#mid thigh to mid calf even

[that-bitchdanni]

might fuck around and wear shirts and jean jackets with the sleeves ripped off and jeans with no knees

[jackmanwife]

You picked at the food on your plate with your fork, something your father cooked up a couple times a week—a pile of mashed potatoes that had long since gone cold, some roasted asparagus you hardly touched, and a piece of chicken that tasted bland after the first few bites. You weren’t even hungry, really—just wanted to get dinner over with.

Your father was going on about one of his favorite old stories—something about a fishing trip he’d taken a few summers ago, the same trip he brought up every chance he got. He told it the exact same way, too: the “massive fish” that got away to the epic battle with his fishing line. You nodded along and gave him the occasional “oh, really?” like the good daughter you were. Your mind, however, wasn’t on fishing—or the food.

You took a sip of water, looked down at your plate, then glanced up at the man sitting in front of you. There he was, Logan—and fuck, did he look good. He was patiently listening to your father, sometimes letting out a chuckle, drinking a little bit of beer from the bottle next to his plate—barely touched, too. You can tell he was just as bored as you were. Only difference was, he wore it better.

Then it came to you. You didn’t have to sit here quietly, bored out of your mind. Not when he was right there, so close, looking so put-together. No, you wanted to fuck with him a little, have some fun.

You took a quick look at your father, making sure he was still caught up in his stupid story, and after what felt like hours, he was. Good. You slipped off one shoe under the table, feeling the cool floor against your bare foot before reaching out, letting your toes brush Logan’s jeans—feather-light. Just a little something to get his attention without making it too obvious.

You stared at your plate, even though a smile tried to pull at the corner of your mouth. After a few seconds, you looked up at Logan, expecting him to be looking at you, too, but he wasn’t. He just continued to drink his beer, talk to your father, take a small bite of food from his plate. He wasn’t doing anything. Why wasn’t he doing anything?

Okay, maybe he didn’t really feel it. Beneath the table, you pressed your foot a little higher, up along his calf. Still, nothing. Logan barely blinked, even, he just leaned back with a small smile on his face as he listened to your father, bringing his bottle back to his mouth for another drink. Fine. You slid your foot higher, pressing along his thigh, harder this time. There was no way he wasn’t feeling this. And yet—he just went on, acting like he hadn’t noticed a thing, even though you knew he did.

But then, just when you were about to drop your foot, Logan casually reached under the table, catching your ankle in his hand. The move was so sudden you almost choked on the food you were keeping in your mouth. His fingers tightened around your ankle, holding you in place. Your hand tightened around your fork, trying to pull your foot back, but he wouldn’t let go. He made it clear that he was aware of your little game—and that he was going to win it.

You yanked your foot back hard enough to slip out of Logan’s grip, causing the table to shake. Your father paused mid-sentence, looking over at you.

“Oh, um—I think I’m full,” you forced a small laugh out, pushing your chair out from under the table as you got up.

Logan finally looked over at you, lips curling in the slightest smirk. You knew that look. “Leaving so soon, sweetheart?” He nodded toward your half-full plate, “Barely touched the food on your plate.”

Jesus Christ, was he going to be the death of you.

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 6.2k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! baby fever!gojo, breeding kink, unprotected sex, established relationship, pet names (mama, baby), oral (f!receiving), talks of having kids and starting a family, ooc!gojo

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ The sequel is here! I felt like I couldn’t continue the storyline without at least mentioning the complications of someone like Gojo having a kid. It’s inevitable that they’re going to have a high level of cursed energy, so I wanted to explore the idea of sorcerers trying to live outside of jujutsu society constraints while also still having to adhere to them.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

The heat is on because it’s mid-winter and it’s finally gotten cold enough to snow, but somewhere in Gojo’s sprawling apartment a window is open. Not wide enough to cause a terrible draft–not that Gojo cares because he can afford to open all the windows while the heat is blasting at full tilt–but just enough to let in the smell of the crisp air outside. Gojo admittedly isn’t overly in tune with his sense of smell, all things considered. His strength is in his eyes so he’s never bothered to mull over the things that aren’t associated with his sight. He can’t exactly see the scent of frost and he can only smell it as well as any other person, but the window is open because he knows you like the smell of light snowfall. 

His staring problem comes with the territory, but, in the comfort of his own home, Gojo can’t really be faulted for looking too hard at any one thing. Especially not when his eyes are locked on his pretty girlfriend laid up on his couch. You’re curled up like a kitten in a nest, tucked into another one of his shirts and bundled beneath the giant fleece he bought because you’re always catching a random chill. It probably has something to do with low iron levels and leaving the window open in the winter. He briefly considers buying supplements but the thought is lost as soon as it forms when his eyes catch on the distracting length of your leg peeking out of the fuzzy blanket. It’s a wide expanse of bare skin that belies a lack of pants or at least anything beyond another pair of those damningly short shorts you love to wear around the house. There’s the fleeting thought that your aversion to longer pants might also be a contributing factor to your constant chill but he isn’t about to mention it. You’ve never had any qualms about going against things he says, but it’ll be just his luck that you actually decide to start wearing pants around the house and then where would he be? 

Infinity makes his footsteps imperceptible, especially with the adage of the downy carpet. There isn’t even a twitch of your lashes as he crouches in front of you, staring at your face half buried in the blanket before he reaches out to touch your leg. There’s no need for him to have his Infinity up in the house, but it’s habitual at this point, as easy as breathing. It’s the dropping it that always gives him pause. After going so many hours, day after day, never truly touching anything, it always feels like he’s relaxing a tense muscle when his barrier comes down. Not necessarily painful but palpable. The same way you can always smell when a storm is coming, Gojo can feel when his Infinity dissipates even though it’s intangible by nature. And once it’s gone he can feel everything. Hot or cold, the temperature never really matters because he’s always in his little bubble of body heat, but now he can feel the artificial rush of the vents pumping out waves of warm air and the slightest chill from the open window. 

Goosebumps rise over your skin as he traces his finger up the length of your leg. The jut of your ankle, the slope of your calf and the curve of your knee to settle over the softness of your thigh. You’re warm in a way that’s different from the blasting heat. Soft and comforting and Gojo tries not to dwell on what that might mean for his constant lack of physical contact. He drops his Infinity on occasion. Especially to interact with you or his students that are doing nothing but feeding into his desire for fatherhood, but it’s still few and far between. More often than not, Gojo is locked inside the untouchable barrier of his cursed technique. It’s not exactly loneliness that he’s feeling but some type of longing that makes him settle next to the couch so he can lay his cheek against your leg and just feel. His Six Eyes still tries to tell him things, outlining the shape of your body buried elusively beneath the blankets in a silhouette of cursed energy, but he closes his mind to it as best he can.  

It’s always been something unspoken between you; your level of cursed energy. You ended up a bit like Nanami, a bit like Suguru, turning your back on jujutsu for your own reasons. He’s never forced you to come back, never really even asked why you left because he doesn’t exactly care. All Gojo needs to know is that you’re happier with your life as it is, living as a non-sorcerer. He can’t really wrap his head around your love of working retail when it’s such a mixed bag of benign and volatile customers, annoying bosses, and ridiculous hours from what you tell him. But it’s leagues safer than fieldwork and Gojo isn’t about to be the one to coax you back into active duty. He barely tolerates when the higher ups call you in to do menial managerial tasks when the school is shorthanded. 

Their excuse for still keeping you on the payroll even after all these years always boils down to something about death being the only way a sorcerer ever really leaves the business. As if jujutsu society is some kind of yakuza holding members hostage. The people in charge act like sorcery is an inescapable cult and Gojo will be glad when he’s done tearing them down from the inside out. And as if you can sense him working himself up even in your sleep, Gojo watches your lashes pinch and flutter before a hand comes slinking out of your fuzzy cocoon to settle on his head. Your eyes are still closed but the momentary tension leaves your brow as soon as your fingers skim over his hair. No Infinity, only comfort. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” It’s always so instinctual the way you reach out to him. You always have an innate ability to tell when he’s falling and needs catching. Even just the sound of your voice, low and thickened with sleep, is enough to banish any worries from his mind. At least for the moment. 

“Nothing,” he says just to hear you mumble back “it’s something,” like you always do when he lies about what’s on his mind. It isn’t a matter of trust because Gojo trusts you with his life. He just doesn’t want to plague you with all the things he’s mulling over. It’s really only important to him. You’ve already declared your disinterest in sorcery, he’s not about to force you to listen to him formulating a plan to reform jujutsu society. And besides, he can’t have you worrying because it isn’t good to worry when you’re pregnant. Something about stress not being good for the baby. Sure, you aren’t pregnant yet, but he can see it coming in the near future. 

It’s not like he’s worn you down, you’ve always been way too steadfast to be bending to anyone’s whims. It’s more so just that it’s time. That ever constant “soon” looming closer and closer on the horizon. 

“Quit your job,” Gojo says, sounding every bit like a petulant child. Finally, your eyes open. Just barely, only enough to give him a hazily unimpressed look. 

“I know that’s not what you were thinking about.” He knows you know, but he also knows you won’t press him on it. Even when you were an active sorcerer, there were just some things you didn’t want to know about for plausible deniability’s sake. No need to get your hands dirty, especially now that you’re not even active anymore. Gojo’s strong enough to take on the consequences of his actions, strong enough to keep you safe from the fallout of his decisions. And anyway, he’s far more concerned with his personal life at the moment. What he does at work becomes virtually irrelevant the second he’s alone with you. 

“It’s what I’m thinking about now!” He’s whining because it’s really all he has on his mind now. The idea of coming home from a long day of work and being greeted by the pattering of little feet as your babies rush to meet him at the door. He imagines them all chubby cheeked and starry eyed, pushing to be the first one he hugs when he gets home. He’s annoyingly fixated on the thought and thumps his forehead against your thigh, knocking against you over and over until you’re fisting your fingers in his hair to keep him still. 

“You’re annoying.” You mean it but he can hear the endearment in your voice. And just to really get on your nerves, Gojo starts pouting. 

“I’m lonely.” It’s true in a way he doesn’t want to admit. Never mind the fact that he has his cheek pressed against your leg, arms wrapped tight around your thigh. There’s always been that nagging sense of loneliness. The looming feeling that something is missing. Children or something else, Gojo doesn’t know. But he does know that he wants babies. Your babies. Preferably sometime in the very near future if you’ll let him. 

“Lonely? Then what am I?” He feels you flex your leg as if to remind him that there’s no space for loneliness between his skin and yours. But there’s a hint of something in your voice, that heaviness of unspoken acknowledgment. You’ve known him for so long, been together for so many years. Some things don’t need to be said for you to know. It’s innate, intrinsic. And he loves you for it. You’re everything to him, but what he decides to say is,

“The mother of my children.” There’s desperation in his voice but Gojo doesn’t care to be embarrassed. He’s been stuck on this for most of your relationship and he isn’t about to get flustered asking for what he wants for the umpteenth time. You haven’t shamed him the first thousand times he’s asked so he isn’t expecting to get teased on attempted one thousand and one. 

“I’m not pregnant yet.” Gojo perks up. That’s new. The two of you have had this conversation in some variation at least once a week for months now and Gojo has grown used to all the answers you usually give him. It’s always something like “not yet,” or “let’s wait a little while longer.” And he does wait, but he’s also woefully impatient. Gojo knows you’re not pregnant and that’s the torture of it all. You’ve already said you’ll have his children. Kissed his forehead and reminded him that not now doesn’t mean not even whenever he gets particularly sulky after being told to be patient. It’s always just a matter of when but he’s eager for when to be now. And something about your answer makes him look at you with wide eyes. 

I’m not pregnant yet. It’s teasingly open-ended, like you’re taunting him with the knowledge that you’re not pregnant but you could be. But Gojo knows you wouldn’t tease him like that. Not about this. He’s always been a tad bit overzealous in his pursuit of babies but that’s because he wants it so bad, and he knows you wouldn’t be cruel enough to taunt him with it. He trails a hand up your thigh, dipping beneath the blanket as he maps out the curve of your hip. A shiver runs through your body as his fingers dip under the hem of your shorts. 

“Not pregnant… yet?” It’s hopeful. A question lingering in his tone. Is it time? Will today be the day? You smile, going back to petting his head, and that’s all the answer he needs. “You looking to change that, mama?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask again,” you tease. “Thought you kept track of my ovulation window.” You’ve been waiting? Gojo’s heart stutters in his chest. All he had to do was ask. It’s always been that way really. He’s been begging you for so long because he knew it was just a matter of asking when, but after so long of being told to wait a while it seems almost too good to be true hearing you say you’re ready now. 

“You better be serious.” He knows you are because you know how desperate he’s been for it, but he can’t help but want to hear you say it again. Hear you ask in so many words. He’s always begging and pleading and Gojo wants to hear you want it just as plainly as he does. 

“Don’t make me beg, Satoru.” It isn’t what he wants to hear but he scoops you and your blanket into his arms even still. He’s got all the time in the world to hear you ask for it and he’s not about to delay it any longer just because you want to play coy. He can see it in the way you’re biting at your lips trying to hide a smile, feel it in the way your arms wind around his neck. There’s a slight tremor to your hand as you run your fingertips up the column of his neck. He can almost hear the way your heartbeat has spiked, blood swelling with desire as he lays you down in his bed. It’ll be your bed soon because there’s no way he’s about to spend even a second more than necessary away from you. He’s been begging to get rid of your apartment for almost as long as he’s been wanting a baby, and Gojo is looking to have it all in one fell swoop. 

“Gonna have to move in with me, mama,” he reminds you. Marriage is a more amorphous thought. Really it’s just a piece of paper that will serve to complicate your lives. He’s the head of a clan and his wife will have certain expectations imposed upon her that he doesn’t want to wrestle with right now. Maybe later, when he’s made things better. But for now he’s happy just having you. You don’t have to be a Gojo just yet because you’re his regardless. You’re in his bed, wearing his clothes, wanting to have his baby. Gojo can’t put a bigger mark on you than that but he’ll sure as hell try as his mouth latches onto the sensitive skin of your neck. You make that same gasping sound you always do, a little shiver running through your body as your hands find his hair again. Your grip is tighter than before, pulling at the roots as he digs his teeth into your delicate skin. Usually he’d be more careful about where he’s putting his little love bites but he can’t bring himself to care right now, and you don’t seem to mind. 

“You gonna ask for it, mama? I’m not gonna give it to you if you don’t ask for it properly.” As much as he’s been begging for it, Gojo won’t settle for anything less than hearing you tell him exactly what you want from him. All he’s been hearing is you telling him to wait, so he’s not giving you anything without explicit permission. Of course you take your time with that, too, and Gojo is more than happy to indulge you. It’s like running a marathon and finally seeing the finish line so close within reach. He can count the steps, the breaths, the heartbeats it will take until he crosses the line and finally, finally gets what he wants. It’s what you want too, or else you wouldn’t have said anything. It’s easy to provoke him when it comes to this and he hasn’t heard exactly what he wants yet, but he’s still keen to get you out of your clothes. And for all your smirking silence, you let him. Lifting your hips and arching your back as he strips you out of your clothes. 

For a moment, all he can do is savor the sight. His girl laid out on his bed, so close to asking for his child. You squeak when his nose presses into the space between your breasts, skin cold without his Infinity to regulate his temperature but he’ll be warm soon enough. Already he’s soaking in the heat pouring off your skin. You’re that fuzzy sort of warm that comes with the first waves of wakefulness, eyes still half-lidded and skin nearly feverish as he rubs his cheek against your bare chest. You smell nice. A perfect balance between his scent and your own, mingled together in a heady fragrance that has his tongue drawing wet streaks across your skin. He shivers as you thumb at the nape of his neck, brushing over the cropped hair at the back of his head because you can’t get enough of the feeling. Gojo is almost certain he’ll be just as insistent with touching your stomach when you start to show. 

He can already imagine how you’ll look. Only a few months pregnant, belly just starting to show. In his shirts you’d look the same as you always do. They hang so big off your frame that no one would be able to tell what was growing beneath it. But he’d know. And when you got bigger the whole world would know. Belly round and breasts heavy, whole body changing to accommodate the little life you made together. Gojo already can’t stay off you and he imagines your first pregnancy will shatter what little is left of his restraint. 

“You’ll tell me what I wanna hear, right, mama?” He murmurs against your stomach. He kisses around your naval, moving lower to dig his fingers into the thickness of your hips. You return the favor, running a hand through his hair until your grip tightens, pulling his eyes towards you. It sends a stinging twinge of pleasure down his spine, scalp prickling beneath your rough treatment as he stares up at you. He realizes you’re holding so tight because you need something to ground you. He can feel the way you’re squirming beneath his weight, hips shifting awkwardly as he pins you down with his bright blue gaze. Gojo has always been so open about wanting to start a family yet you can hardly articulate the words to ask him. It’s what you both want, but after so long saying no he can imagine how hard it is to fix your lips to say yes. It’ll be hard to collar him again once you let him off the leash. 

“Satoru,” he nearly melts at the sound of his name on your tongue. The way you say it with such sweet reverence. He can hear the affection in every syllable. “I want it.” It isn’t some heartfelt confession but it’s just as sincere, and Gojo hasn’t exactly been asking for it in the most romantic terms. You aren’t begging yet but it’s a start. A slow one compared to how feverish he’s been in his desire to get you pregnant but it’s enough for the moment. He can hear threads popping with how quickly he works to get your clothes off. It’s his shirt anyway and he has the money to buy you as many new sets of underwear that you want for nearly ripping your panties in half as he yanks them down your thighs. The poor lace is mangled as you kick it off your ankle but he doesn’t hear you complaining. In fact, you’re giggling. Laughing and smiling so pretty as he kisses your knee. 

“What’s so funny, baby?” He asks. You poke him square in the forehead as he looks up at you. 

“You are.” You’re still laughing. “You’re like a damn puppy.” It’s not the first time you’ve called him that but it makes him smile every time. He presses his grinning lips against your skin and smiles wider when you call him a weirdo as he licks the inside of your thigh. 

“Don’t complain now. In a few minutes you’re gonna want my tongue all over you.” His tone is joking but he watches the word land. The way you go quiet, nipping at your lip to hide your smile behind a shy pout. He can feel your thigh flexing as he rests his head against your leg, squirming at just the thought of him touching you. Gojo has regained some of his control, reigning in his eagerness so he doesn’t get overzealous. The last thing he’d want is to hurt you. He wants the conception of his first baby–all his babies–to be perfect. Even if it’s him that’s asking for it, it’s not really about him. It’s about you. Your body. You’re the one that’s going to be going through the woes of pregnancy, so the least Gojo can do is make the prelude feel good. He kisses your leg again, sinking his face into the soft skin, absolutely melting as he frames himself between your thighs.

There’s an ease to the way his arms hook behind your knees, pulling you down the bed until you’re flush against his face. The sound you make when his nose nudges at your clit has his head going hazy, empty to anything that isn’t you. Sleep still clings around the edges as you moan his name, a low hum that’s steeped in fading fatigue. He can feel your body rising to full consciousness, finally catching up with your mind as your legs shift along the curve of his shoulders. 

You’re still so warm, that sleepy heat lingering as your thighs close around his head the moment he wraps his lips around your clit. He’s only got his lips on you for a second and you’re already squirming, half trying to run away from his mouth. Gojo laughs, the sound rolling off his tongue to tease at your clit. You whine, pushing at his head even as your thighs pull him closer. He whines when you scramble far enough to get away from his mouth, glassy eyes staring up at you like you just slapped him across the face. There’s tears sparkling in your eyes as you look down at him, brows furrowed and lips caught between your teeth. Gojo leans in again, real slow like you won’t notice if he moves at a steady pace. You whimper and start squirming again the second his lips brush against your skin. He tries to be gentle, kissing over the swollen hood of your clit as his tongue parts your sticky lips. A faint, whimpered “wait!” falls from your lips and Gojo pulls away, forcing back a groan, trying not to look at the way your pussy is drooling on his sheets. 

He presses a kiss over the curve of your mound, doing anything to distract himself from thinking about where he really wants his mouth to be. The mess of your arousal is drying sticky on his lips, leaving glossy little prints as he kisses across your stomach. 

“What do you need, baby? Tell me.” His voice is breathless, muffled against your chest as he crawls up your body. You’re still trying to pull him closer and push him away, thighs locked around his waist even as you knot a fist in his hair to pull him away from your pert little nipples. 

“Fucking tease,” he mumbles against your collarbone, void of any true malice. It would almost be amusing if he wasn’t nearly vibrating out of his skin with the strength it’s taking to restrain himself. 

