ᝰ.ᐟ ajax . 20 yrs old . writer . multi-fandom , mdni ! 📚 ... a game of thrones ( george r. r. martin ) 🎧 ... in my bed ( amy winehouse ) ... hiatus ?
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it's too hard to describe this in a way that feels honest, but even when i'm quiet / i love you, baby, i promise. (or: you, oscar, and the years that have come and gone.)
ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x childhood best friend!reader.
ꔮ mixed media au.
ꔮ includes: fluff, friendship, romance. suspended disbelief on timelines & flat wasps. inspired by olivia rodrigo's honeybee.
ꔮ commentary box: let's get this show back on the road, baby. did all of this in one deranged sitting. thank you for always indulging me, @cinnamorussell.
landos all time favorite place to fuck you is definitely the car.
be it in the backseat with your face buried deep into the leather of the seats, you riding him in the drivers seat with your back carefully arched to avoid the steering wheel, or just the feeling of his hand creeping up your thigh from where he sits across the console in the drivers seat, he's always at least half hard when youre in the car together.
to lando, theres something so arousing about being alone with you in a small and cramped private space. youre a breath away, letting the comfortable seat of his mclaren engulf you as he manuevers the vehicle. thats not the only reason, though.
in landos eyes, hes got his two favorite things in the world in one. theyre his.
the car? his.
you? his.
theres a sense of ownership simmering deep in his gut that he doesnt quite want to take responsibility for. because no, of course lando doesnt own you, but, when youre under his control in the backseat of his supercar, he feels like he could.
if youre extra lucky, maybe lando will take you on the hood. displaying your perfect body across the front of his car, the carbon fiber under your back colder than the diamonds on your neck as he ruins- no, claims you against the sleek vehicle.
yeah, lando without a single doubt loves to fuck you in the car.
pairing firefighter!lando norris x paramedic!reader
warnings non-f1 au; firefighters, romance, hurt/comfort, friends-to-lovers, secret relationship, smut (oral f receiving). Oscar and Max Fewtrell are victims of their stupidity, pet names, minimal use of y/n, injuries related to fire.
word count 13.1k
authors note we are so incredibly back!! this all started because of a fan art I saw on tiktok and a binge-watch of 8 seasons of chicago fire. A heartfelt thank-you to @landojournal & @landopoet for all your support on this one, love you too bad! let me know in my inbox if you would like to see more of these two because i've fallen in love with them. As always enjoy, lots of love, clove! 🍀
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For the first time in a blue moon, the firehouse was quiet while you stood in it.
Naturally, you rarely stood still since you set foot in Station 41 almost five years ago now. Paramedics were needed for anything up to a gut feeling nowadays.
It was an interesting job, but you loved it. The unpredictability of what awaited you once you walked in every shift made your brain itch for more.
Your mom always said you were an adrenaline junkie; when you told her you were accepted into the fire academy for the paramedic path at the age of 20, she just chuckled and said: “That’s my girl”.
When you told her you were promoted to paramedic in charge at a station known for its rescues, she almost threw a party.
You were in the middle of taking nightly inventory of your ambulance when the trucks pulled in, the smell of soot lingering as the garage doors descended behind them and twelve brute men began to file out, boots thudding against the garage pavement followed by the routine shedding of their fire gear.
You can usually tell how a call went based on the body language of your truck boys; a helpful tool you have acquired from spending hundreds of hours with them. It was calm, almost as if everything was soon to click into place.
The last pair of boots hit the ground, and the door to the passenger side slams as Lieutenant Lando Norris hops from his seat in the front. Freshly promoted and smiling as if he didn't just help a family of four out of a small kitchen fire.
Lando transferred to the station around the same time as you. Eyes full of light and his curls just barely peeking through a backwards baseball cap. The two of you have grown close over the years, watching as firemen pass through, some cracking under the weight of the job, and some moving on to other things completely. You have gone through almost 5 partners yourself, the one thing that has remained consistent was Lando.
The day he was promoted to lieutenant, you were the first to congratulate him, throwing your arms around him as the rest of the station applauded their fellow fireman's well-deserved promotion. Overwhelmed with emotions, he held you tight as you whispered praise in his ear, about how this was a long time coming.
Somewhere between then and now, you realized you saw him more than a friend. The spark you felt when his hands brushed yours during meals pushed to the forefront of your mind. Hours spent analyzing every freckle on his face, as if you could solve him like a puzzle, yet every time you got close enough, the sparkle in his ocean eyes pulled you away from focus.
