#forgot how intense this was sometimes i will be fucking honest.

[femmefaggot]

near shaking w rage full of confusion <- ? not mine ? sad separated cold time pulling and pushing and folding weirdly sure im gonna die here codependent to a crazy degree depressed pulling energy from the few meetings i do get staying up for days trying to think of a way to get out resigned determined to not die here not for my own sake but for the benefit of someone else loving connecting being forcibly removed from said connection told the connection isnt allowed or even possible sure

[fleshbride]

PRESENTING . . . AIN’T NUN BUT A HOOCHIE MAMA!

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ TOJI FUSHIGURO X F!BLK!HOOCHIE READER

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ CW: black fem reader; reader is 26, toji is 34; reader is on the thicker side; usage of the word nigga a few times; smut; breeding kink, hair pulling, dumbification, overstimulation, pussy slapping, impact play, messy pussy eatin’, size kink, hints of sado-masochism, a bit of brat taming, manhandling, praise & degradation, multiple orgasms, cervix fucking, choking, squirting; fwb-ish to lovers (?); pet names are used, such as mama, baby, pretty girl, dollface, princess & sweetheart; reader has a kid of her own; reader is a hoochie, meaning she’s seen as ‘ghetto’ but in a very pro-black & attractive way; reader has a mature body, pudge, cellulite, stretch marks; reader accidentally flashes toji; reader & toji share a blunt; toji is actually a good dad in this!

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ wc: 7.5k

⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱ this is actually pure filth. this was my first time writing for toji EVER and actually my longest work. guys when i tell you i put some shit into this thing, idk what i did but i SNAPPED. HARD. i hope you guys enjoy this nasty thing that came from my imagination. not proof read or anything so pls excuse my typos!

sometimes, your job could be a godsend. who knew that a simple job at the local hair store would catapult you into meeting one of the sexiest men you’d ever seen?

to be completely honest, it wasn’t solely your job that sparked such an interaction. it was moreso you; you possessed an irresistible, unmistakable charm that was impossible to ignore. your voice, soft as a lullaby, held a dulcet quality that drew people in like a magnet. anytime you opened your mouth to speak, you commanded attention effortlessly, as if your words held some mystical power that captivated any listener.

everyone was always drawn to you, and it wasn't hard to see why. who in their right mind wouldn’t be smitten? you were a vision of beauty, with your radiant brown skin that seemed to glow as if illuminated from within. your smile, perfect and white, could light up even the darkest room, making hearts skip a beat. your eyes were another story altogether. they seemed to sparkle, glimmering with an intensity that was all yours.

your hair was always done, you always made sure that you had a fresh set of lashes. to add, you never forgot to apply your clear lip gloss. now, this wasn't just any gloss, it was your signature, lip gloss added a radiant shine and highlighted the natural beauty of your plump and full lips. your lips, always so perfectly glossed, assumed an irresistible charm that made them look especially appetizing.

to add onto it, your personality was in tip top shape, matching your looks. while sometimes your mouth could get a little reckless, you had an air of kindness, professionalism and just genuine good vibes. it was hard to dislike you, no matter the case. you were a woman of wonders.

you loved your job at the hair store too; maybe that was why your attitude was always good while you were there. it paid well, the hours were flexible and it was something you enjoyed. you loved how your manager let you pick out the wigs and the outfits that would be displayed, and sometimes she let you take home left over makeup and jewelry — which was how you got your favorite set of hoop earrings.

working at the hair store also granted you all types of experiences. sometimes you met upcoming make-up artists and beauticians, hair dressers, nail techs, lash techs — you always made sure to be extra helpful and friendly to everyone you met, just in case they could ever help you.

or… on the rare occasion, you met men. often, they were coming in for their wives, daughters, sisters, nieces, friends — and each time, they were clueless. of course, you helped, breezing past them with the smell of bubblegum and perfume, preferably daisy by marc jacobs.

today was no different.

you were the only one working in the store this saturday, and it was roughly around 12 in the afternoon. the sound of needed me by rihanna echoed through the store, giving it a nice ambiance. you clocked in at 9, and were scheduled to get off at 4 — you had a bit of a long day ahead. however, the store had been a bit slow today. not many customers entered; maybe three every hour, compared to a usual 7-15 people per hour. you were both grateful and a bit sad for the lack of people, as it left you with extra time on your hands.

instead, you found yourself thinking of your six year old daughter at home. alaina, your sweet girl, who was at her grandmother’s for the day. you fondly rubbed the bead bracelet she made for you, that spelled out mommy. your daughter was the most loving child you knew, and you adored her with every part of you.

as you gazed at your bracelet, you let out a soft hum. you’d have to get her another one from here, even though she already had a plethora. whatever you got from the hair store, you usually shared with alaina.

the entrance bell dinging had you snapping out of your thoughts of your daughter, turning your head to greet whoever entered. your boxbraids slid down your back as you looked. it was a little girl who entered, no more than nine. she was in a cute blue dress, with dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail. her cheeks were rosy, which had you cooing at her mentally.

“hi baby,” you called out to her, looking behind her for a parent, “where’s ya mama, hm? a lil’ one like you shouldn’t be walking around all alone.” the girl hadn’t noticed you, and jumped when you called to her. she put her hands up, waving them enthusiastically. “o-oh no, miss, i’m with my dad! he’s just getting his wallet. do you know where the nails are? and the makeup?”

you smiled at the little girl, stepping from behind the counter. you were in a beige sun dress, with some matching wedged sandals. the sundress was long, coming down to your ankles, but there was a slit on the side. it hugged your curves nicely, even though your little bit of pudge was much noticeable; you didn’t care. to be honest, the dress covered way more than your usual outfits, especially in the summer like this. you had never been scared to show your body, even after you had alaina and people insisted on you covering up; because you were a mother now. however, you didn’t give a fuck. if you wanted to wear your shortest shorts, you would.

“c’mere baby girl, it’s this way.” you offered the young girl your hand, which she took happily as you led her. “i’m assuming you’re looking for the press ons, right? not the ones you glue?”

the girl gave you an enthusiastic nod. “yes, ma’am!” she was polite, you noted, with a curl of your lips. her father must be raising her right. “my dad says i’m not big enough to ruin my nails with glue..”

you let out a laugh as you squeezed the girl’s hand. “your daddy’s right,” you mused, “stick to the ones you can press til you become a teenager.” you brought her to the kiddie nails, and stood with her while she made her pick.

the young girl seemed stuck between a pair of pink ones leopard print ones, and blue zebra print ones. “what do you think, miss? i can’t choose.”

you only gave the girl a shrug. “i say get both. let ya daddy worry, not you.” however, because you liked this little girl, you’d only charge her for one anyways. the girl nodded in agreement, giving you a giggle, which you quickly reciprocated.

all of a sudden, you heard the gruff call of, “tsumiki! where have you ran off to?” the girl perked up immediately, and ran to the end of the aisle. “dad! i’m over here!” she called, waiting patiently for him to come over.

you raised your eyebrow as you made your way over. you were a bit curious to see the man who had raised such a sweet and polite girl. as you reached the end, your eyes widened as they set on the man.

he was tall, unbelievably so. his towering stature, reaching at least 6’2, must’ve made him stand out in any crowd. his body was muscular, brawny and well-built, and t he black compression shirt he wore clung to his chiseled frame, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. his hair, a deep black, was just a bit shaggy — the perfect length to frame his strikingly sharp face.

his eyes were a vivid green, so piercing that they could make anyone feel as if they were the only person in the world. they locked onto you and tsumiki. his attractiveness was lethal, and it was impossible not to notice the way he looked over you. his gaze was slow, lingering, and purposeful, almost as if he wanted to make sure you noticed his attention.

you would’ve been phased if you were a different woman; but you weren’t. instead, you gave him your trademark smile, looking up at him with a warm aura.

a scar sat on the corner of his lip. it twitched slightly as his lips curled into a smirk, making him look even more attractive to you then he already did.

“you work here?” came his deep, rough voice. it provoked goosebumps down your skin, but you didn’t allow yourself to show it.

“yup,” you answered, “sorry i wasn’t at the counter, i was helpin’ miss thing here pick out some new nails.” you watched toji’s mouth open, and held up a finger, “and yea, before you ask — it’s the press ons. no glue needed.” the man let out a hum and gave a nod of approval.

“good. tsumiki, go put those on the counter and if you want anything else, ya better pick before i get back up there.” he told her; his voice was rough, yet still somehow sounded caring. when tsumiki scampered away with an, “okayyy!”, he turned his vision back to you.

the once over he gave you earlier didn’t seem to be enough. he gave you another; from your champagne blond knotless boxbraids which were long and down your back, curving over the swell of your ass, down to your painted white toes in your sandals. shit. you were fucking hot.

“how old are you?” he asked boldly, not wasting a second.

you raised an eyebrow, “you ain’t ever heard it ain’t good to ask a lady her age?”

“so old enough,” he countered back with a smug smirk. “have you been able to drink legally for at least two years?” still asking your age without pointedly asking like before.

“i’ve been old enough to drink legally for five years,” you relented, “so like i said, old enough. why you askin’?”

“i like to know the ages of my women before i hit on ‘em.”

you grinned. you already knew you were going to like this man, and his attitude towards you solidified that. “and i like to know the age of my men before i let them,” you combatted.

“thirty-four,” he answered immediately, and the corner of your lips pulled up in satisfaction. twenty-six and thirty-four. not a bad age gap, only eight years. you could manage.

“you allowed to hit on me now,” you said playfully as you slid past him, “don’t make the shit corny, ‘cause i’ll laugh at yo ass.” maybe that’s his plan, you thought, him tryna laugh me out my panties.

the man let out a bark of a laugh, following after you. you could almost feel his eyes locked on you as your hips swayed while you walked. he only chuckled out, “oh, don’t worry about that.”

you went back behind the counter, ready to pay for their things. tsumiki had thrown a stack of bracelets on the counter, and a new tube of sparkly pink lip gloss to which you scanned and then only scanned a pack of the nails. her father raised an eyebrow at you, but you pretended not to notice. “that’ll be 18.75,” you informed. her father pulled out thirty dollars and slid it to you. as you prepared to give him the change, he shook his head.

“don’t need the change. consider it a tip or somethin’.” you furrowed your brows at him, but didn’t question the customer. instead, you handed them their things with a sweet smile. “bye, lil’ missy,” you told tsumiki, before looking up at the man, “come back soon.” your voice was low, and quite flirtatious. he gave you a smirk.

“oh, i will.”

and he did.

it was three days later when he finally came back. you were leaned over the counter, examining your new nails. it was hot, too hot to even be working. the doors were open, and the AC’s were blasting, trying to cool off the store. you wore a jean miniskirt, with a fat gucci belt on your hips. you paired it with a cropped pink tank top that had a deep v-neck, showing off a bit of your cleavage. your golden nameplate sat perfectly on the apex of your breasts. today on your feet instead of sandals were your pair of pink and white dunks. you had taken out your box braids, and gotten your hair done the same day you got your nails done.

now, you had gotten a lace front installed — and you looked good as fuck. it was a deep shade of vibrant purple, down your back. you had added your own spin, doing one of those heart shaped parts and gelling it down the side of your forehead, and doing edges on the side.

as someone entered, you turned your head to the side to greet them. “good afternoon,” you said cheerfully, looking at the woman who entered. she was dark skinned, with a bumped bob. her makeup was done sharply. you watched as she side eyed you, and muttered out a terse, “hello.”

immediately your eyebrows furrowed. “bitches got an attitude, okay,” you grumbled under your breath as she disappeared into the aisles. it was a few minutes later when she came to the register with a flat iron. off the rip, you told her, “oh mama, you don’t want this one. a few people who purchased this one have said that it heat up too quick and smoke a lot, then breaks. so go ‘head and get another one.”

the woman glared at you, looking you up and down. “excuse me, i didn’t ask for your opinion on what i’m buying. and if it’s so faulty, why haven’t you taken it off the shelves?”

her attitude immediately had you tilting your head, trying your best to bite your tongue. “ma’am, that ain’t my job, i don’t do merchandise, i work at the register.”

she rolled her eyes at you, before snapping out, “then don’t say anything about said merchandise.”

your next words came out before you could even think about it, “ho, i’m tryna help you not burn this crispy fuck ass bob off but okay.” upon realizing what you said, you didn’t apologize nor change. instead you cocked your head, tilting it, while staring at her blankly.

“excuse me?” the woman asked, “honestly, i don’t think i’m taking hair advice from a woman who don’t wear hers natural, and has her skirt digging up her ass. how old are you? you have to have a child at home, dress with more fucking class before you talk about me,” the woman’s face was twisted as she snapped at you.

