fushigogo

[fushigogo]

camboy!satoru who's your roommate. obviously, when you first moved in, you didn't know this. wouldn't have ever guess it, either. he seemed too innocent for it, too soft and nerdy. he's the sweetheart of the campus, after all.

camboy!satoru isn't the best at being quiet at night, when he's in front of his monitor, red light blinking at him. when he's on-screen, it's hard not to let himself go. it just turns him on, the thought of all those people getting off to him.

camboy!satoru who you want to strangle, especially at those dead hours of the night, when you can hear his moans and groans and whimpers. it's just hard to sleep with all that noise. it's even harder to sleep when your panties are a soaked mess, because you're trying you're hardest not to touch yourself to your roommate.

camboy!satoru who, at first, you thought was just having girls over. that didn't make sense, though. you weren't hearing another person, and you weren't seeing anyone over. maybe he was just a porn addict?

camboy!satoru, you find, isn't a porn addict. he is the porn. you hadn't even meant to find out, you'd just been scrolling through a x-rated website, when you stumbled onto some guy's video. you don't remember what prompted you to click it, just the fact that you'd been eager for some release, and your roommate was out for the day.

camboy!satoru who's face isn't shown, but you didn't need that to figure out it was him. you could tell by his room, even if you've only been in it a couple times. it had the same figurines in the background, the same bedspread. his favorite posters stuck on the wall. it didn't take a genius.

camboy!satoru who's video you watch, anyways. despite the fact that you know. despite the fact that it feels a little morally gray. you cum on your fingers and the sheets, then once more when you stalk his page and watch another one. fuck, you're on you're third video, when you notice something odd.

camboy!satoru who's not using any toys in this one. when you squint harder, you realize it's a pair of panties. he's got it wrapped around his hard cock, pumping the length of it. his eyes are squeezed shut, and he's whining to himself, even biting his fist.

camboy!satoru who's not just using any pair, he's using yours. holy shit, your baby blue pair that you couldn't find, that you assumed the washing machine ate, that so perfectly matched his eyes. that bastard had not only stolen them, but jerked off to them. you can only watch in utter shock, as he cums ropes of sticky white all over them, making a mess.

camboy!satoru who's room you're literally breaking into, trying to see if he'd hidden them somewhere in there. you do end up finding them, placed in a cardboard box under his bed. you hold them up, unintentionally clenching your thighs.

camboy!satoru who must've come home early, because you can hear shuffling outside the door. you don't have a moment to react, not even to hide what you're doing.

camboy!satoru who looks sheepish, like a little boy who stole an extra cookie for dessert. except his cookie was a piece of cum-stained fabric. he tries to make this make sense, but he's never been that good with his words, so he just fucks his explanation into you instead, in hopes that'll work. to his luck, it does.

camboy!satoru who's dick is better in real life, than over camera. he's got you in the most cruel of positions, shoving his length into you. you can feel every drag of his tip, every stretch of your walls. you can't stop clenching around him, and it's driving him crazy — in the best way possible.

camboy!satoru who gets you to orgasm a countless number of times that night, like since he finally has you, he never wants to let you, or your tight little pussy, go.

camboy!satoru's who latest, most hit stream is titled "fucked pretty roommate instead of her panties this time!"

camboy!satoru who's not such a sweetheart, after all.

[fushigogo]

Cooking with catoru🖤🤍

[fushigogo]

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — ℐ𝓃𝓉ℴ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒶𝒷𝓎𝓈𝓈

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. James is still shaken by a strange nightmare—one where Pyramid Head wasn’t violent, but almost protective toward you. It sticks with him, making him feel off for days. But, when he sees you again he tells you he’s serious now. No more hotel rooms, no more leaving. /! This chapter mostly contains smut.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 6 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Thank you so much for your kind comment—I honestly didn’t expect anyone to still be waiting after all these months, so seeing your messages was the loveliest surprise. I’m beyond grateful for your patience and support, it means more than I can say!

➜ ┊: chapter 7/?.

It had been days since the nightmare, but the edges of it clung to James like fog to skin—cold, invasive, impossible to shake. The memory of your voice still reverberated through the cavernous hollows of his mind. You had screamed his name through a wall of static and smoke, your tone sharp with fear, aching with urgency.

And he hadn't reached you. Not in time. Not at all.

Each time he closed his eyes, the image returned: that hulking figure emerging from the shadows, the scraping of steel louder than thunder in a storm-split sky. The Pyramid Head. A grotesque deity of punishment, of memory, of sin. James had seen him countless times before, in the years since Silent Hill clawed its way into the back of his skull and never let go. But this time was different.

This time, it wasn't James the creature had come for.

It was you.

Not to hurt, not to break, not to maim. That would have made sense. That would have made it a projection—an echo of James’ own shame, the twisted manifestations of a fractured psyche. But no. This time, the executioner hadn’t raised his blade in judgment. He had touched your face. Carefully. Reverently.

As if you were his.

James had watched from some unseen place, a prisoner in his own mind, helpless and voiceless. And in that horrible moment, he knew—this wasn’t just a dream, and it wasn’t a memory. It was something else entirely.

The creature had acted autonomously. It had moved with intention. With will.

Your presence in the dream hadn’t summoned it as an accessory to James’ self-loathing or regret. No, it had come for you, of its own volition, and James didn’t understand what that meant. The implications sank their claws into him. Was this some punishment he hadn't earned yet? Some new guilt, bubbling up and spilling into the cracks? Or worse—was the creature real in a way James had never truly accepted, no longer bound to the cursed borders of that damned town?

He sat on the edge of his bed now, hunched forward, fingers raking through his hair, the sound of your voice still vibrating inside his ribs. He felt stripped bare, as if the dream had scraped away the thin scabs of healing he'd tried to cultivate since your kiss on the beach.

James had told himself as if to comfort his own feelings, that what he had with you was fleeting. Temporary. A balm for the rot. But the moment that creature laid its hand on you—possessive, tender, knowing—something ancient and primal had awakened inside him. Jealousy. And something worse: fear.

Not just of what the Pyramid Head meant. But of losing you, too.

And that, perhaps, was the most dangerous feeling of all.

James stood in front of the mirror, razor in hand, dragging the blade carefully over his jawline. The stubble clung stubbornly to his skin, a map of days lost in distraction, and the more he shaved, the more it felt like he was peeling away something heavier than just hair. His face, once forgotten under the weight of sleep-deprived nights and sleepless guilt, slowly reemerged—haunted, yes, but present.

He had been like this since the nightmare. Even more withdrawn than usual.

The shadow he carried behind his eyes had deepened in hue, its grip tightening until it began to bleed into everything—into the way he moved through rooms, into the silences he left dangling between himself and the world, into the long stares he gave his coffee without ever drinking it.

Laura noticed. She always did.

He hadn’t said anything aloud, of course. He never did. But she knew.

She had started making him coffee in the mornings again, unprompted. She never said why. Just placed the mug down beside him gently, sometimes slipping her tiny hand over his. The gesture hurt more than it comforted. It should be the other way around. He was the parent. He was the one who was supposed to be strong. But the way she watched him lately—cautious, like he was a piece of glass held together by prayers—it made him feel like a ghost in his own home.

He splashed water on his face and reached for the towel, drying the last of the cold rivulets along his neck and jawline. The mirror above the sink was slightly fogged, but he could still make out the hollow shadow of his own expression. Then he dressed—nothing extravagant, just clean. Fitted jeans, a charcoal jumper, that worn watch Laura liked to play with when they sat quietly side by side. He hesitated at the small glass bottle tucked away in the corner of the cabinet—cologne. He hadn't touched it in years.

Would you like it?

He hovered a moment longer, then applied a single, careful spritz to the air and stepped through it. Subtle. Faint enough to catch only if you stood close. It was only when he caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror, fully dressed, face shaved, hair combed, that the realization truly hit him.

When had he last taken care of himself like this?

It wasn’t vanity. God knew he wasn’t trying to impress anyone in a flashy way—he still thought fashion trends were confusing and unnecessary. Laura loved to tease him about that, constantly picking at his mismatched choices or telling him he looked like a dad from a early 90s sitcom. He’d laugh, shrug it off, pretend he didn’t care.

But that wasn’t the truth anymore, was it?

Because now… now you were slowly becoming a constant in his life.

And that changed things.

He remembered the dark months. When Mary had started to fade, when hospitals had become a second home and grief a permanent houseguest. He’d sunk into himself back then. Lost in the bottle, in the thick, drowning fog of helplessness. There were entire weeks—maybe months—he couldn’t remember. Couldn’t recall what he’d worn, if he’d eaten, if he’d spoken a word aloud. The man in the mirror back then hadn’t even looked human.

Then Laura came. And for a while, she’d saved him. Or given him something to survive for, at least. He’d gotten clean. Steadied himself. But surviving wasn’t living. Not really. He’d plateaued. Flatlined. A shell of a father. 

A shadow of a man. And then… you.

He didn't know when it started, the change. Maybe the first time you smiled at Laura in that way that made her whole face light up. Maybe the day you came for dinner and filled the house with a kind of ease he thought he’d never feel again. Or maybe it was that night at the hotel—no, the morning after, when your hair was mussed and your eyes tired but soft, and he’d watched you breathe like he was learning how to himself.

Somewhere between then and now, he’d begun doing things he hadn’t done in years.

Like shopping. Actual shopping—for clothes, ones that didn’t sag or carry the scent of dust and old regret. Picking out shirts that might bring out his eyes. Jeans that fit right. Shoes that weren’t three years past their prime.

And in the mornings, instead of scribbling in his journal until the guilt turned into numbness. He’d stretch. Do pushups. Jog in place, lift the old weights in the closet. He wasn’t trying to be a model or anything—he just didn’t want to become a crumbling figure of sorrow. You had done that to him. Or for him.

He let out a slow breath and adjusted his collar, fingers brushing lightly over the edge of his shirt. His chest felt tight, but not in the usual way—not the suffocating grip of anxiety or self-loathing. This was something else. Nerves. Hope. The fragile ache of wanting to be better.

He was buttoning the final button when he heard the sharp trill of the doorbell.

Laura’s voice echoed through the house a moment later, high and sure.

“Y/n!”

It rang in him like a bell struck at his core.

He let out a soft breath—almost a laugh, but quieter. The kind that broke apart before it ever became real. He turned back to the mirror once more, gazing at the man staring back at him. He didn’t smile often, but now, just barely, he did. A faint tug at the corners of his lips. Just enough.

Because you were here.

And James was finally starting to accept the truth he’d buried under shame and fear and memory—that the only time he felt even remotely human, the only time the static in his head went quiet, the only time the ache in his chest softened to something like hope… was when you stepped into the room. He ran a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. Straightened his collar. Then made his way toward the front door, where warmth—and you—waited.

“Y/n, I’m so happy you’re here!”

Laura’s voice echoed again, that same vibrant tone of affection only a child could summon without reservation. It rang through the hallway, breaking James from the gravity of his thoughts as he moved toward the front door, drawn like a tide pulled to shore. He opened it slowly.

And there you were.

The light of the late afternoon cast a golden haze around you, brushing the edges of your hair, warming the curve of your cheeks. You wore that same familiar expression—the one caught somewhere between a smile and uncertainty, like you were still navigating the fragile bridge that existed between you and him. But your eyes… your eyes were soft. Warm. Kind. God, how long had it been since someone looked at him like that?

James didn’t speak at first. He just reached for you, silently, instinctively. His hand slipped around your waist with a quiet reverence, fingers splaying over the fabric of your coat like he might anchor himself to you. And then he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Not rushed. Not performative. 

Just there—simple, grounding, utterly sincere.

You smelled like white florals and something sweet. Something warm. 

Behind him, Laura made an exaggerated gagging noise. “Ugh, Dad. That was so sappy.”

James broke away from you, a rare laugh escaping him—shaky, soft, and a little surprised by its own freedom. It rose up from some place deep inside, one that hadn’t been stirred in what felt like years. He turned toward his daughter, trying—and failing—to scold her with a glare.

“Oh, give me a break,” he muttered, brushing his hand over his face, but there was no heat in his voice. No frustration. Only a kind of fragile joy, one that clung to the moment like morning dew. He felt the edges of it glittering on his skin. “Can’t a man say hello properly to his lady?” he added, arching an eyebrow.

“Not if it’s gross,” Laura replied, standing at the bottom of the stairs with her arms crossed and a look of supreme childish judgment. The exaggerated eye roll she gave was almost theatrical, and it reminded James—painfully, affectionately—how much she looked like him when she was pretending not to care.

You laughed softly beside him, your shoulder brushing his, and James turned back toward you. That laugh—God, he’d missed that sound. It was like hearing warmth. Like hearing the echo of a home he never thought he’d deserve.

“Don’t worry,” you said gently, voice low so only he could hear. “I like gross.”

James huffed a quiet breath through his nose, eyes closing briefly at the way your words settled inside his chest. “She’s been full of it lately,” he murmured, his voice roughened at the edges by something unspoken/

“I’m right here,” Laura called out again, arms flailing now as if either of you had somehow forgotten her dramatic presence.

James couldn’t help it—he laughed again, easier this time, and brushed his knuckles lightly against your waist. The touch was brief, almost reverent, like he couldn’t help but reach for you, even in small ways.

He stepped aside reluctantly, not wanting to break the closeness between you, but needing to let you in. His hand ghosted over the small of your back as you passed him, and he caught a hint of the scent he’d come to associate with you—and it stuck to his lungs like the first breath of spring.

“Come in,” he said quietly. His voice had dropped again, softer than it had any right to be. “You’re… right on time.”

You smiled up at him, eyes warm, full of something he didn’t yet have the courage to name.

“I didn’t want to be late,” you replied, shrugging out of your jacket. “Tonight felt… important.”

James nodded slowly, the words catching in his throat. He looked down at your hand where it held your bag, at the place your fingers had brushed against his. The smallest gestures always seemed to undo him the most.

“Yeah,” he said, and the word felt heavy in his chest—but not in a bad way. “It is.”

James caught himself glancing down at you again as you slid off your coat, watching the way your hair moved, the soft line of your neck, the small smile you gave Laura as she came bounding forward to take your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like a family.

He swallowed hard against the knot forming in his throat, that old familiar fear threatening to rise again—but then your eyes met his across the foyer. And you smiled. Just for him.

And for a fleeting second, James Sunderland felt like he could finally breathe.

You were in the living room with Laura, helping her fold the spare pajamas into her overnight bag when the doorbell rang again. The sound was sudden, jarring almost, and you startled slightly, the sense of domestic calm fractured for just a second. Laura bounced up with excitement, practically leaping over the rug.

“That must be Mia’s mom!” she chirped, slipping on one sneaker with one hand while trying to fix her ribbon with the other. You chuckled softly, brushing a hand over her shoulder to help. James appeared in the doorway, drying his hands with a towel, brows raised as he looked toward the front door. “I’ll get it.”

You were crouched beside Laura, helping her tighten her laces, when the door opened. “Oh! Hello,” came a bright, polite voice. “I hope I’m not too early—Mia’s been buzzing all afternoon waiting for Laura.”

“Not at all,” James replied smoothly. “Thank you again for inviting her over.”

There was a pause.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” the woman said, but there was a slight edge of surprise in her voice, a shift in her tone that made you glance up. From where you knelt, you could see her now—Mia’s mom, dressed smartly in a crisp blouse and jeans, clutching her keys in one hand. Her eyes flickered past James, and landed squarely on you.

Recognition bloomed slowly in her gaze. “Oh! Miss Y/l/n?” she said, clearly startled. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks instantly. Like a flood. Your fingers stilled on Laura’s shoe, and for one wild second, you were tempted to say something ridiculous—parent-teacher meeting, dropped by for homework. Anything. “I—um…” you began, standing up too fast and nearly knocking over Laura’s bag.

But James was already moving. Calm. Steady. He stepped forward slightly, wiping his hand on the towel once more before meeting the other woman’s gaze head-on. “We’ve started seeing each other,” he said plainly.

There was no apology in his tone. No hesitation. Just truth.

The room went still for a heartbeat. You looked up at him, stunned—not by the claim itself, but by the way he said it. Solid. Certain. As if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Oh,” Mia’s mother said after a second, blinking. “I see.” Her gaze shifted back to you, assessing but not unkind. “Well. That explains things.”

James glanced down at you, and when your eyes met, there was the barest flicker of something proud in his expression. As if for the first time, he was standing in the light beside you, no longer hiding in the shame of what you both shared. Laura gave you a hug, tight and warm, then turned to James and did the same before bounding out the door with her friend’s mother, waving like she was off on the grandest adventure of her life.

And you stood in the quiet that followed, heart still fluttering.

You turned toward James slowly. “You didn’t have to say that.”

“I know,” he said softly, meeting your gaze with quiet intensity. “But I wanted to.” 

The door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the house like a gunshot, piercing the suffocating silence. James remained rooted to the spot, the air crackling with a tension that set his nerves ablaze. He could feel your presence, a palpable force tugging at him, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. His body moved of its own accord, turning to face you, to face the inferno that threatened to consume him.

You stood there, a vision of loveliness and longing, your cheeks flushed a pretty rosy hue, your lips parted as if begging to be claimed. Your eyes, those exquisite windows to your soul, were wide and wanting, mirroring the hunger that gnawed at him. Time seemed to warp, stretching out into an eternity where only you and he existed.

A guttural sound tore from James' throat as he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your waist with a fervor bordering on desperation. He kissed you like a man starved, like a drowning man surfacing for air, his mouth devouring yours with a searing intensity that stole your breath away. 

James' tongue delved past your lips, stroking, caressing, exploring every inch of your sweet mouth. He drank in your essence, your taste, your scent, his mind reeling with the heady concoction. You tasted sweets and something uniquely you, a flavor he knew he could never grow accustomed to.

His hands roamed your body, mapping out the curves he'd been denied since your argument in the hotel room, the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. He molded you to him, eliminating any space between your bodies, your heart pounding against his, your breath mingling with his. When he finally tore his mouth away, it was only to blaze a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point. He could feel your blood racing beneath his lips, a symphony of desire that sang to his own.

"God, I want you," he growled against your skin, his voice rough and raw and dripping with hunger. "I want to touch you, to taste you, to bury myself inside you until there's no telling where I end and you begin."

His hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes, pulling your center flush against his straining erection. He rocked into you, his hips rolling in an ancient rhythm as old as time itself. "I've wanted to do this all day," he rasped, his eyes blazing into yours, his expression a mask of unchecked lust and raw, primal need. 

