God, he would die for a lasagna right about now.

“I’m in,” he says. “Meet you at Soho direct on Sunday?”

Charles’ plan was to sit in a corner and not draw attention to himself, but this goes out the window once the club’s owner clocks him. He’s bare-chested beneath a lush fur coat, which he’s somehow decided to combine with a black leather skirt. “First time?” he drawls, looking Charles up and down.

“Yeah,” says Charles warily. “What’s it to you?”

The bloke chuckles. “Oh, no need for all that, sweetcheeks. First-timers sit in the front row, them’s the rules. We like to give the fresh meat a proper welcome.”

Crystal is barely hiding a grin behind her hand. This is not very chill, Charles tries to telegraph at her with his eyes as they are ushered to a pair of seats at the tip of the thrust stage. When they sit down, a spotlight swivels to catch them in its beam as the rest of the audience cheer. Charles, blinded, squints at the tech booth, where Niko is giving them a thumbs-up. Crystal blows her a kiss. Charles pastes a grin on his face and stretches out his legs, the picture of ain’t-even-bothered.

The show is pretty brills, actually. After Charles gets over being put on the spot, he finds himself enjoying the acts: there’s a Girls Aloud group number, some spectacular high-splits from one Toni Brixton, even a Liz Truss impersonator who has them all rolling in the aisles. Charles is mad impressed by what the girls get up to in those heels. He reckons he’d break an ankle before he got five steps in their shoes.

“And now to class things up in this joint,” says the club owner, who’s also emceeing, as what looks like some kind of vintage dresser is rolled onstage. “Gifting us with her presence tonight — because what’s pasta is present — it’s Barbara Lasagna!” As the crowd goes wild and the lights fall and some kind of old-timey music Charles doesn’t recognise begins to play, the emcee calls out: “Barbara, are you decent?”

“Who, me?” comes this low, musical reply, and then Barbara Lasagna arches up from behind the dresser. She does it so quickly that her cascade of red curls flips over her head in a perfect arc and lands bouncing to frame the angles of her face. She’s sheathed in shimmering black satin which bares her shoulders and her long neck, and the spotlight pools in the carved hollows of her collarbones. She's wearing black gloves that come up to her elbows, and she leans like one long silken comma on the dresser and gazes out at the crowd and quirks one fine eyebrow.

“Sure, I’m decent,” she says.

Charles’ throat is weirdly dry. Should've got a drink before the show started. Barbara swings herself out from behind the dresser and sways down the stage — she’s tall to begin with, but those pumps have got her looming like the bloody Shard — and then she begins to sing. All the other acts were lip-syncs, but Barbara is properly singing, in her whiskey-on-the-rocks voice:

When they had the earthquake in San Francisco back in nineteen-six They said that Mother Nature was up to her old tricks That's the story that went around, but here's the real low-down Put the blame on Mame, boys, put the blame on Mame

She pauses centrestage to let her left hip describe a lazy curl in the air, a half-figure-of-eight. Charles can’t take his eyes off it. She sings, “One night she started to shim and shake — that brought on the Frisco quake”, and twists that hip, a sharp little accent.

Christ, but they’ve really cranked up the heating in here, haven’t they?

Barbara has come all the way down to the tip of the stage now. Her curls are playing peek-a-boo over one eye, as she begins edging the hem of her left glove down, revealing the creamy skin of her upper arm inch by inch. Charles can’t breathe and he doesn’t know why, but somehow a whole strip show would be less agonising than watching Barbara Lasagna remove a single glove — and then without warning she raises her hand to her rosebud mouth and tears the glove off with her teeth and —

Charles must make some kind of sound then, because Barbara’s smoke-lined eyes snap to him. How she heard him over the music he does not know, but now she’s staring at him and he feels like someone is passing a lighter flame over the hairs on his skin. Barbara drops till she’s perched on the back of her heels — she’s got to have killer thigh strength for that — and then in one smooth movement she pivots off the stage and is towering over him. She drapes the glove over his hand as he sits, frozen. He feels the silk of it slide across his skin. “Mame gave a chump such an ice-cold no,” she sings, and then abruptly she slaps him across the face with the glove. It barely smarts, but Charles feels something hot spike through him from head to toe. “For seven days they shovelled snow—”

And then she’s gone. Through some magical means she’s somehow back up on the stage, whirling the glove like a slingshot before flinging it into the wings, sashaying to her final mark so she can strike her big finish: “Put the blame on Mame, boys — put the blame on Mame!” She pulls off her other glove, holds it taut and triumphant in the air, and then all the lights go out except the followspot, so that all they can see is the curve of her silhouette, and then that’s gone too, and Charles sits there in the dark amid the roar of applause thinking What. The. Fuck.

('Put the Blame on Mame' is from the 1946 film noir Gilda, starring the legendary Rita Hayworth, whom the Barbara Lasagna photo reminded me of. This and @tumblerislovetumblerislife's art have driven me insane, actually.)

why yes i'm normal about ms barbara lasagna, why do you ask

(credit to @laiqualaurelote for coming up with the edwin/jessica rabbit quote!)

#I hammered this out in a fugue state #Alex what have you done to me #dead boy detectives #barbara lasagna #appearances #gilda

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rarepairdumpster · 2 days ago

Text

Old Eton College AU Part 1

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Age Gap, Corporal Punishment, Spanking, D/S Dynamics

Old-timey Eton College AU, where Viktor is in his final year, and Silco is the new Schoolmaster, and Viktor is sent to his office for being a smart-mouth

And for a long moment, Silco and Viktor have a staring contest.

Viktor is stubborn, but he is still the first to dip his eyes.

"Assume the position," Silco orders sternly, voice quiet.

And when Viktor does, leaning much of his weight on Silco's desk to keep himself standing, Silco stands up and pulls a large paddle from a cabinet.

The whole room feels charged in the moments before Silco rests the paddle against his ass.

"By the time I'm through with you, you will regret your insolence."

Viktor being the first student that Silco punished to get hard and reach orgasm under his paddle

Silco going so still when Viktor falls apart in front of him, sobbing onto the desk as a wet patch grows on the seat of his trousers.

Part of him is alarmed.

Part of him is confused.

And part of him is absolutely intrigued.

Silco nudges the wet patch with the end of his paddle and tuts.

"Insolent and a deviant. I have my work cut out for me."

Viktor turns to look at him, hair falling in his face, pupils dilated to fuck, panting. "Is that all?"

"Who said you could move," Silco asks harshly, hand coming to force Viktor's face back down to the desk. It's automatic. Natural.

And Viktor let's out a grunt at the force.

Silco doesn't move his hand from Viktors body, just moves up his neck, down his spine and stops just above his waistband. "Clearly a stricter method is required to pull respect out of you"

Viktor starts to answer, but then the hand disappears and hears the sound of a belt being unbuckled.

And for a moment, Viktor's mind conjures the filthy image of Silco forcing him.

But that's not what happens.

Instead, the belt buckle comes down hard on his ass. And it fucking HURTS. More than the paddle had.

These blows raise welts.

They break the skin.

And Viktor is shaking by the time Silco stops.

Its only 6 blows. But it feels like 60.

It's the first time Silco has ever had to take his belt off. The paddle is usually enough.

And now Silco is out of breath.

And his trousers are tight.

No student has ever made him feel this way. But no student had ever reacted like Viktor did either. Of course he enjoyed punishing, but to have someone enjoy the punishment just as much? It infuriated him as much as it intrigued him.

And now, he thinks, it must be the end of it. The boy will have learned his lesson finally.

Three weeks later, Viktor is back in his office, being half-dragged in by the ear, when Silco is in the middle of his paperwork.

It doesn't help that he's been thinking about Viktor those entire three weeks, and the urge is strong to check if the marks from last time are still there

Especially because Viktor looks right at him every evening in the dining hall before taking his seat. Very gingerly at first. Clearly wincing. But now the wincing is absent.

Silco casts a dismissive glance at the teacher that dragged Viktor.

"You can go."

His voice is calm and measured.

But Viktor squirms.

Silco stands up the moment the door closes, measuredly walking over to lock it as he passes behind Viktor. His eyes never stray from him.

Viktor jumps slightly at the lock click and Silco can't help but smirk softly at the reaction.

Silco coming to stand behind Viktor.

Viktor doesn't move, heart thumping, a bead of sweat breaking out at his temple.

"I thought our lesson was learned the last time," Silco says slowly, voice low, "but it seems you choose to be here."

"I --- "

"Be quiet." Silco's voice is not angry, but it is threatening.

And for once, Viktor doesnt talk back.

And then Silco instructs quietly, "Drop your trousers."

Viktor trembles as he does so one-handed, leaning on his cane with the other

"Pain doesn't seem to be enough incentive to encourage good behaviour," Silco comments, drawing closer. Close enough that Viktor can feel the edge of his coat against the back of his bare legs. "Perhaps we should explore other avenues."

Silco places his hand between Viktors shoulder blades and pushes, forcing Viktor down onto the desk, the position exactly like he was three weeks ago. He takes a glance at Viktors thighs, and has to quickly turn away. The sight of pink marks crisscrossing over his pale thighs made Silco's chest burn knowing he was the cause of them

His trousers are tight.

He ignores it.

Takes a seat at his desk.

Goes back to his paperwork

And Viktor is both ?????? And !!!!!!!!

20 mins later, a fucking whine escapes Viktor against his will. He's hard and he doesn't know why.

Silco's not DOING anything.

And then, cool as a cucumber, Silco says. "You can go, boy. Close the door behind you."

And Viktor is too flabbergasted to be outraged

Viktor being out of sorts and quiet for days. Annoyed. Confused. Curious? Wanting.....

Silco summons him at the end of the week and Viktors heart is racing by the time he reaches Silco's office. It takes him several moments to gather the courage to knock, even though Silco was expecting him.

"Come in. Close the door behind you."

Viktor does so and instinctually locks it. Silco raises an eyebrow but says nothing and returns to his papers. After Viktor turns back around, he's silent for a long time, only the sound of rustling paper in the room.

"Every other Friday." Silco finally says, causing Viktor to straighten up a little. "You'll come here directly after your scheduled classes every other Friday."

"And do what?"

The question is out before Viktor can stop it. He's not sure he wanted to stop it.

Silco raises head slowly. He isn't angry at being questioned. Just.....thoughtful.

"Whatever I tell you to."

Viktor absolutely can't stop the flush that invades his cheeks.

"It's clear you need more consistent monitoring and I'm certain it's best I oversee that personally."

Viktor swallows. Nods. Waits to be dismissed before heading for the door.

And then he stops, hand on the handle.

Looks over his shoulder.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you being so patient with me?"

Silco sets his fountain pen down. Leans back in his chair. Studies Viktor.

"Why do you choose to misbehave?"

".....I don't know."

Silco gets this not-quite-amused look to him, but he accepts the answer for what it is.

"When you figure it out, you'll know the answer to your question."

Viktor talking back to professors less and less, the more time he spends in Silco's office, under his attentions.

Sorting his paperwork.

Dusting his bookshelves.

Cataloguing new acquisitions.

Polishing his shoes.

Preparing his cigarettes

Etc.

And every time he does something well, Silco murmurs praise and puts a hand on him. A soft caress -- over his hair, over the nape of his neck, between his shoulder blades, etc.

And Viktor feels warm and a lil floaty every single time

Theres one week where Viktor had been bullied particularly hard and he comes to Silco's office frustrated and angry. He's not being particularly respectful or taking time with his tasks like he usually does and Silco quickly notices.

Silco feeling a swell of concern where he might have felt displeasure with another student's disrespect.

"Come here."

"Why should I?"

Silco drawing a sharp breath in through his nose, and then standing up, walking around the desk, and seizing Victor's ear in a harsh grip

Viktor yelps, and then he's scrambling to keep up ad Silco pulls him across the room.

"I told you to come here," Silco says quietly, dangerously. "You will do as I ask."

"I won't!"

In moments, Silco has him face-down on the desk, pinned hard. Viktor is thrashing and panting. Silco is calm. Patient. He rides the struggle out.

He doesn't soften until Viktor starts crying underneath him

"Are you ready to tell me why you're behaving this way?" Silco asks, calm and measured, only easing up his pressure on Viktor slightly

"Why do you care," Viktor spits, almost choking on his tears. "I'm just a worthless cripple!"

"Do you really think I would spend my time on you if you were worthless?" Silco retorted.

Viktor doesn't answer. Just cries. His whole body aches from when the bullies ripped his cane out of his hands and he hit the dirt, and the fight against Silco hasn't helped. Now he's sore and TIRED and angry and sad and lonely and ---

And needy.

Silco hears Viktor start to calm and removes all pressure once Viktors body begins to relax. He still leaves a palm splayed across Viktors back and sighs. "Your disrespect still requires reprimand."

Viktor chokes out a little "Please."

Silco spanks him with his hand this time, more intimate than other beatings, and has Viktor count each one.

When Viktor stumbles over the count somewhere near 30, Silco tuts and tells him to start again.

Viktor doesn't argue.

Just does as he's told.

Afterwards, Silco finds himself sitting in his chair, with Viktor curled up in his lap, gentling him.

Silco isn't quite sure what possessed him to do it, but now he has.

Silco can't seem to stop running his fingers through Viktors hair, softly reminding Viktor that he's special and far from worthless.

"You have the greatest potential of any student here," Silco says softly. "Any of those buffoons could step out and be a half-decent politician, but you......you're made for something greater."

Its the kindest thing anyone has ever said to Viktor.

And Viktor, face still wet with tears and prickling with warmth, kisses Silco on an impulse.

And then freezes instantly.

Silco is shocked for a moment, then sighs and places his palm on Viktors chin, wiping a stray tear with his thumb. "I'm afraid that can't happen, my dear boy"

Viktor subsides, mortified. He shouldn't have done that. He doesn't know why he did that. Viktor tries to (awkwardly) escape his lap.

Silco tightens his grip and pulls him closer. "You were not untoward and it wasn't unwelcome." Silco reassured Viktor. "Just... impossible. You may go if you wish, but you don't have to."

"Impossible," Viktor repeats, resigned. It was not the first time he'd heard that word.

But this....this was the first time he'd felt he could never prove them wrong.

Silco let's go when Viktor pulls against his grip.

Viktor leaves slowly, whole body heavy and sore. He skips dinner and retreats to his dorm room.

Viktor doesn't come to his office the next time he's supposed to.