“i know damn fuckin’ well,” you said slowly — and just like that, you knew you were about to cuss her ass out. “i know DAMN fucking well that you’re not talking to me like that. bitch, are you mad that your ass built like a fuckin’ square? bitch be mad then cause that’s why yo ass slope like y=mx+b. bitch, don’t you EVER question my fashion choices when you’re wearing leather in 87 degree weather. you fuckin’ cereal box built ass bitch, you know what, i got a trick for you—“ you quickly took the flat iron from her and pointed a nail at the door. “now get the fuck out, bitch you’re banned.” the woman opened her mouth to retort, but you were faster, talking over her, “bitch, i don’t give a FUCK. get the fuck out.”

the woman mumbled a, “ghetto bitch.” before storming out the store while you massaged your temples. it was nothing you hadn’t heard though. “fuck be wrong with bitches. man, i need a fucking BLUNT.”

“personally, i would’ve hopped over the counter.”

you looked up at the familiar voice, seeing the man you met the other day. immediately, a grin spread across your face. “look who came back.”

“told ‘ya that i would.” he mused, walking up to the counter, “you should’ve thrown the flat iron at her face. i would’ve paid money to see that.” he wore a white wifebeater and black basketball shorts. did he just come from the gym or something? the lack of clothing allowed you to see just about all of his muscles, and god, were you pleased.

you snorted, giving him a playful eyeroll. “shit, i was fuckin’ thinking about it. you saw the whole thing?” the mystery man, who you decided to dub mr. man, gave you a nod. “positively. you cleaned her so beautifully, and i have to add, you look so, so appealing when you’re angry.”

“shut up, nigga,” you laughed as you put your elbows on the counter, cupping your face with both hands. “what’re you here for?” you looked up at him, and he mimicked your action, fitting his fat ass arms on the counter.

“i need some hair gel for my son. he’s in this spiky phase, shit, i don’t know,” mr. man rolled his eyes a little bit, before adding, “and i don’t know which to pick. as you can clearly see, i don’t use gel.”

you let out another laugh, coming from behind the counter. “yeah, c’mon mr. man, i’ll show you which to use.” off the rip, you noticed how his eyes locked on your body.

yeah, i got it like that, nigga, your inner thoughts said as you internally hyped yourself up.

“mr.man?” he questioned from behind you, his eyes focused on the way your hips swayed, and the way a little bit of your ass was uncovered by the skirt.

“well, you never told me your name, so i gave you a nickname.”

he snorted a little before saying, “well, my name’s toji, for one.” you thought about it for a second for a second. was that a moanable name? you went through it in your head. yeah. definitely moanable.

“my name y/n,” you finally disclosed, “but everybody just call me n/n.” toji nodded a little. “n/n… that’s cute.” you noticed one of the items had fallen off the shelf, and without hesitation, you bent over to pick it up, completely forgetting about the fact that you were wearing a skirt, and the man behind you.

toji almost had a fucking heart attack. his eyes zoomed in onto your now slightly revealed ass, your sheer red panties that showed the plush outline of your pussy. shit. shit. it was over in a second, much to his mixed chagrin and gratefulness. however, he wasn’t some boy — he maintained a straight face and control. you placed the item back on the shelf and resumed walking.

“alright,” you said, as you reached the gels, “see, here’s what i use for my daughter,” you held up a jar of eco. “eco holds good for her, and it lasts long, to be honest. her hair is a bit thicker. and it doesn’t have like color residue like prostyle gel.” you grabbed the black container of prostyle gel. “but if your son has like brown-black hair, it’ll be good.” toji shook his head, saying, “nah, he has that weird bluish-black.” you tutted and put the prostyle down.

“there’s also gorilla snot gel, which i recommend if his hair is straighter, you feel me?” you held up the yellow bottle of gorilla snot.

toji looked at both and let out a short groan. “i can’t decide. i’ll take ‘em both and see which works better.” you shrugged and passed them to him. you took note of how positively huge his hands were. they could probably cover your whole face. or… your entire ass.

“i didn’t know you had a little runt too,” he made conversation with you as you walked back to the counter, “i forgot you’re almost 30.”

“yeah i forget too, trust,” you laughed a little, “my little girl’s my pride and joy, her name’s alaina. she’ll be starting first grade this year, i’m so proud of her. i actually got pictures.” you pulled out your phone and showed him your lockscreen which was the two of you. toji chuckled.

“y’all look alike, cute,” he commented, “my son’s seven, and tsumiki’s eight. you met her last time.” you fondly recalled your encounter with the polite young girl. “you a single parent, too?”

you gave him a nod, and a shrug. “alaina’s daddy claimed he wanted nothing to do with her, so i kept it like that. then his stupid ass got locked up, thank riddance.” toji let out a short laugh. “tsumiki’s mom was my first wife, and we divorced. megumi, my son, his mom was my second. unfortunately, she passed.”

“aw,” you said, pouting sadly and placing a hand on his large arm. “i’m so sorry for your loss, sweetheart. i hope you’re doing alright.”

toji laughed a little. “i’m fine, pretty mama, don’t worry about me.”

you bristled at the new nickname, giving toji a wicked grin. “that’s how you referring to me now?” you asked, as you slid behind the counter to the register.

“you’re pretty, and you’re a mama,” toji said with a shrug. “it honestly only fits.” you very pointedly made sure to check him out and said, “mmhmm..”

as you rung him up, toji said, “does alaina need any new friends? my son’s a bit shy and doesn’t talk to nobody but his sister… maybe they could have a few play dates?”

“yeah, i’d love that!” you answered, a genuine smile coming onto your face. anything referring to your daughter made you happiest. “your total is 14.95. here i’ll give you my number...” as toji paid, you rang it up. on his receipt, you wrote your number and passed it to him.

toji grinned and gave you a nod. “see you around.” you wiggled your fingers in return.

see him around, you did. you and toji were quick to hook up play dates whenever your schedules aligned. you became familiar with the routine of getting off work in the afternoons and scooping alaina’s to head to toji’s to play with her two new best friends.

you and toji often stayed downstairs, while they played in tsumiki’s room. you and toji would watch movies, roll blunts and eat food — or sometimes even play texas hold ‘em, in which you won every single time.

toji would grumble, and accuse you of cheating, when in truth, he was really just a bad gambler, but all was well. you considered toji a good friend… of sorts.

because that’s what you two were; friends. friends who sometimes flirted a little; you considered toji a friend when you’d bend over to pick things up in those skimpy jean shorts you wore; toji considered you a friend when he’d slide past you, pressing his crotch against the curve of your ass and muttering a, “excuse me, n/n,”; you considered toji a friend when you’d play sexyyred and say the lyrics a little too… forceful; and he considered you a friend when he’d make slick little sexy comments about your body before adding, “that’s just what other guys think.”

safe to say… there was a bit of tension between you two. and finally, it came to a crescendo.

it was normal, at first. like usual, you and alaina were at toji's house. it was around 9:30pm, and the kids had collapsed after playing all damn day and finally having a meal of chicken nuggets. you remembered the look on your face discovered them. they were heaped in the large bed; tsumiki had more than enough room for all three of them, yet they were together. alaina was draped over megumi and tsumiki, her face in megumi’s chest but her body pressed to tsumiki’s. they were all tangled up, limbs skewed and whatnot.

and now, you and toji were together downstairs, toji watching as your nimble fingers crafted the blunt — his were too fat. your feet were in his lap, and he was watching you with those bright green eyes. as you rolled, you were mumbling one of sexyy’s songs. “fuck me like you mad at me, baby.. i need that dick to drive me crazyyyyy…” you sang under your breath.

toji raised an eyebrow at you, “the music you listen to has some really… meaningful words.” as you licked at the blunt, you let out a laugh. “i agree with everything she say. when suki said that if you ain’t eating coochie, you ain’t fucking, i felt that one.”

finally, you perfected it and grabbed toji’s lighter. “you only fuck eaters?” he said, amusement trickling through his voice. you lit the blunt and took a deep inhale, masterfully blowing it up into your nose and then out again before passing it to him. “yup. only fuck eaters ‘cause they do it the best. you an eater, toji?” you asked pointedly, watching as one of his rough hands drew circles on your leg, then up to your knee, while the other lifted the blunt to his lips. he took an inhale, then another. god, you hated double hitters, but it was okay — it was only you two.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” toji shot back, his trademark smirk sliding across his face. his lip twitched, scar jumping.

“that’s why the fuck i asked you, toji,” you clapped back immediately, making the older man squeeze your leg while passing the blunt back. “watch your mouth, n/n. don’t get fucked up.”

“or what?” you immediately retort, holding the blunt up to your lips as you took another puff. “you not gon’ do shit to me, toji, like i honestly wish you w—“ your words were halted by the man throwing your legs off his lap, one hand going to spread them roughly as he pressed his fingers against your clothed cunt.

“i’m not gonna do shit?” he repeated, as your eyes went wide; he had obviously startled you, but you weren’t opposed to this one bit. as his fingers rubbed at your pussy through your shorts, you shook your head feverently again, looking at him as you held the blunt to your glossed lips. “not a damn thing.”

when all toji did was nod, you were sure you were in for it. and you were. he was quicker than you, grabbing your hand that held the blunt and quickly forcing you to put the blunt in the ashtray. the smoke you were holding in your mouth was forcefully removed as toji roughly pressed his lips to yours, the smoke being shared between you two as he pried your lips apart.

the next few minutes were coated in a needy haze. his big hands were everywhere, all over your body. moving to squeeze at your tits, your ass, your thighs. eventually the settled on the waistband of your shorts and began to unbutton them. before pulling them off completely, leaving you in your lacy dark blue thong.

he pinched the plush of your pussy, barely hidden by the panties — more like decorated by it. immediately, the scent of your slick, which was already dripping, filled toji’s nostrils, making him let out a wanton moan.

“fuck, mama,” he hissed as he trailed his finger down your slit, “you always this wet? this is how you’ve been the entire time?” he looked up at you, eyes darkened with lust.

“no,” you lied immediately, giving him a reckless smirk. “she just like that off the rip. i determine whether it’s for you or not.” toji only let out a little laugh. “word?” he asked. you opened your mouth to repeat the word back to him, but you were rudely interrupted by him slapping your pussy.

it wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t exactly soft, the pain sending sparks of pleasure through you. you hissed out a, “shit..” toji smirked at your reaction as he pushed your panties to the side, before delivering another smack, this time a litle harder. you let out a mewl, squirming in his hold.

“crazy,” toji said to you, “two lil’ slaps just made you leagues wetter. you sure you’re not wet for me?”

you refused to answer, only giving him a shrug. “so you wanna be a brat now, huh?” he asked you with an eyebrow raise as he began to pull the panties down your thighs. “like you weren’t jus’ all over me. ‘toji, you a eater?’” he mocked you in a high pitched voice as he pulled you forward, legs sliding over his broad shoulders. you remained silent, biting your tongue. maybe you were a brat; you knew that with toji’s strength and stamina, you would get much more if you drew it out. plus, you wanted to make him work for every moan, every word.

“you gon eat my pussy or not?” you asked boldly, your hand going to lace through his hair, nails pressing against his scalp. “like literally, shut the f—!” you were interrupted by toji latching his mouth onto you, completely ripping the words from your mouth.

his tongue, long and flat, slid between your plush folds, calloused hands digging into your thighs as he shoved his face between your legs. off the rip, his motions were rough and quick, tongue swirling against your clit before going down to your hole, curling against it to lap at your essence. you gripped the couch as you let out soft moans, trying not to be too loud — you didn’t wanna fuel toji’s already large ego.

“fuck,” he mumbled as he pulled away, “pussy’s so sweet, baby. i should’ve bent you over in that fucking store the day you wore that skirt.” you were unable to respond before he was diving back in, tongue messily trailing througu your pussy. he was there between your thighs, feasting on what you offered, lapping up all the sweet nectar you had to spare. his lips latched onto the delicate bud of your clit, sucking with a fervor that left you gasping, while he looked up at you with a gaze that was as heated as it was prideful.

one of your hands found its way into his hair, tangling in the soft locks as you gripped it tightly, the other clutching onto the plush fabric of the couch as though it was your only lifeline. your breaths were coming out in ragged gasps, each one harder to catch than the last, your mouth falling open in that perfect 'o' shape as you let out sounds so sweet and melodious, singing a song of pure pleasure just for him.

and you couldn’t help it; euphoria was pulsing through your body, coating your thoughts in nothing but toji. your toes curled, as toji slid his tongue inside of you. god, he was so messy, your slick already all over his face, his spit mixing with your slick as it trailed down your ass.

you were incessantly moaning, unable to even downplay or disguise it anymore. “s-shit, toji, fuck, that feels so good—!” he looked up at you with satisfaction as he slid his tongue into your entrance, curling it upwards against your walls.

you squealed, trying to scoot backwards away from the pleasure, but he was quick to yank you back, trapping you against his mouth, his hands coming to wrap around your thighs. one of his fingers traced the stretch marks on your thighs. he worked his fat tongue inside of you, curling and sliding as his pointer finger swirled your clit at such a fast pace, you was sure he was gonna give you something close to a rug burn.

his paired actions had you spiraling over the edge, the coil in your stomach stretching and stretching until it was ready to snap. “toji, ‘m close—! fuck, fuck— gonna cum!” toji’s movements became much more insistent, gaining in speed as he basically shoved you over the edge.

your orgasm hit you like a brick, your back arching off the couch as you gripped toji’s hair tightly, whined babbles of repeated words leaving your lips. if it weren’t for toji holding you down and anchoring you, you were sure that you would’ve grown fucking wings and soared away.

you creamed all over his tongue, and he made sure to pull away, before messily spreading it throughout your pussy, just to lap it all up over again, letting you settle, working you through the after effects of your climax.

you sucked in ragged gasps as toji pulled away, licking his lips and wiping his face. he stared at you with such intensity, shivers went down your skin. your eyes immediately focused on his hard dick through his sweats, the outline prominent. you tapped your foot on his thigh. “gimme that,” you breathed.

