#FOR THE STUPIDEST REASON I CAN THINK OF

[alikestory]

there's this museum in italy (la specola) that i know of bc reiko shimizu used their anatomical collection as reference for himitsu and i am now using it as reference for my sb comic :v but lately (well. months ago. I'M not doing anything currently but somewhere someone in the government is working on it) i'm working on getting my name changed so i can get a passport so i can go to japan (once i've re-saved up all the money i spent going to [hometown redacted] :'^) ) so i keep being like I COULD GO THERE TOO

currently my list is like. japan bc i'm a weeb. italy so i can see the guro museum. and oh my god i could go to india to visit their FISH BUILDING?????

[ckret2]

Extremelly funny if aku discovered she was a woman due to the Jill incident

I think it should just keep on happening!

doing drag for the bit* until you realize it isn't a bit anymore

*vexing and plaguing the accursed samurai

cute humansonas aside, if aku decided to be female i don't think she'd change anything about her default demon appearance. like, what's feminine to a tree made out of evil sludge that may or may not contain the imprisoned souls of countless helpless mortals?

maybe she'd lose the beard. but otherwise she's already a flawlessly beautiful specimen of eternal evil, what could possibly be improved??

so it might end up being just,

[grossdyke]

all im saying is ive never seen someone criticize those marylily or dorlily fanart/fics where they’re harrys mothers and theres no james in sight

[coraniaid]

While I'm being a hater, another retcon that really annoys me about Season 7 is the way it keeps trying to pretend that the primary role of the Slayer -- not just Buffy herself, but "the Slayer" as a concept -- has always been to protect "the Hellmouth" (the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, singular, mind you, as if the show hadn't established years earlier that there was more than one).

When Giles brings the first three Potentials to Buffy and tells her about the First's plan to wipe out "the Slayer line" and what's already happened to the Council, he warns her that "if the Slayer line is eliminated then the Hellmouth has no guardian". Later, when Buffy meets with (the ghosts? visions? whatever they're supposed to be) of the Shadow Men, they greet her as "the Hellmouth's last guardian". And then at the end of the season, we get all the ridiculous nonsense about the Guardians and the Scythe, and Buffy is told how a (never before mentioned) thousands-year-old secret society who were set up to keep an eye on (but never actually interfere with?) a different ancient secret society (one also never before mentioned before this season) and protect the Slayers (but not in a way that meant doing anything or keeping them alive or ever helping them save the world, naturally) and that all of this was focused geographically on Sunnydale even before there was a town called Sunnydale.

And ... um. What on earth are the writers going on about? Why are they serving up this rubbish?

Yes, Buffy is a vampire Slayer. Yes, Buffy lives on a hellmouth. So yes, Buffy is the Slayer and she guards the [a] Hellmouth. But when, before this season, was there even a hint that "guarding the Hellmouth" was something that most, let alone all Slayers were supposed to do? They're two separate things! Just like Buffy protected the Key in Season 5, even though this was never before something that "the Slayer" had been supposed to do. Buffy worked at Doublemeat Palace for a few months, too: is that also something we're going to pretend is part of the Slayer's traditional duties?

The Slayer can be any girl in the world! That's the whole sodding premise! Even in the course of the show, we've seen Slayers based on the other side of the country, or outside the country entirely, or living entirely on the other side of the planet. Who was the supposed "guardian of the Hellmouth" when Nikki Wood was the Slayer? Or when the young woman the show canonically saw fit to call only "Chinese Slayer" was the Slayer? Historically, surely most Slayers have never even heard of California, let alone visited a particular small town in it! What were these Slayers guarding? Giles -- who is a Watcher and who has been raised to train the Slayer since he was ten years old -- didn't even know Sunnydale was a Hellmouth until after he'd arrived. And this isn't just early season one weirdness: we see in the alternate universe of The Wish that without him the Council would never have known Sunnydale was on a Hellmouth! Isn't that ... kind of a big oversight, if "guarding the Hellmouth" was what the Slayer was supposed to be doing? If the Slayer has the default duty of "guardian of the Hellmouth", why is Glory so surprised to meet a Slayer on a town that's on the Hellmouth? If the Slayer isn't just somebody who fights against vampires and demons, why is her reaction to having met Buffy "please don't tell me I was fighting a vampire Slayer; how unbelievably common"?

None of the show's lore to this point has ever suggested that the main function of "the Slayer line" was to guard "the [Sunnydale] Hellmouth". So why do the writers keep trying to tell us that it is? Buffy was a vampire Slayer who happened to live on a Hellmouth. Doing that, and saving the world multiple times, was supposed to be something that made her unusual, even among Slayers. Most Slayers did not do this!

The point of the Slayer, in-universe, has always been that "she alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness". That's why there not being a Slayer anymore would be bad! Because vampires and demons kill people, all over the world, and the Slayer stops that from happening. The voiceover at the start of the first two seasons doesn't say "she alone will move to a town a few hours' drive from LA and guard the Hellmouth there, PS the one in Cleveland doesn't matter actually so we probably won't be hiding any mystical super-weapons there, LOL".

So why are the writers trying to pretend that the Slayer was ever envisaged as specifically "the guardian of the Hellmouth?". As I find myself asking so often when I think about Season 7, what the actual fuck was the point of this?

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

sorry for only saying this type of shit lately but i kinda wanna drive a car straight into a brick wall at the highest speed possible

[utilitycaster]

today in "endlessly funny things to me because I remember everything unless I forget," remember how the "Fjord's British accent indicates he's from Tal'Dorei" was not only roundly drowned in the Lucidian Ocean but actually his Vandran accent was the Tal'Doreian one? I now raise you the idea that, while the canonicity of the Red Nose Day 2023 one shot is unstated, it actually now makes way more sense for Scanlan to originally be from the Menagerie Coast, which in turn, ironically, serves as a strong argument against the largely (and deservedly) forgotten fan theory that Scanlan was Fjord's father, because the purpose of that theory was, like the accent one, mostly created to somehow make Fjord be from Tal'Dorei.

[pigeonliker420]

it is so funny to see non dnd people talking about the utility of the charm/friends spells saying its unfairly disadvantaged and being upset that npcs get mad its used on them cos like. its literally an evil spell there is no good use of it its the ultimate violation of someones agency and ability to choose

[zukkaoru]

forming one-sided beef with my sister's english teacher

[rumoredtoexist]

man i tweak out so bad when people have their read receipts on like i do NOT need to know that you’re ignoring me rn thank you

[funky-monk-17]

How am I supposed to be normal without you?

[embers-scheduled-disappointing]

We're out here making up the shittiest scenarios in our heads my bois

[communistkenobi]

(taken from a post about AI)

speaking as someone who has had to grade virtually every kind of undergraduate assignment you can think of for the past six years (essays, labs, multiple choice tests, oral presentations, class participation, quizzes, field work assignments, etc), it is wild how out-of-touch-with-reality people’s perceptions of university grading schemes are. they are a mass standardised measurement used to prove the legitimacy of your degree, not how much you’ve learned. Those things aren’t completely unrelated to one another of course, but they are very different targets to meet. It is standard practice for professors to have a very clear idea of what the grade distribution for their classes are before each semester begins, and tenure-track assessments (at least some of the ones I’ve seen) are partially judged on a professors classes’ grade distributions - handing out too many A’s is considered a bad thing because it inflates student GPAs relative to other departments, faculties, and universities, and makes classes “too easy,” ie, reduces the legitimate of the degree they earn. I have been instructed many times by professors to grade easier or harder throughout the term to meet those target averages, because those targets are the expected distribution of grades in a standardised educational setting. It is standard practice for teaching assistants to report their grade averages to one another to make sure grade distributions are consistent. there’s a reason profs sometimes curve grades if the class tanks an assignment or test, and it’s generally not because they’re being nice!

this is why AI and chatgpt so quickly expanded into academia - it’s not because this new generation is the laziest, stupidest, most illiterate batch of teenagers the world has ever seen (what an original observation you’ve made there!), it’s because education has a mass standard data format that is very easily replicable by programs trained on, yanno, large volumes of data. And sure the essays generated by chatgpt are vacuous, uncompelling, and full of factual errors, but again, speaking as someone who has graded thousands of essays written by undergrads, that’s not exactly a new phenomenon lol

I think if you want to be productively angry at ChatGPT/AI usage in academia (I saw a recent post complaining that people were using it to write emails of all things, as if emails are some sacred form of communication), your anger needs to be directed at how easily automated many undergraduate assignments are. Or maybe your professors calculating in advance that the class average will be 72% is the single best way to run a university! Who knows. But part of the emotional stakes in this that I think are hard for people to admit to, much less let go of, is that AI reveals how rote, meaningless, and silly a lot of university education is - you are not a special little genius who is better than everyone else for having a Bachelor’s degree, you have succeeded in moving through standardised post-secondary education. This is part of the reason why disabled people are systematically barred from education, because disability accommodations require a break from this standardised format, and that means disabled people are framed as lazy cheaters who “get more time and help than everyone else.” If an AI can spit out a C+ undergraduate essay, that of course threatens your sense of superiority, and we can’t have that, can we?

[killerplink]

DISCIPLINE

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: Jason wants you to learn self-defense in case he's not around, but he should've known you'd turn it into a game—batting your lashes, pouting, testing his patience at every step.

Words: 7k

A/N: This one-shot is basically an expanded (and slightly spicier, oops) version of a convo we had a few days ago about Jason teaching his girl self-defense. It spiraled into something much steamier than planned, but honestly... are we surprised? Big thanks to that little idea spark—y'all know who you are 🖤

Jason stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down at you like he's really trying to figure out where he went wrong in life. Because when he said he wanted to teach you self-defense, he expected some pushback. Maybe a little nervousness. Some hesitation. At worst, some stubborn "I don't need to learn that, Jay, you're always with me" bullshit.

What he didn't expect was for your eyes to light up like he just told you he bought you a puppy.

"Can I learn how to stab someone?" you ask, voice soft, excited, like you're asking if you can bake cookies later.

Jason blinks. "What."

You nod, like this is a normal response. "I mean, obviously, I have a taser and bear spray, but I think a knife would be a nice addition, you know?"

He has to take a second to process. "You—you have a what?"

"A taser! And bear spray," you clarify, eyes shining like you're announcing your engagement. "Bear spray is way better than regular pepper spray, so that's why I have that instead. Been itching so bad to use them, but who knew it took eons to get assaulted in Gotham when you actually want to?" you let out a dramatic sigh. "Like, I've been ready for this for years. I am so fucking up the first stupid asshole who wants to try me."

Jason has to take a very deep breath before responding, because he doesn't know whether to be concerned or turned on. Like, he genuinely doesn't know what to do with this information. Because he came into this fully prepared to convince you that learning self-defense was a good idea. He thought maybe you'd be scared, maybe you'd worry about getting hurt.