And Silco is....out of sorts over it. Not angry, not really; he...understands. But he feels a sort of energy running through him. A restlessness

Part 2

Arch + Woods

#vilco #silvik #silco arcane #viktor arcane #viktor #silco #rarepairdumpster #fanfic #Old Eton College AU

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gard3nias · 3 days ago

Text

30| A coup d'état

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wc: 5.95k

date: 21/03/2025

mdi // masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

—Now playing: Adore You by Harry Styles ✫

Taehyung and Daphne were two pieces of the same puzzle. They went hand in hand like pen and paper, thunder and lightning, cause and effect, a bow and its arrows. He was the Yin to her Yang.

They worked like flowers and bees. She was the rare and delicate bloom. He wasn’t exactly a bee—he didn’t like routines too much. He was more of a butterfly, a monarch, for whom migration came naturally.

Yet, Daphne was powerful enough to change his nature. She’d taught him to love routines. The only difference was that she became the centre of each routine he learned to love.

It first began with his school trips; getting on the bus assumed a different meaning, a greater weight in his mind, heart, and soul.

Then came recess. Just as Daphne now rushed over to his class or out of hers to meet him minutes before the bell, he had once dashed out of his classroom, staying back to watch her hang out with her friends a few feet away from him.

The greatest routine of all was tutoring her at the library every available afternoon. This routine covered many micro ones. Studying together meant they’d go to the bar together before school dismissed and eat by the stairs.

It meant he’d wait for her in the same spot once the last bell rang. It meant they’d walk the same road to the library side by side. It meant they’d hush their voices as they walked to their secluded corner. By the end of the day, they’d retrace their steps to catch the bus at the same hour. It meant they’d always make a beeline for the back of the bus, sitting in the same spot—she’d be by the window, and he’d be right next to her.

Then came another great routine, basically inaugurated by her illness. That week had revealed to him another hang-out spot for them. Anytime he stepped into her bedroom, his heart would warm up at the reminder of their bond. Maybe it was the lack of walls or the default familiarity between them, but being welcomed in her space, her privacy, made his neurons short-circuit.

He liked—no, loved—these routines. So, without hesitation, he tried building a new one. She loved routines anyway, so it wouldn’t even bother her. That’s why, the following day, he invited her to join his friends at the restaurant.

“I’d be killing two birds with one stone, and you wouldn’t have to be alone,” he told her, holding and playfully shaking her hands to convince her.

“With all of you?” It wasn’t that Taehyung’s friends were cannibals, but the thought of being surrounded by unfamiliar faces, with only Taehyung as her anchor, unsettled her. Her own friends wouldn’t be there.

“You have nothing to worry about because you have me.” He grinned, shaking her hands until she smiled.

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be bothersome if I only stick around you?” Taehyung scoffed, gasped, choked on his gasps, turning his head around as if her words were genuinely suffocating him.

“You can’t be for real. You? Bother me? Never, darling.” He leaned closer, voice dipping into a whisper. “Never.”

Daphne felt her face burn, her body betraying her as if his breath and the little distance had ignited a fire within her.

“Stop,” she whined involuntarily, then immediately caught herself. The smug satisfaction on his face told her she had failed to hide her shyness.

“So? What do you say?” He shook her hands again, trying to lighten up her spirit.

With a sigh and a tilt of her head, she gave in, giggling as he celebrated the victory with a series of quick hugs.

“It’s going to be a blast— like… not exactly, but it’ll be awesome—”

“Hopefully, Jimin won’t have you preparing fruit salads—”

“Hopefully, you won’t be suggesting it.”

She didn’t, not having the chance.

Cleo, Nick, James, and Asher went off to their usual lunch spot before practice, leaving Daphne alone to face the daunting task of joining a group of friends who had known each other for over a decade.

Saying she felt out of place was an understatement, but one look at Taehyung, and the tension in her nerves faded away, radiating like dissipating heat off her body.

“Hey, so, to not leave her in despair all alone, Daphne will be sticking around with us—”

“Let’s go!” Jimin cheered, leaving his spot next to Avyanna to drape his arm around Daphne’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s been a while.” Jungkook extended his hand for a shake, which she reciprocated, laughing at the awkwardness.

“Hi, my name’s Avyanna. We never really had the chance to speak.” She began. “Mostly because I don’t purposely invade other people’s spaces—”

Taehyung cleared his throat pointedly, making Avyanna roll her eyes before continuing, “We’ll have a great time—”

“We’re just going for lunch, jeez—”“Shut up, Kook.”

Before they took off, a blonde-haired girl came out of the dark—from behind them. “Hi, I’m Adrielle.”

Her voice was incredibly smooth, matching the softness of her hands when she shook Daphne’s. Her smile wasn’t broad, but it was reassuring, and her aura wasn’t as intimidating as her friends’. It eased her nerves—not as much as Taehyung did, but still considerably.

“Daphne.” She smiled back as if trying to convey her gratitude and comfort. “Hey, you’re not as intimidating as your friends despite your immense looks. Thank you for that,” she wanted to say with her eyes.

“Then, let’s go!” Jimin shouted, linking arms with Daphne and Avyanna.

Brows bouncing, Taehyung was surprised at the warm welcome his friends had given Daphne. He’d really thought he’d walk next to Daphne all the while—not like he would’ve complained anyway—but this way he was happy and Daphne was elated.

Daphne realised Jimin was indeed theatrical, even more so when he was around his close friends. Avyanna was the same, although not as dramatic as him sometimes. Daphne enjoyed their company because her nervousness would leave her with giggles, chuckles, and laughter.

Jungkook, Taehyung, and Adrielle walked behind them on their way to the bus stop.

Daphne wouldn’t define herself as whiny, but it still bothered her. She felt like she had to turn around and look at him as if to remind him that she knew he was there, that his presence would never be overlooked by her. But this would make it look like Avyanna and Jimin had kidnapped her.

Taehyung felt the same as he looked at her. His hands were in his pockets as usual, and he discussed with his friends as if his mind wasn’t bothered by Daphne’s absence next to him.

They exchanged glances when they boarded the bus, both a little dramatic in their longing.

Their sadness, however, was short-lived when they got off at El Grillo’s Cuisine. A small distraction, unknowingly orchestrated by Avyanna, was enough to break the spell.

—Now playing: Creep by Radiohead ✫

Daphne didn’t know what sparked the commotion that drew so much attention but, not being her close friend, she didn’t pry further, keeping to herself or, better, to Taehyung.

Jimin, Jungkook, Avyanna, and Adrielle walked in a line, leading the way to the restaurant, while Taehyung and Daphne lingered behind, enjoying each other’s company and talking almost silently compared to the loud chatter before them.

Maybe for symmetry, or maybe for a better view of their interactions, Adrielle should have walked beside them, balancing the numbers. But, truly, Adrielle would have been better beside them because of how invested she was in their activity. Whatever Avyanna was showing the boys on her phone wasn’t strong enough to distract her from the duo behind them.

She tried to hide it. Yes, she did and even successfully you might say because no one was attentive enough to notice her; Jimin and Jungkook were breaking their necks, stretching over to look at Avyanna’s phone, and the couple walking behind them was too invested in each other to care about their surroundings.

This made it easy for Adrielle to blend into the background when she wanted to go unnoticed.

She wasn’t as loud as Jimin or Avyanna, nor as playful as Jungkook. She wasn’t even quite like Taehyung—maybe a little bit, but she was very much a person of her own, a chameleon of sorts.

No one would wonder why Adrielle suddenly remained silent. No one would worry if she kept to herself, living in her own world and socialising with her own thoughts. So, while her friends giggled over Avyanna’s shared content, she peacefully eavesdropped on Taehyung and Daphne, glancing at them from the corner of her eye.

She couldn’t watch them as freely as she’d want—too risky—but the little her eyes caught was enough to make her feel indescribable things.

She wanted to look away as much as she didn’t. She wanted to scold herself, mind her business, join in her friends’ conversation, and actually behave like she couldn’t care less, but it was stronger than her, pulling her in like a current sweeping away a stray leaf.

At some point, she convinced herself she was indifferent, relaxing into the illusion that no one could see through her thoughts. But that illusion shattered the moment they entered El Grillo’s Cuisine.

Daphne’s laugh rang out, and just like that, Adrielle was drawn back in, like a moth to a flame.

What could he have said to make her laugh? Why was she laughing? Were they having fun?

Adrielle’s face remained stoic throughout the afternoon, especially when Jimin hinted at a day he’d hung out with Daphne. She didn’t know he referred to the previous day. For her own sanity, Adrielle didn’t care to know and, thankfully, she had business to deal with.

After lunch, she left with Avyanna and Jungkook.

Had he been able to, Jimin would’ve run and called her back because his third-wheeling tolerance had its limits. After his self-inflicted suffering the previous day, he had sworn never to endure another round of it—especially not the very next day.

He needed an extended break.

Only the heavens knew how Daphne would’ve reacted had she known the truth behind those soft blue eyes and that tender voice. There was something about how Adrielle carried herself that filled Daphne with ease and comfort.

She didn’t realise it, but maybe it was Adrielle’s heavy inclination towards warm colours that tricked her into thinking she was warm-hearted too. But, as they say, the eyes never lie.

Hers were blue, cold-hued and carriers of the truth within her soul. No matter what Daphne could’ve done or said, it wouldn’t change.

Daphne tried making a little joke as they worked in the kitchen together, but all she received was a weak smile.

She didn’t think much about it, assuming it was just Adrielle’s personality—besides, she didn’t know this girl.

In reality, the blonde-haired was confused, unsure of how to react to her kindness. In her head, Daphne stood under a harsh glow of cold lights—void of warmth or love. Yet, her approach contradicted that, momentarily sending Adrielle’s mind into a masked frenzy.

Daphne, however, had no idea. Her mind was elsewhere, occupied with the laughter Jimin had pulled from her throughout the afternoon.

And with the thought of Taehyung.

—Now playing: Lucky by Jason Mraz, Colbie Caillat ✫

Given the season, by the time they walked up the hill to their school, the sun was well hidden behind the mountains. Its rays weakly penetrated the thick layer of clouds, casting only cold and gloomy shades of the town, the perfect contrast to the brightness from the streetlights.

Because of her recent sickness and studies, it had been long since she last walked up the hill at this hour. She could still remember the first time she came to the practice games.

The weather wasn’t as cold and the environment certainly wasn’t as noisy as then, since Jimin couldn’t help but talk nonstop.

Taehyung refused to let Jimin separate t, subtly manoeuvring himself so he was always beside Daphne, away from his friend. As usual, his hands were in his pockets and he’d occasionally laugh along. Then his heart would skip a beat whenever Daphne held onto his jacket.

She only did it to keep herself from doubling over with laughter, but still—he cherished the touch as if it were gold.

The heavy gym doors screeched open and slammed shut behind them. The squeaky sounds of trainers against the polished floor echoed through the building, becoming louder as they approached the entry and went to take a seat.

A hand waved in the air.

It was connected to the beautiful smile of her friend, who looked as happy as a child seeing their parent in the crowd at a school play.

Daphne barely had the time to smile back and feel the joy warm her up before shouts and howls startled her.

Asher stood there, hiding his face, laughing, and shaking his head while Nick and James yelled exaggerated greetings at her.

Daphne laughed and waved back.

Her heart rejoiced at the amazing feeling of having good friends.

Taehyung, on the other hand, nearly forgot how to breathe as he watched her smile beautifully.

The gym's golden lighting didn’t do his brain any justice, making her appear even more ethereal than usual. The golden hues framed her delicate and perfect face so heavenly that he almost couldn’t look away when she turned to look at him.

If his eyes ever glowed around her, she was the source of the light he looked at.

There was something so peculiar about the girl.

He couldn’t even put it into words.

He didn’t feel the need to overpower her with his feelings and shower her with confessions. Yes, he’d feel two hundred times better if, after confessing, she accepted him and they got even closer, but there was a strange beauty—something right—about simply existing beside her.

Knowing that when he turned around, he’d see her wavy hair and brown sheepskin jacket and his nose would perceive the amazing scent, which was uniquely hers, was enough to send him to bed with a smile and having pink and golden dreams every night.

It was almost frustrating how every aspect of her effortlessly bewitched him—charming.

She worked on him like magic. He was the lost knight and she was the enchanting fairy he’d found in the forest. One look at her eyes and he was gone for good.

By the end of the evening, as they waited for their friends, Jimin’s words would occasionally fade away, blur away with the background because Taehyung’s eyes wouldn’t leave Daphne.

Jimin was a yapper, yes, but he noticed it. He didn’t react though. He mentally noted it and continued yapping. I mean…the only thing missing was Taehyung physically cracking his neck.

Thankfully, Taehyung’s brain had freed itself from the shackles of his overjoyed heart and stopped him from following Daphne with his eyes as she exited the gym with her friend. His brain huffed and puffed from the struggle only for his heart to grab it again in another tight embrace when Daphne stopped right before exiting to ask him if he was leaving as well.

As if he’d been in a trance, he blinked a couple of times and agreed. “Yeah, yeah. We’re just waiting for Jungkook. We’ll be out in a flash.”

“Okay, we’ll be out here waiting. Hopefully, Nick, James, and Asher will be done as well by then.”

She smiled before venturing into the chilly environment outside, leaving him scratching his head to reset his brain, freeing it again from his heart's overwhelmingly beautiful hug.

Outside, Cleo kept poking at Daphne to tell her about her afternoon, seeing that she’d walked into the gym right next to her crush and his best friend.

—Now playing: 8 Letters by Why Don’t We ✫

As soon as the gym doors slammed closed behind the girls, Jimin finally quit playing around and got serious. No Daphne around meant he could ask his friend a few questions—no, his curiosity wasn’t out to rest yet.

“So,” Jimin started, tilting his head. “How serious is it getting?”

A perfect reaction to this question would be shrinking into his jacket to hide his face, but Taehyung could not do that so he simply shrugged his shoulders, looking at the doors as if they were made of glass, allowing him to admire the girl of his dreams.

Jimin followed his eyes and answered his question autonomously, “I guess it’s getting pretty serious. Am I wrong?”

After a brief moment of silence, Taehyung nodded. “It’s getting pretty serious—” He tapped his temple. “—in here though. I don’t know how she’s feeling.”

“Man, shut up. She totally likes you back. Ain’t you seeing what I’m seeing, in fact, what everyone is seeing?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes when Jimin gasped and, chuckling, he said, “You know what I mean—”

“No, I don’t.” Jimin threw up his hand. “The issue here is that you need to man up and ask her out.”