“do you deserve it?” toji said back, his voice a bit raspy. “been a bratty slut this whole time. you were so cocky, remember? i don’t get you wet, right?”

you wanted to maintain your pride, you really, really did. but desperate times called for desperate measures. “c’mon, toji,” you sighed sultrily, “i was just playin’.. just wanted to make it a little fun for you, you know that..” you spread your legs a little more, teasing him as you continued, “it’s all yours, i swear — been waiting for this for such a long time.”

toji only gave you a soft chuckle and the only words gave you were, “that right, baby?” immediately, he scooped you up with a single arm, flipping you over onto your hands and knees. you let out a noise of surprise, but immediately arched your back, looking back at him as he pushed his sweats down his thighs. his dick sprung up, and you couldn’t say you were shocked by it.

his dick was both fat and long, and it almost made your eyes pop out of your head. he had to be at least eight inches, veins running up the side of his heavy dick. his tip was a dark apricot shade, and it was leaking bad, opaque beads of precum sliding out of his slit. he was well trimmed, with heavy breeder balls. you almost salivated. but at the same time, you questioned how all that was even supposed to fit in you.

he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. “don’t you worry, princess. you’ll take every inch of me.” one of his hands gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as he directed his tip against your entrance, slapping it there a few times, making you groan in need. “t-toji, stop fuckin’ playin—!”

once again, you were rudely interrupted by him pushing the tip inside of you. he let out a hiss, your walls sucking him in. however, with just how wet you were, he slid right back out. he let out a snicker as he leaned his hand down to slap your pussy again. “but you not wet for me, alright..” he lined himself up again, and this time — he didn’t push into you slowly.

with one rough thrust, he filled you to the brim, forcing you forward as you let out a strangled noise, clawing at the couch. “toji! oh fuck..!” you pulled your hips forward, trying to get him to pull out a little, but he wasn’t having it. “s-shit, i’m not even all the way in yet,” he huffed, hair hanging in his eyes. toji was letting out pants, it felt as if your pussy was fucking suffocating his dick, strangling it.

inch by inch, he pushed the rest of his dick in, until the plush of your ass was nestled against his pelvis and stomach. he yanked at his shirt, pulling it off of his body. your slick was already coating him, dripping down to his balls. you were a mess, mewling just from him entering. you felt so full — his dick stuffing you better than you ever had been before. and it was driving you out your mind.

toji didn’t wait for you to adjust. with one hand on your ass, thumb rubbing against the ridges and dimples, and the other lacing through purple hair, toji pulled all the way out, and then slammed all the way back in. the force of his motions shoved you down into the couch, and immediately you let out a cry of, “t-toji! slow down!”

but slowing down wasn’t apart of his agenda. he rasped out, “nah, this is what you wanted, baby. so take it. take my dick like a good fuckin’ girl.” he began snapping his hips into you, the veins on his dick dragging against your walls just right. your cunt clamped down on him every time he tried to pull out, as if it was forcing him to make your cunt his new home.

toji was mesmerized by the way your ass jiggled and clapped with every movement he made, the sound of your skin slapping filling the air. he slapped your ass hard and then squeezed, making you squeal once more. “fuck, look at you. bouncing this ass back on my dick so good..”

at his praise, you looked back at him before proudly twerking back on his dick, putting on a little show. he laughed, his hand trailing from your hair to snake around your throat. “such a fuckin’ slut,” he said gruffly, before pulling his hips back so that only the tip was inside before ramming his dick back inside of you.

you felt him nudge against your cervix, and you let out a noise close to a scream, while his hand tightened around your throat. tears filled your eyes at the pain, your lashes beginning to slide. “you’re gonna wake up the kids, princess. wouldn’t want them to come down to seeing you getting fucked like some whore, right? keep that pretty mouth quiet.” he leaned down, chest pressing against your back as he curled his much larger body against yours. “but not too quiet. wanna hear you lose your fucking brain over this dick.”

his other hand came to wrap around your throat, and he began to jack hammer into you, slamming you on his dick over and over. your eyes rolled back, a mix of pain and pleasure twisting through you, that coil getting ready to snap again. “t-toji…” you slurred out, “g-gonna fuckin’ cum again…!”

“so fucking do it,” toji hissed as your clenching began to get more intense. “paint my shit, baby.” his voice was sending shivers down your spine, aiding your increasing pleasure. you let out ragged moans into the couch as your body trembled, pussy spasming wildly around his dick as you came a second time.

he didn’t slow down through your orgasm, instead, he went faster, if that was even humanly possible. he pressed down on your head, forcing your face into the couch, and pressing on your belly simultaneously. it forced you to have a deeper arch, but it also made you feel just how deep he was inside of you. pressing his big hand against your stomach to feel his bulge had toji grinning.

you were a wreck, tears sliding down your face, your lashes long fallen of. you were pretty sure your lace had peeled, but you didn’t care. you could barely think, barely form coherent sentences with how toji was fucking you. and he knew it. he knew he reduced you to a mess, and he wasn’t even halfway finished with you.

soon, he felt his orgasm coming, and he let out a deep groan. “shit.. where do you want my cum, doll? ‘m getting close..” you were quick to whine out, “i-inside, toji.. want you to cum inside…!”

“haah!” he grunted out with a smirk, “want me to fill you up, huh? want me to stuff you full with my cum? yeah, i bet you fucking do, look at you.”

“toji, toji, toji, fuckkk.. want your babies, c’mon, make me a mama again—!” toji laughed shakily at your dumb response, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “fuck yeah, dollface. you better not spill not one drop, alright?” he let out a strangled moan as he released, his thick cum filling her to the walls.

you sucked in harsh breaths, finally feeling relieved after toji’s constant fucking stopped. he seemed to slow down, gently fucking his load into you. you began to relax… however you were sorely mistaken.

“you thought i was done with you?” toji asked as he gripped you, flipping you over so that he could see your face. you looked a mess, but you were so, so pretty. your eyes were watery, face with tear trails all over. your lips were bruised from how much you’d been biting them. at least your hair was still intact… for now. toji leaned down and pressed a kiss to your jawline, down to your throat. he yanked at the top you wore, and when it didn’t want to cooperate, he ripped it and peeled it off of you himself. “toji, my shirt….” you whimpered but he dismissively waved a hand. “you’ll get one of mine.” he reached behind you, unclipping your bra and letting your tits spring free.

his big hands almost swallowed them as he began to leave bites and kisses all over your throat, collarbone and chest. “can’t possibly be done with you,” he said against your skin, “been waiting to fuck you like this since i laid eyes on you, doll.”

he left a plethora of hickies on your skin, very obviously marking you as his. you were still speared on his dick, and he began to roll his hips languidly inside of you, curving into your g-spot repeatedly. the feeling had you seeing stars as he gripped your legs and pulled them around his waist. with each thrust, he began to get more forceful and speed up, until once more, he was pounding your insides.

your nails went to his back, scratching, making toji wince in pain as his hips collided with yours. three of your nails had broken off. a third time, you felt yourself reach your climax once more, but it felt different. painful almost, with the last your clit throbbed. you managed to push away the toji-shaped clouds in your brain and realized.

“t-toji—! toji, ‘m gonna squirt!” you cried out as you twisted in his hold, the pleasure becoming overwhelming for you. “t-toji—!” he only smirked at you, yanking you closer. “make a mess f’me, mama. wanna see you get all messy… c’mon, c’mon, make that pretty pussy squirt on my dick.” he pressed another messy kiss to your lips as his hand snuck down to rub your clit, forcing more pleasure into your system. you let out a ruined, gasped noise — like you wanted to scream but couldn’t get it out. clear liquid gushed from you, coating toji’s lower half, some of his abdomen and the couch.

you were in too much of a haze to notice that soon after, toji came inside of you a second time. he didn’t pull out at first, instead opting to lay his head against your sweaty skin, pressing kisses. he realized that you would be completely gone for a bit, after that, so he was gentler with you. he pulled out, watching his cum slowly dribble from your hole after the two creampies he gave you. not wanting you to sit in your own fluids, picked you up and brought you to his room, putting you one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers before tucking you in.

he went back downstairs, eyes locked on the mess you made on the couch. a soft whistle escaped as he plucked your lashes off the sofa and put them on the table.

you probably wouldn’t become his girlfriend yet; but you damn for sure weren’t going anywhere now.

[vhswolf]

David “Deacon” Kay x reader

Warnings: Not smut, but it is a bit steamy, slapping, age gap

English it is NOT my first language, so don't judge me :]

It is hard to be an anti cop, and be a child of one. Right now I'm on his birthday party, and I'm surrounded by cops, friends of my father, I know they hate me as much as I hate them. Well, almost all of them. My dad have this friend, Deacon, looks like he likes me, if he doesn't… he hides his hate pretty well. I have to say, I just was waiting for him to arrive, I wanted to see him again. He was late as fuck, but I could see why when he entered still in his swat uniform. He talked with my dad and then came to me.

“Hello, punk.”

He said and I smiled.

“Hi, dick.”

I hugged him, and he did the same to me.

“Missed me?”

“I always do. How was work?”

“Pretty intense, but everything is fine now, so don't need to worry about me.”

“ I wouldn't, to be honest, sometimes I think you're hotter all beat up.”

He laughed off, and before he could reply, one of my dad's friends came and hugged him.

“Deacon, I haven't seen you since forever!”

I smiled and walked away, already saw who I wanted, now I'm going to my bedroom. I couldn't listen to this old men playlist any more. I walked to my room, sat on my bed, put my headphones and picked up a book, finally peace. Or it should be, after a little time I saw my door opening, and Deacon came in. I took off my headphones and looked at him.

“Your dad is pissed, he wants you down there.”

“Yeah, whatever, I don't have much to do there. I know two people, one being my dad and one being you, and I don't think you two old men will just be my company.”

“I'm not that old, little girl.”

“Of course, and I'm not a little girl.”

He closed the door, took a couple steps and sat on my bed In front of me.

“Yes, you're.”

“And you're old enough to be my dad, but I mean, DiCaprio could be the dad of almost all of his girlfriends.”

“You know your dad would hate to see you saying this to me.”

“He hates when I do pretty much everything.”

“You should stop flirting with me and try to do that with someone your age.”

“Oh no, I couldn't. First, no one is hot as you're, second, they're just fuck boys, I won't give my time to them.”

I put my book in the bedside table, with my headphones and my phone.

“Not all of them are like this.”

I laid down my head in his lap.

“Yeah, sure.”

He brushed his fingers in my tattoo.

“Do you still agree with this?”

“Kinda, all cops are bastards but you.”

“You should just go down, your father will notice that I never came back.”

“He won't, I'm pretty sure now he's too drunk to think straight.”

“But I will go anyway.”

I sat down and agreed.

“Yes, sir, but I won't.”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir?”

“You're really trying.”

“I pretty sure everyone calls cops like that. But I could change if you want, I got: darling, sweetheart, master, daddy. You can choose.”

“Don't.”

“If you don't choose, I will.”

He got up and pushed me back into my bed, more aggressive than he ever has been with me, and it made me smile.

“You couldn't shut it for your life, can you?”

“Oh definitely not, and I have to say, if this is you trying to make me hate you, well, you're making me horny as fuck.”

He laughed at me.

“Fuck, you can't say that to me.”

“I definitely can.” I put his hand on my neck. “You could squeeze that shit if you want, or beat me black and blue, and I would say thank you on my knees.”

The hand that was in my neck squeezed a little, he looked hesitant, but when he saw my smile getting bigger as he did it, he just did harder.

“How can you be like this?”

“Like a slut?”

“Exactly. Never thought of you like this. I mean I know you're a brat, loves to talk back, but… I mean, you got me.”

“Feel free to do whatever you want to me.”