He claimed your mouth again, swallowing your gasp, his tongue delving deep, consuming you, devouring you, branding you with his desire. And in that moment, there was no doubt, no fear, no hesitation. There was only you, and him, and this all-consuming, sizzling, scorching need that threatened to burn the world down around you.

He was a man possessed, a prisoner of his own desire, and you were his cage, his shackles, his salvation. 

And god help him, he never wanted to be free.

But then—

You spoke, your voice a whisper against his mouth, almost too fragile to hold the weight of your question. “Why are you acting like this… all of a sudden?” And just like that, it was as if something splintered inside him.

James froze, his breath catching halfway between your lips and his own lungs, as though you’d tugged him back from the edge of something — something vast and dark and final. For a second, all he could do was stare, his gaze locked on yours, pupils blown wide not with lust now, but something deeper, more dangerous. 

Guilt. Fear. Recognition.

Because you didn’t know. You couldn’t possibly know what he’d seen — the dream still clung to the corners of his mind like the damp rot of fog-soaked wood, a half-reality of crumbling metal and flayed sirens, of a god that wasn’t a god and a voice that wasn’t his but spoke in his guilt. The red pyramid figure hadn’t come for him this time. No. It had stood before you, towering, silent, reverent. As if claiming you.

Touching you.

The image burned behind his eyelids like an afterimage of a flame stared into too long, and he had woken with your name raw in his throat, as if screaming it had torn something loose in him.

But now, here you were — not rusted or bloodied, not screaming or broken — you were here, whole, warm, standing in the soft halo of his living room light with that delicate concern in your gaze, your delicate lips still pink from his kisses, your breath still uneven from the force of what he had just poured into you.

And suddenly, James couldn’t hide behind the dream. He couldn’t let fear dictate his silence. He had to tell you something — not everything, not the twisted visions that chased him through sleep like hounds — but something honest. Something real. So he swallowed hard and brought his hand to your cheek again, more gently now, reverent, almost afraid you would disappear if he touched you too roughly. 

His thumb brushed beneath your eye, tracing the faintest shadow of doubt there.

“That day at the beach,” he said, and his voice was lower now, quieter, like it had to sneak past the guards of his shame just to escape, “when Laura curled up in your lap, and you ran your fingers through her hair like she’d always been yours... when I looked at you both, laughing in the tide, sunburned and wind-tangled���”

He paused, not because the words weren’t there, but because they felt too large in his chest, too heavy to carry all the way to his tongue. “I think it was the happiest I’ve been in years,” he finally said, and there was a raw edge to it, a desperate softness that made his next breath tremble.

You didn’t speak, but your hands remained on him, not pushing, not pulling, simply there, and that alone was enough to make something unravel in him.

“I’ve been terrified,” James went on, eyes locked on your mouth, your long lashes, your every fragile breath. “Of what this might mean. Of feeling something again. I’ve pushed you away because it felt safer — easier — than letting myself need someone. Letting myself want something so real I could lose it.”

His jaw tightened as if trying to keep the emotion from cracking loose, but his eyes betrayed him — a storm barely held back. “I’m done hesitating,” he said, not as a plea but a vow. “I don’t want to keep pretending. I don’t want to waste this — whatever this is. You’ve seen the worst of me. Hell, you’ve endured the worst of me, and still…”

His gaze dropped to where your hands rested over his chest, where his heart thudded beneath your fingertips like a drum calling him back to life. “Still, you’re here.”

And then, softer — a question, not a demand, laced with quiet hope: “Isn’t this what you were hoping for too?”

You smiled.

Not that soft, apologetic curve he’d come to associate with his darker moments, the one you offered like a balm when he was slipping too far into himself. Not the shy, polite smile you used when unsure of your place around Laura, or the one you'd wear in public when things between you two were still undefined. No—this was different. It hit him with the weight of something sacred. You smiled like you were happy. Really happy. Because of him.

It stunned him.

James had lived so long in a world where joy belonged to other people—strangers in commercials, couples on the street, parents at playgrounds who never looked over their shoulder the way he always did. But here you were, in his home, smiling like sunlight cracking through a long-forgotten window, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

Then you leaned in, slow and sure, your fingers brushing lightly at his jaw like you were reacquainting yourself with something precious. The kiss you gave him wasn’t heated or frantic. It wasn’t born from desperation or need. It was something else. Something steady. Certain. Like it had roots. Like it belonged.

And when you pulled back, just far enough for your breath to warm his skin, your voice broke through the hush between you two like a quiet blessing. “Did you ask for this night alone,” you whispered, eyes locked on his, soft but unwavering, “just to tell me all of that?”

James didn’t answer right away.

He felt your words sink into him like slow rain in dry earth. He blinked, heart catching somewhere between his ribs. It wasn’t the question itself that shook him—but the way you asked it. Like you believed there was a reason to hope. 

He nodded, breath shaky but his voice firm. “Yes,” he said. “But not just for that.”

He watched your gaze shift—curiosity tempered by something far more tender, your eyes a soft kind of storm. There was no fear there. No hesitation. You weren’t pulling away, even now. That alone made his chest tighten.

“I wanted tonight to be different,” he continued, his voice rough, low, like gravel underfoot. “Not a hotel room. Not an hour stolen between obligations. Not something we don’t talk about afterward.”

His hand found yours, fingers threading through yours like the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m tired of meeting you in places I already know I’ll have to leave,” he admitted, the truth hitting harder than he expected. “I want something that stays. I want you to stay.” He paused, eyes falling to where your hands were linked, then lifting again—searching your face as if he was afraid it would vanish if he looked away.

“No alarms tonight. No lies. No middle-of-the-night exits.” He stepped closer then, until there was no space left to bridge, and rested his forehead against yours, his voice no more than a tremble of breath.

“I want to wake up next to you,” he whispered. “I want to fall asleep knowing you're right here and not somewhere I have to chase. I want this… all of this, to mean something. I want to believe it can.”

And he did. For the first time in years, James believed it might.

Not because he was healed, or whole, or better.

But because you were still here. Holding his hand like you knew he was worth it.

And maybe that was the beginning of everything.

You smiled softly, your breath mingling with his as you whispered back, “No alarms, no lies… just us. I want that too, James. To wake up without fear, without running. To fall asleep knowing you’re here—really here—with me.”

Your fingers curled around his hand, squeezing gently. “It’s not about being perfect or healed. It’s about choosing to be together, even when it’s messy. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” You brushed your lips lightly against his forehead and added, “We don’t have to have all the answers yet. We just need to keep believing, like you said. Together.”

James didn’t rush.

There was no urgency in his hands, no fierce grip, no desperate pull as if the moment might slip through his fingers if he didn’t take it all now. Instead, he lingered in the stillness between you, eyes searching your face like it held the answer to every ache he’d ever buried.

You were close. So close that he could feel the warmth of your breath mingling with his, the gentle rise and fall of your chest in rhythm with his own. And God, you were beautiful like this—soft-lit in the quiet hush of his living room, surrounded by the mundane comfort of cushions and low lamp light. Not draped in anything dramatic or posed like a fantasy. Just… real. And maybe that’s what undid him most.

His hand lifted slowly, reverently, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing the shell of it with a care that made his throat tighten. You leaned into the touch, ever so slightly, like a flower toward sunlight.

“I still don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, voice hoarse with emotion.

And then, without flourish or fanfare, James kissed you.

It wasn’t heated or hurried—this kiss didn’t burn, it warmed. Like sinking into a bath after a long day. Like folding fresh laundry. Like the smell of coffee in a quiet kitchen. It was domestic, unremarkable, and somehow more intimate than anything that had come before it.

His lips moved against yours with the patience of a man who finally understood he didn’t have to devour something to keep it. That you wouldn’t vanish the moment he blinked. His other hand came to rest on your waist, the pad of his thumb brushing slow circles through the fabric of your shirt. He could feel the steady thump of your heart—an answer, a rhythm, a promise. When he pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead to yours, he stayed there a while. 

Breathing you in. Letting the moment sink into his bones.

Just you, and a quiet kiss in a quiet house, and the terrifying, wonderful truth that he didn’t want this to end.

“Stay the night,” he whispered—not as a plea, but a prayer. 

You smiled.

Not shy, not uncertain. Just a simple, soft curve of your lips that met James like a balm. Like something whole-hearted. “Of course,” you said, voice barely above a breath. “I’ll stay.”

James didn’t move for a moment. He let the words settle between you like dust in sunlight. You’d said them so simply—but to him, they were thunderous. A sentence that cracked something open. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until it left him in a slow, almost trembling exhale.

“Okay,” he replied, quieter now, afraid if he said anything else he might ruin it.

You both stood in the soft hush of his living room, lit by nothing but the glow of a single lamp near the kitchen. Laura’s forgotten coloring book lay open on the coffee table. A single sock peeked out from under the couch. The world wasn’t perfect—but for once, it didn’t feel broken either.

“Do you… want something to drink?” he asked awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “I have, uh… tea. Or water. Maybe one of those weird sodas Laura keeps picking out.”

You laughed, that easy sound that still startled him with how much it made his chest ache—in a good way. “Tea is fine,” you said, and padded toward the kitchen without waiting to be served, already so natural in his space.

He followed you, watching how comfortable you’d become in the corners of his life. The way you leaned against the counter while the kettle boiled, how your fingers skimmed along the edge of the ceramic mug he always reached for first. You weren’t an intruder here—you fit. And the realization hit him like a tide.

“Do you always drink tea at night?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Only when I’m trying not to spiral,” he answered honestly, surprising even himself.

You turned to face him, cup cradled in your palms, expression unreadable for a moment. Then you smiled again—gentler this time. “And tonight?”

He looked at you. Really looked. The curve of your cheek where the lamp light softened you, the tiny line between your brows that always appeared when you were studying him too hard, the faint pink where his kiss had left warmth. He reached forward, brushed his fingers lightly over your wrist.

“Tonight,” James said quietly, “I don’t feel like I have to.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full—of things unspoken, of peace hard-earned.

After tea, you both wandered back to the couch. You curled your legs beneath you, and he sat close—so close your knees brushed. You flipped through the TV channels, stopping on something neither of you really intended to watch. It was just noise now. A backdrop to the quiet between you.

Eventually, you leaned your head against his shoulder. James froze, then relaxed slowly, daring to rest his cheek lightly atop your hair. You smelled like that lavender shampoo again. The one that stayed on his pillow the last time you left. He didn't speak. Didn’t dare.

Because the moment didn’t need words.

Because for the first time in a long time, James wasn’t trying to escape his thoughts. Wasn’t waiting for guilt to claw its way back in. Wasn’t hearing the distant grind of rusted metal or sirens behind his eyes.

All he heard was your breath, steady and calm.

All he felt was your weight against him, soft and real. And all he knew was that, if this was what staying felt like—if this was what peace could look like—then maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as lost as he thought.

Maybe he was just beginning.

James gazed down at you, his heart swelling with a tenderness he had long forgotten, if he had ever known it at all. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear before letting his fingers linger on the delicate curve. His touch was soft, almost reverent, as if worshipping the beauty he saw in you.

"You're so lovely," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "so warm and real. I feel like I've been wandering in the desert for so long, and now... now I've finally found an oasis. You." He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, your temple, your cheek. 

Each kiss was a benediction, a promise, a declaration of his intent. His hand slid down to your chin, tilting your face up to his, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lower lip.

"I want to make love to you," he said, his voice rough with emotion and desire, "Slowly, sweetly, so that you feel cherished and desired in every way imaginable. I want to worship your body with my own, to show you the depths of my feeling through every touch and caress."

He paused, searching your gaze, his eyes blazing with a fervor that made your heart race. "I want to be inside you when I come undone, want you to feel every pulse and throb of my release as I fill you, claim you, make you truly mine." His other hand slid up your side, his calloused fingers a delicious contrast to the softness of your skin. He cupped the swell of your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, feeling it stiffen and peak beneath his touch.

"I've never wanted a woman the way I want you," he confessed, his voice a low, intimate rumble, "Never craved someone with the desperation of a drowning man, a man who knows he's finally found the air he needs to breathe."

He leaned in closer, his lips a hair's breadth from yours, his breath mingling with your own. "Tell me you want this too," he breathed, "Tell me I'm not alone in this longing, this need."

His hand slid down to your waist as he tugged the hem of your shirt up just slightly, his fingers splaying over the warm, smooth skin he found there. It was a silent plea, a request for permission, a prayer of gratitude. "Let me love you," he murmured against your lips, "Let me show you the power and the strength and the depth of my love. Tonight. And every night after."

You gazed up at James, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest as you lost yourself in the stormy depths of his eyes. You saw your own longing reflected back at you, your own desperate hunger, and it set your nerve endings ablaze. "Yes," you breathed, "Yes, James, I want this too. I want you, with a fierceness that frightens me sometimes. I've never felt so drawn to someone, so... compelled by their touch, their presence, their love."

Your hand drifted up to cover his own, pressing it more firmly against your breast as you arched into his touch. Your nipple strained against his palm, aching for more, craving his heat and his hunger. You brought your other hand up to his face, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the shadow of his stubble. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for the briefest of moments, a low, guttural sound of pleasure rumbling in his chest.

"I want to feel your skin against mine," you whispered, "Want to map every inch of your body with my hands and my mouth. I want to taste you, to indulge in the flavor of your flesh until I can't remember anything but the salty sweetness of your essence on my tongue."

You rolled your hips, pressing your core against the thick, hard ridge of his arousal. You could feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothing that separated you, and it made your head spin, made your body ache with a need you had never known before. "How do you want me, James?" you asked, your voice a throaty purr.

Your hand slid down to the waistband of his jeans, your fingers dipping teasingly beneath the denim to stroke the hot, smooth skin of his abdomen. You felt his muscles clench and tighten beneath your touch, felt the power coiled there, waiting to be unleashed. 

"Tell me," you urged, your own hunger coloring your tone, "Tell me everything."

You pressed your forehead to his, your noses brushing, your lips a hair's breadth apart. Your breath mingled, your heartbeats synced, your bodies drawn together like magnets. "Please, James," you breathed.

James shuddered as your fingers danced along his abdomen beneath his clothes, your touch igniting a hunger he had long denied. He captured your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your palm, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours, revealing the raw, unbridled desire that consumed him. "I want you so much sweetheart," he rasped, his voice rough with desperation. "I want to touch you, taste you, feel every fucking inch of you. I'm starving for you, baby. I've been touched-starved for so long, but you... you make me feel alive again."

He gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, letting you feel every hard, honed line of his body. His erection throbbed against your belly, the denim of his jeans straining against his arousal. He rolled his hips into yours, grinding against you with a low, animalistic growl.

"Please, d-don't hold back," you begged, your eyes wild and fevered as you stared up at him, how so sweetly. "I want your mouth on me, your tongue buried deep inside me, fucking me until I can't see straight. I want your cock splitting me open, stretching me wider than I've ever been stretched before."

You bucked your hips into his hand as his fingers teased your clit, stroking and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. Drool dripped down your chin as you panted and mewled, lost to the pleasure radiating from your core.

Your shameless begging and the desperation in your voice inflamed James's lust to new heights. He groaned savagely as you raked your nails down his back, the sting of pain only fueling his hunger. His eyes darkened with a feral intensity, his gaze roaming over your debauched form like a predator eyeing its prey.

"Good girl," he growled approvingly, a wicked grin playing about his lips. "Fuck, you have no idea how much I love hearing you talk like that, hearing you beg so sweetly for my cock. It makes me want to give you everything you're asking for and so much more princess."

He hooked your legs over his shoulders, your ankles crossed at the small of his back as he loomed over you. His hands gripped your ass, kneading the flesh roughly as he ground his clothed erection against your soaked panties. The fabric was drenched, clinging to your folds and highlighting the vulgar display of your arousal.

"Lift your hips," he commanded, his voice a low, dark rumble. "Lift them for Daddy, sweetheart.”

You arched your back, lifting your hips eagerly as he demanded, desperate to obey him, to feel him hitting that sweet spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. "Please, Daddy, please..." you whimpered, your voice high and breathy, dripping with need. "I n-need your mouth on me, I need your tongue inside me."

James drank in the erotic sight of your glistening folds, the musky aroma of your arousal filling his nostrils and making his cock throb with need. He could see your clit, swollen and engorged, peeking out, begging for his attention. With a low, approving groan, he leaned in, extending his tongue and giving your clit a long, slow lick, savoring your tangy essence.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he rasped, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "Sweet as honey and ambrosia."

He sealed his lips around your clit, suckling greedily as two thick fingers delved into your dripping channel, pumping steadily and curling to stroke that secret spot deep inside. His other hand slid up your body, palming the swell of your breast, rolling and plucking at your nipple until it pebbled beneath his touch.

He ate you like a starving man at a banquet, devouring every inch of your glistening sex with lips, teeth and tongue. Soft, greedy suckles gave way to hard, fast flicks against your clit, his fingers plunging deeper, harder, fucking into your clutching heat with reckless abandon.

He could feel your thighs trembling and your belly quaking as he licked and sucked at your essence, your breathy moans and wanton cries spurring him on, urging him to take you harder, faster, deeper. The vulgar, wet sounds of his mouth on your cunt filled the living room, a testament to his hunger and desire.

He could feel your walls clenching around his invading tongue, trying to draw him deeper, to keep him inside you. It only spurred him on, urging him to redouble his efforts, to devour you with a single-minded fervor that bordered on manic. He wanted to taste your climax, to feel your release flooding his mouth and dripping down his throat.

"That's it, princess," he murmured against your flesh, his voice a dark, filthy rumble. "Daddy is gonna make you cum so hard, gonna drink down every drop of your sweet cream. I want to taste your pleasure, want to feel you shaking and trembling against my tongue as I wreck this pretty and sweet pussy."

He sealed his lips around your clit once more, suckling hard as two fingers plunged knuckle-deep into you. He pumped them in and out, curling them just so, stroking that spongey spot deep inside that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head. All the while, his tongue lashed mercilessly at your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

James could feel your walls beginning to flutter and clench around his plunging fingers, your nectar flowing freely as your climax approached. "Cum for me, baby," he growled against your flesh, his voice a commanding rumble.

Your body tensed, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You shattered with a scream, your juices gushing out to coat his chin, his cheeks, dripping down onto his chest and jumper. 