Which, in hindsight, was fucking stupid.

Because yeah, you're his small, sweet, shy girl, at least 90% of the time. All soft smiles and warm cuddles, curling into his side, acting all innocent. But he should know better. Because you're also a menace. Especially when you're drunk.

And the thing is, alcohol makes you bold as fuck. Your mouth runs without a filter, and somehow, that always ends with either you ready to commit assault over the stupidest shit or getting him in trouble. Like that one time a guy tried to cut in front of you in line at a food truck, and before Jason could even blink, you were calling him a "dickless little piss baby" and offering to fight him over a fucking taco.

So yeah, he should've known.

"Baby," he finally says, rubbing a hand down his face. "You don't get to just manifest gettin' mugged."

You pout, arms crossing tight over your chest like you're trying to physically contain your frustration. "I'm not manifesting it, I just think it'd be fun." 

Jason stares at you, unimpressed. 

"Not fun fun," you amend quickly, eyes darting to his face as you shift on your feet, hands waving as if that'll somehow make your argument more reasonable. "But, like, practical fun. Who doesn't wanna kick some criminal ass?" 

"Jesus Christ," he says, voice dry, incredulous. "Doll, no one just casually waits for an opportunity to fuck someone up." 

Your pout deepens, bottom lip pushing out as you tip your head, batting your lashes. "You do." 

His eyes narrow. "That's different." 

"How?" you take a step closer, blinking up at him, playing up your sweetness like you're not actively trying to convince him to arm you with a knife. 

He groans, tipping his head back like he's asking the universe for strength. "Okay, yeah, no weapons for you." 

"What? Why not?" you whine, stomping your foot just a little, because this is bullshit.

"Because," Jason says, tone final, firm, like he's laying down the law, "I'm not lettin' my girl run around with a blade just waitin' for some dumbass to try her." 

You huff, arms crossing tighter as you glare. "This is so unfair." 

He scoffs, throwing his hands up. "Unfair—you—oh my fuckin' God, no knife trainin' for you and that's it." 

Your jaw drops, scandalized, because how dare he? "Jay—" 

"Fuckin' no," he cuts you off with a sharp look, voice absolute. "You don't get a knife." 

Your lips wobble like you're actually sad about it. "But—"

"Jesus Christ, you're worse than me," he mutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in deep like he's trying to summon the patience of a saint.

Which, let's be real, he doesn't have. Not when it comes to you and your innocent—and very concerning—enthusiasm for fucking people up.

"Baby," he starts, slow and measured, like he's talking to someone who's about to do something really fucking stupid. And honestly, maybe he is. "This is self-defense. Meanin' it's only for when you have no other choice. Got it? You are not—I repeat, not—goin' out of your way to stab someone just because you wanna see how it feels."

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering, mouth curling into the sweetest little pout. "I would never do that."

Jason stares. Stares. Because you're lying. Blatantly.

"You just said you've been waitin' for someone to try and mug you," he points out, voice flat, arms crossing again as he levels you with a look. "That doesn't sound like self-defense, baby. That sounds like premeditation."

You tilt your head, like you totally don't see the problem here. "But Jay—"

"No," he lifts a hand, cutting you off before you can even start with whatever bullshit argument you're about to pull. "No buts. This isn't a game. If someone actually attacks you, you do exactly what I teach you. No extra shit, no tryin' to one up them, and definitely no pullin' weapons just because you feel like it. Understand?"

You nod, but it's too quick, too eager. Too much like you're just saying it so he'll shut up and move on to the part where he actually shows you how to hurt someone.

Jason sighs through his nose, jaw tightening as he gives you a slow once over. "Say it back to me."

You bite your lip, rocking on your heels, playing up the innocence in your eyes. "I will only use self-defense if I absolutely have to," you recite, soft, sweet. "I will not go out of my way to fight someone, no matter how bad I wanna try out my taser—"

Jason groans, tipping his head back. "Jesus Christ."

"—and I will definitely not stab anyone unless I am in mortal danger."

He squints at you. "Are you fuckin' with me right now?"

You clasp your hands behind your back, swaying slightly, still looking up at him like you're the picture of pure intentions.

"No, baby," you say, voice syrupy and so fucking fake, and you can see the muscle in his jaw twitch, the barely contained exasperation tightening his shoulders. "I'm taking this very seriously."

"No," he mutters, rubbing his hand down his face again. "No, you're not."

You step closer, pressing your fingers to his chest, looking up at him through your lashes. "I am," you insist, voice so soft, so sweet. "Don't you trust me?"

Jason's hands drop to his hips, and he leans in, just enough to look you right in the eye. "Not even a little."

He exhales slowly, leveling you with a look that's somewhere between exasperated boyfriend and man barely holding onto his sanity. He doesn't know why the fuck he thought this would go smoothly. You, of all people. You, with your wide, innocent eyes and that suspiciously sweet little voice, who he knows is just itching to cause some kind of bullshit.

He should've seen this coming. Should've known.

Because realistically speaking? You rarely go anywhere without him. It's fucking Gotham, and he's Jason fucking Todd. Which means if you're not with him, you're with someone he trusts—or you're home, where he left you, safe.

Not because he's some controlling asshole who doesn't let you live your life, but because he's been out there. He knows what this city is. Knows how fast things can go from fine to fucked in the blink of an eye.

And not that the freaks here need a reason to attack people only at night anyway—God knows they don't. Broad daylight, rush hour, middle of the fucking street? Doesn't matter. Gotham's got its own fucking rules, and they don't care if you're just trying to grab a coffee or get home from work. But still, he thought it'd be good for you to at least have some self-defense training.

What he didn't think, was that you'd be fucking giddy about the idea of stabbing someone. He drags a hand down his face for what feels like the thousandth time, shoulders tensing as he looks at you again, standing there all sweet and so fucking suspicious.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, shaking his head.

You just beam at him, rising onto your toes to press a quick kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw. "But I'm cute," you remind him, voice sickly sweet, lips brushing against his skin.

Jason sighs, tilting his head down just as you try to step back, catching your chin between his fingers before you can get away. "Yeah?" he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours, thumb stroking along your jaw. "That supposed to make me forget you just admitted you're impatient to commit a felony?"

Your lips part, your breath warm against his, but you're still smiling, still playing that little game of yours, still batting your lashes like you're the picture of innocence. "Not a felony," you say softly. "Just... an act of self-defense that may or may not get me arrested, depending on the jury."

He groans, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head as his hands slide down to your waist.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters, voice rough, full of barely contained affectionate frustration. "You are so lucky I love you."

You giggle, bright and genuine, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into him like you know exactly what you're doing. "I know," you say, smug and happy, and fuck, he's so fucking gone for you it's ridiculous at this point.

Jason breathes you in, lets his fingers tighten around your waist, and kisses you. A slow, lingering press of his lips, soft enough to make you melt a little, teasing enough to remind you that he's got other ways of distracting you. And maybe he should've just started there instead of pretending this was ever gonna be a serious lesson.

But he pulls back, just enough to murmur, "You done playin', doll?"

You blink up at him, still smiling. "Depends."

Jason squints, lips twitching. "Depends on what?"

"Depends on whether you're actually gonna teach me now, or just keep kissing me until you forget about it."

Jason huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls away, finally taking a step back. "Alright," he says, rolling his shoulders, glancing down at his hands like he's mentally preparing to deal with you. "Let's try to get through a fuckin' lesson, then."

You giggle again, soft and way too pleased, and he already regrets this, because he knows you're gonna try some bullshit the second he gives you an opening. He knows it. Can see it written all over your too sweet expression, the way you're still smiling, still batting your lashes, like you're not already planning your next move.

So he sighs, rolls his shoulders again, and chooses to ignore that for now. Because if he wants to get anywhere with this, he needs to at least get the basics into your head before you start trying to murder him.

"Alright," he starts, keeping his voice even, professional. "This isn't a "how to win a fight" lesson, okay? You're not lookin' to beat someone. You're lookin' to get the fuck away as fast as possible. You with me?"

"Mhmm," you hum, tilting your head, still smiling.

Jason narrows his eyes, but moves on. "Gotham's a shithole. You're not gonna have time to square up and throw a clean punch. So this is about gettin' yourself out of a bad situation before it gets worse. You get grabbed? You break the hold and you run. If they're faster than you? You make sure they regret gettin' close to you in the first place."

You perk up, excited, and Jason almost groans. So fucking predictable.

"So," he continues, pretending he didn't notice, "most common grabs. If someone gets your arm—"

He reaches out, quick but controlled, his fingers circling your wrist in a firm grip. He doesn't squeeze, just holds, tilting his head down to meet your eyes. "What do you do?"

You think for a second, then— "Break their fucking nose?"

Jason lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. "Okay, yeah, that's an option, but first? You wanna break the grip. They grab your wrist, you don't pull back. You twist toward their thumb, push through the weak point in their hold."

He loosens his fingers just a little, giving you the chance to practice. You try it, twisting your wrist too quickly, too eager, but Jason keeps his grip light so you actually get the motion right, slipping out of his hold easily.

"Like that?" you ask, looking pleased with yourself.

"Yeah," he nods. "If they grab both wrists, same thing, but you yank up and break out of both at the same time. Quick, before they can adjust their grip. Got it?"

You nod, biting your lip like you're really paying attention, and fuck, Jason has no idea how much of this is actually sticking and how much is just you playing with him. But he moves on, because next is something he needs you to know.

"Okay," he murmurs, voice dropping slightly. "If they go for your throat—"

His hand ghosts up, barely touching, just resting his fingers lightly against your neck, so gentle it's barely pressure at all. But it's enough to make your breath hitch, just slightly, your body going a little still.

Jason watches you carefully, reads every microexpression, every little flicker of something across your face before continuing.

"People fuck this up in movies. You don't try to pull their hands off. You're not gonna be strong enough to break the grip outright, especially not if they're bigger than you."

He flexes his fingers slightly, just enough to demonstrate, to show you what he means before pulling back. "You wanna go for the thumbs. That's the weak point. Both hands, grab their thumbs, push out and down, then duck away. Got it?"

You nod, more serious, something thoughtful in your expression.

"Good," he murmurs, then gestures to your hair. "If they grab your hair—"

"Oh fuck no, I'd simply die," you say, deadpan. "That's my nightmare scenario, Jay."

Jason huffs a laugh. "Yeah, well, let's say you'd rather not die, baby. If they grab it, you don't try to yank away, or you're just helpin' them control you. You grab their wrist, stop them from jerkin' your head around, and you drive your knee into their fuckin' balls until they let go. Got it?"

"Got it," you echo, nodding, biting your lip like you're really thinking about it.

Jason watches you for a second, then takes a step back, flexing his fingers. "Alright," he says. "We're gonna go through these real quick, one by one, get the motion into muscle memory, yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod, lifting your hands a little. "Okay. Ready."

