#closet | cadence

[baylardian-1]

im cringe but im free

[alchemistc]

"I am not packing your kitchen, Buck," Maddie says with a hard set to her jaw and a hand planted on her hip, and Evan sends her a warning look over his shoulder, elbow deep in packing tape and half-folded boxes. Tommy is clearly missing something.

"You found the ring cutter in there with the ladles too, huh?" Snipes Eddie from somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom, and before Tommy can get a firm grasp on that Eddie's tipping his head back through the open doorway. "C'mon guys, seriously, you didn't pack this shit up before you forced us all to help you pack?" There's an unopened tube of lube in his hand.

"I'm getting things off of walls and that is all, Evan Buckley," comes Maddie's quick rejoinder, and Buck levels them both with a look.

"That could be for normal stuff! Sometimes rings need cutting! Sometimes you need to - lubricate other things!"

It is, of course, the moment Bobby wanders through the unlocked door.

Tommy's still familiar with the cadence of Hen and Howie, ribbing and mocking a form of endearment for them both, so he's not exactly shocked when Bobby just rolls with it and starts listing off the last fifteen calls they've needed it for. None of those things particularly improve the red rising up Evan's cheekbones, but Tommy catches the grin Bobby's hiding while he sets boxes of pizza up at the kitchen table, cleared of the latest seasonal decor Evan had dragged him through three different department stores to find, not that he could be bothered to care when the very existence of them was all it took to shift Maddie's opinion of him from tolerantly friendly to encouragingly approving.

("This loft was a minimalists wet dream before you were in the picture," she'd told him one evening, after she'd manipulated him into admitting he was terrified this didn't mean the same thing to Evan as it did to him. "He started nesting a month after my wedding, Tommy.")

And now they're here. Watching Evan pretend to be miffed by the teasing while he fights a roll of packing tape.

He's going to miss the upstairs shower, wide enough for two grown men to fit more than comfortably; and the balcony on cooler nights when he could tempt Evan out for a slow dance set to the late-evening traffic; the kitchen island at the perfect height to lift Evan onto and tilt his head up for an angled kiss.

He won't miss the open plan that makes it impossible to do much of anything with a snoring Eddie right below them, the tuba player two doors down who only seems to practice the moment Tommy's head meets the pillow at the end of any random days-long shift, the way the elevator always smells like tuna on Thursday afternoons.

There are things he won't have to miss, of course. Evan, on nights when they just can't make their schedules align well enough to justify the drive time. The extra fluffy towel set Evan had refused to reveal the origin of ("You'll buy your own and leave me, I know you're only with me for my towels."). The pictures plastered to the fridge that Tommy's spent the last few weeks plotting out space for on his own before deciding he'd need a new fridge just to fit them all. The plant he'd bought Evan to appease the grump, the first time he'd dragged him to the farmers market at the ass crack of dawn, lovingly named Herbert. The fancy adjustable bedside lamps Evan had bought the last time he'd caught Tommy squinting down his reading glasses at the book in his hands. Evan.

Christ, he wouldn't have to miss Evan anymore. They'd synched up their schedules more or less as well as they could, but Tommy's spent months now trying to ignore how quickly a sleepless night could turn restful with Evan in his bed - how fitful a night without him there had a habit of being.

Most of the loft is already packed. Evan's wardrobe has been dwindling for weeks now, a box at a time carted from the back of the Jeep up Tommy's drive, through the mud room, down the hall and straight to the closet that had never seen such a shock of color or variety of fabric. They'd sprung for a bigger mattress, once they'd gotten over the sticker shock and remembered how much they'd be saving by paying half a mortgage each with no rent to speak of, and other than the kitchen table most of Evan's other furniture was being donated.

All that really remained were the kitchen supplies Evan hadn't been willing to move until he handed over his keys, a few toiletries, a single drawer of clothes just in case he needed them. Pictures on the walls and stacks of books on the bookshelves - half a decade of life lived in this apartment and most of it was already half unboxed and slowly integrating into the fifteen years Tommy had put into his own solitary life.

Evan finishes taping boxes and makes a beeline for his itemized list, and Tommy has to pretend it's giving him as much grief as Evan's sister and best friend to see the clipboard in action. He's not entirely sure how well he sells it, when even Bobby's shooting him aggrieved looks only to grimace at whatever he finds in Tommy's expression.

And just like that, an hour passes and the pizza disappears; the boxes are loaded into the back of his truck; the kitchen table in Eddie's; and Maddie tugs her brother in for a hug, drags Tommy in for good measure too, kisses them both on the cheek as she leaves; Bobby tucks a wooden box filled with handwritten recipes on note cards into Evan's hand and Tommy pretends not to notice either of their teary eyes; Eddie hefts a six pack out of the otherwise empty fridge and promises to meet them at the house in forty-five.

There's still one picture stuck to the fridge - a candid from the first barbeque Athena and Bobby had hosted after their move, Tommy and Evan backlit by a setting sun, tucked up against each other leaned against a porch railing, and Tommy knuckles at it while Evan does a slow introspective spin to take in the wide expanse of windows and brick. He's still staring when Evan finishes and drifts towards him, hands tucking in at Tommy's waist, chin hooking over his shoulder.

"Is this one staying?"

Evan shakes his head, nose digging into the side of Tommy's neck. "Just wanted to keep it out so it could be the first one we put up."

He remembers the night. Karen had gotten him drunk and added him to the wives group chat. May Grant had stolen half his slice of cake right off his plate and dared him to protest. Jee had spent the entire night calling him Uncle Tommy and thrown a massive fit when she realized he wasn't going home with her to read a bedtime story. Christopher and Denny had spent half an hour trying to teach him how to play Fortnite and then been mystified when he trounced them in Mario Kart. He knows exactly why it's significant to him. "Why this one?" he asks, curving into the cradle of Evan's arms.

Evan's so much better with words than Tommy is, and Tommy's just grateful Evan takes his actions for the things he means with them. "That's the night I knew what our something was gonna be," Evan murmurs, and Tommy tips his chin back and angles his head to catch Evan's lips against his own.

[gojhoes]

my good neighbor

synopsis: You've lived next door to Geto for nearly a year, yet your neighbor remains all but a mystery. But as for you- he knows everything about you, from the shampoo you use to the books you keep by your bed.

warnings: MDNI 18+, NSFW contents: geto x fem!reader, yan(?)!geto, age gap, breeding, masturbation, no curse au, dubcon(?), somno, p-in-v wc: 6.3k

It all starts when an Amazon package with your name on it somehow ended up in Geto's mailbox. He would later refer to this occurrence as his greatest gift from God; the most blessed twist of fate to ever work in his favor.

A pink cardboard box sits on his counter, jarringly bright in comparison to the deep neutral design of his apartment. If the package's appearance wasn't proof enough, printed on top is an address nearly identical to his own, except his is 3-D, not 3-C. Clearly, it belongs to the tenant to his right- an easy mistake to be made by someone who reads hundreds of names and address every day.

Geto knows that he could march back down to the mail room and leave the package in the correct mailbox. He could walk away without another thought but given that the box is this specific shade of pink, he figures it might be something you're really excited for. You're probably wondering about it right now, peering confusedly at the 'Delivered' notification from your email. Besides, you both live on the third floor, so he'd be saving you an extra trip. He's just being a good neighbor.

But then he starts to think- he recognizes this shade of pink. His ex-girlfriend had once received a very similarly shaped package in the same color. Inside that package had been a vibrator that he'd grown quite familiar with over the course of their relationship. Could it be the same thing boxed up right here addressed to you?

Your door is cracked when steps out of his apartment with the package in his hand. From this angle, all he can see is the door to the coat closet directly to the right of the entrance. In his apartment, the same closet is on the left, confirming his suspicions that your bedrooms do, in fact, share a wall.

It also meant that your living rooms were connected, but Geto was already well aware of that. Yours seemed to be the gathering place for all of your friends and given the amount of chatter that trickled through the wall every evening, you had quite a few of them. Not that he minds- he works nights as a pharmaceutical lab tech, so it's not like he's there when you're having your get-togethers.

It was less bothersome during the week than on the weekend, which was when you hosted your entire gaggle of acquaintances for what sounded like game night. He was still working out the details of all the different voices, but over time, he'd developed the ability to recognize certain voices by the pitch and cadence of their speech.

It hadn't been on purpose, but the walls were stupidly thin, hardly a step up from a curtain. It was impossible not to eavesdrop, especially when the voices dwindled to only yours and another that was undeniably male. Geto'd glue himself to the wall trying to hear what the two of you were getting up to, but it seemed you weren't that kind of girl.

Or maybe Geto was assuming incorrectly that there was any type of romance going on. But for the last several weekends, he would hear the two of you chatting, then it would be quiet for a bit, as if you were pausing the conversation to make out. He has not, however, heard any sounds of pleasure from your side of the wall, and that alone has piqued his curiosity.

However, during the day, your side of the wall typically was quiet. Just as he would be getting out of the shower in preparation for bed, he'd hear your alarm blaring right at 7am. If it was loud to him, he could only imagine how your ears still functioned properly after such repetitive torture. He'd hear you getting ready through the walls and smell the coffee you brew while you take a shower. By eight o'clock, there is a jingle of keys followed by hours of silence, and he sleeps just fine.

It had to have been nine months or so since you'd moved in, yet Geto hasn't laid eyes on you even once. Your apparent opposite schedules have managed to keep the two of you from crossing paths despite living just inches from each other.

As he stands between your neighboring doorframes, he thinks about how strange it feels to know someone's daily routine despite never having glimpsed you. Based off your schedule and the lively nature of your social life, he's deduced that you must be an undergraduate student at the nearby university. He himself had graduated the semester before, but the rent was cheap and moving was too much of a hassle.

But what were you, 19? 20? With your own apartment, an 8-3 schedule, and enough time to hang out with your friends nearly every day? He couldn't be sure of your age, not without seeing you, but your behaviors made him sure that you were young.

Geto glances down at the box again, reading your name aloud to test the sound of it on his tongue. He eyes the opening of your door again, craning his neck to see what else might be behind it, but no dice. Maybe if he should just go in and leave it on the counter. He would get to see your place and hopefully satiate this prolonged curiosity, even for just a moment.

Besides, you've left your door cracked. Every front door in the building locks automatically when closed, so technically, it would be your fault if this was a robbery situation, regardless of the value of your things. It's too tempting- he's been too intrigued by the box clutched in his hand. It was fate for the two of you to meet this way. Every time you held it to your clit as you came, you'd think of the moment you saw him with the box in his hand at your door.

His hand hovers over the doorknob- is he really about to do this? Wherever you've gone, you'll likely be back any minute if you've been so careless about your door. No, it's not the right time. He's already nervous about how you will react, even more so knowing he's going to be seeing you for the first time.

You know when someone just sounds hot? The music your body makes is so human, yet so graceful and controlled until your friends come over. You sound perfect when you're just simply existing by yourself. He feels, in so many ways, that he knows you so well already. It wouldn't take him any time at all to learn how to give you what you want. Maybe he'll tell you that, if the moment presents itself.

He's fortunate yet again for the lack of insulation used by the contractors. There is a rushed set of footsteps echoing from the stairwell at the end of hall, giving him enough warning to take a step back until he's standing just the perfect distance between your two neighboring doors. He looks up as the footsteps close in, and his heart skips a beat when he finally, finally sees you.

"Hi!" you chirp. "You must be my neighbor."

The last few steps you take give him enough time to drink you in. You can't be older than 20 with plush lips and a pretty smile, one that lights up your face and showcases your lack of smile lines. And what you're wearing makes his mouth go dry. It's a baby blue pajama set with thin straps and the shortest goddamn shorts Geto has ever seen in his life. He's staring, he knows he is, but you're even more gorgeous than he could've imagined. Your hand shoots out to shake his, small and soft enveloped within his grasp for just a wink of time.

It's not enough, not even close to satisfying the desire you've instilled in him. He forces himself to look at your face and not at the tops of your tits threatening to spill out of that useless pajama top. God, and he can see your nipples straining against the thin fabric-

"I believe this belongs to you," he says, holding out the pink box.

Your face lights up impossibly as you pull it into your hands, and Geto thinks he might die right there. He smiles at your excitement; he was right- you were excited to get this. God, he would be so good to you if you'd let him.

"Oh, thank you!" you say enthusiastically. "I've had a lot of packages go missing lately, so it's really nice to actually get this one. Thank you so much."

You're practically worshipping him with the sinful sweetness dripping from your words. So well-mannered. Would you be this polite if he brought you into his bed and offered to give you his cock? Would you smile at him as you are now, and say please every time you ask him to fuck you? He'd do it for you- he'd give you everything simply just for being such a sweet girl for him.

Geto smiles and introduces himself. "It seemed like a pretty important package."

He catches the way your shoulders tense and the slight flush of your cheeks- shit, was it actually a vibrator in there? Clearly, you're embarrassed, so it would make sense, but there's no need to be ashamed of getting one.

But you're smiling sweetly again, any trace of worry wiped clean. "It's nice to finally meet you, Geto," you say, and he swears that he sees your eyes flick down to his lips.