“That's not very safe.”

I rolled my eyes back and laughed.

“I forgot you're too nice, if I don't like anything I can say… I don't know… purple, but I know you're too vanilla, I will not need that.”

I like to challenge people, that's fun, and always ends pretty good for me. Deacon looked a little angry with my observation, and that's when the fun begins.

“What?”

“Don't be sad, I really love vanilla ice cream.”

He gave a slap across my face and squeezed my neck tighter.

“You know nothing about me, little girl.”

He kissed me so hard that my lip started bleeding. That's what I'm talking about! That's fun.

“Show me what I don't know.”

Deacon looked into my eyes, maybe trying to read me, maybe trying to warn me, but all I could think was how much I wanted him to slap my face once again.

“I could, but I don't think we have the time, baby.” He smiled at me, almost laughing at my frustration. “But I promise you, that on your birthday, you will have an amazing gift.”

“Do you really promise?”

He nodded.

“I do.”

“You still didn't choose what I should call you…”

“That I will let you choose.”

“OK, sir.”

[slutisnotabadword]

I decided that I’mma take a big step back from the 911 fandom, because if last episode has taught me anything is that you guys have forgot to enjoy the show you’re watching.

As soon as the episode is over, all I’m seeing is unnecessary Tommy hate, people giving up on Buddie and people criticizing people for giving up, people saying Karen is oc, and that Eddie was acting out of character, and blah blah blah, and like all of you are wrong LMAO.

I think the problem is that everyone is watching this show with the expectation of watching the entire’s show’s future in one episode. Y’all want everything now, and it’s just not gonna happen like that, and on top of that, y’all want everything to be what y’all expected. So, let me crush that shit for you.

NO, they’re not gonna bring up Tommy’s past. They actually don’t give a fuck about what that man did, and you know why? Because the producers of whoever on this show literally called up Lou and was like “Hey, we need someone to be Buck’s boyfriend, wanna do it?” And that mf was like “Yeah, sure why not.” That’s most likely what happened. You know why? Because Tommy is only gonna be here for a very short time, so who gives a flying fuck. And Tommy in episode 5 wasn’t even that damn bad. Eddie acted the same way in the other cursed episode years ago. The only difference I would say about them is that Eddie expects Buck to believe in curses because he known him longer, so now it’s more endearing and induces playful banter. And with Tommy, this relationship with Buck is more new and his irritation comes from a place of genuine annoyance, instead of more endearing like Eddie. That’s it! That does not mean that Tommy is the devil’s incarnate, calm down.

NO, Eddie isn’t going to bust out the rainbow flag and touch nipples with Buck in one episode. ESPECIALLY now. Look, I want Buddie to happen, more than the next person. But this is Eddie Diaz we’re talking about. Eddie has a lot of shit to work through, and I’ll be honest with you, we probably won’t see Buddie become official until around the end of season 8. It’s the hard truth, but take comfort in knowing that this is indeed Eddie’s season—hence, the plethora of photo shoots and spotlight this man had recently.

NO, the characters weren’t oc. Karen had the right to be upset that Hen was always missing out on their family’s big moments, and from the fact that Hen doesn’t really try her hardest to take off of work. In my opinion, I think that’s a great way to open up the topic of the 118 becoming everything for these characters—like Hen, Bobby, Buck, Eddie, Chim—that they would forget that they have family at home, because the 118 is also their family, as well. no i mean, is that so hard to consider? They work these 24 hour shifts, and even sometimes longer and go through these traumatic events all the time. Of course there’s going to be some intense loyalty and bonds that would seem to “overshadow” what they have at home. That is actually a very interesting plot direction the writers could explore.

I could go on and on about the wild takes in the 911 fandom, because there’s just so many that I didn’t realize before. But can we all please, genuinely, shut the fuck up. Like for two seconds and enjoy our show. Because let me tell you what’s happening, you guys are theorizing yourselves TO DEATH. You guys are creating these wild expectations and you are setting yourselves up for disappointment. It’s good to hope for the things you want and sometimes it’s fun to theorize, but TAKE A BREATH. Because we are starting to look like crazy people, and let me remind you that these people SEE THE SHIT YOU’RE SAYING. You don’t think Oliver, Kenny, whoever the fuck is watching you rant on and on about how Tommy is a bastard and complaining that Eddie’s not gay yet. Get y’all shit together because it’s starting to look embarrassing and WEIRD.

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

-- -- --

There is, honest to God, a coathanger butler and a duster French maid.

“Well, that confirms it,” Lance says, clapping his hands together. “I fell off my horse on the way here and I’ve gone insane.”

“I think you’re just smart, kiddo,” Shiro says, amused. “Perceptive.” He has yet to stop his tour, hopping along rather quickly as Lance follows. 

Lance opens his mouth to deny that particular claim – Lance is many things and smart is sure as shit not one of them – but there’s a bellowing shout that interrupts him before he can. 

“Ta-kashi!”

Shiro-the-candelabra startles, then goes pale, which is a hilarious thing to witness in a face of wax. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he curses. He makes an effort to hop behind a random sidetable placed against one of the farther walls of the massive corridor, but he’s not nearly fast enough. Rapid, angry clanking sounds precede the appearance of an ornately carved grandfather clock, the face – literally and figuratively, man this castle is fucking weird – twisted in a heavy scowl. 

“Takashi,” the clock hisses again. “What part of ‘united front' is hard for you to understand?”

Caught completely red-handed, Shiro straightens himself up and attempts to look dignified. “You were busy with Keith! What was I supposed to do, let this one wander around? I was –”

“You were supposed to wait for me, Takashi! Last time –”

It would probably be prudent for Lance to continue listening, as any information he learns is for the better. But as soon as Shiro says Keith’s name, Lance’s ears check out, the world in front of him goes blurry, and he starts to feel like he’s deep underwater. 

It hits him, all at once and intensely, that this is really happening. He is, sometime in the frighteningly near future, going to meet his future husband. His future husband who is known across the country to be one of the most vile men in temper ever to exist, who is impossible to love. His future husband who has money, money that Lance can send back to his family that can never manage to get food on the table for every mouth on every day of the week. The future husband who Lance cannot leave, unlike the people before him, because if he does then the family farm will sell and everyone will be homeless and it will lie on his shoulders. 

If he fails, his family will never look at him again, the shame will be so strong. The kids – they’ll be uprooted if they have to sell the farm and move away. He can’t do that to them. And yes, his family’s betrayal still aches like a gaping wound in his chest (they didn’t want to keep him Mamà didn’t want to keep him only three wanted to keep him and he doesn’t know who they sent him away the town sent him away his family sent him away everyone he’s ever known decided they were better off without him), but he doesn’t – he can’t let their saving grace slip between his fingers. If he fails then his greatest fears are confirmed – he is the failure that he’s always known he is.

But If he succeeds, he will be locked for life in an enchanted castle that feels as if it doubles as a tomb. 

Suddenly Lance is sick to his stomach. 

“–ance? Lance? You okay, kiddo?”

Lance shakes himself from his thoughts, eyes focusing on the concerned faces in front of him. He clears his throat, straightening his shoulders and plastering a smile on his face. 

He will not fail. He will not. It is the lesser of two evils, to succeed, so he must. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just remembered something, is all. I meant to look for something to feed my horse when I came in here, there’s no hay in the stable, but I forgot with all the –” he glances at the clock and candelabra, wondering how to phrase the clusterfuck that is now my life tripped me up, my bad delicately – “the… hubbub.”

Hubbub. 

Alrighty. That’s the word he’s going with. That’s fine. He’s totally cool with suddenly becoming a bitter senior citizen loudly complaining about the youths. All is well.

Despite his strangeness, the two people (??) in front of him visibly soften. 

“Sorry, dear,” the clock says. He clanks forward and extends one of his arms – shiny, carved gold decals of the sides of a grandfather clock – to shake. Lance does. “My name is Adam. I imagine you must be exhausted. Would you like to see your room?

That sounds excellent. Lance sags at the suggestion, shoulders slumping forward and sigh escaping his lungs without his position. His own room in the castle…what will that look like? He’s always shared a bed with someone, back home. And sometimes he is kicked and sometimes people snore and sometimes people squiggle around and hog blankets and talk in their sleep. Sometimes people even pick their toes, completely unconscious, and refuse to believe him when he complains about it in the morning. Such is the life of a large family in a small house. 

Lance will have a bed to his own, now. A room, even! It’s almost unfeasible. He’s expecting something huge; giant windows making up a whole wall at least to let the sun it, impossibly high ceilings, a bed as big as his house once was, with a canopy over the sides of it. As plush as goose down and soft as Kaltenecker’s – his favourite of their family’s cows – fur. Cream walls, maybe, prime for him to paint. 

Paint! He’s sure he’ll have paint here. The richest of colours, even, and paintbrushes he doesn’t have to make from kinky horse hair. And he’s sure he’ll have time, here, outside of whatever chores he’s expected to do, to ride Blue around the grounds. Maybe, for once in his life, he can enjoy his day outside of fleeting moments with the animals, or Veronica, or the twins. Maybe there will be more time outside of fleeting minutes when he watches the sun rise. Maybe he will have freedom here, to explore what he likes, and in luxury, no less. 

Wait. 

His brow furrows. Freedom…he won’t be free. He may be surrounded by more opulence than he ever expected to see in three lifetimes, but freedom is still a luxury he can’t afford.

“What about Ke –” he stumbles over the name – “the Prince?”

Shiro and Adam exchange the least subtle look Lance has ever seen on a human, let alone a grandfather clock and a candelabra. It would be funny if it weren’t so troubling. 

“What about him?” Shiro says carefully. 

Lance blinks at him. “Is his royal highness too busy to meet the guy he’s literally about to marry, or…?”

“We just figured you would prefer to settle yourself, first.” Adam says it quickly, practiced, obvious; confirming Lance’s suspicions. 

There is something afoot. 

“I’m pretty settled, actually. All good in the hood. Checked off most of the list, tick tick tick. I just need to meet Prince Temper-tantrum.”

Both royal attendants laugh nervously. 

“Ah, we’ll get there,” Shiro assures. He hops forward, pointing his candle to the hallway, indicating that Lance should follow him. “We have time, no? It’s late. Dinner will be ready soon. No need.”

He and Adam are very persistent, all but shoving Lance out of the front entrance and to a massive staircase. One of them must have sent the word of Lance’s arrival, because one of the branched-off hallways of the staircase – a wing? Is that what it’s called? Why must rich people label stupid things – is illuminated, clearing the path Lance is meant to take to his new room. The other is as dark as the rest of the castle, cold and isolating, reeking of angst and cowardice and a smidge of superiority, too, because reputation or not, what kind of jackass doesn’t at least introduce themselves to their future husband?

Suddenly, it all kind of boils over. Lance roots himself in the middle of some grand marble hallway and, ignoring Shiro and Adam’s frantic pleading, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts: “Hey, Prince of Darkness! Is it too beneath you to say hello to your future husband, you beastly man?”

His voice echoes throughout the castle, shout bouncing off the carved stone walls and getting louder, somehow. Lance stands, glaring at the dark hallway, fists clenched at his sides, fury still lighting up his veins. But then a minute passes, and another, without so much as a peep of movement, and rage starts to trickle out of his body in favour of something like regret. 

He has one job, here. He is to make nice and play the silent husband so he can get funds back to his family, and no one goes hungry. He is supposed to avoid Prince Keith at any and all possible moments, keeping his head down and living his life as separately and as well as he can given the circumstances. And Adam and Shiro were perfectly happy to let him do so, too, guiding him to his room before he even had to breathe in Prince Keith’s direction. 

Him and his big fucking mouth. Clearly, there is more than one person in this castle with a temper. 

He turns to the candle and the clock. “Sorry,” he mutters, averting his eyes. Hopefully they don’t call this whole thing off. He doesn’t think they will – from what Shiro implied, they seem kind of desperate – but still. He shouldn’t push his luck. 

When Shiro and Adam don’t respond, he looks up, expecting to find them disappointed, but instead finding them not looking at him at all. He frowns, taking in the way their faces have dropped, the way they’ve both gone pale. As pale as bloodless things can be, anyway. He follows their line of sight, shifting his body to face the farthest end of the dark corridor, and squints, trying to make out what they’re so white about. It takes him a moment to pick it out, but eventually he sees it, almost glowing in the darkness – a pair of large, yellow eyes. And…

Teeth?

Lance blinks. He rubs his eyes. He looks again. 

Where the mouth would be, under the eyes, are massive, fang-like teeth, glowing white in the dark shadows. They are not human. They are not even animal. Lance is not sure what they resemble, aside from monstrous. A chill runs down his spine. 