Jason nods, reaches for your wrist again—

And you go straight for his throat. No hesitation. Zero fucking hesitation. You move fast, hands darting up like you're ready to go for his jugular, and Jason barely manages to react in time, catching your wrists before you can dig your fingers into his windpipe.

"Jesus Christ," he barks, startled, holding you back as you giggle, eyes bright, too fucking pleased with yourself. "We are literally practicin' breakin' a wrist grab, and you go for my fuckin' throat?"

"It was open!" you defend, twisting in his grip, trying to move your arms, but Jason just tightens his hold. "Seemed like a good opportunity!"

Jason lets out a long, slow exhale, like he's praying for patience. "You are so fuckin' lucky I love you, I swear to fuckin' God," he mutters.

You just beam at him, but he's determined to get through at least one lesson with you before you either land a dirty hit or he ends up putting you in a fucking time out.

It's a battle though. Because every time he tries to correct your form, show you the right way to get out of a hold, you're already one step ahead—twisting in his grip, shifting your weight, going for some batshit move you absolutely should not be attempting yet. And you do get it right, more than once, your motions smooth and sharp when you actually focus, but the problem is that you never just focus.

It's always followed by something else. Something you shouldn't be doing. Like now.

"Jesus, baby," Jason grunts, dodging just in time as you try, for the millionth fucking time, to go for his balls. "Do you have to aim there every fuckin' time?"

"It's a very effective tactic," you say, so damn pleased with yourself. "It's a vulnerable spot, isn't it? You literally said I should make them regret getting close to me."

"I meant them, pretty girl. Not me."

"You're just in the way," you say, batting your lashes, grinning. "Move, and it won't be your problem."

Jason lets out a sharp huff of laughter, shaking his head. "Y'know what? Fuck this."

Your hands press against his chest, pushing yourself up slightly, but Jason doesn't let you go far—his grip tight, his fingers curling against your lower back, keeping you right where he wants you.

And before you can react, he moves. Quick. Smooth. Controlled. His arm hooks around your waist, the other sweeping your legs clean off the floor, and the next thing you know, you're falling, pulled down with him, but the landing is soft—the plush rug cushioning you as Jason twists, making sure he hits the floor first, his arms caging you close against his chest as you let out a startled little gasp.

He smirks up at you, all slow and lazy, something dark flickering in his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is warm and rough, low enough to send a thrill down your spine.

"Careful with my balls, baby," he murmurs, the rasp in his voice making your stomach flutter. "I thought you loved gettin' fucked."

Your breath hitches, heat sparking through your veins, and Jason watches the way your lips part, your lashes fluttering as your grip on his chest tightens just slightly.

You let out a soft little giggle, feigning innocence, tilting your head as you trace a slow, teasing line over his collarbone, down to the fabric of his shirt.

"I do," you murmur, pouting a little, "but I'm also very dedicated to my studies, Jay. You wouldn't wanna distract me, would you?"

Jason huffs, his grip tightening for a split second before he shifts, one arm coming up, curling around your back as the other slips down, fingers pressing against your hip as he flips you under him in one smooth motion, his weight pressing you down into the rug.

"Doll," he breathes, tilting his head, his lips so damn close to yours, "I don't think you wanna study right now."

And then he kisses you. Slow. Deep. Messy. His lips part against yours, his tongue licking deep into your mouth, coaxing a sweet little whimper from you as your hands fist into his shirt, pulling him closer.

He kisses like he owns you, mouth hot and searching, tongue sliding over yours with purpose, like he's trying to taste every little gasp you give him. His hand slides up, fingers cupping the top of your head as he tilts it just how he wants it, deepening the kiss until it's all spit and need and heat. You can feel the groan rumble in his chest before it spills into your mouth, vibrating against your lips, low and rough.

Your lips part wider for him, letting him devour you, and he takes full advantage, licking into you slow and filthy, like he's savoring every second of it. His teeth catch on your bottom lip when he pulls back just a little, only to dive right back in, lips sealing over yours again like he can't stand not kissing you.

And fuck, you melt for it. For the way he kisses like you're something sweet he can't stop craving, like he wants to drag the taste of you out long and aching and endless.

His weight presses against you, his body solid, heat radiating from his skin, and when his thigh shifts, pressing between your legs, you let out a soft, shaky little sigh, your body arching up into his. Jason smirks against your lips, his fingers dipping under your shirt, warm against your skin as he teases up your waist, his touch light, slow, deliberate.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, voice thick with want, "guess you're not so dedicated after all, huh, baby?"

And he doesn't stop there. His hand drifts higher, fingertips skimming your ribs before they finally close around your tits, squeezing, kneading, teasing you with slow, intentional touches. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows how sensitive you are, how easy it is to work you up until you're a whimpering mess for him.

His lips brush your jaw, then your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, dragging his tongue along the pulse that flutters under his mouth. His voice is deep, mocking, when he finally speaks, words warm against your throat.

"So damn insatiable."

And you are—grinding against his thigh, your breath coming faster, hips rolling like you need something—anything more than just the pressure of his leg against your cunt. Your nipple pebbles against his palm, and he chuckles, tugging your shirt up with one hand before leaning in and taking it into his mouth.

The heat of his tongue makes you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before he bites, just enough to make you jolt. Then he soothes it, licking over the sting, lips closing around the peak to suckle again, slow and deep, making you arch into him, chasing the feeling.

And he loves it. Loves the way you squirm, the way you whimper, the way your grip tightens in his hair when he switches to the other, dragging his teeth over the soft curve before his lips close around it.

He mouths at you like he's starving, like your tits are the only thing he needs to live. His tongue drags slow, lazy circles around your nipple before flicking the tip again and again, just to hear you whine for it. Then he sucks harder, lips sealed tight, cheeks hollowing slightly as he pulls another breathless moan out of you.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick and ragged, hot breath ghosting over the wet flesh. "These tits—God, you know what you do to me?"

He licks lower, wet and messy between the swell, then back up again, trailing spit like he wants you soaked everywhere, not just between your legs. His hands push your shirt higher, bunching it under your arms as he palms both at once, squeezing, thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples, slick with his spit.

He leans in again, lips dragging between them like he can't choose which one he wants more, switching back and forth like he's addicted, like he's trying to memorize every soft noise you make when he tongues one and rolls the other between his fingers.

You're grinding harder, pussy practically dripping, every drag of his thigh against your clit making your whole body twitch. And Jason? Jason just grins, lips still wrapped around your nipple, watching you fall apart just from how he sucks your tits like they're his personal fucking addiction.

He hums against you, the sound dark and pleased, one hand sliding down, down, slipping past the waistband of your shorts.

His fingers slip between your thighs, pressing just right over the soaked lace clinging to your cunt, and he groans, low and rough, like he feels it in his chest.

"Jesus, you're so fuckin' wet, baby."

And you are—the fabric already drenched, sticking to you, barely anything separating you from the slow, teasing circles he's rubbing against your clit. But it's not enough, not when you're already aching, already needing more, and he fucking knows it.

You whine, hips shifting, trying to push against his fingers, but he doesn't give you what you want. Just keeps barely touching you, brushing his knuckles over the damp lace, the ghost of pressure over your pussy enough to make you whimper.

His mouth is still working you over, still licking at your tits, sucking slow and deep until your nipple pebbles against his tongue, until you're so fucking sensitive you can't stop the little noises slipping from your throat.

Your fingers tighten in his hair as your voice comes soft, needy. "Jay, please—"

He hums against your skin, tongue flicking over the peak of your nipple before he suckles again, just toying with you, like he's perfectly content to keep you like this—whining, squirming, so needy it's almost pathetic.

His lips curl against your skin as he finally lifts his head, his fingers still moving slow, teasing, barely pressing against your clit.

"Please what, huh?" His voice is thick with amusement as he brushes another lazy touch over your pussy. "What do you want? You were talkin' so big earlier. What happened, baby?"

You whimper, hips shifting again, trying so desperately to push into his touch, but he doesn't let you. Just holds you down, controlling the pace, the pressure.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with mocking sweetness as he drags his fingers over your clit—slow, featherlight, barely enough pressure to give you what you need. "Say it. What do you want?"

Your panties are soaked, the thin lace clinging to your cunt, and you know he can feel it. The way your slick seeps through the fabric, the way it makes every slow, teasing brush of his fingers more slippery, easier for him to keep you right on the edge without giving you anything.

Your breath stutters as you try again, voice coming out soft, desperate. "I need—" A sharp inhale as his fingers skim your clit, and fuck, you're so sensitive already. "I want you, Jay."

He makes a low sound in his throat, something that's almost thoughtful as he keeps up those infuriatingly light touches, the pads of his fingers gliding over your slick, swollen clit with just enough pressure to keep you right there, to keep you aching.

"Yeah? Do you?" he grins against your skin, his mouth moving to your throat, kissing, sucking until he knows it'll leave a mark. "Cause earlier, you were sayin' I'm in your way."

Your pout is immediate, your fingers tightening in his hair as you whine, frustration bubbling up in your chest. "I was just talking shit, baby—please, I need you."

But he doesn't budge, doesn't give you what you want yet, just keeps playing with you, his fingers teasing just right over your clit, flicking, rubbing, not letting you grind against him like you're trying to.

"Need me, huh?"

His voice is so fucking deep, rasping against your skin as his fingers finally slip beneath your panties, pushing the soaked fabric aside. You gasp when he spreads you open, fingertips sliding through your slick lips, smearing your arousal around as he grins.

"Jesus, baby, you're so fuckin' wet."

He loves it, loves the way you writhe for him, loves how fucking needy you are, even as his cock throbs, straining against his sweats, aching to be buried inside you.

But he doesn't care, not when he's having too much fun teasing you, playing with you, dragging his fingers over your soaked pussy like he's just getting started.

Jason groans, deep and gravelly, his mouth slanting over yours with a heat that makes your toes curl. His lips are rough, possessive, like he needs to taste every single moan he pulls from you, like he wants to swallow them down, keep them all to himself.

His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing you into parting for him even more, and you can't help but moan when he finally presses his fingers against your clit, circling the swollen bud with slow, deliberate strokes.

The slick, wet sounds are obscene, filling the space between your breathless little whimpers, your needy, muffled gasps as he works you, rubbing tight, precise circles that have your thighs trembling, your body tensing as he brings you right to the brink.

Your hips jerk as he drags his fingers lower, sliding through your soaked folds, gathering up every drop of arousal before he brings it back up, spreading it over your sensitive clit, making it easier for him to tease you.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at your lower lip, grinning when you whimper, "you're drippin' all over my fuckin' fingers."

And you are, your slick coating his fingers, making his strokes smoother, more precise, working you into a mess of needy little gasps, of desperate, helpless little moans.

Your head falls back against the plush rug as he grins, taking the opportunity to kiss down your jaw, nipping at your skin between murmured praise.