You tried to fight your crush, but he made it so hard; After every call, he’d offer to make you a grilled cheese because you mentioned it was your favourite meal growing up.
A knock on the metal exterior of the ambulance shook you back to the present. Lando stood below you in the garage, his face slightly char stained but smile still warm.
“Hey,“ you greeted, “how was the call?” Abandoning your clipboard, you invite him into the shop.
He took a step inside, running a hand through his curls as he sat across from you. “Good, uh–“ He looked nervous, but you couldn’t place why. “Just a small grease fire, no major injuries or damage, quick in and out.” He listed as if, instead of casually talking to you, he was speaking with captain Zac Brown.
“Why do you sound upset about this?”
“I’m not,” his voice squeaked at the end of his sentence. He was lying. You squint at him, “Lando, you’re picking your fingers like you did when Zac called on you in roll call. What's up?” You push, hoping he’ll crack.
He sits on his hands, chuckling through a breath before he answers you. “Fewtrell is having a barbecue at the end of shift, he wanted me to invite you and Lily.”
Ah yes, you should’ve known Fewtrell and Piastri had sent him to do their errands. Max Fewtrell and Oscar Piastri were Lando's closest mates on shift, the three grew up on the same street and now neighboured just down the road from where you and your roommate (also known as Oscar's girlfriend) Lily reside.
“Yeah of course! Is there anything I can bring?” you replied, slightly taken aback this was what he was cautious over.
He smiles softly shaking his head, “nope, just yourself”
Your stomach seemed to forget you were chatting with lando, and not about to drop into a rollercoaster.
“And Lily, of course. Oscar will kill us if not.” He adds and you suddenly remember you're not supposed to feel like this about your best friend.
“No, yeah– definitely,” you respond quickly, forcing a laugh to hide the awkwardness that has undoubtedly formed. To try and look busy, you pick up your clipboard, double checking the already triple checked numbers before the familiar sound of the dispatcher crackles through the speakers
Ambulance 81: person injured, 12,725 champion street
Your eyes meet his before you stand, coming back to reality, “duty calls,” you quip with a tight-lipped smile.
He nods, helping you with cleaning before giving you a quick salute, “see you later!”
You smile before your partner joins you in the passenger seat and you flick on the lights and sirens, following where the job takes you.
──── ঌ ────
Your shift had ended an hour ago and you were sitting on Lily's bed while she was runway style showing you potential outfits for the barbecue.
“Oscar will love anything you wear Lily,” you say, after paying no attention to her outfits past the third one she's tried on, after they all became the same pair of jeans with a different top.
“But what if he doesn't!” She counters, studying her outfit in the mirror.
You laugh, resuming your scrolling, “he’ll be too busy helping Max and Lando with the grill.”
She wiggles her eyebrows at the mention of the brunette, “speaking of,” she teases, “have you told him how you're feeling?”
You scrunch your face, “no, of course not.”
She scoffs, flicking a chip at you. “He’s not going to know you like him if you only look at him with those puppy dog eyes.”
You fall back into her duvet with a sigh. You knew this. But you also knew the other factors of a firehouse relationship; the teasing when you walk into a room together, the looming fear that if Captain Brown were to find out you’d both lose your jobs.
“It just wont work, Lils.”
She throws a pair of jean shorts on top of you, “not with that attitude it won’t,” she declares, “now put these on, they make your ass look good.”
You smile gratefully and change, opting to pair the light wash shorts with a grey tank top and a pink striped button up. You were doing your makeup when Lily's phone chimed.
“It's from Oscar, he and Lando are on their way back with drinks and offered to pick us up,” she reads, waiting for you to finish carefully applying your lip combo.
You pretended to think about it for a moment before turning in your chair to look at your roommate, “yeah of course, I’ll just grab the chips from the pantry, they said not to bring anything but I’d feel bad if we show up empty handed.”
The girl let out what you think was a squeal and began frantically typing on her phone, shortly after it chimed again. “They’ll be here in ten!”
It wasn't long before the boys turned up, music blasting from their shared Mercedes like they were fratboys, not firefighters. Lando rolled his window down as you and Lily approached the vehicle.
“Somebody order an uber XL?” He jokes, adjusting his cap that was sat atop his chocolate curls. Oscar was in the driver's seat, eyes fixated on Lily– you made a mental note to applaud her ability to read her boyfriend later.
“You're in my seat, Norris!” she shouts, opening the door from the outside with a playful jab of her thumb over her shoulder while you make your way to the backseat. “Out!”