Slowly, silently, the way a wolf might stalk towards prey it knows it has trapped, the shrouded face comes closer, slinking in the shadows. Lance follows it, head tilting higher and higher as he begins to realise how tall this face sits on a still-invisible body; how large this…thing, animal or man, truly is. Closer and closer it steps, until Lance can hear its breaths, until Lance can feel the heat from its body from where it stands, in the last stretch of the shadows. 

Lance swallows. 

“Who are you?” he asks. His voice is surprisingly steady, although his hands tremble. 

Finally, the figure steps out into the light. Dark purple fur is all Lance can see; covering the figure in thick, uneven swaths; large brow drawn tight over his slitted yellow eyes, mouth twisted in a snarl, fangs pushing out from his lips, clawed hands clenched in fists, talons clinking on the floor as he steps closer. Ornate clothing covers his body, heavy red cloak draped over his shoulders, materials Lance can recognise as sturdy and well-dyed and rich. 

The figure bends low, close to Lance’s face. “I am as you say, dear future husband.”

“You’re a – an actual –” Lance stammers.

Prince Keith growls, low in his throat. 

“A beast.”

———

next chapter

[tadpoles-and-daydreams]

Hey there! Hekate has pointed me toward your blog and I just wanted to say hi 💞

I do have a question though, have you ever had deities help you with motivation and executive functioning skills? I've got ADHD and the "laziness"(🤢) or what I call "going slug mode" (staying in bed all day, no motivation to shower, etc) really commands my life.

My periods of deity work tend to coincide with my periods of productivity and energy, but I often fall off when, well, everything else falls off. So I guess I'm also looking for advice or at least to connect with someone who's had similar experiences.

(I've also connected with Aphrodite and Loki! Other gods I've worked with in the past are Mother Hathor and Brigid)

First off, I may or may not have had so many feelings upon seeing "Hekate has pointed me towards your blog" because the idea that my blog can be useful enough that a deity would go "go look at what that dude has to say" just brings me so much joy.

Second off, OH THIS IS ABSOLUTELY SOMETHING I SHOULD SCREAM ABOUT THANK YOU. I can't believe I haven't already made a post about this!!

I, too, am an ADHD motherfucker and I have always had so many issues with keeping up with my craft. I will absolutely be calling it "slug mode" from now on, that's the best fucking way to put it. I've had deities help me with executive function at times, but if I'm honest I've forgotten lately that I can ask them for help with that. More often than not it looks more like nudging me towards a task than giving me the energy- but that doesn't mean you can't ask! It just means I forgot I could, lol.

This is gonna be a chonker post, so I'm breaking this post up into two parts; 1, why accepting "falling off" was the best thing I could have done for myself and 2, how to still connect with your craft (and deities) through those times anyway.

So for one, you're not broken or a failure, and your deities fuckin' love you.

Call me philosophical, but hear me out; I've always worked in cycles. Cycles of insane productivity, cycles of tiredness, cycles of hyperfixation on one thing, then another, then another. I'm just someone who works that way, and I've always viewed it as a problem to be fixed. I've always viewed MYSELF as a problem to be fixed, which really started with the school system but that's an unrelated rant. So, apologies for getting a bit intense especially since this may not apply to you personally, but just in case:

You're not a problem. You don't need to fix yourself. The world works in cycles. Seasons, reincarnation if you subscribe to that belief, the water cycle, and a billion other things I've forgotten- working with cycles is just a natural way of going about life that I think shouldn't be forgotten. I have intense periods of growth in my craft, and I have periods where I don't do much and instead play my favorite video game for eight hours straight- and that's okay! One of the best things I did for myself and my craft was give myself permission to do that. I, and you, are not failures as witches for "falling off" and our deities love us anyway. Not in spite of it, either, because of it. They know how to work with the cyclic nature of things; people are no different.

So honestly, there's a chance that none of this will make sense to you- but there's a chance that you, and maybe others seeing this post, might find that giving yourself permission to go through cycles might be the best thing you could do.

Okay, now that I've yelled about that, here's ways that I keep myself connected to my craft and my deities during my less witchy periods.

I give myself permission to use witchcraft for "dumb shit." I have at least one post on this, but witchcraft can BE childish, playful, "dumb-" it doesn't need to be serious all the time. So I'm learning to let go of what I think it should look like and recognize that sometimes the way to stay connected is to lay in bed and draw a sigil on my phone as a mini-spell to manifest a nice little treat or a thing I want in a video game.

This isn't deity work, but it had been huge for me: SIGILS. Sigils my beloved. I don't often have the time, energy, or supplies to do what most people think of when they talk about spells. So instead, if I'm feeling like I could do a spell for something but that's just too much, sigils can be done on my phone or computer while just chilling. Also, if you're like me and a writer, I just write spells too. Literally the same way I write statements for sigils, but a bunch of 'em.

Personally I just talk to my deities. I would like to do this more, actually. You don't need to have a big reason for calling them in, just ask them to sit with you and talk about your day or infodump about a special interest. They're not going to deem it unimportant; you're important to them.

Turn anything into a devotional activity if you want. Any self-care. Not just the typical stuff; I mean food, meds, literally any sort of "maintenance" to keep your body and mind running! If you can't do those, play music you associate with them, or watch a show/play a game and invite them to just sit with you. Whatever you're already doing, you can just ask them to do it with you. If that's literally just laying in bed doing nothing but feeling crappy, I can assure you I've asked them to sit with me during those days too and they've been more than happy.

Literally most of my offerings are just random food. As we speak, I have a little tiny thing with a few sips of soda because I give Loki some when I drink some. If you don't have the time or energy to put it on the altar, literally just drink it with the intention that you're drinking it "for" them. When I did a reading and Kali visited for it, she asked for a graham cracker of all things. It doesn't have to be associated with them. Virtual offerings too! If you can, I've seen people just scroll through pinterest/google images and pick images to offer to their deities.

This might not be something you struggle with, but this is definitely something I would need someone to tell me so: ASK. PLEASE. ASK FOR THINGS. They're not going to riot if you ask for things!! Let them help!! Ask for things, unapologetically if you can muster it!!! I am using excessive exclamation marks for a reason, I swear. My deities are in a constant state of telling me to just ask for things.

Be gentle with yourself. Genuinely, I think one of the best ways to honor your deities doesn't even require them to be there at all; just try not to hate on yourself for being the way you are, because they wouldn't want you to.

Overall, my only advice is just... throw away what you "should" be doing and find out what you LIKE doing. What works for you? It's a hard question to answer, but it gets a lot easier when you start looking away from what "should" work. Your deities are working with you, they wouldn't be working with you if they didn't accept every single part of you. That includes slug mode.

As always, my DM's and asks are open if you have any more questions/just want to connect because being a neurodivergent witch sometimes just feels isolating at times! If you actually read this whole post thank you, I hope some of it helped!!

[thewhumpcaretaker]

i wanna know ur hcs on hopelesslydevoted perhaps🥺(i forgot i was gonna tell u first uhhh-)

So I really can't do this without spoilers because they've barely even started interacting as bodyguard and Marquis yet in Those Who Have Something to Live For, so like...you'll just have to decide whether to read this. I left out the things that I want to be major surprises at least!

CW: SPOILERS, drugs, some NSFW

Chidi fell in love at first sight - in a manner of speaking. He immediately felt something towards Vincent that he couldn't explain (picking up on that hidden vulnerability), but he tried to fight it because Vincent treated him so poorly. Until he realized why Vincent was really like that - then he was just outright in love.

Chidi likes carrying things for Vincent. If he needs to take off his coat and have someone hold it, if he's given a package and doesn't want to deal with it right now - if there's anything like that, Chidi likes carrying it for him. Also carrying the weight of his emotional baggage

Chidi is the only person who can talk to Vincent about difficult topics or give criticism. So, over time, other guards and employees start coming to Chidi to relay messages to Vincent and convince him of things. And Chidi is NOT HAVING IT. He'll only give Vincent his honest advice and will tell on people who try to manipulate him by going through Chidi.

Chidi is not particularly tied to being a Myrmadon, or to the underworld in general. It's just where life happened to take him. He's ambitious in the sense of wanting to do every job well, but he doesn't care about titles and such. If Vincent ever wanted to retire, Chidi would of course still be there with him.

If one of them locks the door, something is about to happen. Someone's either about to cry or get fucked senseless (maybe both).

Chidi has a really difficult time controlling Vincent when it comes to drugs, because it's a delicate balance between taking care of his physical health, and making sure he doesn't feel undermined (which will wreck his mental health).

They are very cute when they sleep in late together.

There's so much cuddling. The bed is Vincent's safe place - it's where he goes when he wants to be away from everyone else. But of course he wants Chidi there with him.

They really like watching each other fight and get covered in blood!!

If Chidi learns that there's something from Vincent's childhood that he never got to do or some form of care that he never received, he's doing that immediately. Reading to him before bedtime, for example (yes I stole this from the cigarette fic).

They dance. They absolutely dance. Chidi leads.

They love giving each other presents, the more unexpected the better.

Vincent really pampers Chidi and gives him all kinds of perks that the other bodyguards don't get. It's not very ethical in terms of workplace behavior, buuuut…

He really likes doing something for Chidi by surprise in the middle of a shift when he's supposed to be acting professional, like giving him water or something. I just have an image of Vincent coming up to him with a glass of water when Chidi is supposed to be standing perfectly still, at attention, in hot sunlight, and he tips it directly to his lips so he can drink and and they're just making intense eye contact aaaaaaaaaa

I have something to say about their wedding rings but it's a major spoilER AGHADLGKGJGJGJGJGJGJASDJF It's okay it's okay I can contain myself.

Let's distract ourselves from that with some spice:

Like in Beyond Judgement, Vincent thinks he's a top. And he CAN be…but he's about to learn how good bottoming feels. Once Chidi reframes the concept as a kind of pillow-princess scenario rather than submission, he realizes that's what he wants.

But he still tops sometimes, which is good, because Chidi is a masochist. He likes it when Vincent goes hard enough to make things painful because it shows him how intensely he's enjoying the moment.

In some headcanon list or ask, you mentioned Vincent breaking down/safewording at any form of degredation in bed - that is absolutely real.

Knife play!!!

[heathermasonnum1fan]

Songs of the Week (3)

1. Junkhead (Alice in Chains)

This was definitely an Alice in Chains week for me. Seasonal depression or whatever people choose to call it had me playing Dirt on repeat, and Junkhead is such an obvious standout (for me personally) that I just had to include it here. This song is so confident in what it wants to be that every listen feels different and it’s impossible to get tired of. Lyrical content and context aside, it’s a positive and enjoyable listen every single time.

2. Fist (Deftones)

Since Adrenaline’s 29th anniversary was a couple weeks ago and I forgot to make a post about it, I’m honoring it here. Besides, it was about time I added a Deftones song to one of these; just because there’s less of them in my daily rotation doesn’t mean I love the band any less. Fist is technically a hidden track, meaning that many forget about it when talking about Adrenaline, which I think is incredibly unfair. Fist is absolutely bewitching, a beautiful track that doesn’t really fit with the rest of the album, but it’s such a gorgeous addition that I could never have the heart to critique it.

3. Mic Check (Rage Against the Machine)

Is it obvious that I love the Battle of Los Angeles yet? I love how inventive this song is, what is done with the guitar and the vocal effects. It’s a little too out there to play in the car or public places, but god is it beautiful. One of the best tracks off the album.

4. Riders On The Storm (The Doors)

I’m switching it up a little this week. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the weather, but for some reason this song easily made it into my daily rotation. I don’t listen to The Doors much so this feels like a very welcome change. It’s so charming and confident and beautiful that sometimes I put it on just to calm myself down.

5. I Know Something (Alice in Chains)

I fucking love Facelift and this song is one of the main reasons why. I adore the bass on this one and the way it blends with Jerry Cantrell’s guitar is insane. It’s weirdly positive and upbeat for this album and Alice in Chains in general but in the best way possible; it brings a kind of funkness (is that even a word) to their work I really appreciate. An overall amazing listen, so captivating.

6. Jimmy Recard (Drapht)

This song was introduced to me by my stepdad and it’s actually one of the biggest reasons I love it so much. Music is one of our main bonding points and it’s just always so beautiful to have people you love give you a glimpse of their music taste (especially if the taste is stellar). I tend to gravitate towards music that’s a little different from Drapht, which only makes songs like these all the more interesting to me. Absolute banger.

7. Sober (TOOL)

Sober is this week’s TOOL song because apparently I need to have one on every single one of these. If I’m being completely honest, I haven’t checked out any other tracks from Undertow, but if Sober is anything to go by this album fucking rocks. As always, the lyrics are amazing, the vocals are as intense as can be, the atmosphere is transcendental, and the passion is out of this world. I have such a deep appreciation for this track because let’s be honest, there’s nothing like TOOL out there and this is an integral part of their origins.