Taehyung exhaled as if the words were a bullet going through a balloon and making it explode.

“You have something in mind, right?” Jimin pressed further.

With his lips sealed and eyes masking perplexity within him, Taehyung nodded.

He wasn’t scared, well maybe a little bit.

He’d placed Daphne on such a high pedestal and felt obliged to be the best for her. He knew what Jimin’s words meant. He was aware of how his relationship with Daphne appeared to anyone’s eyes but he didn’t care about the others. What mattered to him was what she felt.

Not everything is as it seems.

Jungkook and Avyanna were a walking example of that.

—Now playing: Telepatia by Kali Uchis ✫

“It was nice, really,” she began, losing an arm from her chest to reach for the vape Cleo offered her.

“How nice? Just ‘nice’ isn’t going to do it for me. You know it.” Cleo rolled her eyes, reclaiming the vape and blowing raspberries when Daphne cringed at its flavour.

“I’ll always prefer actual cigarettes over vapes. Ew,” she commented, wrapping her arms before her chest again.

“Yeah, about that… I didn’t know you smoked.” Cleo blew the smoke, sniffing as the cold made her nose tingle.

“I don’t smoke often—”

“Yeah, only if Taehyung’s offering— oh, and only if he’s taken a few drags himself first—”

“Oh, my God! It’s not like that.” Cleo scrunched her nose, not believing it and swiftly returned to the previous topic.

“So, what happened today? I’m not getting distracted.”

As she dropped the question, the big doors behind them screeched open. Instinctively, they turned around, half-expecting it to be their friends.

It wasn’t.

Their expressions remained neutral—cool, unfazed—but when the person greeted Daphne, their jaws hit the floor.

“Bro!” Daphne yelled in whispering tones, whipping around so fast she nearly lost her balance.

“For real!” Cleo replied in the same tone. “After the texts and your constant rejection, he’s confident enough to greet you—”

“Oh, my God. First, I would never bombard a dude so much with texts. And, second, if he rejected me so many times, the last thing I’d do when I see him in public is greet him. Actually, I’d go out of my way to avoid him—”

“For real!” Cleo shook her head. “Man, this was so embarrassing. I’m sorry.”

They laughed together, slowly turning around to look at the culprit as he walked away.

Even after the text Taehyung had sent him, he wouldn’t stop. A part of Daphne wanted Taehyung to be right there next to her as it happened. She would’ve loved to see his reaction and feel her heart kick its feet in delight, but he came right after.

—Now playing: Who Am I Without You by Celine Wanyi ✫

The few passengers on the bus were mostly regulars, people following a routine. They were probably coming back from work and sat tiredly in a corner, watching how the familiar environment moved past them in a blur.

The evenings always followed a predictable cycle.

At each stop, the passengers could almost guess who’d be getting on and were ready to see the familiar face, basking in the odd sense of community and friendship they’d been living in for years if not since birth.

They also knew that whenever they boarded the bus they’d meet the same group of students returning from school. This time around it was cooped up in the back of the bus, but their loud voices made them seem everywhere.

Given the short distance before home, Jimin remained on his feet, holding onto a pole, just as Nick and James, although the first one sat next to Cleo closer to the doors. The four chatted with Jungkook and Asher, leaving Daphne and Taehyung in their usual seats.

Being used to it already, Cleo, Jimin, and Jungkook paid them no mind, fully investing in the conversation. On the other hand, Nick, James, and Asher couldn’t help but glance in their direction from time to time.

Being too distracted by Cleo, Nick was the first to lose interest. James soon joined, acknowledging that he’d missed a few episodes while Asher couldn’t stop glimpsing at them.

He wasn’t one for gossip. He preferred keeping to himself, staying out of teenage drama. However, his brows couldn’t help but maintain a strict distance from his eyes out of surprise. Numerous questions sat at the forefront of his mind.

Daphne had purposely cut the boys out of the picture because she was satisfied with Cleo’s teasing, so it was natural that her interaction with Taehyung threw them off and raised their brows.

Saying that she and Taehyung were in their own world was an extreme understatement.

Given the noise from the chattering and the vehicle’s engine, they couldn’t hear much of their conversation but could see them lightheartedly bickering, one of their favourite ways of interacting.

The distance would constantly shrink as Taehyung leaned over to check whatever was in Daphne’s lap. From her friends’ position, they assumed it was her phone, but truly it was her journal, which had returned to the centre of attention once again.

“Can I read it? Like even just a page?” He kept begging her, looking between the object and its owner.

As Daphne looked at him, pondering, she wondered why she even pulled the book out and how impressed it had remained in his head for him to recognise it so quickly.

The content of that considerably sacred book was something someone like Taehyung must not discover, yet Daphne thought about what he could read and could not.

Only the latest pages orbited around him, so she simply had to think about what she wrote before she discovered his existence.

Swiping through the pages, she picked one about her first days after moving. It was a nice choice and, happy to comply, but also to put his curiosity to rest, she moved the book towards him, keeping a tight grip on the corners in an attempt to control the situation.

“No funny business, alright?” She warned him.

Like a child finally receiving his favourite snack, his eyes focused on the journal as a smile rose on his face, happy she’d accepted.

What could that mean? There was only one answer in his head, but he refused to entertain it too much because he didn’t want to make his delusions escalate.

Finally, since they’d boarded the bus, there was silence between them as Taehyung’s eyes scanned each line, reading and processing every word in his brain. A part of Daphne felt a bit trusting of him and slowly, her grip loosened although it never left the journal.

An indescribable feeling of shyness overwhelmed her, and suddenly, she couldn’t keep still, crossing a leg over the other only to switch within seconds.

“Who’s Margot?” he asked, tearing his eyes off the page.

Easy question.

Not too intrusive.

It’s not about him.

It’s not about her feelings.

So it was fine.

“My former best friend,” she replied without hesitation. “Haven’t talked to her in ages and don’t feel like I will ever do. The distance made what I supposed was our friendship fade away like dust to the wind.”

Taehyung’s brows bounced up at the comparison Daphne had made.

It was the last thing he ever thought would happen to her. He reprimanded himself the following moment, remembering that sadly not everyone placed Daphne on a throne as he did, so she was open to the risk of being treated in undeserving ways.

“Wow, nice.” Those were the only words he could muster. Sarcasm was thick in his voice.

He didn’t know if the topic was sensitive for her. Her tone wasn’t cold but had dismissive hints he didn’t want to analyse too much. But he could tell she was bitterly ironic about the situation, confusing him.

He wasn’t sure if the topic truly bothered her or if she had long since moved on.

Either way, he let it go.

Nodding his head, he returned to the page. Unbothered, Daphne, since she’d grown to overlook the issue, returned to watching him read her journal, enjoying the little distance, his scent, and every bit of his essence.

She wanted to lean her head on his shoulder, place her hand above his and caress it as he read, but life just wouldn’t treat her right and she had to be patient.

“Nice. Real nice,” he agreed, nodding but keeping the journal in his hands. “Do you write poems?”

Her alarms were about to go off when he refused to return the journal, but the harmless question snoozed them. “Yeah. Sometimes—”

“Ooh, are there here?” Without waiting for a reply, he started swiping through the journal, skyrocketing Daphne’s blood pressure.

“Taehyung! Oh, my God. What are you doing?”

Chuckling, he asked, “What?”. His grin spoke volumes. “I’m just looking for the poems. I’m a true lover of poems—not a writer, but surely an avid reader—”

“Give me the journal so I’ll look for it. They are scattered throughout the pages.” Yes, she was frustrated, but his stupidly pretty grin drove her crazy and she wanted to roll down the seat and underneath the ones in front of her.

Taehyung feigned proceeding with his naughty activity, laughing when he saw her eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

“What’s funny? For real.” His laughter only deepened.

The warmth in his voice immediately reminded her of the story she’d watched in the past as she stalked his account from her alt.

Her heart warmed up because she was the reason for his joy now.

“I don’t know. You’re acting so frugal with it—”

“Well, duh!” She reclaimed it, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s my fucking diary. What do you expect?”

She laughed, keeping her eyes on the journal not specifically because she was looking for a poem, but rather because she knew one more look at his ethereal face and she’d faint on the spot—her blood pressure didn’t calm down after she gained control over her property.

“I don’t know. Let me take a random guess,” he began, leaning so close that Daphne feared he could see her pulse from her neck.

Voice dipping lower. “Did you write anything about me?”

High blood pressure? gone. Nervousness? eloped with its bags. Shyness? It had relocated ages ago, Daphne didn’t even notice when. Her heart stopped beating for a split second and she felt like she was in apnea for a moment. Then she recollected herself.

“Why would you think that?” she prayed her voice didn’t sound shaky.

He shrugged, his smile ever-present and satisfaction boiling in his blood, especially when he caught warm hints on her cheeks. Don’t entertain it, don’t entertain it, don’t entertain it, he told himself, joining in the struggle for freedom from the tempting hug of his heart.

What better way is there to diffuse the heat bubbling in his heart? Teasing her to shift the feeling and cope with it better.

His smirk deepened.

No, he knew something.

Or at the very least, he suspected it.

And he was enjoying this far too much.

“Are you blushing?” he teased.

Oh, now Daphne really wanted to roll off the seat and reach the front of the bus by sliding underneath all the others.

She didn’t reply, mind void of any appropriate answer. What could she have said anyway? Yes? And look at the smirk on his face. No? And look at the smirk on his face at the evident lie.

The bus was still in motion. Their friends were still immersed in their chatter. The other passengers kept to themselves, working on their phones, falling asleep or gazing out the window. The driver was oblivious to what happened in the back of the bus and focused on driving.

No one was witnessing her absolute destruction at the hands of Kim Taehyung.

Distracted and waiting for a reply, Taehyung almost didn’t notice Daphne shoving the journal back into her bag—her last-ditch effort to regain control.

He watched her moves.

Her legs were still crossed. Her hands worked to zip up her bag.

Her signature scent clouded his mind and filled his lungs, replacing the evidence of his smoking habits in his lungs.

Her hair fell from her head and curled at the end, draping down her back and chest and shifting at the most subtle movement.

His hand twitched and ached for contact. Wrapping a strand around his fingers and feeling the soft pattern was really tempting.

Desperate for anything, he opted for a different approach.

“You look cute when you blush.”

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Oh, just High Blood Pressure, Nervousness, and Shyness—moving back in like they owned the place.

The girl didn’t know how to react. The only fact was that if before she was somehow grasping her emotions and taking control, now she didn’t know how long it’d take before her brain would stop screaming ‘Mayday! Mayday!’

Beside her and underneath the mischief and nonchalance, Taehyung’s brain and heart were on high alert, analysing all her reactions and trying to deduct a meaning from them. When the confusion still didn’t settle and the impatience grew, he asked her a question.

“So,” Taehyung continued, tilting his head to look better at her. “Did you write anything about me in there?”

What is up with this dude?! Daphne didn’t know whether to cry, accept her faith, or disappear into the darkness, flying out the window.

So her heart came to her rescue—or did it really?

Evicting High Blood Pressure, Nervousness, and Shyness and carrying out a coup to gain control of her system, Daphne found herself basking in the silence and smiling in response to his question.

Exclaiming and munching on popcorn, Taehyung’s heart and brain, sat comfortably on their seats to watch everything unfold, giggling at her reaction.

The teenagers remained silent, smiling and looking forward, refusing to meet each other’s eyes for the moment.

His delusions were running wild while hers felt overshadowed. What would they do if they were suddenly transferred into the real world, losing their leading role in Daphne’s bedtime fantasies?

Enjoying the storm of butterflies in his guts, Taehyung dropped another question, turning around to see that her cheeks were still warm-shaded and her eyes glued to the front of the bus—out of focus because her mind was elsewhere.

“So…” He began. “If you did write about me, what did you write?”

Stop with all these questions, her brain screamed while her heart giggled with the butterflies in her stomach, hushing down the buzz when Taehyung asked a question yet again.

“Do you find me a good tutor?”

Taehyung knew what he was doing.

Concentrating the focus on Daphne was the perfect way to distract her from the catastrophe the butterflies in his stomach caused. His eyes moved from her hands, watching the movements and trying to catch any hint of her feelings, to her face, an odd mix of blank expressions and a subtle smile, with a base layer of warm hues.

As if waking up from the dead, Daphne’s brain cried in relief at his question, pushing her heart aside, ready to have Daphne agree to his question right before he asked her another one.

“Or do you find me attractive?” Daphne shrieked in surprise and asked him to shut up.

“You’re not denying it,” he mused.

She groaned. “You’re bombarding me with questions. Sorry, if I need a bit more than a split second to process the words, work out an answer, and actually voice it out.”

He laughed and finally, her eyes returned to his, making his heart sink into a world of roses, pink clouds, and glimmers—an angelic voice would sing ‘La la la’ in the background.

Once he’d come down from the laughter, he resumed his activity.

“I find you attractive.”

She blinked to check if she’d lost it, become Peter Fortune and her daydreams stopped being dreams.

“You’re very—” he dragged the word, “—pretty. And cute, obviously.”

His smile would make anyone think he still tried to keep Daphne in the spotlight, but truly he enjoyed the feeling of opening up and taking the first step in the many confessions and declarations he had in store for her.

“Nothing new, nothing new, nothing new, Daphne. This is not the first time someone’s telling you you’re very pretty. Focus!” Her brain kept screaming at her, but her heart had overpowered her system, making her deaf to rationality, swept off her feet by the beauty of her feelings.

“He called me pretty,” she repeated in her mind, an official declaration of her brain’s defeat.

Complete short-circuit. Mayday! Mayday!

Yes, it wasn’t the first time. This wasn’t a groundbreaking compliment, but one look at the speaker and suddenly words that usually weighed as any other became heavier as if they’d moved to Jupiter. It hit different.

Her chuckle was soft, her smile tender, and her voice delicate as she thanked him. Knowing her, her eyes now refused to look up at his, scared to see something that would excite her so much that she’d be willing to give up her public image.

They were soft-hued but strong enough to make her combust.

“I made you flustered, didn’t I? You’re being a bit silent—”

“And you should be too,” she softly replied, placing a hand on his arm as if it would physically calm him down.

In the mood for a little revenge, Daphne followed her heart’s command and leaned her head against his shoulder, hand still in place on his arm.

Taehyung’s heart and brain screamed in unison, jumping off their seats and running around to find a solution.