Lando makes no argument as he joins you in the back, eyeing the chip bag in your hand and shooting you a wink before clapping Oscar's shoulder from behind, making the boy flinch slightly. He laughs and merges back into the road.
Fewtrell was already running the grill like a navy general when the four of you arrived. Pietra, his lovely wife who you’ve become quite close with over the years, welcomes you with open arms.
“Please, somebody assist this mad man.” She sighs when Max can be heard shouting in frustration from the back patio.
You join Lando in making your way to the deck, finding other firefights from your shift including Max, Carlos, and a younger one named Ollie, who was a recent addition to Truck.
While Lando takes Max's side and assesses the burgers you are sure are close to burning, you take a seat in a foldable chair next to Ollie.
“So Ollie, how are you enjoying your first months at the station?” You question, curious about the new boys thoughts on your tight-knit family
He shrugs, taking a swig from his drink. “It's been nice, good city, with great people,” his eyes down your body and rise back up towards your face, a smirk painting over his own, “you know any good places to eat ‘round here?” He smoothly asks.
You know where this is going, new firefighters often will flirt with the paramedics since nine times out of ten they are women, but you never liked to entertain them since your heart was currently occupied by a certain curly haired lieutenant.
Lando’s neck snaps towards you when he hears the question come from Ollie’s mouth. If looks could kill, the boy would’ve been six feet under. His scowl audible while Max’s complaints about the grill not cooking fast enough falls on deaf ears.
“Dude!” The older man forced Lando to pull his ice filled gaze away from you, “I think I’m low on propane. Can you grab me two from the shed?” When Lando groans, Max continues to flip his burgers. “Take y/n with you, she knows where they are,” he offers over his shoulder.
At the faint mention of your name, your attention shifts towards the grill. Lando's eyes meet yours from across the patio, motioning you to join him. You politely excuse yourself from Ollie, the boy holding his drink up in mock cheers to send you off.
The tension is thick when you join the boys at the grill. You assumed that Max was fussing about the hotdog to burger ratio, but were surprised to see Lando's shoulders to be up by his ears.
Max explains the propane situation and you happily agree to assist Lando, since one summer ago you and Pietra needed propane for a wine night firepit, you’ve become an expert in navigating the Fewtrell shed.
The two of you enter the small structure, Lando immediately taking in all the karting equipment that's resided here for years, Pietras told you. A small kid-sized kart with blue and fluorescent yellow accents propped on a rig, wheels surrounding the floor below it.
Your eyes follow the wall, pictures of boys with flushed cheeks and sweaty hair, arms thrown around each other in race suits, an identical set of smiles etched on both their faces. When you look closer, it's almost impossible not to recognize the set of boys.
Your fingers tap the picture lightly, “This you?” You look to the boy who's been occupied with the pedals on the kart. He turns to look over your shoulder, the heat radiating off of his body. You can feel his breath against your ear when he points to the smaller boy in the middle. “Me,” he points to the boy on his left, “Max,” to his right, “Oscar.”
Your heart squeezes, looking at the boy who once considered himself a racer and now races towards flames before they swallow a structure whole.
In a way, firefighting is similar to racing– the calculation before every move, the fear of one slip causing it all to go wrong– these boys risked their safety on track the same way they do whenever they run into a burning building.
“You seemed pretty cozy with the new guy,” Lando says hesitantly, like he's unsure if it came out formed as a joke or ammunition. Your eyes meet his back as he fiddles with a spare part.
Something in your mind told you that this was the proof you needed, that maybe Lily was right and you should just confess right there and then.
But another quiet voice, the one that always wins against the logical part of your brain, was telling you to stop daydreaming. And so, you shrug, "He seemed nice enough. Why? You jealous?”
He whips around to face you, brows knit and eyes wide. “What? psheesh–- no!” He says, too quickly for your heart to slow down, "I'm just saying, he's new and probably just looking to get laid or something,” he shrugs, twisting the small trinket between his fingers, trying to act like this doesn't bother him as much as it does.
Your heart is racing, but you stay composed, crossing your arms before squinting at him. He doesn't get to act this way and get away with it. “Why do you care?”
He scoffs, eyes falling to the part in his hand, “I don't."
You hum, unconvinced. “Alright, then maybe I’ll go out with him, then.”
Lando drops the part and before the loud clang can fully hit your ears he’s in front of you, his face mere inches from yours, so close you can draw constellations between his freckles.