He finally—fucking finally—slides a finger into your pussy, sinking it in slow, making sure you feel every inch stretching you open. Your walls flutter around him, clenching at the intrusion, and fuck, he loves how tight you are, how you always squeeze around his fingers like you're desperate for more.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. "So fuckin' tight for me. You love this, don't you? Love havin' my fingers inside you?"

You whimper, nodding quickly, too lost in the slow, steady thrust of his finger, the way he angles it just right, making your cunt pulse around it.

"Yeah, I know you do," he rasps, a grin in his voice before he adds another, pressing both fingers deep, stretching you open as his palm grinds against your clit, sending a sharp, electric jolt through you.

You gasp, your hips rolling up, seeking more, but he just chuckles, keeping his pace slow, teasing, fucking you on his fingers with deep, steady thrusts that have your thighs trembling.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice dark, full of heat, "takin' my fingers so good, baby. You're so wet, fuck, you're drippin' all over me."

You moan, making every movement smooth, obscene, the wet sounds of your pussy taking his fingers only making you more desperate.

Then he curls them, dragging against that perfect, sensitive spot inside you, and you cry out, your back arching as your pussy clenches tight around him.

"Yeah? That's the spot, huh?" he grins, doing it again, pressing his fingers just right, making your whole body shudder. "God, baby, you feel so fuckin' good squeezin' me like that. You gonna cum for me?"

And God, you need to, you want to, especially with the way his cock is pressing against your thigh, hard and thick, the heat of it searing through his sweats. The thought of him fucking you, of him stretching you open on his dick instead of his fingers has you whimpering.

Your pussy clenches around him, and he groans, fingers thrusting deeper, his palm grinding against your clit, rubbing, teasing, working you closer, closer, closer.

Jason groans into your mouth as he kisses you, lazy and wet, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, sloppy strokes that have you whimpering. His lips are soft, warm, but his kiss is hungry, deep and messy, like he's devouring you, like he can't get enough. And you—Jesus, you're already a wreck, your body trembling against him, your breath hitching between every filthy press of his lips.

His fingers fuck into you with a steady rhythm, curling deep, pushing against that perfect spot inside you, and you shudder, your pussy tightening around his fingers, so close, so fucking close.

"C'mon, baby," he rasps against your lips, his voice all low and wrecked, full of heat. "Let me feel it. Cum for me, baby, cum all over my fingers."

And you do. Your whole body locks up, pleasure hitting you like a shockwave, crashing over you in a hot, electric rush that makes your legs shake, your breath hitch in a broken gasp.

Your cunt pulses around his fingers, clenching so tight he can barely move them, your slick dripping down his hand as he fucks you through it, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until you're gasping against his lips.

Jason fucking moans at the feel of you cumming for him, his fingers sinking deeper, fucking into your spasming pussy with slow, deep thrusts, coaxing every last drop from you. His cock throbs against your thigh, aching, needy, but he stays there, taking his time, watching you come undone.

Face all flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, your pretty little eyes all hazy and fucked out, barely even focusing on him as you come down from it. Jesus Christ, he fucking loves this. Loves how you always get like this whenever he touches you—dazed and needy, wrecked and whimpering, like he's the only thing keeping you grounded.

His fingers slow, dragging against your soaked, sensitive walls, making you twitch, and he fucking grins.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with praise, "that was so fuckin' pretty. So good for me."

His hand lingers, fingers still buried inside you, soaked with your slick, and fuck, you're still clenching around him, like your body knows what it wants.

Him. Specifically, his dick.

And he's so tempted to just fuck you stupid right now, to shove his sweats down and give you exactly what you need—his cock, deep, hard, relentless—but no.

Not yet. Because you've still got a lesson to learn. But first, Jason drags his fingers from your pussy, slow and lazy, feeling the way your spent little hole clenches down on nothing as he pulls away. He lingers for a second, fingertips slick and shiny with your arousal, and then he drags them over your twitching clit, making you jerk against him, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.

And then—because he's a fucking bastard—he tugs your panties back up, pressing the soaked lace firmly against your still-sensitive cunt, trapping all that messy, sticky heat right where it belongs. You whine, a pout already forming on your lips, and Jason just grins, bringing his fingers to your mouth, rubbing them over your lips, smearing the taste of you against them.

You know what he wants. So you open up, tongue peeking out, and Jason groans as he slips his fingers inside, watching as you suck them clean.

Jesus.

Your tongue swirls over them, slow and wet, sucking him in deeper, your lips wrapping around his thick fingers as you hum against them, letting your mouth get all sloppy as you clean every last drop. Your lashes flutter, heat pools in your belly, your cunt throbbing again as you think—you really think—he's gonna fuck you now.

Because that's all you can think about.

His dick. Hard, leaking, hot, stretching you open, sliding in and out of your desperate, needy pussy, fucking you deep, fucking you hard, pumping you so full of his cum it drips out of you.

But oh, you're so wrong. Jason watches you for a second longer, his control fraying at the edges because fuck, you look so hot like this, but then he pulls his fingers from your mouth, spit clinging to them before it breaks. He smirks, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, and then he moves, getting off you entirely.

You gasp, scandalized, blinking up at him in betrayal as he stands over you, adjusting himself with a satisfied little grunt.

"Baby, what the fuck are you—"

"Well," Jason interrupts, voice way too smug, "you haven't learned shit yet. Prove to me you can do what I told you earlier, and then I'll fuck you for as long as you want."

You stare at him, jaw dropping, because you cannot believe he just said that.

You sit upright, letting him pull you up from the floor, still gaping at him. "Jay, you can't be serious right now—"

He quirks a brow. "Bet."

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, your lower lip jutting out as you glare up at him. "You're mean."

Jason barks a laugh, eyes gleaming as he tilts his head at you. "You're the one who agreed to learn self-defense, baby."

You whine, pouting like that'll somehow change his mind. "But I have a taser and bear spray—"

"I don't give a fuck."

You pout harder, but it's not working. Not even a little.

He just smirks, shaking his head. "The more you pout, the longer you waste time."

You stick your tongue out at him, frustration bubbling in your chest. "I hate you."

He just chuckles, dark and knowing, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to yours. "Keep talkin' all you want, baby. We'll see how sweet you moan on my dick after."

Jason waits, watching, arms crossed as you huff and pout, clearly not happy about being denied, but then your expression shifts. Your lashes flutter, your lips part like you're about to whine, but he sees that little glint in your eyes—oh, you're about to try some bullshit.

And he's right. Because the second his hand reaches for you, you move. His fingers barely close around your wrist before you do just like he showed you, twisting toward the weak point by his thumb, slipping free in one smooth motion.

His brows lift, and for a second, he looks genuinely impressed. But he doesn't say it, just rolls his shoulders and reaches again, this time wrapping his hand fully around your throat, fingers firm but not too tight. Testing you.

You don't hesitate. Both hands, grab the base of his thumbs, push outward, duck and pivot out of his reach, just like he told you. And it works.

Jason lets out a low hum, watching as you step back, grinning like you just pulled off the heist of the century. "Huh," he says, head tilting, that hot glint of approval in his eyes. "Guess you actually did listen."

But then he moves again, lightning quick, fingers aiming for your hair, and without even thinking, you go for his balls.

"Jesus fuck!" Jason jerks back so fast you'd think you actually landed the hit, his hands immediately dropping as he glares at you like you just committed a war crime. "Alright, fuck this, I give up."

Your brain barely has time to process it before you're grinning, bouncing on your heels as you beam up at him. "I did it!"

"That's not—" he groans, running a hand over his face before glaring at you, but there's something hot in his gaze, something that has your stomach flipping. "Yeah, fine, you did it. Now c'mere, you little shit."

His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, as he takes a step closer, big hands flexing at his sides. His jaw twitches, like he's debating how he wants to grab you, where he wants to put you, and then he just fucking moves.

He's on you in a second, hands snapping up so fast you barely have time to gasp before he's got you by the waist, pulling you right up against his chest. His grip is firm, possessive, fingers digging into your ass as he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you squeal, clinging to him as he starts toward the bedroom.

Jason smirks, voice dropping, rough and teasing. "Gotta say, baby, 'm real proud of you."

You preen, tilting your head smugly. "Oh? Does that mean—"

"Yeah, yeah, I keep my word." His hands flex, grinding you down against the thick, hard bulge pressing into your pussy, and your breath catches. His smirk deepens, dark and promising. "And you're gonna take every inch I give you."

And you did.

You took every inch, again and again, in every way he wanted to give it to you. On your back with your legs spread wide, face down with your ass in the air, straddling his lap while his hands dragged you down onto his cock, over and over until your thighs were shaking. He used every angle, every position, fucking you through the bratty attitude until all that was left were the soft, sweet little sounds you made when he hit just the right spot.

He stuffed you full of him each time, slow at first, like he wanted to feel every clench of your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around him with each stroke. But it didn't stay slow. Not when you were begging, nails clawing at his back, whispering his name like a prayer.

He came deep, again and again, grinding into you with a low, possessive growl as his cum spilled inside—thick and hot, dripping out around his cock every time he thrust back in. He fucked it deeper with each roll of his hips, chasing every last tremble from your thighs until you went all soft and pliant underneath him, wide eyed and dazed.

No more teasing. No more smug little smirks. Just you, sweet, ruined, and wrecked just how he likes you.

[ce1estiall]

eyes roll

summary paige x teammate!reader paige knows she's right when something's wrong with you. inspired by this request. masterlist.

warnings slight angst (?), smut, fingering (r!receiving) oral (r!receiving), finger riding (r!receiving), edging, pinning, fluff in the end :)

celestial notes this is not that long, lo siento 💔💔 finals week is this week + next week, prepare for inactivity 😔 taste of love should be coming out 6/1 also TWICE COMEBACK YESSS

“keeps your eyes on me, push the start now go full speed

lock it down baby, you about to fall to your knees.” eyes roll - gidle

the roster was finalized 2 days before the home opener against the indiana fever. coach chris called you into his office as you were getting some shots up. your heart immediately fell down to your feet, not knowing what to expect even though you were the first pick in the draft. you followed coach chris to his office, anxiety filled the air around you. your heartbeat increased and you started breaking out in a sweat. "hey. have a seat."

you pulled a chair out and sat down in front of his desk. he started speaking. "well i'm going to make this very short and sweet. as you know, you were the 1st pick in the draft and there's multiple reasons why we picked you." he paused for a second, looking like he was thinking on what to say. it made you nervous, until you heard "welcome to dallas."

you took a sigh of relief. "oh thank god." you touched your chest, feeling your pulse calm down slightly as you started smiling. coach chris started laughing at your reaction. "did you really think we'd wave you? that would be the stupidest move on our part." you got up from your seat, in all smiles. "well, you never know what can happen. bye coach! thank you so much." you heard a faint "see you later" as you walked back to the gym, much more relaxed.