Your body tensed, back arching off the couch as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. "James!" Your pussy clamped down around his fingers like a vice, rippling and spasming wildly as ecstasy completely consumed you. "Oh god, yes! Don't stop, please don't stop!"

James groaned in approval as he felt your release drench his face, your essence flooding his mouth and dripping down his throat. He licked and lapped at your quivering folds, helping you ride out the intense waves of your climax, his fingers still pumping slowly, drawing out your pleasure.

"Fuck yes, just like that," James snarled in approval, lapping at your essence, drinking down every drop of your release. "Such a good girl, cumming so hard for me. I can feel this perfect little pussy milking my fingers, begging for more." He gentled his touch as you rode out your high, his tongue laving over your sensitive flesh, helping you down from the pinnacle of your pleasure. Once your shudders subsided, he lifted his head, his face glistening with your juices. His eyes, dark and intense, met yours, blazing with pride and satisfaction.

"Beautiful," he praised softly, his voice rough with desire. "Absolutely beautiful, you are absolutely beautiful. I've never seen anything hotter than watching you cum undone, hearing you scream my name."

He crawled up your body, his clothed erection grinding against your hip. He captured your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, before he pulled back to murmur, "You're exquisite, princess - in every possible way. And you're all mine."

Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, your skin flushed and dewy, your hair a wild halo around your head. You gazed up at James with hazy, lust-drunk eyes, a blissful smile playing about your kiss-swollen lips. 

When you spoke, your voice was a hoarse whisper, raw from screaming his name, "James... that was... incredible. I've never felt anything like that before." You reached up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the glistening trails of your essence on his skin. "You're amazing... the way you make me feel, the things you do to me..."

James captured your hand, turning his head to press a searing kiss to your palm. His tongue flicked out to taste your skin, to lick away the nectar that clung to it. His eyes never left yours, drinking in the sight of you - the satisfaction etched into the lines of your face, the awe and reverence in your expression.

"I could spend hours, days, worshipping your body," he murmured, his voice a deep, resonant rumble. "Could lose myself in tasting your pleasure, in feeling you cum undone again and again. You're a work of art, princess - a masterpiece I want to spend my life admiring." He leaned down to capture your mouth in a slow, sensual kiss, pouring all of his desire, all of his hunger, into the slide of his lips against yours. 

When he pulled back, he nipped sharply at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, your breasts behind your heaving and glistening with a sheen of sweat. With a coy smile, you reached down to paw at James's straining jeans, your fingers fumbling with the button, desperate to free his throbbing erection. 

You looked up at him from beneath sooty lashes, your eyes dark with renewed desire as you purred, "I want to return the favor, James. I want to taste you, to feel you throbbing in my mouth, to swallowing down every drop of your essence until my throat is coated in it..."

But James stilled your questing hands, capturing them in his own and bringing them up to cup your face, his calloused palms cradling your cheeks with a tender gentleness that belied the burning hunger in his eyes. He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own as he murmured, "Shhh, not tonight, princess. Tonight is all about you - your pleasure, your satisfaction."

He brushed his thumb over your kiss-bruised lips, tracing their contours with a feather-light touch that sent shivers cascading down your spine. His gaze was intense, penetrating, as if he could see straight into the very heart of you.

"We have all the time in the world to explore each other, to indulge in every debauched fantasy and dirty dream. But tonight, I want to focus solely on you, on giving you pleasure so profound that it will ruin you for anyone else's touch." He sealed his promise with a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim your mouth, to stake his ownership of your pleasure. When he broke away, he nipped at your bottom lip, tugging on it with his teeth.

He could feel your pulse beneath his thumbs where they rested against your cheeks, a quiet rhythm that matched his own, a fragile beat tethering him to something that felt almost too good to be real. His mouth lingered over yours, barely brushing it, as if he were afraid that kissing you too deeply might break the spell. Your skin was warm beneath his hands, and your breath — soft, trusting — filled the small space between you with something electric and unbearably tender.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice rasped from restraint, from need, from something deeper he couldn’t name.

James didn’t rush. He couldn’t. If he moved too quickly, he was afraid the whole moment might shatter—like fog parting beneath the weight of a hand. So instead, he stood there with you in the hallway, the soft hush of the house curling around your joined hands like a secret. 

His fingers were calloused and rough, his nails short, knuckles slightly scarred—working-man’s hands, not meant for gentleness. And yet, they were cradling yours as if you were made of breath and light.

He led you slowly through the hallway, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your skin. Every few steps, he glanced at you, like he needed to confirm you were still there—that you hadn’t vanished like so many things in his life had. The bedroom door yielded to his touch with a familiar creak. Inside, the fading dusk cast long shadows across the floorboards. The bed was made. The air smelled faintly of clean sheet and cedar. And something about that—about the quiet domesticity of it all—stirred something deep in his chest.

He closed the door gently behind you, shutting out the world. No sirens. No fog. No weight of the past clinging to his shoulders. Just you.

You turned toward him, your eyes catching the last thread of daylight and making his breath stutter. You were looking at him—not the way others had, with pity or uncertainty—but like you chose to. Like you wanted to be here.

“You sure?” James asked, voice low.

You nodded, your gaze steady, your voice soft but unwavering. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m sure, James.”

And god—he didn’t realise how much he needed to hear his name like that. Not barked in anger. Not whispered in guilt. But spoken with trust. With warmth. With you. You reached up, your fingers brushing gently through his hair, the gesture instinctive and tender. It grounded him. His hands, still cradling yours, lifted—one resting over your heart, the other sliding to your lower back, pulling you closer.

“This,” he murmured, “feels right.”

You smiled, your nose nearly brushing his. “It does,” you agreed. “Though I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting this side of you.”

He let out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh. “What side is that?”

“This... sweet one.” You teased, eyes dancing. “The man who gives me flowers to apologise and says things like ‘all the time in the world.’”

James looked down, almost sheepish, and you could feel the way his fingers squeezed slightly at your waist, like he was trying to hold back the smile threatening to break over his face. “Get used to it,” he muttered, shyly.

“I’m sure I will, James.” You replied with a sweet smile.

He cupped your face again, tenderly, reverently, his thumbs brushing over the soft curve of your cheekbones. You smiled up at him — not shy, not hesitant — but like someone who had waited for this moment with quiet certainty. That same smile you’d given him the day at the beach and every other day before. The one that made his ribs ache.

He kissed you. Slowly this time.

There was no heat behind it, not yet. 

And when you pulled back, you whispered with a teasing smile, “So… is this the part where you show me your impeccable taste in bedsheets?”

A real laugh — startled and low — escaped him before he could help it. “Careful,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your temple. “I might take that as flirting.”

You gave him a mock-innocent shrug. “Maybe it is.”

God, he was so in love with you.

The realisation came quietly, like all the dangerous truths did. It didn’t demand his breath. It just stole it.

He didn’t say it. Not yet. But he let the moment hold the weight of it as he guided you gently to the edge of the bed. You sat, fingers still looped with his, your knees between his. When you looked up at him, your voice was soft.

“I like seeing you like this,” you said.

“Like what?”

“Here. Present. With me. Happy.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His hands had already found your waist, holding you like you might vanish if he let go.

But you weren’t going anywhere. Not tonight. And for once, James allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to keep walking alone.

His eyes darkened with a fresh surge of desire as he drank in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over your curves, committing every dip and swell to memory. Slowly, almost reverently, he began to undress you, his calloused fingers skimming over your heated skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "You're breathtaking," he rumbled, his voice a low, rasp of appreciation. "Every inch of you is a work of art, a symphony of beauty and grace. I want to map out every contour, to trace the lines of your body until I know it as well as I know my own."

He slipped your bra off, revealing the creamy swells of your breasts, the rosy peaks of your nipples already pebbled with arousal. Leaning down, he captured one in his mouth, suckling and teasing, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he laved it with attention.

His hands drifted lower, finding the button of your skirt and popping it open with practiced ease. He dragged the fabric down your legs, his fingers trailing over your skin, before tossing it carelessly to the floor. Next went your panties, the scrap of lace already damp and clinging to your slick folds. James took a moment to admire you, sprawled out on his bed, naked and wanting, your hair a wild halo around your head. The sight of you, the feeling of your bare skin against his own, made his heart clench in his chest, a sensation as unfamiliar as it was welcome.

He leaned down to capture your mouth, pouring all of his hunger, all of his longing, into the slide of his lips against yours. His tongue delved into the warm cavern of your mouth, stroking along your own, igniting sparks of pleasure that raced through your veins like wildfire.

Emboldened by his fervent kisses and wandering hands, you decided it was your turn to explore his body, to map out the hard planes and angles of him. With a coy smile, you gave him a playful push, urging him to roll onto his back on the bed. He went willingly, a wicked grin playing about his lips as he watched you straddle his hips, your naked body on full display above him.

Your hands made quick work of his jumper, your nails scraping lightly over his chest, feeling the play of muscle beneath his skin. The sight of him, all raw power and coiled strength, made your mouth go dry, your core clenching with anticipation. He was a work of art, a masterpiece of masculinity, and you ached to touch every inch of him, to claim him as thoroughly as he had claimed you.

Leaning down, you pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along his chest, your tongue flicking out to taste his skin, to lap at the salt of his sweat. Your hands drifted lower, finding the waistband of his boxers, your fingers toying with the elastic as you looked up at him through the veil of your lashes.

“I love how needy you are for me,” you said in a purr.

With that, you tugged his boxers down, freeing his thick, aching erection from its confines. It sprang up, long and hard and perfect, the broad head already glistening with the proof of his arousal. Wrapping your hand around his length, you stroked him slowly, marveling at the silken steel of him, the way he pulsed and jumped in your grip.

James groaned, his head falling back against the pillows as you worked him, his hips rocking up into your touch. The sight of him, the sound of him, spurred you on, making you ache to have him in your mouth, to taste the salty-sweet essence that dripped from his slit.

"Fuck, princess," he grunted, his voice a dark, guttural rasp. "Your hand feels so good wrapped around my cock..." 

But, James's eyes flashed with a mix of lust and amusement as he reached down to still your teasing hand, his larger one easily encircling your wrist. With a wicked grin, he tugged you up his body, until you were splayed out beneath him, your naked body pinned to the mattress by his much larger frame.  He smirked down at you, his eyebrows waggling suggestively as he growled, "Ah-ah-ah, you wicked little minx. You're playing a dangerous game, tempting me like this when I've already told you that tonight is all about your pleasure."

He rocked his hips against yours, the thick length of his erection sliding against your slick folds, the head catching against your aching clit with each roll. The sensation made you gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure sparked through your body. "Such a greedy girl, so hungry for my cock. But I meant what I said, princess. Tonight, I'm in charge of your pleasure, not the other way around. So be a good girl and let me take care of you..."

He ravished your neck next, his teeth and tongue laying claim to your racing pulse, his lips trailing to your ear to rasp, "I'm going to make you cum so hard, babygirl, over and over again, until you're nothing but a writhing, mewling mess beneath me. I'll bring you to the edge of ecstasy, hold you there until you're begging for release, until the only word you know is my name."

"Please, James," you keened, your voice raw and desperate, thick with the haze of lust clouding your mind. "Please, I need... I need you inside me. Need to feel your big, hard cock stretching me open, filling me up until I can't take anymore..."

James's eyes softened with tender affection as he gazed down at your pleading, flushed face. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his fingertips lingering on the smooth skin of your cheek. Leaning in, he captured your lips in a slow, sensual kiss, pouring all of his love and desire into the slide of his mouth against yours. His tongue delved deep, stroking along your own, coaxing soft mewls of pleasure from your throat as he savored the honeyed taste of you.

"Shh, easy babygirl," he murmured against your lips, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I've got you, sweetheart. I'm going to take such good care of you, make you feel pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. Just trust in me, let me guide you, let me love you..."

He rolled his hips slowly, sensually, the thick length of his cock sliding along your soaked, aching folds, coating itself in your slick arousal. He groaned softly at the feel of your velvety softness, the way your body welcomed him, yearned for him, even without him being inside you.

His hand drifted down to your hip, his fingers splaying possessively over the curve, holding you steady as he rocked into you, grinding his pelvis against yours with each roll. The pressure against your throbbing, swollen clit made you gasp, your hips bucking up instinctively, seeking more of that blissful friction.

James's lips trailed down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing over your racing pulse before he soothed the sting with a lap of his tongue. He kissed along your collarbone, his mouth hot and open, tasting the salt of your skin, before dipping down to capture one straining nipple in his mouth. He suckled gently, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak as he palmed the weight of your breast, his fingers kneading the supple flesh.

He dipped his fingers through your slick folds once more, stroking your sleek, swollen flesh with a tender touch, circling your entrance without breaching it. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the sensitive nub, coaxing breathy little cries from your lips.

"I'm going to fuck you now, babygirl," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a sinful purr. "Gonna sink my thick cock deep inside your needy little cunt, fill you up until you're drowning in sensation, until the only thing you can feel is the heavy throb of me inside you. You're going to scream my name, beg for more, plead with me to never stop fucking you."

With that promise, he notched the broad head of his cock against your entrance, the thick length of him nudging your slick folds open as he gazed down at you with eyes dark and heavy with lust. Slowly, so slowly, he pushed forward, the thick shaft of his erection parting your velvet walls, stretching you open around his generous girth as he claimed your body for his own.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure as your silken heat engulfed him, squeezed him like a vice. "So tight, so perfect and warm and wet. You were made for my cock, babygirl - I can feel it, can feel the way your body is sucking me in, greedy for every hard, throbbing inch of me."

He hilted inside you with a low, guttural moan, his pelvis flush against yours, his heavy balls nestled against your ass. For a long moment, he simply savored the feel of your body wrapped around his cock, your inner muscles fluttering and clenching as you adjusted to the thick intrusion.

"I love you," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion and desire as he gazed down at your face, drunk on the sight of your pleasure. "Love you so much, sweetheart. And I'm going to show you just how much, over and over again."

You gazed up at James, your heart swelling with a love so profound it stole your breath away. Tears of happiness and overwhelming emotion welled up in your eyes as you drank in the sight of him, your handsome man, your beautiful lover. Slowly, a soft, dreamy smile curled your kiss-swollen lips as you reached up to cup his face in your palm, your thumb brushing tenderly over his cheek.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice raw with feeling, thick with the weight of your affection. 

James began to move then, his hips withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remained nestled inside you, before surging forward to fill you once again in one long, luxurious glide. He set a slow, sensual rhythm, each deep stroke designed to stoke the embers of your desire into a raging inferno. His hands roamed your body as he made love to you, caressing every curve and plane, committing the feel of you to memory.

He stroked along your sides, his fingers tracing the indentation of your waist, the flare of your hips, the soft give of your thighs. He squeezed the rounded globes of your ass, kneading and kneading, pulling you harder against him with each roll of his hips. His hands drifted higher, cupping the weight of your breasts, thumbs and forefingers plucking and tugging at your nipples until they were straining, aching peaks.

All the while, he murmured words of love and praise, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble in your ear. 

He angled his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts until he was stroking against that magical spot deep inside you with each pass. You keened softly, your inner muscles clenching down around him, trying to pull him in even deeper, to keep him buried inside your grasping, greedy heat. Pleasure sparked through you with each thrust, building and building until it felt like your very skin was on fire, your blood molten in your veins.

James's hands slid under your thighs, lifting them high and wide, opening you up even more for his conquering thrusts. He hooked your knees over his elbows, nearly bending you in half as he loomed over you, his dark eyes glittering with a feral, almost feral hunger. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper inside you, his heavy cock kissing your cervix with each punishing stroke.

"That's it, sweetheart," he growled, his voice rough with the effort of holding back, with the strain of fighting the urge to simply let go and lose himself in your addictive heat. "Take Daddy, take every hard inch of my cock. This sweet little pussy was made for me, made to milk my cock for all its worth. You're going to fucking drown in my cum, sweetheart - I'm going to pump you so full of it, stuff you so fucking deep with my seed that it's leaking out of you for days."

You let out a wanton moan, your back arching off the bed as James drove into you with renewed vigor, each powerful thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails raking down his sweat-slicked skin as you clung to him, anchoring yourself against the relentless onslaught of sensation.

"Yes, Daddy!" you cried out, your voice breathy and high-pitched with ecstasy. "Yes, give it to me, fill me up, make me yours!" You could feel every ridge and vein of his thick shaft dragging deliciously against your sensitive walls, stretching you open, claiming you, ruining you for anyone else. It was a exquisite mix of pleasure and pain, your body struggling to accommodate his generous size as he split you open on his throbbing cock.

You could feel the telltale pulses, the heavy throb of his cock as he grew closer to his peak, could feel the way his movements became more erratic, more forceful as he chased his pleasure. One hand drifted between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing hard, fast circles over the swollen nub, pushing you closer to your own explosive release. "Cum for me, babygirl," he demanded, his voice a low, guttural rasp in your ear. 

He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your screams as he thrust once, twice, three times more, before slamming into you one last time and grinding his pelvis against yours. His cock jerked and pulsed as he found his release, his hot seed spurting out in long, thick ropes to paint your fluttering walls white. He groaned into your mouth, his broad body shuddering and jerking over you as he rode out the waves of his climax, each clench and flutter of your cunt milking him for every last drop of his essence.

You wrapped your arms tightly around James's neck, holding him close as he crashed over you, your bodies shaking together as you both lost yourselves in the throes of ecstasy. Your mouth opened under his in a silent scream of rapture, your throat constricting around your own muffled cries as your pleasure peaked, your vision whiting out from the sheer intensity.

"James!" you screamed, your voice raw and hoarse, your body convulsing beneath him as your climax ripped through you like a tidal wave. Your nails raked down his sweat-slicked back, leaving red welts in their wake as you clung to him, anchoring yourself to him as your world shattered into a thousand glittering pieces.

You could feel his hot seed flooding your depths, each thick, pulsing spurt painting your fluttering walls a creamy white. It was a molten, branding heat inside you, marking you, claiming you, sealing the bond between your bodies and souls. You could feel it sluicing out around his still-throbbing cock, a lewd, obscene sound that only inflamed your lust and pushed you higher into the stratosphere of euphoria.

Your hips jerked and shuddered against his as you rode out the aftershocks, your body milking him for every last drop of his precious essence. You were lost in the sensation, drowning in a sea of sensation and emotion, your mind blanking out everything except the feel of James's big, strong body covering you, possessing you, loving you with every fiber of his being.