Eventually, he agreed to keep quiet for a bit and leaned his head against hers.

Jimin saw them right before he got off and mentally cussed out Avyanna for always being absent in the juiciest moments.

“Avyanna always misses the best moments. Damn it.”

⤎ previous page | ❃ | next page ⤏

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deoidesign · 5 months ago

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Can you make a tutorial on how you world build and make ocs? I can't seem to make any people in my brain, but then when I try to come up with environments jobs, beliefs and little details to slowly come up with someone, I think: well I don't really know how people have influenced the world- it's a weird loop

To be honest, I don't think I can! Writing is an extremely personal process. The way I write is directly related to how I process things, what I find important in stories, years of my own analysis of my and other's writing, etc... The way you write will be unique to you, as well. But I can explain how I personally think of it.

The short answer:

Write. Write anything and everything, it's a tool to explore your ideas. Analyze your own writing, and write more. Then, as you discover which ideas you want to develop, write more to explore them more. You won't know what you want otherwise!

The long answer:

I think this kind of loop is common. It's easy to feel like everything needs to be done "at once," because our job as writers is to make elements logically fit with each other for our readers. But as you've discovered, developing multiple elements simultaneously isn't really possible, or at least is extremely difficult.

Personally, when I think of writing, I break it into three major elements; characters, world, and plot. As much as possible every scene explores one or more of these, and as much as possible these three things tie back into what I personally consider most important: theme.

Everything I do is in service of the themes I want to present. Without them my events feel aimless. It can take a while to discover them, but they're the core of my work. You will have to discover what you feel is the core of yours. Analyzing other media helps with this too.

Concepts in your brain exist in a state of infinite potential. But when you start writing you have to start making choices, which removes potential as you move forward... But you have to move forward anyways. If there's ideas you want to explore later, you can always explore them later.

What this ends up meaning, to answer your question, is that I don't think of my characters as "people in my brain" or my worlds as something people have influenced... Not at their core, at least. They are tools that I use to represent specific ideas. Obviously they're also my blorbos, but mostly they're serving a specific narrative purpose.

So above all else... Write. Write, and discover what you're writing about, and then start over and write with that in mind. Keep doing this. But you have to write!

#I wish there were a cleaner answer to this kind of thing #and I also wish that there were a way to answer that didnt feel like 'just do it lol'#but... genuinely you kind of just have to do it!#I find it helps to reframe writing as trying to figure out which ideas I don't like #then if I write anything that feels bad to me #it's not about being a bad writer or anything like that. it's just something I dont want in my story and I delete it.#like if you find yourself naturally coming up with worldbuilding elements. its okay to just start there!#you can start like 'I really want giant mushrooms' and then start thinking about how cool that would be #and like oooh what if there were really cool caves full of mushrooms and all glowy yeaaah #then you start building people from that. colonies of fungal people or something. this is still worldbuilding #then you might think now. whats a plot that could go with this and show off my cool mushrooms.#maybe the mushrooms are all connected and the main one is dying and no one knows why. it's a classic plot.#if you still dont feel like you can find a character in that. keep going! why is it dying? how can it be saved? can it? if not then why?#etc etc etc. when I am writing I actually ltierally write out 101 questions like this as I'm going and then I answer them #and if I cant answer them. then I figure out a different situation that doesnt bring that question up LMFAO #eventually you can decide you want a hero who idfk will replace the big mushroom or something. a sacrifice and immortality simultaneously #then you can be like yeah so my themes are probably about sacrifice. connection to others. love for your community. stuff like that #and then you can go back to your world and say. yeah I think that people should have telepathic communication on some level!#I'm just making all this up right now but I just want to illustrate somehow how this kind of cyclical process can actually be a tool #because it's not about getting it all right at once. its about leaning into the cycle and how it guides you through developing these #anyways idk if this makes any sense. if this doesnt feel like it works for you then it probably literally doesnt #but writing more and analyzing writing more is ALWAYS good #it will never make your writing worse to do those things.#unfortunately (said with all the love in the world) writing is an endless process of learning more about who you are and what you care abou #its wonderful but it's hard and theres no way to skip that process #good luck!#asks #anon #writing stuff #oh also if at any point you go hm. that big thing isnt working for me I think...

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intersexghoul · 4 months ago

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Sorry I gotta rant in the tags like a maniac because we have nobody to talk to about this without risking our closest friendship. Nobody is required to read and honestly I'd encourage ignoring it

#fuck we are falling apart and need to not be the person they lean on for a while because things cant keep going on like this #we broke up for a REASON. a big fucking reason. were obviously better as friends #it wasnt even a problem when we were fwbs we could just exist under the knowledge that it was Just Sex and nothing more so WHY now that it's #also ended are we constantly fighting feelings for them and having so many intrusive thoughts about getting back with them. its not fair to #them. theyve JUST been through a really shitty breakup and we are NOT a good enough person for them. and god help us if they somehow find #out or work it out or we get too drunk or high and say something. i think they'd feel betrayed.#and if they do find out then what about the concert in march. how the fuck would we be meant to spend that long together if they're #uncomfortable being around us. just throw over 200 down the drain? sell our ticket to someone they can actually stand being around?#theyve been so nice and sweet and soft with us all weekend and we cant stop overthinking it. i hate the thoughts of 'what if they still like #us that way too?' its not fair. its not fair to them its not fair to us #havent we been through enough without losing our closest friend AGAIN? i don't know which is worse #at least when 🟢 died we knew she didnt hate us. we can mourn her without looking pathetic. if they hate us and feel betrayed that weve #started falling for them again then we can't even mourn. we'll look like a creep. a predator. i cant stand any of this.#like was it not enough that we already failed them once so badly that we hate ourselves? now this? we turned off our ability to feel love #YEARS AGO. why is it back #why is it fucking our entire life up AGAIN.#theres nobody we can talk to. we're not entirely sure who we even are right now. just so many of us under so much pressure. i cant begin to #even count who's stuck up front with me and the host

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kamitv · 2 months ago

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Tutor!Nanami who steadily became more of a private fuck for you instead of a tutor and utters things like, “If only you followed directions as well as you take my cock.” while he's fucking you over the very desk you're supposed to be studying on.

Tutor!Nanami who's been sick of how awful you are at following his overly simple directions whenever he tries to go over course materials with you so, he figured he'd have to fuck these lessons into that pretty head of yours.

Tutor!Nanami who wasn't even the one to suggest this kinda thing. He just went along with the way your eyes focused more on the tight blue-collar shirt and khaki-colored slacks he wore on a day to day basis instead of the notes he was reading to you. You made it so painfully obvious that you only agreed to these tutoring sessions so that you'd have an excuse to ogle him.

Tutor!Nanami who, after fucking you that first time, decided to use the sex as more of a reward for every time you studied properly with him. If you could last an entire session without your eyes lingering elsewhere, he'd reward you by laying you out against the desk and eating you out like a man starved.

Tutor!Nanami who groans into your sopping cunt about how, "This is what happens when you focus on your work instead of," pausing, simply to reel back and shoot at messy wad of spit right in between your slippery folds, "Thinkin' about filth all day."

Tutor!Nanami who kisses just about every inch of skin his lips can reach as he fingers you 'til your legs are shaking around his hand and your fingers are curling around his wrist, pushing at him to give you a break.

Your back is arching up off the desk and moan after moan of his name is slipping off of your tongue whilst you writhe beneath the skillful curl and twist of his thick fingers inside you.

Tutor!Nanami who praises you like it second nature to do so, all against your ear with his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin and his slightly fogged glasses brushing up against you as he tips his head every which way just to get different looks at you.

Tutor!Nanami who promises to fuck you how you really wanna be fucked as long as you ace your next test. And when you come to him a few days later with that gorgeous A printed atop your paper, he's left to completely and truly live up to his own promises to you.

Tutor!Nanami who's mouth is filthier than you could've ever imagined once he's got you at his place. Fast forward past all the sloppy make-outs that led you to where you are now and here you are standing before him with soaked panties and heavy lungs as he unbuckles that thick belt of his.

Clank after clank and you're nibbling on your lower lip in pure anticipation, awaiting the moment he tugs that belt through its annoying loops and tosses it to the side.

But of course, Tutor!Nanami still has you anxious at every given moment because suddenly he's tipping his head to the side and nodding his chin toward your legs, “Bend over n’ show her to me."

You've never moved faster in your life--tugging off what little clothing you have on, discarding it to the floor and doing exactly as he's instructed you to by bending over his bed and leaving your cunt on full display for the man.

Tutor!Nanami smirks and runs his smooth textured fingers over the curve of your ass first before settling his greedy palms on your hips and leaning over just to whisper to you. "I wanna see if this pussy’s worth taking my cock exactly the way she wants it,” He tells you with a mean emphasis of his straining bulge against your exposed cunt.

You're unintentionally drooling all over him, and no, not by your mouth at all.

It only takes a bit of messy grinds back against him before Tutor!Nanami gets the idea that you're growing impatient. He was trying to drag this whole thing out with you, truly. But how can he possibly do that when you're turning your head back and begging him to fuck you??

Yeah, this is Tutor!Nanami who gives you exactly what you want and feeds your eager cunt with his fat cock after only a short while of listening to you beg for him.

Tutor!Nanami who fucks you better than anyone else ever has, making your eyes roll to the back of your skull, and your fingers curl into the expensive sheets below.

Tutor!Nanami who's naturally the best at aftercare, and returns to his usual composed and stoic state not too long after fucking you to tears. Treats you the way he did when you first started studying with him and even asks you if you're gonna ace all your tests after this...

Of course, he only asked that because he want you to do well academically. Not because he wants to do this again.

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ttsukiimi · 11 months ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ F⍣CK HER ‘TILL SHE SORE!

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ He’s not addicted to your cũnt—he swears. He swears even as he’s forced the fourth ōrgasm out of you tonight; and there’s more to come.

★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader, nanami x fem!reader, smut (mdni), tit play, multiple örgasms, size difference (choso), slight còckwarming (nanami), reader referred to as (princess, baby, doll, good girl)

✧･ﾟ𝓖. 𝓢 ✧･ﾟ

Gojo didn’t even know how he even initially found himself inside you—it was like one second he was cuddling closer to you as his eyes glued to the tv, then another your leg was hoisted over his waist as he jerked his hips into you repeatedly. Was it his fault? Had he begged you to let him put just the tip in? Yes.

But you had given in, and that in its own was your mistake.

“Stay still, princess, wanna give it to you good,” he whispered in your ear, the way his shaky breath fanned past your neck causing goosebumps to bloom on your skin. You nodded, though it wasn’t a promise, and tried to take each passionate thrust of his girth he gave to you.

You were clutching the couch pillow for dear life, whining as you felt euphoria rock through you so pleasurably for the umpteenth time that night. The movie playing had long been forgotten—only serving as background noise, and to Satoru a nuisance since the sounds drowned out your heavenly moans.

He huffed into the skin of your neck, determined to now make you louder, and a hot slap landed on your left cheek, effectively coaxing a loud yelp from your lips. “Mh—!”

And you were sensitive by then, his seed dripping from your battered cunt, your body shivering and thighs quivering, but even then he was set on urging one last orgasm out of you.

Or two.

Hell, he couldn’t even promise it wouldn’t be three. But he just needed to stay inside of you.

Satoru’s hands came up from behind you before they latched onto your chest, groping your tits as he muttered lewd words in your ear.

“You like when I fucking play with these pretty tits, hm?” He kissed your shoulder, and you felt a smile form against your skin as the only thing you could let out was a weak whine—too drunk on his dick to speak. Satoru groaned at the sound, his lips finding your pulse point as he spoke.

“Always so dumb once I get inside you,”

✧･ﾟ𝓒.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Choso doesn’t have an exact idea of why he loves being buried inside you so much; perhaps it’s the way you sound, the way you feel, or the way you look—tears in your eyes and all—but he does know that he’d die happy if that meant he was inside you in his last moments.

And he absolutely adores every minute that he is.

Because with how much your greedy cunt is pulsing around him, and your manicured nails are scratching red lines down his back, Choso thinks he’s really found heaven. Right between your legs.

“Baby, slow down, Cho,” you whined, your sight obscured with tears though you could still make out the image of his sculpted body over yours, and he’s so big compared to you.

Sometimes he might forget that—but could you blame him though? Anyone would forget about some mere size difference when inside your addictive pussy, and he proved to be that anyone.

Choso leaned forward, and in the process his hair fell forward, framing both yours and his face. His hands ventured up your body and found their place on your chest, squeezing the meleable flesh.

“‘S okay, you can take it,” he mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, uncaring of the slight drool dribbling from the side of your mouth. With each thrust the course hairs at his base tickled your clit, stimulating you in a way that felt so good your whole body was quivering with pleasure.

“Just..one more, baby,”

✧･ﾟ𝓝.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Sometimes Nanami finds himself wondering just what you do to him, how you’ve changed him in ways he couldn’t himself in the past years you’ve been together. He can't help but smile when he sees your infectious smile, and he melts when he hears your sweet laugh.

But, above all, you've created an addiction in him. One that he seems to think about every waking moment; even at work, and that’s new territory for him.

What’s worse is that you know. Always teasing him about how pussy drunk he is, how he’d really do anything just to be inside you—not like he’s denying that—but he can’t retaliate with the way the tips of his ears burn pink. So, he’ll prove it.

“Kento, what’re you—“ you cut yourself off with an uneven breath, eyes rolling to the back of your head in tandem with the way he pushes himself into you.

His strong arms are wrapped around you, keeping you in place, but he strangely doesn’t begin to move. The reason being—well, he’s testing himself. His resolve, his patience by not moving a single inch, even while being compressed by your tight warmth.

Which is proving to be a challenge already for Nanami.

“Proving to you that ‘m not—“ he halts, groaning and gritting his teeth as you slightly shift, causing a grin to flourish on your face.

“That you’re not what?” you retort, pushing your hips back onto him, taking him in deeper than he already was. Your hand reaches back and caresses his face, cooing above his lips. “Know you wanna move. ‘M not stopping you either, ken.”

You’re so close to his lips Nanami could move an inch and they’d touch, but he won’t, of course. But…when you’re fucking yourself on his cock, moaning out for him to hear, to tease him, Nanami thinks maybe there isn’t anything to prove.

Maybe he is drunk on your pussy.