--

it was finally the day both you and the media were waiting for. your official wnba rookie debut. you had been looking forward to this since you were a little girl. the pressure was definitely on you. you had a bunch of worries that you weren't able to meet the standard of the public eye. a couple hours before the game, you had team shooting. ever since you and paige apologized each other, you both have been attempting to reignite the relationship you had in the past, even though things were still a bit rocky between you both.

at team shooting, paige noticed you were off, unlike yourself. you brought back your old personality and charm around her, which made her light up a smile when she was with you. she was able to see right through you, instead of at you.

after you shot a free throw and missed, she grabbed your rebound and walked towards you. "you okay?" paige whispered, only loud enough for you to hear. the color in your skin faded away, like you saw a ghost. "let's sit down for a second, you don't look okay." paige grabbed your hand and interlocked her fingers with yours, assuring you that she was not letting go. you sat down on a courtside seat as paige grabbed your gatorade water bottle and sat next to you, placing a hand on your right thigh. your left thigh shook with anxiety. "talk to me, what's wrong?" you picked at your fingers, attempting to find the right words to start speaking. "i'm scared, paige." you looked up at her with glossy eyes. "what are you scared of?"

you look back down at the ground as tear slowly started filling your eyes. "i'm not gonna do my best tonight, like the whole world wants me too. that i'm not good enough and i don't deserve to be here."

paige grabbed your hands in protest. her touch was soft and warm, soothing and melting your worries at that moment. "i do not want you to ever say that. you are going to do amazing. you will play your best. when you do your best, that's all you can do. you, me and anybody else. fuck the media, they cannot be talking about anyone's performance. because they are not in the w. they have not worked as hard as you to be here today. you've done so much to be here. you should be so proud of yourself. i'm proud of you, okay?" her soft blue eyes gazed you, like she was protecting you from her vision. your eyes met hers, and your face relaxed. a slight tear escaped your eye. "thank you paige." you squeezed her hand as she wiped the tear away from your face. "go finish some shots before the game."

you got up from the seat and grabbed a ball. you shook off your nerves and took a deep breath as you decided to practice your handles, one of you strengths and favorite things to do. the touch of the ball, the sound of bouncing back and forth at such intense speed just made you satisfied.

after team shooting, you returned home and made a simple but quick meal before the game. grilled chicken breast with a side of corn. it was one of your comfort meals, as it brough nostalgia from your college days. you went to your closet, picking out a tunnel fit. you wanted to set the tone early, as you wanted to make it known that you loved not only basketball, but fashion as well. you loved dressing in both a masculine and feminine way. you decided on a simple black top with a tan jacket with black buttons, complimenting your skin tone. you wore jeans, a dark brown belt and black knee high boots, pairing it with a louis vuitton bag you bought with your first nil paycheck.

you entered the stadium, boots clacking on the floor as you made your grand entrance. camera lights flashed everywhere, as media was stunned by your first tunnel fit ever. you smiled and waved at every camera, appearing much calmer than you were before. you entered the locker room as your team was also in awe by your look. "okay rook i see you! you got style!" dijonai said as she approached you, observing your outfit. "do you guys like it?" you asked, fixing your hair before you changed. maddy turned around and saw you, looking at you from head to toe. "no girl, we love it! you're gonna be awesome today."

you gave her a smile, grabbing your uniform. you went to the bathroom to change and saw paige, doing her slick back pony. she whistled as she saw sight of you through the mirror "wow." it caught you off guard, but you smiled as she fully turned around to see you. she leaned against the counter, giving you that look. the look of interest, not as friends, but something more. paige looked like she was melting just by your presence. "just wait until you see my future tunnel fits, think you'll like 'em real better." you threw your bag on the marble bathroom counter. paige stepped closer, touching your jacket. "i think anything you wear i'll fall in love with." you rolled your eyes playfully as she winked at you. "continue getting ready, you flirt." you entered the stall and locked it as your heard paige's response. "you're distracting me." you heard paige's footstep fading away. "i'll see you soon, rookie." you spoke up loud enough for her to hear. "bye paige."

you put on that navy jersey, and exited the stall to immediately see yourself in the mirror. change. it was such a scary but exciting thing. knowing how you would never put on the uconn jersey again killed you, but made you excited for new beginnings in dallas. you saw the word "DALLAS" across your chest with the number 9, then turned around to see your last name. it made you smile, knowing that this was "you made it" moment.

it was now tip off. you entered the arena with your team and sat down, as the announcers announced the people on the bench, then the starting line up. "a 6-foot guard from los angeles, california, y/n." the arena exploded in cheers as you got up and hi-fived your teammates, then doing a handshake with arike. you saw the fans, wearing your jerseys, holding up signs that had their support of you. it gave you serotonin.

the game started as normal, dallas won jumpball, shots were going up, defense was manageable, it was a good first half, and you were a beast.

however, the spark started to fade. you weren't switching correctly on defense. missed shots left and right, getting face guarded. that's when basketball became started mental, because it had you questioning your ability in that second half.

dallas lost to the fever, 93-113. unhappy faces filled the locker room after the game, knowing you guys could've beat this team. "it's the first game of the season. i know it wasn't the outcome we expected but we can all just learn and grow from this. you all did what i asked you to do and that's what i needed, win or lose. i'm proud of yall." the team stood up for them to be released. "together on me, together on 3" dijonai chanted. "1, 2, 3, together." the team said in unison after 2 claps. you grabbed your bag, jacket, and slides. you changed immediately so you can go home and cry about your performance. however, your emotions didn't want it that way. tears started flowing on your face as you exited the arena and jumped in the car. you cried the whole ride home, questioning why you were even here. you imagined social media and twitter already, picking apart and analyzing every good play or bad mistake you made. you had 14 points, 4 assists, and 2 steals. you knew you were better than this, that you could've assisted paige or arike more, or just simply driven through traffic to get some shots.

you had practice the next day, and you had one goal in mind. make your shots, but something was stopping you. during practice when you had the ball, you froze. it was like you touched a basketball for the first time. you didn't know what to do. you just stood there and dribbled, eventually passing it. it was like you were afraid. like a wave of fear overcame you and started controlling you, like a puppet. coach chris looked at you from the sidelines, confused also. he started to yell. "don't just stand there! move!" but if you did a crossover, you turned over the ball. what was happening to you?

the team called practice off, but you stayed there like normal, working overtime. you got extra shots, but only a handful of them would go in. it made you frustrated, eventually slamming the ball against the floor with all your strength to get your anger out. paige exited the locker room and entered the gym, watching your outburst. "you're losing your confidence." a voice spoke from a distance. you turned around with the ball in your hands, seeing paige with her arms crossed watching you. "just shoot it, don't over think it. don't think twice." she grabbed the ball from you hands and shot it, perfect swish. she grabbed the rebound and handed the ball back to you. you shot a midrange, but missed. you grunted from frustration.

"something is stopping you from being the player you were before. you're not confident anymore. i can see it, anyone can, really." you gave paige a look, as if you were kind of insulted. "what are you on about? i'm confident." paige smirked at you. "nope. you literally hesitated that shot. i saw it with my own eyes." you started to get fired up. you bounced the ball and shot a free throw. "i'm not hesitating shit." you bent your knees, then released the ball from your hands, but missed. paige grabbed the ball and handed it to you, letting you try again. you did your free throw routine. but once again, missed. you turned red from anger. "just be honest with yourself man. you ain't confident. missing easy shots means you don't have confidence."

"you should be the last person to talk about confidence paige. you never had it. you only developed it recently. you miss shots too, paige. i'm not gonna be 100% from the field." paige slowly approached you. "yeah, i might miss shots here and there. but i don't beat myself up about them." she shrugged her shoulders.

she had a point, and you fucking hated it when paige was right. because not only did it make you feel stupid, it made you look stupid. you gave her a glare of envy when arike watched the whole situation. "locker room, both of you. now."

you sat down with annoyance and paige sat across from you. arike and dijonai were in the locker room with both of you, looking irritated. "well." nai started. "obviously both of you don't fucking learn a lesson! so here we are again, locking your immature asses in the locker room once again." arike looked pissed. "and yall were teammates last year? god bless 'em, because i would've transferred if i had to deal with both yalls asses." dijonai squatted, touching her knees as she gave both of you a death glare. "let me make this crystal clear. fix this shit right the fuck now, or get benched for an entire game with silent treatment. your fucking choice." they exited the locked room. "y'all the last ones out. turn off the lights." was what both of you heard echoing before the door slammed shut.

and there it was again. pure silence. silence that was so loud that your ears started ringing. paige broke silence instead, you could tell her attitude wasn't with anger this time. "do you think you're confident?" paige turned her body, facing you.

you looked at her. "yeah, i think so. why?" paige's hand held her head. "earlier at practice i saw you frustrated. why so?"

you didn't have the time to deal with paige today, but she had some tricks up her sleeve. "if you saw me then you should know." your eyes roamed the room, looking at everything except her. paige smirked at your bold response. "it was because you missed all those shots, huh? is that why you stayed longer?"

you shut your mouth quickly. fuck, she got you there. one thing about paige was that she was clever. she was gonna get information out of you one way or another. "and why do you think you missed all those shots?"

you felt ashamed, stupid even. "my confidence.." you trailed off. paige stood up, reaching for your hand to stand you up. "exactly my point. develop your confidence, that fire inside you, so that you don't have to think twice about something on the court, hm? why do you think you don't have confidence?" tension slowly entered the room as paige started to get closer to you. her hand slightly brushing yours subconsciously.

"i have this pressure inside me that i have to be the best and i have to do the most, and if i'm not satisfied i failed it. i failed everything. i wish the public would stop perceiving me as this selfish player and i can drop 30 points in a first wnba game." you felt a weight lifted off your shoulders as it had be weighing you down all this time. paige felt your feelings shift in the air based off your body language.

she held your hands once again, in desperate need. "what did i tell you about the media. you're only a rookie. ignore it. they're trying to get to your head." paige tucked a piece of hair falling out behind your ear, she looked at you with desperation. you suddenly felt a magnetic attraction, like you didn't want to leave paige's side. her hands gripped your waist, like she thought you would disappear if you let go. your face became red and hot, pulse beating faster. paige heard your heart beating faster the closer she got closer to you, pinning you against the wall. she whispered in your ear. "tell me what you want, what you need, ma." her voice low, enough for your body to send a shiver down your spine.

you looked up at her, eyes filled with lust. "you."

she didn't need to be told twice. her lips went straight to yours, tongues dancing with one another as you tasted each other. you felt dizzy, but her lips felt electrifying, as it could almost cure you. she released her mouth from yours, panting filled the air. "you don't know how long i've been waiting for this." she placed her knee in between your thighs, giving you a slight sense of pleasure. you released a soft moan from her touch.

paige scooped you up and heading to the bathrooms in the locker room, placing you down on the counter. your legs spread open for her, as if it was automatic. "pants off."

you took off your practice shorts. paige saw that wet spot in your panties. "wet for me already? fuckin' whore." she took off your underwear with two fingers, gripping your thunder thighs.

she slowly teased your pussy, aggressively slid in two fingers in your hole, picking up the pace every thrust afterwards. "fuck paige, right there." you moaned, as if your voice was leaving your body. "this is what you get for makin' me stay mad at you. fucking bitch." she spat in your pussy, adding more moisture. she lifted your body up, as her fingers were still deep inside you. "ride my fingers baby." you lifted up and down, as they curled inside you, feeling the sweet spot along your walls. "fuck, mmh." she took off your shirt and bra with her other hand, squishing your tits together before sucking them slowly. her tongue played around on your nipple, making you a moaning machine.