[annabelle--cane]

I'm gonna be honest i was shocked by the drafts being over 2000 and then i remembered youre a popular blog in a niche and intense fandom and. yea. adds up

strong chance i just sent you an ask about something you reblogged a week ago and if so i apologise i forgot i havent refreshed on desktop in a While

eh the post was from like two days ago, you're fine. and yeah I've had enough experiences of people asking me why I think war crimes are okay in response to basic fan posts that I banish a Lot to my drafts forever. more reasons for my insane number of drafts include:

I use them as a bookmarking system for videos/long posts I can't look at when I first see them and then forget to delete after I get around to actually looking at them

sometimes my ability to form normal human sentences escapes me so if I want to post something I have to go through like three drafts, none of which I delete and overwrite because I still need them to refer back to what I was fucking trying to say in the first place

I use my drafts as a place to banish angsty diary entries. I could use google docs or something but the vibes are all different, for maximum catharsis I have to imagine that I Could post it publicly. I shan't. but I Could.

I am allergic to getting into direct fights online but I am constantly full of hot takes so I've got a zillion unredacted drafts about topical discourse that are just "what does tumblr user x think they're on about lmao [screenshot of their bad post and six paragraphs explaining why I hate it]"

I cannot overstate how many of my drafts are just shit like this

[birdsofhands]

10/25/2023

somehow it's always octobers.

and why does this look aesthetic?

today we're falling apart again. me and edgar i mean. will it still matter when i'm thirty? i'm not sure. but as of now, some of my intense girlish feelings at the age of 23 is fading away. watered down. we're calling a rest. a kind of cool off. i guess. the funny thing is that i was all tensed up the entire time we were talking, but when we finally decided to take a break, i felt myself physically relieved. yes it was a bit sad but i shrugged it off and it was easy. im being honest. yes it still is making me anxious. what if he genuinely hates me now? that's my concern. i did not like it that waym him hating me. i know his love the same way i know his hatred. and both are weighty things. i wish i only know his love. it was nice. his love was nice most times and i think ill miss it. but we're really not working out. i think it's probably because of me not wanting to have sex? but that's wrong. i don't deserve such vile treatment. if he loves me he'll respect that. so losing him because of this isn't really a loss. and i don't even see him becoming my husband. [maybe i kinda do sometimes when i remember how he promises to make me a glass of milk when im having a panic attack in the middle of the night or how we danced in our porch in the middle of the night with no music on but then ill remember all the awful things he had said to me] i am confused like a teenager. i am alive and learning how to live. does that make sense? no. and that's the point. do i sound like im trying to make something out of nothing? maybe. maybe that's what im good at. and rambling too. i don't know why im so afraid of journaling when i am this good when i finally start. the words just ebb and flow. when i realize i don't need to make a literary piece like sylvia plath, it becomes easier and freer and i forget why i started this. sorry. i was saying it felt a whole lot emptier when it's done. perhaps it's the thought that he'll come back to me either way like he always does. almost dog-like. and how ill accept him too because well, i have no one and i am afraid to be lonely. is that the truth? i am not afraid to be lonely. [i think journaling to me now also feels like a battle between figuring out whether i'm really being honest with myself or just my old classic people pleasing fake ass self talking? it's hard when you don't know who you are or when you spend your time either wallowing and drowning in your negative energies or distracting yourself with everything you can find instead of figuring out how you feel and processing it. or maybe i just really need help.

ok well let me tell you about today. it was great overall actually, btw im lying in my childhood bedroom that doesn't look remotely close to my childhood bedroom beside my sleeping mother. we just got an aircon. my sister is working below and the blue light of her projector lamp is oozing to the ceiling moving like ocean waves. green laser dots speckled it. my mother just moved and i got scared she'd scold me but she didn't ans that fucking surprising honestly. i fed loki a lot today and we got closer. he lets me pet him now and he comes to me even if I wasn't calling him. he was lovely. that's all for today im anxious.

i forgot to tell you he called me a sad girl today. it hurt actually but he was right i was trying to manipulate him to get him to say sorry to me. and after tht i tried a different approach the narcissist tht i am. i asked him if he really knew the word and that he should tell me what it means and guess what? he caught on my schemes. he said no. cuz im just going to turn it against him which was exactly what i was gonna do but well i was being obvious and it would be really disappointing if he hadn't caught on but damn. that was still shocking. and surprisingly numbing. after tht i just accepted defeat. i wanted to rest i didn't wannafeel like tht anymore. it's like he doesn't love me anymore. he's ok with losing me now.

---

the morning that day, loki went to me and woke me up with a massage. it was the first time ive experienced something like that.

[xsadcorebenji]

intense phantom memory

my high school/jr. high, kinda “lifetime crush” (cuz it went into early college) growing up and i had pretty awful and weirdly strict parents

and one time she snuck out of her window (she lived down the block from me) using a rope,

and we hung out together in my room, all we did was sit really close with each other and take photos together on my laptop at the time, and i feel kind of stupid being too shy back then to initiate a kiss or make out

because she took a big risk to be with me and i did nothing but wanted her to initiate

the type of love i had back then for her is the type of love where i wish i could devour her (just fucking bite her all over) and i suppose my partners who followed within my lifetime dealt with the brunt of that sort of love

my mother came home early unexpectedly (which to me signaled she was already in a pissy mood and willing to strike physically) and i remember hearing the car peep and door sound etc.

i felt the color flush out of my face and my stomach sink. and i asked her to hide because i genuinely didn’t want her to face the barrage of verbal abuse my mother had no trouble dealing. (i’ve observed just how incredibly vicious she was with everyone of my brother’s girlfriends growing up)

i didn’t want that, at the time i was working on this indie film made by this college dropout, and i don’t think i had a car, it’s a little blurry when just remember i was a teenager

i told my crush to hide in my closet and i told my mother this lie involving how i needed to pick up a DVD copy of the movie from the director’s house, and she really wasn’t in the mood, but i somehow convinced her it was urgent.

so as she drove us all the while my mother just streaming constant passive-aggressive criticisms. i texted my crush when to sneak back out.

and sometime later (some other day) forgot when basically her mother found the rope she used to sneak out of the house, and confiscated it because she was freaked out and thought it was for bondage (which it wasn’t but she was into, we talked about it)

silly looking back and thinking, it was kind of thrilling at the very least. i told her everything ever, and she would always listen to me rant about whatever philosophical notion or whatever the fuck. i even talked to her while i masturbated once or a few times, like nothing over camera or whatever and not directly caused by her, it’s more we’d talk so late every night through AIM, i didn’t want to stop talking but i also wanted to relieve myself. and it was weird how she never rejected me as a friend for doing that.

the weirdest part of all of this is i haven’t thought about her for fucking ages, if anything i felt more hung up on my first major ex for such a long time, then the ex after i literally lived with.

it’s only the past few years i thought about her, i don’t know, like it’s crazy how vividly i remember any of this, because i GENUINELY forgot she even existed for a long fucking while. just not even something that really registered in my head.

but here i am thinking about, when we first moved to that neighborhood when we waited for the school bus for the new school for the first time, my mother spoke with hers and,

i had a crush on her immediately just based off of looks, there was just something i enjoyed about her face

knew she was a year younger so kinda knew we’d never have a real chance to talk so we didn’t know each other at all during elementary and after awhile i think i was 9/10 when i just walked back and forth from school instead. which was convenient because i was fiending off of hot fries from the bodega.

but i met her in the aftermath of my first ex in jr high she was just one of her friends and we instantly hit it off just consistently bare and honest with each other (or as i perceived)

i remember admitting to her that in the back of my mind i always wanted to meet her since that day of the first day of that elementary and she said she wanted to know me too

i confessed my feelings and she said she saw us together seriously but she didn’t want a serious relationship so i just waited in the back of my mind and only brought it up during random moments to comments like “no one loves me” but not in a way that’s like guilting (from my perspective and faulty memory)

the boyfriends didn’t matter until they were mean to me. and i mean i guess holding hands and being that close and holding each other and sneaking into movies together etc. was probably not great for their psyches.

and it’s not like i never stopped trying with other people, but it was always there in the back of my mind because no one else would keep my interest for that long. (i mean obviously until a vaguely similar scenario in college with someone else)

but christ silly things like how often we debated about weed because i was such a staunch straight edge person. i’m still straight edge but it was so funny looking back, because she would literally be lifting the high times magazines she was so into it.

i don’t know. maybe it’s being back in NY for so fucking long.

she stopped existing entirely in my memory banks. i genuinely used to think there was no one else i was meant to be with. because nothing else worked or stuck and in the aftermath i’d feel the yearning and it’d kill me.

and maybe during college i started to get more resentful. because i really was having a “miserable” time in college.

(i saw it in quotes because despite me being so “miserable” i was part of so many fucking friend groups it’s absurd actually to feel that lonesome, literally so many people will end up knowing me)

it’s funny. i don’t think i’d even want to date her if we ever reconnected, i think we had very few things in common. like she disliked my belief in reincarnation or the hopes for it. very much a staunch atheist, during the time i considered myself very much a “spiritualist” i genuinely honestly thought i was supposed to be an alchemist.

and i genuinely honestly thought she and i were probably together in a past life. i don’t think any of that anymore, and we really don’t/wouldn’t have anything to really talk about i suppose, i barely remember what we even had in common besides some music tastes.

i don’t know after the relationships after i knew which interests for me mattered more. so there would really not be much we have in common, (or honestly i blocked most of it in my memory).

strange to think about now.

the sneaking around memory just shot into my head so vividly and clearly.

i wish i could show you that i am way better with my emotions than i was before, but then again, i don’t care.

i don’t care for people who were just so unwilling to be patient for me. like i was so patient with everyone else all the time.

i hope i meet someone who genuinely wants to be patient with me, and someone who doesn’t just leave me when i start to break.

but again, i don’t really care anymore, i just kind of enjoy how things are now. there’s things i need to work on, but most of all. i need to be present and awake and THERE for myself more so than anyone else. i also don’t want to feel caged.

[hu5kay]

What it’s like living with Autism and ADHD as an Adult;

Surfaces? Cluttered with random shit, literally no organization anywhere ever

Able to watch an entire series, not remember a damn thing. Don’t even bother to remember names of the characters either

Speaking of names? What’s your name again? I know you told me 50 times already I’m sorry.

I collect Accents in my brain like they are fucking Pokémon cards

Books, movies, albums, games everywhere. Never read, watched, maybe listened to a single song, played that game for 20 minutes and never played it again. More decorations I guess.

Wait, y’all have consistent diets and workout plans? I could never.

Did I pay that bill? *checks my reminders, forgot to set the reminder*

Sorry I didn’t reply to your text, I read it and replied in my head but forgot to type and send it

Rereading an entire chapter cause while reading a certain passage my mind wandered again

I absolutely hate a lot of those “ADHD Lifehack” videos. They don’t work lol

Annoyed by basic human interaction while craving it at the same exact time

Know what a Social Meter is? I memorized mine

Phone calls are terrifying unless I’m 100% comfortable with you. Even then it sometimes can be overstimulating

RIP to all my plants I got when I was hyperfixating on them and forgot about them

I can determine if I want to be friends with you based on a small conversation when we meet. Majority of people I don’t consider friends and will only talk to them to pass time.

A part of my body has to constantly be moving or I get anxiety, fuckin weird amirite

When I’m hyperfixated on a certain hobby, I go hard until I literally burn myself out. I know I do it but I physically can’t stop myself until I’m burnt out. Will probably resume it in a few months though.

Self care means nothing to me

Watching a show that’s more than two seasons is very difficult

I’m able to completely forget about people for months. No I don’t do this on purpose. Lost a lot of friends this way. It hurts to be honest but I understand.

My aesthetic can change QUICK. For example: I can have a 80s style phase, punk or alternative phase, responsible adult phase, outdoorsman phase, and pretty much every style you can think of in the course of a week.

People think I’m fake because I can relate to most things and interests

I can stare off and think of something in depth, forget about it as soon as become aware of my surroundings. (Intense daydreams)

I was labeled as lazy growing up. I literally tried to be the best I could but I mentally couldn’t do anything after school no matter how much I tried.

The fear of never knowing what I want career wise cause my wants change frequently

I have a talent of figuring out other people are autistic based if they are like me in the slightest way. I’m right about 60 to 70% of the time. I don’t tell them though.

I’m easily overwhelmed by basic adult tasks. Can be as simple as dishes or laundry. Bills are debt are a nightmare

The future honestly terrifies me. Good or bad, I naturally stress about everything. No idea why. Planning with me is a nightmare

When I say I don’t care, I genuinely don’t care. I’m not being mean, I’m just passive cause options overwhelm me.

There’s a ton more but if I keep going I’ll get off track more than I already have.

[gojology]

— gojo, megumi, yuuji | crushing on dense fem reader

the request :

pairing : gojo, megumi, and yuuji x dense fem! reader warnings : cursing, no proof reading wordcount : 1212 a/n : anon i cant believe u asked for hcs when im this bad at writing them ... girl r u good ?