His eyes stare firmly into yours as you meet his gaze with terrifying confidence. His hands are planted on the table behind you, caging you in. “You're not gonna do that” he says low, his pupils dilating, absorbing the watercolour irises.
You tilt your chin up, not backing down. “Well why not, Norris."
His eyes flicker between yours, down to your lips, and then back up to your eyes,exhaling as he contemplates. You lean in slightly, the space between you becoming thinner with every second.
You’re starting to lose your faux confidence, eyes falling to his lips when his tongue darts out to wet them.
The energy between you could light a match, charged with unspoken words and feelings. You could feel his breath on your face, his lips ghosting over yours.
“Do it,” you whisper into the silence of the shed.
He waits about one second before his lips crash into yours. The outside world starts shrinking into the confines of the karting shed, just the two of you, moving in unison.
The kiss was everything you’d hoped it would be, soft but firm, gentle but hungry; Years of pining evident in the way his lips moved against you, his tongue licking yours as the kiss deepened, hands finding your waist while yours tangled between his curls.
You pull apart for air, his forehead falling to rest against yours, breath heavy as you both realize what just happened. Your eyes dart all over the shed, out of embarrassment, or maybe fear, but once you look back up at the curly mess of a man before you, you realise his eyes never left yours.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he says, a little out of breath yet still grinning. You find that hard to believe, “really?” you ask. He nods, “since the first day I walked in and saw you sitting in the ambo bay.”
Your breath catches before you kiss him again, holding his cheeks in your hands. “I've wanted that for ages, Lan,” you say into his lips.
He connects your lips again, kissing you until you're dizzy and breathless. You're not sure how long you were hiding in the shed, which made you want to stay there even longer. You felt like two secondary schoolers, hiding and kissing like it’s forbidden, but with him you didn’t seem to care.
And when Oscar notices the slight flush to both of your faces when you finally return with two full propane tanks, he doesn't say anything and hands you a drink.
──── ঌ ────
It’s been a week since the Fewtrells, when Oscar finds Lando furiously typing on his laptop for a report on the stereotypical cat-in-the-tree rescue from yesterday. He's propped against the door frame, arms crossed against his chest as he watches Lando let out another sigh when the system freezes.
“Y’know, you could just talk to her,” he deadpans.
Lando doesn’t look up; if he does, Oscar will see how exhausted he looks, and he’ll know something is up.
The past week has been hell for Lando. The truck needs a new spare tire, a rookie on the rescue squad just quit, and now you're avoiding him like the plague.
Since the kiss, you’ve hardly spoken to Lando unless the job required you to and he was going insane. Everytime he closed his eyes, he was back in the shed with you, his furious gaze meeting your soft one. Even while you gave him a hard time, he still found your eyes mesmerizing.
Most importantly, however, he missed his friend. The friend he spent downtime with in between calls and sat next to at dinner. All because he couldn't keep his feelings in check. “I don’t need to talk to her,” he lies quickly.
“You’ve been hiding in your quarters like the old man up the street we tell the kids not to trick or treat at,” Oscar replies, seeing right through him.
The curly-haired boy falls back against his chair, letting out a long exhale through his nose and tilting his head back to study the ceiling; there’s still a paper dart from when you took April Fools' Day far too seriously. “Ever since the barbecue, it’s been awkward.”
Oscar raised a brow “How so?”
Lando squeezes his eyes shut, physically bracing for the outcome of what he's about to say. “We kissed in the shed.”
Oscar, the little fucker, just smiles before saying in the most neutral tone humanly possible, “I know”
Now that makes Lando look at him, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. “What do you mean, I know?” He responds in slight disbelief.
“I'm not blind, Lando,” the man just shrugs, “when you came back wearing the same smile as the day you got promoted, it wasn't hard to put two and two together, mate.”
Lando huffs, rubbing his temple to soothe the headache that's forming from the racing of his thoughts. “I don't know, mate, we both know how firehouse relationships work.” He sighs, “what if it doesn't work out?” he adds quieter.
Oscar listens, being an open ear to Lando as he voices his thoughts. It's been like this since their racing days. When Lando had a tricky time correcting a corner, Oscar would listen as they ate pizza and Lando spoke his thoughts aloud, only adding his input when he felt it was needed.
“You would never know unless you talked to her,” he simply says before he's gone and Lando is left alone in his quarters. Later, he's in the kitchen heating up leftover pasta from the first watch. The boys are scattered as it's been a quiet day already, a call here and there for small situations.
