#none of them wear socks!

[epitaffia]

one thing the pinks all have in common: the sensory hell that is wearing socks

[prommytheus]

these jeans are too short my hands are cold and my hair is wet fuck the world

[herawell]

.

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man. inclusivity warning: reader gets picked up by Price and carried over his shoulder

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute, but that's mostly because I decorated it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell the dog seriously. "He’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually," you say, "I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a military Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you), throws a fluffy towel onto the ground (also for you), and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 02.17.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[rosiereveries]

professor!John who teaches history at university. You finally have classes with him and since the beginning of the year, all the girls in your year talk about how hot he is. He is something over 40 and he won the secret dilf competition that you made with your friends.

You take extra good time preparing for his classes, not just you learn the materials for the lesson, you also make sure that your outfit looks nice, that your hair is perfectly styled, and your makeup looks flawless. You always wear short skirts and cute tops to his classes, and you are 100% sure that when you wear knee high socks, he looks at you more that on the other girls.

John noticed you the very first time you came to his class. You sat in the first row like the good girl you are, and you raised your hand every time he asked questions. There were so many girls in his classes who tried to seduce him, but none of them were as smart as you were. You always had perfect score on your test, and he knew that you wanted to make him proud. It was just a bonus that when you crossed your legs on the chair you were sitting, he could sometimes see your panties.

He tried to wait until the end of the year, to approach you, so he wouldn’t be your professor anymore when he would fuck you. But you gave him no choice with your flirty remarks and your outfits.

That’s why he called you into his office after your lesson ended. He wanted to speak with you about the paper you were working on, and he wanted you to tell him how it was going.

When you get into his office you start to talk about your paper. You hoped that he called you there for other reasons, but he is patiently listening while you ramble about the sources and literature you found. After a while he asks you if you would mind if he smoke, he tells you that he needs a little bit of relaxation before his next class.

You watched him as he lights up a cigarette and offers you one. You decline and watch him blow out the smoke. “You sure you don’t want one?” he asks and when you tell him that you never really smoked, he pats his thigh and tells you to come closer.

“You know, this time of the year everything is so hectic” he says, “maybe you could help me with some pent-up stress, you know. What you think?”

That’s how you end up on the floor on your knees under his desk. You kneel between his thighs unzipping his trousers and taking out his thick cock. He is bigger that you imagined, and you know that there’s no way you can take him whole into your mouth. He gathers your hair in his hand, and he makes you look up at him. “You always look so pretty for me, but I think you will look even better with these lips around my dick” he says, and he gently guides your head to his crotch.

You choke on him quite a lot. You can take half of his length without a problem but after that, your gag reflex makes you stop. You hear him mumble something about training your mouth. When John finishes his cigarette, he makes you stand up, your lipstick ruined, most of it is on his cock like a pretty mark you left.

He bends you over his desk, pulling your skirt up. You can feel his cock teasing you through your underwear. When he pulls your panties down and starts to push inside you can feel him stretching you. “Just like that, you’re taking me so well, you’re so wet for me” he says. John pushes one hand under your t-shirt, pulling it up so he can see your tits. He tells you to take it off, so you just stand there in your skirt and knee-high socks.

He fucks you rough, quick thrust that makes your eyes roll. He plays with your nipples, twisting and pulling them until your breast are sensitive. You know that you don’t have a lot of time, anytime now his colleague could come back from their lunch break and find you like this.

When John starts to rub circles on your clit you can feel your orgasm approaching. With one hand he rubs your most sensitive part, and the other one is around your throat. “I need you to cum on my cock, I need you to milk me dry with your sweet wet pussy” he tells you and you can feel that he is also close. You cum like the good girl you are right as he tells you. A few moments later he is cuming inside you, his hot seed spilling in your pussy.

He helps you to put your clothes on. He pulls up your panties, and when he sees that his cum is spilling from your pussy, he quickly pushes two fingers inside you, saying that it needs to stay where it belongs. You’re still there, in his office with your thighs still trembling when his colleague comes back. John walks you out on the hallway, saying that you should come to see him again tomorrow at noon, that you still have a lot of work to do. You just hope that his colleague can’t hear when he whispers that you should come without panties this time.

Masterlist You can support my work here : ko-fi

[miniaturesuitgladiator]

Pretty and beautiful are two very different words or atleast they are to damian wayne.

Sure damian had seen pretty girls all around gotham. Sure they had good looking features and nice looking eyes. But none of them caught his eye.

Not like you have...

The moment Damian had seen you he had determined then and there that you were absolutely beautiful.

Perfect in his eyes. Not a flaw in sight.

Sure other girls had nice looking eyes but you?

Oh your eyes were the most beautiful thing he had seen. They held so much in them.

His heart included.

Sure your eyes might have not been the rarest in the world ,but to him he'd rather look into your eyes then remember his own name if give an alternative.

Your skin was much different then his own in texture and color. And he liked that.

No, he loved that.

You were different then him. Not as broken.

Sometimes he envied your perfection.

Because to him you are perfect. He doesn't notice your scars because to him they make you more special.

Or your stretch marks because to him they add detail...

Everything about you fascinated him. From your name to how you had gotten the smallest scar on your leg that was barely visible now.

He wanted to know everything..he needed to know everything.

But he couldn't.

He's not your friend ,no. He's not even your classmate. Hell you two don't even go to the same school.

Because as luck would have it the one thing damian wanted didn't even know he existed.

He's a stranger to you.

But to him your everything. His biggest desire.

His hearts keeper.

He had first seen you when he was on patrol. He caught a glimpse of you through your window and he had fallen right there on then.

And he had fallen hard.

He took notice of everything. From the color of your shirt to the pair of socks you were wearing.

You didn't see him though. And he's partially thankful for that. Because he knows he probably would've looked like a creep looking at you through your window.

You were in simple pjs, some Christmas ones to be exact. You weren't dressed up and your hair wasn't done. You had just showered and your hair was still slightly wet.

But gods did damian think you looked like a goddess.

In that very moment you had taken the ex assasins boys heart out of his chest and held it in your hand ever since that day.

But you didn't even know his name....

Oh and when he heard you speak for first time?

He new he was absolutely smitten.

He'd burn down gotham just to hear your voice.

And your smile?

He'd bring the world to their knees for your smile.

He doesn't know exactly how he'd do it. But for your smile he'd figure out.

His honor be damned.

When he looked at you he knew no morales would keep him from you. Bruce's rules might as well not exist. Because nothing was going to keep him from you.

For months Damian had kept his distance. Afraid of rejection Afraid of you not even liking him enough to be his friend.

But there was only so much time before the way his heart ached out weighed his fear.

After all he's an Al ghul.

Al ghuls take what they want.

Damian watches you as you sleep and whispers goodnight knowing this would be the final night that he is a stranger to you...

"You are mine ,beloved."

Thanks for reading! 💗

Comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Part 2 is here.

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙇𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙇𝙖𝙙𝙮𝙗𝙪𝙜𝙨

pt. 2 of Girl in the Bumblebee Tights

summary: Mattheo Riddle never cared for luck, until he met a certain Hufflepuff

characters: mattheo riddle. hufflepuff! reader. mentions of slytherin boys

warnings: none, just cute fluff of matty falling for a hufflepuff.

word count: 2.0k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Mattheo was not the type of guy to go out of his way for anyone. If he wanted something, he took it. If something-or someone-intrigued him, he made them come to him. That was just how it worked.

Until you.

You, with your whimsical clothes and dreamy expressions, drifting through the halls of Hogwarts like a soft breeze, entirely unbothered by the sharp edges of the world.

You, with your quiet hums and distracted little twirls, always getting lost in your own thoughts.

You, with your absurd collection of trinkets, bumblebee-striped tights, and firm belief that certain objects could bring fortune.

And now, Mattheo-a boy who prided himself on never chasing-was actively seeking you out.

At first, he told himself it was just curiosity. Something about the way you floated through life made him want to get closer, to see what made your mind tick.

That was before he started doing utterly ridiculous things just to get your attention.

Like wearing socks that didn’t match.

Today, they were obnoxiously bright-one orange with tiny broomsticks, the other purple with crescent moons. A hideous combination, and yet, you had complimented them the moment you slid into your seat beside him in class.

“Oh!” You had gasped, eyes widening as you pointed at his feet. “Those are brilliant.”

Mattheo smirked. Hooked you. “Yeah?”

You nodded your head with excitement before asking him where he had purchased them, so you could get some of your own.

And just like that, he was completely gone for you.

The next week, he made it a point to sit next to you in every class. Not that you seemed to notice what he was doing.

No, you just gave him that same sweet, absent minded smile every time, like he had always been there.

Then he started showing up in places he didn’t normally go.

The greenhouses. The library. Merlin help him, he even went to Divination, sitting stiffly in a chair while you babbled excitedly about tarot cards and the movement of the stars.

-

Draco, Theo, Enzo, and Blaise had a field day teasing him.

“You’re pathetic,” Theo drawled, watching as Mattheo not-so-subtly followed you out of class.

“I think it’s sweet,” Blaise smirked. “Our little Mattheo, whipped.”

Mattheo shot them a glare but didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

But then he found out about Neville Longbottom… it seemed like all hell would break loose.

“Wait,” Mattheo said flatly, cutting Theo off mid-sentence. “Who?”

Theo snorted. “Neville Longbottom. You know, the Gryffindor? The one who keeps fumbling through Potions?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know who he is. What about him?”

Draco smirked. “Oh, nothing. Just that he’s been following your little Hufflepuff around like a lovesick puppy.”

Mattheo stiffened. “What.”

“Seen them chatting between classes,” Enzo added. “She likes him, I think.”

And just like that, something hot burned in Mattheo’s chest.

Because, oh no, no.

You were his.

-

Mattheo needed help. Which meant doing something he never thought he’d do-asking Luna Lovegood for advice.

Luna, your best friend, was just as whimsical as you were. Maybe more. She drifted through life like a ghostly little moonbeam, spouting strange facts and wearing radish earrings.

She also, unfortunately, knew everything about you.

Which made her the perfect person to go to.

Mattheo found her in the courtyard, seated on the grass, reading upside down.

“Lovegood,” he greeted.

Luna slowly turned her book the right way. “Mattheo,” she said serenely.

“I need information.”

She blinked at him, expression unreadable. Then, without missing a beat, she said, “You want to know how to win her over.”

Mattheo scowled. “Am I that obvious?”

Luna hummed. “Only to those who see things others don’t.”

“Right,” Mattheo muttered. “So? Got anything useful?”

Luna studied him for a long moment before smiling. “She loves luck.”

Mattheo frowned. “Yeah, I know that.”

“But do you understand it?” Luna tilted her head. “She sees luck in the little things. Socks. Stars. Coins on the ground. The world is full of lucky signs, if you just notice them.”

Mattheo considered that.

Luna continued, “If you want to make her happy, get her something lucky. She'll take it as a sign.”

Mattheo’s brain spun.

And then-an idea struck.

-

Usually, Mattheo Riddle did not do gift-giving.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it-his family had more than enough money-but the idea of getting something heartfelt for another person was just… foreign. He had never needed to try before. People fawned over him regardless.

But you? You were different.

Which was why he was standing in the middle of Hogsmeade, scowling, as he mentally went through everything Luna Lovegood had told him.

"She loves luck," Luna had said. "If you want to make her happy, get her something lucky. She'll take it as a sign."

That had been maddeningly unhelpful. Mattheo wasn’t some mystical force of fate-he was just a boy with a sharp tongue and an even sharper wand.

But you-you saw the world differently. You found meaning in the smallest things. The moon on a pair of socks, the way the wind blew through the trees, the way certain numbers seemed to follow you.

You believed in luck.

And he wanted to give you something that made you light up.

But what the hell was lucky enough?

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he strolled down the street. Every shop he passed seemed wrong.

Quidditch gear? No. Jewelry? Maybe, but you weren’t the type for expensive trinkets. Chocolate? Too simple.

He needed something meaningful.

Then, he saw it.

A tiny, tucked-away shop with an old wooden sign that read Brood and Peck. The windows were cluttered with mismatched objects- crystal balls, antique books, potion bottles of questionable origins.

It looked like the kind of place that probably sold cursed items alongside regular ones, but it also seemed like the type of place you would love.

Mattheo stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming.

The shop was dimly lit, the scent of old parchment and dried herbs filling the air. He wandered through the shelves, scanning the odd assortment of items.

And then-he saw them.

A neatly folded pair of red tights with black spots.

Like a ladybug.

His lips twitched.

He could hear your voice in his head, bright and excited: "Do you know how lucky ladybugs are? They’re extra fancy luck!"

It was perfect.

He grabbed them immediately, heading to the counter where an elderly witch peered at him over her glasses.

“A fine choice,” she said, eyeing the tights with a knowing look.

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Just ring me up.”

She chuckled but did as he asked, wrapping them carefully before handing them back.

As he stepped outside, the cold air biting at his cheeks, he found himself smiling.