GOJO SATORU  ‧₊˚✩彡.

☆ Now, Gojo is as straightforward as it gets with relationships. 

☆ When Gojo first realized he had a thing for you, he was all for it! I mean, what’s not to like about you? 

☆ He obviously forgot how dense you are. Any expression of love towards you was fruitless, it was like you didn’t give another thought. 

☆ He would wrap a hand around your waist, call you affectionate nicknames, show you off to a very disgusted  and uninterested Yuuji and Nobara. Rarely did Megumi join in, he was probably off doing his own thing.

☆ You just thought he was being friendly. 

☆ He finds your density kind of enduring, often finding himself studying you, just to make sure no one’s hurting you. 

☆ Gojo felt like some sort of guardian angel looking after you 24/7, but he doesn’t mind watching you.

☆ I feel like sometimes he just straight up says, “I like you.” you chalk it up as some sort of... twisted joke. And he’s getting frustrated at this point.

☆ When you’re off campus, off doing your own thing, he discusses with Shoko, asking her what his best chances are. 

☆ Gojo absolutely follows every advice Shoko gives him, even if it’s stupid, because honestly he hasn’t got any experience with a girl as dumb as you. He’s tried everything at this point!

☆ When you and Gojo are doing your own thing, alone, he leans in real close to you, and it takes everything in him to not kiss your lips. That’s what Shoko thinks might work, near physical contact was enough of a sign to say, “Hey! I like you.” 

☆ Shoko always says that you probably won’t realize any approach other then a direct one, and this was direct enough right?

☆ This piece of advice he particularly ignores, though. He doesn’t go all the way with the advice, he’s scared of ruining the friendship, no matter what Shoko says.

☆ He values you as a friend so deeply, you always seem to forget that he’s the most powerful, and he enjoys the normal relationship between the two of you.

☆ Gojo never, ever wants to lose that. He’d rather call you pumpkin then the rest of his life, while you obliviously stared back, then call you another friendship gone haywire. 

☆ So you two just look at each other, all silent. You’re obviously curious why he’s staring at you with a starving pair of eyes, but eventually he laughs it off and hands you his favorite candy that he always kept in his pocket. 

☆ He hands you your favorite flavor, because he always remembers it. 

☆ You walk away, chewing and rolling the candy around on your tongue, and he wishes he could taste how your mouth tastes afterward. 

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO ‧₊˚✩彡.

☆ Poor Megumi over here, he’s basically a tsundere.

☆ Megumi hate’s confrontation, so he does EVERYTHING in his power so he doesn’t have to tell you directly.

☆ Nonetheless, he has a horribly bad crush on you. He also has trouble hiding it.

☆ Thing is, he doesn’t want to fuck up the friendship. After all, he was your “study partner”. 

☆ You’d often find yourself in his room, analyzing old Jujutsu writings for Gojo’s homework assignments. (Why the guy assigned homework, you have no idea.)

☆ Megumi was silent. He didn’t like speaking unless being spoken to. This changed with you. 

☆ While you’re writing or doodling in your journal, he sneaks glances at you. 

☆ Once in a while, he’ll realize you’re writing a word incorrectly.

☆ Instead of taking an eraser like any normal person does, Megumi insists that he would help you write out the words

☆ Holding your hand, he’d guide you, muttering the letters under his breath.

☆ He wishes he could hold your hand forever, it’s warm compared to his cold ones, and then his mind wanders.

☆ Wondering just how warm your cuddles get. 

☆ Blushing ferociously now, he looks down at the paper, and you look at him, confused as to why he stopped writing. 

☆ He’s incredibly stiff, he doesn’t wanna think about that while you’re right in front of him. You tap him a few times, and he jolts back to Earth. 

☆ You ask him what he was doing, but he doesn’t reply, instead stroking your hand’s skin and grumbling words you couldn’t understand. 

☆ You sit there, maybe he has anxiety, that’s why he’s stroking you like a therapy cat. 

☆ Megumi’s weighing out the positives and negatives of asking you out right this second, but his anxiety prevents him. He touches your skin subconsciously. 

☆ Negatives always seem to win though, he doesn’t wanna risk losing his friend. He turns back to look at your face once more, fluttering his long eyelashes, taking a deep breath in, and continuing the assignment. 

☆ “Next time” is all that echoes in the back of his mind.

☆ You just think it’s a bit weird, to be honest. Why does he look at you that way?

☆ You just think that he has his moments of too intensely thinking. 

ITADORI YUUJI ‧₊˚✩彡.

☆Like you, Yuuji’s also dense. ☆ Unlike you, he has the power and the courage of asking Gojo what these feelings were. ☆ “Yuuji-kun, have you ever felt love for someone special before?” ☆ “No, what’s that, Gojo-senpai?”  ☆ “That’s the feeling you get around (Y/N). You think she’s cute, I bet that.” ☆ That’s how the bastard found out he had a crush on you, through his equally as stupid teacher. ☆ This clearly spelled out disaster. ☆ Whenever you and Yuuji went out on missions, Yuuji would offer to cover for your role in the mission as well, claiming that you needed a break. ☆ “Why?” you’d ask ☆ “Because, I like you.” ☆ “Wow, Itadori-kun! You’re really nice!” you say, a smile on your lips, “Honestly though that’s a lot of work on your shoulders, I think I’ll-” ☆ He would stop you in his tracks, and kind of look at you. ☆ Yuuji thinks your work ethic is precious, and he deeply admires that. ☆ He also thinks your density is really cute, but he worries that he’s not masculine enough for you. ☆ This is why he tries to appear more, “macho” as he says it, around you ☆ But inside, he’s soft, and soft for you only. ☆ Despite his usual friendly and carefree personality, he would punt someone into the horizon if they looked at you different. He was overprotective that way. ☆ But you never truly got the hint, and he always was upset by this, in which Gojo would comfort him, and the cycle would restart. ☆ But here’s the problem: he doesn’t want to ruin the relationship. As much as he trusts Gojo, nothing was showing out of his obvious flirting, and eventually his confidence wore out. ☆ Sometimes he still tries talking to you in that flirty manner, but you just tilt your head and kinda go, “What?” ☆ Giving you a big, reassuring grin, he gives you a thumbs up. ☆ He sighs as he does so, telling you, “Nevermind.” and talks about something else. ☆ Deep down, he’s cursing himself out, he thinks it’s all his fault and not you just being stupid.

[sluttywonwoo]

3 nights || jw x reader

summary: a one-night hookup turns into three (based off of the song 3 nights by dominic fike )

warnings: swearing, smut (18+), unprotected sex (uh yeah don’t do that)

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this is an old tom holland piece of mine that i thought would fit wonwoo (my tom holland blog is @wazzupmrstark if you wanna check it out)

masterlist

A hellish smirk tugged at Wonwoo’s lips as he gazed down at his phone in the midst of a pitch meeting. He glanced at the image he’d been sent for a second more before sliding his phone back in his pocket and lifting his head to indicate he was paying attention. But he was distracted. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for Jeon Wonwoo to receive nude pictures from unsaved numbers, but he was pretty sure he knew who this one was from. At least he hoped. You had cropped your face out of it, but from the expanse of your collarbone to the curve of your hip he could recognize the freckles under your breasts and the small scar just below your belly button.

He waited until he was dismissed from the meeting to respond. Didn’t want to seem too eager.  

What did I do to deserve this out of the blue, darling?

You didn’t respond right away. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he hadn’t responded right away, so why would you? You had better things to be doing than sit around waiting for him to text back, but a selfish part of him wished that you were.

You were a bit different from Wonwoo’s other lays, but he didn’t mean that in the nauseating ‘you’re not like other girls’ way that men liked to use to get into a girl’s pants. He didn’t really need to use cheesy, comparative shit like that if he was being honest. All he had to do was send a wyd text at 2am to get a girl to come over. Unless that girl was you.

Of course, you were beautiful, and incredible in bed, but something about you always left him wanting more. Maybe it was the fact that your presence was fleeting, you never stayed very long afterwards. Maybe your elusiveness tugged at a deeper curiosity in the back of his mind that he was unaware of. He was already familiar with every inch of your body, but truthfully he knew very little else about you. and maybe that’s what intrigued him.

Or maybe it was the simplicity. Routine hookups, no strings attached- regardless of how many times you came… over.

Whatever it was that kept you on his mind, Wonwoo didn’t dwell. He pushed all questions and logic away when he was with you. And when he wasn’t… he tried not to think about it. But it was difficult not to when you sent him pictures like that out of nowhere, no context, not even a response.

Ding!

Never mind.

Oops wrong person ;)

Wonwoo let out a low chuckle and shook his head. Of course, there was a small part of him that wondered if you had actually meant to send that to someone else, but he shook it off. If he knew you at all, which granted he really didn’t, he knew this game.

He didn’t hesitate to respond this time.

Shame… was gonna ask if you were busy tonight.

Only a few seconds passed before his phone buzzed again.

What did you have in mind??

You.

It was corny, sure, but effective.

I think I can make something work.

He grinned at the screen and sighed, licking his lips.

9pm. Our place.

-

You hadn’t even taken off your coat by the time he had you up against the door with his mouth on your neck, pressing breathy kisses to your skin. You gasped as he sucked a hickey just under your jaw, closing your eyes and moaning his name.

A seedy motel in the middle of the city wasn’t the… most ideal spot for late night booty calls. The sunset-colored wallpaper was peeling and the showers only worked sometimes, but in the grand scheme of things, location wasn’t important. It was still the best sex of your life, and they had cheap vending machine snacks.

The bed creaked and choked out a cloud of dust when Wonwoo pushed you onto it, but you just laughed and pulled at the waistband of his jeans for him to join you.

He smiled into a kiss that turned desperate. His hands were on your zipper, your bra clasp, your panties, anything to get you undressed faster. You held in a whimper when he sat up to undo his belt, something about the way he did that always drove you crazy. He smirked knowingly as he did and took his time.

You whined impatiently and nudged at him with a knee to hurry up. Thankfully, Wonwoo wasn’t one to leave you hanging and was back on you instantly. He pressed a thigh in between your legs and licked a stripe up the valley of your breasts, choosing the left, his favorite, to nip at.

“Fuck, Wonwoo,” you groaned, grinding up against him.

He paused and lifted himself so that he was hovering above you. “How was your day?”

You rolled your eyes and threw your head back in frustration. “Can we not?”

“I can’t ask you how your day was?”

“That’s not what I’m here for, and you know it.”

“Then what are you here for?” he asked, wanting you to say it out loud. You kissed him instead and took the distraction as an opportunity to pull him by the collar and flip him so that you were on his lap.

You tugged at his jeans and boxers playfully. “This.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Good one.”

“I know.”

He lifted his head to kiss you and you gave in with a quick peck on the lips. As often as you were with Wonwoo, you never took the time to notice how pretty he was. You knew he was hot. You could write an entire dissertation on how fucking fit he was, but as you gazed down at him underneath you you realized just how lovely this boy really was, especially like this. His dark hair was soft and wavy without all the product in it, and god his lips were so pink, and the way he looked at you…

You kissed him again, fiercely this time, and slid a hand down his pants just to feel him. He groaned, already needy.

“Wait-” he pulled back and sat up on his elbows.

“What?” You were worried you’d done something wrong, stared at him like you were in love with him for a second too long and he’d caught on.

“Do you want me to go down on you?”

You sighed in relief and laughed. “No need, I’m already soaked.”

“I can tell,” he quipped back and quirked an eyebrow.

You were a little embarrassed he could feel your arousal through his jeans and cursed. “Fuck you!”

“I believe you were just about to.”

“You’re lucky I’m horny, Wonwoo,” you growled.

“Tell me about it.” He smirked and laid back with an arm over his head.

Sometimes you wondered if the sex was really worth it, even if he was the best you’d ever had…

Of all the ways Wonwoo could fuck you, this had to be one of his favorites. There was just something about you on top of him that he couldn’t handle. The way your delicate gold necklace dangled in his face as you rode him, the way his hands fit so perfectly on your ass, the way your hair hung around your shoulders. He never lasted long.

To be fair, neither did you. And the way Wonwoo was saying your name wasn’t helping. Every time you lowered yourself back on him and his cock hit that spot inside you that burning intensity in your stomach grew a little stronger.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t out of breath and your thighs weren’t starting to get sore, but Wonwoo was begging you not to stop and you’d be damned if you let him down.

“Y/n, I’m close,” he warned and brought his fingers to your clit to make sure you were right there with him.

You just nodded, too far gone to say much else as you chased the high that was just out of reach. Wonwoo thrust up into you a final time and finished with a moan of your name tumbling from his lips.

Even as he was coming down he continued to massage your clit.