He can’t help but grind against you when you pull him into a kiss. It’s a heated mess of tongue and teeth, barely passing for affection. It’s desperation on the cusp of frenzied aggression as he grinds against you, cursing at the barrier of fabric between you. You’re already clawing at his shirt and there’s no mistaking the sound as Gojo shreds the fabric to be closer to you. His pants are a bit harder to contend with, made infinitely more difficult with the way you’re all but fucking him through the fabric, legs locked so tight that he can barely inch his hand between you to shove the last piece of distance between you out of the way. He knows the moment you register his skin against yours. You’re babbling, close to tears as you whimper his name. It’s a broken mantra that sounds so sweet on your lips. He only gets his pants down to his knees before you’re shoving his hand out of the way. He nearly misses the determined mumble of “make it fit,” too focused on the way your hand feels wrapped around his dick. 

It snaps him back to focus for a second. Long enough to worry about you hurting yourself without his fingers to stretch you open first. But all thoughts melt from his mind the moment you guide his dick between your thighs. He can feel the last threads of his self control unwinding bit by bit as you clumsily guide him where you want him. It’s a messy drag up and down your slit before he catches against your entrance. He can feel how eager you are, clenching at his head as he grips at your hips to keep you still. 

“Just the tip,” he stutters even as you groan out your despair. “Be patient, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He still has the taste of you on the back of his tongue, that orgasm that you ruined for yourself. He can feel the way you’re still trying to pull him in closer, heels digging into the small of his back to no avail. Gojo is stronger than you. The strongest ever. And even when he’s on the cusp of coming–pitiful when he’s barely inside you–he can keep himself from giving into temptation if it means keeping you from harm. Even if you want it now, you’ll be cursing and whining about how sore you are later and he wants this to be a good memory. It’s messy and fast but he can still practically see the hearts in your eyes when he looks down at you. Then you smile and he knows he’s a goner. 

“I’m gonna come,” Gojo says without a shred of embarrassment. He’s long past that as he feels your pussy suck at the tip of his cock. He doesn’t go any deeper, still feeding you shallow thrusts as he goes over the edge. It’s a disappointment to watch the steaks of white spilling out of you when he pulls back, sticky threads still clinging between you. 

“Gotta keep it inside, mama,” he murmurs, already cleaning up the mess with his fingers. Your hand is on his shoulder the second he curls his fingers inside you. Pushing and pulling as your nails scratch across his skin. Only you can ever leave marks on him, only you can ever touch him like this. He gets drunk off the thought, balancing himself on his forearm as he presses his forehead against yours. Your face is wet, smeared with tears and spit and sweat. You look dewy in the lowlight, eyes glittering up at him. It’s muscle memory getting you to the edge. He knows just where to press, just how deep you need it. It’s so second nature that Gojo nearly forgets he’s got his fingers inside you until you shove your hand between your bodies, rubbing desperately at your neglected clit until your back is arching, pressing your chest against his. He can feel your heart fluttering behind your breasts as your nipples skim over his bare skin. 

When you finally sag against the sheets, coming down from the high, your hand slinks over his shoulder until you’re cupping his cheek. Gojo leans into the touch like it’s the last thing he’ll ever feel. 

“It’s time, Satoru,” you say, voice soft and breathless. “Let’s have a baby.” 

The sound he makes sounds pitifully desperate even to his own ears but Gojo can’t bring himself to stifle his voice. He only gets louder when he’s inside you again. An orgasm has you loosened enough to take him now, pulling him in with three deep strokes.

“Just like that, mama,” he murmurs. You’re less erratic now, far calmer after coming once already. “Not running now, are you?” You have the nerve to look bashful, looking away as he rubs his hands down your sides. It’s easy to guide you now, to get you to follow his rhythm as he bottoms out inside you with each thrust. There’s something so enamored about your eyes as you stare up at him. Dazed and half-lidded, full of adoration as you catch his arm where he’s holding your hips. The adoration that floods through him the moment he feels your thumb brushing against his wrist is enough to nearly choke him. Fuck, he wants to marry you. Wants you to be his in every way possible. But there’s still a thousand things he needs to do first. Things to make the world better for you and your baby. His eyes fall to your stomach, vision almost doubling from how hard he’s staring at your tummy. There’ll be a baby in there soon. His baby. Gojo feels himself getting close at the thought. 

“Eyes on me, baby.” It’s a sound like music as you call his attention back to your face. Something you only say when his eyes are closed. He was lost in his dreams of the future. Of babies with his name and your face. 

“I’m here,” he assures you, panting the words against your parted lips in a messy imitation of a kiss. Words are spilled in a slurred litany between soaked mouths with no clear distinction between either whining voice. The sentiment is the same no matter which one of you is saying it. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

“What do you want?” Gojo feels himself murmuring. It’s a hushed mumbling that comes as the end of a long drawl of your name, so low that the syllables come out as graveled sounds against the edge of your ear. Still, you answer to the barest hint of his voice, back bowing off the bed like you’re drawn towards him like a flower to the sun. His arm fills the space, wrapping around your waist. He can feel the way you shiver on the cusp of falling over the edge, can hear it in your voice as you babble your answer of, “you, you, you, just you!” 

“My babies?” He can’t help but goad and tease even though he’s so deep inside you that there’s no question of what you want from him. Still, you answer. Clawing at his shoulders as you do. 

“Yes, Satoru! Your babies, only yours!” It lights something deep and possessive in his chest as he reaches a hand down to rub the shape of his name on your clit. It’s the best he can offer with no ring, no wedding. Writing his name on your skin, pressing his mark into every corner of your body until he can do it the right way. 

“My babies. My girl.” He sets his teeth against the skin of your throat, tasting the sweat as the sound of your voice vibrates across his tongue. There’s no mistake of what you want when you come. Your legs lock tight around him like he’d try to run from the way you’re milking his cock. Squeeze tight like you never want him to leave. He squeezes you tighter in turn, fingers pressed tight against the shivering column of your spine. He spells his name there too, tracing each muscle as they move under his fingertips. He feels your hands in his hair again, scratching at the back of his head. It’s a feeling he’s come to associate with comfort–with you–and it’s enough to throw him headlong over the edge. 

When he tosses his head back, cursing towards the ceiling, your hand is still there to catch him. Brushing against the nape of his neck as your nose tucks up under his chin. He feels your lips wet and hot against the place his pulse is racing in his throat, and knows you can feel each whining pant of your name as it falls from his lips. It’s the only word he knows as his stomach flexes, ropes of come spilling inside you. So much that it starts to leak out in a dribbling mess. Gojo is quick to pull you up, struggling to his knees so he can keep his come where it needs to be. He’s still pulsing inside you, achy from the sensitivity as your walls squeeze around him. You start squirming as the high fades, wiggling in his hold and mumbling about “put me down.” 

Gojo hikes one of your legs higher, pressing a kiss to your ankle. “Can’t, mama. Gotta keep it in or it won’t stick.” 

He placates you with another orgasm, thumbing at your clit until you’re whining and shivering. He can feel the dull pulses as it washes over you, clenching his dick as he softens inside you. You’re so warm that it feels like he’s melting but Gojo can’t suffer the thought of pulling out just yet. But he does finally let you down. He follows you as you sprawl across the rumpled bedding, resting his head against your chest. He nuzzles against your breast until you snap at him to quit it when he sneaks a nipple into his mouth. He pulls away with a pout, kissing across your chest because he can still feel the way your heart is hammering behind your ribs. Your skin is hot beneath his lips and tacky with sweat but he can feel the goosebumps starting to rise with each kiss. 

A car honks outside. The sound carries from down the hall where, somewhere in the apartment, a window is still open. A draft blows in through the half-open bedroom door. He’s not cold yet, but he can feel the shivers starting as you cling to him, soaking up the warmth of his body. He lets you pull him in, reveling in the closeness. 

“Puppy,” you mumble affectionately as he nuzzles closer. You press kisses to his eyebrow, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth. Places only you can touch. Even without his Infinity, people act like Gojo’s face–his eyes–are something beyond human. Sometimes he feels like something divine and untouchable but then your lips press softly against his eyelids and he’s suddenly just a man. A desperate, possessive man. He catches your mouth against his, licking at the seam of your lips until they part to let him taste your tongue against his. When he’s done he takes the liberty of licking a bead of sweat from your temple and you push him away, whining about him being gross. 

“S’not gross,” he pouts. “I love you.” He says it like an explanation. Like everything he does can trace back to the fact that he can’t breathe if he goes without touching you for too long. Tasting your sweat is one of the tamer things he’s done to prove his love. Sometimes Gojo wonders if you forget that he’d burn the world down for you. Then he remembers that he’s already doing it. For you, for your baby. For himself. His hand squeezes between your bodies to press against your stomach. Soon, he smiles at the thought. Now. 

“You should eat something, baby.” He hears you talking, hears the concern in that soft, satisfied tone, but you’re stroking his hair like you’d rather he fall asleep against your chest. 

“C’mon,” you say when he doesn’t move, patting where your nails left scratches across his shoulders. “I’ll make you food and then we can go again later.” Gojo chokes on his breath with how fast he’s trying to get his words out. “Calm down, baby, I know it takes more than once to make a baby.” 

Gojo watches you grab his shirt off the floor–the one he just took off, not the one you’d been wearing all day–tucking your nose into the collar as you waddle to the bathroom with your knees hugged tight to keep the mess he made from dripping on the carpet. Fuck, he wants to marry you. The look you give him when you come out of the en-suite, eyeing the way he’s tenting the sheets just thinking about his come spilling out of you does little to make him feel ashamed. He waits long enough for his body to calm down before he’s pulling on a pair of shorts and joining you in the kitchen. You’re bouncing around in front of the stove, making eggs even though it’s late in the evening. Gojo crosses his legs and tries not to imagine that you’re making breakfast before school, waiting for your oldest to finish getting dressed as you bounce your youngest on your hip. 

“You want pancakes?” He must nod because you start making batter. 

“You gotta move in with me,” Gojo reminds you, eyes watching the way your–his!–shirt hikes up every time you lift your arms too high, conspicuously checking for a peek of what’s hidden just beneath the black fabric. 

“My lease is up in like two weeks.” And just like with your teasing not pregnant yet, Gojo knows he has you. For good. Happiness suddenly smells like freshly fallen snow and maple syrup. 

[unholybacon355]

Kinktober Day 15 - Lisa Manoban x M! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: Sorry but here it's late and I'm very tired, so probably this is poorly written and gonna feel more rushed than usual. I promise edite it when I have time.

Also. ISTG This was scheduled and it is pure coincidence that today was Lisa's turn.

In fact it was a pretty good club, the best and most expensive you ever had been. Although money isn't a problem to you, this place still feels kinda expensive for what you're used to spending on a regular night, but so far the money has been totally worth it. 

In front of you there is a small circular stage with a pole dance pole in the middle, and color lights pointing directly to the center. The rest of the not so small private room was in complete darkness. You were sitting on a really comfortable chair looking directly at the pole, so the bright light prevented you from seeing the hooded figure that entered the room till they were near the stage.

When the hooded person stepped on the stage you were able to see a black boot high heel boot that covered up to her mid-calf, coming out of the big coat that was hiding they identity. Soon their steep lead them tho be standing between the pole and you, even with the lights you weren’t able to see their face. 

Suddenly music start to play coming from an undetermined point, filling the room with a sweet melody. That was the signal to start the show, so the figure finally took off the hood revealing the facial features of a woman on her late twenties. She was by any standard beautiful, and the make up just enhanced her natural beauty. When she discarded the big coat that was covering the rest of her you saw that her body was beautiful too.

The outfit was simple but it totally served its purpose. It was a two-piece suit that simulated an office outfit. The sleeveless top clung to the woman's curves, hugging her completely, highlighting them and also highlighting her breasts. Pressing them together to create the effect that her bust was more prominent than it really was. The top also showed off her marked abdomen. The shorts on the other hand barely covered from the waist to the beginning of her thighs, and from the front it gave the impression that half of her ass was visible. Fishnet stockings and the aforementioned boots completed the outfit.

After a few seconds of looking directly at you, the woman turned her back, revealing that the shorts did indeed only cover half of her plump buttocks. Raising her arms, she grabbed the pole, and immediately began to spin on the stage until she jumped into the air, using the pole as a pivot point.

The dancer was good at what she did, even you who didn't know much about the subject could see that. She moved gracefully, twisting her muscles to the beat of the music, while she spun non-stop, holding on to the pole. Now the melody had changed to something sexier to accompany the moment.

Her movements were impeccable. Controlled and precise, showing that she was a true professional. But maybe being this good was the only way to work in a club as exclusive as this one. Only the best of the best for the best clients, that was clear. And if you needed any further confirmation, the dancer was currently spinning on the stage with her legs completely open, constantly changing the hand that supported her weight.

After a few minutes of hypnotic dancing, the music changed again and the dancer landed, spinning down from the stage. Only a few meters separated her from you now, and it took her a couple of steps to cover them and stand directly in front of you. Without saying a word, she put her hand on your shoulder and began to sway to the rhythm of the new music. Soon she began to spin around you, getting closer and closer to your body.

Now you could better appreciate her beauty, which was truly stunning, but you could also see from a closer distance how delicious her curves were. It was when she passed in front of you that you were able to see how the tiny shorts hugged the flesh of her buttocks, and how they bounced lustfully with each step. Each sound of heels touching the ground was accompanied by a tremor in her ass and thighs. That drove you crazy while her perfume intoxicated your senses.

Taking you by surprise, the dancer took a few steps away from you and began to unbutton her top, which was soon discarded revealing her perky tits. Her breasts, now free from the embrace of the garment, bounced once before remaining firmly still, only rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing. Two pasties covered her nipples, preventing you from seeing her tits in all their glory.

Then the dance began again. Now she touched her body as she danced in front of you, immersed in the light of the spotlights that had moved to accompany her. She turned and bent down, stretching her ass back, making her buttocks stick out more from her shorts. You wanted to reach out and touch the most perfect ass you had ever seen in your entire life, but you knew that was off limits. It had been made clear to you that you could only watch, the right to touch was above the amount that even someone like you could pay. Still the dancer could put her hands on you if she wanted to.

As if she was reading your thoughts, the girl spread her legs and leaned in ninety degrees, putting her ass as close to you as it had been all night. Grabbing the shorts by the waist she pulled them off in one swift movement, removing them in one go and ripping them in the process. The image that was revealed in front of you made your cock throb, protesting inside your pants for being touched.

A few inches from your face was her round, plump ass, covered only by stockings and a tiny thong that was lost between her buttocks. The garment was large enough to barely cover her anus and vagina from your view, but even so you were able to see the outer edge of her rear entrance. In front of you was a whole meal served and you were not allowed to take a bite.

But the torture didn't end there as now the girl sat on your lap, placing her ass crack directly on your clothed penis. It was obvious that she could feel your tip digging into her flesh despite the clothes, but like a true professional she didn't protest. Instead she began to move her ass rubbing against you, while grabbing her hair and lifting it up revealing her delicate neck to you.

Of course you wanted to kiss her neck, her shoulders, and the delicate but toned muscles of her back. Everything about this woman was perfectly delicious and drove you crazy, even how her tanned skin seemed to shine with pearls under the light of the colored spotlights.

You needed more from her but all you could get was the action of her ass on your crotch. Your cock protested and you struggled not to make any noise even though your state of arousal was evident. You could practically feel your tip pressing against her barely covered anus. Your balls ached and all you could think about was the woman you had dancing on your lap.

The controlled movements of her ass, the way her back pressed against your chest letting you see her tits firmly bounce, her perfume, the little kisses she gave you on the cheek. It all drove you crazy and quickly took its toll on you. Unable to hold back any longer you came in your boxers, staining them with your hot cum as you moaned and panted.

The dancer continued to move her ass in a circular motion over you, until she felt the wetness of your semen against her skin. You had come so much that even your pants were stained. She then stood up and gave herself a hard spanking so that you could see her ass shake for the last time. She then turned around and made the gesture of kissing her fingers, which she then delicately placed on your lips as if she were sharing a kiss with you.

With that, and having fulfilled her task, she simply took her coat and left, leaving you alone in the now dark room. With your pants stained by your own semen, panting without having been touched,  and thinking about how much money would be a reasonable sum to leave her as a tip.

[brucewaynehater101]

I’d love to see more of the Emotional Marks AU. I want to see the reveal and the Bats having the realization that just because they’re doing better /now/, it doesn’t fix the damage they did before. And that they can’t force things to heal. Healing takes time.

Post being mentioned is here

What I'm curious about is if it's a human only thing or if others (like Kyrptonians, Martians, Atlanteans, etc.) also get marks.

Anyways, here's some more stuff I thought of. As always, take as little or as much as you'd like of it ^^

Tim never takes off the object hiding his marks, even for himself. It's part habit and part desperation to never see how much his loved ones have actually hurt him.

He's unique in that he isn't sure where most of his marks come from. People usually see the marks within 24 hours of their appearance. Tim has gone years between seeing his own marked skin.

As I've stated before, the object works like glamor. Therefore, those with enough magic power would be able to see past it. This is part of why Tim wanted pants for the Robin uniform (any magicians working with Robin would see the moment they saw any of Tim's bare skin). Tim is very lucky the marks on his face only appeared a bit before he became Red Robin (and part of his reason for the cowl).

Marks typically stay away from the face. They only appear there if symbolically significant or if the marks are running out of space elsewhere on the body. Bart and Kon dying really did a number on Tim even though it wasn't their fault.

YJ and Dick have helped soothe some of the marks left behind by the Drakes (and Bruce too if you want good dad Bruce). Quite a bit have even fully disappeared due to them.

Tim still collected them like Halloween candy, though.

Major marks and their placement [though feel free to offer different ideas]:

Bruce calling Tim "Jason" - x on the back of neck

16th birthday - Major gash on right temple hidden by hair

Janet dying - splintering cracks along hand (bigger version of the one Janet fakes)

Jack coma then death - line in left calf then up to mid back of thigh

Bart dying - right side from under armpit to end of ribs gash

Kon dying - giant oval over sternum

Jason's TT attack - left foot/ankle cracks

Damian's attacks - stomach area

Losing Robin - largest slash diagonal across back (left shoulder to right hip)

There's more marks, but the ones on his face are caused by people not believing in him [this is not a "they should have" argument. It would have hurt regardless of what they should have done]

Hmm... So, the reveal? I'm thinking a magician. This would be after Tim switches back to just a mask and no cowl. His face marks would be on display for magicians but no one else. He, wrongly, assumed he'd be fine.

He's playing nice with the Bats at this point, even if he doesn't fully trust them. He loves them and wants to keep the peace. He'd never voluntarily show them his marks or tell them about it.

The Bats are being nicer under the idea that their assumptions about markless were incorrect. It weirds Tim out and usually has him ghosting them for a few days if they try to initiate feeling conversations with him. He kind of wishes they would just go back to normal.

It's a few months of this behavior before some magician makes a remark about Tim's facial marks. Something along the lines of, "You okay, Red? You're aware of how dangerous it is for marks to progress as far as the face, right?"

Cause what happens when there's no more room for marks? Drastic decrease in physical health. Could lead to death.

The Bats overhear and promptly freak the fuck out again.

Tim, who has been dealing with their bullshit for the last few months and doesn't want to deal with the confrontation, disappears. He's waiting for them to process their shit before returning [he loves them but does not want to be caught in that fucking whirlwind. Bats notoriously do not handle emotions well]

[lilac-5ky]

TOJI AND VIRGIN READER!

The Favor (officeAU!Toji x virgin!Fem!Reader)

Plot: The first day you met Toji, he told you everything on his CV was a lie. Three years later, he's your beloved work husband, the one you go to when you decide it's time to lose your virginity.

Tags: Office!AU, loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f.receiving), agee gap (reader mid 20s, toji mid 30s), soft!dom toji, dirty talking, praising, pet names (sweetheart, darling, kid, wife, whore, slut, etc), aftercare, toji catches feelings after fucking you, daddy vibes without the word, friends to lovers dynamic, size kink, lube handjob, MDNI obviously.

A/N: Combined your idea with my intense need to write an office!au. Hopefully this turned out to your liking and you forgive me for writing this much filth LMAO

Masterlist | AO3 | Requests

For promotion, for demotion, for raises and for cuts, in overtime and in bureaucracy, until layoff do us part.

In the insufferable reality of Japanese corporate life, a work spouse exists to shoulder the burden of overdue deadlines and never-ending stacks of paperwork. A husband who, in spite of not being bound to you through marriage, has vowed to stick by your side until either one of you breaks free from the shackles of human resources; your work husband.

You met each other on your first day at the company, both of you passing interviews for the same lowly position of staffing coordinator.

Your first impression of candidate number 9 was that his suit wasn’t really his but was likely borrowed from someone whose bicep wasn’t the size of their thigh and calf combined. Your second impression was whispered to your ear as the dark haired man rose from his chair and paraded down the interview room, nonchalantly letting slip that his bachelor’s degree along with every bit of qualification on his CV had been faked.