"oh my god p, i'm gonna cum." you spoke, throwing your head back. she released her fingers from your pussy. "you don't get to cum until i fuckin' tell you, understand?" you nodded, obeying to her commands. "open your mouth." she brought her fingers in your mouth, letting you taste yourself. you teased her fingers, licking every last drop. "good fucking girl." she said with a smirk. she lifted up your legs, letting them rest on her shoulders. she moved down a little, facing your wet clit. she licked a strip on your fold, immediately leading to you screaming. she drew circles all over, eventually starting to suck and slurp your pussy as if she were dehydrated. "yes, right fucking there." were the only words you could speak from the effect she was having on you.

your pussy was throbbing from the amount of force paige used on you. you hands eventually found her blond curls she let down. she then turned your over, ass up in the air. her tongue went inside you, now fucking you. "faster paige." you screamed. her tongue now entering deep inside of you, tasting your juices all over her mouth. "cum on my tongue baby."

your eyes rolled back as you squirted in her mouth. you felt like your soul was being taken from your body. you moaned her name with such meaning, like you were worshipping her. you tried to catch your breath, turning to see the aftermath of your love. "i've been needing that." paige said, smirking as she looked at your body as if it were art. she wiped the corners of her mouth with her hands. "glad i was able to satisfy your cravings." you smiled at her. she grabbed you down from the counter, placing a hug around your waist while placing sloppy kisses on your collar bone. "get dressed ma. let me take you to my place."

you placed an oversized hoodie on with some sweats and slides and entered her car. it was just like how you remembered. her terrible singing, giggles throughout the air, and the dallas city. how everyone was asleep and you were amazed by the lights all over the town. when paige reached a stop light, she'd place her hand on your thigh, and observe you with a smile on her face.

you entered her place for the first time since she got drafted. marble kitchen countertops with an island, beige couch with a 70" screen tv above a fireplace, a body mirror, and burning candle filling your nose. "since when did you become so clean?" you giggled, looking at paige. "since i got drafted. you don't really have time to be messy once you really enter the real world." paige held your hand and led you to her bedroom, the purple sheets and pillows she always had, her wall of shoes, and her closet that was always full, but managed to only wear the same 6 outfits. you leaped onto her bed, looking up at the ceiling fan. you took a deep breath from exhaustion. "tired baby?" you got up and sat on the edge of the bed, sending her a nod. "you need to relax this evening. let me prepare you something. wait here."

she walked down the hall to the bathroom, as you heard her turn on the fossit. she let the tub get full, then placed a bath bomb and some red rose petals in the water. she burned a lavender candle for relaxation and place it on the sink counter while relaxing spa music played in the background. you waited patiently for paige, wondering what her curious self was doing, until you heard a "babe!" coming from afar.

you got up from the bed, scattering the house like it was a maze looking for paige until you saw her in the bathroom, seeing what she prepared. "is this for me?"

paige nodded. you took off your clothes and entered the water, eventually relaxing and letting your body float. you opened your eyes and looked at the luckiest girl you had. "you didn't have to do this for me baby."

paige messed with your hair. "i wanted to. you deserve it, after everything. i know we cleared the air, but i am so truly sorry for how i treated you back then. i feel like such an asshole still."

"p, i forgive you. and i know you're sorry. why? because you changed your actions towards me. that's more than enough." you up from the wall, as paige started massaging your back, releasing the tension in your muscles just as you were releasing the tension between you both in the past.

"from now on, i will always go to you first than believe some fucker." she smiled, rubbing slow circles with her thumbs from your shoulders to your lower back. you got up from the tub as paige wrapped you around gently in a towel, then placed a kiss on your cheek. she let you borrow her favorite hoodie that smelt like her cologne, and some sweats. she made the bed just for you, as you both lied down, facing each other. she gently touched your face, skin feeling smooth on yours. you blushed at her, as you kissed her nose. "good night baby. i love you." you said, turning around to your side. "sweet dreams. i love you more." she turned to your side and wrapped her arms around you, as if you were her own teddy bear. you both fell asleep soundly, only thing on your minds were each other.

[twilightsumu]

release date | t. fushiguro

pairing: toji fushiguro x afab!reader

synopsis: one drunken (lonely) night leads you down a rabbit hole of a prison pal website — where you come across none other than toji fushiguro. after a flirty email exchange, you find out his release date and decide to pick him up. turns out, he wasn’t the only thing getting released.

warnings/genre: modern au, smut (mdni), very little plot, prison system, unprotected p in v penetration, fingering, dry (?) humping, gets a little rough, dirty talk, spitting, cursing, car sex, pet names, cream pie , reader and toji are essentially strangers, no aftercare.

a/n: last month i was obsessed with love after lockup and been sitting on this since. this was suppose to be a gojo fic but toji’s wicked spirit took over. and i know i have other fics to work on, the freak just wanted to come out. lmao, enjoy!

wc: 5.3K

your burning hot laptop is balancing on your lap as you lean into your couch. one of your hands is aimlessly on the mousepad looking up god knows what. the glass in your other hand is all empty. the wine rushing into you and making you think about the stupidest things that you know you would not give second thought to sober. 

but... you’re in your mid twenties, all of your friends have found their partners. your ex cancelled, again (as if you should really be seeing him). it’s a saturday night and the only thing your eyes are burrowing into is the bottom of the wine glass and this website that keeps making you giggle. 

writeaprisoner.com

you’re not sure how you even got here or if you’re fully aware of what you’re looking at. 

it’s just a joke you tell yourself. you’re just going to swipe and see what it’s all about. maybe find some true crime cases that you heard about from the podcast you listen to on your way to work. 

you straighten yourself up. bringing the laptop a little closer so that you could really see and make out all of the crimes these people committed. and maybe, you’ll get some eye candy to giggle over before shuffling off to bed and making you forget about your stupid ass ex, or the fact that you ran out of wine. 

you swipe up on your mousepad, passing by names, pictures of buff men in prison orange and blues. some of the taglines scaring you more than inviting you to send an email.

not a ‘killer’ but i’ll kill for the taste of you. 

(this person is serving three life sentences for killing three people.)

here for twenty more years and would like someone to keep me company. 

(how the fuck would you be able to keep him company…. in prison?) 

you sigh and start to regret your life choices. maybe even more than these prisoners are regretting their crimes. but, your fingers are swiping at the perfect pace, walking to your bed seems like too much work right now, and you just need to see at least ONE good looking prisoner. 

god, what will your mother think of you now? 

you ignore that and continue on your aimless quest.

and after what seemed like half the night. your eyes become blurry and the voice in your brain calling for you to close up shop, go to sleep, and maybe never drink a bottle of red wine alone again — your mouse clicks on to the next page and you’re sure this is where your night is going to end. 

with the page buffering, and the color orange burning in the back of your eyelids — the first account that loaded up dragged a breath out of you that was so strong you almost scared yourself. 

toji fushiguro

dob: 12/31/19xx

gender: male

sexual orientation: straight 

height: 6’2

“out soon. might need a ride. and a reason to behave.”

staring back at you (not in prison orange) is a man in a black compression shirt. as if he was granted the access to have a miniature photo shoot in the prison. 

toji fushiguro is built like a man who can ruin you — broad chest, thick arms, and a body carved from grit, not glamour. he doesn’t look like the instagram model boys you meet out at bars on friday nights. not sculpted by ab workouts at equinox. he’s dense, functional — the kind of strength you don’t just see, you feel when he’s on top of you. if you ever meet him, of course.

you would’ve thought you’ll be distracted by his body alone, but his face is another story. all sharp edges and shadows. a strong jaw that’s clenched, a scar on the right corner of his mouth, shaggy black hair littering in front of his narrowed eyes. 

eyes which even in this picture are unreadable. like their assessing anyone who looks at him. regardless if you’re in front of him physically or clenching your thighs as you look at his profile off a website in your one bedroom apartment. 

you shift closer to the laptop, placing your wine glass down so that you could use both hands to bring him, you mean the laptop closer to you. your cheeks burning along with the top of your thigh because of this laptop working as hard as it could to show him to you. 

you’re so convinced it’s the wine talking and making you act. or maybe also the fact that your best friends have told you you need to just find a good looking man and fuck him or have him fuck you, whichever floats the boat — but your fingers are flying over to the message portion of his profile. 

you skip the crime section. regret it a little. but how bad could it be, really? 

also he needs a ride and you’re all for helping fellow human beings — ones who look like they’ll fuck you so good you could possible give him the pin to your debit card directly afterwards. 

you stop. your cursor blinking over the message icon. toji fushiguro’s picture still assessing you, like he’s making a mental bet to see when you, or whoever else comes across his profile, breaks. 

you close your eyes, wondering how crazy this is. 

also, you start to make a checklist of things you need to do directly after this message: 

never bring this up to your mother. she will disown you faster than you could believe toji could make you cum. 

never bring this up to your friends either. as their view on instagram beach blonde boys will not see the vision of this man you’re hoping to get. 

make a wax appointment with your wax girl.

add this red wine to your grocery list every week. 

maybe book a boxing class at your ex’s gym just in case you do meet this toji. 

you open your eyes, meeting toji’s again. and you’re pretty sure that is the wine playing tricks on you — his lips look like they ticked up into a slight grin. inviting you to take the jump. 

and because you care about people getting home safely, you did not plunge down this website for nothing (actually exceeding what you wanted), your thighs haven’t unclenched themselves since he’s been blinking on your laptop — the cursor clicks the message icon. 

to: tojifushiguro@writeaprisoner.com

from: ynln@gmail.com

subject: i may have a ride for you 

message: 

i probably shouldn’t be the one helping you behave. but if you’re lucky, we’ll figure that out in person.