"I love you," you gasped out, your body still shaking with the force of your mutual release. "I love you so much, James. I love you, I love you, I love you..." Your words tumbled out in a breathless litany, a reverent chant as you floated down from the highest high of your life, your heart full to bursting with a love so deep and true it took your breath away. "That was... you were... we were... oh god, James, that was incredible. I've never felt anything like that before, never known pleasure like this, never dreamed that loving someone could feel this way..."

You peppered his face with kisses, brushing your lips over his skin in a desperate attempt to taste him, to memorize the salty-sweet flavor of his flesh, to sear the feel of him into the very cells of your being. Your fingers stroked through his damp hair, your palms cradling his cheeks, your thumbs brushing over his kiss-swollen lips as you gazed up at him with eyes that shone with unshed tears of pure, unadulterated joy and devotion.

In the aftermath, he collapsed against you, his weight blanketing you, his heart beating in tandem with your own as you both struggled to catch your breath. He stroked your hair, your face, his fingers gentle and almost reverent as he gazed down at you with a soft, sated smile.

"I love you too," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "More than anything in this world, sweetheart. You're mine, now and forever. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me, how much I cherish every moment with you."

The world had gone quiet.

Not in that hollow, suffocating way it used to — the way it would when grief sat on his chest like a brick, when all he could hear was his own breathing and the ghosts in his head. No.

This silence was different. Gentle. Full. Cradled by warmth and breath and the soft thrum of your heartbeat beneath his cheek. James lay half-draped across you, his arms wrapped protectively around your middle, as if anchoring you to him — or perhaps himself to you. The sheets tangled low at your waists, damp with heat and the truth you’d just poured into his mouth like prayer.

“I love you,” you had said.

Over and over, like you were trying to convince the world, or maybe just yourself, that someone like him could still be worthy of it. Now, your fingers threaded through his hair with slow, sleepy sweeps. His name was still caught in the back of your throat, somewhere between a sigh and a whisper. He felt it more than heard it — in the rise of your chest, the press of your lips against his temple.

James closed his eyes.

He didn’t deserve this. He had told himself that for so long, that guilt had become muscle memory. But your voice — your touch — was undoing that belief, stitch by careful stitch.

"You're still shaking," he murmured, lifting his head enough to look at you. His thumb brushed over your ribs, tracing slow, grounding circles. "I didn’t… I wasn’t too rough, was I?"

You smiled, lips soft, eyes glassy with spent emotion. “No,” you breathed. “It was perfect. You were perfect.”

James stared at you a moment longer, searching your face for any sign of doubt, of hesitation. There was none. Just the quiet glow of someone who had given everything and trusted it would be cherished. He kissed you again — not with hunger, not with need, but reverently. A kiss like a whisper. Like a thank you.

“I’ll get you some water,” he murmured. “Maybe a warm towel. Stay right here, yeah?”

You nodded, fingers still twined with his as he pulled away only reluctantly. He stood, tugged on his boxers and moved around the room with quiet purpose — collecting a clean towel, dampening it with warm water, pouring a glass for you with a hand that no longer shook.

When he returned, you were watching him with a look he couldn’t name. Something fragile. Something full.

He sat beside you, pressing the glass into your hands first, letting you sip slowly before carefully dabbing the cloth over your skin — wiping away the evidence of what they’d just shared with the gentleness of someone handling holy things. James didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to. His hands did — in every pass of the towel, every thumbstroke over your thigh, every time his knuckles grazed your wrist and lingered.

When he was done, he climbed back beneath the covers and pulled you into him — not with lust, but with need. 

With devotion. 

The room was quiet again — but not the fragile kind of silence that came after unraveling. No, this one was warm, cocooned in soft sheets and slower breaths, skin still humming with the memory of what they’d just shared. Your limbs tangled with his beneath the duvet, bare legs brushing under the weight of it, and the curve of your body fit so perfectly against his chest that James found it hard to believe he’d ever spent a night without you here.

You shifted slightly in his arms, cheek still resting over his heart, and he felt your smile before he heard it in your voice. “For someone who’s usually so reserved…” you mused, trailing your fingers down his chest, “you’re surprisingly filthy in bed, especially with your words.”

James huffed a laugh — the sound half-buried in your hair, where he’d pressed another slow kiss. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer, and he let the warmth of amusement ripple through his chest like something rare and hard-earned. “That’s because I’m not holding back anymore,” he said simply, voice low and rough from everything he’d groaned, murmured, begged for just minutes before. “Not with you. Not here.”

You tilted your head, grinning up at him with that radiant, post-bliss glow in your eyes, teasing but affectionate. “So this is the real James Sunderland?” you asked. “Growling in my ear, talking me through every second until I fall apart…”

His cheeks flushed, but the blush was genuine, not shameful — not anymore. Not with you looking at him like that.

“I told you,” he said, tracing his knuckles along your jaw with a reverence that made your smile soften, “I want to give you everything. Every part of me — even the ones I used to be afraid of.”

He paused for a beat, then added with a smirk, “Besides, you didn’t seem to mind.”

You laughed softly, burying your face against his chest again. “No,” you murmured. “I didn’t mind at all.”

James exhaled, long and slow, feeling something ease in his chest — that tight coil of guilt and hesitation finally loosening into something closer to peace. Your body was still trembling faintly against him, your skin damp, your breath brushing the slope of his collarbone, and yet all of it felt right. Grounded. Whole.

This was more than release. It was trust. It was a quiet kind of salvation.

And James, tangled in sheets and your arms, let himself believe — for tonight — that he deserved it.

That he deserved you.

And when your hand reached for his again beneath the covers, intertwining fingers without a word, James kissed the top of your head and whispered into the hush between you, “You make it easy.”

Then, smiling to himself, he added, “Even when you tease me.”

You hadn’t moved much in the last ten minutes—just shifted gently into the crook of his arm, like a petal folding into dusk. James could feel the steady rhythm of your breath against his ribs, the way your thumb brushed absent-minded circles over his skin. He almost thought you’d drifted off, and part of him hoped you had. Because the stillness was perfect. Fragile. A moment that didn’t demand anything from him but presence.

And for once, he could give that.

You stirred slightly, just enough to tilt your head and look up at him again. Your voice was soft when it came—sleep-warm, threaded with affection.

“Thank you,” you whispered, fingertips brushing his jaw. “For trusting me.”

James blinked. He wasn’t sure why, but the words made something pinch in his chest. He hadn’t said it aloud before—hadn’t even let himself think it too closely—but you were right. That was what this was. Not just lust or release or desperation. This was trust. This was him lowering the walls, letting someone see the broken, buried parts and hoping they didn’t turn away.

He opened his mouth to answer—something simple, honest—but then you added, almost idly, as if the thought had just occurred to you: “I hope someday you’ll tell me all your secrets.”

Your voice still held that same gentle tone, but then you continued, quiet… too quiet.

“Even the ones about Silent Hill.”

James froze. His breath stopped in his lungs, his throat suddenly too tight. It wasn’t immediate—more like a ripple through still water, slow and widening, dread sinking in layer by layer.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

Because you hadn’t said it like a joke. Not like some sleepy, passing comment. You’d said it like you knew.

Your head rested back on his chest like nothing had changed—but everything had. His heart was hammering now, loud in his own ears, and for a moment he wondered if you could feel it too.

Silent Hill.

A name he hadn’t spoken in three years.

A place he had buried.

His nightmares didn’t just belong to him anymore.

And as you settled, drifting off to sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips, James stared up at the dark ceiling above—his arms still wrapped around you, the ghost of your words burning in his ears.

He didn’t know how you knew.

He didn’t want to ask. But something told him…

Silent Hill wasn’t finished with him yet.

➜ ┊ a/n: It's a Silent Hill fanfiction, don't tell me you were already expecting a happy ending. Hehe.

[fushigogo]

HIIII CANELA WHAT HAVE U BEEN UP TO LATELY!!!

KOISITAAAA

Everything fine. Sorry for replying this late I just haven’t been in Tumblr that lately

[fushigogo]

HIJOS DE LA VERGA not only spam like also reblog 😩

[fushigogo]

THANK U FOR THE RB AND OMG I MISSED SEEING U ON HERE 🫂🫂 I hope life is treating you well <33

omg, thank u sweetheart, I just haven’t written anything 😭😭😭, but you know I’ll always appreciate u <3

[fushigogo]

But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo…☆ ◝

Snippet | “Press up a little… Okay um… try curling your finger—like, hook it up.”

꒰ CW | MDNI 18+ ꒱ Smútノangst, implied inexperienced! Choso, avoidant attachment! Reader, scént k⋆nk, pra⋆sé, m!ld bėgg!ng, s⋆zé k⋆nk, dry húmpúíng, spít, góóner! Choso, bràtty(ish)! Reader, ń⋆ppIe pIay, scént k⋆ńk, s⋆ze k⋆ńk, p⋆ssess!vé behavior, hint of geek! Choso, multiple big o’s, petnames, tèás!ng, b⋆dy w⋆rship, delayed O, squ⋆rt⋆ngノcr⋆⋆m⋆ng, óvèrst⋆múlat⋆ón, f⋆⋆t wórsh!p, túmmy búIge, yearner! Choso, ˖ aftercare.

꒰ FT | Fem!Reader X Roommate!Choso K. ꒱

꒰ Desc | Stressed after work? No problem ➜ until your favorite comfort item goes missing, and luckily your socially awkward roommate has a solution that leaves you unraveling in more ways than one.

WC ➜ 11K ➜ ML | A/N : Inspired by radiohead

You were absolutely doomed.

Around six-forty p.m was the time you usually arrived at your shared apartment, well after you stopped by for fast food to stuff your belly full—deserved especially since your shift worked you down to the bone. Then you’d hang your keys on the rack, strip out of your uniform in the bathroom, shower, and finally masturbate in your bedroom.

But that was the problem...

Your vibrator was nowhere to be seen, you literally searched everywhere.

Crawling on the floor with tattered breath as if you’d just watched a horror movie, digging through your cluttered closet, ripping apart the designer shoebox without a care, biting your lip as you forcefully pulled out every last drawer in your dresser, you even looked underneath your bed—which you decided it needed some tidying up later—at least after you fixed the bigger issue.

Tears nearly threatened to escape the corners of your eye, in complete distress at this situation.

It wasn’t like you were trying to be dramatic, but each rude client was worth at least eight orgasms or even double that, hell you’d try and go all night if you didn’t have better things to do. 

Sighing before making your next move, it was best to hit your last resort—asking your roommate if he’s seen your vibrator.

Of course you’d feel a little embarrassed, what’s the worst that could happen though? At most he’d give you a puzzled look and say no, still you were desperate, so it was worth a shot.

What you didn’t know about Choso was that he’s a bit of a gooner.

Whenever your friends visited you and they saw him they’d either : 

A. Fangirl over your roommate gushing how hot quiet tall men are, and twirl their hair (apparently) flirting saying how they like their men “tatted up like a chipotle bag.”

  Or 

B. Secretly whisper about how weird he looks—off-put by his broody energy and unapproachable face.

It only made you confused, because this was someone you’d defend with your life over someone calling him weird, but you never noticed at night how he groaned as he slowly stroked his cock to women that could possibly be your doppelgänger on twitter.

Thrusting up into his fist with a dying need when he’d watch hentai and the women would make the ahegao face, because he could only dream of making you roll your eyes back like that while you loll your tongue out. 

Softly crying out your name as he rammed into his fleshlight like it was your pretty pussy, that he accidentally got flashed by once. 

Choso couldn’t help himself, dirty talking to it—pretending it was the real thing. He’d whimper “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you like how I pound you Y/n?” Hearing your mewls through the walls with his keen ear only made it worse.

Which is exactly why while you were gone he hid your vibrator so discreetly he even forgot where he put it, he only hoped and prayed you’d have no other choice, but to come to him.

Oddly enough Choso was slightly shocked his little plan worked so easily. 

When you gently knocked on his door, some rustling could be heard like he was trying to hide a few objects before opening it.

At last the door squeaked as it pried open, revealing his taller stature. 

His eyes were baggy like if he got any sleep he’d start breaking out in hives, his ears decorated in piercings as if it were art on a canvas—his short shirt had shown off his tatted sleeve that drove women crazy.

“Do you need something?” Choso asked, leaning against the door frame, tying the drawstrings on his Star Wars pajamas with a dull look, although mentally his head was crowded with tiny people cheering for him.

“Yeah,” you took a long deep breath, answering. 

Fiddling with the hem of your silky pink nightgown, you practically stalled for what you were about to ask.

“I was just wondering,” you muttered, trailing off.

Hiding your sweaty hands behind your back, you tried speaking again “actually don’t judge before I say it.” You dodged eye contact, making your eyes busy in his suddenly plain room that looked as if some collectables, or posters were missing.

“Did she notice anything? Quick, Quick! act normal Choso.” He panicked, his thoughts scolded him so loud he swore you might’ve heard them.

If he had two choices to let someone see his unholy room smothered in erotic figures, or those anime posters he claimed to watch for the ‘plot’—he’d let that someone be a god before you.

Dipping his hands in his pockets, he leaned closer into your space with warm inviting cocoa-tinted eyes, brushing his bangs out of his face.

“I won’t, promise.” He calmly reassured you.

“Have you possiblyyy,” you sing-songed, already regretting your life choices “perhaps seen my vibrator?” 

For a moment, Choso had an unreadable look displayed on his face, then he raised an eyebrow, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“No?” He had to be honest with himself, shame simmered in his stomach as a lie trudged out, he hated making you feel a little crazy over this, but this was his only chance to feel the touch of a woman.

“Why would I see that?” Choso folded his arms, his eyes raked across your figure. Gradually losing his composure due to your fresh scent—the honey body wash with hints of vanilla perfume was begging him to rip your clothes apart so badly that he had to repeat to himself “Hold it together Choso.”

“Ah. You’re right, I just thought,” you poked your lips out, adjusting your bonnet to distract you from the incoming bomb of embarrassment. 

Usually since you often misplaced your keys you’d often ask Choso if he’d seen them and he’d find them for you, which is why asking him this made at least a little sense.

“Nevermind.” You turned on your heel, preparing to use your fingers instead, (knowing you’d sob yourself to sleep after).

Your roommate didn’t allow you to leave just yet though, grabbing your wrist.“Wait, unless you, uh… wouldn’t mind me helping you.”

You paused like the entire world disintegrated, stepping back in shock. 

“Helping me?” You tilted your head, on the verge of mentioning what if it changes things–not wanting anything to be tricky after, but at this point you couldn’t care anymore, you just wanted at most—one orgasm tonight.

“Yeah, I mean that’s only if you want,” he began scratching his head, abruptly leaving the “cool” act behind “You could even imagine someone else if–”

But before Choso could drown himself in a pool of awkwardness, you yanked him by his hand dragging him into his room like you owned it.

“Say no more!” You declared like you were at a restaurant and your roommate was the only thing on the menu.

He gasped, appalled like he didn’t construct this entire plan. Your smaller figure somehow managing to rule his taller frame. 

He wasn’t expecting you to actually give in, so what now?

Choso never had a pretty woman this close, well, one he actually had an undeniable desire for.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he fidgeted with his fingers, nearly sweating for what was about to come.

“C’mon get closer, you don’t gotta be shy now!” You purred as you bat your luscious lashes, scooting towards him.

His hand was glued on top of yours, lifting for a second like he wanted to make a move—do anything, but he never thought he’d get this far. 

Your fingertips grazed his skin as you tilted his chin upward with a featherlight touch, guiding his gaze to meet yours.

Your breaths mingled for a moment, dancing in the closed space.

Tracing a path of soft, fluttering kisses along the rim of his sharp jawline, you savored the heat radiating from his skin and the way he subtly leaned into your touch. 

Your lips ghosted over the spot in front of his mouth, as if you were edging yourself with tasting him.

His heartbeat was comparable to an earthquake, booming loudly in anticipation. He felt the entire four years of living with you flash before his eyes, as if this was hard work that paid off, and he could finally die complete.

Then, without warning, your mouth claimed his—almost like you were marking your territory in spite of other women crushing over him.

It was dramatic the way your lips crashed against his repeatedly, suckling on his bottom lip like you were ravenous.

Your lips were melded into each other as if neither of you could get enough of this. His hand cupped your cheek like this was something bound to happen—practically screaming you were made to kiss only him.

He gently smiled into your plush lips remembering a few of the guys you used to bring over—now it was at last his turn after hearing how your pussy squelched through the walls.

Years of being on the side due to your toys or other men and he finally had a chance—he felt a rush of dedication to prove he was better, an urge to outdo everything that you scurried to during ovulation. 

With one swift motion Choso picked you up, both hands cradling your hips and sitting you on his lap, forcing a gasp out of your throat.

“Didn’t know you had it in you like that.” You blurted, swearing if this were a show a saxophone would theatrically play in the background.

It was a known fact Choso was strong, but picking you up so fast you barely even noticed had you feeling like a love spell was casted on your heart, suddenly hearing it roar in your chest.

“I… Uh–”  He started off, but his mind became scrambled, intoxicated with how close you were.

Your honey vanilla scent could’ve made him cum on the spot if he didn’t have enough self-control, except he reminded himself this was his only chance–he refused to fuck up.

It was too late though, because he immediately began to buck his hips up like a bull, causing your arms to wrap around his neck instinctively. 

He never knew what it was like for a woman to sit on his lap before, he couldn’t help himself–the way your cunt throbbed all over his bulge it only enticed him even more.

“Fuck, I can’t believe this is real…” swirled around in his mind in disbelief, a fantasy he told himself would never be real achieved to bloom into life. 

Choso’s angry veins were practically cursing you for how good your slick panties felt on top of him. 

His cock felt like stone, already frustrated from the thin fabric separating the two of you. 

“God, you’re so fucking hard,” you bursted into giggles, continuing to roll your hips “guess I’m not the only one… this pent up huh?” You teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Mhmm.” He mumbled, eyes barely open as he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, fitting like a perfect puzzle piece. 

His focus was as good as a drunk person. Every shift of your hips became the only thing that mattered.

He bit back noises like if he let them slip, he’d no longer impress you, but it was as if you knew he was holding back—switching to a faster rhythm, placing kisses on his neck then sucking harshly at the tender skin, sure to leave a dark purple bruise. 