Because he knew-the moment he gave them to you, you were going to light up like the bloody sun.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d finally realize how much he adored you.

-

Later that day, Mattheo found you in the courtyard.

With Neville.

Mattheo narrowed his eyes as he approached, heart thudding as he caught the tail end of your conversation.

“…ladybugs,” you were saying, voice warm. “They’re good luck, you know.”

Neville chuckled nervously. “I-I didn’t know that.”

Mattheo cleared his throat, stepping between you both with an easy smirk. “Sorry, Longbottom. Borrowing her.”

Neville blinked. “Oh. Uh-”

You tilted your head, blinking up at Mattheo. “Borrowing me?”

Mattheo threw an arm around your shoulders, steering you away before Neville could protest. “Yup.”

Neville frowned. “Oh, um. Alright then.”

Once Neville was out of earshot, you looked up at Mattheo, entirely unbothered. “Was that necessary?”

Mattheo grinned. “Extremely.”

You didn’t argue, just hummed thoughtfully. “Well, what are we doing?”

“I got you something.”

Your eyes widened. “A gift? For me?”

“Obviously.”

Mattheo reached into his pocket, pulling out a neatly wrapped package. He handed it to you, watching as you carefully unwrapped it.

The moment the fabric was revealed, you gasped.

“Mattheo!” you squeaked, holding up the tights. “They’re red with black spots! Like-”

“Like a ladybug,” he finished.

You beamed, eyes practically glowing. “Do you know how lucky these are? Ladybugs super lucky! I was just talking about this with Neville! It must be a sign or something!”

Mattheo smirked. “Figured you’d like them.”

“Like them? I adore them!”

And then, before he could react, you threw your arms around him, hugging him tight.

Mattheo froze.

Then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, sinking into the warmth of you.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, happy eyes. “These are better than my bumblebee tights!”

His heart stuttered.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice rough.

You nodded, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

And Mattheo...

Mattheo knew, right then and there, that he was completely and hopelessly in love with you.

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 3)

When you woke up, it wasn't that much later. Maybe an hour later at most, which was normal for you. You weren't a heavy sleeper, but to be fair, hard to find any heavy sleepers in the foster system. You also hadn't moved an inch from your position during your light sleep. The bed almost looked like it was made, except for the small imprint of a person on top of the soft blankets.

The room was the same as it was before, the door was closed and the curtains drawn, none of the foster parents came into the room after they left you to unpack. Well, "unpack". You didn't really do that, you kept your clothes inside your backpack and the backpack safely tucked under the bed.

Just... precation.

The house was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you immediatly shuffled over to the door and opened to try and pin point where anyone could be. It wasn't hard, you could faintly hear low voices downstairs, where you think it's the kitchen. You don't really remember much from the tour.

You weren't sure what to do now, but you just closed the door behind you quietly as your feet, padded by only your socks since you left your sneakers by the bed, gently made their way back down stairs. The voices only got clearer as you made your way down, getting closer to the kitchen that smelled extremelly good, close enough, in fact, that you flinched for a second as soon as you heard a loud, booming laugh.

"Oi, ya prick!! Stop that!" The scottish guy, the werewolf, yelled, laughing.

"Shhhh, the chick...!" The harpy quickly reprimended, even tho he was also laughing, much quieter.

"Not a chick, are they, Garrick?" A low, low voice sounded it out, and due to process of elimination, it could only be the wraith. Simon, if you remeber correctly. He looked so serious when you first saw him, but his tone now sounded just amused.

"Oh, please, you get what i mean..." The harpy scoffs, sounding amused as well. "What do you call a human chick?"

"Not a chick, that's for sure." Johnny laughs.

"Isn't it just like, 'baby'?" John suggests, apperantly shrugging a bit.

"I'll call 'er pup!" The werewolf immediatly ignores John's words, only for them all to start laughing.

"Such a little fledgling..." Simon sighs after they all quiet down a little. "I'm not sure how to take care of a human..."

"Ey, big guy, we'll learn!" Johnny smiles easily, giving one of his mates a heavy pat on the back. "I mean... wee lass looks frail as hell, but... we had babies before. Be a bit more confident!"

"No, I get Simon. I'm worried we might overlook their needs accidentaly." The dragon sighs. "I think I got it, but it still worries me."

You fidget a little on the wall you were leaning against. You wish you could sooth their worries. You didn't really need anything special, humans were adaptive. Very adaptive. You'll fit in, one way or another.

"You heard the social worker." Simon grunts, the sound alerting you for a second. "Call if we need anything."

You can hear the loud scoff John lets out at that, and for a second, the smell of smoke reached your nose.

"I don't need help to take care of my hoard."

The growl made your body instinctively lock up, quiet breathing catching on your throat as your eyes widen for a second. It's only when Johnny and Kyle laugh that you manage to calm down a little.

"Daddy Price is not one to take advice from others, huh?" Kyle laughs quietly, smooth and gentle voice that only makes the provocation sounds worse.

"Bastard never was." Johnny laughs back, shaking his head in amusement.

"That's it, shut it, the both of you." John growls once again, quieter this time, not really mad, just annoyed at best. "Besides, apperantly, i do know better. That woman brought the hatchling here in this cold wearing only a fucking light jacket."

"Dinner is ready." Simon's heavy voice announces, interrupting the banter. "Who's gonna call the fledgling?"

"Me!"

"I can go."

Both Johnny and Kyle glared at eachother as they spoke at the same time, which only made Simon grunt.

"Kyle can go. Fucking mutt being all loud like this is gonna scare off the fledgling."

Another growl sounded out, this one, different from John's. This one was Johnny's, and made you terrifed all the same as you made your way to the living room on the other side of the stairs, your pace just a little bit desperate thanks to the growl and the fight.

Thanks to your human nature, you couldn't really tell it was more of a playful growl than an annoyed growl. (They were also not figthing, that's just the way they spoke with eachother, but you just got here, don't expect to know that yet).

Your eyes fell into the cozy living room. It looked... mostly like normal living rooms, but you could still see some kind of... nest thing to the side, close to the fireplace, with confortable pillows and blankets. The couches also had a lot of them. You didn't know they liked confort that much, but you suppose it's not... a bad thing.

"They're not-!"

You startle immediatly at the half-shout, turning around to make eye contact with a slightly desperate Kyle, giant wings opened in despair as his feathers perked up. As you both stare at eachother in alarm, his wings started to close behind him again, feathers still looking just a bit frazzled.

"Oh, hatchling, don't scare me like that..." He crooned softly, crooned, eyes going all gentle as he approached.

The croon caught you a bit off guard as you kept your guard up, eyes wide still looking at his direction. You didn't hear these weird noises often, even if you had basically only hybrid classmates at school. The croon sounded weird, but also... soft. Conforting, you could say.

"I though you had left." He murmur quietly, kneeling in front of you to try and get closer to your height. It didn't work very well, as he was still bigger even tho he was kneeling. If anything, it only made you more scared. "You're a quiet little thing, huh? Don't be scared, baby, i'm safe..." He crooned again, all soft and gooey.

Like he wasn't being all snarky and ironic with his mates just seconds ago.

Freaking... wolf in sheep clothing........... and he's not even the werewolf.

You finally managed to calm down a bit, as you breathed in quietly and nodded at him, curling just a little bit into your own body. You could see his wings shuffling at his sides, hands opening for a second before they were forced into fists quickly (before they could reach for you).

"We have dinner ready, sweetie. You'll like Si's food, he's a very good cook. Well, we all are." He smiles a bit, like he was boosting himself as a little joke. "It's cold, so we made stew. It's chicken noddle stew, do you like it, baby?"

The... baby voice, the very subtle baby voice was certainly... embarrassing. Tho, you still nodded quietly at his gentle and quiet tone, making him smile a bit bigger.

"Let's go eat then, uh?"

He murmured gently, giant hand with talons closing around your much smaller hand, so small it was completely enveloped by his warmth. You didn't really want to hold his hand, but he didn't give you much option, as he got up, still slightly bend down, and gently tugged you with him to the kitchen.

You followed.

Part 2 / Part 4

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Warnings: None

You glanced at the clock again, sighing like it had personally offended you. Your fingers tugged at the edge of your sleeve, mostly for dramatic flair at this point. The hands hadn’t moved much since the last time you looked—which was approximately forty-seven seconds ago, but who’s counting?

Not that you were nervous. No, no. Nervous is for people who don’t have an emergency backup plan involving a pigeon wearing a tiny tie and a PowerPoint presentation about apples.

You were just… mildly concerned.

Okay, maybe “low-key spiraling” was a more accurate term.

He said he’d come. Offered, even. You hadn’t begged, bribed, or emotionally blackmailed him (which you were fully capable of, for the record). He’d volunteered. That was important. Crucial, even.

It had all started with your now-iconic meltdown earlier in the week—Career Day Eve, if you will—when the zookeeper cancelled via email and emoji. An elephant emoji, to be exact and you, of course, had reacted in a calm, measured way.

By ranting to your handsome neighbour while pacing your living room in mismatched socks and clutching a mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.

“I told them they were gonna see someone who works with LIONS, Carmy. Actual, roar-in-your-face, majestic-ass lions.” You groaned, flopping onto the couch like your spirit had physically left your body. “Ugh, I knew it. You can never trust someone with an exotic job and a man bun. That’s, like, a statistically proven red flag.”

From his seat at the far end of the couch, Carmy raised an eyebrow, expression maddeningly calm as he absently played with one of your throw pillows—the one you embroidered with little sunflowers during your short-lived cottage-core phase. He didn’t say anything. He just let you spiral.

You shot up, posture suddenly straight, eyes wild with new inspiration. “It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’ll just… bring in Gus. Yeah. Kids love Gus. Boom. Problem solved.”

Carmy blinked. “You’re not seriously—”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you interrupted one hand over your heart. “I’ll dress him up. Tiny tie, maybe a little badge. ‘Hello, my name is Gus. I’m a bird with a superiority complex and a cracker addiction.’ They’ll eat it up.”

That was when he said it, without looking up, like he was offering to pass the salt instead of volunteering for chaos. “I could come.”

You paused mid-rant, mouth half-open. “Come where? The pity party? Too late, I already RSVP’d with tears and dramatic flopping.”

“Career Day,” he said, glancing over at you finally. “I could do it. Talk to the kids. If you want.”

You blinked. Then blinked again, slower this time, like your brain needed an extra second to process the words.

“Carmy. Be serious. You run a whole kitchen. You work, like, twenty hours a day and sleep in four-minute intervals. I’m not about to let you donate one of your free mornings to a classroom of sugar-high fourth graders who will, at some point, absolutely ask if you ever had a rat under your hat."

He shrugged, unfazed. “I don’t mind.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut in before you could unleash another dramatic protest.

“If it helps you,” he said, his tone easy but sincere, “I can handle being asked about Ratatouille.”

You gawked at him. “You're serious?”

He nodded, resting his arm along the back of the couch like this was a totally normal Tuesday. “Sure.”

“Carmy,” you said slowly, voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and exasperated fondness. “You do understand this is unpaid, right? Like, full-on volunteer mode. Zero dollars. No tips. Just you, a room of small humans, and probably a glitter explosion.”

He looked at you, completely unbothered. “Still don’t mind.”

You knew Carmy well enough by now to understand there were layers—deep, complicated, messy layers—hiding beneath that simple, “I could come.” Because yeah, sure, Carmy loved to cook, but he didn’t glamorize it. Not even a little. The passion was real, but so was the damage. Even though he hadn’t laid it all out for you—hadn’t sat you down and unpacked every scar—you could see it. You felt it.

You’d seen it.

In the way, his shoulders tensed at the mention of certain names, in the haunted, faraway look he got when he talked about past kitchens, the way his eyes darkened when work crept too far into the personal, the way silence filled in for stories he couldn’t bring himself to tell. The job had nearly eaten him alive more than once. You could tell. It had taken from him—family, sleep, health, peace. Years of his life he was still fighting to claw back, one broken, beautiful piece at a time.

So the idea of standing in front of a room full of wide-eyed, hopeful fourth graders and telling them, “Follow your passion!” like that passion hadn’t nearly swallowed him whole?

Yeah. That wasn’t a small ask.

And yet—he’d offered. Unprompted. Just a soft, casual, “I could come.”

For you.

And god, wasn’t that the part that ruined you a little?

Still, you'd waited a full twenty-four hours before giving him the green light. For his sake. For yours. For that part of you—the newer, softer, protective part—that had started to believe in shielding him from things, even when he didn’t ask to be shielded.

Because Carmy Berzatto may have survived a thousand kitchens, but that didn’t mean he needed to walk into this one unless he truly, truly wanted to.

And the crazy thing was? He did.

Now here you were, pacing between tiny desks like a caffeinated motivational speaker who didn’t have a Plan B involving a pigeon. You were totally calm. Totally fine. Totally not spiralling internally while your brain whispered charming thoughts like, 'he’s not coming', and 'Congrats, you’re about to host a cooking segment with no chef, no plan, and possibly a breakdown'.