He hums, tilting his head to side as if to study you. "Likewise."

You send him one more polite smile before disappearing into your apartment. As he's closing his own door, he's imagining you making a cup of coffee like you do every morning. Are all of your pajamas that pretty? He's met you once, but already he can tell that you're a princess. He bets your parents pay your rent and send you money for groceries anytime you ask. A girl as sweet as you was probably well-accustomed such doting and pampering.

Someone was taking care of you, but were they making sure you were safe? Who was reminding you to keep your doors locked? You were a young pretty girl living on your own in the city- anything can happen. Clearly it seems that you need someone to look out for you, and who could possibly be better for the job than him? He lived so close by already; checking on you would be no problem at all.

And after seeing your perfect thighs in your little shorts, the swell of your breasts straining against the blue fabric...he'll do anything if it means he might get to see that again. He'd come up to you from behind and wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your ass against his hips. One hand holding your chin as he kisses the side of your neck, squeezing your thigh with the other...

You need him. Someone older and more mature to nurture you properly. Besides, he was just being a good neighbor.

That evening, he rearranges his room so that the head of his bed is flush against the innermost wall of his apartment, the one that he shares with you.

*** Geto will admit that somewhere deep inside, he does feel guilty. This part of him is disgusted and ashamed, constantly wishing he could be different and cursing himself because he's not. But he was going to make you love him. Once you let him in, you'll wonder why you hadn't come to him sooner. You'll see- he'll prove it to you, and then you'll understand that everything he does is for you.

But the rest of him, the more dominant parts of his personality, run rampant once he's fallen for you. He isn't acting right, deep down he knows that, but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. He wants to know every secret you might be hiding. The home a person keeps says so much about them, and he wants to know everything. You won't have to hide from him, not ever, and he'll make sure you know that. Maybe he's obsessed, but can you blame him? You're just so perfect.

He's starving for you, but he's got to be subtle; if he's too forward, he risks upsetting you or scaring you away. He doesn't want to stress you out, either, but it's essential that he sees your apartment. He needs to check your locks, especially the one on your balcony and make sure that you're keeping up with your cleaning.

It means taking advantage of the several minutes you leave your door cracked when you've gone down to the basement to do your laundry. Every Saturday afternoon, before your friends come and steal you away, you gather your basket and leave your deadbolt extended to avoid locking yourself out.

He's managed to pull it off twice, the first time being harder than the second. It took him three days to work up the courage to even try thinking of a plan, but after moving his bed to the wall, closer to you, he's descended quickly into absolute agony. It's a stroke of luck- no, of fate- that has made you put your bed against the same wall- and he can hear everything.

A few days have passed since the package mishap, and by that point, Geto had almost forgotten about the contents of the box. That night, just as he's getting ready for a shift at the lab, he hears a strange buzzing as he's brushing his teeth. It's an electric toothbrush, so his first thought is that maybe it's time to replace it. But as he rinses out his mouth, he finds that the buzzing had not ceased. It's go to be you, he thinks, immediately drying his face and flying over to the wall to press his ear flush to it. He's just in time to hear the beautiful, merciful sound of a mewl escaping from your lungs.

A shaky breath passes his lips. He's dumbfounded by the pleasure that flows through his abdomen when he realizes what you're doing. He'd totally been right about the package. Even through the wall, he's able to recognize the same vibrations. Maybe he's just been Pavlov'd, but immediately he can feel the blood rushing south as a faint throb starts in his cock.

He knows without a doubt that you've got the cutest pout on your lips, maybe a few strands of hair falling into your face as you lay your head back. "Feels good," he whispers, despite knowing that you can't hear him. Do your hips buck up into your hands, or do have those plush thighs squeezing them tight while you try to cum?

Is this really happening right now? Heat creeps up his neck and high on his cheeks as another moan, albeit quieter this time, blesses his ears. He can't stop his hand from finding his cock and palming at himself as he eyes slip shut.

He's dying to know- he wants to see you right now, wants to watch as you spread apart your folds and fuck yourself until you're trembling. He needs more, he needs everything that you can give him- and you will give him all that you can. He knows you will because you're just that good of a girl.

Fuck. He's got to get to work on time before the cultures expire and he fucks up three weeks' worth of data, but you are killing him with each sweet little moan that leaves your mouth. He's picturing you on your knees with your ass in the air, two fingers pumping in and out of your tight cunt while your other hand has a death grip on the vibrator.

He's waited so long to hear your pathetic little whines as you fuck yourself as fast you can on your too-short fingers. You're so desperate, and with how hard you're trying, it's obvious that you're getting frustrated. He wants to help you- it's clear from your desperate cries that you need him to. He would help you cum, over and over if that's what you wanted. "It's okay," he breathes. "Keeping going, it's okay."

Using a vibrator for the first time can feel almost painful if you're not used to the intensity. You're so overstimulated that you're struggling to reach the orgasm you chase so desperately. He feels genuine pity for you as cry out, "please! so close...mm." If you'd just asked him, he would've been able to introduce it your sensitive clit the right way.

He's begging you more, anything you could give him. He knows you'll do it for him soon. You were just that good of a girl, and maybe you were too sensitive to cum without a little bit of a help. If he was inside you, you'd have creamed all over his cock by now, too fucked out to ride him anymore as he pounds into your pretty pussy from behind.

As much as he would love to see you beg for it, he truly thought that you deserved to cum and felt frustrated for you. You were such a sweet girl; the only reason it took you so long to try your new toy had to be because you were nervous. Good girls deserve the best orgasms, after all.

Shit, were you still a virgin? Did you even know how to make yourself cum yet? That would explain why he hadn't ever heard those pretty sounds before. Fuck, you were going to make him lose his goddamn mind if you didn't cum in the next 60 seconds. "Y-you'll cum for me, right? I know you can do it."

Geto did not make it to work on time that day, quintessentially ruining over 300 specimens all because you wanted to play with your pussy right as he had to leave for work. It was terrible timing, but he can't say he regrets bringing himself to one of the best orgasms he'd ever had without even touching you. It wasn't enough, though, just hearing you. He needs to see it, needs to feel your warm, tight cunt squeezing him dry while you moan into his ear.

A plan comes to him, albeit a risky one. The next time you leave to do your laundry, propping your door open like always, he slips into your apartment. It's an inverted copy of his own- the same appliances, same gray tiles, a balcony at the back of the living room. Your apartment is so girly, so shamelessly you, and not to mention spotless. Geto makes a poignant effort to keep his place clean, but only a control freak would keep their apartment this organized. You must be an anxious person- but that's okay, because he'll be there to help you through it.

Two minutes pass- you should be back any moment, and while he has an idea of what he'll say if you catch him, he really wants to avoid scaring you. He can't have you feeling scared around him, so he turns to leave- he can always come back another time after he's more prepared. But then he sees a set of keys lying on your counter, and the gears in his head start turning.

You've left your door open, so you'll be able to get back in- he doesn't have to worry about that. He knows you won't be leaving anytime soon. He's confident that he'll have enough time and he doubts that you'll notice your apartment key missing if you're not actively needing it. So, he pockets the whole set and slips right back out as silently as he'd come.

Early on Monday morning, Geto waits until he hears the jingle of your keys and the click of the deadbolt as it slides into place. The smell of coffee lingers, and his clock reads 8:06, but he can't risk you coming back, so he forces himself to wait a little longer. He's nearly vibrating with the anticipation of getting so much unadulterated time in your apartment. The copied key in hand is representative of everything he's done to get closer to you. This observation will help him learn who you are- what shampoo you use, what you keep on hand in your fridge, what toys you have hidden away.

He decides it's been long enough when 20 more minutes pass, and Geto makes a beeline for your bedroom. Compared to the rest of your apartment, your room is much more lived-in. The white comforter topping your bed is rumpled, exposing light pink sheets under a plethora of stuffies and pillows. He's more interested, however, in the nightstand on the side.

He pulls open the single drawer and sure enough, there's the white vibrator that you've been using quite often lately. Aside from a bottle of lube, there's nothing aside from some medications and a pair of nail clippers. His suspicion that you're a virgin persists from your lack of sex toys- no wonder you were so embarrassed when he hinted at the contents of your package. Already, he was half-hard thinking about how good he was going to make you feel. He was ecstatic to think that no one else had touched you yet. Whoever that guy was, the one you your often spent evenings with alone, wasn't going to stand a chance.

Geto steps away to make toward your bathroom, and feels something soft under his foot. He glances down and bends to retrieve the black lacy thong you've left so mercifully on the floor. It's foul, it's intrusive, it's perfect- he brings the fabric to his face and breathes in your scent. His cock throbs in his pants, begging for attention- for your attention, but he can't have you yet. No, it has to be perfect because you are perfect, and you deserve nothing less.

He shoves the thong in his pocket before going into the ensuite bathroom.

Later that week, the universe finally gives him a break.

That fateful Friday evening, he calls in sick to work. His throat is a bit sore, and he knows the ache in his muscles isn't from last night's workout, so he opts to take his temperature, which reads 38.2°C. He knocks back some cold medicine before burying himself in the blankets on his couch, dozing in and out as the effects sweep him away.

He's roused by a rap-rap-rapping on his front door, and even through his medicated haze, his heart jumps- is it you? Is he really about to get this lucky? He glances at the clock above the stove to see that it's half-past 11, and from the din coming through the wall, he knows that you've got your friends over. As he crosses to answer the door, he does feel a bit better aside from the persistent fog clouding his brain.

And it is you, dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink top that shows off your midriff. Your cheeks are painted with a light flush and your hair is bit disheveled, obviously tipsy from the way you're swaying a little. He smiles at you, drinking in the soft curves of your hips that he's been dying to dig his fingers into.

"Hey," you say. Your speech isn't quite slurred, but there's a lilt to your words that says all he needs to hear. "I'm so sorry to bother you like this, I know it's a little creepy, but-"

He doesn't mean to cut you off, but the words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them. "No, it's no trouble at all. Bother me all you want."

You're tipsy enough that the line works- you even laugh a little, and the sound makes his heart skip a beat. Every sound you make is so sweet

"Right," you say. "D'you have a wine bottle opener by chance?"

He shoots you his best disarming smile. "I do."

"Could I borrow it for a moment? I promise I'll bring it right back, I'm right next door."

He'd give you his left lung if you asked for it. He considers inviting you in, but the state of his illness deters him. All the lights are off in his apartment and he hadn't bothered to change out of his gray sweats and black sweatshirt. His hair is down, likely tangled and flat from dozing on his couch. No, you deserve to see him at his best- he'll get you to come over soon enough.

"Of course," Geto says. "Just a second."

He leaves the door cracked in the same way he's seen yours over the last month. Your fingers linger on his own when he places the wine opener in your hand. Even that slight contact sends a wave of excitement through him.

"Swear you'll come right back?" he teases, smirking a little.

You smile again, making him fall even harder when shoot him a wink before disappearing back inside of your apartment without a response. If this was your way of flirting, he's even more enamored with you. So coy, yet so sweet as you look at him over your shoulder before the door closes.

Geto goes into his kitchen to heat up a bowl of broth. Your tits sat so pretty in that little top- did you always dress like that? Not too revealing, showing off just enough to drive him mad with desire. He didn't get to see your ass, but if it was anything like he remembered, he knew that those jeans would cling to it like a film.

As he's sipping on his soup and scrolling mindlessly through his phone, there's another knock. He's on his feet and at the door in seconds, not even bothering to hesitate to swing it open so he can see you again. This time, you're holding a bottle of rose (because of course, you are) and his wine opener.

"Can you do it for me?" You're looking up at him with what he swears is a pout, and with how you bat your eyes through the question, how can he refuse? It would be criminal not to help, especially when you're asking so nicely with that cute look on your face. "None of us can get it open."

He's delighted that you've asked him. Were there no boys over there to help you? Did you choose him over them, or were you truly just too clumsy to do it yourself?

He cranes his neck to see if anyone else stands in the hall, but it seems deserted save for you, so he pushes forward. Geto does his best to seem mildly disinterested yet nice, not wanting to scare you away with the words he really wants to say. If he didn't fuck this up, maybe he wouldn't have to wait so long to get you to come back. His plan would get to move so much faster, but he had to be careful.

"I should probably do this over the sink," he says, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from your grasp. He purposefully lets his thumb brush the tip of your pinky- enough to test the waters, but not so much that it can't be played off as sheer coincidence. As he turns to go into the kitchen, he says over his shoulder, "Feel free to come in, by the way."

The suggestion is very forward considering you've said less than 20 words to the guy since moving in a year ago. Had you been of a better state of mind, you would have politely declined- you barely knew the guy even if your beds were separated only by a few inches of drywall. But you can't deny your curiosity; not once have you glimpsed what lies on his side of the wall. So you indulge yourself and step over the threshold, making sure to pull the door as you do so.

There's no way he's getting this lucky right now. All the plotting, the strategic timing of your meetings, and his careful research are finally paying off. You are walking right into his apartment without him having to lift a finger. He doesn't think you can get any more perfect- he hasn't even touched you yet, and you seem to already know what he wants. It was proof that the invisible string was real.