You, however, Lando feels like he's hardly seen all shift. And when he did see you, you've barely sat long enough for him to catch you.
It's like the universe is dangling this conversation in front of him on a stick, but just as he gets close enough to grab it, the shrill ring of someone in distress rips you away from him.
He sat on the couch, overalls bunching into his lap as he's crosslegged in front of the TV, scarfing down some food.
The news anchor on the screen blurred in the back of his mind as he played a game you downloaded on his phone years ago, focusing on beating that level, when suddenly, the atmosphere on the small television shifted- something was wrong.
Lando straightened up and set down his game, watching as the bold text on the screen informed the viewers of a motor vehicle accident that caught a child in the crossfire. They explained that the young girl was thrown from her car and knocked unconscious; her condition unknown when responders arrived.
That's when it struck him, like a loud screech in the back of his mind.
Wasn't your last call an unconscious minor?
He waits anxiously for more coverage, waiting to see if he can spot you or your ambulance on scene. “Fuck…” He mumbles to himself as the clips keep rolling, showing more and more angles of the devastating accident. It doesn't look good.
He knew you loved kids; he’s met your nieces and nephews. The way your face lit up when they spoke nonsense to you about their favourite paw patrol character. Lando knew your heart couldn't handle this going sideways.
Just when he thinks it was a coincidence– that maybe somewhere a mother mistook their kid having a nap and you were begrudgingly filling out paperwork– your ambulance is shown screeching to a halt and out jump you and your partner, rushing to the little girl's aid.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he watches on. Lando is holding his breath while on-screen you is effortlessly hooking up the monitor, inserting an IV, things he has watched you do over a thousand times, yet feels that this time it weighs heavier– maybe because he hasn’t talked to you, or maybe because you’d barely look at him at the station– he still felt your heart breaking through the screen.
What the camera almost fails to pick up is the light shake in your hands– something you told Lando during a late-night shift– that only rarely happens when your emotions are hitting you at an overwhelming rate. He saw you squeeze your fingers together to try and make it stop, but the news anchor moved on before the camera could catch it.
He sat in silence as the coverage shifted to something much lighter, but Lando couldn't shake the memory of the look on your face, the pure devastation written across your features.
Max had joined him now, sitting next to him in silence as they waited for your return. The firehouse felt still, like a puzzle piece was missing to function properly.
While waiting, Zac found him– the man shaking an authoritative chill down Lando's spine as he mentioned he'd taken the truck and ambulance out of service for a few hours.
The sympathetic look on his face told Lando the reason why. Not that he was complaining; he wanted to be there for you when you came home, regardless of whatever avoidance competition you two were competing in.
What felt like hours was actually half until the familiar sound of the garage doors opening filled his ears. Lando didn't move, not wanting to crowd you; he stayed planted on the couch until he heard the sound of your boots frantically thud past the common room and down the hallway. Your partner entered shortly after, her posture heavy with the events of today. Lando stood, cautious with his words.
“How is the kid?” he asked slowly.
She just sighed, deflating into the chair beneath her, “I'm not sure if she’ll make it, she arrested again on the way to the hospital–”
Lando didn't even let her finish before he was moving. He followed the direction you went, walking with the same urgency he has when the bell goes off. His head is storming with a hurricane of thoughts, but his sole focus is to find you.
After checking everywhere he thought was possible to hide out in, he ended up at the laundry machines, a dead end of the hallway. Right as he turned to begin checking the rooms he just stormed past, he heard a sniffle come from an adjacent door. He threw the door open, and his heart plummeted at the scene before him,
You were sitting on a small cot in a room that he forgot existed and was slightly shocked you knew about. Your knees were pulled to your chest, tears were streaming down your cheeks. The sobs were heartbreaking as you could barely catch your breath.
“Hey, hey–, I'm here,” he whispers as he wraps his arms firmly around you, one hand cupping the back of your head and the other rubbing small circles on your back. “I’ve got you, it's okay”
As the sobs wracked through your body, he never let go. He held you while you cried, gripping his uniform like a lifeline. His chin rested on your head as he rocked you both slightly, reassuring you that he was here; that he was your rock and despite any distance, he was unmoving.
“She was so small,” your wobbly voice spoke through the tears, “she didn't deserve this.” A new wave of sobs shook your body.
Lando just held on tighter, his heart hurting at the state you were in,“you did everything you could, love,” he comforted, “what happened was not your fault.” He kept talking, reassuring you of your efforts while you cried. His fingers combed through your hair as he spoke softly.