“Miss!” one of your students called out, yanking you out of your mental spiral like a life preserver made of glitter glue. “When’s the chef getting here?”

You spun on your heel, smile locked in place like the unbothered queen you absolutely were not.

“Soon!” you beamed, while glancing at the cameras. “He’s probably just fighting with a soufflé or locked in a passionate debate with a garlic clove. You know—chef stuff.”

They laughed. You did too, though yours was the manic sort that said everything’s on fire, but at least we’re warm.

You had told them a real chef was coming. A famous one, even. But you’d kept that part tucked away. Just in case. You didn’t want them disappointed if he didn’t show.

You didn’t want to be disappointed if he didn’t show.

Because while you were currently dazzling these kids with your best “unbothered teacher queen” routine, inside? Yeah, your soul had filed an early resignation.

You glanced at the clock again.

Cool cool cool.

It was fine. Everything was fine. You were totally not about to fake a PowerPoint on “Why apples are the real MVP of fruits” while sobbing internally.

You gave your class a cheerful clap of your hands, channeling the kind of positivity that could sell overpriced candles on Etsy. “Alright! While we wait, why don’t we write down what questions we might want to ask our guest, hmm? Think big. Think bold. Think ‘What’s your favorite sauce?’ but, like, deeper.”

"Writting?" A collective groan rose from the class, dramatic and loud, as if you’d just asked them to handwrite the Constitution.

You raised your eyebrows, completely unfazed. “Yes, writing. The horror. Grab your pencils, Hemingways.”

And just as a few reluctant pens started to scratch against paper, the door swung open—abrupt, theatrical.

You were just about to exhale a tiny breath of relief when the classroom door swung open—and not in the chef arrives like a movie moment with the wind blowing his coat kind of way.

Nope.

It was Ava.

Your best friend. Your favorite menace. And the one person on Earth with zero chill.

Ava stepped in like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did, at least spiritually with phone in hand, eyes scanning the room like she was about to announce lottery numbers.

You blinked at her. “Principal Coleman?”

She ignored you completely and addressed your students with dramatic flair. “Excuse me, tiny scholars. I have a very important update.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ava.”

She turned to you, positively glowing with mischief. “Your hansome chef is here.”

You blinked. “My—what?”

“Girl,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “The one you told me about. With the tattoed arms and the trauma. He’s here. And I gotta say, you undersold it.”

The class erupted into giggles. You blinked harder.

You blinked, stunned, brain buffering like a broken Wi-Fi signal. “Ava, this is a classroom. A learning environment.”

“I learned something,” she said with a wink. “I learned you have a taste for emotionally complex kitchen men with cheekbones so sharp they could dice an onion.”

“Can you just send him in, please?” you asked, voice sweet but strained, like you were one Ava comment away from evaporating into glitter.

Ava raised her brows like okay, ma’am, then dramatically pivoted on one heel, mumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t say I never brought you anything good.”

The door closed behind her with a dramatic little click, and you turned back to your students, who were all openly staring at you like you were the lead in a very juicy reality show.

“Miss,” one of them stage-whispered, eyes wide with scandal, “are you dating the chef?”

You blinked. “Excuse me—what? No. Absolutely not. We are just… two humans who happen to know each other and occasionally share oxygen in the same room.”

And with a dramatic little head shake and the world's weakest scoff, you muttered, “Kids and their imaginations.”

A second student raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “But Miss… your face is doing the same thing it did when that one dad brought you cupcakes for Valentine’s Day.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Blinked. Then pointed at the worksheet pile like it held the answers to life itself.

“Okay—first of all, pencils up, Cupid Patrol. Second, that wasn’t a dad, it was the very kind district representative who happened to believe in seasonal baked goods and workplace appreciation.”

The kids oooh’d like you’d just admitted to a full-blown scandal.

“And for the record,” you muttered, loud enough for the mic to catch, "Nothing happened. It was one cupcake. Vanilla. Calm down.”

The camera lingered.

You blinked. “Cut somewhere else.”

You were still glaring at the camera crew when the door creaked open again—this time quieter, less dramatic, almost hesitant.

You turned, mid-eye-roll, fully expecting Ava to have come back for one final round of public humiliation.

But it wasn’t Ava.

It was him.

Carmy stepped into the room, somehow looking both like a Michelin-starred chef and a man who was deeply unsure if he’d accidentally walked into a daycare. His white tee was freshly pressed, chef’s coat folded neatly over his arm, hair was slightly messy like he’d fought with it in the car, lost, and decided to just let fate take the wheel, carrying a large bag.

He stood there for a second, blinking at the sea of tiny faces—and you.

“Uh… hi,” Carmy said, voice low and hesitant.

Your brain, which had been barely clinging to function, promptly short-circuited.

“Hi,” you echoed, way too breathy for someone in charge of young minds, smiling like a fourth grader yourself.

“Miss! Is that him?” one student asked, already halfway out of their chair like they were witnessing a celebrity walk-in.

You blinked back into Teacher Modetm with the grace of someone internally screaming. “Yes. Yes, that’s him. Everyone—uh—remain seated.”

You gestured toward Carmy. “This is Chef Carmy, our very special guest for Career Day!”

The kids leaned forward like a chorus of curious meerkats, eyes wide, pencils ready.

“Can we all say, ‘Hi, Chef Carmy’?” you asked.

“Hiiii, Chef Carmyyyyy!” the room chorused in chaos, overlapping voices.

Carmy raised a hand in a small wave, his lips pulling into a sheepish smile. “Hey. Uh… thanks for having me.”

Then—of course—he glanced over at the camera crew like he just now realized they existed, eyes slightly wide before blinking quickly back to you. He stepped closer, leaning in just a bit, voice soft—just for you.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured. “Traffic was… hell.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “You’re fine. You made it. That’s what matters.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, still looking at you like you’d somehow made this less terrifying just by standing there.

And then, because this day was determined to destroy you emotionally, one of your students blurted out, “Miss, your face is doing the thing again!”

You didn’t even flinch as you turned to the children. “Okay! We are officially in session. Chef Carmy is here, so I hope you have your questions ready—and no, none of them can be about Ratatouille, or I will confiscate your recess.”

A hand shot up immediately. “Is it true chefs yell a lot?”

Carmy blinked, caught between answering and short-circuiting.

You sighed dramatically, shooting him a look. “And here we go.”

To his credit, Carmy recovered quickly. “Uh… yeah,” he said honestly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sometimes. But mostly just when things are on fire or… slicing off a thumb.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

“Wait, did you really cut your thumb off?” one kid asked, absolutely horrified and delighted.

Carmy hesitated. “No, but… close enough.”

“Cool,” the kid breathed.

You gave Carmy a look like sir, but he just gave you a little shrug back that said I’m trying here.

Still, you beamed. Progress. He was finding his rhythm.

And then, the spaghetti.

You’d cleared a small table for him earlier, just in case he brought something. But you had not expected him to go full cooking show.

With sleeves rolled, Carmy walked the kids through how to make fresh spaghetti from scratch.

“Alright, so—flour,” he said, pouring it out onto the surface. “Then you make a little well, like this.”

“Ooooh,” the kids chorused, some of them leaning forward like they were witnessing magic.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying very hard to look composed and not like you were watching a rom-com scene play out in real time. Because Carmy? Flour dust on his hands, explaining things so gently, so patiently, even when the questions made zero sense? It was unfairly attractive.

“So the eggs go in the middle, and you start mixing with a fork—”

“What if you used a spoon?”

“Would it still work if it was peanut butter instead of eggs?”

“Could you make the dough into, like… animal shapes?”

“Do you have beef with Gordon Ramsay?”

Carmy was trying his best. “Okay, uh—no spoons, no peanut butter, yes to animal shapes, and… no comment on Gordon Ramsay.”

He cracked eggs into flour, mixed dough by hand, and passed around little pinches so the kids could feel it for themselves. He used terms like “emulsify” and “al dente,” then immediately explained them in fourth-grade-speak. He asked for volunteers to help him roll the dough out with a tiny pin you’d borrowed from the kithcen. He let one kid sprinkle flour on the surface with a flair that could only be described as “chef-in-training chaos.” Another student tried to twirl the noodles like he was doing a magic trick.

He was awkward, yes—but also patient, funny in that deadpan way that made the kids hang onto every word.

Somewhere around the rolling-out portion of the lesson, the door creaked open again—and in walked the kitchen staff from the cafeteria. Hairnets. Aprons. Pens and little spiral notebooks in hand.

“We heard there was a Michelin star in the building,” Shanae announced from the doorway, arms crossed over her cafeteria apron, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding. “We just wanted to, you know… take a peek.”

“If you need to boil it, Chef Carmy, you can use my pot,” Devin offered, already scribbling something in a little notepad like he was about to text his group chat immediately.

"Thank you, Chef," Carmy nodded at him with a polite smile, a little bashful now, and returned to cutting his dough.

As if that wasn’t enough, Mr. Johnson sauntered in not five minutes later, leaned against the back wall like he was in a speakeasy, and said, “You know, back in ‘92 I made lasagna so good the mayor cried. Just sayin’.”

He then turned and disappeared down the hall like a wizard of chaos, muttering something about gluten conspiracies.

You didn’t even blink. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”

Then, Melissa strolls in, coffee in hand and eyebrows already at maximum scepticism.

She paused in the doorway, scanning the flour-dusted counter, the students gathered around like Carmy was performing miracles, and Carmy himself—elbows deep in pasta dough.

She sipped her coffee as she stared at the pasta. “Wait, so… what’s your last name?”

Carmy glanced up, blinking like he’d been pulled out of a trance. He looked at Melissa, then at you, like he was checking to see if this was a trick question. “Uh… Berzatto.”

Melissa squinted. A beat passed.

“Huh,” she said, in a tone that somehow contained five different layers of meaning: vague suspicion, mild approval, distant familiarity, one raised red flag, and a complete personality assessment. “Makes sense.”

And just like that, she turned and walked off, heels clicking, coffee still steaming, not another word spoken.

Carmy blinked after her, then looked at you, deadpan. “Was that a threat?”

You shrugged. “Honestly? It’s better not to ask.”

“Right,” Carmy mumbled, brushing a bit of flour from his fingers before continuing like he hadn’t just been hit with a drive-by personality analysis from a woman with mob energy and perfect eyeliner.

He rolled back into the lesson with ease, walking the kids through shaping the dough into spaghetti strands.

“You want it thin, but not too thin,” he was saying, hands moving with a kind of gentle confidence that made even flour seem like it was cooperating out of respect. “If you can see through it, you’ve gone too far. Unless you’re making ravioli. But that’s… a whole different story.”

Meanwhile, you?

You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

Every time he explained something—how the gluten develops, why olive oil matters, the difference between done and perfect—you leaned in without realizing. Just a little. Drawn in, like the words were for you and only you.

And the worst part?

Sometimes he looked at you while he talked. Just little glances. Barely-there flickers. But each one lit you up like someone had turned on all the fairy lights inside your chest.

Your heart fluttered. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your brain? Fully composing a sonnet titled To the Man Making Spaghetti in My Classroom.

You were so, so doomed and just when your face was halfway to full heart-eyes emoji status, you remembered—

The cameras.

You blinked, snapped your head toward them, and straightened up like you hadn’t just been silently daydreaming about holding Carmy’s tattooed hand while wandering through a farmer’s market in the fall or about his hands elsewhere...

One cameraman raised an eyebrow.

You cleared your throat. Smiled. Gave a stiff little nod like everything is normal and fine and I am a professional adult woman.

The rest passed too quickly for your liking.

One second, he was explaining how flour and eggs became pasta, and the next he was handing off the fresh noodles to Devin who looked so starstruck you half-expected him to ask for an autograph, but instead, he just took the dough reverently, muttering, “I got you, Chef,”

While Devin handled the boiling, Carmy fielded more questions, bouncing between wide-eyed children and genuinely curious adults.

One kid asked if he ever cried over burnt toast.

“Only once,” Carmy replied. “It was a really good piece of bread.”

Another asked if he’d ever cooked for a king.

“Not officially,” he said, glancing at you with a quick smirk that made your heart do a cartwheel. “But I’ve cooked for people who matter.”

The kitchen staff and at least one substitute from down the hall— all threw out questions about risotto techniques, braising, and how he gets his red sauce just right.

He pulled out a small pan he’d brought, explaining how to build a sauce from scratch—olive oil, garlic, a little tomato, basil. Simple, but the room smelled like heaven. The adults were wide-eyed. The kids were openly drooling. You might’ve been, too.

He offered tiny sample spoons as he stirred, like it was the most natural thing in the world to casually do a cooking demo in a public school classroom. And when Devin returned with the perfectly cooked pasta—because of course it was perfect—Carmy tossed it with the sauce and started plating like it was no big deal.