You stand at a safe distance on the side of the bar opposite from his, watching intently as Geto works the wine opener into the cork. There's a satisfying 'pop' as he gives it a firm tug. What would've taken you an embarrassingly long amount of time is accomplished with one quick flex of his forearm and a small grunt of effort.

"What's the occasion?" he asks.

You stare at him blankly. "Huh?"

He returns the wine opener to its rightful drawer, drawing out the motions to maximize how long he's got you in his apartment.

"It's champagne, so I figured maybe it was for something special," he explains. "Or are you just fancy like that?"

You're smiling at him again and his heart soars. He prays that you'll always look at him like that, and only him, but he gives no indication of the depth of his feelings. He wraps his hand around the neck of the now-open bottle and extends it toward you as he rounds the side of the counter.

"You could say that," you reply with a giggle. "Thank you..um, it's Geto, right?"

He nods. "Anytime. What's mine is yours."

It comes out wrong- way too intense to say if he's trying to stay above ground with you. But you don't seem to mind. If anything, the flush on your cheeks deepens as you take the bottle from him. From where he stands, he can make out a faint scar dragging across your exposed collarbone. He wonders what it might feel like to run his tongue across you delicate skin and leave marks. Would you keen into him and clutch at him as the quick, sharp pain pulls a whine out of you?

"Um, I'm sorry if I'm ever loud or anything," he says. "I work nights, so I think we have opposite schedules." A white lie, but he doesn't want you to leave yet. If he just keeps you talking, maybe he'll get the chance to ask you to hang out. He's desperate, honestly, but he tries to hide it as he stands between you and the front door.

Your face lights with a carefree wave of your hand. "Oh no, I can hardly tell you're there most of the time. I'm a super heavy sleeper, too, so don't worry about it."

He hums and shoots you a grin. "Guess I've been worried for nothing, then."

"Same to you, though," you continue. "I have people over like, all the time, I know they can get really loud."

It's awkward now, as you stand there with your eyes darting around the room and occasionally meeting his. You're nervous, he realizes, shifting your body in a way that makes your hip jut out. He doesn't want you to leave, but he's less apt to make you too uncomfortable, so he makes to walk you out.

"Thank you again," you say, smiling at him widely. He returns your thanks, and watches you disappear into your apartment once more. Already, his mind is reeling as he checks the time. Your friends should be leaving in a couple of hours- the noise usually diminishes around 2am, which will be no trouble to stay up until.

And he makes it despite taking another dose of medicine, having long since grown used to being awake during these hours. You should've have mentioned that you were a heavy sleeper, because now he has to do this.

His clock reads 3:10 when he quietly turns the lock with his copy of your key. The lights are off and it's silent, such a vast difference from the earlier commotion. He leaves his keys on the counter in case there's an unfortunate jingle when he finally enters your room.

You sleep naked- god, you make it so easy for him to love you. Your lips are parted and the passive rise and fall of your chest signals just how deeply you're sleeping.

He slides a hand between inner your thighs, unable to help himself any longer. He teases at your entrance to see how wet you are, dipping his fingertip in just far enough to get a taste of you as he brings it up to his mouth.

And fuck, his index finger slides right in and your cunt flutters around it.

But you don't stir; there's not even a hitch in your breath as he curls his finger into that spongy tissue that he's sure should've roused you. You weren't exaggerating about your being a heavy sleeper, and Geto silently sends praise to whatever gods that were helping him pull this off. However many drinks you'd had earlier were keeping you pulled under the sea of unconsciousness.

He thinks about sliding his hands under your thighs and burying his face between them, licking and sucking at your clit to properly taste you. Surely you'd have to wake up from that, but his patience is wearing thin.

He needs this- he needs you. He's so desperate to finally sink into you, to fuck you like he's been aching to for months. His hands are on the waistband of his sweats and he's pulling out his cock, the tip already weeping as he thumbs at his slit. He wraps his hand around his shaft and starts thrusting into it, finally letting himself begin to unravel as he lets out a pleasured sigh.

God, he doesn't know where to start. Your perfect tits bounce ever so slightly with every rise and fall of your chest. The collarbones he's been wanting to bite are so vulnerable and delicate, sitting right there for the taking. But he doesn't want to ruin the moment by waking you from too much stimulation. He leans over your still body, holding himself up on his palms as he glimpses your pretty face.

He feels that he might die if he doesn't fuck you right now, lining up his cock with your entrance before he buries himself inside you.

"Ohh, fuck," he breathes. So tight, so warm, so perfect- his own perfect little pussy, so much better than anything he could've imagined. He fears that he might cum right then, digging his fingers into the sheets in attempt to steady himself. Even in such a deep sleep, you're soaking his cock with each slow thrust. Are you dreaming about him fucking you right now? Is that how your slumbering brain is making sense of all the pleasure?

Once he's got some semblance of control, he rolls his hips into yours, sinking back into you until. It's too good, and he needs more, he needs to have his cock as deep as you'll take him. He moves his hands to your knees and bends your legs until your thighs are pressing against your chest. It's desperate, the way he fucks you, but somehow, you remain as still and quiet as you'd been when he first came in. Your body jostles with each thrust and he sees the tip of your tongue creeping out from between your parted lips- fucked dumb, even fast asleep.

He knows he should probably pull out, but he's too fucked out to think straight, not to mention the cold medicine running through him right now. It's not right, but with how fucking good you feel, he doesn't care. You're going to wake up with his cum dripping out of your aching cunt, wondering obliviously if your period came early. Traces of him will be all over you and he just knows you'll love the feeling. He can already tell you're going to be his little cumslut- you're too sweet to deny him such a pleasure.

His thrusts get faster until his balls are full on slapping against your ass and his muscles tense all over. You're squeezing him so fucking tight, it's a wonder he's lasted this long, especially with how needy you've made him.

An involuntary flutter of your cunt sends him over the edge. His orgasm wracks his entire body and he's trembling with each spurt of his cum that covers your gummy walls, uncaring as to what consequences might await him. He moans out your name, panting as he empties every drop into you, and you just take it so well. Just as he's about to pull out, your eyes flutter open ever so slightly.

But you're so tired- you don't even notice that it's Geto hovering over you before they slip shut again. "Mm," you murmur. "Wh-what are you..mm." The words trail off, and a moment later, your breaths are soft and even again as sleep takes you once more.

You're adorable. He slips out of you as gently as he can, he waits until he can see his cum start to trickle down to the curve of your ass. He lifts a hand to stroke your cheek and brush away the stray hairs on your face, but he doesn't want to risk waking you when you're already so sleepy. With how pliable and motionless you are, it's clear that you need your beauty sleep.

As he slips out of your apartment and back into his, he can't help but think of how lucky he is. He's so lucky- how is it that fate has blessed him so richly? He was going to make you his. You were going to get so addicted to his cock, to his scent, to his taste that you'd never dare to leave him. You'll belong to him, free for him to use and praise as he pleases. But he will always reward you for being his sweet girl.

And, he thinks, you are so so lucky to have such a good neighbor.

i felt like a mad scientist the entire time i wrote this. if you've thought about trying to write fanfic, JUST DO IT because sometimes it's really fun.

[lurkingshan]

Love in the Big City: A Proposal to Extend the Discourse

Many of us have been anticipating this full length drama adaptation of the beloved novel by Sang Young Park for months, and when you watch the trailer above, you can see why: this is a queer story through and through, written semi-autobiographically by a queer man in South Korea about his own experiences, and then lovingly and determinedly made into a live action drama to bring his story to more people. It's a landmark show in the Korean media landscape; nothing of its kind has been made before. And that is exactly why the show is drawing harsh backlash before it even airs. It's too honest, too heartfelt, too steeped in empathy and understanding for the nuances of the queer experience in a suppressive society, and that scares people who want to continue shoving queer folks back in the closet.

As a result of this backlash, the story, which mirrors the novel by being structured in four parts with a different director and focus story in each set of two episodes, is being released in one giant episode dump to ensure that it all makes it onto air. Sang Young Park himself confirmed that conservative groups in South Korea are trying to prevent this show from being seen, and he is fighting to keep promoting it and will ensure its release on October 21st. It will air on TVING in South Korea and on Viki for the international audience.

The best thing we can do to fight back against this kind of censorship is to watch the show loudly, to write and make art about it and celebrate it, and to do that for more than just a couple days. Earlier this year, @bengiyo and I started the Love in the Big City book club to read the novel with friends in anticipation of this drama's release. For four weeks we coordinated weekly discussion posts to correspond to each part of the story, and we intend to do the same with the show. Given what's going on with attempts to suppress this story, I want to open up that invitation beyond those of us who are participating in the book club to include anyone who wants to watch and talk about this show, regardless of whether you've read the novel.

So here's the proposal:

Beginning Monday, October 21st when the show drops, we'll each watch the show on whatever cadence we like (personally, I will be watching two episodes at a time with breaks in between, because that is how it was made and intended to be seen)

Regardless of when we each actually watch it, we will post weekly starting on Mondays about each part of the story in turn. So the week of October 21st we will post art and meta and reactions to Part 1 (episodes 1 and 2), and each subsequent week we'll post about the next part (or each set of two episodes).

Ben and I will also write up and post book club discussion questions each Tuesday that will be more about the adaptation to live action and comparisons to the novel. Anyone who has read the book is very welcome to respond to those even if you haven't been in book club with us previously.

My hope with this proposed schedule is that we can keep discussion of the drama alive for a solid month and give it its full due. Tumblr is a crucial part of the fandom ecosystem and I want to do our part to ensure this show isn't buried. This is a complex story with so much nuance, and if we binge and forget about it in a few days, we cannot do it justice. I want to support Sang Young Park and so many others whose stories have been forced under wraps by this kind of oppression, and I would love it if you all would join me.

[55sturn]

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

(Please🙏)

✮ I CAN FEEL YOU ALL AROUND ME

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis: in which chris is consumed by his feelings for you and the hurt he feels from his confession going wrong is drowning him, while on the other side of the city, you’re suffocated by the figurative ghost of him everywhere in your apartment.

warnings: swearing, angst, slight comfort, stubborn!chris, stubborn!reader, avoidant attachment!reader, desperate!chris, kissing, mentions of violence, she/her pronouns used for the reader.

disclaimer: this is part two to this fic right here!

THIRD PERSON POV

you were stubborn. that has been a known fact since you were a tiny child, always determined to get your way while never backing down or settling for less. you were stubborn, and there was no other way to put it. everyone who has ever met would use that to describe you. someone would determined as a way to sugarcoat what they really meant, but even in doing so, the real meaning was there, lingering above the light-hearted conversation like a dark cloud.

so to absolutely no one’s surprise, you weren’t letting up on your idea to forget about chris. you wouldn’t even dare speak his name. you knew it wasn’t healthy, this whole “if i don’t think about him, he doesn’t exist.” mentality, but you needed to get over everything you felt for him, even if it meant ridding your life of nearly three years worth of memories, nearly three years of friendship. he was like a stubborn ghost, sticking around and taunting you from the depths of your apartment. his cologne lingering on your blankets and pillows, flooding your senses as you try to will yourself to sleep without thinking about his body next to yours, his quiet laugh sounding in your ears as you ramble about indiscernible nonsense as delirium clouds both your minds.

you would force yourself to toss his clothes into the box at the back of your closet, trying not to think about the memories attached to each article you find, trying not to smile softly at the memory of you wrapping his yellow zip up around your body as you stumble down the sidewalk from some party, chris somewhere behind you, his knuckles bloodied as he lays your douchebag of an ex boyfriend out unconscious on the ground, fed up with the guy’s chirping as you walk away. you will away the thoughts of chris standing above you, his face stoic, an emotion so deep that it’s unreadable storming in the blues of his eyes, darkening them as he tells you,

“i would lay my life on the fucking line for you, i would go to jail if it meant saving you.”

the cadence in which you remember him speaking in sending chills down your spine, the memory of chris timidly raising a hand, brushing your wild hair behind your ears before drawing you in and laying a gentle kiss to you forehead forcing you to shut your eyes, locking the memory in the pandora’s box of your mind.

every part of your body burned with the feeling of his touch, every crevice of your mind and your apartment were haunted by his ghost. you could feel him all around you, and it hurt to mourn someone who was still alive, to be forced to mourn someone as the consequence of your own doing.

it was beautiful, in a melancholic and twisted sort of way how you and chris were feeling the same. the two of you, more often than not, mirrored each other’s feelings. the two of you could be apart for weeks to months due to travelling, and nick would tell you how terrifying it was that he was in the exact same state you were in, even when apart.

the two of you were two sides of a mirror, both of you a reflection of the other. there was no connection quite like the one you and chris shared, you were soulmates, in this life, the next, and every life after and in between. so for his brothers to see the two of you torn apart by your own feelings, was heartbreaking.

chris was distraught, where you were avoiding him and what you felt for him, he was drowning in what he felt for you. there was no way for him to escape the torturous constant replay of the night he confessed to you in his head. he’d wake up, think about that night, he’d eat, think about that night, he’d film, think about that, and he’d fall asleep nearly in tears because there was no escaping the thoughts of you. almost every thought he formed was about you, if not all of them.

he was exhausted, he just wanted one day where he didn’t regret expressing his feelings to you, but that seemed unattainable. he knew he shouldn’t regret expressing them, because there’s nothing wrong with loving anyone, but the way you reacted made him think that he was committing a sin. he wanted to hate you for making him feel so foolish, but he couldn’t. god he could never hate someone like you. you were one of a kind in his eyes, you were the center of his universe. the very reason he changed his outlook on love, you once told him, “to be loved, is to be known.” you explained it in the sense that, to love someone is know everything about them, to know every version, is to learn to love them on their good days, their bad days, and their darkest days.

and god did he love you, he loved every version of you. he loved you in every light, every moment in time. his love for you consumed every part of his soul. for chris to be chris, was to love you.

you had gone out to some hole-in-the-wall type restaurant with your friends, hoping to ease your mind for just a few mindless hours, to forget about chris for just a fraction of your day. but when you showed up, chris was standing outside the door beside nick, completely engrossed in his phone, a blank and solemn look on his face. when you had suggested to eat at this place, it slipped your mind that chris had shown you this restaurant one night when the two of you couldn’t sleep, soon leading to it become his favourite place to eat any time he wanted to go out.

you had two options, enter the restaurant which meant passing by chris and enduring a tough conversation, or turning around and pretending like you never saw him and telling your friends something came up. but your body yearned for his tough, for the type of hug from him that warmed every part of your body, that eased the deepest parts of your heart. and it seemed like you body had a mind of its own as you took tentative steps toward the man your heart called home.

you felt your stomach stir with butterflies wanting to crawl their way up your throat, making you feel like you were going to throw up as approached the man, hoping to pass by him and make your way to your table.