✧･ﾟ𝓣.𝓕✧･ﾟ

Toji knows of his slight compulsion towards your pussy. His tendency to always want to be inside is truly something that needs to be studied—because there’s absolutely no way his sex drive should be this significant.

Admittedly, he is aware of his addiction, but will he take any action to try to change his behavior? No. That then becomes your problem to tackle, but you have the perfect solution.

“A what?” Toji mumbled, licking the scar on his lip as he creased an eyebrow upwards in confusion. You were sat on his lap, your arms looped around his neck and you began to speak.

“A Sex ban, Toji.” you attempted to suppress your grin when you saw the confusion on his face only deepen, and a big hand came to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“‘M not for all your little games today, doll. Got a mission tomorrow and y’know what that means.” he sighed, his free hand holding your waist, slowly sliding to the waistband of your shorts and beginning to pull them down.

“But, really baby, we—you need a break.” you protested, but just couldn’t counter back with the way his rough and thick fingers were already playing with your folds, gathering your essence.

Quickly, his lips were on yours and that shut you up, which gave him time to free himself from his sweats and enter you in one, swift motion.

He wasted no time in holding your hips and bouncing you up and down on his cock, a smug smirk on his lips as he looked at the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You weren’t one to talk about a sex ban when you could hardly even let him go on a mission for more than 2 days without complaining about how much you missed him and his magic dick.

“Now ya just be quiet and take what I give you, yeah?” he breathed in your ear as his big hands groped your tits, fingers playing with your hardened nipples. The pleasure coursed throughout your body so deliciously, already causing your thighs to begin quivering and your pussy pulsed around him, greedy to suck him dry.

“Good girl,”

9K notes · View notes

tonycries · 1 year ago

Text

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) - C.K.

Synopsis. When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Pairings. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, babysitter! Choso, male masturbation, voyeurism (from reader), Choso with nipple piercings and eyeliner hngh, unprotected, 69, choking, overstim, oral (male + female receiving), creampie, dirty talk, friends-to-lovers, Choso is down BAD and always has been, mentioned younger brother, swearing.

Word count. 9.0k

A/N. Gojo longfic next time because I miss my pretty blue-eyed princess.

Your younger brother’s new babysitter was hot.

With a capital h.

Scarily hot, in fact, that it made you wonder why the hell people stopped having babysitters past the age of 14.

Ah, Choso Kamo, the ever-elusive eldest son of the Itadori’s from next door. You still remember the first time you met him - well, mostly.

The world was rocking gently at exactly 12:34AM after a night out with your old high school friends. And so were you, stumbling tipsily into your driveway, soaking up the warm summer air.

Fumbling with the doorbell, you fully expected your parents to still be away on that extravagant couples’ cruise they’d won - one that probably cost more than your tuition.

Which also meant you expected the old lady from down the street to be babysitting tonight. Still wide awake and absolutely bursting at the seams to give you a detailed rundown about the neighborhood tea - who’s divorcing who, and her top suspects for who stole her prized garden gnome.

What you certainly did not expect was for that door to swing open and to find yourself face-to-face with the most ridiculously attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Shirtless.

Dazed, your eyes involuntarily sweep his figure from head to toe - taking in every inch of those dark, sleep-mussed locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner, all the way down to the chiseled- oh god, were those nipple piercings?

Alas, the universe isn’t on your side, and you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly the door slams right in your face, almost rattling off its hinges at the force. The sound echoes in your ears as you blink in disbelief at what the fuck that was. Was that real - was he real?

You double check the address you’ve known for years - just in case - because, hell, if you were dreaming then this was a damn good one. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on something that won’t make your head spin before reaching for the door again.

But before your finger could even graze the doorbell, it cracks open once more. The same mysterious man towered before you, this time - you note, with a tinge of disappointment - wearing a snug t-shirt that still doesn’t do much to hide that godly physique.

“Not that m’complaining, but who’re you and why’re ya in my house?” you manage to slur out, voice betraying the shiver that runs down your spine at his intense gaze. He simply leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and expression unreadable.

“Choso,” he drawls lightly, eyes never leaving your face. Shit, even his voice was hot.

You nod slowly, mind racing as you blearily try to remember just where you’d heard that name before. Some family friend? Nah, you’d know him if that was the case. An actor? God, he sure had the looks.

Mercifully sensing your struggle, he clears his throat, snapping you out of your drunken reverie. “Not surprised you haven’t seen me around, sweetheart, but my parents live next door.” he offers, tone laced with amusement and something else you can’t place. “M’babysitting your brother for tonight.”

You almost don’t hear the second part of his explanation, because it hits you like a ton of bricks - oh shit, this was Choso? Choso either-a-hallucination-or-a-vampire Kamo?

In all your years of having the Itadoris as your neighbors, you’d only seen fleeting glimpses of their eldest son - a flash of black hair at the window, or a sculpted, tattooed arm waving off Yuji at the doorway. And, well, you didn’t know what exactly you’d anticipated. You just didn’t expect him to be so…hot. Or stand half-naked in front of you.

God, he made you more dizzy than the alcohol.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. Yet Choso still hears, quirking an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Everything alright there?” he hums, the hint of a tease in his tone. Smug bastard.

You nod your head, clutching onto the doorframe for support as you lean in closer. “Mhm, perfect.” Wait- was that a blush dusting his face? Damn, this dream just keeps getting better and better.

Liquid courage coursing through you, you bat your lashes, too tipsy to even attempt a wink, “Well, Choso, let me know if ya need any help babysitting, jus’ know I’m always down to-”

And then - perhaps to save you from the embarrassment of an awful pickup line - that’s when the universe decides to remind you of exactly how many kamikaze shots you’ve downed. The world lurches beneath you. Your hands scramble for something - anything - solid.

Ah, falling down really does feel good, especially when the ground is so warm, and soft. Smelling faintly of vanilla, with a hint of sunshine.

And then it’s all black.

To match his eyes.

---

The smell of vanilla still lingers in your mind as you slowly pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning sunlight streaming in through your window. Groaning, you feel as though you’ve been run over by a truck. Five of them, in fact.

Trying to will away the pounding headache, you bury yourself deeper into the snug covers of…your bed…that you’ve been tucked into?

Oh shit. Sitting up with a gasp, you hastily try to rub away the sleep from your pointedly makeup-less eyes, remnants of last night now flooding back to you with a surge of embarrassment.

Choso. Shirtless. Babysitting. Shirtless. But most importantly - your awful display of drunken flirting. The man appears once in a blue moon and you hit on him? Perfect. Great. Wonderful.

And just as you’re entertaining the idea of convincing your parents to move neighborhoods, you realize with a jolt that he must’ve been the one that carried you up here and took care of you. Even after all of that.

With a sigh, you rub your temples, wincing as it throbs at the laughter carrying from downstairs - one of them so decidedly Choso. Deep voice ringing in your ears, you can almost feel the lingering traces of his strong arms holding you flush against his chest, or the warm hands gently wiping off your eye shadow.

And it seems Choso had a penchant for interrupting your barely-lucid thoughts, because the door creaks open, ripping through the heavy silence in your room. Heart in your throat, you startle as Choso carefully steps into your room, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“G’morning,” he says, voice so gentle that some small, strange part of you thinks you could listen to it forever. “Feeling any better?”

You offer him a sheepish grin, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory of your drunken antics. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for... well, everything.”

Chuckling softly, his gaze softens as he steps closer, taking in your slightly-disheveled appearance. “It was the least I could do, sweetheart. Now, c’mon, your brother and I are making pancakes.”

You fidget nervously under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious even as he turns to leave the room at your silence. Say it, you idiot. Say it.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to... y’know, act like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time-”

“It’s al-”

“I swear I’ve seen ankles-”

A large hand cradling your cheek, his thick rings searingly cold against your chin as he tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze - and those suspiciously red cheeks. “S’alright, sweetheart. I didn’t mind.”

And, well, if this was his way of shutting you up then by God was it effective. Because you didn’t trust yourself to speak even as Choso gives you an easy smile. Even as he withdraws his hand, the air thick with something you were too hungover to overthink about.

Not until he turns back to the door, flashing you a teasing smile, “Besides, it was kinda cute.”

And with that, Choso steps through the door with the audacity of someone that hadn’t uttered words that sent your mind reeling.

As the creak of the door echoes behind him, Choso’s warm touch still sears into your skin. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Only one thought rings clear in your hazy, still-hungover mind - one that makes your cheeks flare: this was going to be a very interesting summer.

You just didn’t realize how interesting it would be. Not until two weeks, four days, and sixteen hours after you first met Choso.

It starts out innocently enough, taking the early shift at your internship, volunteering to help with the chores - you find yourself subconsciously making excuses to be around him whenever he’s scheduled to babysit.

You’ve probably learned everything there is to know about the man by now - from the way he likes his eggs (sunny side up) to that time he accidentally dyed his brother’s hair neon pink while trying out a recipe for homemade hair dye.

Likewise, Choso happens to be the only one who knows that you were the one that accidentally caused that flood in your dorm that required five floors and two plumbers to resolve.

At this point, Choso’s at your house more often than not - where Choso is, there is you, and where you are, there is Choso. And your brother…and sometimes Yuji, but semantics.

“Semantics” are probably why you find yourself rushing home straight from your internship, ignoring every invitation for an after-work drink - to see your brother, of course. No other reason - definitely not because of the way Choso will inevitably be there too. Or because of the way his smile makes something strange coil in your stomach. Or-

Okay, maybe you speedwalked up your driveway faster than usual a little bit because of Choso. But as you’ve said - semantics.

Yet, sometimes you even think there’s a familiar flicker of something more in those dark eyes.

…

Nahhh.

Stepping into the yard, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the deafening sounds of splashing, a smile tugs at your lips at the awfully wholesome view that greets you.

Your brother and Yuji are locked in a fierce battle, water guns being brandished like the most seasoned warriors.

And Choso - towering over everyone else - was at the epicenter of the chaos, his laughter booming over the commotion. Shirtless. Again.

His bare, tattooed torso gleams in the light, muscles flexing with each movement as if sculpted by the gods themselves. Droplets of water glistening on his dark hair like diamonds in the fading light.

Traitorously, your cheeks burn as you step closer, desperately trying to rip your gaze from the milky abs peeking out and the tantalizing glint of metal winking so sinfully at you under the sun.

So he does have nipple piercings.

God, you have to get your mind out of the gutter.

As you approach, Choso’s grin widens, a playful sparkle dancing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he scoops up a large water balloon and takes aim, launching it with frightening accuracy in your direction.

The icy water hits you before the realization, and you squeal in surprise as the balloon connects right with your chest, seeping into your shirt. Glancing down with a startled laugh, you realize a moment too late that your once-pristine white shirt is now completely see-through.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the damage has been done. Smug bastard, you think, glancing up at Choso, slightly red-faced yet wearing a sly grin as he surveys the aftermath of his well-aimed shot.

“Shoulda just told me if you wanted a peak, you lecher. This shirt was expensive, y’know.” you call out, mock-glaring at the man that stood so infuriatingly beautifully in front of you.

Choso throws his head back in a laugh that makes something tingle all the way down from your toes to your burning cheeks. “Maybe you shoulda just kept your guard up, sweetheart,”

You scoff, “Maybe you should stop being a distraction then.”

His grin widens, reaching for another nearby water balloon, “S’not my fault you’re so easily distracted. No need to be a sore loser.”

“Oh, it’s on now.”

“Well, well, looks like we have a new contender in the water war,” Choso remarks mischievously to the kids, gesturing towards you. Yeah, really smug bastard.

Ah, what the hell. This shirt was on sale anyway.

---

Now, Choso knows you’re hot - always has.

Ever since that first day he moved in next door, when he stumbled upon you sunbathing in your backyard wearing that sinful bikini. And, well, after hours of moving boxes upon boxes of Yuji’s dumbbells, the mere sight of you was like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him.

But, especially now - all drenched and disheveled. Your shirt sticking to your curves like a second skin in all the ways that should be illegal - and also makes some strange part of him slightly jealous. Beaming smile directed right at him - shit, this might as well just be the final nail on his coffin. Death by you.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, you're a force to be reckoned with. Choso can barely tear his eyes off of you, breathless and victorious in pure adrenaline-fueled bravado, declaring “Beg for mercy and I’ll let you off easy, Choso.”

“Kinky, but absolutely not, sweetheart.”

Clutching a particularly large water balloon, raising your hand high high high - hurtling it straight at him with an unapologetic smirk, “Then, better run for your life.”

Oh? Maybe Choso was a masochi- what was that-

A flash of his favorite lacy pink, your poor buttons faltering at the sheer force of your throw. Choso doesn’t even feel the cold splash! square on his chest as he’s drenched icily from head to toe. Too transfixed.

Too focused on trying not to make it obvious he’s mentally calculating the chances of your shirt coming off altogether…

Eyes locked on the sliver of soft skin peeking out at him. Only registering you and the traitorous rush of heat flooding his cheeks - and his cock - as he averts his gaze, internally smacking himself for letting his thoughts wander into such dangerous territory.

Both thanking and cursing the gods above, Choso realizes with a pang that he’s not just screwed, he’s absolutely twisted, tangled, and tied up in knots.

So utterly screwed, in fact, that he probably needs to make a quick run to the bathroom now.

Like, right now.

Shit.

With a muttered excuse of a bathroom break, each step more urgent than the last, Choso can’t help but wonder if the water balloon incident was some sort of cosmic punishment for his wandering thoughts. Some divine intervention from his ancestors for being such a pussy around you all these years.

And as he slams that bathroom door closed, bunches his pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, and takes his throbbing cock in his hands, Choso thinks he might just see the gates of heaven - well, at least he’ll be able to give his ancestors a piece of his mind there.

With a groan, he leans against the closed door, eyes scrunching shut as he takes his swollen cock in his fist. Leaking hot precum and glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grips the base tightly, pulsing and achingly hard for you.

Cold rings searing against his skin, Choso wastes no time - wanting to get this over with and join you again more than anything - starting up a hasty, desperate pace up and down his length that makes his knees buckle. Tighter on the base, just teasing his furiously flushed tip. Pink. Pink to match your bra.

With you so sinfully soaked through, wearing that goddamn lacy bra out there, Choso wasn’t as strong a man to possibly get you out of his mind. He can’t help but imagine your sultry smile, how it would look wrapped around his cock.

Arm straining now, a shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his throbbing erection. “Shit.” he breathes, “J-jus’ like that, sweetheart.”