He finally let go, ecstasy ascending in his bones, whimpering like a man obsessed—someone who’d merge souls with you if it were possible. 

Choso’s body chased yours as if were a reflex, his mind morphed into complete fuzziness it was like he was on autopilot, but there was only one thing—he didn’t know what to do with his hands, maybe stealing your vibrator was a little odd, but he still wanted to remain respectful.

His hands moved lower down your back, fingers drawing circles on your nightgown, but halted like he wanted to go further and couldn’t.

“You wanna touch me?” You whispered, lips brushing his pink tinted ears, sending shivers throughout his body “It’s okay, go ahead.”

“You sure?” He brought his face from your shoulder for a moment, pressing his forehead against yours, the tips of your nose basically engaged to each other.

You nodded, reaching for his hands, dragging them down slowly to your ass. He quickly grabbed a huge handful, like it would escape from him.

“Fuck, you’re so soft.” 

He groaned, feeling a surge of something primal brewing throughout him, his fingertips screwed harder into the supple fat of your ass damn near branding you.

You were driving him wild without even doing much but looking pretty while grinding on him.

The weight of you in his lap was insane—his mind shuffled with “please let this be more than once, I’ll do anything to have her again.” 

Choso brutally bit the inside of his cheek, making sure this wasn’t a dream, if he woke up any minute he’d definitely take his anger out on one of his poor body pillows.

The fact that you came to him, agreeing with his idea to help you even if you could’ve just used your fingers, or just asked him to help you search for it meant everything to him—he never felt this needed in his life. 

He was breathless at the touch starved friction, your moans swimming in his ear, how you gently clawed at his back, your captivating scent, was all too much for him.

“Feels so good.” Became the only thing he could spew out, veins bolting as he gripped you tighter, bringing you closer as his clothed cock rubbed on your pulsing clit.

You sighed entirely dazed, the air around you two growing thick and humid. You had your arms wrapped around his marked neck like you wanted to trap him in a web to keep him there forever.

Unfortunately, nobody’s touched you in what felt like decades; to some abstinence for only two years sounded weak, just about anyone could go without dick for two years right?

Absolutely not, at least for you, these past years were hell, it was so horrible you considered calling your ex-situationship to satisfy your needs.

Which was why you rutted into his pelvis like an animal in heat, your body acted as if it were irritated he didn’t ask to help you sooner.

Your panties became a slip n’ slide, every single one of his needy whimpers sprinting straight to your puffy clit—Choso’s wet kisses relishing in your neck had your nipples shamefully pebbling in your nightgown.

Somehow your hips even picked up speed on its own rocking into his tented pajama pants, you wouldn’t be surprised anymore at other decisions it could make. 

There was no way you were this turned on by a little bit of humping, right? You mentally reprimanded yourself.

It was almost like you were a virgin again with no sense around a man, pure lust cascading your body.

Your breath was disappearing from you like a ghost, unable to handle your roommate’s wispy moans striking your ear, sounding as if he was on the verge of coming–all you could feel was the splotch of pre-cum leaking from the middle of his pants.

Your fingers ditched his neck to tangle into his raven tufts hoping it’d help stabilize yourself from the inescapable coil building in your tummy.

Not even the blasting fan nearby could cool the large sums of sweat off your bodies—convinced you were soul tied at this rate by how in sync you moved together.

Every hungry grind lined up perfectly with his bulge that continuously attacked your bundle of nerves sticking to the seam of your panties.

He held you so close you could feel his abs flexing as he gripped you tighter, the possessive touch causing you to clench around utterly nothing.

“Choso,” your mouth let out a choked sob, nails indenting itself into his shirt “Shit, I’m… close…” you gasped desperately in between breaths.

Your thighs began to shudder around his waist, drunk off the sheer intensity of him thrusting up into you.

Arrays worth of fireworks launched in your head, dizzy on the fact that you’d possibly get your first orgasm of the night after a long shift.

“Yeah? Haah, mmggffh me too…” He whimpered, placing a kiss on top of your head, but unfortunately he had a sudden change of plans—slowing down his movements while shifting his body just to lay you on the bed facing him against the plethora of fluffy pillows.

“Wait, nooo why’d you stop?” 

You whined, heart humming like a drum—your pussy clamping around nothing, begging for anything to get relief.

“Because if I kept going I was gonna cum in my pants like some filthy loser.” Choso rasped, wetting his lips—dark brown eyes secured on your figure as if you stepped out of his favorite doujinshi.

You playfully smirked as you gave a pointed look to the sticky grey patch on his pajama pants. It might’ve only been pre-cum, though replaying how breathless he sounded, he definitely sounded like the filthy loser in question.

Clearing his throat, he pushed up the silk material of your nightgown with no rush behind his actions.

He delicately spread your legs apart, sweeping dainty kisses from your slick-covered thighs to your stomach before unhurriedly pulling away your sticky panties.

Once they were all the way off he gave them a huge whiff like he wanted the scent of your cunt after an eight-hour shift to burn deep into his nostrils. 

He exhaled as if it were a sweet aroma of baked cookies, and bunched it up into a ball flinging it somewhere in his room like he was signaling you weren’t getting that back, causing your eyes to widen.

“I wanna savor this—savor you…as long as I can.”

His voice was hoarse as he slipped a finger inside your velvet walls, careful and deep like he needed to feel every inch.

But there was one dire issue, he thought he knew what he was doing from watching—an almost concerning amount of porn, yet it unfortunately made him move his finger only in and out with no sense of set pace or rhythm.

You bit your lip hesitant, leaning up on your elbows as your eyes bored into his “Wait, you’re not doin’ it right.” It wasn’t to be mean, but if he wanted to help out, you weren’t going to take this back and forth like he was trying to hit a non-existent red-button.

He paused his finger for a moment.

“Does that not feel good?” Choso questioned, furrowing his brows in confusion. Thinking wrongfully he was prepared enough for this, gooning to all those videos on twitter or other websites didn’t seem to do him any good afterall.

You shook your head mumbling a near inaudible “Mm-mm.”

“Guide me on what to do then, angel.”  

He pleaded, his tone enveloped with curiosity, eager to be corrected—yet felt you flutter around his finger.

“Does she like being called angel?” Those words scampered around his mind, as he squinted his eyes, he made a quick mental note on what you liked while waiting for you to explain any directions you were willing to spill. 

You chewed the inside of your cheek, face burning at explaining what your body needed—either way you craved an orgasm, so you decided to suck up the slight tension. 

“Here,” you whispered, grabbing his wrist and helping him move at a tortoise-like pace. “You’ve gotta press up a little.”

His mouth fell open slightly as he watched you guide him, if it were possible to get a tattoo of a memory he’d want to ink your vulnerable state in his brain next.

“Press up a little?” He asked, voice tentative like he was trying to figure out his way through a maze.

“Okay um… try curling your finger—like, hook it up.” You described curling your fingers in front of him to give him a picture, assuming he could be more of a visual learner.

He did exactly what you told him, marking your directions in his brain like a fervent student, adjusting his hand to press against a fiercely sensitive spot hiding inside you.

“Keep moving slow okay?” You instructed, chest rising and falling as you relaxed into his touch.

Choso’s mind began to flash back to sensual porn he watched whenever he got tired of overly rough videos, abruptly realizing that’s what made him cum quickly—maybe it’d be the same for you if he properly mimicked the same movements.

Beads of sweat trickled down his temple, as he pursed his lips in concentration, devoted to making you fall apart on his hand first. 

Slithering his finger in your clingy walls, he continued to curl up in a repeated motion, stroking your g-spot with the same precise care he gave the finest brushes in his art collection, forcing your back to beautifully arch, entirely surrendering yourself to his long digit.

Choso moaned softly, at how demanding your pussy became–despite him only having one finger engulfed in you, it grasped him like it’d fire him from his job if he stopped at any moment.

He smiled with adoration, mind filled to the brim with colorful confetti, celebrating like this was his biggest accomplishment in life, besides one of his paintings he sold–he got the exact girl he was longing for writhing underneath him, depending on him for pleasure.

“Like that?” he questioned, following your reactions like a hawk. 

“Aah, yes! Like that Cho.” You mewled, as you toyed with your hardened nipples through your nightgown, impatiently peeling one of your tits from out of the top. 

His pace stuttered for a moment, distracted by the sight of your exposed breast and how lazily you teased yourself. He swallowed hard, correcting his rhythm with a low whimper.

Fuck, why are you like this? 

You weren’t even trying to be hot, all you did was flick your nipple between your fingers and for some reason, it was enough for him to bang his hips into the mattress aiming to satisfy the painful throbbing ache in his pants.

Choso rubbed your thigh like he needed it to ground himself, he gave it a gentle squeeze, having a strong thirst to live in your soft flesh.

He maintained massaging your spot, proud your elbows finally became weak—no longer able to support you due to how much bliss you were in.

“You okay, angel?” Genuine concern cloaked his tone, refusing to overwhelm you, but he somehow didn’t realize that’s exactly what made you lose your mind, being overwhelmed.

“‘M fine... just—” your voice shattered like glass, hardly able to finish your train of thought, as your walls fluttered tight around him, “add another finger, please.”

You yearned for that extra push like a woman who hopelessly waited on love letters from her man at work, and at that moment it registered to you that this began to feel a little more intimate than just roommates. 

You wanted to push away his wrist—stop him—do anything, but that coil that was stirring in your tummy had you under deep control, it’d be like trying to break free from a cage made of steel.

“Is that better?” 

“Mhmm… f–feels so good. You’re doing so well, Cho—so good f’me.”

Oh, he couldn’t wait to free his cock, at this point you were torturing him—not that he minded. 

The way your back arched, breasts high and nipples pleading for more. Mouth slightly parted with half-lidded eyes made him want to sketch you like this—ruined under his touch.

“God, you’re so wet,” he panted, surprised at the obscene squelch sounds your body gave him. “you look so pretty, trembling like that for me.”

“She must really like praise, huh?”  His thoughts clouded his mind, as he watched a waterfall worth of slick that coated his palm.

Choso gave a smug half-smile, realizing he could unravel you with nothing but his words. Any doubts about sounding awkward? Gone—submerged under the sound of your moans.

Your mind fell numb, grinding your hips down on his digits, crying out his name like a broken record.

“Oh my god Choso.” You squealed—eyes slamming shut, as you grabbed at his lean tatted arm, his muscles flexing at your unexpected touch.

“Choso, choso, choso, I’m close, don’t stop.” You begged, playing a memory that dragged you back to when other men would change their pace or rhythm as soon as you were on the tip of coming.

“Faster Cho, you’re doing such a good job.” You encouraged as your nails scraped his arm, tits jiggling while your hips stuttered against him like he was your only source of euphoria, completely forgetting about your ‘lost’ vibrator.

He listened to you attuned to your needs, then thumbed at your fat greedy mound.

It was too much, feeling overstimulated—his wide thumb circling on your clit as he thrusted his fingers swiftly in a come hither motion, provoking drool to slip past the corners of your lips.

“Hah, Choso—gonna cum, I’m coming!”  Your thighs quivered as you threw your forearm across your face, pussy spasming around him like you were trying to reel him in forever.

Faint cries echoed throughout his room as a gush ripped from your cunt, raining over his already doused palm.

Loads of waves poured over him, claiming his palm and wrist, so bad he became sure he’d need an umbrella.

Your body acted like you haven’t orgasmed in centuries, spilling out way too much as if it’d never get a chance to feel another man again.

Finally, he pulled away his fingers noticing the skin was now wet and wrinkly, still he tapped his digits against his lips like he was debating whether or not he wanted to taste your arousal.

Then he dipped them in his mouth, suckling at your wet essence that coated him–his tongue glided over your slick while he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, as if that’d manage to disrupt his judgement.

Choso’s brows creased like his brain was scanning the flavor on his taste buds and relaying the information to form a final opinion.

He smacked his lips for a second “Hmm, a bit salty, yet sweet, maybe like a chocolate covered pretzel?? I’d say this is a ten out of ten.” Choso announced, giggling as if he were a well-known food critic, but in tasting cum.

“A chocolate covered pretzel?!” You snorted, boisterous, yet fairly bewildered at the bold comparison.

He joined you in laughter, shrugging, except His giggles died down as his eyes met yours again—still entranced from everything.

“You okay?” he asked, checking on you once more, rejecting anything less than an astonishing experience for you. His hand rose up to caress your side, touching you at any chance he had.

“Of course I am,” you nodded, doe eyes swaddling him, but masked behind lust, you reached up towards him, tugging him feebly by his shirt. 

“C’mere… I want you inside me, pleaseee.” 

The ache in his pants pulsed hard enough to make him wince. He exhaled slowly, nudging closer, slotting his hips between your legs.

Choso blinked, his breath catching. “Y-Yeah? You sure?”

His fingers flexed against your thigh. You were still twitching, your cunt fluttering around nothing as you pawed at his pajama pants.

“I need it, Choso—need you now.”

That was all it took, he leaned in, peppering kisses all over your face like a man who made love to his woman before he went to war. “Fuck, you’re unreal.”

Choso scrambled to tug down his pants, whimpering at the fact that he could finally take care of his boner.

His cock sprang free like it was ready to ravage your pussy, causing your eyes to pop as a gasp flew out of your throat. 

The tip was on par with an abnormal sized mushroom, maybe even lab made—flushed coral pink and bitterly leaking, envious it didn’t get any attention yet.

But that wasn’t even the best part, the length looked around seven inches paired with a five inch girth, this was the kind of dick that’d steer you away from any ex or toy for life, you made a wild guess you’d most likely get attached after this as if your heart would stop without him.

“Oh my god?” You covered your mouth, appalled. The other men you’d been with had three or four inches, which occasionally made you yawn during sex.

You never would’ve guessed your roommate who’s quiet—makes small talk with you was secretly packing underneath his typically baggy clothes.

“Is it bad looking?” Choso quizzed, face hued a rose pink—worried he wouldn’t succeed your expectations. “I could still try to please you if—“

“No, it’s so fucking big” you drooled, ogling at him “put it inside me now!” You ordered, as you rubbed your clit in small circles.

He was only left speechless, cock twitching profoundly at your approval until a few words came to mind, “anything you want princess.”

Choso turned powerless to his own actions, hand moving to give himself a few pumps before slapping his fat tip on your clit, provoking you to jolt.

He let out a breathless chuckle like he was going insane. “I’ve been waiting so long for this.”

“You have?”

He responded with a nod as his tip stroked your entrance, gathering some slick to act as lube before lining himself up, then he steadily glided himself in—making your breath hitch.

Your hands fisted the sheets, to comfort yourself with the burning stretch. You were able to feel every single throbbing vein, ridge, and you’d imagine even his beauty marks that decorated his length too.

His eyes searched your face for any discomfort while he continued pushing himself inside you, his girth splitting you open into two.

“Mmm, you want me to stop half way?” He asked as he massaged your hip.

You immediately shook your head “No, all the way in.” 

Even through the slight sting you needed everything Choso could give, except that costed your breath to increase, getting heavier, not realizing how much you had to accommodate.

Your walls panicked, feeling like it instantly had to find a way to mold itself properly to his size to ensure you’d only feel a compelling sense of pleasure.

He continued to drag himself all the way in, just like you asked until your pelvis pecked at the hair freckled at the base.

“W—want me to move, or do you need a minute?” Choso questioned, throwing his head back at your tight, warm, wet cave encasing him—knowing it’d be difficult to return to his fleshlight after this, it’d be like trying to sober up after an addiction.

“You can move.” You stated, making an attempt at a neutral tone, but it came off more of a plea.

You never thought missionary could hit like this, usually it bored you, leaving other men to watch a blank expression on your face as they had their way with you, but with Choso, your body sucked him in like a black hole completely immersed in his length.

“Fuck, fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight, angel.” He groaned as he unbuttoned his shirt, taking it off like it’d cool off his body.

Then at last his hips rocked forward, slow but deep, like he wanted to carve his name into your guts.

“Y’gonna ruin me,” he breathed, and you swore for a moment question marks were exploding on top of your head confused like he wasn’t the one ruining you.

Vibrators always helped with stimulation but they never prepared you for the sheer stretch and fullness of cock—especially since Choso’s thick, it felt like a soda can was trying to jam inside your cushion walls.

He pulled back just enough to harshly launch back in on purpose—remembering how much you loved being overwhelmed.

You sobbed his name in like a prayer hoping to be answered any minute, turning your head side to side into the silk sheets.

It almost turned mortifying how sensitive your sopping cunt was, those two years promptly catching up to you, reminding you how badly you wished for dick to break the streak.

You were basically in heat, squeezing around him, placing your hand on his abs like it’d console you from his deep thrusts.

“S–shit, I didn’t know anyone could make me feel like this.” You mumbled beyond perplexed an inexperienced man already had you seeing stars. 

You kept trying to tell yourself on loop that this is just sex, something casual until you marched yourself to Spencer’s to buy another soulless piece of silicone to mourn the real thing, but your lash line started to swell with tears, cherishing that his eyes were glued to your face digging for any reaction you spared him.

And telling yourself this is just a small one-time thing began to feel suffocating, specifically since he delicately held your hips–too shy to leave bruises, rolling into you like you were an idol meant to be worshipped.

Your heart erupted with heat each time he softly cursed your name–leaning in to kiss your neck, beginning to realize your friends possibly weren’t exaggerating when they expressed how mind-blowing sex is, every stroke raised your standards for the next man, well, if you weren’t too attached afterwards.

Choso shot a smile flourishing with passion, knowing you felt ecstasy simply because of him–it was just like he dreamed of when he masturbated if not better.  

He used one hand to thumb at your clit, circling it with careful, messy swipes just to hear those moans, the ones gentle as clouds escaping your lips—with his other hand, he reached for yours, fingers lacing together and pressing them into the pillow beside your head like he wanted sculpt how infatuated he was with you.

His hips rocked forward in slow, deliberate thrusts, but each time he bottomed out, he ground—like he was trying to argue with your body to prove entirely nothing could be better than this.

He wanted to etch himself into your walls, dedicated to making this memorable. 

Every steady drag of his cock left behind a milky trail of your thick cream on his shaft that clung to him like a crazy jealous ex who wouldn’t let go.

You felt him everywhere.

Not just stretching your pussy, but filling your tummy, pressing against something deeper—maybe your womb, probably your soul.

You clamped around him uncontrollably tight—not even sure if your body wanted more, to cry, or scream that you couldn’t take it.