“excuse me.” you mumble, your voice hoarse and unsteady as chris’ head snaps up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in almost a month.

“y/n, wha-what are you doing here?” he whispers, his fingers twitching at his sides, screaming to reach out and touch your face to prove this wasn’t a dream.

“i’m here to meet some friends but you’re blocking the door.” you sigh, your eyes looking everywhere but his face as you shift awkwardly on your feet.

“shit sorry.” he coughs, stepping to the side as you flash him an appreciative smile, quickly tugging the door open and stepping inside, immediately spotting your friends.

as you sat at the table, you couldn’t find it in you to engage in anything your friends talked about, your mind racing a mile a minute as you tried to drown out the sound of chris talking to his brothers and the feeling of his eyes boring into the back of your head. your closest friend had easily noticed the shift in your mood as the night went on, immediately connecting the dots as she met chris’ eyes across the restaurant, his face reddening as she caught him staring at the back of your head.

chris felt his heart hammering incessantly away in his chest, threatening to crack open his ribcage as he tried, so fucking hard, to keep his attention off you but he couldn’t. and who could blame him? the only girl he’s ever truly, genuinely loved, is sitting maybe fifteen to twenty feet away, and all he wants to do is talk to her, is hold her close, breathing in the sweet but oh-so comforting scent of her perfume, to tell her that things are okay.

but he couldn’t. he knew you wanted space, and he wants to respect that, and so that’s what he chooses to do, but to see you, to have you so close, yet just out of reach, is killing him, and his sense of self control is wearing thinner by the second. all logic and sound reasoning is fleeting as he fights himself internally. and as he watches you place your cash in the table and rise from your seat, he throws caution to the wind. muttering something about getting matt to cover his part of the bill and paying him back later as he hops up from his chair, quickly making his way to the door as your figure exits the building.

“y/n wait!” he pleads, his voice thick with desperation as you immediately halt your movements, his voice always compelling you to do the simplest of things as you turn to face him, your fingers wringing together as chris takes quick strides to meet you halfway.

“what do you want chris?” you mutter, your voice broken and tired as you meet his gaze, the backs of your burning with forcefully unshed tears, watching chris’ eyes dart back and forth across your faces, the whites reddening as he blinks and wills away his own set of tears.

“fuck-i can’t do this.” he exclaims, the unintentional but painful harshness of his words rolling off your back like water as you open your mouth to respond, closing it again as he beats you to talking first,

“i can’t have these, like, short, blink and you’ll miss it type moments with you for the rest of my life. i can’t. i won’t. i won’t survive only seeing you for a few minutes every few months or weeks when i least expect it. not when i know i could spend every day of the rest of my life with you by my side. it will kill me. so please y/n, give me something to work with. i love you, and i know hearing me say that scares the living shit out of you, but i’m here. i am not going anywhere. i know you’re scared of me leaving, but we haven’t talked in almost a month, and i’m still here in the same position, begging you to just let me in, to let me help you work through these fears and worries. i’ve loved every version of you, even the ones that hurt everyone around you just because you were hurting. so please y/n, just make this easier and let us learn to not be scared together.” he pleads, the tears he held back for so long finally flowing freely down his face as he carefully watches your expression, fearful of another night of rejection, but the way your eyes soften, and the ghost of the tiniest smile on your face eases his worries as you step toward him.

“okay.”

taglist: @worldlxvlys @vanteguccir @sturnioloshacker @mattscoquette @sugrhigh @bratzforchris @teapartyprincess4two @lustfulslxt @patscorner @guccifrog @muwapsturniolo @soursturniolo @solarsturniolo @sturnioloshacker @raysmayhem-72 @meanttomeet @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @freshloveee @fawnchives @cindylcuwho @freshloveforthefit @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @sturnifyed @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @hearts4chriss @evie-sturns @sturniolossss @iliketotalk @bambi-slxt @nickssidewitch @nickgetsmewetter @inkyray @jnkvivi @cdbabymp3 @christopherswife777 @certified-chrisgirl @faeriedst @bernardsbendystraws @mattscoquette

© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[izzystizzys]

“…I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand”, Fox says, for what must be the dozenth time that hour. His heartbeat pounds behind his eyes in an incessant drum of hurt, and his head aches with every breath like someone’s taken a rusty fork to the inside of his skull and raked his brain out. Fox’ eyes are beginning to burn the way they start doing around hour 80 of a shift, and he has to suppress the brief urge to check over his shoulder. Not even Stabby could come up with a ploy this contrived to make him sleep. Probably.

In front of him, General Grievous coughs awkwardly, long spindly durasteel limbs shivering with its force. “Certainly”, he vocalizes, in that deep, watery cadence. “For your glorious triumphs in battle, your awe-inspiring victory over me in close combat, and your undeniable warrior spirit, I accept you as my consort. I have proven my skills through the ritual capture, and thus, by Kaleesh custom, we are now wed, Commander Fox. I will honor you as my war-bride, and visit vengeance upon your enemies. I swear it to you.”

Expectantly, Grievous tilts his faceplate to the side, and Fox only just catches the suppression of the manic giggle that wants to escape him. Yeah, probably not Stabby - maybe a dying fever dream? Has the infected gash from that skirmish on the lower levels five rotations ago finally decided to end him? If so, it’s not fast enough for Fox’ tastes.

Here’s how it happened: Fox has no kriffing clue. All he knows is one moment an emergency alert tore him from precious Scream Closet time this morning, he went to rescue the Chancellor’s dumb ass again, and whoop, here he is on General Grievous’ ship with the war-criminal himself declaring them happily married. And eyeing him up and down like a piece of candy.

Why, Fox thinks, desperately, does this always have to happen to me?!

Chancellor’s still kidnapped, by the way. Fox has other priorities for the time being.

“I swear to aim my weapons in your service”, Grievous continues, when it becomes exceedingly clear Fox is not going to break out of his shocked stupor anytime soon. “I swear to aim true and strike with murderous intent, I swear to uphold the sacred bonds of our clans in the name of our union, I swear to raise a strong, bloodthirsty brood of warriors with-“

“Wait”, Fox interrupts, once his brain has caught up past the astromech dial-up sound it seems to be playing on repeat. “Uphold clan bonds? You murder your way through my brothers like a rabid nexu on spice on the regular!”

Grievous’ faceplate, which should be for all intents and purposes totally expressionless, does something that reminds Fox strangely of contrition. It has him gaping and shivering in discomfort, in any case. “A fact I regret, but acknowledge lies in my past before the fateful crossing of our paths. I am a warrior at soul, you must understand, my worthy mate.” Durasteel faceplates don’t turn soft. They don’t. And coughs don’t sound loving. They simply do not. “But I uphold the bonds of these sacred vows under Kaleesh law, that I swear to you, my beloved.”

“All I did was grapple you to the ground”, Fox says, mourningly. “Cody has kicked you in the head dozens of times and you’ve never tried to marry him.”

“He is not you, and his battle lacks the lustful vitality and love of violence of yours”, Grievous declares, and Fox really cannot tell whether the sound that erupts from him is a lovelorn sigh or a hacking death-gurgle. This cannot be his life.

Just then, a droid conveniently enters, putting a pause to all Fox’ sufferings. He’ll need to tell Thorn to research Kaleesh divorce proceedings. Or, better yet - he needs to blow up this whole karking ship including himself and destroy all evidence of this ever happening.

“Generals Kenobi and Skywalker awaiting in custody, Sir”, says the droid, nervously. “They are here to rescue Chancellor Palpatine, but we cut them off just out of the hangar bay.”

Internally, Fox rolls his eyes so hard it hurts his brain. “The Jedi can wait”, Grievous hacks out, and for once Fox agrees with him. Let the two dick around onboard, there’s bigger issues at hand.

“But Sir”, says the droid, all twitchy with an anxiety Fox eternally wonders who the kriff programmed into the damn things, “what if they try to escape and -“

A deep, growling noise erupts from deep within Grievous’ massive metal chest, amplifying Fox’ pounding headache by a thousandfold. “I have no time for this”, he snarls at the cowering droid. “Remove yourself from my and mine beloved’s sight.”

“Roger Roger”, the B2 squeaks, hesitantly, before adding on - “The Chancellor-“

Harrumphing petulantly, Grievous stomps one massive, clawed foot and makes what feels like the whole viewdeck shake. “I will twist his head off his body like a rotten fruit”, he declares. “That will get those pesky Jedi off my ship faster, and then we can continue saying our vows.” He pauses, thoughtfully, and then hooded eyes ringed by what must surely be rotten flesh fix on Fox inexorably. “It will be my wedding gift to you, beloved, an offering of peace to your brothers.”

Fox opens his mouth to protest, but quickly snaps it shut again when his husband already turns tail and storms off.

Huh. Maybe this marriage thing isn’t all bad.

[nhlclover]

𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 | 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

summary: you return to your small hometown for the winter holidays, encountering your high school boyfriend, luke.

warnings: maybe the tiniest bit of angst, kissing

a/n: based on ‘tis the damn season’ by taylor swift. genuinely one of my favourite things i've written

word count: 1.49k

In your small hometown, the snow fell softly, blanketing the streets and rooftops in a pristine white. It was that time of the year when the air was filled with the scent of pine and the merry sound of classic Christmas carols came from every small shop that lined the streets. Among the locals, there was a sense of anticipation and excitement, but for you, returning to your hometown for the holidays brought a mix of emotions.

You had moved away right after high school, desiring more in life than what your hometown could’ve offered you. When summer had ended, you moved to LA, finding your way in the busy city. The fast-paced lifestyle and bright city lights drew you in and you knew that this was the place for you.

Being in school as well as working a job there, you found yourself not coming home throughout your four years of undergrad, but rather your parents coming to visit a couple of times throughout the years. There wasn’t much of a reason to come to your hometown. The only reason you ever liked home was a non-factor now. You hadn’t heard from him since the day you left.

But now, freshly graduated and working as a freelance photographer, you’re finding yourself overcome with a sudden wave of nostalgia, pining for the comfort of a small town. You let your parents know, booking a flight home for the winter holidays.

Now that you’re back home, you feel a bittersweet sentiment about it. Every familiar spot in town carried a memory that you unconsciously buried long ago.

Walking down the main street, you window shopped, admiring all the festive decorations and knick-knacks they were selling. You dipped into the familiar coffee shop, a small business run by the family of one of your former classmates. You go to the front counter, admiring the case of pastries in front of you.

The bell above the door rings as someone steps in, letting in a cold burst of air. You shiver as it hits it, pulling your coat tighter around your body.

“Hey Corey, how’s it going?”

The voice was unmistakable, as your gaze shifted to the right, revealing Luke's tall silhouette. While the years had subtly etched maturity into his features, his voice retained its distinctive cadence. The unexpected reunion prompted a shiver, exacerbated by the cold burst of air coming from the door opening.

Luke looked at the figure next to him staring at him, surprised to see your face. You were possibly the last person he would’ve expected to see. He would’ve been less surprised to see the Pope standing next to him.

“Y-y/n.” Luke says.

“Hey, Luke,” you replied, a genuine smile on your lips. The exchange hung momentarily in the air, both of you acknowledging the unexpected nature of the encounter. “It’s good to see you.”