Head only filled with you, and your lips and you-

He milks his base tighter - would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you choke around his cock?

One hand pulls in urgent, jerky little moves that have his hips bucking into his fist. The other reaches up muffle the fucked out moans leaving his swollen lips. God, it would take everything it had in him to not fuck up into your pretty lil’ mouth. Watch you cock-drunk and taking him so well.

Or maybe…

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso fights back a groan as he reaches a hand up to teasingly thumb under his slit. Delicate beads of precum dripping onto the cold tile with a deafening drip! drip! drip! Smearing at the way he rubs maddening little circles under that one spot, grazing his sensitive veins.

Maybe you’d be a a fucking tease - run your tongue under his pulsing head so agonizingly slow. Knowing you, you’d probably pull away as soon as he bucks his hips into your mouth. Lips swollen and glossed prettily with his precum as you whisper, “Now now, baby. If you don’t act like a good boy then you won’t get to cum~”

“Sh-shit, hah-” Choso thinks he’s going insane, he can practically hear your hums as you kiss along his length, tongue darting out to trace his throbbing veins so obscenely. Flicking at his sensitive head. Eyes sparkling - ready to positively devour him.

All for him.

It’s too much.

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he moans hoarsely, letting out a low, fucked-out little call of your name. “More. Need m-more, sweetheart.”

Body shuddering violently, sweat dripping from his brow, Choso’s thighs quiver as he fucks his fist at an almost-animalistic pace. Chasing his release with reckless abandon.

Choso’s heart pounds wildly in his chest as he tries - and fails - to maintain control. Raspy whines of your name escape through the crevices of his fingers, cracking ever-so-slightly in a way he knows he’d be embarrassed about if he was in a better state of mind.

Giving up his futile attempt, long fingers snake down below to cradle his balls in a way he knows you’d do better. Tugging and pulling at a jerky rhythm that matches his hand.

Some tiny, practical part of his brain hopes - prays - that you won’t call off the water fight early and come up to check on him. He knows he should hurry up, he knows he’s fucked if you ever found out. Shit, he should bake you apology cookies tomorrow.

But fuck are so you perfect for him. Voice so pretty and eyes so warm as you turn your gaze to his undeserving self. He’d kill to see if you still look at him that way when - if - he absolutely ruins you.

Would you be able to take all of him? Would you pout adorably until he shoves his dick down your throat? Gagging as he hits the back of your throat over and over - oh how Choso would love to mess up your mascara. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on his dick if he could.

“Cum f’me, baby.” you’d mewl, and shit would he burn down this entire world to hear you call him that. “Mm, fill me up with your cum, wan’ taste you, baby-”

“Fuck,” he curses again, voice thick with need, and tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, sweetheart.”

You - all see-through white shirts and lacy bras that drive him wild. Giggling with the audacity of someone who isn’t making him slowly lose his sanity. You with prettily lips painted white with his seed. Cum and saliva mixing into a lewd pool on the sterile tile as you suck the soul out of him.

You.

And then he’s cumming.

A raw, drawled-out keen of your name and he’s spilling into his fist. Thick, hot spurts of cum that paint his palms white in a way he wishes he could do to you. And behind his closed eyes all he sees is you - you you you-

You, dragging out his orgasm so torturously, lips decorated with his seed, dribbling down to your lacy pink bra, gushing so lewdly down your ready throat. You with your eyes dazed, lips swollen and quirking up into a fucked-out smile as he does so well for you - cumming, all for you.

You, with your wide eyes and disgust on your face as you realize just what he’d been doing on this suspiciously long “bathroom break”.

Shit.

Body still twitching with the shockwaves of probably one of the Top 5 orgasms of his life, Choso all but collapses against the bathroom door, panting heavily, utterly spent. For a moment, he lies there, wondering if this is what heaven truly felt like.

But as the euphoria of his high ebbs away into nothing but mere tingles, a slight wave of nausea crashes over him.

Sighing, Choso reaches for the paper towels, ready to clean up his mess. If only you were there to milk him dry then he wouldn’t have to-

…

God, he was definitely baking you apology cookies tomorrow.

Now, when it started drizzling shortly after Choso left, you took it upon yourself to usher the kids back home and hand over his t-shirt personally like the good samaritan you are - out of the goodness of your heart, of course.

Not for any reason whatsoever because you were hoping to get at least one more glimpse of those sinful nipple piercings up-close.

…

Okay, perhaps there was a slight ulterior motive involved.

Either way, what you’d expected was for a flash of silver as you handed over his drenched t-shirt. Or maybe that familiar easy smile to warm you up from the icy water.

Literally anything but to find yourself frozen outside the bathroom door, cunt dripping, and ears ringing with the muffled echoes of his pornographic groans.

At first, completely mortified, your fight or flight instinct had kicked in as you realized just what those rhythmic, fucked-out little grunts meant. Only for you to choose neither option - staying rooted to your spot with the utterance of one, simple, word - your name.

Confusion whirls in your mind almost as much as the throbbing in your cunt, knees weakening. Heart thumping louder and louder in your ears at each whine of your name. Shivers running down your spine - all the way to your wet cunt as it really sets in that this was Choso. And he was fucking his fist in your bathroom. To you.

And you didn’t mind?

In fact, you find yourself leaning against the door, thighs squeezing together - mere inches away from where you imagined him slumped against it. Soft strands sticking to his forehead, cock hot and heavy, aching for release. Ragged breathing as if caught off guard by the intensity of his own pleasure. Broken whispers of your name leaving him over and over-

Really, you know you should give him your privacy. But if the white-hot ropes of pleasure running up your spine are anything to go by then, well, is it really that bad?

You have half the mind to just reach down down down - just a little release. Almost jealous of Choso-

Click!

You’re sure you could rival Usain Bolt with the way you ran down those stairs. Cheeks flaring, his damp t-shirt still clutched tightly in your hand. Mind racing with only one thought - this little fuck wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

---

You can barely remember what transpired after your little discovery. You couldn’t decide who looked more dazed - you or Yuji, who was being practically dragged out that front door as Choso exited hastily with vague mentions of baking and cookies

And in the ringing silence that followed after that front door slammed, you couldn’t help the smirk that found itself onto your face. This was going to be fun.

But if there’s anything you’ve learned about Choso - it’s that even after twenty-something years on planet Earth, that man can not take a hint.

You somewhat had an inkling after the fifth time you decided to sunbathe in just a skimpy bikini at exactly when you knew he’d be watching. Well, you might not have gotten any reaction other than an extremely flushed face at the window, but at least you knew he’d have more very fun bathroom breaks.

Hell, one time you even bought ice lollies for the whole house - but especially Choso. Making sure those dark eyes followed every lick and trail of it dripping down your fingers under the scorching summer sun. Ultimately resulting in nothing more but a heavy gulp and for his ice lolly to hit the grass faster than it could even begin to melt.

Ugh, should you get your brother to start another water fight? That went down well last time.

It’s only after another failed attempt at trying to get him alone and a few hours of deliberating whether you should ship your interrupting brother off on a cruise too that you realize you have to get out the big guns.

“The big guns” being stealthily organizing a sleepover for your brother at the Itadoris, then inviting Choso over for a movie night. Simple, right? And, well, if anyone asked, you could just say the movie just so happened to be rated R.

It wasn’t too hard to convince your brother that a sleepover with Yuji would be the best thing since sliced bread. The excitement in his voice palpable as he agreed, not suspecting a thing.

You just didn’t think it would be even easier to convince Choso to come over with a simple playful text of “Netflix no chill. Haha jk…unless?” But then again, when has Choso not surprised you?

And that night, as your brother eagerly headed off to Yuji’s place, you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt - but, hey, it was for a good cause, right?

It’s a win-win either way - your brother gets to spend the night with a friend and you get to be here, so achingly close to Choso on that couch. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, stealing glances at his sharp profile as the conversation flows easily about the movie playing on screen.

Shifting ever-so-slightly closer, electricity crackling between you two was palpable. You smile in anticipation, after all - you weren’t lying about the movie being rated R.

Now, Choso certainly didn’t come over to your house tonight expecting a wholesome rerun of Cars 2. However, he also wasn’t expecting the blockbuster action movie to suddenly unfold into something so steamy.

Goddamn lecherous directors and their goddamn pervy movies.

Eyes firmly trained on the ground, instead of the actress currently fake-moaning dramatically onscreen, Choso tries to ignore the subtle shift of your hips or the way the temperature in the room has currently increased by about 10 degrees. Or the way your moans would sound a million times prettier in his ears.

Alas, Choso was not a strong man, and he especially tries to will away the blood rushing straight to his cock right now - but how could he? You were such a vision of temptation, so close and warm and close to him on the couch.

This was absolute torture.

“God, this is so painfully fake. Don’t you think so?” your voice rips through the deafening silence between you two, tone careful and balanced, startling Choso out of his little reverie.

His eyes flicker hastily to meet yours, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard by your sudden interruption. “Oh, yeah.” voice rough with a hint of nervousness. “I’ve seen better performances in middle school plays.”

You nod, the tension between you thickening as you lock eyes. “I mean, who even writes this stuff?” you continue, leaning in even closer to Choso, words positively dripping in sarcasm. “It’s like they’ve never actually had sex before.”

Choso lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he shifts subtly in his seat - but not subtly enough. Because you catch the way he desperately tries to adjust his now-uncomfortably tight pants. Success.

“Yeah, exactly,” he clears his throat, ripping his gaze away from yours.

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - exactly where you wanted him.

A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you lean even closer to the man. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two - you relish in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm.

“Choso, just a thought.” you hum casually, lips mere inches from his ear. “Wanna recreate the scene better?”

His breath hitches at your words, muscles rippling so deliciously beneath your touch. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he rumbles, lowly. Eyes darkened and unreadable.

You smile, heart pounding against your chest as your lips brush against his earlobe. “Absolutely.”

It was like something snapped.

Because then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. Because goddammit you haven’t spent the last month sneaking glances at those pretty lips for nothing.

Movie completely forgotten, Choso is warm under your touch - all sculpted chest and urgent pulses as his lips kiss you dizzyingly. Groaning lowly as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

He breathes you in with an infectious desperation that bleeds into his hands, wandering every inch of your skin - as if he didn’t have enough time. And he probably didn’t. Distantly, Choso thinks that no time in the world would be enough to absolutely fucking wreck you the way he wanted to.

Large, hurried hands grope your chest, squeezing so teasingly in a way that almost made you think he was trying to feel out what bra you were wearing - lacy pink. His favorite, of course.

You minx.

Urgently tugging the hem of your tight shirt over your arms, Choso tosses it god-knows-where. Mouth watering as he pulls away to greedily take in the heavenly view of your heaving chest - the same one he’s shamelessly fucked his fist to for too long.

God, you were perfect. With a soft, little oh! Choso leans down to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Nipping, and tugging lightly. Relishing in the way you whine for his lips again.

Threading a hand through his soft hair, you lightly pull him back to you. Breath fanning his face, lips ghosting over his own.

“Kiss me, you fool.”

And, well, Choso didn’t have to be asked twice. Molding his mouth against yours once more. Letting your lips part, you intertwine your tongue so sinfully with his. He tastes just like he looks - so intoxicatingly delicious.

With a breathy sigh, he lightly taps the curve of your ass. Hands lingering for far longer than necessary, kneading the flesh in a way that has your skin searing.

You get the signal. Urgently, you loop your legs around his waist. “Choso- bed.” you whisper, muffled in-between kisses. “Now.”

Shivers run down your spine at the way he chuckles darkly, “Honestly, sweetheart. I don’t even hah- know if we’ll make it there.” Mumbling against your lips, “Would you kill me if I take you right here right now?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t fucking do something.” you hiss, words dripping in desperation. Ah, but Choso, ever the merciful man, shuts up whatever other retort on the tip of your tongue with his own. Kissing you with almost-bruising intensity as he gets up from his seat. Strong arms securely wrapped underneath you, holding you flush against his warm skin.

Choso doesn’t pull away even once as he hastily makes the route to your room. And honestly, with the speed at which your back hits the soft mattress, bouncing at the sheer force at which you two fell on top, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he teleported there.

Now safely in the confines of your room, you all but rip off Choso’s snug t-shirt. Those familiar obscene nipple piercings winking at you under the dim lighting in greeting.

“Always wanted to do this.” you murmur, surging forward as if on autopilot. Lips latching delicately onto the pretty pink nipples, tasting the cold metal on your tongue.

“Oh- oh, fuck. A-always knew you had a thing hah- f’my piercings, sweetheart.” Choso breathes out, letting you have your fun. His favorite bra now at the foot of your bed. Fingers deftly sneaking under your skirt, blood rushes straight to his cock as he feels the positively soaked state of your panties - if you could even call them that.

Sanity snapping, he immediately flings off your skirt. Throwing it somewhere across the room with no care or concern for where it ends up. All so he could look down at oh-

Oh god, if you had to describe Choso’s face as he takes in the sight before him - it would be absolutely losing his sanity. Your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing - all for him.

Strings of slick trail down your thighs as Choso hooks one, long finger under your slutty g-string, tugging impatiently.

You keen as the cold air hits your dripping cunt. Yet Choso’s eyes stay locked hungrily on the sticky fabric intertwined around his fingers “Guess you were expecting this, huh?” he murmurs, voice thick with desire.

Scoffing, you buck your hips up for something - anything. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since that first night I hit on you, y’know,” you admit, the heady air of your room melting away any reservations you had previously.

And that seems to snap Choso out of his trance - eyes flickering over to you, darkened with something so carnal that it makes your cunt throb. “Oh yeah?” he mumbles, swiftly stuffing the g-string in his pocket before leaning down, hot breath hitting your ear. “Now, what was that pick-up line you were gonna say that night?”

You gasp in embarrassment, heat flooding to your cheeks at the memory. “Wha- that doesn’t matter. I was drunk and-”

Smack!

The delicious sting on your ass hits you before the realization that Choso smacked you. He smacked you. Even later do you realize that you like it - slick beading so obscenely at your sloppy hole.

“What was it, sweetheart?”

You shudder at the tone that leaves no room for argument. The words tumbling out of you as Choso caresses soothingly over the handprint on your ass. “I- it’s stupid. I was gonna say that I’m down to sit on your face, baby.”

“Thought so,” he grins, pulling away from the dizzying proximity. Shifting - well, more like manhandling - you to flip positions.