Whether that was a declaration of war or a testament to his unparalleled confidence, you wouldn’t know until a week later when you were assigned to the same miserable office corner, sharing a desk, a title, and a secret whose value skyrocketed once you became acquainted with your work place’s imposing policies.

One word would get both him and his knowing smile fired, but the moment you shook hands with Fushiguro Toji and promised to get along, you signed yourself up for a long-lasting partnership.

Over the three years you worked together, each grew out of their initial post. Your all-nighters paid off and you got promoted to an HR assistant, meaning you didn’t have to memorize everyone’s coffee order any longer, while Toji flourished as the department’s eye candy.

He’d ceased pretending that his broad shoulders could be boxed in second-hand suit jackets, and instead opted for rolled-up button-ups with the occasional monochromatic tie—a fit that put his sculpted physique into full view and threw the entire female populace out of balance.

He was an objectively good-looking man who bordered on great. The type to be conscious of their effect on others, cutting corners with suggestive glances and smiling his way out of otherwise unforgivable report oversights. Every woman in the office was openly in love with him. Even your supervisor referred to him as the team’s ace and discreetly unbuttoned her cleavage in his presence.

You realized then, they’d sooner let go of you and your hard-earned master’s, than part with the department’s mascot.

Despite the differences in skill and appearance, your sense of kinship survived the passage of time. Perhaps you’d subconsciously fallen victim to his charms, but whenever you saw his thin brows furrow and his right foot threaten the unresponsive copy machine with a killing blow, you couldn’t look away. This is a favor; you’d remind him at every formal email and resume assessment you helped put together.

And favors are repaid.

While Toji couldn’t assist with payroll processing, he always had the scoop on who cheated on their spouse with whom and whose bra was filled with padding—which you didn’t find all that interesting, but turned into a fun game of guess the cheater during dull 9 a.m. meetings.

On mornings when the alarm was hurled at your bedroom wall, he made excuses for your absence, and on work dinners, he saved you a seat away from all the grabby drunks.

Toji was far from a good person. His mere presence in a company you’d broken your back to get into was a mockery of your efforts. He led others on and got into muffled shutouts over his phone behind the water fountain, where he thought no one was listening in.

That’s how you found out about his eight-year-old kid and the custody battle with his allegedly “psychotic” ex-wife. He didn’t know you knew because you never told him. Everyone had skeletons in their closet, and it wasn’t your job to sort his out. As far as your work marriage was concerned, he was a good husband who diligently fulfilled his marital duties—all except one, which you feared the pretext of a favor wouldn’t begin to cover.

“Here’s your poison,” you slid the scalding coffee cup in his direction, mindful of the papers on his desk. “Black Americano with four shots of espresso and no sugar to compliment your wretched dark soul.”

Toji raised an open palm in your face, motioning for you to wait until he was done punching words on the keyboard and pressed save file. Your eyes were drawn to his fingers, threaded with faded scars that followed the expanse of veins down his wrists, dipping deep below the white cotton of his shirt. Another unsolved mystery you hadn’t gotten to the bottom of.

He brought the cup to his equally scarred lips, defying the steam spirals with a long-drawn sip. “Unnecessary intro, but thanks.” He gave a lazy smile. “Aren’t ya a sweetheart?”

You dropped your beverage on your side of the desk and swiveled your chair nearer. “Think you could do said sweetheart a favor?

“A favor, huh?” His breath was laced with caffeine. “Depends. If you’re asking for a buck, ‘fraid I’m all dried up till the end of the month.”

So he isn’t planning on paying for his order.

“I make more than you.”

“Doesn’t mean ya can’t find yourself in a pickle.”

You shook your head, stealing a sip of liquid courage from your mocha. How did people ask those things again?

Your contemplation lasted long enough for him to turn his head back to work, filling his home screen with enough tabs to distract you from his unfinished round of solitaire.

“What are you doing after work?” Your voice cracked into shards of uncertainty.

“Nice try.”He sneered. “You dug your own grave taking on the grievance procedures from the union. Climb out on your own.”

“Not everyone offloads their work load on others, Toji.” You rolled your eyes, scooting even closer to make sure only he’d be the recipient of your next words.

He sensed something was off because he wasn’t pretending to input random lines into the search bar anymore, and while he studied you, you studied him back. You had your doubts about this, and you weren’t sure he was your type either. You liked your men responsible and mature—like Nanami from sales, who would’ve been your first choice if your legs didn’t turn into jelly the minute you saw him.

Toji was the safe option. You talked to him. You joked with him. You were used to him, and more importantly, you trusted him. All the lack of qualifications in his job, he made up for with his experience in that other field you were a stranger to.

“Hey, kid.” His voice mellowed down with a beat of concern, a heavy hand landing on your shoulder. “If you’ve gotten yourself into trouble, I—”

“Please have sex with me.”

“Make yourself at home.” He nudged your back into the apartment, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were following even after he’d pulled away.

Moving forward felt hard—as if you’d forgotten how to. You weren’t sure whether to wipe your shoes on the mat or stash them in the corner. You didn’t know which foot to put forth and what set of slippers to pick. Every decision suddenly mattered a lot more than it should.

You’d never been to Toji’s house before, and up until a few hours ago, you couldn’t fathom standing at his doorstep either. You weren’t that close so as to meet outside work hours, but you were about to get a lot more up close and personal.

The way he accepted your request with a mere, almost offensive, okay still boggled your brain. You’d considered every question he could possibly ask, painstakingly compiling your list of answers like a witness called to the stand, only for him to not speak a word of it—not even when it was just you and him and the solitude that came from enjoying lunch a hundred stories above Tokyo’s bustling streets.

He seemed to have forgotten all about your plans, up until he pulled over at the bus stop where you were waiting and stuffed you in the front seat of his car.

“You coming?”

Kicking your heels off your feet, you skipped straight through the hallway, your head turning left and right as if you were at an art gallery. You didn’t know what to expect, but a high-end apartment in the heart of Minato wasn’t it. Neither your income nor his justified an inox steel kitchen with mahogany wood flooring—let alone a direct view of the illuminated Tokyo Tower.

You were so bedazzled by the city skyline that you nearly missed the hastily buried socks peeking beneath the kotatsu, along with the cobwebs his untouched bookshelf flaunted. Much like his suit, his apartment was handed to him by someone whose love for both their books and spouse had run out.

“Whaddya think?”

Toji stalked behind you, his reflection in the glass becoming more defined with every step he took. He was holding something in each hand—two glasses whose orange liquid sparkled in place of the stars.

You turned around slowly, accepting your share with a small smile on your face.

“Your ex-wife has good taste.”

He blinked, taken aback for a split second. He wondered what gave it out—the pink slippers or the flipped-down picture frames you’d yet to notice—and somewhere down the line, he got the wrong idea, beaming with an unwarranted “Thanks.”

“I meant the house, not you.” Although you couldn’t blame him for his inflated ego when every female practically dropped their panties at his feet. Especially not when you were there to do the same.

Your teeth clicked sharply against the glass as you tilted your head and sipped on what tasted too sweet to be whiskey. Apple Juice?

“That’s not alcohol.” You stated.

“Ever thought of becoming a detective?” Toji padded toward the leather couch, spreading his thighs across the two middle cushions.

“Ever thought of becoming a comedian?” You retorted, squeezing in to his left. The furniture would’ve been big enough to fit you both, had he been considerate. “So what’s the joke? Too young to be drinking, or hard liquor ain’t for pretty girls like me?”

“Nah.” His head dropped on his shoulder, both propped against the headrest. “Need you sober for what’s about to happen.”

You mirrored his stance, your knees touching as you folded them on the smooth leather. “And what’s about to happen?”

“I think we both know, or else ya wouldn’t have followed me here.” He wet his bottom lip, pretty green eyes clouding dark.

A certain dryness gnawed at your throat, the pink color of his tongue appealing to you more than it should. You weren’t interested in Toji, but the strands of black that fell over his forehead painted a cuter image than you were used to seeing at the office. You wondered what he’d look like with his hair pushed back, all slick from beads of sweat rolling down his temples. And when you realized you couldn’t pin any of those thoughts on the alcohol, you took another sip, hurriedly averting your gaze.

“How many have? Women from work, I mean.”

You were surprised to hear him state “None,” and even more surprised that he claimed not to mix business with pleasure. You could think of at least three coworkers you suspected he fooled around with. At least so they bragged in the ladies’ room.

“So why bring me home?”

“‘Cause you asked.” Toji said gruffly.

“You fuck every woman who asks you to?”

“Only the cute ones.”

Your cheeks flushed red as you reminded yourself to take his words with a grain of salt. He wasn’t interested in you any more than you were in him. This was simply platonic—almost transactional. He’d do what you asked, and then you’d pay him back with another, mundane favor like sorting mail in his stead.

You finished your drink, your eyes licking up the remaining drops at the bottom of the glass. “This line works?”

Toji shrugged. It probably did. He probably didn’t even have to open his mouth for it to work. While the moment you opened yours—

“Want more?” He motioned to your glass. You nodded, extending your arm, only for his expression to turn sour. “I’m not your fucking maid. Bottle’s on the counter.”

You sighed, getting up so he wouldn’t see your eyes roll at his comment as he shoved his glass in your face. Who’s the maid now?

Aimlessly, you strolled into the kitchen, taking longer than necessary to fill both your glasses. You didn’t mean to start snooping around, but you couldn’t help yourself from seeking a sign of his presence in his picture-perfect apartment. Houses typically reveal something about their residents, and while the display of crystal glasses spoke plenty of his ex-wife, there was no evidence of Toji’s personality.

You weren’t interested in him—just curious. That’s what you kept telling yourself as you picked up a frame stowed away behind an empty cookie jar.

Four smiles greeted you, the brightest belonging to a young girl with elongated bangs, holding a boy who strove to copy his sister’s expression. Their parents stood behind them, a beautiful woman with long brown hair tucked in a ponytail blissfully leaning against the shoulder of a Toji that seemed less happy the longer you processed his strained features.

“She left.” The proximity of his voice startled you. The frame danced between your fingers until he snatched it, his jutted-out chin betraying his annoyance. “Took the kids, left the house and me behind. Ain’t that what ya wanted to hear?”

You shook your head, about to drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness on his parquet. However, the hostility that rose faded as soon as he threw the picture in the first open drawer and returned to the living room, leaving you to fetch your drinks. Then you remembered the phone calls. They weren’t on good terms.

“Having kids isn’t bad. Nor being divorced.” You handed him the glass, assuming your previous position on the couch. “Doesn’t ruin your cool guy image whatsoever.”

“Who said I care about that?” Toji snorted.

“Then you wouldn’t care if anything slipped in front of your fan club?”

“Mind your own fucking business.” He hissed. You chuckled. Sharing a couch wasn’t that much different from sharing a desk, and sharing two secrets was the same as sharing one.

“What are your kids’ names?”

“Kid,” he corrected. “Megumi.”

By the name, you assumed it was the girl. You were wrong. You tried to ask something about his son’s mother, but somehow you couldn’t find one right thing to say, since the woman in the photo wasn’t the boy’s biological mom either. You were lost. The more cryptic answers he gave, the more unanswered questions you ended up with.

Your plan took a backseat while Toji trod the sensitive topic of his divorce to that “bitch,” who’d taken his kid from him out of spite. The custody battle was tipped in her favor, courtesy of a legal system that’d rather see a child separated from its biological parent in the face of cold cash.

Megumi only visited every second weekend of the month, which explained his father’s eagerness to leave early on certain Fridays and come late on the following Mondays. He didn’t need to say this, but you understood his reasons for cheating his way into the company. A proper job looked good in court, and whatever earned him those scars was far from proper.

Both your hands emptied as you finished your second round of drinks. Your head would be buzzing if there was alcohol involved, but you didn’t miss it. Toji was hard to engage, and talking to him felt like running into one brick wall after another. However, working out of those dead-ends was preferable to clinking glasses with some guy who wouldn’t quit boasting about his Ivy League diploma or his burning passion for vocaloid singers—both cases reflecting the sad reality of blind dating in your twenties.

“So.” Toji drawled, a burly arm stretching behind your head. “Why you want me to fuck you? Can’t find good dick in the market?”

Your mind went blank in an instant, every excuse and curated version of the story vanishing when you needed them the most.

“I—um,” you cleared your throat, while your eyes scanned over his body.

There was a lot to take in: the fine lines of his pecs, highlighted under the taut white fabric; the black tie hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar; the hem of his shirt that dangled out of his fitted pants, exposing the tiniest window to the happy trail on his lower abdomen; his slim waist and his thick thighs; the curve of his bum; and the light touch of his fingers closing around your shoulder. You traced the same route of landmarks, finding yourself returning to his achingly handsome face and the playful curiosity in his eyes that had you shifting in your place.

All the reasons for someone to want to be fucked by this fine specimen of a man were right there, and you picked the most inclusive one. “Because you’re hot.”

The ends of his scar drew apart as Toji smiled a wolfish smile. He inched closer, your back hitting the armrest when his right hand caged your body between his arms and the couch.

“Bullshit.” A tickle from where his nose brushed against yours, and a thud from where your heart dropped inside your chest. “You think I wouldn’t know if ya had the hots for me, kid?”

“N-not everyone throws themselves at others.” You tried to reason.

“Maybe. But attraction comes with signs.” The side of his hand grazed the corner of your eyelid. “Batting your pretty lashes,” he trailed off, rough knuckles softly tracing the apple of your cheek. “Blushing your cheeks red.” The pad of his thumb swiped down your cupid’s bow. “Biting your lip raw.” He continued with his eyes, glancing at the skirt that lay high above your knees suggestively. “Pressing those plushy thighs together.”

“You do none ‘f those things.” Toji accused. “So why the sudden itch? Indulge me, and I’ll pound that pussy till ya scream.”

The promise of his words forced a gulp down your throat as your thighs involuntarily rubbed together. You started to reconsider. You didn’t want to fuck him just because any man would do. You wanted to fuck him because it was him and because every patch of skin he made contact with begged to be touched again.

“I’m a virgin.” You admitted, voice low, and stare even lower—utterly defeated as he flinched away in surprise.

You wondered what he’d say. A virgin at your age? was the most common response, followed by Is something wrong with you? and typically concluded with You sure you’re not a lesbian?

Everyone preaches how precious innocence is, but no one wants the pressure of taking it. What men really want is a woman who is both a saint and a slut—a woman who can suck their dick ten inches deeper than they can provide while simultaneously shying away from every insinuation of sex.

The problem is with the poor souls who belong in either category without adhering to the other, because squeezing your legs shut is just as faulty as spreading them open for the public.

Seeing as Toji remained silent, you realized you wouldn’t get an answer, and maybe it was for the best. You didn’t want to put a strain on your work relationship. It’d take a while to look him in the eye again, but in a month or two, you’d laugh about the incident over a cup of soggy store-bought noodles like nothing happened.

“Sorry for bothering you.” You mumbled as you picked up your last vestige of dignity and stood on your feet, only to be anchored by a set of fingers that tightly gripped your wrist.

“Sit.” His unfaltering gaze confirmed the sincerity of his command.

You thought about breaking free and dashing to the door. You thought about how much it’d actually hurt to let him ridicule you, and the tears started to build up on their own. And when you didn’t do as you were told, he towered over you with a palm that was eager to cup your cheek, tilting your face in position for him to print a rough kiss on your parted lips.

“I said fucking sit.” Toji repeated, while you contemplated how someone who spews words so harshly could have such soft lips.

Sheepishly, you fell back onto the couch, expecting him to follow suit and not kneel on the floor like he did. “What’s the story?” He asked, large hands taking hold of your knees and slowly rubbing them apart.

“What makes you think there’s a story?” You prayed that he couldn’t feel your heartbeat bounce across your body as if it were an empty vessel.

“With you, there always is.” He licked his lips as his eyes settled between your thighs, darkening with lust the second they were met with the damp patch in the middle of your pink lace knickers. “Wanna hear all about it while I feast on your little hole.”

“You’re not gonna fuck—”

“First things first, sweetheart. Gotta make sure y’are all prepped before I stuff you with my cock.” Toji smiled, pushing your skirt until it rolled over your stomach. “If ya gonna scream my ears off, better be from pleasure, mm?”

You nodded, watching as his slender fingers slid your underwear off and temporarily—you hoped—shoved it in his back pocket. You saw him marvel at the sight of your exposed cunt and wished you could peer into his brain to hear him curse himself for not coming up with this idea first.

You looked so pretty down there, your puffy clit safely tucked behind its hood while your lips shimmered with your wetness—the scent so intoxicating his pants tightened into a size too small.

He was already considering his next favor. Now that the door was open, he’d make sure it never closed again. Bending you over the copy machine was the front-runner. Getting a print of your tits squeezed against the scanner while he blows your back, his palm muffling out the pathetic sounds you let slip—he’d be lying if that wasn’t what he fantasized about whenever you refilled the ink cartridges for him.

“Ya ever touch yourself here?”

His thumb swiped over your clit, drawing an incomplete circle that ended with light flicks around the sensitive nub. Left and right. Up and down. Searching for the combination that’d have your body answer in place of your mouth, and when your hips bucked forward, he knew exactly where to press.

“Y-yes!” You whined, more as a reaction than an answer to his question.

“And ya ever push a finger in?” He continued, teasingly dragging his thumb between your lips.

“Just one. Rest hurt.”

“Mhm, bet they do.” He hummed as he tasted you on his finger, exaggerating the suck with a soft pop. “Ever had a guy kiss ya there before?”

Toji gave his own answer as he buried his head in your pussy, the sticky mix of his saliva and your juices trickling down your entrance while he made out with your clit. You struggled to keep your thighs apart, the raspy grunts at the back of his throat vibrating against your mound in joint symphony with your breathy moans. His tongue felt so good soaking on your slick that you felt yourself melting into a pool of pleasure.

“Get talkin’ or I’ll stop.” He warned, slowing down with broad, near-maddening, strokes that occasionally dipped between your folds.

“I wanted to w-wait,” you panted. “Wanted to fall in love first, but then I waited too long, and—ngh, fuck, right there!” Toji pinched your folds apart, his stare lecherous as he sucked the puffy pearl into his warm mouth.

Your body jerked in response, the leather squeaking hard beneath your bared ass. You weren’t sure at what point interest surpassed curiosity, but the signs were all there, manifesting as heat in your cheeks and blood that threatened to drop from your chewed-up lip.

His jade eyes narrowed into a shrewd reminder. Putting your thoughts in order was impossible, but if you stopped, so would he.

“Everyone ‘round me started d-doing it, and I was the only one l-left.” You tried to regulate your breathing through your nose, your throat turning hoarse from all the strain. “Went on a bunch of blind dates, but the guys were t-turned off, and—how the fuck are you so good at this?”

Toji chuckled, the pink tip of his tongue parting your lips in a languid motion that made you shudder. “Let’s just say my marriage didn’t fall apart ‘cause of this.”

He mounted your knees atop his shoulders and neared your entrance, with his middle and ring fingers ghosting over the softness of your pulsing slit. “Gonna use my fingers now. Be a good girl and cum on them, will ya?”

The first digit pushed forward, much thicker than any of your fingers. You felt so full already—nails digging into the cushions, while he thrust in and out of your walls, curling the lone pad to find a spot so sweet it elicited a moan of equal sweetness.

“Ya did well to come to me.” He continued, his raspy voice effortlessly sexy. “Kids these days don’t know shit ‘bout pleasing a woman.”

The veins on his wrist flexed along with his scars as his ring finger joined in the action to defy your previous claim. There was no pain. Only immense waves of pleasure leaking through your squinted eyes as hot tears beaded your eyelashes.

“Doin’ so good for me, darlin’.” He praised, repeatedly hitting the swollen bundle of nerves inside your throbbing cunt, bringing you closer to the edge with each thorough pump.

“Maybe I was wrong, hm? Maybe that’s what ya wanted all along. I know I did. Fucking wanted my hands on this pussy since I first saw ya fidget with your little skirt at that interview.”

“Toji—”

He dived between your legs again, his hand maintaining the same erratic pace even while his tongue hungrily lapped at your clit. Your head lolled back, the tension in your guts rapidly building up until you came undone, your pussy clenching and creaming around his calloused fingers.

You’d never finished so hard on your own, the tremors of your orgasm ringing in your ears and jogging your memory.

Your first impression on that day was sadness, right? Sadness over the wedding band the handsome stranger hid in his pocket right before entering the building, thinking no one else caught sight of it, and embarrassment about how your impure thoughts for a married man followed you into the shower every night after work.