It took Luke a second to respond, still a little stunned by seeing you back home. “Yeah, yeah it’s good to see you too.” He says, eyeing your outfit. “You look good.”

Your clothing was an indication of the years that had gone by, now wearing clothing he never would’ve imagined being in your closet. The only semblance of the girl he once knew was in your scarf. The rainbow colour block scarf was a familiar garment for Luke as he was the one who had bought it for you, long ago when you celebrated Christmas together.

“Thank you, so do you.” You smile. “You’re not a teenager anymore, you’re actually like a man now.”

Luke chuckles, the smile on your face sends a rush of warmth through his veins. Even though he'd told himself and others that he had moved on, seeing you now it was clear that you never quite move on from your first love.

“You got a minute to spare? I’d love to sit down and catch up.” You say.

Luke doesn’t hesitate to agree, even paying for your peppermint hot chocolate as he remembered how much you loved it. The two of you sit down by the window, Luke asking the first question.

“What are you doing back here?” He asks you.

You furrowed your brows, chuckling lightly. “It is the holidays, Luke.” You say.

“That hasn’t been a reason for you before.” He shrugs.

You let his somewhat spiteful comment roll off your shoulders, instead choosing to reply sincerely. “Missed home. Wanted to come back and visit for a bit.”

Sitting here, across from your high school boyfriend, the memories flood back. You remember being attached at the hip, spending as much time together as your parents would let you. You would go to nearly every home game, sitting with his parents and cheering from the stands.

He was nearly constant made occupied by hockey, but he still managed to make time for the two of you, staying up till the early hours of the morning talking on the phone if that was the only option.

As the minutes passed, the years faded, and for a moment you felt like you were back in high school, navigating the awkwardness of young love. The conversation unfolded, revealing the divergent paths taken since your last encounter.

“Now I’m playing in New Jersey with Jack.” He tells you.

“No way!” You say. When you and Luke were in high school, he always told you it was his dream to eventually play with at least one of his brothers. Seeing that one of his dreams had become a reality, you feel a rush of pride for him.

“Yeah.” Luke smiles. “It’s such a cool city. And the guys are great. Once upon a time, you would’ve gotten along so well with one of the guys Dawson.”

You scoff. “What do you mean once upon a time?”

“Well, I think high school you would’ve gotten along with Dawson. You guys are both goofy and make jokes at inappropriate times… But now I’m not so sure.” Luke explains. “I think you’ve changed.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. You hadn’t changed…had you?

“I have not changed.” You argue. “Plus, it’s been four years since we last saw each other. You don’t know me anymore.”

A confident smile forms on Luke’s face. “Oh please. I can still read you like an open book.”

You shake your head, although you know that’s probably true.

“C’mon, I wanna take you somewhere.” Luke says, getting up and putting his jacket back on.

You don’t question him, instead putting your coat and scarf back on, the scarf you’d come to remember had in fact been a gift from Luke long ago. You get in his car, a fancy new BMW he’d purchased with his new contract, and head down the backroads of your hometown.

Eventually, Luke pulls into the familiar parking lot of the Methodist church that sits right beside your high school, disturbing the pristine blanket of white snow that covered it.

“Prove to me you haven’t changed.” Luke says.

He gets out, standing in the headlights of the car. You question what he’s doing as he’s suddenly down on the ground and you can no longer see him. You get out and go to the front of the car, seeing Luke on the ground making a snow angel.

You let out a hearty laugh at the 6’2” boy making a snow angel in front of you, snow flying around him as he swiped it away.

“The old y/n would’ve beat me to it.” He teases, sweeping the snow aside using his limbs.

You get down to the ground, beginning to copy Luke's motions. You ignore your leggings beginning to become drenched from the snow, as well as the possible damage beginning to develop on your leather jacket. A giggle escapes your lips as the falling snowflakes land on your cheeks. Luke joins in on your laughter, the joint melodic sound echoing in the parking lot.

A few moments later, the pair of you stand up to admire your snow angels, although you realize they don’t look much like anything. You spin and face Luke who is now only inches away.

“I haven’t changed at all.” You say softly.

Luke turns to you, admiring the way snowflakes sat delicately on your hair and eyelashes. Your rosy cheeks were a sign of the cold that Luke had yet to really notice he was feeling. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of your shared past and the beauty of the falling snow, Luke instinctively leans in.

His lips are so familiar to you, it’s as if the last four years of separation had never happened. Luke's cold fingers find your face, gently cupping it as yours grip onto his coat, holding him for balance.

As they stood there, back in each other's embrace beneath the gentle snowfall, it became clear that some things, no matter how much time had passed, were meant to find their way back to each other.

[lostreverb]

sent from above

(kai anderson x reader) in where you try to make your boyfriend's day a little sweeter

content: angst, use of knives (nothing crazy)

a/n: kai brainrot + maternal instincts combo goes crazyyyy

--

You sit on Winter's bed, watching as she sifts through boxes from her closet.

"You really do like my brother, don't you?..." She says with a solemn cadence.

You nod. "I do."

With a sigh, Winter hands you a faded piece of paper. It feels delicate, like it might crumble in your hands. "This is it…"

You trace the faded cursive carefully. "I won't tell him. I'll say I found it while cleaning. Thank you so much Winter."

"Uh- Yeah, no problem. Just… remember that he’s—"

"I know."

For weeks, Kai's paranoia has been ramping up, and you wanted to do something—anything—that might ground him, even briefly. So you'd gone to Winter, asking if she still had one of her mother's old recipes.

As anything was with Kai, this was a risk. This gesture could easily be turned against you; he might even accuse you of using his mother’s memory to manipulate him.

But for some reason you don't care.

--

Later, you're plating the dish when you hear the heavy clomp of combat boots, quickening as they approach, then coming to an abrupt stop.

"Perfect timing." You look up at your boyfriend and smile, holding the dish up slightly. "I made something for you."

Kai slowly walks to you, silent, calculating. He steps close—so close there’s barely space between you, with only the plate in your hands separating you.

"Apple Pie. The all-american dessert." Your words come out in a low murmur.

"Correct." He flicks open his pocket knife, carving off a bite and balancing it on the blade. "Open."

You part your lips instinctively, and he guides the piece to your mouth. As you bite down, the sweetness of the pastry mingles with a faint metallic tang from the knife's edge. Kai pulls it back with a slow precision, leaving a sharp taste lingering amid the warm notes of apple and spice.

Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he turns the knife around, offering the handle to you. His eyes hold yours, dark and watchful, as you take it and mirror his gesture, bringing a piece to his lips. He leans forward, just enough to take the bite. As the familiar taste hits him, there's a shift—a crack in his steely facade. And for a split second, you see the boy he used to be, before everything turned dark.

Without a word, he raises a hand, a silent command for his guards to leave. They exchange glances but obey, slipping out of the kitchen.

Now, it’s just the two of you, alone.

He speaks in a whisper, but each word drips with a mix of wonder and suspicion. “She sent you… didn’t she?”

The words hang in the silence, and for a moment, his intense gaze softens, his brow knitting as if he’s trying to make sense of what he’s just said. “I knew it,” he breathes. “I knew she…”

He pauses, staring at you with a vulnerable intensity you've never seen before, like he's fighting to believe in something beyond his hardened reality. It's as if he's convinced that his late mother, somehow, some way, has sent you into his life—an angel, perhaps, to guide him, to protect him from the shadows he can't escape. The idea fills him with a fierce, quiet hope. His mistrust, his paranoia, all of it seems to melt away as he stares at you, searching for some sign, some proof of his mother.

You set the plate carefully on the counter behind you, keeping your movements slow and gentle, as if any sudden motion might startle him. Stepping forward, you raise your arms and slide them around him, feeling the tension that coils through his frame. Your hands find their way to his back, moving in soothing, slow circles, the warmth of your touch grounding him.

At first, he stiffens, caught off-guard by the unexpected embrace, his arms remaining at his sides. But gradually, as your hands continue their gentle rhythm along his back, he softens against you, letting the rigidity melt away. His shoulders drop, and you feel the faint rise and fall of his breath, a steadying rhythm that seems to settle him, little by little. Your touch is careful, maternal—each motion reassuring, as if you’re somehow reaching into the lonely places he’s kept hidden, places starved of comfort.

You press your cheek lightly against his shoulder, and the silence stretches between you, filled with a sense of calm that seems almost foreign to him. You can sense him leaning into the embrace, accepting the warmth you offer, maybe even craving it, though he would never say so.

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx @oceanblvd111 @andiloveher @vi0l3tgard3ns

[sugoi-writes]

Alastor with a reader who tries on his suit jacket and mimics him in a mirror ( I feel like this nut has a closet filled with the same clothes) and gets caught by him? I’d have to shoot myself if this happened to me but I want to feel the embarrassment radiating off the reader. (He finds it cute tho—phew!)

🍻D runk Danny Asks 🍻

Ahah, same warnings as before!

❤️❤️❤️

You poised in the mirror with your hands on your hips: Superwoman style. You heard that this was a pose that could actually boost confidence if you repeated this action daily... some sort of positive-reinforcement via brain chemistry. But, your train of thought was cut off as you did a giddy little twirl.

You fanned out the longer coat tails of Alastor's coat, marveling the split that made room for his fluffy tail. You squirmed at the thought of seeing it wag, but you controlled yourself. You grabbed a hair brush off of Alastor's nightstand, posing like you had a microphone to your lips.

"Salutations~ Good to be back on the air!" You attempted in your best transatlantic accent. You snorted, fanning your face as you shrunk in on yourself," Hells, that was bad!"

You pretended to lean on your imaginary cane, a hand to your chest as you belted out," Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, QUITE the pleasure! Have you heard of my podcast~?"

"As a matter of fact, I have~" You froze as a slow clap came from the doorway, a shit eating grin on the Radio Demon's face," Dare I say, I'm a huge fan of yours~" He perfectly mimicked your voice, a slight static over the intonation of your cadence. You squeaked as Alastor strode towards you, eyes filled with a prideful glee.

"Dear, if you really wanted to impersonate me... you should really do something about this posture!" Back to his normal tone, you nearly shrieked as Alastor's hands grabbed your hips. He angled them back slightly as he kissed the crown of your head. His hands slid up your body, making you gasp and writhe between them and their wake. He took hold of your wrists, hands loose but firm in their grip. The both of you looked into the mirror, your face warm at the sight of Alastor towering over you.

"Much better, dear... much better~" he practically purred in your ear, your breath becoming a distant thought. You had effectively forgot how to breathe. And Alastor would have been content with the teasing... if your hips didn't meet his own.

"I wonder... how do you sound when you moan my name...?"

You gasp as Alastor ground against your ass, a shocked mewl escaping you.

"Let's find out~"

[cherryredstars]

OH MY GOD REQUESTS ARE OPEN💃🏾💃🏾

gosh cherry i love you and your blog sm it makes my day😭

could i please have a college or highschool au where reader studies subjects like social science and business and literature and he does stem subjects and he at first has like a superiority complex, he doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help it, until he sees the reader like talk about social issues or how she can remember 17 step procedures and shit and he’s like…wow. maybe they can be together and he sees her pretend to teach people to learn and he’s learning stuff from her and it’s wholesome asf

god i don’t know i’m sorry im rambling😭😭 you don’t have to ofc but thank you anyway

and again, love you!!

Thank you, love!!!

He's the smartest person he knows.

It's not narcissistic if it's a fact. He's the top of his major program, already has offers for Ph.D programs nationwide mailed to his door. He's sure to get into any genetics department he wants for grad school. He's the star of the industry-path students. He's just that good, and what's the harm in taking pride in your accomplishments?

But he's never met someone like you before.

Usually he wouldn't care for people like you, with their abstract liberal art degrees in nonsense majors that'll just collect dust in a box in an attic somewhere. But there is something so enduring about you, about everything you do. The way you just know what people are thinking based on the twitch of their fingers and why they think it. The way you're so open to everything in a way that would make his lab buddies laugh with their one-way minds. It amazes him, the way your view is so wide in a way that something like genetics or STEM can't comprehend. In a way they don't allow. There is something so breath-taking about the way your mind has this endless freedom that he can't even grasp. Like a kaleidoscope of colors that are simultaneously beautiful and overwhelming to the senses. Something his factual mind craves.

The first time he had seen you, he was in the library. It isn't a place he would usually go to, but he had to collect some textbooks for his professor in the storage closet. He had gotten in a bit of trouble that day for taking so long, but how could he resist when he had heard the sweet cadence of your voice through the open door of a mini-lecture room. Very few students were in the room, it looked like a side presentation; one of those assignments that forced students to present their ideas on a topic to a group of people to try to captivate them into agreeing with your findings. There was a sort of fiery passion in the way you spoke, a hardened steel in your eyes that showed your resistance to back down. It was... enchanting, siren-like. So much so that he had been forced to sit in one of the empty seats in the back of the room, eyes stuck on you as you paced the front of class and rebutted comments from your peers.