Little paper bowls. Plastic forks. A sprinkle of cheese. And just like that, he was handing out servings of handmade pasta to a group of nine-year-olds and the adults like they were at some five-star tasting event.

You got a plate, too and the second you took a bite, you nearly sat down.

It was so good—like warm, rich, made-with-love kind of good. Like maybe he put his entire soul into the sauce and also possibly his feelings for you kind of good. You blinked up at him, genuinely speechless for the first time all day.

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

You nodded, slow. “I hate you a little bit.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that.”

And yeah, you were so, so gone.

The kids were still buzzing as they lined up to leave, chattering about pasta like it was the greatest invention since slime. A few waved wildly at Carmy on their way out, and others whispered to each other like they’d just met a celebrity—which, honestly, they kind of had to and Carmy gave them a small, slightly awkward wave back.

“Miss,” one whispered as they passed you, eyes wide with hope, “can Chef Carmy come back next week?”

You smiled, warm and fond. “We’ll see.”

When the last of them filed out and the door finally clicked shut, the room fell into a warm, quiet hum—sunlight filtering through the windows, flour still dusted on the counter, the lingering scent of garlic and tomato hanging in the air like some kind of cozy spell.

You turned, and there he was.

Carmy stood at the table he’d used, wiping it down with a damp towel, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, curls a little wild after an hour of navigating the adorable storm that was your classroom. He looked… calm. Settled.

“Hey,” you said, a little sing-songy as you stopped beside him. “Chef of the Year. You did it.”

He glanced up, met your eyes with a crooked smile. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” you said, lowering your voice just a bit. “Like, really—you didn’t just show up, you… you were brilliant, Carmy.”

He let out a breath that was half-laugh, half something more complicated. “I was wingin’ it the whole time.”

“Well,” you said with a smile, “you wing things very charmingly.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than strictly necessary. “You made it easier.”

The words landed between you like something delicate and important. You swallowed, heart doing that tight, fluttery thing again—the one that always showed up whenever he looked at you like that.

You tried to recover, tossing the moment a wink and a grin just to keep yourself grounded. “So does that mean you’re open to a regular Thursday guest chef gig?”

He smirked, low and lopsided. Shook his head like he couldn’t believe you—but not in a bad way. “I don’t know if I’m built for the fourth grade attention span.”

“They were obsessed with you,” you said matter-of-factly, crossing your arms and stepping just a little closer.

“They were obsessed with the pasta.”

You tilted your head, eyes twinkling. “It wouldn’t be hard for it to be both.”

That made him pause. Just long enough for the tension to hum again, low and warm.

That made him pause. Just long enough for the tension to hum again, low and warm.

He looked at you like he was trying to read between your words. Like he wasn’t quite sure if you meant it the way it sounded—but hoping you did.

A beat passed. You held his gaze, smile softening just slightly. Just enough.

And then he looked down—at your shoes, the floor, literally anything else that wasn’t your face—and cleared his throat. “I should… probably get going.”

“Right. Yeah.” You brushed past him to grab a tray, your shoulder just barely bumping his as you passed. “See you around, Carmy Next Door.”

If he froze for half a second—well, that was between him and the classroom air that had suddenly grown suspiciously warmer.

You kept your back to him, pretending to busy yourself with stacking paper plates while absolutely listening for every move behind you.

A minute later, he was at the door, bag slung over one shoulder, hand on the knob.

“Yeah, see you around,” he said, almost too casually.

You turned toward him, giving him a smile that was part “Thank you, again.”

He nodded but didn’t move. Just stood there and after a pause he cleared his throat, glanced down, then back up at you—like he was in the middle of a conversation with himself and currently losing.

“Hey—” he started, then stopped, his jaw clenching just slightly. “Would it be weird if I…”

You raised your brows, trying not to let the hope leak into your smile. “If you what?”

He shifted his weight, ran a hand through his curls. “If I asked you to dinner.”

You tilted your head, giving him your best faux-casual sass. “Like a date?”

“Yeah. Like a date.” He gave the tiniest nod, just enough

You didn’t even hesitate. “Took you long enough.”

His mouth curved into the softest smile you’d seen from him all day—like it caught him off guard like it made something inside him loosen.

“So that’s a yes?” he asked, voice quiet.

“It’s a yes,” you said, and damn, you didn’t even try to hide your smile this time.

He opened the door, then turned back one last time. “I’ll text you.”

“You better,” you said. “You owe me pasta without a classroom audience.”

He laughed under his breath, then stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

You stood there for a moment, alone in the quiet hum of the classroom, heart fluttering like you were seventeen and just got asked to prom. Which, honestly… wasn’t that far off.

You let out a breath, tried to pull yourself together, and failed—because your face still hurt from smiling and your brain was very much replaying every single second in high-definition slow motion.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it, the cameras.

Still rolling.

“Told you it was a matter of time,” you said, voice smug and giddy. Then you added, dead serious: “Also—if you zoomed in on me blushing again, we’re fighting.”

Cut to black.

A/N: Helloooooo. How is everyone!?? Okay first I want to apolagize that it took me so long to publish this part, lots going on rn, second, I thank you all for the support, for those likes, commentsss and shares ❤️ Like its crazyyyy.

Be safe out there 🫶 Tell me if you would like to get tagged.

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe @akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1 @darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate spideybv28 veryberryjelly @daisy-the-quake leilanixx softpia cosmix-stxrs the-disaster-in-waiting memoriesat30 emerald-jade1 sabrina-carpenter-stan-account ateliefloresdaprimavera theflowerswillbloom blairfox04 nicksolemnlyswears stardream14 notme22sblog mattm1964 maddeningmentalmess isla-finke-blog literature-nerd-blossom starberryhorse hipsternerd9 landpiranha-blog miarabanana everywherenothere just-soft-things1 blue-4-raven rockyeatrock this--is--music lettucel0ver chayceschultz silas-aeiou alexxavicry

[merlucide]

BLLK BOYS “ICKS”

notes: no way… is merlucide actually doing smth other than shitposts and reblogging?! Tryna get back into the swing ig 🥲🙏

characters: Rin, Reo, Bachira, Oliver, Sendou, Kaiser, Otoya

warnings: none? // pls don’t take this seriously okay 💀

PT1 PT2

ITOSHI RIN

HE LITERALLY IS “I’m not like other girls” 

In the summer he exclusively wears Flipflops

he scoffs at minor inconveniences

MIKAGE REO

If someone mispronounces his name he quickly corrects them “Its actually-“

He swirls his drink around like its wine (it’s a school milk carton)

BACHIRA MEGURU

so oblivious to how he eats- like food all over his face. 

doesn’t wear socks with his slides

forgets to put on deodorant

AIKU OLIVER

he literally is “Ah noo don’t kill  yourself you’re too sexy aha”

Licks/bites his lips sm.

he’s kinda like those TikTok pick me boys

If a woman gets mad at him he’ll go “Jeez didn’t know you were on your period”

SENDOU SHUTO

puts chapstick on in a circle 😭 

If there’s ever a dance circle he’s on the outside trying to get in but missing his chance every time

eats ice cream with a fork

KAISER MICHEAL

when he bumps into walls he hits them ‘back’ (me too, me too)

sleeps with socks on

coughs into his fist

has one playlist

OTOYA EITA

When only wears baseball hats backwards. You don’t look cool Otoya. 

Calls women females (same for Oliver)

Sleeps with only one pillow

Owns at least two “I love MILF’s” shirts

Refers to himself as “The Rizzler” 

Says “fire” and “cap”

He Justin Bieber poses.

Doesn’t know how to properly eat spaghetti (TWIST THE FRICKING FORK?!)

Reeks of Axe body spray

Identifies as a Top G.

Does 3 in 1 body shampoo/conditioner/body wash

Says “Yeet”

Chugs his water and releases the most overdramatic “AH”

Whenever a girl rejects him he says stuff like “You should be glad Im even considering dating you” or “You’re ugly anyway” 

Has a “Saturday is for the boys” flag in his room

Thinks women are hairless

Says “Gyatt” 

Doesn’t tip

He is those boys in school that swear they aren’t gay

IM GONNA TRY TO BE MOTIVATED NOW..!

made May 17th 2024

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

The Lap Mishap 🎄 (Toji x F!Reader x Gojo 18+ One Shot)

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

Pairing: Mall Santa!Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader x Mall Elf!Gojo Satoru

Synopsis: In which an innocent situation turns into something a lot more complicated (and sloppier) when you accidentally give the two coworkers that you despise raging boners while working as a mall elf for the holiday season. Fortunately for you, they have a way you can make it up to them and save all of their jobs.

Tags: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS GTFO), Younger Woman/Older Men, College Student!Reader x DILF!Toji (Late 30s-Early 40s) x College Student!Gojo (Early 20s), Accidental Boner, Groping, Lap-Sitting, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Dubcon/R*pe, Threesome, Deepthroat, Spit Play, Oral (Giving & Receiving), Facefuck, Objectification, Slutification, Degradation/Praise, Mild Daddy Kink, Bathroom Sex, Cum Play, Throatpies, No PIV

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I finished this nasty ass one shot just NOW after my new job because I couldn’t wait till this weekend to do it. I haven’t written something this lewd in a hot min tee hee 🤭 I hope y’all enjoy!! -Jazz 🥰🥰

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

“Well, don’t you look adorable.”

You glower at the smug and unfortunately attractive older man sitting at the table in the employee’s lounge with a mug of coffee decorated with running Christmas reindeer. “Don’t, Toji,” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your ample bosom. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

Toji, the sexy, smug older man in question, sniggers into his coffee. “Well, shit, sourpuss,” he replies in his deep, bare toned voice that sends unwanted shivers down our spine. “I was just givin’ you a compliment. C’mon, you know you look cute!”

‘Cute’ isn’t at all what you’d call your elf outfit for your unwanted shift at your crummy seasonal job at the mall.

You would first call it ‘stupid’ because of the pointed green hat and boots you’re forced to wear with the jingling bells attached so you always make noise when you walk.

The second thing you’d call it is ‘slutty’. The red vest hugs your ample tits which you’ve been blessed and cursed with by the lineage of women in your family, the push-up bra making your girls way more noticeable.

The green skater skirt is way too short and you have to be very careful bending anywhere in fear of flashing someone your panties.

And you won’t even mention the red and white striped thigh-high socks and gloves. You feel like a stripper about to make her grand debut at the North Pole dancing in Santa’s workshop!

There is no way the costume designers didn’t know what the fuck they were doing here. You had to rush down the hallway after changing in the locker room to avoid being seen by your fellow overworked and underpaid seasonal employees and mall workers.

You had originally decided to work retail this season to save up on money for Christmas gifts and next year’s tuition. You’re a college student, so your stress levels are at about 100 with winter finals, buying gifts, and still keeping enough sanity to celebrate the holidays on winter break.

You’ve been working retail shifts at Bath & Body Works since September to get a head start on saving plus doing office work for your manager and taking some shifts as a greeter at City Winery aka the only decent restaurant at your local mall.

You thought your time here couldn’t get any worse than customers complaining about discontinued body washes and screaming kids, but you were wrong. When your manager picked you to be the mall elf for the mall Santa shifts this month, you thought you died and descended into Hell.

The only saving graces are that it is only for one month, you get extra pay, and you only have to work four hours throughout the day in this stupid costume. You thought you would have time to relax until the first shift in the privacy of the employee’s lounge, but clearly not.

Of course, you’re forced to share the space with a coworker you can’t stand. “What are you even doing in here?” you ask, scowling at Toji. “Don’t the security guards have their own lounge?”

“Eh,” Toji says, shrugging. “Too many people smoke in there. Plus, you guys got the best mugs.” He raises his mug at you and raises his brows once, smirking at you with that sinful, scarred mouth. “Plus, I need to relax before my shift.”

You sigh, carefully walking into the lounge and taking your Starbucks Frappuccino out of the fridge despite Toji’s presence making you feel nervous enough to fog up your glasses.

Toji Fushiguro is the hot DILF security guard that works full time at the mall to support his son as a single dad. You’ve been working the same shifts as him since September, always earning unwanted attention from him when he opens the doors for you when you arrive and leave your mall shifts.

It is no secret that you strongly dislike the man. He is cocky, pompous, arrogant, and always smells faintly of cigarettes. He is also extremely sexy, standing at six-foot something with defined muscles and arms that could wrestle a bear. You can see why he was hired as a security guard.

He is also a huge slut according to the stories you’ve heard. The man has HUGE community dick (and a huge dick, apparently). He knows he is attractive and knows how to get what he wants from women. But not you, even though he has tried. You wave off his compliments, uninterested in spending any kind of time with him. He is a whore and nothing more.

But Toji isn’t the only coworker at this mall that you detest. “Hey, Fushiiii,” the familiar, silky voice of your fellow college student mockingly sings from the door. Toji begins to laugh, nearly coughing into his coffee. “Damn, Gojo, you look ridiculous!” he guffaws.

You turn from the fridge and you wish you didn’t. Of course, Gojo Satoru is dressed in his own elf costume.