Your breathing slowed, the height of it had passed but your tears still fell silently. Lando moved to have you rest your head on his chest while he continued to rub your back, placing kisses to the crown of your head every time a hiccup escaped you.
“I just wish there was something else I could've done,” you murmured, picking at the hem of your sleeve. Lando took your face in his hands. “Look at me,” he said, not firm, but stern enough to get your attention.
Your crystallized eyes met his, his face laced with concern. His hands cradled you like you were the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. “What happened today was not a result of your work,” he assured, wiping a stray tear that escaped. He continued, “you are a brilliant paramedic, and you know you did everything humanly possible to help that girl.”
Your eyes poured into his as he spoke, his hands cupping your face like they were made to do just that. He leaned down to be directly in your eyeline, making sure you were here with him.
“I need you to know that you know that, baby,” he said, the last word fell quieter, but the butterflies in your stomach still fluttered awake as you nodded in his hands.
He gave a hum of acknowledgement before pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You're too beautiful to cry,” he mumbles, more to himself, but you heard it nonetheless. Your eyes flick to his lips; he inhales like he knows what's about to happen. He doesn't stop you from leaning in and slotting your lips against his.
The kiss is soft, slow like a Sunday morning; blooming between you like spring after a harsh winter. The kind that says I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.
This kiss felt different than your first one in the shed, this kiss felt real, grounding, like coming up for fresh air after the waves pushed you under for too long.
You pulled away to catch a breath, lacing your fingers together. You look at Lando, his uniform is ruffled, his lips are puffy and pink, and he looks a little dazed, but he's wearing the brightest smile you've ever seen.
“Sorry– wait,” you chuckle, taking your thumb to wipe the remnants of your lip gloss that had smudged onto his face in the heat of the moment.
He brushes your hand away “No, leave it,” he simply states, “it's fine.”
You're sure that if it wasn't for him holding you up, you would've melted right then and there. You laugh and tap the end of his nose instead, the emotions of today shifting to become much lighter, “you like me,” you tease, drawing the words out to make him playfully scoff before pulling you against his chest and throwing you both against the cot so he lies beneath you.
Your giggles fill the room as he pretends to deny his feelings, but the fact that you can count all 32 of his teeth tells you otherwise.
You stay like that for a while, lying in each other's presence as the station continues to move outside of this room you have found yourselves in. You can feel his heartbeat beneath you, it begins to pick up slightly before he speaks. “I don't want to rush things, but I really like you,” he says, vulnerable, like he's been keeping it in for long enough he didn't know how it would sound coming from his mouth.
You rest your chin on his chest, your gaze meeting him as he stills– waiting for you to respond to the question he convinced himself for years would bring rejection.
The smile that etches onto your face tells him he was wrong in the best way possible.
“I’ve been gone for you since the day you made lieutenant and the first person you looked at was me,” you whisper and the words sit between you for a second, hanging like a declaration, in so many ways they were.
He remembered that day like it was yesterday, the words Zac spoke proudly died in his ears instantly when you came into view.
You lace your fingers with his, running your fingers along the ridges of his knuckles, “but we also work together, Lan.”
He sucks in a breath, fingers tightening around yours like he never wants to let go. “Then let's go slow, we can do whatever you want,” he says softly, allowing the ball to be fully in your court.
“I want to go slow, no labels,” you decide, he nods agreeing with you. “And we can't tell anybody here, if Zac finds out, we’re cooked.” He looks at you like that one was obvious.
“M’kay, deal.” He says before hooking his hand behind your neck and pulling you in for another kiss. You could definitely get used to this.
──── ঌ ────
And so began your surreptitious relationship. Stolen moments across shifts have been what get you both through the hard days.
There was the time where Truck had a bad call, a miscommunication during a barbeque gone rogue ending in a flashover and a father in the hospital overnight for smoke inhalation. He came back with a storm cloud over his head, slamming cabinets like they were his enemy until you grabbed his wrist and dragged him to your new favourite spot in the city, the closet by the laundry room.
You never said anything, just let him vent his frustration until he came back down to Earth. Until he was calm enough to face his men and not come close to punching one in the face.
Then there was the time he had you pinned down on that same cot he held you while you sobbed, though these were sobs of pleasure that he was pulling from you as he ate you out.
His tongue worked magic on your pussy while one hand splayed across your stomach, holding you down as you squirmed, grinding against his face.