He had no idea what you were talking about, but it still had that overwhelming effect on him. One that had him pressing the surface of his stomach against the hard edge of the lecture tables, his senses honing in to hear every last syllable that departed from your lips. There was this dream-like quality to you, something that consumed the mind and made them listen. A sort of intelligence that he would never know or understand. One that he would spend hours trying to learn if you were the one explaining it. He can't remember how long it took for him to start breathing again when your eyes scanned the room and locked onto him, clear confusion on your face at the random presence of college's most-awarded student. He could feel his heart bursting against his ribs, mouth parting slightly from the honor to be the center of your attention for even a few seconds before you looked away and carried on.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like the smartest person in the world. Not when you left him absolutely stupefied.

[madaqueue]

Pretty Girl (fem!Choso)

pairing: fem!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: choso gets turned into a girl for a day, established relationship, use of he/him and she/her for choso. language, smut. pet names (baby), light nipple play (f!choso receiving), fingering (f!choso receiving), oral (f!choso receiving). 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.4k

a/n: heavily inspired by this post of fem!gojo which has been living in my mind since the day i read it! wrote this instead of the last chapter of the series please forgive me :)

Standing in the kitchen, your hands are damp from the sink water as you wash dishes, awaiting your boyfriend’s return. Glancing over at the oven clock, he should be home any minute; he’d been away on a mission for the past few days and you wanted your shared apartment to be tidy for him, with fresh roses sitting on the counter and his favorite cookies cooling on the stove.

The lock jiggles behind you and you hear the door swing open.

“Welcome home, Cho-” you start before the words stall. Turning around, your eyes immediately went to the height you expected to meet your boyfriend at, yet he wasn’t there. As your gaze travels down, it lands on someone who is definitively not him.

In front of you stands a girl, around Choso’s age, with the same tied up black hair, tattoo running across the bridge of her nose, in the same clothes he left in. She looked…almost exactly like him?

“Choso?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.

An abashed grin forms on her face, one hand raising slightly in an awkward wave. “Hi, baby,” she says.

Her voice is light and airy, something inherently polite to it. Her cadence is an exact match of your boyfriend’s, using the pet name he knows you love when he calls you, it feels all too familiar. Your eyes continue to run over her, noting that even the way she carries herself is the same with her shoulders slightly slumped, head lazily hanging to the side.

It couldn’t be, right?

As your mouth opens slightly in bewilderment, she moves towards you, sliding her too-big shoes into the same spot in front of the entryway closet Choso always uses. When she’s finally an arm’s length away from you, you suddenly recognize the scent hanging on her: Choso’s cologne, the woody musk that smells like coming home.

“What…what happened?” you stammer out.

She laughs nervously. “Um, you know that curse I was sent to fight?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Well…it kind of did…this,” she gestures her hands down her body.

“So, you’re a girl?”

“Seems like it” she shrugs. “Shoko is working on a way to fix it, and Gojo said she should be ready by tomorrow, but until then I guess I’m stuck in this body.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re home,” you smile.

Something about this sweet, feminine version of your boyfriend gives you butterflies. While you love his strength, his body, his masculinity, he suddenly feels so small, so soft, in your arms.

As she leans into you, Choso winces.

“You okay?” you ask, concern in your voice as you pull away.

“Yeah, just um…” he’s quick to explain, a blush forming across his cheeks, “sensitive.”

Cocking your head to the side, you try to understand the sentence. Your eyes roam her body until they land on the likely suspect: her tits. They jut slightly into the fabric of her purple robes, and you can make out the outline of her firm nipples through it.

“You poor thing,” you coo, reaching your hands out to her chest. You palm her breasts, pillowy in your hands as your thumbs trace her nipples. “Sensitive here?”

Her eyebrows crease in pleasure as her teeth bite down on her lower lip, attempting to stifle a moan. “Mhm,” she manages to choke out.

You watch her hands move down her front, landing on her lower abdomen as she paws over her clothes in discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, worry lacing your voice as your fingers slow their paths over her chest.

“Feels weird…” she mumbles, beginning to massage herself with her fingertips.

Understanding clicks in your mind as you recall the familiar physical sensation. “Aw, Cho,” you purr, one hand tracing down her stomach before landing on her inner thigh, working slowly up between her legs, “are you turned on?”

“N-no,” she stammers, cheeks flushing.

Your fingers slip into his underwear, the now-loose boxers Choso had packed for his trip, and glide one finger up his slick folds.

She shudders at the sensation, arms reaching out to latch onto your shoulders for stability as her eyes slam shut.

“You’re so wet,” you mutter in awe, almost to yourself, as you continue tracing up her cunt.

A soft whine escapes her lips, and you think it has to be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. Choso’s sounds were always music to your ears, hearing how his deep voice strained through pleasure, but this was something else. Her voice came out light, sweet and smooth like honey.

It was a sound you needed to hear again.

A devious smile appears on your lips as you pull your hand away, eliciting another whine from her at the sudden lack of stimulation.

“Do you want me to help you feel better?” you ask, placing a hand under her chin and tilting her head up so she’s looking at you.

Those sweet puppy dog eyes meet yours as she looks up at you through long eyelashes, an innocent desperation on her face. “Yes, please,” she nods.

“Of course, baby,” you smile, excitement building inside you as you grab her hand and lead her to the bedroom.

Your hands make their way to her skin, parting the robes over her abdomen as you guide her clothes off. Simultaneously her hands go to you, the softness of her fingertips tingling your skin as she helps you undress.

Finally bare in front of you, your eyes roam her body. Her perfectly-sized tits perk against her chest, her smaller frame with soft edges lining every curve, everything about her is absolutely flawless. A smile forms on your face at the sight, gently leaning forward to place your lips against hers as you take her hand.

Seating yourself on the bed, your back against the headboard and your legs out in front of you, you pull him into your lap, straddling your waist.

“You look so pretty,” you muse as you look up at her, the gentle curve of her jawline, her black bangs loosely covering her softened eyes.

He blushes above you, ears reddening at your kind words as your hands make their way to his waist.

“Okay,” you breathe to yourself, heart beating in anticipation. Reaching out a hand hesitantly, you gather the slick that’s pooled at her entrance and slide it along her. Your thumb finds her clit, brushing circles against the sensitive bud.

As soon as you do she throws her head forward, resting against your shoulder as her eyes close in pleasure.

“That feel good?” you ask through a breathy chuckle.

You feel her nod shakily against your body as you continue your motion.

Moving your fingers down you hover over her entrance, feeling her clench around nothing as the heat in her core builds.

“Please,” she whimpers against your skin, hips rutting down, desperate to feel you inside her.

Normally you’d tease him, make him beg for your touch until he’s on the brink of tears before giving into his desires, but right now both of you need this more than you care to admit.

Slowly sliding one finger into her, she lets out an airy moan, her cunt tight around you.

“Fuck, s’like your suckin’ me in,” you observe quietly, words you had heard Choso murmur into your ear before as he would slide his cock into you. Something about feeling how badly she wants you, hell, needs you, has that familiar heat pooling in your stomach.

Your fingers curl up into her, searching for the same spot that makes you see stars. When she lets out a choked “Fuck,” you know you’ve found it, pounding into her gummy walls with your fingertips. His hips begin moving above you, grinding imprecisely against your hand.

“You want more, baby?”

“Mhm,” she strains as she buries her head into the crook of your neck.

Complying, you slide another finger into her, making her legs shudder at the added thickness.

Finding a rhythm as she rides your fingers, your eyes are drawn upward to her tits, bouncing lightly in front of you. You part your lips, sticking your tongue out to circle around her nipple before placing it into your mouth.

He lets out a choked cry, and you feel his pussy begin clenching around your fingers.

“I - ah,” she whines, “feels weird again.”

You separate from her chest for a moment to comfort her. “It’s okay, just relax, let yourself cum for me,” you hum before latching your lips back onto her hardened bud.

She melts at your words, losing herself in the pleasure of your touch as she comes undone.

Letting out a moan, his body begins to shake as his cunt flutters around your fingers. She curls herself forward into your body, grabbing onto any part of you she can find as she digs into your skin, your warmth the only thing tethering her to reality as her vision goes black.

Your fingers slow as you coax her through her orgasm, holding her tightly against you. His breathing is ragged as he shifts to look you in the eyes, gaze full of awe. Her soft pink lips are parted as she pants, pupils blown wide in lust.

Pulling your fingers out of her cunt, you lift them to your mouth, placing them inside to lick her essence off them. As your tongue moves over your digits, a moan rumbles in your throat at her taste.

“God, you taste so sweet,” you whisper, a desire for more building in you.

If his mind wasn’t so clouded with the pure ecstasy you just brought him he would be more embarrassed, but all he can do now is give you a sweet, fucked-out grin. She leans down, lips messily landing against yours as she kisses you. Her tongue enters your mouth, the taste of her lingering on yours as they imprecisely meld.

Everything about her is impossibly soft, even the way she sloppily kisses you, her delicate hands moving to hold your jaw as her thumbs trace your cheeks. When she pulls away, a thin trail of saliva connects your lips as her gaze focuses on you.

Unsure of how to ask for what you deeply want, you mumble, “Choso?”

“Mhm?” he hums, still struggling to process his words.

“Could you…” you trail off, “could you sit on my face?”

Without a second of hesitation, she answers. “Okay,” she breathes, her glassy eyes lazily roaming your face.

At this moment, he doesn’t fucking care what you want to do - he’ll do anything if he gets to feel how he just felt; you can use him in any way your sweet mind can come up with if it means he gets to cum like that again. Right now, he is yours.

Trying to hide your surprise at her agreement, you nod, shifting down in the bed so you’re laying on your back, granting her enough space above your head. She settles in on top of you, gripping onto the top of the headboard as your hands make their way to her hips hovering just beyond your face.

Pulling him down, he slowly lowers himself onto your tongue, his taste making you shudder in excitement as you lick up him.

“Fuck,” she sighs out, biting down on her hand to silence her cries.

You shake your head into her core in disapproval. “Wanna hear you,” you mutter, breath hot against her.

She adjusts quickly, allowing her mouth to hang open as your tongue resumes its motion. You roughly circle his clit, gently sucking on it as he whimpers above you.

Choso was always vocal, but there is something so angelic about the sounds he’s making as he writhes above you, the shocked gasps and moans leaving his lips nearly enough to make you finish without even feeling his touch.

As you continue working her with your mouth, she begins bucking her hips irregularly, desperate for more. You bring a thumb down to her clit again, pressing rough circles into the sensitive bundle. All of your motions are ones you learned from Choso, and your chest warms knowing they affect him the same way they do you.

“So - a-ah - so good,” he whimpers, hips beginning to stutter as he approaches his release.

His entire body feels light as you moan into his wetness, your grip on his skin tightening to prevent him from floating away into bliss.

Another whine leaves her lips, sensing white hot flames prick at her stomach, the familiar sensation spreading through her body. “I-I’m gonna-”

Before she can get out the rest of her words, her entire body is racked in shivers as she loses herself on your tongue. Her juices flow down your chin as you desperately try to lap up every ounce, low groans vibrating against her cunt. Your name tumbles out of her lips between her cries of pleasure, her voice light through uneven breaths.

As she comes down from her high, her legs finally give out and she falls next to you in bed, completely spent. Your eyes meet her half-lidded ones, unfocused; her mouth hangs open, drool threatening to pool in the corner as she stares lovingly up at you.

Reaching a hand out, you stroke her arm, Choso shuddering at the touch. Her hair is now a complete mess, buns almost entirely undone as pieces fall around her head into the pillow, forming a small halo around her.

“Well?” you hum, leaning up to press a kiss to her flushed cheeks. “Do you feel better?”

A lazy grin tugs at one corner of his mouth as he nods, body numb in ecstasy.

“Good,” you smile, “I’m glad I could help.”

He cuddles up to you, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles his head into your neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “thanks for lovin’ me no matter what I look like.”

You reach a hand around to the back of her head, gently taking out the buns and running your hands through her hair, slowly carding her black locks through your fingers and you swear you could hear her practically purr against your skin.

“Baby, I’ll always love you,” you wrap your leg around his waist to pull him closer. “You’ll always be my Choso.”

You fall asleep holding him, knowing you will love him, every version of him, forever.

[uchu-no-bashira]

𝔅𝔢𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯 - Gyomei x Fem!BlackReader

Authors Note: I’m fixating. Send help.

TW: Minors Do Not Interact. Consensual sex between two business adults.

Maybe it was the way that his shirt squeezed his deltoids, or the way the thin fabric cradled the biceps on his arms. You stopped making excuses for why you’d go in his office to see him a long time ago, bringing him his nth coffee that you both knew he wasn’t going to drink. You picked up that… Maybe he just wanted you around, since he never complained despite the x amount of full cups on his desk, but that’s just y’all’s little secret.

For him, it was your pencil skirt, the way it hugged your curvy thighs almost majestically. It’s not like he couldn’t envision your robust outline - one he’d grown accustom to around the office since you were the “Vice President’s little helper.”

Or, Maybe it was the tone of your honeyed voice when you offered him things. “Here’s your coffee with no creamer, Himejima-san.”

God how he loved that sound. So much so, that today was the day he took a particular interest in why and how you sounded as divine as you did. One thing led to another, and he politely told you;

“Don’t ever stop speaking to me. You sound so beautiful.”