The tall, beefy, six foot-something college athlete and smarty-pants looks less ridiculous than you do despite the silliness of the outfit. His white locks peek out from under his pointed hat and his red socks are stretched tight over his strong calves.

You hide your laughter, refusing to even crack a smile around the guy. Unfortunately, you’re familiar with Satoru. He isn’t quite a friend or really an enemy either…not even an acquaintance. He is more of a colleague who goes to the same school as you and you’ve had many courses with despite you being a junior and him being a senior.

He is also incredibly intelligent, the star basketball player on your uni’s team, just as cocky as Toji, and incredibly good-looking. You’ve had many thoughts of his plump, pink lips and Colgate smile when you should be studying.

Satoru is more than convinced that you two are friends who sometimes flirt. When he sees you, his blue eyes are all aglow. “Ooooh, don’t you look so cute!” he coos.

“Oh, please, don’t start,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “I already had to hear that from him.” You nod at the security guard sitting spread eagle at the table. “But it’s true, ain’t it?” Toji sniggers. “You’re gonna get a whole lot of attraction with this little get-up.”

He reaches out and flicks one of the tiny bells attached to your belt. “Cut it out!” you hiss, slapping his hand away. Your skin grow hot with frustration and embarrassment.

“Oooh, she’s feisty,” Satoru chuckles. “Hang on, I need to get a picture. This is just too good.” He slides his phone out of his pocket, but you duck behind a nearby chair.

“Don’t,” you growl. “Take a picture of yourself. I’m sure your boys on your team would love to see your new get-up.”

Satoru laughs, coming into the kitchen, ducking under the door to avoid hitting his head because he’s so goddamn tall. “I already did and I still look good,” he replies. “How much you wanna bet I’ll snag a single MILF with this fit?”

He gives you a wink while Toji laughs, eyes still on you. Anyone else would feel rather intimidated being in a room with two broad, tall, hot dudes, but it is as if you have no inkling that these two are even remotely attracted to you.

A little self-deprecating of you, but you’re an extreme nerd. Not only are you rocking glasses that make your eyes explode to the capacity of the frames, you always have your nose stuck in a book or a study guide. You don’t get involved in dating on campus or who is fucking who.

While it would be nice to find someone nice to call a boyfriend, you know that men are too involved with less-nerdy girls to even try to talk to you, and you prefer it that way…at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“You wish,” you scoff at Satoru as he passes you to grab a bottle of water. As he does, his hip bumps yourself, making you feel as if you’ve just been burned.

“She’s gotchu there, Gojo,” Toji chuckles. “Not when my sexy ass is gonna be wearin’ this Santa outfit.”

“Wait, what?” You turn to stare at the security guard, mouth open in shock. “You’re playing the mall Santa this year?”

Toji nods and smirks at your reaction, moving his legs from under the table to reveal his leather boots and red pants with furry, white trim along the ankles and belt. His black tee is tight against his toned, impressive upper torso, outlining each ridge of his pecs and abs.

“That’s correct, my dear elf,” he teasingly answers, making Satoru snigger. “You’re about to be workin’ for me in the next few minutes and for the rest of the month.”

“And workin’ with me,” Satoru adds, his pink lips curled into a teasing smile that boils your blood. “Your favorite project partner and classmate.” He, too, plays with the bell on your belt, making you swat his hand away.

This couldn’t be any worse! The last thing you want is to spend the next month with these two assholes. You desperately want to hit your manager up and tell her to switch you with someone else, but you know that no one else is willing to be the mall elf this year.

So with a heavy heart, you finish your few minutes of privacy with your Frappuccino in the locker room before you’re forced to stand alongside Satoru the Mall Elf while Toji gets settled in his fake armchair among the gaudy Christmas setup for Santa Claus. Toji sits in the whole Santa getup, beard to cover his cleanly-shaven face and all. His legs are spread eagle and you have to avoid looking at him so you won’t be staring at his crotch.

Two more mall elves, high schoolers Yuji Itadori and Kugisaki Nobara, help round up the kids in line and chat with the parents (or argue with them, courtesy of Nobara) while Satoru announces to the kids how to conduct themselves around Toji Claus. “Aaaaalright, boys and girls!” he bellows, his voice echoing among the dozens of rosy-faced little munchkins. “Are y’all ready to meet Santa Claus?!”

“Yeeeeeah!” the kids cheer, overexcited and overjoyed to sit in a grown man’s lap, telling him what they want for Christmas, and get some photos snapped.

You smile a bit. You’ll admit that Satoru is good with kids being the yapper he is. “Now just as a reminder to you fine folks: no shoving, hitting, yelling or spitting. There is plenty of Santa to go around. When you finally come up here with me and this other fine elf here…”

He motions a hand to you and gives you a wink that you nearly miss. You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach flips. “…you sit in Santa’s lap and nicely tell him what you’d like for Christmas,” he finishes. “You guys got it?” While some nod in understanding, others look lost. “I think they need a demonstration, Satoru!” Itadori calls while Nobara snorts.

Satoru wickedly grins at Toji, but the mall Santa isn’t having that. “Nah,” he deadpans behind his fake beard. “You’re too tall to be a kid…but she’s not.” He points at you with one gloved hand, smirking. “You ready to be a model student, college girl?” he whispers.

“Fuck off,” you hiss under your breath. There is no way he can be serious about this! “Our dear elf Y/N, Santa’s favorite elf at the North Pole, is about to demonstrate for you guys what to do,” Satoru announces, struggling hard to fight his laughter.

Toji pats his lap, his smile almost obscene. “Come, little girl: sit on Da—, I mean Santa’s lap.”

You simmer hot with anger and frustration, not just for him but for Satoru who even thought to encourage this. But with the kids and parents all looking at you, you have no choice.

Swallowing your pride and not-so-nice words, you smooth your skirt over your ass and take a tentative seat in Toji’s warm, muscular lap. You sit rigidly, your hands stiffly in your lap and shoulders tense.

Toji places a hand on the arm of his chair, right next to your elbow. “Now what would you like for Christmas, hm?” he asks. “A Barbie? A puppy? Maybe a sense of humor?”

You turn to him, your jaw thigh. “I hate you,” you mouth.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you too well, little girl,” he replies, tapping his ear. “Santa’s hearin’ ain’t too good. Can you speak up for me?” His eyes glow with humor and mirth, finding enjoyment in your suffering.

You fix a smile onto your face and look straight at the happy-faced kids. “A Barbie please, Santa,” you chirp, your voice fake and cheery. Suddenly, a big, gloved hand snakes around your waist, holding you firmly onto his lap. You gape at him, alarmed. “W-What are you—“

“And what else, little girl?” he interrupts, his voice growing lower. More seductive. “Go on, tell ol’ Santa what else you’d like under your tree.” His grip tightens a bit, not enough to hurt you but just enough to be possessive of you. You stare at him, completely speechless.

“Oh, oh, I want a kitty cat!” a little girl yells from the line of kids. Her bold statement causes the other kids to begin screaming out what they want. The commotion distracts the adults enough for you to deal with Toji. “What the hell are you doing?!” you hiss. “Let go of me!”

You try to stand up, but Toji tightens his arm and snatches you back down, his fingers nearly digging into your thigh as your skirt rides up an inch. “Ah-ah, don’t move around too much, doll,” he whispers, his voice like smooth whiskey. “You’ll cause somethin’ that you didn’t intend to do…or maybe you did.”

As you see his eyes grow hooded, you feel your stomach fluttering with frantic butterflies…as well as something else. Something you feel growing underneath you. When you accidentally shift in Toji’s lap, he quietly groans behind his fake beard, muffling the noise, but you hear it.

You also feel the very obvious, hard, swelling, throbbing bulge growing underneath your ass. “Oh, my God,”you gasp, looking behind you. “Y-You’re…you’re ha—“

“Sorry,” he apologizes though he doesn’t sound the least bit sorry. “But can ya blame me? I’m a guy, after all.”

You gape at him, your face ablaze, unsure of what to do or how to feel. Should you feel flattered? Disgusted? Embarrassed? With the way his hand is still securely wrapped around you, you aren’t sure anymore. “Y-You can’t—“

“What?” Toji chuckles, his laughter soft yet seductive. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoyin’ this or like you haven’t been eye-fucking me since we met.” His gray eyes slide over to the tall, white-haired elf currently chatting up a married couple. “Not just me but the basketball star too.”

You are unable to talk despite your desire to protest. But he’d know you weren’t telling the truth.

Toji pulls his beard down to show off his plump, kissable lips and you have the sudden urge to kiss his scar. “Lucky for you, babes, I’ve got a thing for chicks with glasses.” He smiles up at you, the act somehow making him more handsome and more irritating.

His grip loosens and you finally shoot out of his lap as if your ass is on fire. Speaking of ass, the damn thing is nearly out because of how your skirt has ridden up past your red stockings.

“Alright, boys and girls!” Satoru yells. “Time for…” He turns around, just in time to get a flash of your red panties and how soft and suckable your thighs look in your stockings. ”Fuck,” he says under his breath, gaping at you and envisioning some very nasty things.

“Time for some photos!” Itadori calls. “Everybody line up, one at a time to meet Santa!”

Satoru is too distracted by your soft thighs and the flash of your red panties to pay any attention to his job. You notice his eyes and quickly pull your skirt down as low as it can go….which isn’t very low.

“I’m shocked you ain’t feelin’ a draft,” Toji whispers. “Careful, doll. You might flash the kiddos.” You glare, but not at him. You don’t look anywhere at him. “I could tell you the same thing, jackass,” you hiss. “Don’t look at me.”

But you can still feel his glaring, hot gaze on you, as well as Satoru’s. Nobara has to kick him in the ankle to snap him out of it. “Uh, Gojo?” she whispers. “Helloooo? The camera for the pictures?”

Blushing as red as Toji’s uniform, Satoru quickly fumbles with the camera as the first little boy comes up to Toji, smiling big and bright for the mall Santa. You stand off to the side, discreetly pulling at your skirt and wishing to melt into the floor.

After an hour of standing there pretending not to be aroused by the idea of Toji’s cock, you’re finally given a 30-minute break for lunch. You quickly make a beeline for the security guards’ break room located at the back of the mall, knowing that most of them are posted outside or on duty on different floors.

The breakroom is luckily empty, but you can barely eat most of your lunch except for a bag of chips and gulp down some water. You can’t even relax. Mostly because of the throbbing sensation between your legs.

You whimper, shifting your body in the chair closest to the private locker room and bathroom. You have felt like this for over an hour, doing your best to ignore the tingling between your thighs as you assisted each kid.

But now as you sit in the privacy and darkness of the break room, you can’t ignore the uncomfortable wetness of your panties anymore…or how depraved you are getting horny over Toji’s cock. You know you can’t go on like this, not when you need to work.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you mutter to yourself. But you leave your post anyway and quickly hide in the empty locker room where you proceed to shut the door and sit on the bench farthest away from it.

Quickly, you reach under your skirt and slip your panties down to your thighs. “Ah,” you gasp as the warm air hits your bare, sodden wet pussy. You are a mess. How could the idea of Toji getting a stupid boner arouse you so?

When you close your eyes, the images get worse. You see the sexy, smirking security guard peeling down his Santa pants to reveal his fat, throbbing, veiny cock just curved enough to help you imagine what it would stroke inside of you.

As you take two fingers and begin to slowly rub your needy clit, you see yourself wrapping your lips around the thick cock in front of you as your hand wraps around his shaft. You can almost taste him, feel his warm balls against your chin.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper, your voice quivering as your fingers grow slippery. Your slick trickles down your slit as you frantically play with yourself, hearing Toji’s low moans in your head as he sinks into your throat.

You can feel yourself growing closer, your pussy oozing more and more slick just as Toji begins to fuck your face as he grabs the back of your head, pulling your hair. Your breath comes out in short pants that sound louder in the empty locker room as the knot in your core grows tighter. “T-T-To—“

The door suddenly opens and there the mall Santa stands. He looks shocked to see you at first, but then his face turns into one of pure smugness. “Now what do we have here?” he mockingly asks. “A very naughty fuckin’ girl.”

You nearly scream, quickly closing your legs and covering yourself. “Fuck!” you gasp. “What the fuck are doing in here?!”

Toji leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his beefy chest. He has ditched the Santa jacket for his black tee, but kept the pants and boots. “Came in for a break since all the guards are on shift, but I see you decided to do the same thing.”

You flush hot with humiliation, your heart pummeling in your chest. “T-This isn’t what it looks like,” you weakly say. Toji cocks his head to the side. “Really? ‘Cause it looks and sounded like you were just rubbin’ that little pussy to the thought of me before your next shift.”

His lips curl into a knowing smile. “So the earlier situation got to you too. Lucky for you, babydoll, I’m still not over it either.”

His big hand grips his hard-on chubbing against his red pants, captivating you.