“Atta girl.” A present-day and very-much divorced Toji licked his lips into a smile. “Their fucking loss.”

His knee pressed into the gap between your thighs as he stood on his feet and prompted you to open your lips. You took his fingers in your mouth, licking your cum off while your chest heaved with one labored breath after the other.

“See how good ya taste?” Toji cooed, rhythmically fucking his fingers on your tongue before removing them. “Sweeter than honey.”

“Thought you didn’t like sweet things.” His coffee order came in mind.

“How ‘bout we make an exception?”

You weren’t sure what got into you when you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him forward, kissing him with such vigor you’d never experienced. You always thought of losing your virginity as checking an item off your bucket list. You didn’t imagine you could ever lust after someone the way you currently lusted after Toji, your desire escalating into an all-consuming need.

His tongue moved as skillfully in your mouth as it did when it explored your pussy, dancing with your own rather than overpowering it. You liked kissing him. You liked kissing him so much that you wanted to incorporate it into your morning hellos and your evening goodbyes, dragging yourselves into an endless loop of returned favors.

Without breaking the kiss, Toji hoisted you up from the couch and held you in his arms, his palms finding the perfect excuse to grab onto your ass while he carried you across rooms you didn’t care enough to see. A door creaked behind your back, and soon you were tossed onto a large body of endless softness—a bed, you realized as Toji hastily shoved a couple of pillows behind your head.

“Ever heard of that stupid nickname that goes ‘round work?” He whispered in your ear while his fingers worked on undoing your blouse. “How they call ya my work wife?” His palms slid around your ribs and back to unhook your bra. “Guess this makes it our wedding night, heh.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a chuckle. “Don’t you feel any shame calling me your wife when you’re about to fuck me on your ex-wife’s bed?”

“My bed now, and what I say fucking goes.” He stripped your body from every garment, salaciously gawking at your nude figure on his (her) satin sheets.

You didn’t feel too bad about showing your body, but his stare was almost intrusive—especially with how he hadn’t lost a single article of clothing himself.

“Such a gorgeous body, wife.” He dragged out the final syllables, hoping to elicit a reaction separate from the soft pants you let out as he caressed your soft curves—both much softer than the bedding you were splayed across, liquid velvet in his hands. “Such a good little wife, saving herself for her husband to deflower.”

“Why thank you, husband.” You chortled, cupping his face in a deep kiss.

You knew Toji was the right choice. Not because touching him felt like winning the lottery or because he knew exactly what he was doing, but because he could’ve made this situation a lot more awkward and didn’t. He made your first time feel special, granting your wish of doing it with someone you loved, even if it was all an illusion that’d fade come tomorrow morning.

You almost thanked him as he began to unbutton his shirt, the display of corded muscles and pale scars breaking the dam between your legs. Whatever your type might’ve once been, was no more. It was all Toji, with his clenched fists lifting the weight of his brawny, veiny arms, his shoulders so wide you could ride on them, and the self-complacent smirk your stupefied expression brought to his lips.

“This ain’t an exhibit, sweetheart.” He mocked. “You can touch all ya want.”

He didn’t need to say it twice for your palms to roam his body, starting from his neck and slowly gliding down his torso, feeling out the tension in his steeled abdomen. His skin was smooth, except for the few unruly hairs leading down to the bulge in his crotch, whose sight alone made you lick your lips and buck your hips into his. You wanted to see the rest of him.

“You are the hottest divorcee I know.” You smiled earnestly.

“Ya know lots of ‘em?” Toji cocked his head while you shook yours with a giggle. “Don’t be so flattering.”

“I do have a great-aunt…”

“Oh, please.” He groaned, allowing you to laugh it out. He didn’t like how his bottom lip twitched as he struggled to contain a chuckle of his own. He’d long sworn off girls that made his heart skip a beat.

“Think y’are ready?” You nodded. Repeatedly.

Digging his knees into the bed, he stretched an arm toward the nightstand, fishing for a bottle in one of the drawers. Lube, you realized as he settled it beside you to remove his pants, flinging them along with his boxers to the other side of the room.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock, an expression that didn’t look too good considering fear was about the last emotion you should be experiencing.

He was packing in every sense of the word. Long, thick, and definitely heavy as it hung above his hefty balls, the reddened tip pointing at your entrance. It wasn’t like you’d never seen a cock before. Porn existed, and so did perverts in trench coats, but comparing either one to him was both disrespectful and a huge understatement.

“Don’t go cold on me now, mm? It will fit.” He read your mind, taking your hand in his and slotting the bottle in your fist. “Prepped you so good for it. You’ll see; you’ll like this more than my fingers.”

“Promise.” He added, squeezing your hand reassuringly. You chose to trust him, and when he brought your other hand to his shaft, you knew what he was asking you to do.

The bottle spurted a thick glob of liquid that your palm smeared all over his cock head. Toji watched with bated breath as you stroked his length, each thorough pump of your delicate hands warming him up.

He deserved a pat on the back for not cumming right then and there—the distinction between the clear lubricant and his creamy precum becoming more prominent while he throbbed and twitched in your tight grasp. He thought about how much tighter your walls would be, milking every drop he had to offer while you writhed beneath him, with little ah-ah-ah’s and Toji please’s complimenting the squelching of your tight virgin cunt.

“That’s enough.”

He pulled your hand away and cracked the bottle open once more, rubbing a small quantity between his fingers and then scissoring them in your walls. You clung onto him, your hips chasing after his touch. Cute.

“Eyes on me, darlin’.” Toji leaned close enough so that your field of view was consumed by his face. “Keep your eyes on me, breath in ‘n’ out, and it won’t hurt one bit. I’ll take good care of ya.”

Your legs were parted as he ran his cock between your folds and pressed down firmly, his hand moving to your hip once he guided the first inches inside.

Toji was the first to react as he sank in deeper, about two-thirds in when he felt your pussy snare around him like a vice, the warmth of your walls making him curse under his breath. His last fuck was less than a weekend ago, and yet he felt like one of those loser kids he scorned earlier. He’d forgotten just how good being inside a virgin was—a one-and-done deal that would cease to amaze him after he fucked you into his shape.

“All good?” He remembered to ask, taking your strained yes at face value.

Small creases formed over your forehead, contorting your expression into a pained wince the further he sheathed himself into your wet cavern—and when his words weren’t enough, his lips took over. He kissed your worries away and cradled your breasts in his palms, doing everything in his power to keep the pain to a minimum as his hips met with your pelvis, bone against bone and skin against skin, until he finally bottomed out.

A whimper cut your kiss short, and for a second he feared tears would stream from your glassy eyes, not considering the possibility of your shaky legs wrapping around his back and your swollen, pretty lips calling out his name with a stuttered moan.

“F-fuck me, Toji. Please—fuck, I need you so badly.” You begged, dropping the pretense of composure.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck your little virgin pussy?”

“Y-yes, Toji, yes!”

“Yes, what, doll?” He teased. “Say it.”

“Please be my first, Toji.”

His grin turned feral in a heartbeat, your words stirring something in him that he could not explain.

He was prepared to spend the entire night fucking you at a snail’s pace, buttering you up with praises, and pampering you as if you were a golden egg goose, but now he didn’t have to. He could fuck you exactly how he pleased—fold your knees onto your stomach and hold down onto your thighs, pussy all exposed to where he could watch his cock pound into your hole and hear each and every strike of his balls against the fat of your ass—and you would take it.

But when he looked down and saw the ring of red that’d formed around his shaft, he had a change of heart. Maybe another time.

Planting his fingers on your hips, he withdrew slightly, purposely aligning his tip with the roof of your cunt. He didn’t have to go hard to make you happy. All he had to do was hit that one spot, and you’d be coming back for more. Having a steady thing wouldn’t hurt either. It was convenient—certainly better than burning gas driving across town just to pick up some random slut he’d tire of five minutes into her over-the-top screams. At least you lived close by.

With lavish strokes, he rolled his hips against your own, dipping forward to grind his pubic bone against your mound. It didn’t take long for the stimulation to get overwhelming, your hair falling from your strict work up-do all over your sweaty forehead while you thrashed around the sheets, huffs escalating into whiny moans.

“Sh-shit, gonna cum, Toji.” You managed, though there was no real need to tell him.

Your body responded perfectly to his, wetness gushing over his cock while your walls tightened impossibly around him. He fucked you through your high, wrapping his arms below your shoulders and muting your blissful sobs to chase after his own release. Your breasts were squeezed against his pecs, pebbled nipples making him regret not giving them the proper attention.

This wouldn’t be the last time. Your body was like a playground to him, and he sure as hell wasn’t done playing.

“My fucking work wife.” Toji grunted possessively in your ear, nipping at the lobe. Only his lower half moved, a constant snap of hips bouncing through the room as the second lewdest sound after the ones you traded. “Wanna send your ass crawling to work on all fours. That’ll show them, mm? Show them who fucked you so good. What a—fuck, what a good slut y’are f’me. From a virgin to my whore—hah, make ‘em all so jealous.

“Shhhhit, ya like that?” He interpreted your clenching as he willed. “Wanna start a rumor? Fuck on every desk, in every stall, and have everyone know?”

“Yes, Toji! Yesyesyes, want everyone to know you f-fucked me.”

You went back and forth between panting out his name and chanting yes, as those were the only two words you could mindlessly repeat. He wasn’t joking about making you scream. You were on the verge of passing out, so engrossed in ecstasy that you’d lost track of how many times you’d climaxed.

“‘s too much, T-Toji!” You begged, burying your head in the curve of his neck and breathing in his musk. You were both so sweaty, glued together like two puzzle pieces.

“One more, sweetheart. ‘m so close—wanna feel ya cum with me.”

He toyed with your clit until he started to fall out of pace, drawing his cock out before it was caught in the spasms of your pussy. A hefty load burst in his fist as he jerked himself off to your fucked-out form, hot drops of cum spraying your stomach like creamy droplets of rain.

Neither of you realized how soaked the sheets were until Toji left the bed, his eyes not faking their surprise. You didn’t seem to be in that much pain, and yet the amount of blood and wetness was at least equal to carnage.

Would it be a dick move to task you with his laundry?

He spared you a glance, not bothering to hide his smugness. Your legs were still trembling, your breasts puffing up in your struggle to breathe through your agape lips. He was tempted to tell you off—something cheesy like, “Want somethin’ in your mouth that badly?”

“Hey, kid. You are not dead—are you?” He asked jokingly, laughing through his nose as you found the strength to flip him off. Now that the effects of your orgasm were wearing off, so was your obedience.

“How’d ya like your first time?” A thumbs-up this time. “A’right. C’mere.”

The longer he let the stain settle, the more of a bitch it’d be to remove it. That’s what Toji told himself as he picked you up in his arms and carried you into the bathroom, returning to the bedroom only to roll the sheets into a ball he’d later discard in the washing machine. He wasn’t avoiding looking at your cute face, and he definitely didn’t think of your weakened infant-like state as cute when he scrubbed your thighs clean with a wet towel either.

A weird image sparked in his memory, one from the many nights you’d spent working side by side at a dimly lit office. He remembered you ordering him takeout and looming over his head like a vulture while he went neck-to-neck with the vicious spreadsheet program. You insisted on tutoring him, claiming your dressy outfit was a result of canceled plans—even though you kept stealing glances at the clock—and staying with him until the wee hours when you didn’t have to.

You really were a sweetheart, an angel, and all the other terms of endearment he used on you knowing they made your lips stretch and your eyes sparkle. But that wasn’t for you to know.

“Toji?” Your voice jolted him out of his reverie—frail, but not as frail as the hands that wrapped around his own to snatch the towel.

What could he say to make you leave without any harsh feelings coming back to bite him in the ass?

He pondered his options while you bent forward from where he’d seated you on the counter by the sink. You held his limp dick in your palm, gently wiping the dried blood and cum that clung to his girth.

It was sickening how quickly he stiffened, all ready to ram it in your pussy and fuck you with the mirrored view of your ass in the backdrop, but what truly made his guts churn was the little cheeky smile you beamed with. He stood by his words. Virgins were the biggest sluts.

The towel dropped to the floor as you pointed his cock at your entrance, and that was all the convincing he needed.

“Fine.” Toji sighed, pinning your wrists on the cold quartz counter top. “You can stay the night, but mention work and I’m kicking ya out.”

This is definitely not how you say it.

You made it to the office the next day after a brief raid on your apartment. Going to work in your previous day’s clothes screamed, “Look at me! I got laid!” And as fun as creating all those fantasies with Toji was, you could do without earning “Hated Employee of the Month.” Everyone hated you for being friends with him as is.

He waited until you’d changed into a presentable outfit and dropped you off a block further away for precaution. You shared your final kiss in the car, wasting a whole fifteen minutes sucking each other’s faces off like teenagers at a drive-in. Dating a colleague was against the rules, and you didn’t want to date Toji either. Not that he’d asked. Not that you expected him to ask.

Losing your virginity was a lot more complicated than you thought.

He counted on you to bring coffee, and you would have if an intense craving for spicy tuna onigiri didn’t win you over. The convenience store was right around the corner, and its coffee was honestly not that bad if you squinted your eyes and fooled your senses a bit.

You grabbed two onigiri from the stand—in case Toji felt like stealing yours—along with an apple juicebox, both as a means of thanking and poking fun at him. You paid for the items and walked to the office, nauseated by the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach. You should’ve really eaten something instead of having your final hookup at the breakfast table.

A few people greeted you in and out of the elevator to the forty-seventh floor, some commenting on your looking less gloomy than usual, but that was about it. The world spun the same way it did even before you had sex. No big change or mind-blowing epiphany; just a euphoric feeling of accomplishment that dissipated the moment you saw the stack of documents waiting on your desk.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Toji magically sprouted from behind, loaded binders balanced on his arms—the same arms that’d lavished you with affection all night long. “They had a fall out at one of the subsidiaries, and now we gotta clean up their shit.”

And back to reality we go.

“Where’s my coffee?” He searched for a cup on his desk.

You pushed your desperation aside and held the juice to his face with a smile that turned awkward the longer he took to accept it.

“It’s um, you know.” You stepped closer, placing the box atop his mountain of files. “Thank you.”

“Also, got you this, so don’t even think of taking mine.” You balanced the onigiri beside the juice and plopped down on your chair, an antsy, blushing mess that refused to meet his stare until he looped an arm around your headrest and attached his mouth to your ear.

“Care to do me a favor?”

[cursingtoji]

a friday night for most mid twenties should be more exciting than yours, but you wouldn’t exchange it for the world, not when you could order your favourite meal for dinner then cuddle with nanami watching a reality show he swears he doesn’t like but doesn’t miss an episode.

“what a bitch” he gasps when it’s revealed the guy’s fiancé had a secret boyfriend, you hold back your laughter from his exaggerated reaction. his hand is on your back, rubbing it and playing with the elastic of your shorts without any malice while you lay on his chest.

after the episode ends he kisses your temple and gently rolls you over to remove himself from the couch.

“don’t go to bed too late” he says moving to the bedroom.

“yeah i’m going right after this one” you reply as a new show starts.

as promised, an hour later you stretch your back and turn off the tv moving to your shared suite and going straight to the bathroom.

“kento?” you call from the toilet, where you kept the door open, he hums in acknowledgement, “what time am i supposed to pick yuuji from megumi’s?” you flush and go wash your hands and face, already beginning your skincare nightly routine.

“i’ll do it, don’t like the way fushiguro flirts with you” you look up from the sink watching him through the mirror, his reading glasses are on the tip of his nose and he licks his finger before turning the page of his book. such an old man…

“he’s just being friendly, love, besides it’s not like i flirt back” you justify.

“i know, i trust you, just don’t like him. megumi is a good kid though” you hum agreeing with your husband.

with a dot of retinol on the tip of your finger your walk barefoot to his side of the bed, leaning close to his face and gently applying the product under his eyes and where his wrinkles would be in a few years. would, since you’re trying your best to include a little bit of wrinkle prevention in your husband non-existent routine as well.

nanami doesn’t move his head, allowing you to put cream under his eyes, soft fingers tapping the skin behind his glasses, he said he trusted you but he close his eyes just out of precaution.

“i think that’s enough tapping, darling” he holds your wrist gently.

“just making sure your skin absorbs it well. in 10 years i don’t want people to think you’re my father” he watches your pretty ass march back to the sink in order to brush your teeth.

“i thought you liked calling me daddy” he resumes his reading listening to you choke, “everything alright in there?” he asks nonchalantly.

“y-yeah, just… caught me off guard with that, kento” he hears an additional ‘thankfully yuuji is not here’ and as soon as you’re done you apply some lip balm and brings it to him as well.

“no, that’s too glossy” he stops you.

“gojo uses this one too” he knows you say this with the intention of telling him it’s not too feminine but he now despises the little tube even more, “bad argument sorry” you hold his strong face and pepper his lips a couple of times to transfer the lip balm on your lips to his “there you go”

“that’s low even for you” he protests but doesn’t rub it off.

you make your way to your side of the bed, laying on your stomach with your head at the end of the bed catching your phone and scrolling through socials. your husband’s hand naturally finds the back of your thighs, rubbing the skin of your legs softly while reading.

“i scheduled my wax appointment for monday” you try to justify your cactus-like legs.

“you know i don’t mind” indeed, he keeps rubbing the back of his hand on your calf, finding comfort in the way your barely grown hairs trickle his skin, you murmur something about him being too good to you and focus back on your phone.

nanami finishes a chapter and quietly closes his book, he now pays full attention to you and the privileged view he has of your ass and the cute underwear peaking from the hem of your tiny shorts.

“darling? i think my lips could use a bit more of what’s on yours.”

[enchanting-chit-chat]

Beetlejuice's Backstory and the Black Plague 💚🕷️🥀💀 PART 3

Good evening! As promised, here’s Part 3 of my series on Beetlejuice’s past and movieverse. Today, we dive deeper into historical fashion, analyzing the outfits of Beetlejuice and Delores to uncover their personal stories.

If you missed the earlier parts, check out PART 1 and PART 2.

Warning: This post contains SPOILERS for ‘Beetlejuice Beetlejuice’ (2024)... and many, MANY speculations.

Quick recap: In Part 1, we discussed the Plague. In Part 2, we delved into Beetlejuice’s past, questioning the claim that he died over 600 years ago.

I wondered: is that really true? Why does his clothing reflect the Baroque style, then?

That's right! In Part 3, I confirm my previous point: there are several clues suggesting that Beetlejuice most likely lived during the Baroque era - a cultural movement that began in Rome at the end of the 16th century and faded around 1750. Here is the list of the clues I noticed:

The lace neckband around BJ's neck.

His three-piece wedding suit.

Delores off-the-shoulder neckline and puffed sleeves.

The bird masks used by Delores and the undertakers.

AliveBeetlejuice first outfit (when he's stealing from corpses): specifically, the pirate shirt and the type of shoes.

Keep in mind that most of these elements were revolutionary novelties of the 16th-17th century. Here is proof for every. single. one of them.

The Lace Cravat

A behind the scenes still of Michael Keaton in 'Beetlejuice Beetlejuice' vs. the portrait of Jacob de Witte, Lord of Haamstede (Netherlands). The artwork was made by Jan Mijtens in 1660.

The first cravat, the predecessor of modern neckties and bow ties, originated in France during Louis XIV’s reign as a political and fashion statement. (Although the early idea comes from the Ancient Roman focale, used around 200 CE). The King was inspired by a particularly eye-catching necktie wore by Croatian mercenaries as part of their uniform. The new article of clothing quickly became a fashion staple for high-ranking men across Europe.

In its use, it represented the evolution of the common handkerchief, already popular in the 1500s as a practical tool, a flirty decoration, and a status symbol. I believe the variant Beetlejuice is wearing in the picture is called ‘jabot,’ and is one of the older, simpler versions.

Lace, often used in cravats, highlighted the wearer’s wealth. Italian lace, especially from Venice, was highly sought after by the European elite since the 15th century, when ruffs and collars were in vogue.

This detail suggests two possibilities:

Beetlejuice might have been an impoverished aristocrat (or a rich merchant) clinging to his title until the end. This could also explain the ring on his index finger, symbolizing power or family ties. Or both.

Alternatively, he may have been someone who strongly wished to be part of the elite.

Jacket and Breeches

Aristocratic fashion, 1630 (Victoria & Albert collection) vs. What Beetlejuice wore in the wedding scene.

Another standout innovation of the Baroque period was the introduction of the three-piece men’s suit, known as the ‘Habit à la française.’

This ensemble included a tailcoat (a calf-length jacket), a coat (a long waistcoat), and knee-length breeches. Like the cravat, this fashion was adopted across Europe. As you can see, Beetlejuice is perfectly embodying this fashion, which evolved and remained popular until the 19th century. Interestingly, one shoe is missing.