As if you could speak.

How could you? What with the bearable stretch tearing the formulation of words clean from your throat.

Heavy, stifled breaths dwindles the amount of time you have before hypoxia kicks in, or maybe you were just giddy from the pang of your g-spot being imposed on over and over as your nails grip the fabric of his dress shirt.

Your mind is spinning, apparent from the way your body leans back against the wooden shelves rocking behind you, your gasps and moans bouncing off the walls of the broom closet as the clatter of metal cans on the polished flooring warrants a shared gasp.

Gyomei slowed his pace for half a second, his finger pressing against your thick kissers while listening to the sound of determined heels clicking outside of the door. He sheathes himself deeper, pushing the air out of your lungs while pulling your knee up and away from the cleaning supplies.

“Has anyone seen Himejima? What about that new intern?! Where the hell is everyone?! I needed my iced latte and newly trained staff members yesterday!”

Shinobu shouts, veins rippling around the side of her forehead before she lets out a frustrated groan and continues past the solid wood door with the “Please use other closet” sign swaying slowly.

Once the footsteps fade, Gyomei removes his finger from your maw, chuckling softly at the way you sucked and hummed against it desperately. He tucks his forearm behind your other knee, pulling your legs further apart and angling his hips enough to make you whine in pleasure.

“Shhh.. We’ll get in trouble if you’re too loud.” He teases, squeezing your thighs tighter the closer you get to your limit.

Soon, the sound of panting fills the room as shelves beat in cadence with desperate moans, your left high heel dangles from the tip of your toes as composure slips free, you give in to your body’s carnal need for pleasure and allow him as deep as he can go.

The pit of your stomach flutters, sending a heat through each muscle, each tendon, each nerve. A high pitched squeal squeezes through your voice box, the back of your legs clench his forearms as your thighs vibrate against him.

A deep, guttural moan vibrates against your ear and the sensation of heat pooling in your stomach makes you shudder. Trails of white trickle between the two of you and drip onto the marble floor, leaving a mess for the janitorial crew to clean later…

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Not All "Victors" are Gold, Some are Silver

Solomon x GN! reader

Summary: Everyone grieves differently. Instead of grieving properly, Solomon spirals after losing you and does the unthinkable to bring you back.

AN: It's Ween time, folks! Whoop whoop! I've had this idea for awhile since I've been rereading Frankenstein (my fave), so I've been working on this for the spooky day. Idk Victor Frankenstein kinda reminded me of Solomon... So, here we are, lol. Do enjoy and have a happy Halloween! 🎃👻

Warnings: dark themes, Solomon pulls a Victor Frankenstein, lots of angst, mentions of gore, blood, nausea and vomiting, grief and loss, death, maybe slightly yandere?, ambiguous ending... I think that's it :)

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, Solomon?” his own voice reaches his ears in a strained and solemn whisper. Denial gnaws at his nerves while dread worms its way into his heart where a sense of longing had burrowed before.

It’s all so mundane and quiet, and yet, the overwhelm in his mind makes him hyperaware of everything within the walls that seem to be slowly closing in on him. Back and forth, his stirring makes the murals of neglected cobwebs in the highest corners sway from the subtle breeze. The rushed taps of his soles on hardwood fall out of time with the infernal ticking of his many clocks. He can even hear the flick of his cloak that follows in his restless agitation and the pulsating of his pumping blood as he presses his palms over his ears – growing louder and louder, it’s all too much!

His bloodshot eyes dart around to loose scattered pages, most of which are piled on top of his desk while some have long fallen to the floor. What had been his life’s work for the past five years and had once been intelligible to him was now indecipherable. Or at least he wishes it was. He moves quicker than he can comprehend towards his desk, tears welling in his eyes as he shouts in anger.

“I’m a fool! Why did I do this?!” In one fell swoop, he clears the desktop, and the rest of the pages with anatomical diagrams, alchemic symbols, and maps full of red markings fall to the floor. In another, tools of the surgical kind clang against the floorboards, making flies that had gathered to feed from the drying bloodstains jump and buzz about.

Solomon doesn’t want his research to make sense. He should’ve let it go instead of selfishly clinging to the desperation to bring back what once was. None of it feels real. It’s like he’d done all of it in his sleep only to wake up to a nightmare of his own creation.

The pitter patter of tears dropping and soaking into the wood of the desk is the only sound that accompanies the ticking now. His Adam’s apple bobs in his attempt to swallow down the burn of holding back more. Curses and names are thrown around in his head looking for someone to blame; someone that had to have noticed his decline, someone that should’ve intervened, someone that should’ve known what he was up to. Though he knows it’s a ridiculous pursuit. Solomon had hid himself away with plans only the mind of the genius – or the bothered – would entertain, refusing to confide in his closest friends of the awful state he was in. He has no one to blame but himself.

With a slow pivot, Solomon turns in the direction of where the result of his madness lies, glaring at the blurred outline of his locked closet. Even though it’s only on the opposite side of the room, the dim lighting makes the closet seem to brood miles away from him, reminding him of the millions of miles his eternity has forced him to endure and the lessons he’s learned along the way. Although this time, he’ll be walking towards his punishment for a lesson that should’ve been learned long ago.

A sigh escapes his lips as he pushes off while wiping his eyes with the back his shirt sleeve. His steps keep their normal confident cadence, but the muffled sounds from behind the door create a storm within that almost forces him to falter. A queasy, sickly feeling squeezing at his gut. He reaches into his pocket for the key as he approaches, pulling it out once he’s right in front of the door. With a hard swallow, he inserts the key, twisting slowly until he hears the “click.” Solomon, before losing what little courage he’s retained through this ordeal, grips the cold doorknob and turns it. The slight creak from the hinges is the last thing he hears before the light pours in to let him gaze upon his work.

There, kneeling on the floor with thick, clunky chains fastened around boney wrists and ankles is his greatest love and greatest loss – you.

He took every liberty in giving you a vessel that mirrored your living one. Though due to late harvesting of your already buried body, most of “your” parts had to be taken from other sources, all “ethically procured” from those who had freshly departed. Solomon figured they didn’t need their useless limbs more than he did to rebuild you. He wishes he could feel pride upon seeing you living freely and healthily, but all he can manage is despair as he takes in your rot and decay.

The scratches you gave him on the night of your reanimation hidden beneath his shirt seem to burn in the wake of seeing his blood and skin caked under your fingernails. His eyes lock onto yours that are so cloudy and pale, and lack a certain twinkle of the living. He smells the sick, rotting flesh that crawls and spiderwebs along muscles that tense under the weight of the chains. And he despairs at the visible pumping organ in your chest that doesn’t resonate with the sound he used to listen to before…

Before you left him.

It all hits Solomon too quickly and he falls to his knees, retching violently. The contents of his stomach are spilled onto the floor, and he tilts his head up between heaves to watch you merely blink in indifference to his misery. This isn’t you. He knows because you lack the humanity you would’ve shown him in a moment like this. But in bringing you back, he’s taken away that part of you – and it’s something he can’t sew on or replace. There’s a reason people warn against necromancy and the like, and this is why; you are not the same as you were.

You are a victim of his selfishness. And he is a monster.

“I’m sorry… Forgive me!” he shouts down at the floor with drool and tears joining the pile of vomit below him. He finally breaks down as the weight of his actions crushes the emotion out of him.

Solomon rolls away to lay on his back while sobbing, staring up at the ceiling as he pictures the life he’s made for himself – feeding and watering you while still in your chains to avoid your animal-like aggression, confining you to a life of captivity and darkness. He’ll have to take care of you; God knows he can’t take this life away from you now that he’s given it back, even if it isn’t you. The guilt would destroy him.

Between sniffles, he whispers out in anguish, “what am I going to do?”

[drinkabletoxicdishsoap]

drop ur antony headcanons pls

Thank you for asking me anon!!! I love to share my headcanons about him he’s so silly!!

1. I feel like more than half of his closet is just graphic tees/t-shirts. That’s like the only kind of shirt he wears.

2. For his crush on Dejah, he acts like a stuttering and complete mess of front of her. Super awkward and everything. But she doesn’t mind! I think she finds it and him very sweet. I don’t know if you’ve ever watched my little pony friendship is magic, but they give me Shining Armor x Cadence vibes.

3. I’d like to think he played an instrument as a kid. He was probably a band kid.

4. Whenever he went to zoos as a kid or even now, he rushes to the reptile section. It’s most likely for him to look at iguanas since he’s in the iguana society. Though I feel like he loves every single kind of reptile.

5. He’s the Godzilla’s movies #1 fan. Bro RUNS to the theaters whenever a new movie drops. He always cheers on Godzilla for the Godzilla vs. literal any creature or just any Godzilla movie in general.

6. Amusement park enthusiast. He absolutely LOVES any and all kinds of amusement parks. He will ride absolutely anything!! Maybe not the VERY VERY high rollercoasters but he will ride anything and everything else. He’s still a kid at heart.

7. His favorite holiday is basically any where he can spend time with his family. Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Halloween are his top ones. He loves going trick or treating with Hazel and I feel like they always had matching Halloween costumes.

8. He played some sports as a kid. I have no idea which ones but I feel like he’d be a soccer kid (maybe I’m bias because I play soccer LMAO).

9. Secretly LOVES reality tv shows. He acts like he doesn’t, but whenever Angela has it on he sits next to her and watches it. They totally gossip about it together.

10. He will do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING for Hazel. He cares so much about her.

11. Whenever the Wells Family is on a trip, he’s the one to suggest excursions and everything like that.

12. Energy drinks are his LIFE. He doesn’t drink coffee but bro will absolutely DOWN any energy drink.

13. I feel like he helps build whatever ghost hunting or paranormal investigation invention Marcus wants. He probably even helped him build the the ghost one that we see in the show! He doesn’t really get his dad’s obsession with the paranormal but he will forever cheer his dad on!

14. Since he now knows about Cosmo, Peri, and Wanda, he will guard their secret with his life for Hazel. He helps when they have a few little slips. I feel like he would get along great with Cosmo and Wanda! He definitely appreciates what they’ve done for his little sister. He tries to get along with Peri but I feel like they don’t really get along at first. You know, younger brother vs older brother. Maybe they do get along but at first, absolutely not.

15. He’s a great cook! He helps cook meals for Hazel whenever his parents are out and about.

16. He has silly little karaoke nights with Hazel :3

That’s all the headcanons I have for him <33 if I do think of more I’ll either edit the post or make a new post about it! Thank you for the ask anon!! And thank you for reading! I hope you have a great day or night :3

[bodythieves]

Bounce Back - Pt. 1

pro boxer!abby anderson, pro boxer!reader (tags: flirting, teasing, playful competition. short intro setup for part two.)

you were fresh, about three years into your career as a professional boxer. it was your outlet- a way for you to get everything out in a controlled environment. shit, it was violent and well-paying enough that you thought it was a pretty decent path anyway. let out some steam and make a pretty penny doing it. you had fans, friends, foes. your own place, an impeccable closet.

abby anderson was abby fucking anderson. not only was she an elite fighter, she had became your friend and colleague. you wanted to be built like that, you craved to be able to shuffle and duck and throw a punch before someone could even blink. she was at least 5’11”, extremely toned, clever. sometimes you couldn’t tell if you craved to be her friend, her, or her lover more.

You sat in a wooden and canvas chair, like a director’s seat, to the right of Abby. Cameras were rolling, an interviewer across from the two of you. she held on to a small stack of index cards, thumbing through them with a quiet click of her tongue against her teeth. You look around the room, eyes scanning the white paper backdrop and taking a good look at the cameras. then, of course, to Abby. Unlike you, Abby was totally relaxed. her body language was loose, open- feet together on the small step of the seat, legs spread wide and leaned back into the chair. You, on the other hand, were a bit more reserved. one leg crossed over the other. Your back was up right, chin held high.

“You two have been friends for awhile, haven't you?” the interviewer asked.

Abby cracked a small grin. her eyes moved over just enough to look at you, her cheek leading the way. You couldn't stop yourself from doing what you always did with abby-admiring her. Her brows, slightly wrinkled in the middle from an almost constant furrow. not that she was always in a bad mood, either, because she wasn't.

"Since the cage fight special." her voice pulled you from your thoughts, her cadence like velvet. Still, she always had an air of playfulness in her tone.

Your lips curled up, letting your chin fall as you exhale a breath of a laugh.

"God, that feels like forever ago," You mumbled below your breath. Your eyes tracked from your legs and you lifted your head, looking into the camera beside the interviewer for only a moment before your gaze met the interviewer herself.

"Did you think, then, that you'd be able to get on Abby's level?" the woman proceeded to inquire.

"Then?" you repeated, raising your brows high. "I mean, I'd hoped I could. But now.. I know I'm on her level."

That earned a joking scoff from the boxer to your left.

"Maybe in my weight class now, but not quite my level, chica." Abby shifted in her chair, a hand reached up and pulling her braided ponytail over her shoulder.

Did you make her nervous?