God, you could almost sink into his muscles as he lays back on your bed. Voice low and dangerous as he utters words that go straight to your dripping pussy, “Now, sit on m’face.”

And before you know it, you find yourself hastily straddling Choso’s pretty face. Hands snaking down his milky abs, lips kissing along his tattoos, catching purposefully on his sensitive nipples.

Warm breath fanning your quivering cunt, he reaches up to cup your ass, nudging your needy core to his mouth. Kneading. Groping.

Not stopping his ministrations even when your slick oozes slowly, torturously through your swollen folds and onto his awaiting tongue. A maddening drip! drip! drip! ringing in your ears above your thundering heartbeat.

Choso groans at the mouthwatering sight above him. You - spread so shamefully open for him and clenching around nothing.

“Luckily for you, sweetheart, wanted you to sit on m’face ever since I saw you.” sweet juices flowing down his throat, words muffled against your throbbing lips.

He barely even gets the words out before he’s surging forward. Licking a long, languid stripe up your heated folds. Again. And again. Faster at the pretty moans that spill from your lips.

Pushing his tongue in between your slit, past that first, tight ring of muscle. Bullying it deeper and deeper. Chin pressing against your throbbing clit, ravaged at each movement of his face.

He caresses your warm walls, relishing so filthily at the way you clamp down on him in surprise. “Hngh- oh shit, baby. Ah-”

Your sweet moans are music in his ears and shit - you called him “baby”. It’s as if every wet dream he’s ever had has come to life as Choso dips in and out at a ruthless pace. Pulling out to tease your dripping entrance, pushing past mercilessly into your plushy walls. In and out in and out in and out-

His cock strains so painfully against his pants at the way your sloppy hole sucks his tongue in so obscenely - almost as if it hurts to part. Tongue fucking you the way he wishes he could with his cock right now.

“Oh- Hah- Choso! Fuck, baby. S’good.” your body arches into his absolutely depraved tongue.

Desperate whines spilling incessantly from your mouth at the way he quirks his tongue up just right to graze that spot he knew would have you grinding down on him for more. “Ah! Right there - jus’ like that!”

As if he knew exactly how to drive you wild. Exactly how to break you. You almost don’t notice the mindless, shallow little thrusts of his hips into your open palm. Almost.

Eyes snapping open at the tremors, you reach a hand across his quivering thighs. All the way down towards the very obvious dark patch on his pants - right where his furiously hard tip was leaking thick, relentless precum that made your mouth water.

Oh, how you’d kill to taste him - see if the rest of him is as intoxicating as his mouth is.

So you do.

Choso was so pussy-drunk in-between your thighs that you think he barely notices the way you fumble with his belt. Shakily pulling those pants down just enough to glimpse the rock-hard erection that those boxers do nothing to hide.

“Shit,” you whisper, voice strained with need.

You always imagined Choso had a big cock - but this was ridiculous. Your pussy clenches in both nervousness and anticipation as you imagined the delicious stretch of him splitting you apart on it. Breaking you.

And that’s probably when Choso notices - you clamping down so filthily on his tongue.

“Oh?” he rasps, voice sending white-hot vibrations of pleasure right up your spine. “Didn’t think you were so desperate for my cock, sweetheart. Gon’ make me cum, hm?”

Now, you’ve always thought of yourself as a woman of action rather than empty words. Which is probably why you urgently pull down his boxers. Choso’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs.

You take a moment to admire the long, heavy cock in your hands - a deliciously pretty pink on top, furiously leaking glistening precum. Saliva pooling in your mouth - you shove it as far down your throat as you possibly could.

Oh, how many times in his life has Choso imagined this moment right here. In the shower, right before bed, right after waking up too. You’re really a dream come to life.

A startled, strangled moan of your name leaves Choso’s kiss-bitten lips as you take him all in one go. Only to pull back and spit once- twice on his throbbing cock. The steady stream of spit cool - followed so maddeningly by the warm heat of your mouth once more. You start up a torturous, filthy pace bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

He strains his head to catch a glimpse - even just one - of your nose pressed against his pelvis. Breathing in the heady scent at the tufts of hair at the bottom, already wet with precum and spit. His dirty girl.

Popping off with a lewd squelch, “Feels good, baby?”

“Feels perfect.”

But he wasn’t gonna fall far behind.

Immediately attaching his lips with yours once more, Choso dives nose-deep in your dripping cunt. Rolling your throbbing clit in between his lips. Flicking his tongue along the sensitive bud in a way that makes your head feel so light. He alternates between a slow, languid torture on your clit and fucking into you unforgivingly.

Your movements stutter as you teasingly lick at his sensitive slit. The salty flavor of his precum is probably your favorite taste now. That bastard.

Reaching down, you cup his heavy balls, massaging the tender flesh in harsh, hasty circles that match your mouth down his length - up and down up and down up and-

Muffled moans and lewd squelching filling the heated room. A rhythmic, sinful cadence that both of you were losing your sanity to. Movements more frantic now. Desperate to make the other cum. Desperate to be first.

Letting out soft, raw grunts, Choso fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth. Your eyes water as his tip abuses the back of your throat. And it makes you wish you could see how messy he looked right now. All smudged eyeliner and slick-glossed lips.

Gagging around him, a mixture of drool and precum drips sinfully down the corner of your mouth as you increase your pace, pooling messily on his lower abs. Sloppy - so sloppy.

So it only made sense that your orgasms were the same.

Pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming, you gush around Choso’s mouth with a stifled squeal. Stars behind your eyes, vision blurring, mind blanking - the only things you register being the languid tongue lapping up at your sweet juices and the guttural groan of what sounds like your name as Choso shoots thick, hot spurts of his cum down your throat.

Throat burning as the salty taste fills your senses, you milk his cock for more more more- his dick pulsing and stuttering in your mouth. Cum staining the fresh sheets below - a problem for later.

Right now all you were focused on was riding out your high, grinding almost animalistically on Choso’s pretty face.

You’ve barely removed yourself from him with a lewd pop! before Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress. Two fingers squishing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout, cold rings digging into your skin. The other hand snaking in between your thighs to play with your still-twitching cunt.

“Didn’t say we were done yet, sweetheart.” he mutters. You weren’t done - no, far from it. Because fuck a refractory period - both of you were going to take all you could get.

And before you can think of anything else, Choso is leaning down, hand prying your lips apart for him into a brutal kiss. Teeth clashing, lips bruising. He forces his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself before you barely get a chance to taste him as well.

“Hah- fuck-” you flinch as he swears into your bruised lips. “So fuckin’ sweet. You taste so good sweetheart.” The sheer debauchery and ache of his cock too much for him.

Tasting him. Tasting you. Both a heady flavor that leaves you yearning for more.

You bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, relishing in the drawn-out groan that rumbles into your mouth at this. The kiss is feral. It’s animalistic. It leaves you feeling so fucking dirty.

And you barely recognise the dazed, predatory glint in Choso’s eyes as he pulls away, his mind clearly miles away as he spits once. Twice. Three times on your face.

The wads of saliva and cum hit your face with a warm, wet jolt. You whine at the way it seeps into your skin, dripping down your cheeks so fucking obscenely. Pooling at the sheets below in a way that makes you feel sorry for whoever had a shift at the laundromat tomorrow.

“Now, what do we say, sweetheart?”

A fucked-out, delirious smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you realize - yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Thank you.”

Not even when Choso lets out a dark chuckle, throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out so shamefully for him. Dripping cunt spread for his greedy gaze and clenching around nothing - aching for him. Begging for him.

Not even when he lines up his still-rock hard cock at your entrance, tip - angry and red - weeping so desperately as he nudges at your sloppy hole. Dragging his head along your folds collecting every bead of slick, just grazing your pulsing clit. Every muscle in your body trembling and anticipating what was to come.

You mewl at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock.

And especially not when he bottoms out inside you in one, harsh thrust. Burying himself inside your sloppy walls till his twitching balls smack against your ass.

“Ah- hngh- oh fuckkk.” you keen in both pain and pleasure - broken, raw moans leaving you uncontrollably. But not for long, because suddenly Choso’s shoving two ringed fingers in your mouth, bullying their way inside till you’re gagging and moaning around them.

Pressing right at that spot on the back of your tongue that makes your eyes tear up so prettily. Hey, if he couldn’t see you choking on his cock properly, the least he could do is see you choking on his fingers, right?

“Now now, wouldn’t want anyone else to hear, hm? Our brother’s would get worried.” he chuckles. Pure, dark amusement in his eyes as he takes in your swollen lips, the teartracks down your cheeks, how utterly beautiful and debauched you look underneath him. So much better than any lust-hazed imagination of his.

And yet, even when you’re being gagged and split apart on his cock, you find it in yourself to be mouthy. Words muffled around his thick fingers as you raise a brow. “There’s no one else home, though?.”

The corners of Choso’s lips lift into a devilish grin, “The neighbors, sweetheart.”

His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a chill down your spine. He’s just joking, right? Right?

“Wha-”

And probably because he was losing his patience - and partly to shut you up - Choso begins to move.

Pushing past the resistance, beginning to fuck into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips. Just little motions to get him off, groaning at how sinfully tight you were - the way you were sucking him up so good.

Next time, Choso thinks, reaching down a hand to draw tight, little circles on your poor, abused clit - next time he’ll fuck you right. Hours upon hours of teasing you so you don’t know what it feels like when you’re empty without him.

But fuck does he think he could just about pass out right now.

There’s no going back now. Choso fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage.

Pulling all the way back so that his leaking tip just barely kisses your sloppy entrance, slamming down down down, Choso fucks you at a merciless pace. Relishing the delicious stretch of your cunt as he thrusts into you with a desperation that surpasses the need for reason.

“Sh-shit, sweetheart. God, s’tight. better than I ever could’ve imagined.” he moans breathlessly, brows furrowing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, the feeling of you milking the absolute soul out of him just too much.

“Oh, yeah- wanted this for so long-”

You yelp every time he rams his cock into you, the smacking of his toned pelvis against your thighs stinging almost as deliciously as his tip kissing your cervix. The obscene slapping of skin on skin makes your cheeks burn - both pairs as his heavy balls smack against your ass each time he shoves his throbbing cock into you.

And because you can’t leave him alone, of course, you find your nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders.

Pulling him impossibly closer. You want more. You need more.

Maybe you say those words out loud - you don’t even know anymore, too delirious and cock-drunk from Choso and your last orgasm and Choso - because his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, mouth falling open into a small oh. Your cunt twitches at the surprised, fucked-out little laugh that leaves him, “More? My sweetheart wants more?”

And, as you’ve come to learn with Choso - anything you want, you will get.

“Then fucking- take it.” he grunts lowly, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust of into your plush walls that sends both of you spiraling deeper and deeper into insanity.

And God does he make you take it. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits - both your cunt and your senses as he leans down to bury his head into your neck, hips moving so sloppily, hiking your leg further up his shoulder. The change in angle making you see stars.

Your hips buck up in tandem with his, uncontrollable little ah! ah! ah! leaving you at each thrust. You whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room, “Yes. Yes yes yes- wan’ cum. Need more. Need you-”

“Fuck- Hngh-” is all he manages to gasp out, pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Choso’s balls twitch almost painfully as they keep smacking your ass. Brain still not keeping up with his body because shit, this is all he’s wanted for years, the least he could do is make you cum before him.

“Sh-shit, sweetheart.” he rasps into your heated skin, “So close- m’ so close.”

You all but sob at his words, “M’too- hngh- ah, m’gonna cum, baby.”

You didn’t expect the petname to be what breaks him, but then again you didn’t think there was anything more left to break. Because Choso groans gutturally, cock twitching inside you “Shit, you’re driving m’crazy, y’know that?”

“I know.” you mewl, voice breaking at the way he increases his frenzied pace on your clit. You could barely even call them circles, just filthy little movements to get you closer and closer to the edge. So close. You writhe beneath him, desperate for release.

And what you didn’t expect was for Choso to connect his sweaty forehead with yours. You take a second to admire just how beautiful he is - all smudged eyeliner, tousled hair, your release still shining on the lower half of his face, and yours. All yours. You could probably stare at the sight forever.

Choso’s hot breath fans your face as he moans breathlessly against your lips, words slurring together as he ruts into you mindlessly, “Always did, y’know?”

“I know.”

“No- y’don’t hah- understand, I- for so long fuck- I-”

“Choso, just kiss me.”

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you like you’re the most precious thing on Earth. A slow, tender little dance that doesn’t match the way he rams his cock inside you.

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - clamping down desperately on the harsh, jerky movements of his glistening cock that fuck you so sinfully like his little slut.

White-hot pleasure runs down your spine, or maybe that was Choso - painting your insides the prettiest white you’ve ever seen. Shooting thick, hot ropes of his seed into your waiting pussy. A creamy ring forming around his base as he spills his cum into your snug cunt as he moans against your lips.

It’s messy. It’s sloppy. And as Choso fills you to the brim, hips still unforgiving, seed dribbling out of your dripping pussy at the way it was so overfilled - you think that it’s all you could ever want.

As his cock twitches finally, exhaustedly - and you distantly wonder how the fuck it isn’t seizing up - Choso collapses onto you, thoroughly fucked-out. Finally pulling out with an obscene squelch, you hiss lowly at the pool of cum that forms beneath you. Gushing out of you sinfully.

A weighty silence in the air as you both try to catch your breaths.

In the haze of your orgasm you realize that even after all that transpired, he still isn’t laying his full bodyweight on you.

Too afraid to break you.

To break whatever this tender little understanding in the air was.

And it makes some part of your heart clench so delightfully. Subconsciously, you thread a hand through his damp hair, breathing in that familiar smell of vanilla and sunshine - and the heady scent of something so Choso. It makes you intertwine your body so impossibly close with his, not knowing where one of you ends and the other starts.

“My parents are coming home tomorrow.” you start, casually.

“Mhm. But I’ll still be around here, sweetheart.” Choso rumbles into the crook of your neck. Kissing soothingly over the marks he’d made in the heat of the moment - some carnal little part of him proud of the way you looked like you were fucking thrown to a pack of wolves.

Words hiding a tense little fear beneath them as you probe further. Something prickly and scared rolling around in your stomach. “For babysitting?”

“Nope.”

Settling deeper into the covers, basking in the afterglow of him. You know you should get up and clean, but right now this was all you wanted. And maybe no other words were needed.

“God, am I glad your parents aren’t home.”

Except maybe those.