“Give it to me baby,” he groaned into your folds, slick coating his face as he slipped a finger inside, “gotta be quiet though– the boys’ll hear you.”
You feel your stomach tightening, his tongue flattening across your clit, drinking everything you had to give him.
“Lan, I’m–” you breathed, the hand in his hair gripping harder as you climbed higher, and higher, Lando being ready to catch you once you fell into pure bliss.
Your high detonates and you hold a hand over your mouth to stay quiet, Lando, the smug bastard continues to lick you as you ride out your orgasm. Placing kisses up your stomach until he reaches your face, pecking your lips before he plops down next to you with a smirk on his face.
“That was– wow,” you say, still catching your breath as you roll over to straddle his lap. His hands gripping the skin of your ass as you begin to grind down on the evident bulge in his pants. “Now it's your turn,” you murmur, a mischievous look on your face.
Your mouth finds the sweet spot under his ear, making him gasp. “Ooohhh fuck– baby,” your hands find his belt undoing it and pulling his pants down his knees, leaving him in nothing but his grey calvin klein boxers that leave little to your imagination; a small wet spot already forming.
Just as you slip your hand in, teasing the waistband while you suckle at the base of his neck.
The bell goes off.
Ambulance 81, person in distress, 5524 beach street.
You both freeze, Lando hides his face in your shoulder, a groan escaping him as you back away to put your clothes back on. “Nooo” he whines as you button your pants, “don’t go,” the pout on his face makes you actually consider rerouting this call.
You giggle, lacing up your shoes before placing a quick peck to his lips and turning towards the door. “I’ll see you later, Norris,” you say before opening the door.
“This is evil!” He shouts as you walk towards the apparatus floor with a smile.
Back in the room, Lando was cheesing far too hard for a man who just got practically edged by his girl.
There was also the time you almost got caught.
You were in his lieutenant quarters, he's kissing down your neck; his hands are everywhere as you tilt your chin so he can have more access
“Lan–” you cut yourself off with a gasp when he mouths the space between your collarbone. “Oscar could come in here any second”
“Who cares?” he mumbles into your neck before pulling away to smash his lips into yours. His tongue licking into your mouth as your hands find his curls; you grab a handful and tug lightly. Not hard, but enough that a small whimper escapes Lando.
His hands found your ass before he squeezed tightly, pushing himself against you so there wasn’t even a hair between you. You kissed, and kissed, and kissed, you kissed so much you almost forgot where you were.
Key word, almost.
The knock on his door made you pull apart, the door handle starting to shimmy made Lando shove you in the closet. Lando adjusts his collar, then his pants before he opens the door to find a disgruntled Max Fewtrell on the other side.
Confused, he takes a look around the room, “why do you look sneaky?” He asks carefully, eyeing lando like a suspect in a police investigation.
“I don't look sneaky” the boy answers quickly, “you’re the one showing up unannounced.”
Max waltzes in, plopping himself on the chair that is threateningly close to the closet you are currently hiding in. Lando feels his pulse spike as he takes a seat, but he remains calm. Taking a seat at his desk across from him, “so what's up man, did George need help with those drills?”
You were in the closet listening to them talk about stuff you frankly didn't understand, the firefighter lingo went out your ears as they sat there for 5 minutes discussing last week's chemistry lab fire that hit the news.
“You seem happy lately man, something new?” Max inquiries, and Lando sits up straighter in his chair. Playing it extremely cool, blowing air through his lips and shaking his head, "No, man, nothing, I guess,” he pauses, subtly glancing towards the closet, “I guess, some things are clicking into place.” A smile works its way onto his face, unable to hide his happiness.
Max watches him carefully, and maybe he noticed something, either way he didn't say anything. Just clapped hands with Lando when he stood up,saying a quick, “C’ya out there, mate,” before exiting.
Lando watches the door latch, waiting for the click before scurrying to open the closet and catching you when your legs fail you from crouching in the small box for so long.
You look up at him flustered, “Next time, put me under the bed!” You both dissolve into giggles before the bell interrupts.
And then there was your favourite time, the time that had absolutely nothing to do with the fire station at all.
It was your day off, you were on your couch in your apartment, grey baggy sweatpants and a navy London FD hoodie swallowing your body.
Yesterday had been a rough shift, calls stacking up, adding on a run of minimal sleep resulting in your body being utterly exhausted. Sniffles escaping you as your nose runs. Lily left you alone about an hour ago, mentioning some day date with Oscar to a flea market followed by dinner, so this left you to your own devices while you battled the post shift plague.