Pirate Shirt

Originating in the 16th-17th century, the ‘poet shirt’ or ‘poet blouse’ remained popular through the Romantic era. These multi-purpose shirts served as both underwear and nightwear, featuring long tails that reached mid-thigh or knee. The body and sleeves were gathered at the collar and cuffs, creating a full, loose fit.

Delores' Outfit

For comparison, I’ve included an illustration of noblewomen’s fashion at the court of Louis XIII (died 1643). His successor, Louis XIV, made France a cultural and fashion beacon for the next two centuries.

In the movie, Delores wears two nearly identical outfits: long dresses with puffed sleeves ending just below the elbow, a corset, and an off-the-shoulder neckline. This style aligns with 17th-century trends when fashion became more comfortable and relaxed.

The black color suits her character’s personality and role in the film, possibly hinting at a connection to the late Renaissance and the Spanish Court.

In fact, during the reign of Charles V (1500-1558) and his son Philip II (1527-1598), Spanish aristocracy particularly favored the black color, as it represented austerity and power for both men and women. Additionally, a deep shade of black was particularly difficult to achieve with the dyeing methods of the time, making those fabrics quite expensive to make.

However, The Spanish style was quite the opposite to what France later proposed: it consisted in a severe and somber luxury, which increased in opulence as the time passed. As Spain happened to be the beacon of fashion before Louis XIV came along, it's only natural that black rapidly became quite popular all around Europe as well. The color was particularly appreciated by the members of the middle class in Protestant nations and, apparently, in Italy as well.

Finally, keep in mind that 'Delores' is a variant of the more common 'Dolores'. Both names have Spanish origins and means 'sorrows'.

So what do we think? Was Beetlejuice from a rich family? Was Delores a Spanish witch?

Who knows! But I’m willing to dream and speculate!

Until the big reveal from Tim Burton himself in the now teased but not confirmed yet sequel, have a fantastic week!✨

[heaven-with-mark]

hey, i was just seeing if your requests were open? and if they are, i have a request. i’ll tell you now tho so it’s not a huge long thing- pretty much just a fluffy moment with mark where he’s laying his body between his s/o’s thighs with his head pressed to their chest. maybe sweet talk happens, i’m not sure. i just want more mark worship of thighs 😭 thanks lovely!!

"𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨"

Unwinding from a long day, dinner ate and leftovers stored in the fridge. Tired, minds slowing, limbs aching. TV humming, lights soft, house warm. 

Beyond thankful you urged Mark to buy a couch with larger cushions, because it allowed for moments like this. Thighs spread, knees hiked up, Mark on his own between them. Your ankles locked behind his legs, keeping him from leaving; as if he even dared to move. While your lovely boyfriend was focused on some bogus TV show thrown on, his hands roamed your bare thighs, slow and idle on their own accord. There was high chance he didn't even notice the movement his own body was doing, just for the fact alone it was a normal occurrence.

More often than not, your evenings were spent downstairs, on the couch finding shows or movies of interest for the night. Mark liked to swap off dinner duty every other night, though in the end the other always butts in to help just minutes in. Cleaning was also done as a duo because it was easily over within maybe twenty minutes. 

Entranced by the show yourself, you barely register the movement of Mark's hands until they both stop mid-thigh to squeeze, gentle but reminding of his touch. That makes you turn, eyes flit from hands to face as you notice how alike he was to a child zoned into an iPad; you mocked him as a child for being on his every time without fail. His hands don't relent, his attention doesn't waver, not until you twitch a leg and he looks down to where his palms sit. "Why are you so warm?" Mark huffs, not at all upset but feigning jealousy. Your body tended to run hot, leaving you to deal with a very clingy boyfriend under the blankets, leeching your body heat and stealing kisses.

"What if I'm not warm and you're just cold?" You purr, quiet, almost drowned out by the TV. Mark squints at you as his hands continue their path, dragging softly up and around your thighs in random tracks. The moment he trails across inner upper thighs, he hesitates before squeezing. He's no longer watching your face, instead staring down at the way his fingers sink into the doughiness, the way it looks squished under his broad palms. The moment you turn to look away, face flushed a little warm, Mark is nudging your thighs apart a little further to make space as he ungracefully drops his body between them. Head to your chest, turning the same way your attention is, one hand making its way behind your back just in case you think of getting up. After a moment of contemplation, His other hand reaches to hook under your thigh and grasp at your calf. Thumb strokes soft skin, not a word spoken. "I love you," Mark croons, drawing little hearts into your back. "I love you more!" You laugh, turning to press a quick kiss to his hairline.

[missmonsters2]

Heya, i was wondering if i could ask a question about Under the light/you found me?

I'm assuming after under the light yn started her physio again and got better since it seemed she didn't have a limp. But I was wondering if it left any permanent scars? As I was wondering after their first time having sex after the break, wanda might have asked about it while they were in bed? Or when yn was undressed at some point had her back to wanda, she noticed the scars and delicately touched them?

I'd like to think she def had yns body memorised so seeing all the new marks made her want to etch them into her mind. But she also felt guilty, not being there in her time of need (even tho yn didn't want her to see anyway).

So yeah I was just curious whether wanda talked or focused her touch of them after she made love to yn?

Under the Light || You Found Me

Hiii!! This is a mix between explaning and partially written behind the scenes!!

Yes, Reader finished her weekly physio in california and keeps up with her regular stretches and exercises to prevent her legs from getting bad. She still goes to physio monthly.

As for scars, there are definitely some on her legs. Particularly, there's one that starts mid-calf and goes up her thigh to her hip. It's completely healed over but the the scar healed as whatever lighter skin-tonned raised bump.

Reader typically never feels self-conscious about it, but the way Wanda gazes upon her skin, her fingers tracing over the scar can make Reader feel slightly uncomfortable in an insecure way.

"I love you. You're beautiful. You're mine and I'm yours." Is all Wanda ever says when she notices you're uncomfortable.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

They've talked about it a few times late at night when the world is sleeping but they're just basking in each other's presence in bed. The sheets rest just below their shoulders.

"I don't know," you say quietly. "I don't hate the scars, per se. I don't love them either. They're a reminder that I survived." The implied words that your best friend didn't hung in the silence.

Wanda nods because she feels the same way. "I understand. I feel the same way. Not because I think they're gruesome or anything. I love them because they are a reminder you survived and I'm so, so thankful. But they're also a reminder that I was a bad girlfriend—that I was a coward and neglected to notice."

You brush a stray strand of hair behind Wanda's ear.

"I think the way you look and touch them every day has more than made up for it."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There are times when you are in a mood, one that can't quite be explained.

It's your own fault really. Sometimes you neglect your daily streches and miss your monthly physio appointments.

Your legs hurt and you're cranky, and you just don't want Wanda to know.

"Why do you insist on hiding it from me?" Wanda scowls at you.

"Why are you always in my business?" you scowl at her back.

Wanda doesn't engage further, knowing that it'll only lead down to a horrid fight with you that ends up with the two of you feeling guilty.

"Lay down on the couch," Wanda jerks her head towards the couch and walks off to grab some icy-hot lotion.

"It's fin—"

"JUST LAY DOWN!" Wanda yells from the kitchen and you purse your lips before doing as she says.

"Just lay down," you mockingly whisper to yourself as you lay on your stomach.

Wanda comes with the lotion and hovers of you. She debates taking off your shorts but decides to leave it be since they're short enough.

Once Wanda's hands start working in slow motions, massaging your calf and slowly making her way up, and the lotion slowly warming up your muslces, you relax.

It's only about 10 minutes into the massage that you turn your head and watch Wanda's focused face but her eyes filled with concern and love that guilt wracks you.

"Sorry," you mumble. "Thank you."

Wanda eyes merely moves to look at you while she continues working. She looks back at your legs, her eyes trailing the long rasied scar. "I love you. You're beautiful. You're mine and I'm yours."

[ikeromantic]

Ikesen Boys React to a Tattooed MC pt 2

Thank you again to @otomedad for this idea!

Kenshin, Shingen, and Yoshimoto. Approx. 2400 words. Part 1 here!

Kenshin

Kenshin froze mid-step, his mismatched eyes going wide. You froze too, a shout of surprise caught behind your lips. Your kimono hung open, half undressed as you prepared for a bath.

The tub of steaming water sat behind a decorative screen, and you were wishing you were behind it too. “Umm. Hi?” You tug the fabric closed, your face hot. 

He swallows, and turns his head to look down the empty corridor leading to your ‘room’. “You were not expecting me. I will go.”

“No, wait!” Your voice startles you as much as him. Kenshin turns his head to glance your direction expectantly. You pause, unsure what to say. “I was hoping you would come today.” 

If anything, this seems to surprise him even more than seeing you unclothed. 

“If you like, you can wait with me for the bathwater to cool down. It’s too hot to soak in right now.” You sit down on the small stool beside the bars of your well-appointed cell. 

Kenshin says nothing for a long moment, then he nods. There is something unsettled about him as he pulls up a stool to sit across from you. “Is there anything you need?”

You shrug, glancing around at the stone walls and wooden bars. “Out? Other than that, no.”

He looks down, his lips twisting in a faint grimace. The frown turns to puzzlement. “What is that?”

You realize he’s noticed the cherry blossom petal on the top of your bare foot. “Oh. It’s part of my tattoo.” You carefully shift your kimono open a little bit to show the rest of your leg. Cherry blossoms and pink petals dance across your skin, as if floating on a forever breeze in some place where it is always spring. 

Kenshin regards the ink with more curiosity than you expected. His hand drifts toward the bars that separate you. “Beautiful,” he breathes. 

Your skin prickles and warms with expectation of his touch. The tip of his cool, calloused finger brushes your calf, setting your heart off at a gallop. You aren’t sure if the butterflies in your belly are from the compliment or the feel of his hand on your leg. 

“It does not come off,” he states, rather than asks. 

“Right. It’s ink under my skin so . . . I guess I’m stuck with it for life.” You try for a carefree smile, but miss the mark as his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

Kenshin considers this for a moment, then nods. “It is like a scar, then.” His eyes narrow. “Why was this done to you?”

You do smile then, at the protective note in his voice. “I did it to me. Or, at least, I picked the design and the spot. I wanted something to remind me that life is short. To enjoy the beauty in it, as long as it lasts. Because, you know. It won’t last long.” 

His fingers trace the edges of the petals and blossoms, moving up past your knee to the top of the flowers on your thigh. “The inevitability of loss,” he says, more to himself than to you. There is something warm in his eyes, something fragile.

“No,” you shake your head. “The celebration of beauty, however fleeting. Take joy where you can, right?” 

“Take joy . . .” His gaze falls back to your leg, and he snatches his hand away as if suddenly scalded by your skin. Shutters of ice close him off from you again as he stands. 

You stand as well, reaching for him through the cell bars. Your fingers brush his shoulder before he steps back. 

“If there is nothing you need, I will go.”

“I do need something.” Your voice shakes a little as your hand drops to your side. “I wish you’d visit me more often. Stay for a little longer when you do. I like being around you.”

Kenshin does not reply. He studies you for a moment, before turning away. His steps echo down the empty corridor, making you feel somehow even more alone than before he came. 

Shingen

Shingen’s hand trailed along the smooth silk of your kimono, the warmth of his touch soaking through to your back. He wasn’t technically supposed to be touching you, just watching the stars. But he had a hard time keeping his hands to himself, and you weren’t going to complain. Not tonight, anyway.

“Are you sore, angel,” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you shot back, then admitted, “a little.” The day’s hike through mountainous forest hadn’t been easy, especially carrying a pack. You regretted insisting on carrying it, but pride wouldn’t let you take it easy. 

Shingen’s lips curled up in a subtle smile. “I see.” His hand stilled on your back. “You know what the best thing for sore muscles is?”

You turn your head to regard him, sensing a trap. “A hot bath?”

“Those are pretty good. But love is what makes the angel sing.” He grins at you, playful and teasing.

“Seriously, Shingen?” You huff and pull away from his touch.

He sighs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. It’s not every day an actual goddess graces me with her presence.” 

You glare at him, annoyed and flattered and annoyed with yourself for being flattered. “Whatever. I’m going inside.”

“Don’t leave, angel.” There’s a slight pleading tone to his voice. “As an apology, let me give you a shoulder rub. It will make us both feel better. I promise.” The sensual tilt of his lips and the appeal in his gaze give you pause. A massage would feel nice, but . . .

“No. I don’t trust you.” The words leave your mouth in a rushed exhalation, leaving so much unsaid. It wasn’t Shingen you didn’t trust, it was yourself. 

He looked down, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim starlight. “I promise, I’m not trying to make you mine.” Shingen held his hands out as if in surrender. “Let me help?”

The silence between you expands, an almost physical thing pressing against your skin and making it hard to breathe. You give a curt nod, giving in to what you know you want, even if you can’t admit it. 

Shingen settles behind you. His hands slide down your shoulders, gently tugging your kimono down to bare them. His breath catches and he goes still. 

For a moment, you are confused, and then you realize he must have seen it. Your tattoo. Maple leaves drifting along your spine, from just below your neck to your hip. A riot of warm colors and fine lines etching your skin. You still remember the pain of having it done. But it was worth it. “Something wrong?” You try for a teasing tone, but your voice is too breathy to make that mark.

 “Your back -” He pulls your kimono lower still, revealing more of the falling leaves. His calloused hand presses against the ink as if to wipe it away. “My angel is a work of art.”

A shiver runs through your skin at the feel of his hand on you. Your galloping heart speeds even more, racing uncontrollably as heat flushes your face. “You’re not supposed to be flirting,” you manage.

Shingen’s laugh sends a puff of warm breath across your neck. “That wasn’t flirting. I’m only stating the obvious.” His thumbs press into your tense, tired flesh, a gentle pressure to ease sore muscles. “Is the art something from your village? I have never seen anything like it painted into skin.”

You struggle for a moment to find words, distracted by his closeness and the intimacy of his touch. He clearly knows how to give a massage, and the sensation is short circuiting your brain. “Umm. It . . . mmmm . . . I got it to remind myself.”

“Of?” His lips are distressingly close to the leaf at the top of your spine, almost brushing the inked skin.

“Th-that I am carried. Forward. Even when life is tough. Like a leaf in the wind. Do what I can and leave what I can’t to fate. Or god. Or . . . chaos, I guess. Trust that life is - is pushing me to where I need to be.” You stutter through an explanation, leaving out all the context and emotion surrounding the decision on this image in this spot in those colors.

Shingen is quiet for a while, his skilled hands working out the knots in your shoulders and upper back. “My angel is a philosopher. Something holding us up in our worst moments.” He sounds more thoughtful than you expected when he finally speaks. Rather than blowing off the meaning of the design, he seems interested. 

“I needed something to hang on to,” you say softly, self-consciously. His praise feels undeserved, but makes your heart feel full, your chest tight.

“We all do, sometimes.” You feel the press of a gentle kiss to the back of your neck.

Quiet descends between you again, a soft silence of connection and comfort. 

Yoshimoto

You sit completely still, afraid to even breathe deeply. Yoshimoto’s fingers comb gently through your hair, coaxing it into position. He hums a tune you almost recognize as he works, styling you for the artists that will arrive soon. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I bet there are a lot of more qualified models in Kasugayama,” you say through stiff lips. This whole idea has you on edge. Art is wonderful, and you love making it - but being in it? Not so much. 

Yoshimoto adjusts your necklace. “You are perfect. There is none more qualified.” He steps back, inspecting his work. 

“I am so very not perfect,” you argue, thinking of all the parts of yourself you’d change if you could. “Surely Okuni would be better -”

“No. I want them to paint you.” The way he says it sends a thrill through you, as if he would value more your image than any other. Which can’t be true. Yoshimoto is just an appreciator of art. And you, as his friend and student, happened to be available for this painting session with some up and coming artists. 

You take a shallow breath. The next part will be the hardest, even knowing it is coming. “Fine. I guess.” The blanket in your lap seems smaller by the moment and you feel heat rising in your cheeks as you take it in one hand. 

Yoshimoto smiles and moves close again, his fingers hover at the edge of the decorative kimono draped over your shoulders. “I am honored by your trust in me.” 

“Wait!” You take a deeper breath, a panicky feeling welling up in your chest. “I can’t model. I - I have a tattoo!” You feel a sudden certainty that, just like your parents, Yoshimoto will hate the ink on your skin, and the artists will refuse to paint you, and - and -

He settles a hand on your cheek, turning your head toward him. “Thank you for telling me. May I see it?” His eyes are wide and clear, empty of judgment or censure. 

You study his face a moment longer, feeling self conscious. “Ok.”

He pulls the fabric down as you lift the blanket to your chest. Almost the pose you were meant to take for the artists.

Despite the white silk now covering your breasts, you feel exposed. Your entire back on display, bare shouldered and covered with almost nothing from the back of your neck to the top of your butt cheeks. Vulnerable. On display. You wait for Yoshimoto to say something, but he is silent. 

“Well?” Your voice is sharp and anxious, and you resist the urge to tug the fabric up and hide behind it.

Yoshimoto takes a breath. His hands brush your sides, stopping at the edges of your tattoo. Chrysanthemums spread from the center of your back to your hips, delicate and colorful. He kneels to look at them more closely, close enough that his hair tickles against your skin. 

You love the way they look, bright and playful. Accentuating the natural curves of your low back and hip. But you can’t tell what his reaction is. His quiet only wrenches your nerves tighter. “If you don’t say something, I think I’m going to cry.”

His soft touch brushes the inked flowers, as if painting the petals with his fingertips. “I . . . I did not expect . . .”

“It’s fine.” You reach for the kimono, ready to cover up and escape with a little dignity. 

Yoshimoto’s hand catches yours. “Please. Let me look a little longer. It is beautiful.” His gaze meets yours, fey eyes almost aglow. “You are beautiful.” 

Your breath catches, there is a tightness in your chest. A trembling, uncertain emotion that you cannot name. “Alright.” 

His smile is tender and affectionate as his eyes drift back to your tattoo. “These colors are amazing. I have never seen such bright irezumi. And the way it follows the shape of your body -” His caress sends a pleasant shock up your back and sets your pulse pounding. “This was done by a master artist. Only fitting for such a canvas.”

“They were really good,” you nod, recalling the waitlist and the cost. “They designed it for me after I told them what I wanted. Something with meaning, memories and promises. I wanted to look at it the rest of my life and know it holds what is close to my heart.” 

You gesture toward the flowers he is touching. “Red for the promise of love, yellow for what I’ve lost, white for loyalty. And all of it together for beauty, inside and out.” The words pour out as if from a broken dam. You’ve never told anyone all of this, never had the opportunity or the trust. But you want Yoshimoto to know you. To understand you.

“Did you know it is also a symbol of royalty?” His voice is soft, barely audible. 

“I do. Not that I am. Royal. I mean, Nobunaga made me a princess but I’m just a normal person. Nothing special.” You shrug. “I just thought it was a really pretty flower.”

Yoshimoto’s arms wrap around you, and his cheek rests against your back. You feel the flutter of his eyelids as he closes them. “You are special. Talented and beautiful and kind. I can think of no other more deserving of such a mark.”

Bittersweet pleasure floods you. There is nothing you can say to that, and so you let yourself enjoy his embrace. The feel of him pressed close. If only it could last. If only you could speak the words that lie heavy in your heart. If, if, if.

[whump-about-it]

Can I Stay Here Tonight?

@whumpril Day 8: Bloodshot

CW: injuries, implied beating, implied torture, implied captivity, exhaustion, implication that Whumpee may be in hiding and/or unhoused

It wasn't unusual for Whumpee to go missing for days or even weeks at a time. No one ever really knew where they went when they disappeared, But they always came back, and usually in one piece. So everyone had long since stopped worrying.

Caretaker had barely even noticed Whumpee was missing again. Only just realizing they hadn't seen them in nearly a week the same night Whumpee showed up again.

It had been raining cats and dogs all day, and Carertaker was having a pleasent evening in, watching trash tv with their roommate and playing a game of cards when the window that lead onto their fire escape eeked open and Whumpee came tumbling in.

"We have a door you know." Roommate told them, barely fazed by Whumpee's random appearance. Whumpee had a talent for slipping in and out of places unnoticed. And considering the late hour, they had probably assumed the roommates would be a sleep.

Whumpee stood up and closed the window again behind them before so much as acknowledging the apartment owners, who stayed on the couch watching them curiously. They were soaking wet. Unsurprising considering they had just climbed three stories on an outdoor stairway. Their usually baggy clothing clung to their skin, reminding Caretaker nauseatingly of just how small Whumpee actually was. It also didn't escape Caretaker's notice that Whumpee was wearing the same clothing that they had been in the last time the two had seen each other; some five days before.