Then…zzzzzip. His fly comes down, his belt comes off, and suddenly, his cock is out and slapping against his toned stomach and happy trail. It is as thick, veiny, and curved as you envisioned in your fantasy. Your eyes grow wide at the sight like a deer caught in headlights. Suddenly, you can’t move.

“I’m still very much on the hard side,” he breathlessly states, his eyes hooded with lust. “And since this is your fault, I think you need to take responsibility for it.” He flashes his teeth at you in a grin, wrapping a hand around his hard cock. “Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

You watch him jerk his dick in front of you, your pussy clenching around air at the lewd sight. Suddenly, he stops and walks up to you, his boots thudding across the floor. He looms over you, a wolfish grin on his face, and you lean back as far as you can against the lockers like a trapped animal. “C’mon, you can be a good little helper for Santa and help me out, right?”

You don’t know whether to say yes or tell him to go fuck himself. You know you should go for the second option. After all, he’s being a pervert and using earlier as an excuse.

But somehow, all common knowledge, logic, and ethics go out the window when you suddenly find yourself dragged into a bathroom stall and kneeling on the tiled floor with Toji’s cock in your mouth. His big hand intertwines in your hair, his thick, calloused fingers gripping each strand to push and pull you onto his cock.

“You’re doin’ so good so far, babydoll,” he praises, his voice strained with pleasure. “Keep it up for me, ‘kay? You’ve got about twenty minutes left to make Santa cum.”

His groans and grunts are quiet yet delicious, heard by your ears only in the empty bathroom stall as your cheeks hollow around his cock. He is bigger and thicker than you anticipated, leaving your jaw aching trying to accommodate him as you suck him off. Saliva drips down from your mouth down your chin, threatening to stain your top.

As if thinking the same thing, Toji rips your top down, exposing your tits to him. “Fuck, look at how sexy you are,” he groans, watching the way your chest jiggles and sways as your throat expands and flexes around him. “Such a good little slut for me. Swore you didn’t want me, but now look at you.”

He forces your chin up to look at him, your watery eyes and crooked glasses staring up into his devious, salacious gaze. “Betcha you always wanted to do this,” he chuckles. “Betcha you played hard to get just to drive me fuckin’ crazy like the little cock whore you are.”

He wipes some spit away from your lips before he pushes himself in deeper, nearly making you choke. You pull yourself away far enough to cough and catch your breath. “T-Toji, wait,” you gasp. “You’re too deep!”

He ignores you, forcing your mouth open and plunging himself back between your plush, wet lips to sink into your sloppy, velvety throat. “But you can take me, baby,” he pants. “Oooh, I know you can. Sluts like you feen for nasty shit like this.”

He begins to fuck your face, emitting squelching sounds from his wet cock constantly plunging into your throat as you gag around him. “Yeah, that’s it,” he moans in delight. “That’s what I like to hear. You just keep bein’ a good girl for me, baby.”

Your throat continues to make the most obscene, wet, and lewd sounds, the squelching and gagging possibly drifting throughout the bathroom and locker room rafters. The more Toji rails your face and plunges his cock into your throat, the louder the sounds become. His grunts and moans also grow louder, bouncing off of the tiled walls.

You can tell he is close from the way he grabs the back of your head, forcing your face closer until his balls are flush against your chin. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum!” he groans, his muscular, naked thighs tense as he fucks your mouth like he is trying to hit a home run. “C’mon, doll, take Daddy’s fuckin’ load.” He pauses, chuckling. “I mean take Santa’s load. You want a white Christmas, don’tcha?”

You can’t even answer. You can’t warn him either when the door to the bathroom suddenly opens just as Toji’s loud, guttural groan of release escapes his mouth. As the bathroom stall flies open, a load of Toji’s warm spunk floods your throat, filling your mouth to capacity. There is so much that it spills out of the corners of your mouth and down your chin.

“Fuck!” he moans, soft high-pitched hums leaving his lips as he slides his cock out of your mouth and pumps the rest of his cum onto your glasses. Droplets of spunk fly onto the lenses, fogging them up.

You can’t be more horrified by anything else when you turn and find Satoru standing there in his elf costume. He looks shocked to see you kneeling there before Toji with cum all over your mouth, glasses, and some on your tits with your pussy openly gushing through your panties on the floor. But once the shock subsides, a Cheshire Cat-like smile appears on his lips. “Oops,” he chuckles. “Guess I’m in the wrong bathroom.”

Toji laughs, sounding like a straight-up villain. “Nah, you’re in the right place. You’ve still got time left if ya wanna use it on her.” Satoru shuts the bathroom stall and you realize just how big it exactly is. Big enough for three people. “Shit,” he scoffs, a shit-eating grin on his face. “What else am I here for?”

Both men look down upon you like you’re no more than a dessert plate for consumption. Despite the ridiculous costumes, the duo remind you of villains. “Sorry to shock you, cutie, but he ain’t the only one you’ve got rock.” Satoru palms his hard cock pushing against his green pants. “I’ve been thinkin’ about those lips and these panties for hours.”

He kneels and forces you into a face-down, ass-up position, making you squeak in surprise. You have to cushion your cheek with your hands to avoid the nasty floor. When one of Satoru’s fingers slides against your pantyline, you gasp. “Oh! And she’s wet!” He tuts at you, giving your ass a harsh spank and groaning at the recoil. “Naughty little elf. What would Santa say?”

He takes your panties by the waistband and tugs them tight against your wet pussy, making you whimper at the friction. Toji chuckles, giving your ass his own harsh spank. “Santa’s says this little whore needs to be punished,” he whispers and it’s almost threatening to your ears.

And punish you, they do…in their own wicked, lewd, torturous way. Suddenly, you find yourself sitting on the toilet seat with your legs while Toji kneels between your thighs, slurping and licking away at your cunt while his thick finger fucks your hole. Satoru stands to your left, rutting his hips into your mouth, his long dick plunging in and out of your throat.

“Fuck, your mouth is so wet, honey,” he moans, palming one of your tits. “Shit, Toji, how much did you cum in here?” His handsome face is flushed and his blue eyes are desperate as he does his best to quiet his whimpers and whines over your sloppy throat.

Toji chuckles, his tongue piercing tickling your clit as he flicks the tip of his tongue against it, sending shocks of sensitivity and tingles of pleasure throughout your body. “Enough to make her throat slick enough to fuck.” Your pussy clenches around his finger, your velvety, slick walls tightening around his digit.

The older man looks up at you, smirking into your desperate, needy eyes. “Oooh, I tasted that gush. You like the sound of another throatpie for that slutty mouth, babydoll?” He dives back into your pussy, his tongue sloshing and slashing about, probing an answer out of you. “Mmm-hmph-mmm!” you whine around Satoru’s cock, your screams muffled by his constant fucking.

Toji chortles into your pussy, pulling away to regard Satoru with your slick all over his lips. “That’s a yes,” he chuckles. Satoru blushes, overcome with lust as he watches his long cock disappear between your soft, juicy lips. “F-Fuck, I hope so,” he whines, cupping your cheek. “Goddamn, cutie, you’re fucking mouth is….”

His words die into desperate moans as he continues to ram your throat like he’s trying hard to fill it with his babies. Your nostrils are full of the scent of his body wash and cologne, somehow acting as aphrodisiacs for you. “You sound even sluttier than her,” Toji chuckles. “I think she likes it though. Look at this sexy little bitch.”

Under their hot gazes, you feel like the slut they see: titties out, pussy exposed, and getting used in a bathroom stall. Satoru takes his cock out to lightly tap your tongue. “You like gettin’ this mouth fucked at work, slutty girl?” he teases.

Before you can even think of a reply, Toji hooks his finger up in a way that makes your eyes roll back. “O-Oh, fuck!” you moan, louder than you should’ve. Satoru quickly plugs your mouth back up with his cock, plunging deeper and deeper, making you take every inch. “Mmm, that’s a pretty face, cutie. Keep lookin’ at me like that.”

His blue eyes kick on yours, reminding you of oceans in the far-away Caribbean Islands, while he slips his cock out of your mouth. He grips your chin and whispers a fierce “C’mere” before his lips are slamming against yours.

As you kiss, Toji’s tongue moves faster, his moans traveling up to your core and sending vibrations through your clit. Satoru pulls away and spits in your mouth, the act so quick and surprising that you nearly miss it.

“Spit it back on my cock,” he demands and you do, making his cock shiny with your spit before he slides back in. After a few more sloppy thrusts that cause your glasses to wobble and spit to drip down your chest, he’s close. “Shit!” he gasps. “Fuck, fuck, fuck me, m’gonna cum! You’re gonna…fuck, baby!”

You are too. You can feel your pussy tightening, clenching, throbbing with the urge to release. “Mmmm!” you whine around his cock, your thighs trembling around Toji’s neck.

The security guard intensely stares at you, forcing you to cum with that damn finger crooked inside of you. “Give it to me,” he demands. “You know you fuckin’ want to. Go ‘head, babydoll.”

You can’t help yourself. You hush all around Toji’s cock just as Satoru loses the last thread of self control and cums deep in your mouth with a long, loud moan that no doubt attracts unwanted attention from the outside.

Another fat, creamy throatpie fills your mouth and streams down your throat, nearly making you choke. Satoru luckily pulls out, but only to jerk the last drops of spunk onto your tits and glasses, staining your skirt and top in the process.

As the last tendrils of pleasure course through you, Toji slurps you up and leaves your pussy twitching from his ministrations. As he sits back to sigh, Satoru releases a huff, exhausted but satisfied. “Oh, fuck,” he groans followed by a whistle. “That was amazing! Definitely needed for a shitty shift.”

Toji nods, his lips coated in you. “I concur,” he hums in pleasure. He leans up to get eye level with you and holds your chin in his hand. “C’mere, doll…taste yourself. This slutty pussy is just too good to not share.”

He smashes his lips against yours, pulling you in for a sloppy French kiss that steals your breath away. Jealous, Satoru yanks you away towards him.

“Save some for me,” he murmurs before he leans in to kiss you, softly moshing as he does. He then pulls away, kneels, and slurps the rest of you off of your open thighs despite your whimpers of agony. It hurts too good.

Ring-ring-ring!

You jump at the sudden sound. Satoru reaches into his back pocket to get his phone. “Uh-oh!” he mockingly announces. “That’s the timer. Break time is over.”

Toji begins to get dressed, zipping up his fly and tucking in his shirt. “We should probably clean her up. Poor baby looks like she can’t even walk.” He laughs at your expense, humored by your fucked-out, messy state.

Despite them both using your holes just now, the two dress and clean you up as much as possible. They pull your skirt down, fix your top, clean off your glasses, and smooth down your skirt.

Once finished, Toji passes you a napkin out of his pocket. “Wipe your mouth, babydoll,” he sniggers. “You don’t want people to ask what’s on your face…or glasses. Shit, we did a number on ya.”

He plants a sloppy, wet tongue kiss on your mouth, filling your tongue with the taste of your pussy and himself. “This was a lot of fun, sugar,” he says with a smirk. “Call me again if you need a worthwhile break, alright?”

You wordlessly stare at him, unable to form words…or even think them.

“Same here,” Satoru adds, flashing you a smile as he fixes his costume. “I’ll know who to go to for my little ‘problem’ next time.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before he and Toji head out of the stall back to work.

But Satoru stops and turns back to you, smirking. “Oh, and…”

He bends down and snatches up your red panties, tugging on the waistband with his teeth before stuffing them in his pocket.

“These are mine.”

He gives you a wink and blows you a kiss. “See ya out there!” he hollers before he disappears out of the bathroom with Toji, leaving you alone with your thoughts and regrets. But also supremely satisfied.

In the end, you’re late back to your shift.

THE END.

[mooingmaddie]

I’m up another 5lbs!

Weighed in at 338 today ☺️

I’m getting so excited about hitting 350. I like my numbers nice and round just like my fat belly 😁

Since gaining almost 50 lbs in 5 months I’ve definitely noticed lots of physical changes and challenges

Standing in one spot for more than a few minutes is leading to lots of lower back pain. Walking further than a few hundred yards and I’m all out of breath!

Sitting to put on shoes or socks and I have to kind of lunge forward to grab an ankle and pull my foot up far enough to get it on 🤭

NONE of my clothes fit 😅 but I wear them anyway

Definitely need to buy new underwear soon because the leg holes have become tight and restricting around my huge thighs

My bras are officially too small. New ones need to go up a cup size and a band size

Shaving my legs isn’t too bad, but shaving my pussy area has definitely gotten more challenging

In fact, just reaching my pussy is more difficult, so using a toy to cum has become a necessity 🥵

And maybe one of the most embarrassing challenges is going to the bathroom 😳 it’s a huge struggle reaching to wipe properly. Lots of stretching and maneuvering and I have a new appreciation for the handicap bars in public restrooms 😅😅

With all of that said, I’m still enjoying my bigger body and how it looks with all the extra lard piling on! I feel sexier and more in my intended state with every pound gained ☺️♥️

[sirbonesly]

LowStandards!Reader/Simon Riley pt.1

You've had plenty of relationships that you'd classify as 'shitty', but none of them lasted longer than your last ex, Jason. When your friends called him manipulative, you always brushed them off, said he was better than the other guys, that he actually showed some care. He helped out around the house when you asked (begged him to with promise of a blowjob) and he always listened when you said you didn't feel like sex (it always took a few tries, and sometimes you'd just let him keep going because he got in that 'state'). But things came to a head a few months after the new neighbour, Simon, moved in.