But then you thought about those rude-ass clients from earlier.

There was no way in hell you were tapping out.

His fat tip kept thumping your sweet spots with surgeon-like precision, making your toes curl and your hands try to weakly reach for the nightstand. 

It still wasn’t enough. You wanted to be wrecked—spoiled—reduced to nothing but a whore underneath him.

So, you did what any bratty woman would do, what better way to ask than tease your way into this?

“You… don’t gotta… move so slow anymore Choso,” you faked a yawn, or tried to in between breaths “maybe I should go look for my vibrator—see if that gets the job done instead.”

His pace faltered—just for a moment like something short-circuited. Then his eyes shifted, and you could see it click, something devious lighting up behind them.

“Yeah?” 

His voice dropped an octave—baritone, yet rich as satin, being enough to make your skin prickle with goosebumps, recognizing there was something mischievous hiding underneath the surface.

He withdrew his shaft, but didn’t pull all the way out, just until the head of his cock sat tauntingly in your slick entrance, like it was alerting you what you were in for, messing with a man who has had an excessive fixation on you for four years.

You could feel your pussy throb like your slutty hole had its own heartbeat, attempting to grab him back in as if it were irritated you were teasing the best dick of your life.

His soft palm cupped your breast, watching how your hard nipple jostled at his fingertips.

With a slow roll of his thumb, he circled your bud—softly pinching it, studying the way your back twitched off the mattress.

A whimper flew from your parted lips, fingers tangled in the sheets at how sacred his hands kneaded you, a sheepish expression plastered across your face at how responsive you were, it was like every molecule in your body finally felt seen.

And although Choso looked like someone who sat on Discord all day, sketching anime girls in questionable poses for “anatomy study,” debating mischaracterized characters on Reddit threads at 2 a.m.—you knew you were about to be ruined.

“If that’s what you want…” He sucked in a shaky breath through his nose, jaw tight so tight a vein could burst—like he was satisfied he could be rougher, letting his pervy energy leak through. “I’ll give you anything.” 

You tried to keep up the bored act, a deadpan expression sprawling out over your face, considering whether or not rolling your eyes or huffing out a fake sigh was too far.

Distracting yourself by the windy spring air blowing the curtains—you pondered for a moment, eyes deciding to entertain themselves inspecting the rest of his room, darting to the walls decorated with anime posters that were most likely judging your sinful actions.

But then—he grabbed both of your legs, hoisting and folding them over his shoulders in one sharp motion, so quick that the succulent fat of your thighs angrily jiggled at the sudden movement.

His eyes narrowed in focus, shaking his head to move his raven bangs that stuck like glue to his forehead, but you instantly broke him out of deep concentration as broken moans rumbled from your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your voice strained, as a string of curses rushed out of your mouth, his mushroom tip pushing farther.

You weren’t ready for how deep this angle let him reach—having your knees nudge your collarbones or the intense stretch.

Mentally, little disorganized files in your brain broke open, scattering to figure out where he learned his technique from, especially since not too long ago you were guiding him on how to finger you, could it be porn, or maybe advice from quora?

You couldn’t even be bothered to solve that grueling mystery now though, because you swore you saw a faint trace of a smirk gracing Choso’s features.

Not the playful one you usually gave him to tease, just to rile him up for pure amusement. 

It screamed more like a yellow warning sign, a promise as if to tell you “be careful for what you wish for.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Your voice cracked between shallow breaths, pleading for mercy, all while secretly hoping he’d ignore them—wrecking you until you were walking funny for the next two weeks.

But in typical Choso fashion, not a single word dared to exit his mouth.

You simply braced for impact, throwing your forearm back over your face like you were a damsel in distress.

Then he slammed into you–all the way, at once–his full length bullying any sensitive spot imaginable, burying himself to the hilt—his short nails digging tiny crescent moons into the plush of your thighs.

Your mind shimmered in elation—the pleasure comparable to a warm hug, you nearly wondered if you should’ve mumbled out a thank you for how dreamy everything felt.

Each slam of his thick cock felt as if it were exasperated, reclaiming his silence for four years of crushing on you–like he was begging to know how you could be so oblivious this whole time.

The poor wooden headboard croaked at the pressure, banging against the wall louder than siren, someone would assume it was trying to find an escape–refusing to be the spot you two fucked like animals on top of.

Those years of moaning into your pillow with your vibrator on max setting—worthless. It was like your pussy forgot what real pleasure was supposed to feel like.

Ramming into you his balls slapped the curve of your pussy, hard enough to make your back arch and body shudder like he was commanding you to, except without any words needed. 

The stretch of him felt like if your body took another cock it’d deny access immediately, you wouldn’t mind staying this way though, even if it was too much for you to handle, you’d replay this moment while lucid dreaming, doing anything to be folded in half like this again.

“S’full, m’ so fuckin' full Choso.” You babbled, tears wobbling at the edge of your lash line, creeping down your face like it didn’t want to be noticed.

“Mhm, I know princess.” He cooed, continuing to drive into you as he carefully watched your tummy bulge dance with every thrust “That’s all me huh?” He mentioned completely struck at how big he was as if he didn’t consistently measure himself.

Once one large hand departed to press on your belly, your jaw went slack from the immense pressure, his dick kept critically knocking into that precious a-spot, like he was perfectly doing calculations in his brain which angles or thrusts would make you sob.

Your half-lidded eyes were blurry, rolling back until you saw white.

Your vision was as good as television static, the black and white specs twinkling—thoughts fading into a puddle of mush as your tongue lolled out, proving he fucked you dumb.

Drool slipped past your lips, lashes flickering like you were fragile—seconds from breaking apart.

That's when he snapped—mind brittle in arousal, eyes darkening at how pornographic you looked, exactly how he’s been daydreaming when he masturbated to the thought of you, hungry and desperate for you to make a slutty ahegao face.

“Shit,” a long drawn out groan crawled out his plump lips, as his pace stammered for a moment, absorbed in your lack to control your features contorting by bliss.

One pale hand still rested on your leg, while the other grabbed your jaw holding you in place effortlessly, leaning so close his breath could fog your face if it were glass just to spit a massive glob making sure it aimed right for your tongue.

By this point you were hazy—maybe half-gone swallowing without hesitation, lips closing as his spit swam down your throat keeping a piece of him inside your body.

You gave a droopy smile, almost nothing could break you out of your sexual high besides Choso quickly apologizing for the sudden act.

“Shit, wait, I didn’t mean—” he started to explain himself, voice drizzled with guilt, yet it was hard to focus with him consistently pounding so deep you wouldn’t be exaggerating if you said you felt his dick in your chest.

“Was it too much?” He panted, worried he may have grossed you out.

Not knowing that you’ve been craving someone who goes beyond vanilla sex this entire time.

“No, do it again.” You begged, scratching at his abs with no force behind it.

His breath hitched, eyes nearly bursting out of the socket “You’re gonna be the death of me Y/n.” 

Tilting your jaw once more, he gathered every last drop of saliva in his mouth to spit another glob on top of your needy tongue.

His fingertips pushed up at your chin, signaling you to swallow everything he gave you—making him proud that another piece of him was going to disappear down into your tummy.

You held onto it for a minute before swallowing though, savoring the flavor of his obsession before completely letting it leave—moaning once you felt well-fed by your roommate.

“There you go, s’good for me.” His pupils twitched at how vulnerable you were with him, feeling a sense of connection to every noise you made, every eye roll, how you trusted him enough to let him do whatever he wanted with you.

And your heart shouldn’t have combusted like it did at his words, knowing this should only be a one time thing before things get serious, but your thoughts were frolicking in circles at the idea of being married to Choso, unable to care about the relationship stage first.

Your eyes—finally able to look properly couldn’t even stare into his, dodging his every glance.

You couldn’t tell whether you hated how observant he was or not because then—he grasped your jawline like it was an insult to avoid his gaze.

“Look at me angel, want you to see how good m’ fucking you.”

The only thought you could conjure up was “Is he trying to make me fall for him?” It seemed like everything he did made both heartbeats skip.

His length hammered into your sensitive core as you looked up to him with loving doe eyes, your fingers holding onto the ones hooked on your jaw keeping him in place, like if he let go you'd miserably whine if he stopped.

“Mmngh, look at that…” Choso groaned, intentionally thrusting slower to let you revel in how much his girth ripped you to shreds, while he carefully analyzed the outline of his cock he ingrained into your belly—still shocked, not realizing how huge it was.

You could only respond by squeezing him like you were trying to milk him dry of four years worth of being pent up, dazed, you struggled to give him eye contact, until he instantly made them broaden—completely stunned.

While one hand stayed pressed on your stomach, one of his hands latched to your ankle, planting a tender kiss on it without breaking his fast paced rhythm, he dragged your pointed foot up—lips making love to your heel, the soft skin of your arch, and each one of your toes coated in cheetah print polish.

He wasn’t sure why, but the lavish design only drew him in even more like if he kept paying your feet any more attention he’d stay hard for another round.

“Mmmph s’cute,” he slurred, wet muscle grazing the pads of each toe like it was a heavenly meal prepared and served only for him to pamper himself with.

At first it tickled like your nerves were panicking—trying to process being stimulated there, but then once the strange tingly feeling finally substituted for pleasure your mewls grew louder as he added suction like he was striving to extract your soul through your foot.

He slurped, releasing each toe with a wet pop before taking in the next, unapologetic about how down bad his demeanor drifted off.

Your brain fried itself like it urgently tried to pinpoint why it felt so amazing, yet peculiar at the same time.

Words like “No, no, no, this is so fucking weird, but I don’t want him to stop????” Tripled in your head, chasing after an answer you couldn’t find.

The sensation of his mouth on one end and his cock punching deep into your guts felt too much to handle, although you practically asked for it.

You floated in a pool of shame, arrows pointing at how pitiful and submissive you were for allowing this to happen.

Usually you judged others for being into something like this, scrunching up your face in disgust whenever someone mentioned how they enjoyed having their feet adored, slowly you were beginning to realize this whole time it was all about having the right person do it for you.

With Choso, he did it with so much care, ideas of it being disturbing declined crossing your mind, he made it certain he wanted to devote himself to testing everything that possibly turned you on.

Even the parts that others would deem as too filthy, he just saw it as another part of you to explore.

As he increased suction, slightly hollowing his cheeks, his wet muscle swerved around the dips and ridges of your skin.

Sex wasn’t supposed to be this intense, you never had to manually breathe through taking cock, yet here you were mentally telling yourself to inhale and exhale as you massaged at your bundle of nerves as if that’d somehow calm you down, but that coil started to build again, like you were on the tip of letting go any moment.

“C’mon, I know you’re close,” he murmured, voice muffled as your toes were still in his mouth causing your pussy to spasm around his length—vibrations driving you crazy.

Recognizing that familiar spasm, this time around his dick—he briskly thrusted so deep his tip nearly smooched your womb.

THWAP THWAP THWAP!

The sound of skin colliding with each other filled the room, echoing loud enough to be heard five doors down your shared apartment. 

“Choso, fuck, oh my god...” you let choked sobs roam free as the weak coil rang, like it had to alert you were going to cum, the most fierce orgasm you were about to have in your life, not even your wand vibrator on max settings or your favorite rhythm could compare.

You would’ve never guessed that having every inch of your body worshipped including down to your soles of your feet would make you feel like a swarm of butterflies fought in your stomach.

Slowly you gave up mentally coaching yourself how to breathe—every exhale becoming ragged like someone was chasing you, except that someone happened to be your orgasm. 

Your legs trembled on top of his broad shoulders, body jerking like a woman possessed, but in pure euphoria.

Everything around you fizzled out into nothingness, unable to form a single thought, and maybe your mind was doing you a favor, letting you fully appreciate this moment with every fiber in your soul.

“Shit, c—can’t move…” His voice wavered along a high-pitch needy groan, the muscles in his thighs shuddering like his own body attempted to run from the orgasm he was seconds from collapsing under.

Your pussy squeezed him like a tight glove, designed for him flawlessly, it felt like watching another girl on twitter would be degrading to you by how snug you were.

The one thing your tight hole tolerated right now was him grinding so deep you'd need a map to find his mushroom tip inside your silk walls.

“Baby, I—I’m g’nna cum, hold me, please...” you pleaded, tears anchoring at the edge of your eyes as you weakly reached up for him with a pout forming on your face.

“Baby?” His eyes softened—like hearing you call him that unlocked something buried in the depths of his soul as if a cupid’s arrow somehow managed to shoot him in the dead of spring.

Immediately letting your foot go, you didn’t have to tell Choso twice, he leaned over still balls deep inside you–using one hand to cradle your head like you were all his, while the other snaked itself underneath your back pulling you slightly towards him.

“Let go for me, cum all over my cock.” He whispered into your ear, helping you through your orgasm.

And although your moans were raw—guttural, his mind managed to mistake it for angelic cries, so beautiful it sounded like a melody on the harp serenading him. 

Your legs wrapped around him, your nails clawed at his back, the deep red scratch marks contrasting with his pale skin.

Gasping at first he felt dizzy, drunk off of the pain you saturated him in, his tip kept nudging your a-spot until you spasmed around him in rapid motions, soon coating him with a thick cream that nuzzled right at the base of his length, dribbling even his hair in your arousal.

Your noises went silent, stuck in an o shape as he continued to pound into you, abs flexing as he chased his own high.

His breath became frayed like a rope, a flood of tears streaming down his cheeks, landing onto your face as you cupped his chin, somehow making him fall harder than before, convinced his heart was stabbing you by how fast it was racing.

“F—fuck, fuckfuckfuck, love you so m—much, loved you this whole time.” He admitted, roughly biting your neck like that would keep him stable.

Your greedy cunt fluttered at his sudden confession, gasping like he revealed a dirty secret not even an interrogator could get him to blurt out. 

“He loves me..?!” Your thoughts repeated like those words were signed into your memory forever, wondering if you really had been oblivious for eons.

Your lips pursed like you wanted to reply back, but something was yanking you away, so many questions were bouncing through your head, like how long has it been since he realized his feelings? Or did you even deserve to be surrounded in this much attention? Especially for the sake of stress relief after work.

Drowning out your thoughts his fingernails dug so far into the flesh of your hips, it’d be bruised for weeks—Choso planted kisses over face in a scattered motion, as his hips snapped up into your pelvis in messy uneven thrusts, knocking the wind out of you.

“Where do you want me?” He begged to know, satisfied with any answer you gave him.

“O-on top of my tummy.” You croaked out with a giggle, freeing him from the cage of your wrapped legs, you knew exactly what you were going to do once he came.

Following your command he instantly fumbled his way out of you, his cock twitching with shaky hands as he jerked himself whimpering loud enough to deafen your ears. 

Pushing up the material of your nightgown that tried running down due to his movements, his hips jolted forward until thick white ropes spilled on top of your stomach, finally draining himself—years of being pent up.

It wouldn’t stop leaking out—his slit gushing out cum like paint from a cracked can. You swore it was enough cum to last a decade, warm like an oven, sending chills down your spine, forgetting how good someone’s arousal could feel against your skin.

The room was filled with panting as if two people were in a race, but in who would cum first—trying to catch your breath for a moment you bit the inside of your cheek as your fingers traced the thick seed he left to melt on you.

Smearing it all over yourself first playing in it like it was made to relax in when you were stressed—bringing it up to your lips to taste it, your mouth closed around your digits like it was your last meal before blacking out.

“So, how does it taste?” He asked, interrupting your little test awkwardly, scratching his pink tinted neck.

His gaze intensely flowed into you, hoping your response wouldn’t embarrass him—but thankfully in advance he had been preparing himself in case he ever got the slim chance to fuck you.

His diet consisting of fruit bowls bigger than his head and jugs those of water coming in handy—rarely munching on junk food, avoiding fucking up his flavor as much as possible.

You smacked your lips, purposefully mimicking him tasting you from earlier “It’s surprisingly good.”

“Surprisingly?” He chuckled, not sure whether or not to take it as a compliment.

“I expected it to be super salty, I’m sorry.” You half joked, leaning up on your elbows with whatever strength you had left.

“Ouch…?” He said with the face of a kicked puppy, eyes droopy at your assumption.

Staring at the mess he made, he was almost hesitant to ask, wishing he could pause time and be stuck in this moment forever.

“W-wanna get cleaned up or… uh?”

You nodded, yet your eyebrows raised in disbelief at how he stuttered like he didn’t just rummage through your guts.

“Carry me!” You demanded like a soldier defeated in battle.

He gave a lazy smile mumbling “yes ma’am.”

Lifting you off the mattress with shaky arms, Choso held you like you were made of glass—though the sticky mess between you begged to differ. His load clung to your skin and smeared across his stomach with every step, but he didn’t complain. Just buried his nose in the crown of your head as he carried you to the bathroom in silence.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, like if you let go, your body might actually fracture into tiny pieces.

The tiles were freezing when your toes hit the floor, and you clung to his inked forearm for balance. He turned the silver lever slowly, steam hissing out with the first spray of warm water. 

Neither of you said much as he took off your bonnet, then slid back the straps of your short nightgown down your shoulders, watching it drop on the floor.

Choso guided you under the water, letting the heat soak through your skin like a balm.

Leaning against the wall for support, your legs were as wobbly as an antique table, already dreading the thought of clocking in at your job tomorrow.

The first splash attacked your hips and you winced, throwing your head into the wall, breathing in the steam like that would somehow help.

Choso turned so fast he nearly broke the spinal cord in his neck.

“Did I hurt you?” His tone cracked with the ghost of guilt, running his hands through his glossy damp hair.

He knew he was a little rougher towards the end, but he felt like a monster knowing you were in pain because of him—praying he didn’t go overboard.

You looked down at your figure and saw the faint bruises forming along your sides where his fingers had dug in brutally.

“No,” you murmured so quietly not even a wolf could hear, while picking up the shower head letting the water push the seed off of your belly. “I’d let you do it again anyway.” 

His Adam's apple bobbed like your words were a shot of honey mixed with poison.

But his expression crumpled like a paper bag for a second. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel proud or ashamed.

The thought of you allowing him the possible chance of being able to make love again infiltrated his brain, his mind began to wander if you two would eventually buy a place with one bedroom—no longer needing separate rooms, maybe he’d never need pillows again to keep himself warm and not feel a little empty at night.

His fingers grazed your stomach like he was touching something divine, a blush staining his pale cheeks at the amount of cum he drizzled on you.