"Sorry to intrude." Whumpee said in a dead pan voice when they finally turned to look at Caretaker and Roommate. They had dark circles under their eyes and a cut next to their left ear. Caretaker thought they looked paler than usual, but it could have just been the way their water-darkened hair stuck to their face.

"I just need to borrow your bathroom."

It was the only explanation Whumpee gave before they walked past Caretaker and Roommate towards their bathroom down the hall, water dripping them their sopping clothes as they went. Caretaker's eyes followed Whumpee as they disappeared. There was a tired slump to their shoulders and an unevenness to their gait that made Caretaker think they were concealing a limp.

"First aid kit's under the sink!" Caretaker called after them, but Whumpee gave no indication of having heard. As soon as Caretaker heard the sound of the bathroom door click shut they turned back to Roommate and frowned. Roommate didn't look too pleased about Whumpee's sudden appearance in their apartment. Those two were not each others biggest fans, but they put up with one another for Caretaker's sake, so Roommate seemed to have decided to keep their mouth shut for now.

"I should go check on them."

Roommate nodded in agreement.

"I'll put a kettle on."

Caretaker went to their room and grabbed a clean pair of sweat pants and a fresh t-shirt they didn't think would be too baggy on Whumpee before giving the bathroom door a courteous knock and entering. They knew Whumpee would have preferred their privacy, and probably would have locked the door if they could. But as it was, the lock on the bathroom door had been broken as long as Caretaker and Roommate had been lived in the place, and it was Caretaker's place after all, so they refused to feel bad about inviting themselves in.

Inside the bathroom Whumpee had stripped down to their underwear and was sitting perched on the edge of the bathtub, the first aid kit sitting open on the lowered toilet lid next to them. Mostly nude, it was obvious Whumpee had been in some kind of trouble. They had bruises all up their torso and arms. There was another scabbing over cut on their collar bone similar to the one by their ear, and shredded up skin on the outside of their left leg from mid-calf to upper thigh that looked like they had lost a fight with a cheese grater. Their knuckles were scabbed and bruised and there were concerningly dark purple bruises around their wrists. The worst of their injuries however seemed to be a series of deep gashes on their forearm that Whumpee was currently picking glass out of with a pair of tweezers.

"I'm fine." Whumpee said defensively, barely looking up at Caretaker as they walked in.

"Yeah, you look fantastic." Caretaker set the clothes down on the vanity and went to crouch next to Whumpee. It was by no means the worst condition Whumpee had ever stumbled into their apartment in, but they didn't look good either. Up close, Caretaker could tell that Whumpee was indeed paler than usual. And their eyes were deeply bloodshot. In fact their whole body language screamed at exhaustion, and Caretaker wondered if they had slept at all since they'd last seen them.

Caretaker knew better than to ask what had happened. Or where Whumpee had disappeared to. Whumpee had never lied to Caretaker, but they would down right refuse to answer such questions. The two had spent days worth of time arguing about it. Caretaker wanted to help. Of course they did, and they'd rather prevent Whumpee from getting hurt than patch them up after the fact. But Whumpee had their secrets, and as they often liked to point out during their fights, Caretaker had known that when their lives had first become intertwined with one another. Caretaker knew Whumpee thought they were protecting them by keeping so many secrets from them. But they also knew Whumpee could disappear and Caretaker would never see or hear from them again if they tried to dig to deep. So they resigned themselves, as they always had, to helping Whumpee where they were permitted too, and praying they knew their limits otherwise.

They watched Whumpee for a few seconds as they tried to pick the pieces of dark colored glass out of their own weeping arm. They weren't doing a very good job of it. Their hands were shaking violently. Whether from cold, or pain, or tiredness, Caretaker didn't know.

"Here, let me." They finally said and plucked the tweezers from Whumpee's trembling hands before they could refuse. It was a testament to just how awful Whumpee must have been feeling that they in fact didn't refuse Caretaker's help, and even turned their arm to give Caretaker a better angle on their wound.

They didn't flinch as Caretaker plucked the tiny pieces of glass from their skin. They almost never did. Caretaker did however pretend not to notice the way their eyes were getting waterier and more bloodshot as they worked. Soon enough all the glass was out of the wound and Caretaker was cleaning it with an alcohol swab and taping a gauze pad over it. Whumpee gave an audible hiss when the alcohol made contact with heir broken skin, but still didn't move. Afterwards, Caretaker insisted that they be aloud to clean the road rash on Whumpee's leg as well before they put clothes back on. Whumpee gave in oddly easily and leaned their head against the wall as Caretaker worked, their red eyes slipping closed slowly.

It must have been the exhaustion that was making them so malleable. Whumpee was never this easy.

"You were hoping Roommate and I wouldn't catch you breaking in didn't you?" Caretaker poked gently as they worked, wondering if Whumpee may just be tired enough to let something slip.

Whumpee hummed in response and nodded vaguely, still not opening their eyes.

"Done it before." They mumbled after a second. The only surprising thing about that was that they admit it.

"Were you in handcuffs?" Caretaker decided to poke a little deeper. They were almost finished with Whumpee's leg, and those bruises on their wrists did look very painful. Even half asleep though Whumpee knew better than to let their guard slip, and the two remained in silence with the unanswered question hanging between them, until Caretaker was finished working and the kettle was whistling in the kitchen.

"There," Caretaker said resolutely when they'd finished. "Now put on the dry clothes, and where ever you want to disappear too tonight, you're at least staying for a cup of tea first."

Caretaker stood to leave, considering where they should situate themselves outside the bathroom to make sure Whumpee didn't slip out any windows without making it look like they were hovering. Before they could make it more than two steps however, Whumpee had reached out a hand and weakly grabbed Caretakers wrist.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Whumpee asked in a meek tired voice. They looked up at Caretaker with what they could have only describe as puppy eyes. If puppies eyes were usually glassed over and bloodshot that is. It was still enough to crumble any resolve Caretaker might have had about the situation, if there had ever been any in the first place. Whumpee rarely asked Caretaker for anything, and they had never asked to spend the night. Whatever had happened to them this time, it must have been worse their physical injuries let on.

"Of Course you can. You never have to ask that. You're always welcome here."

[deepwoodmotte2]

ok me again many thoughts this evening!formal investigation into cregan x dornish reader if you write dorne as a generic combination of South American/Latinx cultures below!! (inspired by me, who is Latinx. super super promise i am not being weird i was making salchipapas while I thought about this the first time.) (reader is referred to as a princess, she/her pronouns. her appearance isn’t referred to besides long hair. i can also write a GN version of this if people want it!!)

ok so in my mind cregan would only be likely to end up with a dornish reader if the war necessitated it, OR, in my favorite rendition, she was his third wife. I love Alysanne blackwood too much to write her out entirely. so cregan, single dad again at, say, 35, attends a council at King’s Landing. Why? Not Important! maybe a grain deal?? but reader, who is a dornish princess, is there as an envoy (think when oberyn attended the wedding!) in place of her parent, the current ruler of dorne. reader is mid or late-twenties, married once before and widowed. she has one unnamed son, who’s 10.)

the council pair off, and somehow, a deal gets struck between the north, dorne, and king’s landing. maybe for spices? and so suddenly you, reader, are having to work very closely with this imposingly tall, broad northerner with a thick beard and long hair and a nose that’s clearly been broken a couple times and apparently a crop of children and you cannot look away. i like to imagine the north as scotland when Scotland was heavily populated by the danish - cregan has a unplaceable accent to you, but his voice is so rich and gently firm that you can’t help but swoon a little. he’s stormy - he’s dour, and he gets a little tiny mischievous smirk when he’s talking sometimes that you think you want to see in your child’s face someday. he’s a bit older than you but in an appealing way, he’s a lord, he looks like that, and you, who have always been independent, strategic, and witty, are suddenly at a LOSS. i always like to imagine my readers with happy families so i’m imagining reader speaking furiously to a bastard sister she’s brought with her in spanish like “¡¡¡si si si !!!!! y es MUY alto y…. tienes que jurarme que guardarás silencio… pero es tan guapo….” and the whole time reader is completely unaware that cregan stark is having a moral crisis in the corner because he doesn’t really just WANT to be like “this is the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen” he wants to grieve and sit with that for longer for the sake of his children. and so he finds himself at odds. and not about to do anything about it at all!!! dornish princess is ruining his life and she doesn’t even know it!!

and then maybe one day a Lannister or someone else we can guarantee wolf-man would loathe says they intend to ask for your hand. and suddenly cregan realizes he might lose something he never even had - and he never loses. he makes a vow to himself to try, and seeks you out. maybe reader likes to hunt or walk or swim; either way, you’re in the godswood, on a blustery evening, and it’s you and a couple of personal guards. cregan stark rides into the godswood with his own guard, ice on his back, in a light grey tunic with a divet in the middle and riding pants. his boots are black leather, cut high and to his calf. they frame his thighs, which are are as wide as a barrel; the muscle in them ripples when his horse gallops. you are thinking nothing the faith or your septa would approve of. his clavicle peeks through the top of his shirt, the enormous sinewy muscle of his neck visible. you think, for a half second, that he would look ravishing in martell yellow.

you clear your throat. and try not to stare as he comes off his horse and his back muscles peek through the thin material of his shirt. even in this weather, which is not warm, he’s a little sweaty. you don’t realize what he knows - it’s not weather, it’s nerves. you’re exactly what he wants and what he is most terrified of. you’re widowed, too - you know his pain. you’re of high - incredibly so - rank, and you’re beautiful, intelligent, and while he’s unfamiliar with your culture, he wants to know everything he can about it and you. he wants you. he barely knows you and the idea of not getting to further feels like it’s eating him alive. his shirt sticks to his back some more. he turns to face you.

“lord stark-“ he cuts you off, accidentally, but confidently. “Princess, i had hoped to speak to you alone.” you jolt, surprised. had your sister repeated what you’d told her? was he here for council business? had you offended him somehow? you look at him, studying his eyes as best you can as the distance between you slowly closes and he walks forward, and you see, for the first time, an unsureity. he looks afraid. you dismiss your guards as he does.

“what is it you need, lord stark?” his Adam’s apple flexes as he swallows, his neck muscles twitching as his jaw tenses in worry. you’re almost worried - he looks pained. had something happened?

“I thought we might walk while we speak.” you take his arm, gently, trying to look him in the eye. his beard seems unkempt, unlike him. his hair needs to be shorn. he looks wild. you walk, and out of the silence, he says “my first wife, who i married at six and ten, proposed to me. my second wife did the same.” before you can respond, he continues, “as it stands, i have never arranged my own marriage - i… have wandered into them without set intention. it leaves me at a loss then, of knowledge of how to ask.” you swallow, expecting the worst - is he asking you how to propose to someone else? but you’re both too recently widowed, grieving, and then he takes a deep breath in, and says “Princess, i understand that you may not agree to it, and i respect that. i also understand that lannister intends to ask you the same.” you breathe in in shock at that - lannister? - and then go “agree to what, lord stark?” he takes an unconfident stride, turning his face quickly away and then back. you stop walking. you need to look him in the eye.

“i wondered, princess, if you would be willing to be my wife.”

a moment passes. you realize you’ve just been staring at him. he takes a breath in and goes “i have caused-“ you hold a hand up. “you have caused no offense, lord stark. i merely had no expectation of this.” you’re red in the face, but not in a bad way. it’s certainly not warm out right now, for what you’re used to. “i… i would. i would very much like to. i took pause because i did not expect you to ask.”

there’s a long pause before cregan stark asks if he can kiss you. you need him, in every way. your hands grip his shirt collar, his neck, his beard, and eventually, into his hair - one of his hands has encircled your waist, pulling you into him. you are not fragile, nor particularly petite, but you still disappear behind his figure with ease. his beard burns against your skin, but the friction does nothing to cool your fires - he bites at your lip, hard, wolfish, and you gasp, taking in air. he does it again a moment later, and you realize you will end up in this man’s bed, lest it kill you. it goes on for a while before either of you formally come up for air, and it’s only because a raindrop hits you in the forehead.

“i am glad of your offer,” you say, placing a hand on his chest, “and glad of you.” cregan stark, lips red, beard tangled from your hands, hair askew, looks at you like you know a secret. he doesn’t smile, not ever, that you’ve seen. you like to imagine he does for his children. you want to ask about them. (you’ve met his only son, an equally stormy and dour teenager, who you suspect your own son, a boy of ten, all chubby-cheeked and spritey, would find terrifying. cregan and his son, however, seem to share a kindness - an earnest one - and you are not blind to that. you wonder what else there is to cregan you can’t see.) a brevity graces his stern brows, and there is a warmth to his voice previously unheard to you when he says “and i of you, princess.” you smile then, lightly and truly.

[age-of-greta]

Season Of The Witch

Author’s note: hi!! Saved the best for last, here is week 4/ the finale of our spooky series!! Hope you guys have enjoyed reading them as much as I did writing them. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! Stay spooky I’ll see you guys back soon with tarot series #3 ;) vibes!!

Pairing: Jake x reader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, angst, lots of sexual content, minors DNI

Word count: 8k (oops)

Rain lightly drizzled as you stared out the window of your Uber. Orange and red luminescent glow lit up the pavement and the streets were lined with fall leaves. Despite approximately two shots of tequila coursing through your stomach you still felt odd about tonight.

“You okay babe?”

That sounded foreign coming from his mouth. You forced a small smile and nodded.

“Yes Matty. I’m good.”

He smiled back and placed his hand on your thigh. You had been seeing Matt for 2 weeks now, give or take a few days.

“Who’s party is this again?” He asked, turning his head to look at you.

“A friend’s. I’ve known him for what feels like forever.” You respond, smiling back on fleeting fond memories.

“Ah.” Matt starts. “Does this friend have a name?”

You nod and laugh. “He does. It’s Josh.”

“Josh.” Matt says slowly. “Well I’m glad he allowed me to come. I’m excited to be your date.”

“Me too.” You say with faux confidence.

A part of you felt bad. You already knew how this night was going to go, but Matt didn’t. There wasn’t anything wrong with Matt. He was conventionally very attractive. Dark curly hair, blue eyes, firm build, tall- god he hated when you went out with tall guys. Matt was a doctor. He was kind, smart, and funny. But there was one problem: he wasn’t him.

You and Jake had just broken up again around a month ago. But you hadn’t seen him in 3 weeks, since you last hooked up. You see, you and Jake were always on and off. Hot and cold. Burning passion with freezing intensity. At first things were fine. You met a few years ago and a drunken hookup in a bar flourished into a relationship. It was great for almost two years. Completely head over heels. Then one day it all went to shit. No real rhyme or reason, just a giant fight that you can’t even remember. The problem was neither one of you could let go of the other. Tethered to each other like an eternal curse. Ever since you have bounced in and out of each other’s lives like ping pong balls. Tonight was no exception. A Halloween party thrown by Josh. You had been invited before but Josh had texted you last week confirming you would still be there. Despite the shit with you and Jake the others felt like family to you.

“I believe we’re here.” The Uber driver says, putting the car in park.

“Thanks man. Happy Halloween.” Matt says, pulling out his wallet and handing the guy a twenty.

Matt gets out of the car and rushes to open your door. He reaches in and grabs your hand, helping you out of the car. Your outfit was relentless. It was definitely the sluttiest outfit you had ever put on your body. That was done intentionally. You wore a black latex bodycon dress, skin tight with your breasts pushed up and spilling out of the top. The material barely hit your mid thigh. You wore matching latex black platform calf boots with it. Your hair was full and blown out with loose curls and glitter hairspray. You had on a full face of sultry makeup, heavy on the eyelashes, bronzer, and lipgloss. You were calling yourself a witch, though the only indication of that would be the small black pentagram choker you had on with matching earrings. Your whole body was shimmering with glowy body oil and your nails were black almond shaped. You almost suffocated yourself with the amount of perfume you applied. It was the most extra you had ever been, but Halloween was your favorite holiday and seeing Jake’s face would be priceless. When Matt had come over to your apartment he had to adjust his pants after a mere hug in this get up. Matt was dressed as a zombie doctor. He had just tattered up a pair of his old scrubs, but he did look good. You saw their house illuminated with lit pumpkins and purple lights. Soft thuds lit up the house as you heard Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix get louder with every step. The rain had stopped and Matt had his arm linked with yours to balance you up the driveway. When you finally got up to the porch you adjusted your dress before opening the door, you were beyond knocking. The smell of fog machines, marijuana, various liquors, and sweat assaulted your senses as you entered the house. It was dark, only lit by soft automatic candle lights or fluorescent orange string lights. It was loud as Hendrix continued to billow out of the speakers.

“Oh shit!”

You heard from across the room, your eyes darted to see Sam beelining towards you. You grinned and embraced him in a hug.

“Fuck look at you.” He said, giving you a twirl. “So spooky.”

You let out a laugh. “Thanks Sammy. I dig your costume too. Eh- what exactly is it?”

He stares at you blankly. “I’m obviously a Niagara Falls tourist… that fell in.”

He points towards his outfit, cargo shorts, a white “I <3 Niagara Falls” t-shirt with blood smeared, a broken camera around his neck, a yellow tattered poncho also blood stained, and a fake bloody nose.

“I fucking love it.” You said with a laugh. “Very original.”

“There you are!”

You see Josh heading towards you, he’s dressed up as Elvis. “I was starting to think you had bailed on me.”

You smile and hug him. “Never.”

“Ooh you look hot.” Josh compliments, then looks to the side of you. “Oh sorry. Who’s this?”

You had almost forgotten Matt was standing there for a moment. “Josh, Sam, -this is Matt. He’s my date.” You say with a smile.

Sam smirks as Josh throws his hand out to introduce himself.

“Hey man, thanks for letting me come. I’m excited to get to meet all of her friends.” Matt announces politely, shaking hands with Josh.

Sam snickers. “Oh yeah. You’ll enjoy meeting everyone. Listen hot stuff, I’ve got to refill the fog machines and find Daniel. I’ll catch up with you later.” He quickly pecks the top of your head and scurries off to the crowd.

Josh smiles at Matt. “He’s a little shit, pay him no mind. You guys should hit the bar and grab some drinks. If the good shit is gone you know where to find the stash. Have fun you crazy kids.” Josh says, patting your back and starting to walk off yelling at someone to put a vase down.

“Shall we?” You ask Matt, taking his hand.

“Lead the way.” He replies with a smile.

You were only at the entrance of the house, so you tried to keep it cool and not scan around for Jake. You knew he’d be slinking around here somewhere with a drink in hand. You pushed past bodies and smiled when you saw Danny in the kitchen making drinks. As you headed that direction you saw him out of the corner of your eye. You only caught a brief glimpse of him in your peripheral, but you could feel his eyes searing into you. He was standing by the bathroom door, arms folded, and drink in hand just as you had predicted. You felt emboldened by that.

“Hey Matty?” You fluttered your lashes at him and got closer to his ear. “I’m going to run to the bathroom and fix my lipgloss. Would you mind getting us drinks? See the guy with the long curly hair? His name is Danny, he’s a friend. Tell him you’re with me and he’ll hook us up.”

He looked down at you focusing on your lips and placed his hand on the small of your back. “Yeah of course. I’ll meet you over there.”

You smiled up at him and nodded, before parting ways. You knew Jake was still watching you. You headed straight for the bathroom, not even bothering to glance at him. He beat you to the bathroom door.

“Sorry doll. Out of order. You can go use mine though.” That cocky grin spread on his face.

You scoffed and looked at him. “They made you bathroom police tonight? That’s quite a fitting job for you Jake.”

He smiled briefly at your banter. “Funny. What exactly are you wearing?”

“Did you get confused again? It’s Halloween, this is a costume.” You said, in a patronizing tone.

Jake’s eyes raked all over your body as he bit his lip. “A costume huh? I think dental floss would have been less revealing.”

“Oh please. As if you have room to talk. What are you? A half assed pirate again?”

He flicked his eyes up to you. “What is your costume? A whore?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes Jake, I’m a whore. That’s my costume. You’ve cracked the code with that big brain yet again.”

He looks straight in your eyes, somewhat of a playful tone creeps out. “Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Ha.” You state blankly. “Actually I’m a witch.”

You point to your pentagram necklace and Jake chuckles.

“I said, tell me something I don’t know, doll.”

He reaches up and lightly touches your necklace. That was enough to send goosebumps up your spine, but you would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

He took a step closer to you. “Wanna just skip all of this and go upstairs?”

You felt something bubble inside of you. But before you could retort someone came up right next to Jake, putting her hand on his arm and handing him a cup.

He smirked at you and glanced back at her. “Thanks Mere.” Then he wrapped his arm around her. Fucker.

She was short and petite with a blonde bob and fair skin, dressed up as Alice from Alice in Wonderland in a store bought costume.