“Cum for me, love.” His voice was spent and gravelly and his eyes were pleading and fuck, who were you to deny him? You gripped his shoulders hard as your whole body tensed and you tipped over the edge.

And for a moment the world stopped spinning and time stopped moving as electricity surged through your body and you forgot your own name.

Wonwoo was still whispering words of quiet praise when you collapsed on his chest seconds later, trembling.

“That’s it, darling. That’s good.”

You let him rub your back like that until you caught your breath enough to sit up and roll off of him. You immediately started collecting your clothes from around the room and putting them back on as Wonwoo did the same.

“Two cherry cokes?” he asked and you nodded.

“And powdered donuts?”

“Give me some credit, how could I forget?”

It was something of a tradition to share a snack and a soda after you hooked up. It had started on a night when both of you were too drunk to drive anywhere afterwards so you passed the time sitting in bed eating stale powdered donuts and drinking soda to sober up. Logically, you could have slept it off and went home the next morning, but it was a rule you had to never sleep over at a one-night-stand’s place. Even neutral territory like this was off limits.

Wonwoo could’ve gone to bed without you and left you to fend for yourself but instead he made the trek out to the vending machines in his boxers to get you both some food. Turns out cherry coke was the only soda they had, and there was no telling how old it was, but it was better than nothing.

That night was so long ago, but you still remembered how he stayed up with you until four in the morning watching shitty reality shows on the fuzzy tv, talking about exes and weird dreams and hobbies you both wanted to learn. You wondered if he ever ended up teaching himself pottery.

Wonwoo was back with the goods before you could blink and handed you your respective share of the stash. You held your can up and clinked it against his before taking a sip. You’d grown to like the syrupy sweet taste of it by now, and even found yourself craving it when you weren’t with Wonwoo.

“Same time tomorrow?” Wonwoo asked as you buttoned your pants.

“You’ll still be in town?”

Usually he didn’t stay for long unless he was working on his music so you didn’t let yourself get hopeful just in case he was kidding.

“And the next day,” he confirmed. It was an invitation.

“You’re not one for planning ahead,” you pointed out, gathering the rest of your belongings in your arms.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

-

Wonwoo didn’t sleep well that night. He never did when he wasn’t in his own bed, but this was different. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened just hours ago in that run-down motel by the highway and what might happen tomorrow.

His members had been confused when he moved his flight back home two days and he hadn’t given them any other explanation than ‘catching up with friends’ for them to go off of. He had those days off anyway. Seoul would be fine without him until then.  

But uncertainty lingered in his mind. What if you didn’t call? What if you were busy? He knew your world didn’t revolve around him, but he was starting to wish it did. It was stupid, and there were dozens of other people he could call for a quick fuck in this town if you stood him up, but suddenly none of them sounded interesting.

He circled back to that picture you’d sent him earlier and found himself wishing he could see your face.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he muttered out loud to no one in particular and forced himself to turn his phone off to try and sleep again.

-

The second night was much like the first. Quick sex, donuts, cherry coke. You didn’t even finish your half of the donuts before you were out the door. You expected the third night to be the same, along with that awkward ‘we might never see each other again’ interaction that happens at the end of every fling, but what you got was far from it.

“You should stay.”

You already had one shoe on when he dropped that out of nowhere and-

“What?” was all you could say.

“It’s late, you should stay over. We could get breakfast in the morning or something.”

“Wonwoo, I-”

“You don’t sleep over after one-night-stands, I know.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Well, it’s been three nights…” he trailed off.

“But it’s the same arrangement,” you argued.

“What if it wasn’t?”

You put down your other shoe and stood up. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“I have those rules for a reason. I didn’t just make them up for fun. Without them… feelings get hurt. Hearts get broken. Things get complicated.”

“I know.” Wonwoo sighed softly and took a tentative step towards you. “But-”

“But what?”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” he finished. “It won’t be like that.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” he said honestly. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[spencersawkward]

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted! 

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.

[danidrabbles]

OCTOBER 1: KNIFE PLAY

Notes: Kicking Kinktober off with the following. Thank you as always @javier-pena for reading this over for me!

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+!)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: SMUT, established relationship, romance???, sexy use of knives (...i hope), sliiiiightly dub-con but that’s Dave for ya, dirty talk, gags, 1 **** (dedicated to Kelli and Cris 😘) If I forgot anything important, please let me know!

The slam of the door startles you awake. Sitting up in bed, you listen to him rummage around downstairs, trace his path through the kitchen, the living room, and up the stairs. Usually, he’s more quiet, at least attempts to not wake you, but the fact that he doesn’t must mean that today is one of those days.

You know what Dave does; your darling husband by day, something else entirely by night.

It hadn’t started off like that, is what he told you once he came clean. He really had been a CIA operative before becoming what he is now. But this suited him better. He had tried to explain what that meant, careful not to scare you; that people paid good money to eliminate other people, that it sometimes got messy.

But you weren’t scared. You tried to explain that to him, and that mutual understanding, that you were the same on some level others might consider fucked up, it deepened your bond, your marriage, in a way you never expected.

The bedroom door sweeps open, his silhouette dark in the deep of the night, painted in shadows, but the little light in the room does allow you to take note of the blood that has dried on his face. It makes you inhale deeply, fisting the duvet under your hands and waiting for him to make the first move.

It’s one of those days, after all.

Dave reaches you in two big steps, his boots heavy against the protesting wooden floor, but waits at the end of the bed, gnawing at his bottom lip and balling his fists like he has to physically hold himself back.

“It’s okay,” you say, and as soon as you do, he’s on you. Sheets discarded, he crawls over you, pushing you back against the mattress. His eyes roam your face, and he seems to be looking for more than that, so you give him more affirmations. “You can take what you need.”

Wordlessly, he straddles you, a thigh on either side of your body, and you’re trapped below the weight of him, your arms pinned to your side, the fabric of your nightgown stretched across your frame. There’s a barely-there roll of his hips, and he’s unmistakably hard as he seeks out the friction against you. He reaches behind himself, then produces his knife from his back pocket. With a click, the blade reveals itself, glinting like a promise and fuck, it shouldn’t make a burst of arousal flare up inside of you, but it does.

“You would let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” Dave asks as he turns the knife over in his hand once, twice, before giving you an expectant look.

“Yes,” you answer, obedient, eager, honest—because you would.

The cold blade—phosphated carbon steel, as he once explained to you—presses against the skin at your collarbone, the tip just hitting the side of your neck, and you swear you can feel your pulse racing against the sharp steel.

You know exactly what he can do with it, what he has done with it, and yet you trust him, literally with your life.

“You won’t hurt me, not unless you know I want it.”

You don’t miss the way he grins, or grinds down against you, or how he inspects your body under his. In a flash, he hooks the knife under one of the straps of your nightgown and pulls, the fabric parting easily around the top of the blade.

An eager hand pulls at the flap of fabric until he can fill his hand with the soft, plump flesh of your breast. With a gasp, you arch up against him, crying out when he pinches your nipple and twists.

You expect him to go for the other strap, expose your tits to him and play with them until you’re begging him for more, but instead, he fists the torn fabric and pulls it away from your body, bringing the knife up to begin cutting a slit right down the middle. With each rip-rip-rip of fabric, the throb between your legs gets more intense, and an actual moan escapes your lips when he fists the last bit of it and pulls, tearing the garment in half and pushing it to the sides of your body.

His finger dips under the waistband of your underwear, grazing just where the soft curls on your mound begin. He toys with it, pulling it from your body and letting the elastic snap against your skin, before hooking his finger back under it.

“Want me to tear this off, too?” he asks, focusing not on your face, but on the task at hand.

You take a deep breath. “Use the knife.”

That earns you his attention, something akin to pride flashing across his face before he looks back down. In one rapid move, the blade slides over your hip bone and under the fabric of your underwear. With a tug, it tears, the elastic snapping and the material folding back, exposing you to his hungry eyes.

Your head falls back against the pillow, and you moan as he repeats the action on the other side, again when he rips the fabric from between your legs.

“Open up,” he orders.

You try to move your legs, open them for him, but with his thighs still on either side of yours, it’s impossible. Just as you’re about to protest, he leans over you, grabbing you by the chin.

“Open. Your mouth.”

His fingers find your face, and the pinch to your cheeks borders on painful, making you open your mouth with a wet gasp.

Even in the dark, you can see him smile, before he tilts your head back just a tick and spits. His smile only grows when you welcome it with a moan, eyes fluttering and body surging under him before you swallow. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, kissing your open mouth before stuffing your ruined panties inside of it.

The blade is back at your throat, and the pressure of it against your voice box abruptly cuts off your answering whine. With a rough exhale Dave sits back and begins dragging the dull side of it down your body. Still, you find yourself holding your breath, your chest jutting out with the effort. Chin to your chest, you watch as he circles your nipple, once, twice, until it begins standing to attention, hardening at the cold, gentle touch. He brings it back to the centre of your chest and slides it over to your other breast, flicking at your nipple. Satisfied with how your body quivers under his, he slides the blade further down your body, following the bump of your ribcage to your belly button and down.

He shuffles back, and despite the fact that his body is no longer keeping your arms incapacitated, you keep them pressed against your torso while he crawls between your legs. With his free hand, he pulls one over each of his thighs, spreading you open for him to look at, to take you.

The knife kisses the sensitive skin of your thighs, and he keeps teasing you while he opens his trousers and takes his cock out. His eyes fix themselves on your cunt, no doubt glistening with want, even in the dim light of the night.

“You get so fucking wet for this shit, it’s depraved, sweetheart,” he grits out, and despite the fact he says it like he’s scolding you, you know he loves it. Dave is a dark man in more ways than one, and he loves that you’re like this. Like him. For him. With him.

He proves you right when he begins stroking himself, a ragged sigh sailing past his lips as he throws his head back, exposing the thick, strained tendons in his neck. He allows himself a couple seconds of relief, before he stops himself with a long exhale, a hand trailing up your thigh to touch you where you’re more than ready for him.

He fills you with two thick fingers, curling and stroking at your slippery walls, and it’s so much at once, making you cry out against the makeshift gag in your mouth.

“This sweet pussy is going to feel so perfect around my cock,” he says, eyes only leaving yours when he slowly pulls his fingers free, groaning softly at the way your body pulls at him, working to keep him inside. “Would you like that?”

You nod in the dark, unable to help yourself from bucking your hips to chase his touch. The hand that still holds the knife is quick to push you down, the blade glinting dangerously close to your hip bone.

“Want me to put it in, baby? Want me to put it all in? Push all the way inside until you can’t think about anything else but how deep you can feel me inside you?” He slides himself over your mound, pushing until the head of his cock can smear wetly under your belly button, showing off just what that would mean.

There’s so much you wish you could tell him right now. That yes, you want it. That you want him so badly to just take what he wants from you, here, like this, between the shreds of your clothes where you’re spread for the taking. That this ‘depraved shit’ does make you wet, it does when it’s him, when he uses you, when he makes it hurt.

But your affirmation is suppressed against the fabric in your mouth, nothing but incoherent, muffled babbles filling the bedroom.

And yet, it’s like he can tell exactly what you’d been thinking, because the knife hits the floor with a clatter, and if he gave you any time, you might be able to analyse the sudden surge of emotion that flows through you at the idea.

But he doesn’t give you that time. The sound of the blade startles you almost as much as the fat tip of his cock notching at your entrance, as the slide of him inside, as the sharp thrust that makes his thighs slap against the back of yours. He pushes you up the mattress with the force of it, and your hand flies up to press a palm against the headboard to keep your head from knocking against it.

“Fucking Christ,” he sighs, stilling for a second to revel in the tight squeeze of your pussy before he draws back and spears himself through your slick walls - again, again, again.

“I’m gonna make this pussy come,” he promises, voice strained. “I’m gonna make it flood my cock and then I’m gonna cover you in my come,” he adds, a hand dragging over your torso, thumb and pinkie catching on your hardened nipples before he settles his hand on your hip to pull you down against him.

The head of his cock knocks against the button of your womb with each thrust, and at your silenced keens, he falls down to a forearm, eyes boring into yours as he continues to fuck you. “I’ve got you, baby,” he assures.

Your hand curls around his bicep, fingernails digging into the fabric of his long-sleeved top. It’s wet, warm, no doubt evidence of his successful mission, and that thought, your body’s response to it, eases the glide of him inside you.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, his hand leaving your hip to slide between your legs, to draw maddening circles around your slippery, puffy clit, and with the way he’s been working you up, you already know it will take no time at all. “You know that, right?”

You nod with a muffled groan, focusing on the way he stretches you open and plays with your clit, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes with how hard you squeeze them shut as it builds—as it all builds.

You know.

--

Thank you for reading! I hope to see you all tomorrow for October 2: Stripping. Anyone who guesses correctly which character I’ve written for will get a sneak peek at the fic in their DMs😌

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