You chuckle as you pull back to stare into those deep, dark eyes. Cheeks flaring at the tender little warmth in them much more than they had when he was fucking you so sinfully. A devious idea coming to mind - because now that you got a taste, you were absolutely hooked.

Choso Kamo was absolutely intoxicating.

“Well, we still have time so how about-”

A distant click!

“Honey, we’re home~!”

Shit.

A/N. Fun fact this was originally supposed to be called Timeout! but it was giving too much me during beep test.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #choso #tonywrites #choso kamo

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sttoru · 4 months ago

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outlaw!toji who initially kidnapped you for money, to rob you from your valuable belongings, eventually forms a strange attachment to you. he can’t help but feel a faint twinge of guilt for robbing a pretty and delicate little thing like you.

so, he decides to let you return to your beloved family in town. though he does not let you go completely.

every now and then when toji is passing by the town you reside in - avoiding sheriffs and other people whom could possibly recognise him from the wanted posters plastered on every wall - he looks for you.

of course, you freak out the first time he sneaked up on you. however slowly yet surely, you let your guard down. the outlaw didn’t harm you in any way after all.

“how ‘re ya doin’, princess?” toji would always greet you with that signature, cocky smirk of his, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest or his hands on his worn gun belt.

sometimes you reply quickly, but on other occasions you indulge him and continue the conversation. it’s often at night that he visits you, so you have less of a chance to get caught together.

you don’t know when or how toji found out where your family’s house is. he simply started showing up at your balcony once in a while, just to catch up. after a couple times, you even let him in.

those nightly visits swiftly turned into something more intimate. it feels so wrong yet so right. a dangerous criminal who’s killed hundreds, who had even kidnapped you one day, being invited into your bed— how scandalous.

though you can’t help it. his callused yet warm hands that touch your skin, his burly body that presses you into the mattress just right, his slightly chapped lips that nip at your flesh and leave marks. . . you don’t regret a thing.

especially when you’re both catching your breath after an intense encounter. toji’s muscular body, filled with countless of scars, blankets yours easily. his arms cradle you to his bare chest afterwards and all you can do is relax against him.

“i think i really hit the jackpot with ya, aye? may not have robbed ya of yer stuff that day, but i got ma prize money one way or ‘nother,” the rugged outlaw grins as he lights up a cigar and holds it between his lips.

you can’t even tell him off for smoking in your room. toji’s fingers massage your scalp so good to the point you’re putty in his hands. the scent of tobacco is also comforting. it’s one you associate with him, because he always smells like it. it’s always a combination of tobacco, nature, horses and gunpowder.

toji knows that he has to leave before anyone comes checking in on you, but he can’t leave you when you look so adorable, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

every time he visits, it’s the same exciting story.

when toji is in a more sentimental mood, he takes you out on a ride. he settles you on the back of his horse, speeding off into the sunset, letting you enjoy the view outside of town.

the beautiful freedom that comes with the life of an outlaw. the freedom of seeing nature in all its glory. you get to experience it all.

at times, when you’re out and about, he takes his chance and teaches you how to handle a gun. toji knows you’ve been spoiled rotten by your parents growing up, so you probably haven’t touched a gun a day in your life. that’s where he comes in.

“oi, watch out. yer gonna blow my fuckin’ face off, girl,” toji grunts with a faint chuckle as he notices your clumsy hand gestures while holding his revolver. it’s endearing, truly. he doesn’t yet understand why it warms his heart to see you try and shoot at the targets he set up.

what the outlaw loves more than that, is when you’re both resting against a large oak tree, with his head on your lap. especially after he gets back from a long and successful heist in a far away town.

toji often lets his cowboy hat cover his face while he naps and uses your thighs as the perfect, plush pillow. the gentle breeze only adds to the perfect moment.

when you take his stetson and put it on your head instead in a innocent gesture, he lazily opens one eye and raises a brow in amusement.

“oh? that yer way of telling me y’ want a ride?” toji teases before pinching your cheek. he loves seeing that flustered expression on your face when you’re once again reminded of the cowboy hat rule he taught you the other day.

toji never misses the opportunity, however. he sits up and leans back against the tree trunk, patting his thick thighs which he spreads lightly.

“hop on f’ me then, pretty. show me how good of a cowgirl y’ are, yeah?”

well, briefly said, it’s never a dull moment with outlaw!toji.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk x y/n #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x female reader #jjk fanfic #toji smut #toji fanfic #jjk fic #toji x female reader #female reader

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screampied · 6 months ago

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໒꒱ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, sugar baby gojo, missionary, tīt play, praise kink, mdni.

sugar baby!gojo who lives off your praise,

you can buy him anything in the world—but hearing you call him a ‘good boy’ was the most expensive, priceless gift he could ever get.

anytime he’s buried between your thighs, it’s like pure heaven to him. satoru can’t help but shove his face between your soft breasts, humping sloppily against your body as you run your fingers down his hair. down his undercut, oh that spot . . it makes whimpers spew straight past his lips at the simple touch of your fingers. “f- fuck, miss,” he’d grunt, almost forgetting that his hardened cock was stilled inside of you. his bottom lip quivers as his body continues to sloppily thrust against you, his hips lazily trying to become in sync with your own. satoru almost purrs, feeling your thumb swipe down his undercut and the way you clench around him. “y- you feel so good.”

“eyes up here, ‘toru baby,” you coo in a sweet tone, almost angelic. pretty azul irises dilate, meeting yours whilst you cup his chin. he leans into your touch as his eyes shimmer in the light. “thaaaat’s it pretty boy, jus’ hold my hips,” and he shivers once you drag your tepid hands further down, grabbing ahold of his frigidly cold hands. satoru moans, continuing to drive his dick into your sopping cunt before he leans in for a kiss. “mmpf,” you let off a muffled squeal, tossing your arms over his tensing broad shoulders.

satoru’s soft lips crash onto yours, tasting the remnants of peachy moët & chandon on your tongue—you tasted sweet, rich. .

“no, call me a good boy again,” and with how whiny his voice is and how far apart his snowy white brows furrow, he’s not asking he’s begging. “please miss . . please.”

“mhm, satoru,” you breathe through gritted teeth, his sizzling hot body continuously rocking against yours. the queen-sized bed grows rickety and your nails claw a long slope down his tensed back.

he’s stupidly feral, rutting into you again and again with his hungry jittery hips plowing into you with such needy, greedy thrusts. and as he’s between your thighs—going back and forth, hearing the sloshing sounds of your pussy shriek in rapture, satoru’s got that look in his eyes awaiting for you to say it again.

those sweet sweet words, sweeter than honey.

satoru’s sloppily kissing down your neck as his hips thrust into you quicker. he huskily groans, the sweltering hot tip of his cock kissing up against that same spot. your toes curl in pleasure as you feel his pumping surge deeper into your loving core.

“good boy,” you whisper, letting off a soft whine once he goes back to sucking on your tits again. with a loud ‘pop’, one tit of yours jiggles out from his mouth with a silvery string of saliva swallowing. a sleazy grin spreads across his lips as he heard your words of approval. he’s nodding with your swollen nipple, his eyes telling you, ‘say it again, again. . ’

“ngh, good boy,” you repeat in broken breathy whimpers, feeling the shaky weight of his sculptured hips continuously buck into yours. satoru can’t get enough of you, your scent — oh, that expensive acqua di parma perfume you’d spritz all over yourself purposely just for him to smell - it drove him insane.

satoru’s whining, his face sitting up from between your chest and he’s staring dead at you. dewy hooded eyes lock onto yours before he’s starting to see nothing but white. as satoru’s weakly moving his hips against you—his eyes were staring to roll back, he was about to almost drool. all because of your sweet cunt—the epitome of pussy drunk.

his base was the fullest its ever been. it thwacks and thwacks against your sloshing wet cunt until you’re dizzy, until he’s dizzy. wrapping your legs around his slim waist, you grind yourself back into him. “fuck me, right there ‘torubaby, fuck.”

“ ‘m gonna cum just from your voice—shit,” he huffs, and he can feel your pussy slobbering all down his pace with your slick. your hands run down his waist and he moans from your touch. it was almost cute at how sensitive he was to something as simple at touch. to the outside world—he’s satoru gojo, the strongest. but between your legs, he’s weak—happily weak just for you and only you.

with how wet you were and how his cock’s just twitching and throbbing inside of your clingy gummy walls, it’s just so damn lewd. he sucks his teeth as his bare knuckles split, turning pale. “god, keep touchin’ me please, touch my body. keep t- touchin,”

cupping his cheeks, you have a sheepish expression. “baby, you’re rambling again,” you softly murmur, and he’s panting, rolling his hips faster into you. he leans into your touch, his plump cheek squishing against your palm. your arms go back to hauling themselves over his shoulders before you bring him into a kiss.

satoru’s shivering at how your lips crash onto him yet again—your hands feeling all over him. his hips grew so unapologetically sloppy that it was only a matter of time before his knees pathetically buckled.

as his tongue blissfully curls against yours, strands of sappy saliva tangling amongst each other, he whimpers right into your mouth. satoru’s hips pop against you as he tries to slow down, feeling himself finally let go.

it’s so good, his cock emits out lustrous ribbons of cum right into your cunt and your lips part, gasping. “oh, o- oh shit,” he grunts, feeling the warmth of your ankle run down his chiseled back. satoru’s panting heavily, cowardly tucking his head back between his favorite place — your tits.

“mmpf,” he tries to suppress his moans as he’s still cumming. it’s so much that he can’t help but shake. euphoria overtakes his body as he’s dumping satiny strands inside of you. his tongue swirls against each of your pretty tender nipples before he gives each of them a long three second suck. you whine, feeling him pour every dribbling drop inside of your pussy until it’s no more for him to spill.

a hand of yours runs through his unkempt ivory strands as he’s trying to silence his sweet noises by having his mouth stuffed full. “f- fuck, that’s it, ‘toru,” and he hums with his pretty lashes fluttering themselves shut, feeling butterflies once your fingers drag through his delicate scalp.

satoru’s entirely sloppy without zero shame either. with half-lidded droopy eyes, you watch as a bit of his own saliva runs from the corners of his pink crooked lips. “s- satoru,” you moan, his flaccid cock still plugged into you. it’s hot, his tip was barely even leaking anymore, and yet between your thighs—it was an entire mess he’d gifted you. you always showered him with praises and gifts so he decided he’d shower you with a gift of his own this time.

the gift in question was currently spilling down your thighs and staining the rich velvety sheets.

“say it again,” he whines, pretty eyes pleading at you. satoru’s got a pout displaying against his lips as his head presses on top of your breasts. but his pout suddenly turns smug once he playfully nips at the sheeny pearls that wrap around your neck.

“call me your good boy again, miss . .”

#★vegasbaby.#gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk imagines #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #female reader #anime smut #divider: enchantings

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ddejavvu · 7 months ago

Note

Cant stop thinking about Logan bending Wades darling little sister (in her 20s) over the kitchen table while Waded out on a mission. That is all I can think about right now

Insatiable - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. age gap (legal; reader is in her 20's, logan is like... 200 years old.), wilson!reader, dirty talk, slight breeding mentioned

The only reason you're able to do it in the kitchen is because Wade isn't home, and you'd managed to shut the door on his pathetically endearing little dog. Mary Puppins is probably tearing up Wade's poor excuse for a comforter right now, and Logan is tearing up- well.

You.

Your pussy.

You're bent so far over the counter that your tits are cold, your nipples stiff and sensitive against the countertop. The pressure against them hurts, or maybe it's a lack of other stimulation against them- either way, they're stinging and you wish to right yourself and tug mercilessly at them.

But Logan's weight- not the full load, or you'd be crushed - is holding you down, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the smooth counter for purchase that you'll never find as you're rocked steadily into the cabinets below.

Logan's cock is buried so deep inside of you that you're not sure he'll ever get it out again, but then he does, and then he thrusts back in and you're hit all over again with a sense of shit, I didn't know I went that deep. He's found your limit, stretched your cunt to the breaking point with his impressive length, and his facial hair tickles the side of your face as he takes your cunt from behind.

Your face smacks painfully against the cabinets over the counter and Logan reaches a hand up to cover your forehead, "Shit, be careful. Head down, honey, there you go. Wouldn't want Big Brother finding an imprint of your face in the wood."

"Whaddya think he'd say?" Logan's suddenly snickering, a gruff delight to his voice as he rams his cock inside you once more, thrusting at a steady, merciless pace, "Shit, if he knew my old ass had his sweet little sister pinned up against the counter..."

Wade would kill him. Or try valiantly to, as it's been established before by Wade's best efforts that Logan is one difficult motherfucker to kill. But you don't fancy a bloodbath even if the vessel will survive, so you tuck yourself tight to the counter so that you won't have to explain to Wade why the cupboard door is off its hinges.

Leaning forwards more only pushes your ass out further, and Logan groans, dick twitching, as he's able to thrust more viciously beneath the curve of your ass. He's humping you like a dog, a depraved pace set as he chases an impending orgasm.

"Taking you in your brother's house- aagh, shit," Logan grunts, nose nudging against the back of your neck as he inhales your sweat, "God he's gonna drop his swords on this fucking counter as soon as he walks through the door, not- not even gonna know your tits were smashed up against it. He's gonna get coke from that cabinet in an hour," Logan's voice is strained, moreso the faster he pumps his hips, and all you can do is cry out as he ravages your cunt, "He's never gonna know I made his sister cream up against it. Never gonna know I fucked my fuckin' babies into you here, aah- agh-I-!"

Logan bites, hard against your shoulder, catching some of your neck in the process and introducing yet another blindingly painful sensation that turns into sick, twisted pleasure between your legs. Your cunt is spent, barely capable of another orgasm after you'd already had two fucked out of you before, but it gives you its best shot as Logan's thick, warm cum gushes into you, immediately too much for your poor pussy to handle as it drips down your thighs instead.

Logan relinquishes your shoulder with a low groan, his breath coming hot and heavy as he pants, "You alright?"

"Yeah," You whimper, legs shaking as Logan holds you steady, "I- I don't think I can stand anymore."

"That's okay." Logan hums, gentler now that he's fucked himself calm. He peels you off of the counter, supporting your body weight as he half-walks, half-drags you down the hallway towards his bedroom, "Next round's on my bed, sweetheart. You won't need to move a muscle."

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett blurb #logan howlett drabble #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut

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shotmrmiller · 8 months ago

Text

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?"

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here.

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

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