This was one of the sick and twisted games you would play. Dangling other people in front of each other. You had only done it two other times and it drove Jake crazy. The first, all you had done was flirt with a guy in a bar and Jake snatched you up and brought you home to remind you who you belonged to. The second, you had gone on a date with someone right next to their studio. It didn’t take long for Jake to see your car and catch on to your antics. Jake had done this on countless occasions. Flirting, using his undeniable charm on poor women he had no intentions with. These things never went really far. Just enough to piss you off before he inevitably took you home. You tried to pretend that it didn’t bother you, but he knew how bad it did.

You tried not to glare at her.

“You’re welcome. The beer by the fire is so much better than what’s in the kitchen.” She beams at him. Gross.

Then she turns towards you, absolutely judging what you’re wearing. She made a reactionary face that she quickly tried to hide. But you saw it. Before any words could be exchanged Matt is by your side again.

“Here you go babe.”

He hands you a cup full of something that Danny had made and you smile up at him.

“Thank you Matty.” You put a little bit of a show on, but not too much. Yet.

You glance back over at Jake who is visibly scowling at you.

“Oh sorry. Matt this is Jake and- Mere is it?”

The blonde extends her hand. “Meredith.”

“Meredith.” You say with a smile. “How long have you known Jake?”

She seems a little taken aback by the question, you could care less.

“Well I guess only a few days.” She admits with a laugh. “We met through some mutual friends. How do you know each other?”

You smiled at her. “Oh same!” Then you look directly into Jake’s eyes. “Mutual friends.”

Meredith glances oddly between you and Jake. She clears her throat and looks at Matt. “And how long have you two been together?” She asks, trying to change the subject.

Matt smiles and wraps his hand around your waist. “Almost three weeks now. I’ve got to say, no complaints. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Shit had it been three weeks? You glanced over at Jake who was shooting daggers at you. You snapped yourself out of your thoughts and smiled up at Jake and Meredith.

“Well it was lovely to meet you. We’ll get out of your hair. Don’t want to intrude. Have a good night Jake.”

He makes a face at you as you grab Matt’s hand and lead him away. Matt looks at you slightly confused once you find a spot.

“What?” You ask with a shrug.

He smiles and shakes his head. “Nothing. I take it you’re not a fan of them?”

You breathe out a laugh. “Now why would you say something like that?”

He grins at you. “So mischievous. What am I going to do with you?”

You step closer to him and put your hand on his chest. “Hopefully something inappropriate.”

His eyes were filled with lust as he took you in. This is the most forward you had ever been with him, but you knew Jake’s eyes were still on you. You leaned in and placed a small kiss on his cheek. His hands wrapped around your waist, but you pulled away quickly, shooting him a smile. His cheeks had dusted a light shade of pink as he bashfully grinned back at you. You saw Jake already heading towards you, but you took Matt’s hand and led him outside.

“Let’s see the fire!” You half yelled over the music.

“I’ll follow you anywhere.” He responded in a giddy tone.

You lead him outside, quick to evade Jake’s interruption. There were only a few people standing outside, Danny being one of them.

“Hi stranger.” You said, coming up behind him.

He spun around on his heels and gave you a knowing smile. “There she is. I take it, you liked your drink?”

You nodded. “Best damn bartender at every event.”

He bows at you. “I aim to please. I’ve already met Matt here. Seems like a stand up guy.”

Matt chuckles at him as Danny gives him a glance.

“You’re right.” You respond. “Hey you wanna make s’mores?”

“I’ll get them. You guys finish your conversation.” Matt offers, rubbing your back and heading to the fire.

Danny looks down at you.

“What?” You ask.

“He seems nice.” Danny offers.

“He is.” You say, glancing at Matt dipping three marshmallows in fire.

“Uh-huh.” Danny pauses. “And how does Jake feel about that?”

You shift your eyes back to Danny. “It doesn’t matter how he feels about it.”

Danny sucks in his cheeks and lets out a laugh. “Right. You two are trouble, you know that?”

“Oh I’m well aware.” You retort. “Did Sam ever find you?”

Danny sips his beer. “I haven’t seen him in- I dunno an hour maybe?”

“Oh. Well when I arrived he was looking for you. Something about fog machines?”

Danny cuts his eyes. “Oh hell no. I am not doing that shit again. That was his job.”

You chuckle. “Sounds like Sam.”

“Fuck. There he is. I’m dipping before he catches a whiff that I’m out here. Don’t rat on me.” Danny says, holding his finger up playfully at you.

You salute him. “Scout’s honor.”

“Good luck with that.” Danny points towards Matt.

You wave him off and he quickly walks the other way toward the house.

Sam catches your sight and approaches you. “You seen Daniel?”

You purse your lips at him. “Nope.”

“Slippery fucker.” He says, barely above a whisper.

You cackle.

“Oh by the way Jake’s pissed. He’s slamming shit in the kitchen. Want a beer?”

You let out a breath. “Most definitely.”

Sam heads towards the keg just as Matt is making his way back to you with three s’mores.

“Where did Danny go?”

“Bartender emergency.” You lie, taking the s’more he made for you. “Thank you.”

Sam came back over and handed you a cup of beer before patting your back and heading back to the house. If you had to guess he saw Danny in a window.

Matt knitted his brows together and gave you a strange smile. “Your friends are weird.”

You chuckled. “You don’t know the half of it.”

You and Matt spent around thirty more minutes outside enjoying the fire, s’mores, and beer. Before long you had gotten chilly and wanted to go back inside. The drink Danny had made you along with the beer had started to make you feel a little fuzzy. Once back inside you spotted Jake at the beer pong table with Meredith. He had just sunk a shot and she jumped for joy when he did. Gross again.

“Hey I’m going to go pee! I’ll be right back.” You say, giving Matt a heads up.

He nods and you head for the original bathroom you had gone to. Once inside you peed, washed your hands, and stared at yourself in the mirror. A part of you wished you had just stayed home. As much as the thrill of being with Jake excited you, seeing him with Meredith made you feel like shit. You hated that it was this way. When you two were good, you were great. The highest highs and in turn, the lowest lows. Neither one of you were effective communicators, putting your pride above all else. You fluffed your hair and went to open the door, but to your surprise someone had barged in. Jake, with a wicked smile on his lips.

“Need some help in here?”

You crossed your arms. “Certainly not from you.”

“Oh tough girl, are we?” He steps closer to you and puts his face inches from yours. “I know what shit you’re trying to pull. Cut it out.”

You glare at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He backed you up to the sink and put both arms out next to you, propping himself on the vanity while sinking closer towards you. “Yes you do. Tell your friend to fucking leave.”

You smirk at him. “No. I don’t think I will.”

He slides his hand down to your thigh and you feel like you could explode.

“Don’t start with me.” He warns, gripping at your flesh.

You swallow hard and look at him. “We’re not together Jake. I can do whatever or should I say whoever I want.”

That renders him speechless as his eyes bore into yours.

You remove his hand and get out from under him heading to the door. You turn back around and laugh.

“Oh and you should get Mere to do something about… that.” You tease, motioning to the beginning of an erection bulging in his pants.

Before he can respond you walk out and close the door. You take a deep breath and adjust your dress before returning to your date.

“Tequila shot?”

Matt smiles and nods. Then you’re heading off into the kitchen. You spot Josh and yell “tequila!” It doesn’t take him long to reach you.

“Let me get the whole gang, start pouring the good shit!” Josh yells, before diving back into the crowd.

You smiled and headed to their pantry, bending down to find a liquor cabinet with a keypad on it. You type in the four digit code and grab a brand new bottle of Casamigos. It was your favorite. Then you shut the cabinet and head back to the island, reaching for the shot glasses. Danny and Sam arrive and begin to start on the shots.

“We need seven right?” Danny asks.

“Yeah. I assume when Josh finds Jake he’ll bring blondie with him.” Sam answers, digging the pre-cut limes from the refrigerator.

Sure enough Sam was right. Josh brought back Jake and Meredith, his hand was guiding her on her back.

“Alright, gather around everyone!” Josh announced. “To the original crew and a couple of new friends. Happy Halloween you fuckers! I love you all!”

You giggle and yell back, “Cheers!” in unison with everyone else. You slam the shot down on the island before shooting the liquid down. It burns but in the best way possible. Meredith chokes hers down, spilling it down her chin. Amateur. Then Jake does something that catches even you off guard. He looks down at her and swipes his thumb over her bottom lip cleaning up the spilled tequila. Then he cuts his eyes over to you. You chew on your cheek and lock eyes back with him. Sam must have noticed because he let out a small laugh.

One thing about Sam? He loved to start shit. It was one of the reasons you loved him so much.

“Hey sexy witch!” Sam called over to you. “How about one of your specialties tonight? I mean it’s only right that the newbies get to bare witness.”

Jake’s expression stiffened, but you softened and smiled.

“Pour it up Sammy.”

Josh and Danny collectively “oooooh’d” and slapped the island. Sam began to grab a shot of birthday cake vodka, topping it with whipped cream. Then he sets it down before you.

“You know the rules mama, no hands.” Josh reminds, while you nod.

You tuck your hair behind your ears and place your hands behind your back, holding your wrists. Matt looks down at you with his eyebrows slightly raised, you just wink at him and part your lips. You wrap your lips around the rim of the shot glass and just for a split second lock eyes with Jake before sucking your cheeks in. You propel the shot glass back and stand up while the sweet liquid pours down your throat. You take the shot glass out of your mouth while the guys around you, minus Jake, erupt cheer. You can feel a tinge of whipped cream on the corner of your mouth, you start to wipe it but Matt beats you to it.

“Let me.” Matt says, taking his pointer finger and wiping the small white spot.

Without thinking you take his finger into your mouth and suck the remnants off.

Matt takes a sharp inhale.

Josh clears his throat and mutters “Oh fuck.” Before turning his boisterous self back on. “The talent! Thank you for blessing us with such a sight. Sam, Danny, come with me really quick. I need help with these speakers back here.”

You glance over and Sam makes wide eyes at you while smiling. Then all three of them trudge off, just leaving the four of you in silence.

“Wanna go dance?” You ask Matt, pulling on his arm.

“Lead the way babe.”

You take him in the crowd where everyone is dancing. If you were sober maybe you would have been embarrassed with your forward actions, but as the liquor sloshed around in your stomach you couldn’t care less. You two were close, really close. Swaying on each other. Matt leaned down and placed a kiss on your neck. Then his hands trailed further down your body until they met your ass, giving it a light squeeze. You looked up in surprise at him. He leaned forward and whispered into your neck, “Wanna get out of here?”

Before you could respond you felt a firm grip on your arm. You spun around and there was Jake, seething.

“Let’s fucking go.” He growled as he pulled you away.

Matt furrowed his brows and went to grab your other wrist. You stopped and Jake turned around with a death stare. “Get your fucking hands off of her. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch things that don’t belong to you?”

Matt let go and continued to stare at you in disbelief. Your feet continued to move with Jake as you mouthed “sorry.”

Jake didn’t let go or loosen his grip as he continued to drag you through the crowded house. He took you upstairs and towards a familiar door. Once inside he slammed his door and locked it before turning his attention towards you. He was mad. Furious even. Possibly the most upset you had ever seen him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He yells with a scowl plastered on his face.

“Oh fuck off.” You say, completely disinterested.

“You’re going to bring some random fuck to my house and then rub all up against him blatantly in front of me?”

You laugh. “What about your little Meredith? You wanna put your hands all over her and when I am enjoying myself with another person it’s a problem?”

Jake scoffs. “I wasn’t letting her kiss all over me and feel me up!”

“So what? Let her.” You spit.

Jake looks at you pointedly. “You need to learn who you belong to.”

You let out a maniacal laugh. “Inform me Jake? Who do I belong to? Because it sure as hell isn’t you!”

You see his face clouding with darkness. “That’s where you’re wrong. You do belong to me.” He steps up closer to you. “You’re mine.”

That causes warmness to swell in your stomach, but you wouldn’t let him know that.

“Not anymore.” You say with as much confidence as you can muster.

“Don’t say that.” He says taking a step towards you. “It’s a lie. We don’t lie to each other. Remember?”

You scoff. “I don’t think we have ever followed through with that promise to one another. Are we done here? I’m getting bored.”

Jake half smirks at you. “Bored?”

You glare back at him unimpressed. “Yeah, bored. I didn’t stutter.”

“Bored… That’s funny. Don’t act like you didn’t wear this little.. outfit to get my attention. You know you could wear a trash bag and my eyes would be on you.”

You roll your eyes trying to keep a blank stare on your face, but internally you’re on fire.

“It turns you on that I’m jealous, doesn’t it?” He asks.

You suck in your cheeks.

“You knew exactly what would happen when you brought him here. You knew exactly where you would end up tonight regardless, but you still brought him here.”

You crack a smile at him. “I brought a tall hot guy on a date and then you cockblocked me. That’s what happened.”

Jake steps closer to you until his body is touching yours. He lightly grabs your wrists and pins them to the wall. His eyes scan your face for some sort of reaction. You’re falling apart trying to remain unaffected. You can feel your heart thudding as his breath fans over your neck. “Let’s see how long it takes for this little confidence facade to crack. Shall we?”

“Fuck yo-“

Then his lips crash onto yours. Slow and warm, which is the exact opposite of how you expected. Suddenly that hardened exterior has cracked entirely as you kiss him back with every ounce of passion in your body. Fuck, you missed his lips on you.

He takes his mouth off of yours and stares down into your eyes. Neither one of you dare say a word. Then he goes back in, kissing you feverishly. His hands grab at your waist and pulls you closer into him. Your tongues meet and you swear you could feel fireworks throughout your whole body. The truth is, no one could ever make you feel the way that you felt with Jake. This was just further proof. Jake’s calloused hands begin to rub up your thigh as you take in sharp breaths from his mouth. He fumbles around with the hem of your very short and very tight dress. Finally he makes his way up your dress spreading your legs apart. He takes two fingers and swipes them over your drenched clothed center and you shutter at the feeling. You can feel that smirk on his face while your lips are still connected. He bites your bottom lip and pulls away.

“Look at you. Already making a mess of yourself.”

You take a breath. “Yeah, Matt did a number on me on the dance floor.”

You see Jake let out a small laugh at your boldness while he also clenched his jaw. He was right, jealousy did turn you on.

“Just when I thought you were going to be sweet.” He says, popping the two fingers in his mouth. “Strip.”

You cross your arms at him.

“Strip. Now. I’m not asking again.”

He backs away from you and you give him a glare. You’re going to do exactly what he says because you’re weak for him and beyond turned on.

His eyes stare intensely at you while you reach back and grab the small zipper. You tug it down and begin to peel yourself out of the dress. You see him take a noticeably deeper breath when your breasts are freed. You grab the material from around your waist and shimmy out of it, dropping it to the floor. Only in your boots and black silky thongs, you step out of the dress and look at Jake.

“Goddamn.” He says lowly, raking his eyes up and down your body.

You reach down to begin removing your boots when Jake speaks up. “No. Leave them. You wanna dress up like a whore tonight so I’m going to fuck you like one. Knees.”

You swallow the excitement that draws up your throat from that statement while you take a few steps closer to him. You sink to your knees and Jake reaches down and softly runs his finger through your hair. He reaches down and hooks your chin under his pointer finger.

“So pretty and this makeup looks so good. Unfortunately it’s about to get ruined.”

He unbuckles his pants and lets them hit the floor, he’s already hard. You look up at him waiting for instruction. His hand returns to your face running his thumb along your lips.

“You know the rules mama. No hands.” He spits, referencing earlier.

You look up at him and nod, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. He slightly twitches at your action. The way you affected him always turned you on even more. His cock grazes your tongue and he already lets out a breath. You lick a hot stripe up his length then swirl your tongue around the tip and his hand finds the back of your head.

“Quit teasing.”

You take him into your mouth, rolling your tongue around as he travels further back into your mouth.

“Fuck.” He lets out through gritted teeth.

He sinks your head further until you gag lightly, then he pulls you back. You begin to bob up and down around him while his grip in your hair tightens. You glance up and make eye contact with him through your lashes while hollowing your cheeks around him. He looked so fucking hot. Brows furrowed, a sheen amount of sweat broke out on his skin, face pinched in concentration and bewilderment. But when your eyes meet his he lets out a groan and pulls you off of him so he doesn’t finish already. You let out a small laugh and he looks down at you still on your knees.

You start to wipe the corner of your mouth. “What’s wrong Jakey? Made a mess of yourself already?”

He smirks at you. “That mouth is going to get you into trouble. On the bed. Ass up.”

You get to your feet and make your way to the bed, propping your ass up like you were told. You’re already throbbing with anticipation, you know when he gets like this he fucks you mericilessly. You feel him step up behind you and widen your legs. He runs his hands all up and down your ass before giving it a swift smack. You let out a whimper. Then, he quickly rips your panties down to your knees. You’re expecting him to ease himself into you, but to your surprise you hear him get down on his knees. He uses both of his arms to pull your ass back straight to his face. He begins kissing the inside of the back of your thighs and you’re already worked up. He flattens his tongue and licks up your center, popping his tongue at your most sensitive spot. He continues to lick and suck until you’re gripping his sheets for dear life. When he adds two fingers, you’re done for. You can feel that heat burning in your core coming to a high, you clench your eyes shut as your legs begin to shake.

“Fuck-“ you moan.

Just as that feeling is about to bubble into euphoria, Jake stops. You whip your head around and he stands up and wipes the slick off his face.

“Jake!”

“Shhh. You know I always take care of you.” He smirks. “Come here pretty girl.”

He flips you over and climbs on top of you. He leans down and kisses down your neck while his erection presses on your stomach. Slowly but surely he makes his way down to your breasts, kissing and nipping at your nipples. You indulge in the sensation and your hands quickly wrap into his long hair. He reaches down and rubs himself all over you, you both let out breathy moans. He finally sinks into, slowly, letting you adjust. You can feel your eyes roll into the back of your head as he picks up the pace. His mouth sloppily meets yours. You’re both moaning into each other's mouth as you wrap your knees around him. You lace your fingers into his hair giving it a light tug. This causes him to lift his head slightly and he groans while diving back down to kiss your neck.

“Oh god- fuck.” You whine, as his mouth and tongue roughly suck at your throat.

“Nothing compares to you. Nothing ever will.” Jake pants into your ear. “You’re like a drug to me. I’ll swallow you every night for the rest of my life baby.”

He knows when he’s vocal like that it sends you into oblivion. And here you are right on the edge.

“Jake-“ you whine.

“I know, baby. I know. I’m right there with you. Ah fuck.”

Jake slams one of your hands down onto the bed, lacing his fingers with yours. Your other hand is gripping his shoulder for dear life. His hair is tickling your face and shoulders adding to the sensation. That familiar burn is back and you know this time that flame will spread to every orifice of your body. Jake is also rapidly becoming undone as his strokes become faster but more sloppy. You throw your head back into the pillow and let go as you feel yourself leave your body for a moment. Jake finishes just as you’re beginning to recover, he’s a mess of curse words and heavy breathing. He stays on you, as you can feel both of your hearts beating rapidly. You both stay like this for a few minutes, just trying to recover.

Finally he gives your forehead a kiss and then rolls off staring up at the ceiling for a moment. It’s quiet, but then Jake sits up and grabs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his nightstand. He lights up a Camel and takes a puff before passing it to you. You let out a small laugh and accept it, inhaling the minty flavor. Jake tilts his head to the side and stares at you. It seems as if he is studying every characteristic about you. Like he had forgotten how beautiful you looked after he ruined you.

You exhale and turn to him. “What?”

He shrugs. “I like looking at you.”

You scoff a little.

“I do.” He insists. “I’ve missed you.”

“Funny way of showing it.” You retort.

“I don’t want to do this tonight. But I would like to have a conversation in the morning about it. Would you like to go back down or stay up here and watch scary movies?”

You think about continuing the harshness with him, but truthfully you don’t want to. “Up to you.”

Jake sucks in a breath. “Okay, can we go back down there and cook a pizza? I’ll start kicking the randoms out and then we can come back up here and put on a movie. There’s a new slasher film on Netflix, I thought you might like it.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you had already seen it, so you just smiled and said: “Yeah, okay.”

Jake matches your smile then leans over and plants a kiss lightly on your mouth before rolling off the bed. He threw you a t-shirt before heading to his bathroom. You finally peel your boots off and pad into the bathroom with him. He opens up his medicine cabinet and grabs a pack of your feminine wipes. He kept them here, which means that all of your things would still be in that cabinet. You try not to smile as he sets them down on the counter and leaves to give you privacy. You stare at yourself in the mirror and try to fix your makeup. You weren’t sure if you were buzzed off of the alcohol or something else entirely. After fixing yourself, you exit the bathroom to see Jake plopping a pair of his slippers on the floor for you.