(attachment: picture of yourself)

you press send and immediately shutting your laptop. all you could do is laugh, at your boldness, the website, at how much you are expecting an email from him whenever you get back to your laptop. 

to: ynln@gmail.com

from: tojifushiguro@writeaprisoner.com

subject: what type of ride are we talking? 

message: 

it must be my lucky month then. im getting out soon, and you’re cute.. so we should find out just how well i behave. 

you got more pictures or do i have to earn them in person? 

to: tojifushiguro@writeaprisoner.com

from: ynln@gmail.com

subject: any ride that gets you where you need to be

message: 

how soon? and i think you could earn a lot more than pictures in person. 

(attachment: another picture of yourself) 

to: ynln@gmail.com

from: tojifushiguro@writeaprisoner.com

subject: how big is your car?

message:

next week — (address to prison). 

they let me out at 7 am. 

wear whatever you wore in that last picture. 

the clock on your dashboard reads 6:49 am. you should be exhausted and downing three cups of coffee right now — but you’re nervous and extremely horny. two emotions you never had the pleasure to feel at the same time and definitely not before the sun was completely up. 

you’re in the outfit you had on in the picture you sent toji last. a black mini skirt and plain cropped tee. easy access, you thought to yourself when you threw it on this morning. 

you’ve been watching the gate like it owes you something. getting here a whole hour earlier than you had to be to make sure you were exactly where toji was going to be released from. you’re the only car in the lot — which somehow makes it feel more dangerous. or more intimate. you are not sure which.

6:53 am. 

you reach for your cellphone to make sure, for the sixteenth time, that your location is off. the last thing you need are your friends or god forbid your mother to interrupt your little rendezvous with a criminal you met from a prison pen pal website. 

6:56 am. 

you’re gripping your steering wheel as you notice some commotion happening at the gate ahead of you. a couple of men in uniform and a man behind them. one man — even from here, you know it’s toji fushiguro. you have studied his photo enough times to recognize the tilt of his head.

you actually want to laugh at yourself, already out of the car before you even realize it. checking over yourself in the reflection of your car windows. 

“they let you out early,” you say loud enough for him to hear. 

and walking towards you is… him. 

toji looks taller than you imagined he would be from his photos. his arms hugged by the tight compression shirt he had on his profile picture. his lips curved in a grin, not welcoming whatsoever, but inviting if you’re into someone luring you somewhere where you shouldn’t be. 

his eyes look you over, like you’re prey. you ignore how much you want to squeeze your thighs together because you want some control over this. 

“you have a problem with me coming early?” 

you huff out a quiet laugh. toji’s slight smirk makes you feel a little dizzy. 

“i’m sure they had their reasons,” you smile, though your eyes stay on his feet — worn shoes, heavy steps, like he’s still getting used to the ground again.

he’s finally close enough that you smell that faint, clean scent of whatever soap they offer to them in prison. you didn’t expect his scent alone to make your stomach tighten, but it does and you’re trying your hardest to not pounce on him like a dog in heat. 

you tilt your head up to finally meet his eyes and you didn’t expect the stillness that comes with you both just looking at each other. 

his gaze drags over your face and then drops — slow and deliberate, over your chest — pausing on the goosebumps rising on your bare stomach at the hem of the crop top. that grin on his lips growing more as his eyes rake down your body and on the outfit he asked for you to wear. 

your gaze starts at his face. your eyes linger a beat too long on the scar just above the right side of his lip — lips you’re aching to know the feel of. his solid frame draped in sweats and that damn compression shirt. every ridge of his body calling out to you.

you don’t say anything. you don’t know what to say. your mouth is a little dry. you don’t trust your voice, not with how hard your pulse is thumping. 

“fuck,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “i think they let me out at the right time.” 

you ignore the moan stuck in your chest at the rough edge of his voice saying that curse.

“you earned it,” you shrug, proud of yourself for not letting it slip. not yet. 

“like i earned this ride?” toji grins, wider this time — sharp enough that it makes your skin prickle. “where should i sit? back or front, baby?”

you shiver under his stare and the pet name. you’re not sure how you’re going to wait to get to wherever it’s private to have him touch you. 

“mhm, where would you like to sit?” your tone playing casual. 

“back,” he says, stepping past you. his hand on the door handle of the car you’ve been standing in front of for what felt like thirty minutes. “unless you want me fucking you with the gearshift knocking into my spine.” 

you blink at his back as he opens the car door. you want to pretend you didn’t hear that sentence. like your knees didn’t buckle a little. like you’re not thinking about getting fucked in a prison parking lot.  

toji’s big figure shuffles into your back seat and you look over your shoulder. the parking lot is still empty and you hear the birds chirping in the still morning air. it feels almost surreal. 

“i thought you were offering me a ride sweetheart,” you hear from the open door. he’s patting the space next to him. 

you told yourself you’d wait — let him touch you when you got home. but your panties are damp, and the way he’s looking at you makes the seat feel too tight, too hot, too hard to ignore. 

you swallow the lump in your throat, and shuffle in behind him. your hand grazing his thigh as you settle in, closing the door behind you. 

“here?” you ask lowly. your knee is grazing his firm thigh. 

he takes a moment to stare at you, smugly. like he knows just how wet you are and he is just excited to know he got you there. and with how much space he’s taking up — your bodies are slowly entangling with each other. 

his hand reaching for your bare thigh. your hand grabbing his forearm to ground yourself. 

“did you really think i was going to wait?” 

you open your mouth to respond — something sarcastic, a joke to land to make this moment feel less desperate than you feel. but, all that comes out is a shaken breath when his big hand starts to slide up your thigh.

slow. hot. demanding. 

his fingertips stop just beneath your skirt, dragging up the soft, goosebump littered skin of your thigh like he’s got all the time in the world. as if you two aren’t in the parking lot of the prison he just got released from. 

“c’mere,” he roughly mutters. he shifts his legs wider, one of his thighs now pressing so hard into yours, you’re sure it’ll leave an indent. with one of his hands still on your thigh, his fingers so terribly close to where you really want him — he guides you to move. having you straddle him, your knees press into the seat on either side of him. 

“fuck,” he mutters again, eyes dropping between your bodies.

your skirt is bunched up high on your hips now, barely covering anything. and your soaked panties — god — they’re pressed against the thick stretch of his sweatpants, leaving a dark, obvious mark.

his hands slide down to cup your ass, fingers digging in with a firm squeeze. 

you roll your hips, desperate for more friction — the drag of his sweats reches your clit, and your breath stutters, sharp and humiliatingly loud in the quiet car.  “you’ve been this wet since you saw me?” his voice is low, like he’s fighting to stay calm — like your body is testing his patience.

you nod, because your throat’s too tight to speak.

he chuckles, slow and dangerous, tilting his head back to look up at you. his eyes flick down, lingering on the wet spot staining his pants, and then back up to your face — smug and greedy all at once.

he leans in, lips grazing your jaw, your cheek, your ear.

“then be a good girl,” he murmurs, “and let me taste it.”

before you could react — his fingers are already slipping beneath your panties. two thick fingers dragging through the wetness between yours folds like he owns it. 

you let go of the gasp that’s been lodged in your chest since he first touched you. your hips stutter forward, and his other hand grips your waist to hold you steady on the growing tent between your legs. 

“shit,” he breathes out. his eyes locked on your face. his narrowed eyes watching the way your face scrunches at the slow pump of his fingers. he curls a finger in your heat and you forget about the soreness in your outstretched thighs. 

“i knew you’d be tight,” he whispers. his nose touching yours as he breathes in the whimpers you’re letting out. 

he keeps you spread open over him with nothing but the strength in his hand that’s firmly holding your hip. the pads of his fingers pressing in tightly, your thighs trembling where they cage him in. 

your hands, not knowing what to do in the moment, run along the curves and edges of his solid abs beneath you. you feel him heave in a breath as you let one out.

his fingers start a slow rhythm, dragging through your folds again before pressing up into you. your breath catches, a low moan slipping from your lips.

he hums low and deep in his chest. pleased with himself, or at how soaked his fingers are. as if he expected nothing less from the girl he sent a few emails too before this. 

your nails dig into his shoulders — not just for balance, but to ground yourself, too. because the stretch of his fingers, the pressure in the pit of your stomach, the sounds that aren’t only spilling from your mouth but so from the wetness of your pussy — it’s growing unbearable. 

and before you could let go, toji’s fingers slipped out of you with a pop. you let an airy whine out before you could stop yourself. 

he chuckles. his thick fingers glistening with your juices between your faces. and without breaking eye contact, he lifts them to his mouth — sucking them clean off like the starving man he is. 

you watch him watch you. the pool in between your legs getting wetter by the second. 

your eyes drift from his to his fingers slick with your juices, then to the scar on his lip. every single thing making you want him even more.

there’s a beat of silence. the only thing being heard is your heavy breathing as you slowly start to slide your hips forward for some friction. 

“just wait,” he says as his finger falls from his mouth. he’s eyeing you like he has every intention to ruin you. 

the hand steadying you on your hip reaches for your hair as he tugs your head slightly back. his other hand reaching for your jaw.

“open your mouth,” he says lowly, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “wide.”

his fingers on your jaw are firm and demanding. 

you do — almost too quickly. 

he spits right on your waiting tongue. keeping eye contact as the juices he just lapped up from you runs down your tongue. 

and before you could completely close your mouth to swallow, the hand in your hair pushes you towards him. his mouth is roughly on yours. 

you moan into the kiss, rocking your hips instinctively. the drag of your soaked panties over the thick bulge in his sweats makes your thighs twitch.

“how am i meant to behave when all you want me to do is fuck you?” he mutters against your mouth. 

your hands that were on his shoulders are now wrapped around his neck and you lean forward. chest to chest. 

“i think you’re behaving just fine,” you whisper back as you start to plant small kisses along his jawline. 

he groans, just slightly. his firm hands on your hips gripping a little tighter. pulling you a little closer… as if that’s possible. 

you trail your kisses a little lower, brushing down the column of his neck — stopping right at the pulse point that’s thumping just as hard as yours. you lap your tongue over the spot, sucking there lazily. 

you hide the smug smile threatening to stretch across your lips when you catch the thick swallow he barely manages to choke down. his hands twitching at your sides, hard enough that it sends you forward a bit. allowing you to fully feel his sweat-covered cock along your aching cunt. 

“should i start the ride now?” you murmur as you start to shift your hips to be right on top of his cock. in perfect position for him to slip in if you both were unclothed. your pussy stretching over him the thick shape of him, dampening his sweats under you even more. 

as you back up, using your hands to push off his chest — the top of your head brushing against the ceiling of the car. 

you watch as his jaw clenches. his eyes shifting from your face to the heat coming between your legs. you almost think he may want this more than you do. 

you roll your hips.

the friction sends a jolt right through your core. you weren’t even trying to make a sound but a soft gasp slips out anyway. your fingers find his shoulders again, nails curling into the solid bulk of him as you do it again. slower this time.

his breath hitches. his hands squeeze, forcing you down harder.