Simon is nice, polite. He helps you with groceries when the lift is broken (more often than not, it's out of order) and he never asks for anything in return. You've never seen much of his face, always wearing a medical face mask, or a balaclava during the colder winter months. It had been good, though Jason was completely unaware of your kindness towards the stranger. You had tried to convince yourself that the guilt about talking and smiling with your neighbour was because you needed to stay loyal to Jason, and not because you knew, deep down, that Jason was not a good man.

A few months after Simon moved in is when everything happened. Jason had gotten mad because once again, you didn't want to have sex tonight, had wanted a quiet date night at home. Things escalated, he started shouting, and then a vase is shattering against the wall you share with the new neighbour. When the lamp follows nearly a minute later, you lock yourself in the washroom, frozen with a fear you hadn't felt since that time someone tried mugging you and your father years ago.

But then the shouting stops, Jason isn't banging on the door anymore, and there's an eerie silence. You don't dare open the door, having been dragged to one too many seminars by your friends (all attempting to convince you that Jason is a piece of garbage.) So you listen, hear muffled voices getting louder, and louder, until they suddenly stop and someone hits the floor.

Worry for your boyfriend has you opening the door, and a horrible part of your mind wonders what will happen if Jason is alright. It wouldn't be the first time he's gotten rough, has pushed you around or gripped too tightly. But he's angrier than you've ever seen him, and that fear is gripping tight.

The sight that greets you as you slowly peak around the corner is one that makes your stomach sink and a desperate part of your mind want to smile. Simon is on the ground, one hand holding Jason's arm behind his back, and the other around Jason's throat in a choke hold. You're frozen, split between wanting to stop Simon, and wanting to see what he'll do to Jason.

"Don't just stand there! Get your guard dog off of me, you psycho whore!"

Jason's cry for help, though the words confuse you a bit, has you moving. Small steps, socked feet padding along the floor as Simon finally looks up at you, coming to a stop next to him. You look at the broken shards of glass on the floor, the lamp and vase that you had picked out all on your own because Jason couldn't be bothered to help furnish your new flat. The flat you bought because you wanted to be closer to him.

"You alright, luvie?"

Your eyes are burning, tears wanting to fall but you stubbornly wipe them away. Not answering Simon's question, not actually sure how you're doing, you grab Jason's phone and his wallet. Simon hauls Jason to his feet, being extra rough about it as Jason grunts and curses at the massive man.

There's a numbness growing in your chest, blocking out Jason's curses and crude words, the ways he's struggling against Simon's iron grip. Your neighbour shows no sign of struggling to hold your boyfriend, and honestly, it's a little pathetic to watch Jason.

How many times did he tell you that struggling only made things hurt more? How much of his knowledge of bondage was real when the knots he tied hurt and would dig into your skin? Jason would boast that you were lucky he was around to help fix things, always a few days too late after Simon already fixed it. It always gave him ammunition to call you crazy, say you're wasting his time. This was just the last straw.

It doesn't take long, a single word while shoving Jason's phone and wallet at him, any protests shut down quick by Simon practically throwing him into the hall, and suddenly Jason is now your ex-boyfriend. When the door finally slams shut, with a few choice words thrown at you, a homophobic slur added to it, Simon is already pulling you into his arms.

"It's alright, luvie. I'm here, not going anywhere, come sit on the couch, come on."

[kravatkan]

Countries featured: Poland, Estonia, Slovakia and Ukraine.

really enjoyed dressing them up last time, have some more. ramblings below.

none of this is historically accurate, and my research is limited by only the free materials that can be found online TT i'm very sorry for the inaccuracies TT

as always, men's clothes are soooo boring compared to women's. i tried picking the most embroidered ones for fun, but half of men's clothes in eastern/central europe are like "coat-type garment in brown/black/white with minimal decoration". also tried to draw kim the coolest jackets/coats i could find, sksdfdfkd.

probably, both of them are too old to be wearing something as flashy. if we look at them through the 19th century lense, societal norms expected them to be married and settled already, with that come more muted garments with less decorations.

though, it's probably somewhat in character for harry to be wearing something extravagant from when he was young, unable to let go of those days. and kim isn't exactly subtle with his historical cosplay jacket either. both of them are freaks.

estonian clothes are so well-organized and documented. i really liked the knitted mittens, socks and sashes, very beautiful!

slovak clothes are so cool! i'm too much of a coward for the detva crop tops, but harry would wear something like that 100%. also they have aprons for men. delightful.  

and ukrainian clothes, the ones i know the most about.

women were expected to make clothes for their husbands. in general, embroidery was a very personalized thing, people would sometimes sew their initials and names somewhere on the garment.

so, imagine harry having clothes dora hand-made. with unique patterns that could be referencing, let's say, apricot flowers. that would be so fucked up!!

the actual plants commonly featured in embroidery patterns are roses, oak leaves, hops, grapes, viburnum, poppies and marigolds.

language barrier is, unfortunately, very real. my polish is mid enough for reading and i can understand slovak using the ✨slavic languages magic✨, but estonian? google translate did not want to cooperate. it kept translating something as "pussy belt" TT

in any case, feel free to send anything about folk clothing, i'll be very happy and thank you for reading!

[organic-bloodbath]

Teach Ddakji to me - Part 2

The Salesman x American!Reader

Summary: The salesman teaches you a new game: Rock, paper, scissors, minus one. However, he adds a mix to the game whenever one of you loses.

Warnings: 18+ smut, pure sex. Minors, time for you to leave and come back in a few years, this not for your eyes ✋🏻 the door is that way 👉🏻🚪

A/N: This shall have part 3 and i'm working on part 2 for Mingle too ✍️🏻 i haven't written smut in several years so be nice to me thank you, i feel a bit rusty 🥲

Part 1

Taglist:

@apookalypse

@lady-of-blossoms

@k1ra-park3r

♡♡

By now you had been seeing him for over a month. He had asked all kinds of things about your life in the U.S., your studies and what you'd want to do in the future, your hobbies and in general what you liked to do, and so on. He was genuinely interested in getting to know you and it warmed your heart.

He told you a little about his job, how he was recruiting new people for different businesses. He didn't get into lot of details, just said that he did like his job and it paid surprisingly well. He was happy at his current life.

He told you about his family, how his dad had died by someone shooting him to death, and that he didn't really keep in touch with many family members anymore. A lot of them had passed away apparently and he didn't want to get into more details at this stage of your relationship. You did feel sad for him, since you still had many living relatives who had some kind of part in your life, despite you moving so far away from your home.

You had gone to several different dates, none of them ending up all the way to the bedroom - yet. Mostly you had been only making out at the end of the date, and that was a lot. He was fine with waiting as long as you wished, not wanting you to be only a short term thing. You had told him about your past with one of your boyfriends how he had left you right after he had slept with you for the first time. He promised he wouldn't even think of acting like that.

He was a little too perfect and you had waited to find any kinds of flaws he had, but by far you found none and sometimes that worried you a little. There was no way a perfect man like he existed. Everyone had atleast one thing wrong with them, whatever it was.

Tonight, you had booked a hotel room together and you had made sure to wear your best pair of panties and bra, definitely avoiding the least sexy ones you owned. You had gone for a dinner before coming to the hotel, he had paid your meal again like a gentleman, as he always did. You tried to insist that you'd pay yours but he wasn't having any of that. Afterwards, you had let him know that you were ready to go all the way tonight, if he wanted to.

Right now, he was teaching you a new game, though this one you knew already but it had a little different twist to it that you hadn't played before.

Rock, paper, scissors, minus one.

It took you a while to understand how the game worked, but you grasped on the idea well enough. You both sat on your own chairs, directly facing each other, only a small gap between your knees.

He had added his own twist for the game - only with you: The one who lost, had to remove one piece of clothing, randomly chosen.

This time, you lost, his scissors cutting your paper. By now you had taken off only your cardigan, while he had taken off his tie and socks - he was taking it slowly, apparently.

You put your hands under your white top, unclipping your bra and pulling it out without taking your shirt off. You showed your dark red bra to him, hanging it in the air, until you threw it towards him. He catched it easily from the air. He brushed his fingers along the lacy canvas for a few times, until let it lay on his lap.

Another round, which made him lose his shirt. He took his time taking it off, a smirk on his face, just to mess with you. He knew you weren't very patient. But when he had taken it off and you saw him shirtless, you could definitely tell that he worked out regularly and kept himself in shape. You bit your lip and felt your cheeks warming up. God damn, you had prepared yourself for that - but still.

There were barely any words exchanged during the entire game, there was no need for that.

This was definitely a lot better than Ddakji.

It didn't take long anymore until you were only wearing your underwear and nothing else, your chest bare and you could see the hunger in his eyes.

"I think it's time for the second part of the game," he said and got up. "This part i haven't gone through with any other people i've played with."

You could see he was already hard through his underwear, which was the only thing he had on him as well. You got up before he managed to come to you and made him sit back down on the chair. He looked at you, eyebrows lifted up in surprise, but didn't stop what you were doing.

You kneeled down in front of him and pulled his underwear off, finally seeing his size how big he really was and you weren't sure if you'd be able to take it all. You looked up at him while taking his dick in your hand, stroking it a few times. He let out a sigh, not been prepared for you to make a move on him first.

You stroked him a few more times, until taking him in your mouth as deep as you were able to go. You got a gag reflex quite soon but managed to take surprisingly lot of him, though definitely not the entire length.

He grabbed your head with his hand, fingers brushing through your hair. He guided you with his hand for a while, noticing what your limits were so he wasn't pushing your mouth too deep. He let out deep moans and grunts, but before he was about to come, he pulled your head off him.

He pulled you up from the floor and grabbed your waist, pulling you tightly against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips on his, taking him in a deep kiss. His hands fell on your ass, and his tongue found its way into your mouth when you let out a quiet moan.

He pushed you on the bed, immediately crawling on top of you, not breaking the kiss for more than a few seconds.

He massaged your breast until sliding his hand down your stomach all the way to between your legs, under your panties which you still had on. He gently massaged your clit, then putting more pressure on it, making you moan louder than before. He inserted his middle finger inside your vagina, pumping it in and out, soon sliding in a second finger as well.

"Oh god," you whispered, his touch felt so good and you felt like you were going to come sooner than you had expected.

But he stopped when he sensed you were starting to be on the edge of climax. You let out a frustrated groan but he shut you up with another kiss.

He pulled himself back a little bit to take your panties off and got a condom from the bedside table, wrapping it on him. He finally positioned himself against your entrance.

"You ready?" he asked, ready to push in whenever you gave her permission. "You remember the safe word, hm?"

"Ddakji," you breathed with a chuckle and nodded. "Ready."

He didn't wait even a second longer, right then pushing in, slowly. You gritted your teeth, nails digging on his back. God, it hurt so much and you were sure you were going to bleed a little.

"Just, wait a moment, okay?" you said quietly, getting used to his size. You had had sex with a few other men before, but the last time had been in the U.S. and none of them had been as big as him.

He kissed your neck on several different spots, and by now he knew exactly the right spots which made you insane.

"Okay go on," you whispered and that was all needed for him to start moving his hips back and forth.

"God you feel so good," he murmured in your ear.

You moved your hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head into a deep kiss, his tongue playing with yours.

You didn't know how many minutes had passed, you had lost the track of time, and slowly he was fastening his pace, becoming rougher than in the beginning.

Finally, you experienced the best orgasm you had ever had, the waves of pleasure going through your body. You didn't care how loud you were and how thin the walls of this room were, you let your body react the way it wanted. His body fell limp on yours, being a lot more heavy now that he didn't keep himself up on you.

"Was it good?" you whispered, unsure if he enjoyed it as much as you did. It was your first time with him and you weren't sure what kind of sex he had experienced with other women before.

He looked at you with a surprised expression on his face.

"Was it good?" he repeated and then kissed your forehead and smiled. "It was a lot more than just good. It was perfect."

You quickly washed yourself in the bathroom and when you got into the bed, it didn't take long until you fell asleep in his arms.

♡♡

"You fucked him," your roommate gasped, looking at the hickeys on your neck and below your collarbone. "Is this your walk of shame? Oh my god you definitely fucked him."

It was 6am and your class was about to start at 9am. You knew you should have spent the night with him on the weekend, and not when you had to go to a class in the morning, but you had other plans on the weekend and you couldn't wait another week to spend the night with him.

"Shut up," you chuckled, not denying it.