“Probably don’t wanna walk out there barefoot.”

You nod and accept the slippers. “What about-“

Jake cuts you off before you can finish. “He’s gone. They’re both gone. Sam escorted them out.”

“Oh.” You say plainly.

Jake narrows his eyes at you. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”

That elicits a giggle from you and Jake playfully rolls his eyes, then grabs your hand. He laces his fingers with yours and leads you out of his room.

To your surprise, the party had thinned out significantly. How long were you two up there? It seemed like maybe thirty minutes but it looked as if hours had passed. Music still bumped as you made your way downstairs in nothing but Jake’s shirt and shoes. You scanned the room and didn’t see Matt or Meredith. That gave you a sigh of relief. Eventually you would have to speak with Matt and apologize. You felt a little bad as he was nice, but he wasn’t Jake. That would always be a flaw in any potential partner you could ever have. One that you weren’t sure you could ever get past.

Jake took you to the kitchen and preheated the oven yelling at a few people to “fuck off and get out” along the way.

You heard a familiar voice echo towards you. “Jake are you telling my guests to fuck off and get out? It’s only 2am what’s wrong with y-“ Josh pauses when he sees you standing there in his twin’s shirt and a smile spreads across his face. “So you two have worked things out I assume.”

You blush a little feeling silly for the show earlier in front of everyone. You see Sam and Danny approaching Josh.

“Well well. What do we have here?” Sam asks, glancing between you and Jake.

“I’m shocked- truly.” Danny adds, facetiously.

“Mhm.” Jake answers only to Josh, taking your hand back in his. “Also yeah it’s 2am it’s time to wrap this shit up.”

“Yeah which is why we need to keep this party going all night because you two have weeks of sexual frustration to let out!” Sam exclaimed.

“To be fair Sam, by the look of it, they already have.” Danny snickers.

Sam erupts with laughter. “That won’t be the last of it. Remember that last cabin trip we took? They’re like bunnies-“

“Okay fuck enough! Keep drinking, it’s obviously making you all more intelligent. Just keep everyone down here.” Jake concedes, shaking his head.

Josh laughs. “Well you heard the man! Party stays down stairs everyone!” He shouts, although no one pays him hardly any mind.

Sam slinks by you and wraps his arm around you while Jake throws the pizza in the oven. “Feel better?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Hush.”

He gives you shoulder a squeeze. “I’m just teasing. I’m glad you’re back around. They’re all so dreadfully boring.”

Jake huffs at him. “Don’t you all have a party to get back to or something?”

“Good point.” Danny says. “Have fun you two. Be safe!” Then he heads off to the crowd with Sam close behind shouting: “What he said! Daniel, wait! The fog machines!”

Josh chuckles at them and walks over to you. He wraps you in a hug and kisses your forehead. “We have missed you mama.”

“Watch it.” Jake warns half heartedly.

Josh scoffs. “Oh please. Also let it be known that Jake has done nothing but sulk around for the past few weeks! He made me text you to remind you about this party tonight!”

Jake grins at him and playfully shoves him along. “Get out of here.”

Josh throws his hands up and winks at you before diving back into the party.

Jake shakes his head and looks at you.

You grin back up at him. “Is that true?”

He blushes and takes your hand. “Ask me about it in the morning.”

**

Sunlight bathed in through the splits in the curtains. You half opened one eye, still trying to recover from your slumber. You turned your head to catch a glimpse of Jake’s alarm clock. It read: OCT. 31ST 10:42am. Jake was still asleep, softly snoring next to you as his arm draped over your side. Last night had ended quite perfectly. You had taken your pizza upstairs, watched that movie, and fucked two more times. It was almost 6am when you both had finally dozed off. You smiled a little when you thought of it, but that smile faded when you realized how full your bladder was. You attempted to wiggle out from under Jake’s arm, but he just pulled you in closer to him.

“Morning.” He says with his eyes still closed and a grin on his face.

“Good morning Jake. I really need to pee.”

He pulled you even closer and started kissing all over your face and neck. “C’mon stay in bed.”

You giggled. “Jake!”

He groaned. “Okay, off you go.”

You bolted up as soon as he released you and he laughed. After peeing you washed your hands and had yourself a glance in the mirror. There were purplish love bites all over your neck and collarbone. They wouldn’t be fun to cover up. You grabbed your toothbrush and started brushing your teeth. Jake opened the door, illuminated in sunlight with a smile on his face. He stepped in and hugged you from behind, giving you a peck on the cheek. This seemed a little unlike him, but you went with it. He grabbed his toothbrush and said “Breakfast?”

You hummed and nodded.

After you had made yourself somewhat presentable you went through the clothes on the floor to try and find your dress from the night before.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked with knitted brows.

“Looking for my clothes.” You replied.

He sucked in his cheeks. “I’ll give you a pair of my sweatpants and a hoodie. You can wear my slippers too.”

“Jake I’ll look homeless.” You say with a laugh.

“No you won’t. I like it when you wear my clothes.” He offers with a smile.

You playfully roll your eyes and accept his offer.

To your surprise you come downstairs to a somewhat clean house. Josh is poking about the kitchen, wiping down counters and softly humming to himself.

“Good morning you two- ugh! Fuck!”

You make a face at him. “What?”

“What happened to your neck? It looks like you were attacked by an octopus. Holy shit.” He states, dumbfoundedly staring at you.

“Gotta mark your territory. Right?” Jake interjects with a smirk.

Josh makes a fake gagging sound as Jake grabs your arm and leads you to the door.

“Sam was right! God that’s something I never thought I would say.” Josh yells after you two head for the door.

**

You crunched the leaves beneath your feet into a 24 hour breakfast diner that you and Jake had frequented before. There were little spider webs and skeletons hung up everywhere. Jake had ordered you both the Halloween special that had consisted of some sort of pumpkin coffee, witchy waffles, and batty bacon.

“So.” Jake said as he sipped his coffee.

“So?” You answered.

He lets out a huff. “You make me nervous.”

You laughed at him. “No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

Before you can speak he continues. “Okay fuck it here it goes. So yes I asked Josh to text you. In fact, I bugged the piss out of him about it for days. I did sulk for those three weeks. And when I saw you walk in yesterday with that fuck I felt a feeling that I never want to feel again.”

You swallow and glance up at him. “Oh…”

He huffs again and pushes his hair back. “What I’m trying to say here is- I want you. I want you in every way all of the time. I don’t want to keep fueling the stupid fights and breakups. I’m done with that. I’ve done a lot of reflecting and… well, I love you. I’ve loved you for years and I want to keep on loving you for years. I want us to be together and actually give it a shot. A permanent shot. You and me.”

You blink and stare at him, entirely unsure what to even say. You and Jake had technically been together for years and this was the first time you had heard him say he loved you stone cold sober. You felt like you could vomit, but in a good way?

“Please say something.” He spits out, slightly anxious.

“Jake- I…” You take a breath and swallow. “I love you too.”

A visible sigh leaves his body as that perfect smile creeps over his face.

“But I’m scared. I’m scared that you’re going to hurt me. That we’re going to hurt each other.”

He grabs your hand and laces it with his. “I know. A big part of that is my own fault. But I’m serious. I want to try. I want to communicate with you. I want to make it work. I want you.”

You chew on your lip, still unsure of his words. It felt surreal, like you were in a dream. You had been waiting for years to hear this come out of his mouth. Slowly, you nod your head and muster up a very small “Okay.” With a smile.

Jake jolts up and leans across the table grabbing your jaw and pulling you in for a kiss. Then he puts his forehead up against yours and mutters a “thank you.” Before sitting down like all eyes weren’t on you two.

“How’s your coffee?” He asks you nonchalantly.

You look up at him and laugh. He does the same.

“It’s perfect. How’s yours?”

He smiles at you with those beautiful white teeth that you rarely see.

“Perfect.” He answers back.

Your waitress brings your Halloween specials and you both eat and giggle at one another. When you’re finished, Jake takes your hand and leads you outside. The crisp air raises goosebumps on your skin, yet you had never felt more warm.

“Can I take you back to your place to get changed then we go have a spooky day? I still think we have time to pick out a pumpkin and carve it. We just need to be back before dark because I shelled out on Halloween candy this year.”

You laugh in a surprised way. “Jake Kiszka are you getting soft on me? Handing out candy to children?”

He rolls his eyes. “No. It’s a competition. The best costumes get the most candy.”

You throw your head back. “That’s sort of fucked up.”

“But you’re going to do it with me. Aren’t you?” He asks with a smirk.

“Obviously.”

He kisses your cheek and laughs. “That’s my girl.”

****

[wildshona]

Out of the Wet and In to the Wet

Fuck the weather was awful yesterday. Not that it is much better today either. Anyway while Chris was working in the study on organising a meeting requested by a Trump supported think-tank, Amelia, Zoe and I got our stuff together, called an uber and went off to Toni’s for a swim. We got wet just going from our block of flats to the uber and from the uber to Toni’s front door bur never mind we were going to be in a pool soon anyway.

Mrs Lewis met us and took us through to the pool. No Toni. So we went through to the changing room and got changed. No protests from Amelia this time about the bikini. We had been in the pool a few minutes when Toni arrived.

Sorry sweeties, I had to go to see a patient. Give me a moment.

And she just stripped off by the poolside and dived in. Well, of course she did.

Hello Princess Toni, squealed Zoe, doggy paddling up to her and throwing her arms round Toni’s neck. Hello Princess Munchkin came the reply. Shit, Zoe got there first and I wanted to get my hands on those glorious tits.

Well, the fun started splashing, chasing, playing sharks, Toni diving under the water and putting her hands on my cunt, on and on until it was obvious that Zoe was finally getting tired and we all got out and hit the loungers and Mrs Lewis arrived in that strange “I know when I’m needed way” with a tray of ice cream and red wine. She had removed Toni’s clothes from the poolside while we were swimming.

Still shy, Amelia, asked Toni.

Amelia muttered something I didn’t here and took off her bikini top. Yay, progress. We lay there for a while until Zoe was falling asleep and then we went through to the lounge so that Zoe could crash on a sofa. We just drank wine and chatted about nothing very much. Amelia looked self conscious being topless now that we were sitting in a lounge rather than sitting by a pool but she was definitely trapped so, like a good and polite woman, she lived with it.

With Zoe asleep Toni let her hands wander a little. I was sitting next to her as usual and she put an arm round me and played with my nipple and at one time a hand even gently stroked my thigh all the way to the edge of my cunt. I very nearly came then.

After an hour or so Zoe began to wake up and Toni announced that it would be dinner soon so we should all go to our rooms and dress. Toni showed Amelia and Zoe to their rooms as a reminder from the week before and I slipped off to mine. I wasn’t surprised to see clothes laid out for me. Clothes I had never seen before. A dark purple dress that flared down to mid calf like something Audrey Hepburn might have worn in the mid fifties. (Yes, I am totally in to old films). Well not exactly because the bodice was transparent. Then there were stockings and a suspender belt in black, no knickers and some purple high heels.

I showered first to get the pool chemicals off me and lightly washed my hair – it dries quickly anyway but – I thought – it might look stylish with that dress to have wet slicked back hair.

I was first back to the lounge in any case. Toni arrived soon after wearing a dress of similar length and flair to mine except in black and the bodice was tight corset style that pushed her beautiful tits up to create a breath taking cleavage. Amelia and Zoe were last down. Zoe was wearing another outfit straight out of a wholesome Disney movie. Amelia – well – Amelia was wearing a dress very similar to mine except in a deep blue. Her nipples were obvious under the transparent bodice. The red of her blush really set off the blue of her dress. Naughty Toni.

And so we ate and chatted like civilized people with giggly chat from Zoe about her being a princess who was visiting a princess in her castle. It really felt like that. All very relaxed. Even Amelia relaxed in the end despite her nipples getting hard as they rubbed against the fabric of her dress.

Then Zoe was off to bed. She even let Mrs Lewis carry her up with pronises of bedtime stories. She liked Mrs Lewis, the supplier of ice craem to the princesses.

Brandies back in the lounge.

Shona sweetie, why don’t you slip out of your dress?

Well, I’m not one to argue with Toni am I?

So I slipped out of my dress and then snuggled up to Toni with my legs stretched along the sofa and my cunt probably pretty obvious. And pretty obviously wet.

Does nudity bother you, Amelia? Toni asked.

No, I’m used to Shona hanging around naked. She rarely wore clothes when we were growing up.

You did though?

Yes, daddy said that sluts didn’t mind showing themselves off but good ladylike women didn’t.

Oh, aren’t I a good lady like woman? Toni asked all innocence.

Of course you are.

Toni stood up and looked down at me. Unhook me sweetie.

Obviously her wish was my command so my trembling fingers un-hooked the bodice. The dress fell to the floor releasing her oh so gorgeous tits. She was wearing a thong though so she was still more dressed than me.

There now a ladylike person is nearly naked, Toni said. And it sounded like a challenge, coming from that confident woman.

Amelia had been drinking wine for a while and now had had a brandy and I doubt she drank much living with daddy. She accepted the challenge.

Unhook me Shona.

I moved pretty fast and in no time Amelia’s dress had joined mine on the floor.

Toni looked Amelia up and down and smiled. She crossed the few steps to wear we stood, Amelia trembling and breathing heavily.

Toni kissed her lightly on the lips.

Well done, Amelia.

Her hand gently stroked down Amelia’s arm to her fingertips. She kissed her lightly again and then took my hand and led me back to her sofa,

Sit down Amelia and let’s talk.

I stretched out against Toni again and she taled to Amelia whilst idly playing with my clit and cunt, ignoring my occasional trembling and groaning as I came.

They spoke for a long time and I was hardly able to pay attention, my mind totally focussed on her fingers and my cunt. How could she hold a conversation at the same time as doing this to me?

The gist of the conversation as I remember it was that Toni would teach Amelia to be more independent and to show her that there was more pleasure to be had in the world than she imagined. She asked her to imagine the pleasure that I must be feeling right then as I gave myself in to my sexual nature and feelings. I think I came at exactly the right moment then.

First off, said Toni, which was an odd thing to say as it was pretty much the last thing. We are going to get you a whole new wardrobe. Will you be guided by me? Will you allow me to help you.

I heard a quiet yes, I opened my eyes and I swear Amelis was struggling not to touch herself as she watched me being pleasured.

Then the hand was gone. Noooooooooo.

Good, now I think it is time you went to get Zoe. Don’t rush.

This was as she moved her position and pushed me down between her legs. Amelia sisn’t rushe we had a full half hour in which I took off Toni’s soaked thong and gave her my tongue. Licking her clit and her cunt, serving her as I had been taught to serve a woman by Glenys so long ago. I am good at it. Yeah, that is bragging.

We just had time on top of Toni filling my mouth with her oh so sweet juices for Mrs Lewis to bring my clothes from wherever they had been and a robe for Toni before Amelia and Zoe arrived wearing the clothes they had arrived in which Amelia had found waiting in Zoe’s room.

A car was waiting and home we went, Amelia very quietly held my hand all the way home.

[hiskillingjar]

Suspension (Lawrence/MC)

day 10: suspension second person

"I wouldn't struggle too much, if I were you."

The rope was digging in.

Coiled around your wrists, your ankles, your chest, and your neck, even looping up and around and framing your face, digging into the drooling corners of your mouth and muffling your speech.

It was raw. It hadn't been treated (boiled and oiled) to be used for something like this. You knew that much.

If you struggled too much or tried to pull at any of the knots pressed into your flesh and earn your freedom, not only would the knots get even tighter, the rope would rub painfully, cause a rash, break skin, and leave behind flecked pieces of fibre and twine, and surely cause an infection, something to worry about later.

Should you even be concerned by something like that now, though?

Should you be concerned about a possible infection in the future when you were naked and vulnerable, and getting strung up by a quasi-stranger in the middle of a forest?

You probably should have had better priorities. Or, at least, a better survival instinct.

But you were never good at that. 

All the scars on your wrists and thighs said that much.

"There we go, that's much better. Now just-" Lawrence mumbled softly before grunting with exertion, pulling the trailing ropes around your ankles up and over the thich tree branch above you, hiking your legs upwards painfully and earning a muffled shriek from you, another thick mouthful of drool running down your chin and chest. "That's good," They said, breathing out. "That looks really nice."

Your entire body was suspended in mid-air now, your arms tied behind you in a messy harness, your face, neck and hair tangled in a noose-like structure that jerked your head up and forced your eyes ahead. 

And now, with your ankles raised up behind you, you didn't have the comfort of, at the very least, having your feet on the dirty ground.

You were truly helpless to whatever Lawrence wanted to do with you.

And you had a sense that Lawrence was a pretty impulsive sort of person who wouldn't let you guess their next move, for even a moment.

"You look so lovely like this," Lawrence whispered after a moment, their hands idly tracing the tight ropes around your ankles and up your trembling calf. "Like all of your best features have been put in a frame, just for me to see. Hah," They let out a breathy chuckle. "I hope you don't mind my saying this, but...I really like the way it digs in, too..."

Their slow, gentle touch (counteracting all the ways they had hurt you thus far) slid higher up to the mess of ropes looped around your thighs and cradling your groin, pressing into the soft heft of your stomach.

Your eyes flitted down erratically, trying to follow their touch.

"The way your flesh just...bulges against the ropes, like every part of you is straining against it and trying to be free. It looks really pretty." 

Your fingers curled into fists behind you (slowly, sleepily, you were losing more and more control of your body), your lids struggling to stay open and alert as they caressed your inner thighs.

"I bet people overestimate you, don't they?" They asked, their voice soft and honey-sweet, their fingers sinking between your legs and stroking over your folds, and the thick twine between them. "They think you're...stronger than you are, that you don't need help or support, just because you're bigger, because you take up more space. I know all about that."

You whined softly, eyes suddenly squeezing shut, feeling a deadened sort of pressure of the twine rubbing against your clit, caught between pain and pleasure.

You sensed that Lawrence understood that dichotomy, probably more than most.

"It's hard, isn't it?" They continued, pressing against the side of your slack body and touching you, teasing you, feeling the twine become gradually more soaked with fluid. Not like you could feel it, though. You couldn’t feel anything. "Trying to pretend that you're something that you're not. Trying to pretend you're stronger, just because someone puts those...bullshit expectations on you. I know how hard it is. That's why I can see it in you."

Their fingers eased inside you (easily, maybe you should have felt some shame about that) and they pressed their nose into your hair, taking a deep inhale of your scent, while their other hand reached up and idly squeezed at your chest.

It wasn't a particularly heated gesture, more one of thoughtless curiosity, but you keened against it, all the same, feeling the subtle swing of your body, in the cradle of ropes against the tree branch.

"I know I should be kinder to you…I know that, I'm not so removed from myself that I don't know that." They breathed out, nestling into the soft warmth of your hair even more, craving your body despite what they were doing to it. "You're so lovely...so gentle and delicate. And the world is just...so awful to people like you."

You inhaled sharply as their thumb pressed against your clit, their chapped lips against your neck. 

"I'm sorry that I couldn't be kinder," They mumbled, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "But this won't hurt at all. I've already laced you with enough sedative, so you'll die in…mm, complete painlessness. Or, well...your brain will."

They pulled back then, leaving you empty (and wanting, craving their softness when they were capable of being so cruel) and kneeled down to the tarp underneath you, pulling something from their backpack.

You squirmed a little, as much as you could with the sedative coursing through your body, trying to pull at the ropes and making the branch shake, leaves tumbling down with each pull and twist.

But whatever Lawrence had laced you with made your movements jerky and dull, unable to use the heft of your weight against the ropes.

You were helpless.

Lawrence came back shortly, a paint can in one hand, a well-used paint brush in the other, and pried the lid off with their blunt fingernails, revealing a creamy substance inside.

"Milk and honey," They explained, sticking the brush inside the can and coating each bristle with a thick layer of it. They then began to paint the liquid over your skin, the warm, sticky smell nauseating, even in the cool expanse of the evening. "When the sun rises tomorrow, your brain will be dead but your body will continue to live. It'll provide food and nourishment for the insects and flies that'll be attracted to the smell of the honey." 

They smiled dreamily, eerily (nothing revealed in their dead, grey eyes), dragging a thick smear of the honey and milk mixture over your cheeks and drooling mouth, letting you taste the thick sweetness of it. 

"You'll continue to provide, even in death." They brought their head down to whisper in your ear. "And I'll be back every night, to make sure every piece of you is used up. Won't that be wonderful?"

Your eyes grew hazy again, and the effort to blink felt insurmountable. 

You were dying, surely.

And if you weren’t really dying, you were going to wish you had, by the time the sun was up. "You'll be my greatest art piece yet. One that gives back to nature, just as much as it takes away. I couldn't be more grateful to you."