“again,” he says. voice tight. like it’s costing him.

so, you roll your hips down on him again. and again. 

each grind is obscene — the slick sounds of your wet pussy, your panties so wet that they’re sticking to your clit, barely moving when you drag another pass along his hard cock. but with the added pressure of your panties clinging to you, your clit catches every ridge his dick had to offer beneath his sweats. 

he’s so hard you wonder if it hurts. 

your thighs are starting to tremble from soreness. you want to say it’s too much, but in reality it’s not enough. not even close with how badly you actually want him in you. 

the windows around you are so foggy, that when you move one of your hands off his chest to the window next to you to get some balance, your hand is met with pure condensation. 

you start to find a pace that’s so achingly slow, the tick in toji’s jaw telling you so. 

soft rolls. soft grinds. you can’t help the tiny gasps that are escaping your swollen lips. 

toji’s hands start to roam, leaving from your hips. one trailing up the side of your ribs, lifting your shirt up in the process, you’re so grateful you didn’t wear a bra today. his demanding hand palming your tit, using his index finger and thumb to flick your nipple a little too roughly.

“fuck toji,” you gasp and he grins at you. pinching your nipple just a little harder causing you to arch your back. 

he lifts his hips slightly to meet yours — a subtle thrust that makes your breath catch. 

he leans his face closer to yours, his pupils blown out and you could just imagine how you look. 

“the first time hearing my name from your lips,” he gruffly mutters. the hand at the base of your back quickly making its way to the back of your neck pushing your face closer to his. 

“and look at you,” your noses are brushing against each other. “what a short ride this is going to be,” he mumbles. his eyes blinking down to your moving hips. 

you whimper. your hips twitch like they’re moving on instinct now, guided by the burn in your gut and the wet sounds between your legs.

“i need you to fuc-“

you don't even get the words out before toji’s hands are under your thighs, flipping you fast and rough. your back pressed into the car seat, the seat buckle burrowing into your hip. 

one knee pressed into your chest, your other leg extended over toji’s broad shoulders. your panties stretched miserably over your leaking cunt. 

the way he manhandled you like nothing, excites you more than it scares you. 

“what did you think i was going to do?” he whispers as he leans forward. his chest pressing into the back of your thigh, the burn matching the heat twisting low in your stomach. 

you let out a quick breath as he quickly leans back. one if his hands delicately skimming over your wet panties one second. the next, forcefully ripping it from your hips. 

your gasp is as loud as the rip of your (favorite) underwear. 

now, without anything in between your cunt and the humid air in the car — toji gives it a long look. his tongue licking over his lower lip. 

“look at her,” he muffles. the hand on your hip tightening. “dripping all over yourself and we haven’t even fucked.” 

all you could do is watch him. your chest heaving out quiet breaths. your hands clinging onto the seats on either side of you. the coldness of the buckle bringing you back down whenever you got too caught up in his stare. 

he leans closer before spitting down between your bodies. the wad of spit hitting your clit as it drops down between you.

you buck your hips, causing toji to get the hint and shimmy his sweats as low as they could go. his hard dick springing up as soon as it’s free from its confinement. 

and god, what a dick this man was blessed with. you sat and stared at his pictures more often than you’d like to admit. and even then, your mind could never quite conjure how his cock would look.

and here it is, pressing at the entrance of your leaking cunt. it’s big — curved just slightly near the tip, a vein standing out along its side. all you want is to feel it deep inside you.

with your leg still high on his shoulder, toes curled, and the other one pushed into your chest by his weight. you’re completely folded — and you almost want to laugh because no way does this stranger have you folded up like this in your own car. 

your breath is caught right in your chest when you feel the head of his cock drag through your soaked folds. so deliberately, slow on purpose. like he’s trying to savor this. or punish you. you're not sure what his motive is at the moment. 

you look up at him and his eyes are intently watching his own cock play in your folds. his upper lip snarled into his mouth. 

“so fuckin’ wet,” he shivers as he drags along the wetness again. you huff a breath out of your nose, your nails clawing into your back seat.

his dick throbs right at the head of your entrance. you suck in a breath, preparing yourself. he pushes in, just barely. 

and then one look at your face, he pushes in fully. a rough thrust follows, one hand steadying your thigh, the other reaching for the head of the seat behind you as leverage.

your mouth falls open, no sound following. your eyes squeezed shut. the stretch, the burn of having him fully inside is overwhelming. it’s so him. 

“you were grinding like a little bitch in heat,” he groans, hips snapping hard into yours. the sound of skin slapping against skin sharp in the foggy silence of the car.

“and now look at you.” you keep your eyes shut. your hands scrambling for anything to hold on too. the seat belt, toji’s thick arms, your own legs. 

he fucks you fast, deep, almost cruel. your leg on his shoulder slipping off and quickly being placed where toji believes it belongs. not letting you miss anything. making you take it. 

the sound of his heavy balls smacking your ass competing with his groans and your high pitched gasps. 

“toji-“ you moan. that growing burn in your stomach reaching out and taking over your body. you were so close. “i’m going to cum,” 

with this position, your clit is catching every movement he makes. every grind, every moment his hips meet yours. the angle allowing him to stuff you so deeply he almost feels like he’s a part of your body naturally. 

one of his hands finds its way to your jaw. grabbing you a little too roughly, with enough pressure to keep your face turned up towards his. 

you open your eyes to meet his that are filled with so much hunger, you shiver. 

“open.” 

knowing — you don’t hesitate, tongue already out. he spits down into your mouth again. and he watches you as his hips still drill into yours. you seductively swallow it down before he’s pressing into you. his mouth hungrily overtaking yours. a nip at your bottom lip as you buck your hips to meet his bruising pace. 

“i want you to cum just like this,” he demands. his lips still brushing yours as he speeds up his thrusts. 

you arch your back as much as you can, letting out a string of moans. 

“folded and drooling just for me? what more could a free man ask for?” 

your thighs start to shake with the pressure of his body still pressing into the back of your leg. 

the sounds of your slick wetness and your hips hitting each other over and over again are so loud, you think those officers who let him out must be hearing this. 

you feel that spasm coiling deep in your belly. all you could do is reach for his arms to ground you. and pray to god that the tears pooling at your lash line stay in. 

you feel him lean back, letting you see what’s happening. your body curled, pussy split open on his cock, slick dripping from where you’re stuffed so full.

his thumb presses to your clit. tight little circles that make you cry out — loud and sharp.

“yeah, let’s hear you baby,” he mutters, pressing on your clit cruelly. “lets hear you cream on my fuckin’ cock.” 

and that’s all it takes for you to finally be pushed over the edge. 

your hips bucking, thighs trembling, every curse you could mutter falling from your lips in loud moans. 

your orgasm ripping through you so forcefully, your vision gets all hazy and you’re thrown back to the night you went on this prison pen pal website and oranges burned behind your eyelids. 

“don’t stop,” you groan out. toji’s hips still slapping into yours. his thrusts getting sloppier. a little rougher. 

and he doesn’t stop. keeps fucking the mess you’ve made on his cock back into you. chasing his own high. 

your nails scratch down his arms as he leans forward again. his face lodging itself in the crook of your neck. his hair tickling you chin. his sweat mingling with yours. 

his hold on your thigh is so tight, you’re sure you’re going to have toji imprinted on your body for weeks to come. 

“fuck,” he stutters. his hips fucking into you erratically now. 

his grip on your outstretched leg is bruising and that’s how you know he’s about to cum.

jaw locked, his tongue marking your neck and you feel him pulse in you. a low groan weaving out of his mouth as you feel the warmth of his cum pumping into you. 

he stays buried inside you for a moment, your heavy breaths mingling with his. everything is still besides his heaving chest and the slick slipping down your thighs and on to his. 

he lifts his head up, his eyes meeting yours. his hand sliding up to your jaw, cupping the side of your face. thumb dragging on your bottom lip, inviting himself to more of you.

you blink up at him. dazed and extremely satisfied.

“… why were you in prison?” you whisper. your tongue lapping over your bottom lip and catching his thumb accidentally. 

he watches the movement, his eyes tracing your tongue. that grin on his face. 

he lets out a low laugh and you feel it in your stomach and you try to ignore the need to clench your thighs with him still in you. 

“we could talk about it after i eat,” he murmurs.  

you pull back slightly to get a better look of his face. your eyebrows are rising in question. 

“what will you like to eat mister free man?” you joke. 

his grin spreads. slow, sinful, and convincing. 

“your pussy.” 

and because all you want is to bury his head in between your legs as if you’re serving him his death row meal — you don’t miss a beat, surprising yourself in the process. 

“let’s get out of here.” 

he growls, his free hand dropping from your outstretched leg and gripping your thigh. the sound running straight to your dripping pussy. the one he’s slowly pulling out of you. 

“your car is too small,” he mutters. “need to get you somewhere i can really take my time.”

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

[swordymacaroni]

🎀A/N-I know for a fact that Simon would be obsessed with you but would refuse to just admit it, finding the stupidest excuses before he finally relents.

Warnings-Suggestive/Language

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon thinks to himself when Gaz and Soap tell him that you wanted to go out with him. He's not oblivious to his charm; many find him attractive. He doesn't really care about you, he'll just go on one date to change up his routine a little bit.

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon tells himself when he meet you in a dimly lit bar, the disco lights highlighting the gorgeous outline of your body. He only met at the rendezvous point because if he didn't you'd probably bitch to the entirety of 141 that you got stood up, and he didn't have time for the drama.

Just so I don't break her heart Simon reasons as he voluntarily secures his hands around your soft waist and leads you out onto the dance floor. He dances with you the whole night thinking maybe you'll lose interest in him and he can go on his merry way. Definitely.

Just so I don't break her heart, he thinks though a lavender haze as he rips off your dress in a dark nook of the bar, drinking in the contours and curves of your body. He needs to relieve tension anyway. He'll just forget you exist tomorrow.

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon mumbles to himself as he curls around your smaller body, greedily soaking in your warmth. Your love. He should leave. You'll wake up and start being clingy. He should leave. As soon as you turn around and tell him you were his and his only.

Just so I don't break her heart, his thoughts are dimmer each time you laugh, sob into his shoulder, touch his cheek, grow irrevocably closer, become his. It's progressed to a fling, but will be nothing more. Really.

Just so I don't break her heart, he thinks as you walk down the aisle in your flowy white dress, gracing him with your goddess-like presence as tears flow unchecked from his cheeks. He says his vows with reverence and devotion. Just so your special day isn't spoiled. He doesn't care about spending his whole life with you.

He does

He does

He fucking does

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon's thoughts begin before something bright and brilliant shoots through his mind. It says, Whose heart? The singular one that beats between two people? Simon pushes it out, away, as he gently unbuttons your wedding dress, staring at your face lovingly. It looks the same as it did all those months ago. Beautiful.

Just so I don't break her heart, Simon thinks as you fall asleep in his arms. Because if he does, his own will shatter into a million pieces.