Instinctively you snatched yourself slightly to the side, flinching like his touch was foreign–the love radiating off of his heart attempting to transfer itself to yours haunted you.

Retreating his hand, he furrowed his brows in confusion, completely lost at the sudden act, you wouldn’t be hallucinating if you said you saw question marks rise above his head.

“I'm still a bit sensitive from everything, sorry.” You blurted, dodging eye contact, facing forward to the wall in front of you–studying the silver rack filled with bath bombs, wash cloths, and soaps. 

He blinked, stunned. Something in him screamed to reach again, but he stood still—fighting the fear that if he touched you again, you might disappear completely.

He bashfully smiled in relief, whisking up a little plan to help your trouble, his fingers reached for the body wash on the rack before speaking.

“Let me at least take care of you,” he mumbled, lathering a few pumps into his palms, rubbing his hands together to let it bubble first.

Then he massaged it gently onto your skin like he was a professional that worked at a spa. It was hard not to feel soothed under every press of his digits, letting out chaste moans as his touch got slower and intentional—less about cleaning up, more so about making you feel cared for afterwards.

Your eyes gradually sealed shut, as he rested his chin on top of your head inhaling your saccharine fragrance.

“Your hair smells so nice, wish I could live in your scent.” He whispered, voice raspy, as he kneaded your sore hips like dough.

You tried to force away a grin at his praise, biting your lip, refusing yourself to easily fall for someone again. 

The brick barrier you built to protect your soul was too strong to be broken, by something temporary right?

Beneath the tranquil stream. Water cascaded down the curves of your bodies, tracing every line like it wanted to mesh you two together in a knot that even someone with pounds of muscle couldn’t untie.

At last, Choso cleared his throat, gulping so loud it had its own echo.

“Y/n…” he started, saying your name in an uneasy tone, yet almost too soft to hear over the water, withdrawing his hands for a moment, fiddling with his fingers he looked down at his feet, gathering his thoughts like one wrong word would change his life forever.

He inhaled deep, like the steam wasn’t scalding enough—like if he didn’t ask now, the moment might slip through the palms of his hands.

You blinked, lashes heavy with water sprinkling on them. 

“Yeah?” You finally answered with confusion embellishing your voice.

He swallowed hard like he wanted to back out of popping the big question, but he was already too far gone.

His eyes didn’t meet yours anymore, but you could feel them searching—just not brave enough to land.

“I don’t really know how to say this,” he muttered, voice hoarse, hands wringing together jittery like he needed something to hold onto to comfort him.

“But…”

There was a pause, a long unsettling one.

You watched him retract into himself—processing, editing, like he was writing a graded essay in his brain, chucking every word that would throw you off into his mental dumpster that tried to come out before this.

“What are we?”

Those words hit you like a truck with no intention of stopping—no brakes, no hesitation, just raw steel and impact.

They didn’t just slam into you. They peeled something open. Something you weren’t ready to unpack yet.

Your stomach dropped, a twisting ache blooming in your chest like you’d been caught in something too deep and too fast.

You knew you should’ve had this conversation prior, the “what ifs?” But of course you thought with hormones and not with intelligence.

Moving away from him, you looked side to side like you were trapped, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

Because it wasn’t just a question. It was every unspoken hope he had. A reminder how oblivious you had been these past four years.

It was him flinging his heart into your hands without knowing if you’d catch it—or crush it.

“I mean—” he scrambled, voice picking up a notch in panic. “I know I’m the one who offered… the whole stress relief thing. And maybe I’m reading into it too much, maybe it’s just me, but—”

His throat bobbed, gulping down whatever bond you two had left.

“Was this just a one-time thing?”

And that question—so gentle, so sincere—felt louder than any moan from earlier.

Because it wasn’t just curiosity.

It was hope that you’d say no. That you’d say maybe. That you’d say anything other than what he feared most.

“I—I don’t know.” You blurted without thinking, covering your mouth like you were appalled at your own sentence.

Just possibly, if he had given you time to collect your thoughts, it could’ve turned out differently.

You wanted to say it. That you were inching toward something with him too. That maybe this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment lust.

But it felt too fast or too much—usually, you loved being overwhelmed, except not like this.

He wasn’t aware that you’d been abstinent for a reason—not just because of past burnout, but because of what the last situationship did to you.

How it left you afraid of promises. How it carved out the belief that intimacy always came with a deadline.

You’d spent months convincing yourself love was a trick, something that only lived in fairytales or those hallmark romance movies.

And yet, here was Choso.

He didn’t just fuck you. He gave you an experience that felt holy—touching you like you were his alter.

And that horrified you.

Because for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like your body was drained of all its use. It felt like something someone wanted to stay with and belong.

“You don’t know?” He repeated it so softly it barely cut through the sound of the shower. Like if he spoke any louder, it would crack something open inside him.

“Okay.” He responded, monotone, no emotion behind it, yet internally he felt desperate to kneel like a knight who was soon to be beheaded.

“I’m sorry.”

You whispered it as if it could bandage the gaping wound you already shot into his heart.

Steadily and awkwardly, you slipped out from under the stream, opening the curtains and drying your feet on the mat. You didn’t look back—not because you didn’t care, but because you did. Too much.

You reached for the towel, draping it over your shoulders like armor.

You lingered there, just a second too long. The sound of water pinging the floor filled your ears, near deafening. You almost turned back, shaking your head since the damage was already done.

He didn’t stop you. What could he say? What would’ve changed your mind?

The silence thudded louder than anything else had tonight.

As you trudged out of the bathroom, the steam curling around your ankles like it wanted to follow you, Choso remained rooted in place.

Alone beneath the falling water.

He turned slowly, reaching behind to scrub at his back—but the sting from your nails made him hiss. It bloomed sharp and sudden, and he winced at the red lines carved into his skin.

Somehow, even that hurt less than hearing “I don’t know.”

A near-permanent reminder that—for one night—you gave him a chance to hold you at all.

He mentally encouraged himself to cry, to let it all out and soften the blow.

Usually, he wouldn’t let himself.

But how could he feel weak when his tears would blur right into the water anyway?

Just like everything else he didn’t get to keep.

Divider/Boarders produced by anitalenia & cursed-carmine.

Song written by Koi’lani/@aquasoftware.

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, (nice) ANONS, AND LIKES ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU <33

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ay hijos de la verga you only like my shit but don’t reblog it ok I get it

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cw: dadkuna, vlogger family AU

the damn christmas tree. he was so stressed as fuck, not because you couldn’t find it, but how you almost shoved that damned camera in his fucking face, and his little children.

you always showed up the cheerful attitude and obviously, that was one of the things he loved about you — your bubbly persona and the way you always found a way to see the world through rose-colored glasses.

but not in front of a damn camera.

the reality you wanted to portray, showed a happy family trying to get a christmas tree due the holidays, arguing: “c’mon, kuna, it’ll be fun!” while you record his face.

and as he expected, it wasn’t fun at all.

here he had you and your guys going round in circles, checking budgets, this while he was holding the camera, and when deed was done, you concluded with: “i’ll come here again, on my way back.” he just rolled eyes, because it was tiring and also all things were damn expensive.

“oh, c’mon baby.” you noticed he was done, annoyed and you crossed your arms around his neck, ready to give him a big smooch in his cheek (children were present). “i also feel tired, but look at how the kiddos are.” and your babies were playing around, not even giving a damn about the tree, they were just having fun.

sukuna’s heart warmed when he saw his boys grabbing christmas stuff and making weird, childish faces, to remember they weren’t there not because their mother wanted to record a vlog, but because this was the real fun, the one they were having without a camera on his face.

but the sentimentalism was gone right away when you got your camera again in his face, and all of the process of how your family was in the haunting of a christmas tree, with occasional smiles every time you recorded him, went on.

it was already time to eat, and all of the bad mood of the day accumulated, and even more knowing you haven’t found the christmas tree yet. going around got him really annoyed, just when he thought he might have some peace of mind...

“what are my boys eating?” you teased your babies

“chicken broth, mommy.”

“mmmm, that sounds good,” you directed the camera to your other baby, “and you, sweetheart?

“chicken broth.” he said, shy, with a smile on his face while he was pointing his food, “like daddy.

“chicken broth.” sukuna pouted, imitating his son.

and when that part of the video got viral, you hit him, because it went so unnoticed that you didn’t even notice.

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omg

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reblog if people r allowed to send u asks as if theyre ur friend. wanna tell me how ur day went? do it!!! ask me for advice? sure! ask a personal question? go right on ahead!

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I tag @spearofheaven @nkogneatho @scratchingcatfics658 @cere-racha

sooo soo bored so im starting a possible picrew chain

link

npt:- @jeonwiixard @d3cay1ngst4tic @deathofacupid @satorus-princess @satocidal @jadexbnny @beepbopzlorp @gumiiiiezzzz @mayyhaps @twilightsumu @lizbix + YOU 🫵

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OMG CANELA I MISSED SEEING YOU ON THE DASH

ohh, I missed u too koisita, it is just i’m thinking lots of things

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Beyond bare minimum. ꫂ᭪

FT | Satoru ༝ Suguru ༝ Kento ༝ Choso ༝ Toji ༝ ˖ Sukuna.

Desc | When you’ve only known toxic relationships a majority of your love life, you have the JJK men questioning what type of men you dealt with in the past after you get exhilarated over the little things.

Cw | fluff + (early) established rls. | ML | Other RECENT smaus? → 1 ˖ 2 ˖ 3 ˖ & 4.

Divider/Boarders produced by | cursed-carmine ˖ enchanthings.

Song written by Koi’lani/@aquasoftware.

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU <3

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† yo no te voy a decir que me lo gané con mi trabajo honrado. yo me lo gané a base de cogidas y no me da pena decirlo, pueblo — nanami kento

synopsis: despite people don’t have the best perception about you, since rumors’ been spreading throughout your career, fucking president kento has its benefits and it’s not your fault people can’t fuck their way up to the top.

content warning: reporter reader x president kento, reader says dumb shit you cannot even believe kento’s fucking her, but let’s pretend it makes sense, slutshaming, manhandling, degradation, spanking.

“well, recent rumors have been said about me and i want to use our program to clarify some stuff.” the papers in which your most juicy gossip was written down, now remain on the table. your forced smile showed your neat teeth, almost ready to rant. your co-workers, geto and satoru, were paying full attention of what you had to say. “there’s been recent rumors about how i got my house in the hamptons and i need to clarify that i bought it with the sweat and hard work this program has given me!”

“exactly,” geto agreed.

“yeah, if you could buy that house it was thanks to your hard work.” satoru added.

“it’s just not my fault you couldn’t get the same things as me. i’ve never stolen from anyone. i’m not ashamed to admit that if right now, my dear viewers, that if i’m where i am right now, was thanks to all the dicks i had to suck.” you stated proudly and geto and satoru agreed with every word you said.

after having talked shit about famous people, passing on reports that you asked the interns to modify them to be exaggerated in order to make the stars look bad, the program was finally out of air.

“that was fucked up, y/n.” geto said, rubbing pads around his temples, trying to assimilate what just had happened.

“yeah, i know, but fucking show is what this bitches want.” you argued, lighting a cigarette as you turned your back to your friends and added: “see you guys tomorrow.” you waved.

“going to your hamptons house, dear?” gojo teased playfully. fuck you wish they weren’t like this, and geto giggled, since the three of you knew what they meant.

“tsk, you’re literally the worst.”

you close the door behind you. he was already waiting, like a carnivore waiting for its prey, but this one is more civilized and he’s sitting on your couch (not to mention it rules the fucking country). even from afar, even with the dim light, you could see his already stiffen cock, making a bulge inside his pants. his legs are spread.

his grin, you can tell it’s wicked, whimsical. you understand that, you made him wait for so long, giving him enough time to think about all the things he can do to you.

“i’m so sorry, babe, traffic was a nightmare.” you soften your voice and give little hops with your shoes to get closer to him.

“how’s my lady doing?” as you accommodate yourself in one of his thighs, you rock your body and your hip can feel his engorged cock, gnawing and waiting to be released.

“fine, thank you, mr. president.” you tantalize him, arms around his neck. his aroma is mesmerizing, that expensive cologne that drove you crazy and then impregnated in your clothes.

his big hands surround your thigh, and your clit is starting to palpitate, knowing what’s going to happen next. you bite your lip and he notices right away.

“is it true that all of this house you buy it by yourself?” he asks, playing with the flesh of your legs, wanting to go further. however, he wanders in the same places, as if something holds him back.

“well, baby, you know that i cannot let everyone know you bought it. besides, it has taken me a lot of work.” you whisper to his ear and latch onto him.

your legs manage to open up, of course, he knows your dark intentions: open the legs so he can roam around into your crotch. nevertheless, he’s mad. despite how badly you wanted to save your “reputation” it hurts his ego being denied. he knows he can’t take revenge in public.

so he does it here, privately.

“you like to despise me, don’t you, precious?” his eyes examined you, as he savored with his tongue what he was going to say, “didn’t you say that sucking cock got you in the place you are right now.”

he lifted your skirt, toying your ass, barely clothed with thongs. then, a slap caught your ass off guard, jiggling. your voice gasped and mewled. and your clit was throbbing, praying for him to lose control.

he stands up and unbuckles his belt, releasing his pulsating, gnawing girth, finally able to breath. after that, you kneeled down, because you wanted to savour his fat, veiny cock, which was already having droplets of pre-cum.

your hands barely fill the thick shaft and staring at him deadly at your eyes. he loosened the collar of his shirt, as if the soft touch of your lips on the tip of cock makes his body simmer.

you lips wrap around and introduce it in your mouth. fuck, the way you manage to do it slowly... he knows it’s not because you can’t take it, it is because you love to tease him. you’re mocking him, claiming, bragging about all of the dicks you had to gobble.

so, he grabs your hair and starts thrust your mouth. your eyes close as you loosen your jaw and feel him going in and out.

when you finally separate, he made you lift your leg at the edge of the table that was next to the sofa, having a good sight of your cunt wide spread. he was so starved, desperate to demonstrate who was the one in charge, he just put aside the cloth that was covering your pussy and started ramming his cock inside of you.

“this is how you bought the house, don’t you sweetheart? boss was generous, didn’t he?” he hoarse to your ear, breathing heavily. he spanked your ass as his thrust, delved into your soft spot.

you mewled at his touch, at the way he was sundering his shaft, taking him so well, feeling the stretching so good, hitting your sweet spot.

“yeah.” your voice trembled and it extended to make it almost high-pitched.

“such a good slut, never taking from people who’s below her.” he gritted teeth.

“yeah, i’m such a good person.”you gulped and kept moaning.

he came inside you and you knew that satoru and geto will make fun of you.

[fushigogo]

OMG I didn’t know you liked aot canela!! Thank you for the rb though

YES BABYYY, like I like Zeke Yeager more than Eren and I can tell that says a lot bout my persona jajsjajs

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Concentration?! (or not…)

Snippet | “Code red, code red, look away, Armin.”

FT | Fem!Reader ✘ Nerd!Armin A.

Desc | An essay deadline is one thing. A handsy boyfriend with zero self-control? That’s something else entirely. You’re stuck on your assignment, and Armin thinks stress relief should come first.

Cw | MDNI, 18+ college au, óraI (f receiving), fīngerīng, bréāst play/worshīp, dīrty taIk, praīse, squīrtīng, créamīng, multi ōrgàsms, beggīng, sóft dóm! Armin, servīce dóm! Armin, hint of geek! Armin too, Armin has a tongue pīercing/wears glasses, aftercare, (1) video game ref, pervarmin, established relationship, he’s obsessed, & semi proofread.

WC ➜ 4.2K | ML

18 min read & Oneshot.

“Ughhh, I fucking hate this.” You groaned sharply, pressing your hands to either side of your head and rubbed your temples aggressively, as a pout scribbled across your sleep-deprived face.

The only thing keeping you remotely sane in your god-awful mood was your boyfriend, sitting quietly in the wooden chair beside you—and the coffee he brought, now growing cold, since you’d been too focused on trying to get work done.

It read exactly nine-thirty, on the blue clock that was obnoxiously ticking, booming against the white walls.

Your essay, due at eleven fifty-nine, practically scolded you for procrastinating all day. And all you could do was stare at the empty screen, not even sure where to begin.

A few minutes passed, and you still had nothing to show for it—just a blank doc and the nagging suspicion that someone out there was actively praying for your downfall.

Next to you, Armin suddenly froze mid-solve on his Rubik’s cube. He sucked in a breath, set it down, and leaned closer.

“Told you I can just do it for you,” he said, shaking his head as he scooted his chair beside yours and rested a warm palm on your thigh. “I hate seeing you stressed like this, angel.” His voice was low, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

Except… you weren’t buying that one bit.

Your boyfriend was notorious for distracting you anytime you tried to study or get through assignments. “Can I come over just to be your emotional support?” always had a fifty percent chance of turning into your roommates hearing blaring moans through the wall—not that you were exactly complaining.

You folded your arms and narrowed your eyes, throwing at him, “You think you’re so slick—you just want some pussy!”

“I–I–what? You don’t gotta put it like that,” he gasped, feigning innocence like he hadn’t been plotting this the whole time.

“Maybe I just wanna help relieve my pretty girl’s stress,” he shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Besides, it’s been a while since you had me over, y’know?”

But your eyes caught exactly where his was cemented: your chest—specifically, your hardened nipples poking through your grey tank top.

It felt like he accidentally let you tune into his thoughts for a second, “Code red, code red, look away, Armin.” playing on a loop.

Quickly pretending he hadn’t been caught red-handed, he pushed up his glasses and avoided your gaze, forcing himself to study the band posters plastered around your dorm like they suddenly became fascinating.

“Hm, I wonder why?” you muttered, forcing down a smirk, trying to sound “serious” despite the amusement bubbling in your voice.

But Armin was already onto you.

And he took that as his green light—leaning in with his next array of words.

“Let me at least massage your tits for you,” he responded eagerly, tilting your chin with his finger as he grinned. “I’m sure the brain juices’ll start flowing after that!”

For a moment, Armin studied your face—your baggy, sleep-deprived eyes catching his attention. He leaned in and pressed soft kisses to each of your eyelids, like he was gently announcing that you deserved a break.

You swore your heart melted into a huge inescapable puddle right then and there.

He pulled you closer, hands sliding up slowly, until they cupped your breasts—fingers kneading tenderly.

“Fine,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, “just a few minutes, and I’m getting back to—mmph!”