A faint, yet cocky expression phased over you. You pinched your brows and cocked your head.

"You got.. what? Maybe an inch on me? We're three pounds off from each other." Your tone was teasing, you could've nearly been gloating just with that small spark of confidence.

"Inch when you're in your heels."

"Oh, bullshit," you tossed your head back a little as another laugh rolls out of you, but that time, it hadn't been just a breath of one. Subconsciously, you flexed your ankle out and shift in your own chair, looking down at the very heels Abby had teased you for, before quickly looking to the interviewer. "Sorry. Can I say that?"

The woman had been smiling, content it seemed, with solely watching banter flow between you and your colleague. She nodded while she shuffled through her index cards. "Of course. You can say whatever, it's not live feed. We can always go in and take that right out."

"Anyways," the woman started, her index cards tucked between fingers. The daintiness of the interviewer's fingers made you squeeze your own for a moment, into a tight ball against your palm. Why were you so anxious? You'd done press before. "I think it's about time we address the elephant in the room." Maybe it was because you'd never done press with Abby.

Which elephant? The sexual tension elephant?

"This fight, it's only three rounds. That's fifteen minutes in the ring. And it's not even for a title."

Oh. That elephant. The fan-favorite elephant.

Abby shifted again and leaned back. Her hand moved down her chest, a thick palm guiding down her shirt and resting just above her knee. She looked good in joggers. And those polo shirts would really be the death of you one day... At least, you'd hoped so. That over-focused look was all over her. Eyebrows separated by three slotted lines in her skin, eyes piercing and lips fixed into a slight pout. "No, but it is to prove something." She said this as if she'd answered this question in her mind before.

"And that would be...?"

You looked to Abby curiously. What would that be? What was she proving?

"That just because you're a favorite doesn't mean you're on top."

Ha. Ironic. You were typically on top. With a turned head, you glanced at Abby. And in return, she'd caught yours. You could see a faint redness run through her cheeks. Her hand went to adjust her braid once more, and you'd realized you did it again. Abby Anderson was nervous because of you.

The interviewer smiled downwardly and moved her eyes between you and Abby. She continued with her questions, guiding you two through a conversation you hadn't quite had. One of your admiration of Abby, and hers of you. One of what it meant to be two of the most well-renowned individuals in your league.

Nearing the end of your session, the interviewer had decided to ask you one final question.

"Is there anything you want to say to Abby?"

You smiled, looked to the camera for one singular moment. And you felt your heartbeat quicken. There were a million things you wanted to say to Abby. But this wasn't about your feelings towards her, not in that way, no.

Your voice started before you even really began to think.

"I just.. I want to say, it's been an honor." Unexpectedly sweet, considering your colleague had been such a tease the whole time. Abby tilted her head, a strand of blonde hair falling across her cheek, loose from her braid. You had her attention. "I mean it. I watched you for years before I joined the league. Since you were a rookie, and I find a lot of inspiration in you." You cleared your throat, and shifted.

The entire time you spoke, Abby hadn't interrupted. She hadn't smirked or chuckled. Didn't heckle you. No, she was respectful.

"I don't care about a title. Frankly, I don't care if I win or if I lose. I'm.." You trailed off for a moment, your head turned back to the camera. Then, like strike to a lightning rod, you found Abby's face once more. Strong cheekbones, freckled skin, and eyes as blue as the deep. How pretty. "I'm proud enough to know that I stand a chance against you in the ring. I've made it that far."

You watched with a keen eye as Abby's features softened. Blue eyes warmed, cheeks rose, and she broke into a smile. She shook her head slowly and once more ran her hand over her shirt. She let out a small breath from her nose, then opened up for a response.

"Don't go trying to butter me up. Might make it hard for me to fight you."

(A/N) : omg hey hi sorry I haven't posted a fic in forever. Chapter two of this is already in the works! I know this is short pls forgive me.

[husbandhoshi]

LILY HI ITS ME STAR!!! HOW ARE YOU I LOVE U AND WISH U ALL THE BEST MUAH MUAH!! also: perhaps smth a little naughty at 11:36 PM with lab partner!wonwoo 👀👀

tags: college!au, inexperienced!wonwoo x f!reader, nerd!wonwoo, experienced!yn, oral (m!receiving)

[11:36]

wonwoo has never liked chemistry.

the periodic table looks like a colorful placemat and a titration might as well be a long winded recipe for a terrible cocktail. (although the ones at the delta tau delta chemistry themed party were good. they served them in little beakers, and wonwoo thought those were quite cute. that was also the party where he met you.)

speaking of you—unlike chemistry, wonwoo does, however, like you a great deal.

which makes chemistry much more tolerable because you are his lab partner.

on the first day of lab, when they had asked the class to pair up, you walked over to him, and wonwoo almost melted right into the ground.

"you're the only one here i know," you whispered, waiting for him to lean down to your height. he did, and you smelled like cherries. "we talked at the delt party. wonwoo, right?"

"yes, i'm wonwoo," he had said, words tripping and tumbling off of his tongue like he was learning to speak for the first time.

it was no better at the party, except he was drunk and you were drunker, and you had made the grave mistake of asking him what classes he was taking. two mike's hard lemonades and a battery acid vodka shot later, his dumb ass was still talking about emily dickinson, and you, somehow, were standing there in those mile-high heels, listening as if he was the most interesting guy at the party.

i think she's totally into you, mingyu had said, in that loud, spitty cadence he has when he's 90% beer.

don't be ridiculous.

but then you had asked wonwoo to walk you to your dorm, and you took the long way, winding right through campus.

he doesn't dream often, but he thinks the one he had that night was red and smelled like your lip gloss.

now, he thanks god for the miracle that is you in an oversized hoodie and shorts in his room past sundown.

granted, you're there to work on the last lab report of the term, and he had seen you just two nights ago at the kappa party, but wonwoo thinks he likes this version of you best. (that night, you had tried to break in your new heels. he ended up holding onto them, and you ended up holding onto him on the drunken stumble home. whether it was for support or for something else, wonwoo doesn't know, but he wishes he wore something different than the ratty polo from the back of his closet.)

"thanks for all your help," you say, closing your lab notebook. "i don't know how you're so good at all of this."

"i'm not," he laughs. he hands you your pencil case with the sailor moon charm, the one you were so proud to show him when he mentioned he watched anime. "it was all you."

you wave him off and bend down to put your things in your bag.

wonwoo tries his best to avert his eyes. he really does.

it's a valiant effort. there's a book out of order on his shelf (anna karenina, tolstoy). he really should have put that gundam figure away before you came over.

and your ass is perfect, but that doesn't really surprise him because he doesn't think there is a single thing wrong with you.

"you know," you start, still rifling around in your bag. "i heard something real interesting from mingyu the other day."

"hm?"

wonwoo changes the backlight color of his keyboard. it does not make him calmer. instead he feels all the peely leather on his gaming chair poke through his sweats and he tries not to think about the little birthmark you have on the back of your thigh.

"he told me that..." you stand straight and turn to face him. there's a fresh coat of gloss on your lips, like a magic trick. "you have a crush on me."

wonwoo doesn't know what to say. he likes to think before he speaks but now you're walking towards him and thinking isn't really an option anymore.

"right?"

"um."

not good. he didn't think he was that obvious but he's no liar.

"fine, i'll start." you're standing right in front of him now, and he thinks the gulp he takes is audible. "i like you."

he watches your lips form around the words, glittery and confident, and if he wasn't doomed before, he certainly is now.

his near perfect gpa is doing jack shit to help him understand why someone like you, gorgeous and funny and smart and popular, would ever take a second look at the gangly boy in the glasses.

but you are—in fact, you're staring with an intensity that makes him afraid you can actually see right through all the clothes he's got on.

"i—" come on, wonwoo thinks. they're the words he wanted to tell you outside your dorm building three weeks ago when you said you didn't know anyone quite like him. "i like you too. a lot."

"good."

the first thing he learns is that you're forward, and he likes that.

the second thing he learns is that your lip gloss tastes like cherry.

your mouth is hot and soft on his. he thinks he died and went to heaven, and then you're kissing him again, catching his bottom lip between your teeth so he whines into your mouth.

the last time he tried kissing was during senior prom. his date stood on her tiptoes and he accidentally bumped his nose into hers and missed her mouth and the whole thing was a disaster.

and yet now, wonwoo feels like he's melted right into your hands. you lead and his body just knows how to follow.

"you're shy, huh?" you murmur, pulling back to look at him. "that's so cute."

he doesn't quite know what he looks like but his glasses are slipping down his nose and he feels the menthol sting of your lips all over his. there has never been this much blood in his cheeks but that doesn't quite make sense to him because he feels all of it going straight to his dick.

"you're perfect," is what the primordial ooze in wonwoo's brain manages to put together.

you kiss him again, and when he remembers to relax his lips enough, you're slipping your tongue in and letting him suck, and you moan.

wonwoo swears he could have blown his load right there and then—when it came to you, it really didn't take much, and now he's wondering what your skin tastes like, craving the cherry of your cunt.

your hand on his chest, sharp nails and glittery rings, trails down nice and slow. it feels like he's on fire. it's a wonderful distraction from the sensation of your teeth on the pretty, taut skin over his collarbone, but then you're biting and licking and he feels his balls get so tight and heavy in his pants he might just cry.

and then your hand comes to rest on his lap, right over his hardness, and wonwoo's about to protest—no, no, sorry, i don't mean to have a boner! i've never been kissed like that before in my life!—until you drop to your knees, right in between his parted thighs.

"has anyone ever touched you like this?" you say, voice low, dizzying. "anyone ever made you feel good?"

he shakes his head no, a new, sudden wave of desire climbing his bones.

mussed hair and swollen lips, you look more beautiful than anyone wonwoo's ever seen in his entire life. he doesn't know what he did in a past life to earn this but he must have saved the world.

"p-please," he says, but it's somewhere between a moan and a gasp because you're palming him through his sweats, the sensation foreign, thrilling.

"patience," you tease, and he would be morbidly embarrassed at the spot of precum on his pants if you weren't already thumbing at it yourself.

once you take his cock out of his sweats, he knows he's losing whatever battle he was fighting. he sees how your hand looks so little around it, and it's his nth struggle to make sure he doesn't just cum in your face. maybe another day, if he's so lucky.

"i-i might cum really fast," he confesses, because he doesn't know how to really say he's never gotten a blowjob before.

"good," you answer. unlike him, somehow you always know exactly what to say.

the third thing wonwoo learns that day is that he's fully, wholly, entirely obsessed with your mouth. with your slick bottom lip, with your tongue, and now with the way he sees your gloss-smeared mouth wrap taut around his cockhead.

wonwoo can never return to watching porn again. there is simply no one quite like you.

"f-fuck," he pants, the feeling overtaking him all at once. "feels so good, mouth's so good—"

one look at your eyes, big and watery and good for him, and he feels his cock twitch in your mouth. and then you start moving; you take him all the way to the base and then some. he feels your tiny little throat close around him, and the groan he lets out is nothing short of pornographic. he never thought he was that big, but seeing your eyes well up and your mascara get all dewy as you gag around him is doing something crazy to his brain.

it doesn't take long for you to fall into an easy rhythm. you're figuring him out so fast, and that would scare him if it didn't feel so good. your tongue's on his veins, the underside of his cockhead, and he's already gripping the armrests of his chair with white knuckles.

you sink down again and swallow around his length, let your throat do all the work, and wonwoo throws his head back, chest heaving. his eyes flutter shut, and the fluorescent ceiling light phases in and out of vision as you give him what could possibly be the best head you've ever given someone in your whole life.

"gonna cum s-soon," wonwoo manages. "you're so fucking hot."

it's either a moan or a whimper that comes out of you when he says that, and he thanks his lucky stars he has the wherewithal to put that information in his back pocket. he doesn't know when or how but his plan is to return the favor to you in full. and if that involves a copious amount of praise, he's all the better prepared because he has no shortage of nice things to say about you.

you take him once, twice to the base and wonwoo feels all the heat in his balls and his belly and then he's cumming, more and harder than he ever thought possible. he almost thinks it's like a piece of his soul was taken from him.

"d-don't have to swallow," he says, but you do, every last fucking drop until it's dribbling from your perfect mouth, and wonwoo is now fully convinced you are a real life goddess.

i'm an addict in the making, he thinks, but then you smile at him with those eyes, and he doesn't think that's such a bad thing.

he searches for the right words to say, something cool, experienced. it's a constant effort to be that guy for you because he's still not really sure why any of this happened.

"stop thinking so hard," you say, coughing once, then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "i can see your wheels turning."

how you can read him so easily is beyond him. he wonders if you knew he was in love with you the second he laid eyes on you at the delta tau party.

where are my manners, wonwoo then remembers, and the post-nut clarity possesses him to brush the hair out of your eyes and help you up from your position on the ground.

"i like you. i don't care how experienced you are."

he hears you, and he believes you. instead of arguing, he cups your tear-streaked face in his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe your cheeks.

"plus, i think i'm a pretty good teacher."

you smile, and wonwoo has the confidence to kiss you back, for real this time.