"So, tell me everything," she asked. "No, wait a moment until i get coffee for us."

She could see that you had stayed up late and needed some caffeine to wake you up before the first class. You waited until she was done with the coffee and brought two cups on the table.

"So, is he big?" she asked and your eyes widened. Straight to the deep end, then. "Like how big exactly?"

"Oh, he was big," you said, the back of your mouth still sore.

"On the scale of a cucumber - half of it? 2/3? Don't say an entire cucumber." Her eyes widened and she gasped. "I mean, he looked like he could easily be-"

"Oh god no, i would have instantly walked out of the door in that case," you cringed and showed an estimated size from memory.

"Ok but how did you do it? Bed, table, shower, wall? All of them?" she asked, talking so fast you weren't able to interrupt her. "Sorry, i haven't had sex in months i'm going insane if i don't get some soon. Like my vagina is actually screaming to be filled. Does he possibly have a hot friend? Could you text and ask? Friend, brother, dad - i'll take anything."

"I'm not going to ask that!" you laughed.

"How could you find a hottie like that in a damn subway station anyway? The only man who has come to talk to me there was a homeless man asking for money because he just got out of jail for drunk driving," she said. "Let's go clubbing this Friday, you can be my wingwoman."

"I don't know, i don't really do clubbing," you said awkwardly, you weren't a fan of those places and hadn't been at any club in a few years.

"Please you have to share your tricks with me," she was begging by now. "Otherwise i'm gonna have to seduce our professor who i've had hots for since the beginning of our semester and we all know that's a horrible, horrible idea."

"Yeah, that's a big no," you said instantly.

"You know what must be big? His-"

"Okay shut up," you interrupted immediately before she was able to continue. "Ask one of your friends to go clubbing with you."

"I will, but you should tag along," she insisted. "You should be more social with us outdoors, come on."

"I'll pass this time, thanks," you said, giving an 'i'm sorry' smile. You took a sip of your coffee, then changing the subject. "Oh, by the way, my brother is coming for a visit," you said and pointed a finger on your roommate before she was about to say something. "And he's definitely OFF limits, don't even think about it, he's going to get married next summer."

"Aw, fine," she pouted, for a second she had had her hopes up, but it was quickly erased.

♡♡

The salesman went to a park with a large bag full of bread, there was atleast 50 loafs in total, and pockets full of lottery tickets.

He found a group of homeless men and women, sitting on different benches. He approached them one by one, holding a loaf of bread on the other hand and a single lottery ticket on the other.

The homeless man looked at his hands and was about to take both to himself, but the salesman pulled his hands back.

"You can choose only one of these," he said. The man thought about his choice for a few seconds, until grabbed the lottery ticket. The salesman offered him a coin to scratch the ticket with.

The man's face fell when there was no win. The salesman repeated this action to all the people in the park nearby, and only one of them chose the bread.

Suddenly, he saw you in the distance, but his face fell when he saw who you were with. A young man was walking next to you, arm around you shoulder, keeping you close to him. The salesman had no idea what you were talking about, but somehow the man managed to make you laugh.

He didn't like what he was seeing, not one bit. Anger was rising inside him, he couldn't help it.

"Hey, give me the bread!" one of the homeless men yelled at him.

"Yeah, give us the bread!" a woman shouted nearby.

"I apologise, but you had a chance to choose the bread, but you chose the ticket instead," the salesman pointed out politely and threw the bags of bread on the ground.

He started pouring his anger out by stomping on the breads, mushing them all completely and letting out a few frustrated screams out of his mouth.

The homeless people looked at him like he had lost his mind and should have been taken into a mental hospital. They got up and left, it became too hard to watch a grown man's sudden tantrum.

The salesman pulled his hair back and brushed sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his suit. He took a deep breath to calm down.

"I'm cool, everything's cool," he mumbled to himself and straightened his tie a little bit. He looked around him, barely anyone on his sight anymore. He really needed to work on his anger issues.

♡♡

"Hi," you greeted and planted a kiss on his cheek when you arrived to the cafe a few hours later to meet him.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" he said and forced on a smile. He might have had a little sarcastic tone in his voice, but nothing what you might have noticed.

"Oh, my brother came to visit me, he's staying for a few days. I showed him a few places around here, he had never visited Korea before or really travelled much outside the States," you explained, seeming excited. "I haven't seen him since i moved to Korea."

He lifted his eyebrows and after a moment started laughing a little bit. You looked at him, confused what was so funny.

"Your brother," he mumbled. "Right, of course, your brother. Did you have fun?"

"A lot of fun, yes," you smiled widely. "Do you want to meet him?"

He went silent for a moment, somehow surprised by your suggestion. Sure, you had been dating for a while now but he hadn't been prepared to meeting your family members since they were all far away in the United States. It hadn't really seemed like an option before.

"Well, sure, why not," he said with a smile, though he was surprisingly a little nervous about it, which was quite unusual for him.

♡♡

That same night, your roommate had texted that she had found a guy at the club and if it wouldn't be a problem for you to find another place to spend the night, since she didn't want to go to the guy's place right when she had met him.

You were fine with it and answered that your boyfriend let you stay at his house. Calling him your boyfriend sounded so strange, but he was one, right? It just sounded like you were both still in high school, and he was a lot older than you anyway.

This was your first time visiting his home. You hadn't thought about what kind of home he had or what you were expecting, but it was larger than you had imagined. Certainly a lot fancier than your apartment, which felt like a closet compared to his place.

He hadn't visited your apartment either, so you didn't think much of it that you hadn't seen his place sooner.

He went to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine for you and left you in the living room by yourself. You saw a shelf which seemed to be full of old records, most of them seemed to be artists you weren't familiar with.

"Hey, can i look through your records and find something to listen to?" you shouted.

You heard his approval to choose anything you wanted and started browsing through them.

Then, opening one of the drawers to see if there was more, your heart stopped for a second when you saw something hidden in there.

A gun. He had a gun in his drawer.

You had never held a gun in your hand and carefully lifted it with your hand, making sure to keep your fingers far from the trigger, just in case it was loaded. You looked at it side to side, you didn't know much about guns but it seemed to be a real revolver.

Then, he came back to the living room, a red wine bottle and two wine glasses in his hands, eyes widening when he saw what you were holding and the shocked look on your face.

"Why do you have a gun?"

[boypied]

the boy next door

[friends boyfriend] nate jacobs x male reader

summary: an affair between you and maddie's boyfriend has been going on for some time now. you regularly sneak around his house since you're neighbours. you know he only sees you as a 'cum sock' but you don't care.

wc: 1.4k

notes: MDNI, FDNI, dominant nate, submissive reader, degrading, cheating, rough sex, choking, spit, unprotected sex, gay slurs.

You lay down in your bed thinking about how much of a bad friend you are, simply because you've been sleeping with Nate... your bestfriends boyfriend. You couldn't bare face Maddie knowing that she would be able to tell that something was wrong just by the look on your face and how strange your body language would be with her, plus Nate is your neighbour so it's double risky; you can't be caught by Maddie or his parents. It all started in a bathroom, at the New years Eve party, that everyone was at. You were both drunk, and one thing led to another and his cock was buried deep inside your ass giving you the pounding of a lifetime, he didn't even bother to wear a condom. Normally, you'd force whoever you were going to be having sex with to wear a condom but with him... you just didn't care. Your mind went completely numb and blank from just a simple touch from Nate. The majority of people knew that you've had a crush on Nate because of how alarmingly obvious it was, but when he got with Maddie, everyone probably just thought that you'd get over it since you should be happy for her.

You pick up your phone nervously as you prepare yourself to text Maddie and confess everything to her until you stop yourself as a message from Nate pops up. "Come over." is all it says, and you immediately sneak over to his like a lost puppy, Nate has you pracially on a leash, so he knows that he has all the control over you. Once you make it into his room, he stands there in nothing but his boxers revealing his toned muscular body that you love so much, "get naked, fag." Nate grunts out and you immediately begin stripping off naked, "y-yes sir." You mumble out as you reveal your body to him as you gently and seductively pull down your underwear while facing the other way so that your plump ass gets exposed to his first. Nate watches, and he gently bites down on his lower lip as he watches how your hips sway side to side until you step out of your underwear and kicking them to the side turning back round to face Nate, you both walk closer to each other closing the gap that was between the two of you.

Nate wraps his veiny hands around your neck tightening his grip while his other hand travels round to grip the back of your head pulling your hair causing your head to jolt up and look him in the eyes, you stare in his eyes that immediately cause you to fold and become submissive completely under his control. "I love that I'm your secret.... and I can't tell a soul." You mumble out as your hard cock twitches hitting against his rock hard monster of a cock, Nate just smirks and looks down at you "I love how fucking sick you are." He says in a low tone loving how horny and desperate you are for him. You look over at Nate's bedside table where you see his phone lighting up as he's getting a call from none other than Maddie, you gulp slightly but you ultimately decide to ignore it and be all here for your daddy. "You wanna please me?" Nate grunts out with a smirk growing more and more as you slowly nod your head as Nate releases his grip on your neck and hair and you slowly drop down to your knees and you run your hand over Nate's monster cock that is enclosed in his underwear, you grip the hem and slowly pull it down.

Nate's firey red tip that is dripping with pre-cum and quite girthy length is exposed as you pull his boxers down, your mouth is gaped open in shock as you've forgotten how big it is in that small moment with your mouth gaped open Nate pushes his cock into your mouth in a rough manner causing you to gag ever so slightly but you enjoy every moment. Your eyes flutter up to meet with his, Nate continues to bruise your throat as his cock curves downwards with each thrust. Nate runs his hand through your soft hair as his thrusts into your throat become rougher and rougher until you're a gagging, spluttering mess for him. Nate pulls his cock out of your mouth creating a pop sound, his glistening cock revealed to you as you see his spit covered cock right before your own eyes. "Get on the bed... ass up." He grunts out as he gently slaps your cheek, you oblige to his commands as you strip off naked and climb onto his bed, pressing your chest against the bed and keeping your ass up revealing your tight pink asshole. The asshole that he loves so much but won't admit to it, not even to himself.

Nate climbs up on the bed coming up from behind you as he grips his base and slaps it against your hole. "F-Fuck," he mumbles out under his breath as he pushes his thick tip into your asshole feeling your tight muscle ring tighten around him. It slightly loosens once he gets past the ring and into your soft velvet walls that could make any man cum in an instant which is what Nate loves about you so much, that he gets to fuck a man that all men dream about while fucking their girlfriends. Nate leans forward as your muscle ring tightens around his base as he buries himself deep inside of you entirely. He pushes your face against the duvet, using it as leverage to begin thrusting into you at an instant quick pace. "N-Nate!" You whimper out as you feel him constantly hit your sweet spot, "n-ngh!" You whine out until Nate grabs his pre-cum soaked underwear from the side, and he stuffs it in your mouth to keep your quiet, "quiet!" He grunts out as his thrusts become rougher and rougher, and your muffled moans become more frequent, and your eyes flutter back. Nate's phone is constantly being bombarded by messages and phone calls from Maddie, but he ignores it as he's showing you his attention.

Nate's hands spank down against your ass leaving a bright red handprint. He grips your hips and begins to slowly but rougher pound into your asshole but with each thrust, he speeds up faster and faster until your asshole is pounded to a pulp, you adjust your hands and wrap a hand around your cock and you begin pumping your hand back and forth quickly so that you match the rhythm in which Nate is pounding you in, your other hand travels down lower to fondle with your balls. "Fucking slut!" He grunts out as he pounds you faster and harder, with each slap of his groin against your ass to ripple and the sound to echo throughout the room. Nate pulls out and flips you over so that you're lying on your back. He leans on his knees and pulls you up to sit on them as his cock slides into your soft asshole, he fits back in perfectly like a puzzle piece.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he slowly lifts you up and down on his cock in a slow and loving manner which doesn't last long cause the lifts become more rough and aggressive which causes your eyes to flutter back. Nate's hand leaves your waist and he grips it around your throat choking you, "cum for m-me." He whimper and grunts out to you. You begin pumping your hand faster and faster as you feel his cock slip in and out of you in a constant manner, "N-NGH!" You bite down on your lower lip to keep your moan quiet as you come undone all over his abs, the sight of Nate's cum covered abs causes him to speed up fucking into you like you're nothing but a fleshlight to him, one more thrust as well as the tightness of your asshole and Nate's cock is painting your ivory walls white with his thick creamy cum. He stays buried inside you as he continues to pump his load into you. He carefully lays down, making sure to hold you. "So...do you wanna stay the night?" He mumbles out embarrassed that he's even asking you this, you nod your head swiftly, which causes Nate to become slightly defensive "uhm...it's just so we can fuck in the morning...alright!" He says and you just smile and nod, "I'm sure." You whisper to him as you snuggle your head against his bare chest and he slowly closes his eyes as his cock becomes flaccid and slips out of your cum filled hole. You both drift off to sleep in eachothers arms filled and coated in each others cum.

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