Your own moan cut you off as Armin rolled his thumbs over your stiff nipples, already teasing with featherlight strokes that sent a jolt right down your spine.

He kneaded your breasts like they were soft, warm dough under his fingers and he was the baker annoyingly skilled at his job. His slow, snail-like pace made one thing painfully clear, a few minutes wouldn’t be enough.

His palms pressed into the swell of them through your thin tank top, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles that coaxed tiny gasps from your lips.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your voice already more aroused than you meant it to be.

“See? Told you,” he smiled, confident as ever, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Your brain’s already working better.”

He dragged his thumbs across your nipples again, firmer this time and the friction through the flimsy fabric made your thighs shift involuntarily.

Your body was already betraying you, leaning into his hands like it’d been waiting all day for this, causing him to chuckle at your hesitant nature before.

Peeking over at your laptop, he caught the time at the bottom corner of the screen: 9:36 p.m. The perfect opportunity to be petty.

“Alrighty, a few minutes is up.” He announced retreating his hands, almost going back to his Rubik’s cube until you yanked his wrists, with a deadpan look.

“Armin, don’t piss me off. You’re not funny.” You replied in a dull tone, unimpressed by your boyfriend’s antics. As much as he loved you, he seemed to love getting on your nerves even more.

“What? I thought I’d leave you to your assignment, we agreed on a few minutes, no?”

He lightly snickered, attempting to not full on laugh, but his dimples hinted he was edging towards that route.

You glared, eyes slowly raking over him from head to toe.

“Jeez, you’re so indecisive,” he teased. “Make up your mind, baby. Ask nicely if you want me to keep going.”

Your pleading eyes softened, pouring into his blue ones.

“Babyyy, you’re being a jerk,” you whined, giving him the face of a kicked puppy.

“Yeah, yeah. What’s the magic wordssss?” he sing-songed, almost desperate to hear you beg. Just the thought of being needed had already carved an aching bulge into his jeans.

“Please, please, please—keep going. I need you so fucking bad.”

“That’s my girl,” Armin murmured against your neck, voice low and sugary. “You’ve been like this since I walked in, huh? All tense and pouty. No wonder your boobs are this sensitive.”

He pinched one nipple lightly between his fingers, making you whimper, jaw slack as he twisted just enough to make you twitch.

“Keep making those pretty little noises,” he cooed beneath your jaw, tone drizzled in silk and mischief.

“Let me take care of you, Y/n. Just relax for me…” He began to steadily lift your tank top, like this was a private show made just for him.

He groaned at the sight—like a little pervert—but you weren’t surprised. This was the same man who once shamelessly admitted to sniffing your sweaty bras.

Armin toyed with your hardened buds one last time, giving them a final pinch before trailing kisses all over your bare chest—slow, messy, and greedy—until his mouth latched onto a nipple.

“Armin, aah, fuck…” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers tangled in his blond hair.

He knew exactly what he was doing the moment his tongue joined in—his piercing flicking your sensitive nipple while his spit traced hot circles around it. Saliva dripped down in thin, wet lines as he closed his lips around you, sucking harshly like a man possessed.

“F–feels so good, baby,” you sighed, stuttering as he gave the same treatment to your other breast.

Armin only smiled, mouth still blended into your skin, lips dragging heat across your chest while his piercing teased every tender spot. Then he let his hand trail lower, slipping down to your navy-blue panties adorned with a dainty bow.

“Fuck, I don’t get how you expect me to behave—sitting there in just a tank top and panties like that.”

You gasped the second his fingers brushed over the soaked fabric, his thumb lazily circling the damp patch right over your clit—like he already knew exactly where you needed him most.

“God, you’re so soaked, baby,” he whispered, voice steamed with awe. “Just from me playing with your tits?”

His lips curled into a smirk. “What would happen if I gave your pussy a little attention too?”

You whimpered when his fingers finally slipped past the waistband, his fingertip dragging slowly between your slick folds—like he was savoring the first touch.

“Armin—” you breathed, slightly worried about the deadline, yet your hips wriggled, already desperate for more.

“I’m not gonna be long, promise,” he declared, shushing you with a wet, sloppy kiss that left your lips tingling.

You couldn’t even argue—Armin was already lowering himself between your thighs before you could get a single protest out. You were supposed to be working on your assignment, but instead you had your legs spread open, basically inviting him in.

Your hand gripped the desk for support, chest rising as you watched him with anticipation. But then he made one critical mistake—his fingers went to the arms of his glasses, starting to slide them off.

“No!” you whisper-shouted, swatting his wrist.

“Can you keep your glasses on, please?”

You tried to keep your voice down for the sake of your roommates, but your tone made it clear—this was non-negotiable. You always made Armin wear his glasses during sex, so you weren’t sure why he was trying to act brand new now.

To which he only rolled his eyes. In a way, you were like one of his puzzles—he could solve you in seconds.

“Baby, I could definitely eat you out with blurry vision. Shit, maybe even with my eyes closed.”

Your jaw dropped, eyes wide like his words had smacked you in the face. “Oh? Someone’s cocky…”

“You just look so attractive with them on though…” you added softly, fingers threading through his chin-length hair. You massaged his scalp gently, using it as your way of convincing him—knowing full well how easy he was to win over when you got a little sweet with him.

“Fine. You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered with a grin, trailing kisses along your inner thigh. “Kinda wanted a challenge though.”

Just as he hooked a finger around your panties to pull them aside, you interrupted him.

“Wait! don’t you want me to get you a pillow or something?” you asked from your spot in the cushioned wooden chair, eyes locked on the way he knelt in front of you, already on his knees.

Armin tilted his head, raising a brow like you’d asked the dumbest question alive. “I thought you knew I don’t care if my knees hurt. Or if my jaw’s sore. Just let me please you.”

You would’ve said something else—but he shoved his glasses up and promptly buried his face in your cunt.

“Shit!” you mewled, nails faintly scratching the desk as he teased you with the tip of his tongue—soft, kitten-like brushes against your throbbing nub. Your body squirmed, thighs twitching with every pass, toes curling when Armin lifted your leg to rest on his shoulder.

“Hah—wait, Armin, that’s not fair,” you whimpered, breath shaky. His piercing kept nudging your bundle of nerves, and you knew if he kept this up, you’d cum way too fast.

He only giggled in response—a gentle, wicked sound—before spitting a heavy glob of saliva onto your aching cunt. It landed with a wet smack, so loud you wouldn’t be exaggerating to say it echoed.

Warm spit dripped slowly down your folds, making you gasp as your hole fluttered around nothing. Armin groaned like a porn star at the sight of you already so messy for him.

A string of spit bridged from your clit to his bottom lip, rubbing his thumb across it lazily while trying to catch his breath.

He’d never been high before—but off your taste? Absolutely. Every time he went down on you, it was like your sweetness intoxicated him. And right now? He was on another planet.

“You taste so fucking good,” he whined, voice hazy and low.

“Are you creamin’ on my tongue? Fuck, that’s so hot.” His words rumbled against your slit before he dove back in, the hum of his voice almost like a vibrator—except ten times better.

By now, Armin was absolutely wrecked. Glossy-eyed, chin soaked, completely obsessed with your drooling core.

His eyes drooped, half-lidded, tongue darting like he was chasing your orgasm out of you.

Armin loved your moans, but he resisted the urge to touch the boner straining in his pants. Instead, he got even more animalistic with the way he devoured your pussy—like he was starving.

He swished his head side to side, lapping you up like you were his only source of water in a desert.

Your mouth fell open, gasping, eyes fluttering as you struggled to stay present.

Armin wrapped his plump lips around your bundle of nerves and slurped pretending your core was soup, letting the piercing press into it, lugging his wet muscle back and forth. He switched for a moment, lewd noises ringing when he scattered kisses all throughout your slit.

You weren’t exactly sure how your boyfriend got so good at what he called his favorite hobby—especially considering he was basically a virgin loser when you first met.

But that’s exactly why he mentally thanked the Reddit thread with 1.2k upvotes that dubbed this move “the ultimate clit hack.”

He never actually told you that he got the piercing just for your pleasure… but you figured it out eventually, especially once it started working like a damn near cheat code.

“Armin, just like that,” you sighed, like you were stuck in a dream. Your voice was nothing but breathy encouragement as he alternated between quick, eager licks and measured, indulgent ones.

He flattened his tongue on purpose—just so the metal ball could make love to your puffy swollen bud.

You didn’t mean to rut against his face—your body just had other plans. The chair screeched across the hardwood floor as your hips rolled forward, your pearl bumping into his mouth with every desperate grind.

“Am I—” he uttered, yet was too busy gulping you up, “doing a good job?”

Armin asked, he already knew he was doing more than a good job, he was just craving to hear it from his favorite girl.

“Y-yes, yes, yes! You’re… doing s’good,” you squealed, breath hitching as his nose buried deeper into your folds like a bookworm devouring his favorite chapter.

You grabbed a fistful of golden hair, back arching violently when he plunged his wet tongue inside your hole.

That familiar tight coil began to build, inching to snap.

“Arminnn, I’m… aahh—close.” Your tank top strap slipped down your shoulder as you bucked, his face jostling with your movements. One of your legs hit the desk, making it slam against the wall—you just hoped you wouldn’t crack your expensive laptop.

“Already? I haven’t even used my fingers yet,” he mentioned, lifting his face for air, his smirk glistening with you.

“So damn mouthy,” you huffed, biting your lip before grabbing his head by his blond hair and slamming it back down into your needy cunt.

“Put that energy into making me cum.”

Armin wasn’t sure how you went from hesitant to bossy in seconds—but he knew this would be the memory he jacked off to later.

“Mmffph, that’s it—u-use me, angel,” he groaned, voice barely audible as he jammed back into your hole. You rolled your eyes back, vision going white at the way his piercing stroked your velvet walls. Your mind turned to complete mush, like someone was launching rockets inside your head.

The tension snapped like a rubber band.

Your legs shook violently, broken sobs spilling from your throat as your core gushed around his tongue—tsunamis of euphoria soaking him while he kept thrusting his muscle like overstimulation was the goal.

You couldn’t even speak to warn him. Just his name fell from your lips in ragged gasps as he licked you through the high, refusing to stop until your body finally went slack against the chair.

Your chest heaved with each breath, still wrecked from your release. For a moment, your mushy brain almost believed none of it had been real.

Eventually, fanning yourself with a shaky hand, you finally found the words.

“Whew,” you breathed. “That was… a lot.”

Armin lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the fog off his glasses, sliding them back up with two fingers.

His face was flushed—almost appalled his frames weren’t completely flooded from how wet you were.

He peppered smug kisses along your damp thigh, voice hinted with pride as he whispered like he worshipped you, “I know, baby.”

He let you sit there, still trying to compose yourself—though you could feel the greed radiating off him. His gaze flicked to the drenched seat beneath you, a half-smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“That’s too bad though,” he murmured, tilting your chin up and pulling you into a deep, messy kiss.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

You kissed like you were famished—like you’d been torn apart for years, despite it being only a week since you last invited him over.

His tongue snuck past your lips with practiced ease, like he could read your mind and knew you wanted to taste yourself on him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t—because the moment your tongues met, long, helpless moans spilled into his mouth.

His taste, tangled with your own, spun your head so hard you could’ve fainted.

Armin swallowed the sound eagerly, pressing closer—like he wanted to float into your lungs, like kissing you was a privilege only he was allowed to fulfill.

One hand curled at the base of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw with reverence, while the other gripped your thigh with possessive heat.

The kiss grew messier—lips slick, breath shared, each gasp and whimper passed between tongues.

Your nose bumped his glasses. You parted your lips wider, letting him kiss you deeper—filthier. He groaned into your mouth, tongue coaxing yours into slow, wet laps, letting you taste exactly what he’d just done to you.

Your bracelets rattled as your fingers fisted his shirt, body arching into him like muscle memory—like you belonged there.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathless. His face was tinted a soft rose pink, bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, as a slick string clung between your lips like a thread of want still trying to keep you attached.

Armin didn’t hesitate. He eased his slender middle finger into your soaked entrance, his palm grinding against your clit in slow, deliberate circles—slick already dripping down onto his hand.

“Oh my god…” You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out, though it was no use—your roommates were certainly going to have a little chat with you tomorrow.

“S-Still… sensitive…” you whimpered, though your hips betrayed you—rocking forward with need. One orgasm hadn’t even come close to satisfying the ache. Not with the way Armin touched you. Not with how his pianist fingers moved like they’d hypnotized you.

He showered your lower stomach in featherlight kisses, practically mocking you. “Awwh, c’monnn, you can gimme one more, right?” he murmured with a soft grunt, his finger curling as your walls clenched around him—squeezing like they never wanted to let go.

“We have plenty of time to spare.” He blinked at you slowly, teasing, blond lashes catching the light like they knew how pretty he was.

At first, his thrusts were maddeningly slow—shallow to the point of cruelty. It felt like he’d sell his kidneys before giving you that second finger, just to drag out your desperation.

Your cunt throbbed with each beat of your heart, fluttering around his teasing touch—yearning for more.

“A–armin, please…”

Your voice came out as a tiny croak. Cupping his flushed face, your fingers brushing against his drenched chin, smearing your own slick across his skin like a mark of ownership—or maybe it was the other way around.

“Yes, baby?” he asked delicately, tilting into your touch like he didn’t just have you spread wide open for him.

His voice was sweet, but his eyes burned with thirst. He adjusted his skewed glasses lazily, with a free hand, your body still trembling around him.

His middle finger paused inside you, then barely moved in slow motion like he was waiting for you to beg.

“Tell me what you need.” His palm bumped into your clit repeatedly, like he longed for your reactions. Your hips writhed, instinctively trying to chase it.

“More—your other finger.” You pleaded, needy for him.

Armin’s cock twitched in his pants at how soft you sounded, how polite your begging had become. He loved when you got like this—fucked-out and obedient, all for him.

“Mmm, so good for me.” He leaned down to kiss your thigh again, lips brushing your skin as he whispered, “You sound so pretty when you beg.”

He rewarded you instantly, sliding in the second finger with an obscene squelch that had your legs twitching around his wrist, your body jolting like it couldn’t decide whether to pull away or draw him in deeper.

Sometimes, Armin was still in disbelief that he went from being terrible at fingering to being so good you didn’t mind begging for more—loudly, without shame.

All it took was thinking of your body like one of his rhythm games, each high-pitched squeal, whimper, mewl was a “Perfect.” Or each toe curl, quiver, and back arch was a “Great.” Just like the scoring system in the game.

It was pattern based, reactive—and it quickly made sense why he’d be so fixated on playing them and getting an amazing score, project sekai prepared him for moments like these.

His fingers began to pump, slow at first, curling slightly each time he bottomed out. The heel of his palm never left your clit—it ground into you with every movement, a steady, deliberate pressure that made your thighs quake and your lips part around gasped moans.

“Woah, look at that,” he cooed, voice husky and airy, awe and cockiness tangled together. “It’s so thick today… my smart girl must’ve been really pent up, huh?”

You couldn’t remember what the essay was about—hell, you barely remembered your name—but you knew Armin had just rewritten your brain chemistry.

“Gonna cum,” you gasped. “So close!”

The wet squelch echoed every time his fingers plunged into your entrance, so eager it clung to him like it never wanted to let go.

“Yeah? Make a mess for me, baby.”

He curled his fingers just slightly and your back arched. The pressure was electric—like he pressed some hidden button inside you that made your brain stutter and seize.

“I love you so much, Armin.”

You whined, grinding down onto his hand with a desperation you couldn’t control, chasing that pressure like a woman starved.

Then he hooked his fingers just right, dragging them along your fluttering walls like he knew exactly where your sweet spot lived—had mapped it out, memorized it.

“Love you so much, f—fuck, fuck, fuck…”

You didn’t even mean to cum this fast—it just snapped. Your body clamped down around his fingers so tightly he groaned, your release soaking his palm while you moaned his name like it was the only thing tethering you to this world.

“I love you too,” he breathed, voice cracking slightly as he slowed his hand, easing his fingers from your soaked pussy with a soft, wet pop.

He kissed your temple gently, his warm palm rubbing slow circles into your thigh like he was trying to anchor you back to earth. “You okay?”

You nodded against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Wait…” Your body jolted slightly. “Shit, it’s eleven?!”

Your hand slapped over your mouth as your eyes darted to the time glowing from your laptop screen. If the Google Doc had a face, it’d probably be staring back in quiet, judgmental horror.

“Don’t worry about it,” Armin murmured, already shifting into solution mode. “Told you I’ll do it for you.”

He pulled up the chair beside you with a wince, rubbing the soreness from his knees before sitting down.

“I don’t want you to feel like—“ You started, concern slipping into your tone, but Armin didn’t let you finish. He scooped you up effortlessly and plopped you onto his lap, facing him.

“Sit,” he said casually, pulling you close like you weighed nothing, your thighs draped over his waist.

He kissed the top of your head and reached around to scoot your chair in toward the desk. One hand rubbed soothing circles into your spine, the other already moving toward the keyboard.

His fingertips were a little wrinkly and doused with you, but he didn’t seem to care—focused only on making sure you rested.

“Shhh. Just rest. I got this,” he whispered, his voice gentle like a sleepy birdcall.

“Oh my god, are you hard?” You broke the stillness like a scratched record, suddenly very aware of the boner beneath you trying to break free.

“Uhhh, ignore that. Little Armin gets excited whenever I eat you out.” He answered, completely flustered.

The tips of his ears flushed a powder pink, like he was embarrassed even though he’d just made you cum twice.

You only giggled at him, secretly hearing wedding bells in your head.

Knowing your boyfriend got hard while eating you out only confirmed what you already suspected—he was a keeper.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cracked his knuckles dramatically, and started typing up a storm, like he could finish the whole essay in ten minutes if he really wanted to.

You slumped against his chest, listening to the quiet tapping of keys. Your eyes drifted shut again, cheek resting right where his heartbeat thudded beneath his shirt.

You just hoped your professor wouldn’t notice your essay suddenly had a different writing style than usual.

Then again… maybe she’d be too impressed to care.

Divider/Boarders produced by omi-resources.

Song written by Koi’lani/@aquasoftware.

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REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU <3

A/n: First Armin fanfic on this blog, I really hope you enjoyed 😱 I saw the nerd Armin fanart and had to make something for my baby <33 + Please let me know if I should write more for aot!!