Also known as the couch, the tv remote, and 5 episodes of love island to catch up on.
Your phone buzzed around episode 3, the goofy picture of Lando sticking his tongue at you flashed on your screen as he called you. “Hey you!” you answered, the slight rasp in your voice evident on Lando's end.
“You sound like a sailor, you okay?” He asks immediately
“Just a post-shift illness, nothing crazy,” you shove a handful of popcorn in your mouth, watching Melanie crash out at a criminally low volume.
A gasp trickled across the line, “Why didn’t you lead with that!” You hear rustling that sounds awfully close to keys being grabbed, “I’m on my way,” he states.
“No, Lando-” you say, knowing he had plans today, "Don't bail on Max for me, I’ll be fine–”
“Nope! Already on my way with soup!” He cuts you off, “See you soon, baby!”
The line goes dead.
You stare at your now locked phone, the corners of your mouth tilting up at the confidence in his voice. Determined to cancel his plans just to hang out with you while you're ill.
This boy has you in deep.
He arrived less than 15 minutes later. You opened the front door to see Lando, looking adorable in black sweatpants with a grey hoodie, topped with a maroon LFD cap that was placed backwards and a paper grocery bag clutched in his hands.
He kissed your lips as you welcomed him in, “You didn't have to come, Lando." He toed his shoes off before making his way in.
“I can't have you getting sick on me,” he joked as you followed him into the kitchen, he's been here enough times in the past two months to know his way around.
“Besides,” he wraps his hands around your waist in a hug, “Golf is boring anyways” he says softly before leaning in to kiss you.
You push him away, not wanting to have him get sick. “Those are words you would never utter even if it got you a pay raise.”
He pouts, squeezing your hips like if he's not touching you in some way, the entire block will burst into flames. “L’emme be your nurse for the day, you spend so much time taking care of people.” He mutters lowly, “Let someone take care of you for once.”
Your heart melted at the boy stood in front of you, staring at you like you were his whole world. giving you the puppy dog eyes just so he can care for you.
It was so hard to say no to him.
You spent the day wrapped up on the couch watching movies, your limbs entangled with his under a cozy blanket. Lando gave you medicine, attempted to braid your hair when it was in your face, doing anything he could to make sure you were the most comfortable you could possibly be.
His fingers traced mindless patterns on the skin of your back while the two of you lay together on the sofa. The sun had begun its descent, painting the room in a mosaic of warmth. The sun filtered on his face just right, spotlighting his eyes as they shone a beautiful mix of blue and green.
He turned to catch you staring, a warm smile forming on his face as he studied your face.
“Hi,” he said softly, his hair slightly ruffled from abandoning his hat hours ago.
God, you could just stare at him for hours.
You drink him in for a moment, counting the moles that scatter from his forehead to his collarbone and how his curls frame his forehead perfectly to create a halo in the light. He looked angelic, truly.
Your hands find his curls, running your hands through them in an attempt to tame them. Lando lets out a contemptuous hmm while your nails scratch his scalp perfectly.
“Hi,” you say smugly, placing kisses across the planes of his cheeks and every ridge of his dimples.
“Thank you for being my cute n’ sexy nurse today.” Lando's cheeks flush pink in embarrassment, heat filtering down his neck.
“Of course,” he says quietly into your shoulder. His breath fanned across your skin. “Anything for you,” he adds with a breath.
There was a deeper meaning somewhere in there, but the sound of a key turning in its lock put a humongous pin in this conversation.
The door swung open and in walked your roommate and her boyfriend, giggling at something Oscar said. They looked a little drunk, whether that was because of alcohol or just being within proximity of each other, you couldn’t tell.
They paused in the doorway, eyes falling to you and lando lounging on the couch.
Oscar hummed, his arms draping around Lily. “Oh, hey, thought you were golfing?” He asked the lieutenant as he walked towards the couch.
Lando didn’t move from his spot underneath you, dapping up Oscar with a crisp clap. “Somebody was deathly ill and needed nurse Norris to rescue her,” he said confidently.
His eyes flicked to meet yours, sending a wink your way. You laughed at his antics, “um–” you interjected, “I was fine on my own, thank you very much.”
His smirk only grew, “sure you were, darling?”
fuck, this guy is good.
Your cheeks grew warm as you sunk deeper into the cushions beneath you. You hate the effect he has on you sometimes, making you speechless with a flash of a smile.
As if a lightbulb went off in his head, “crap–,” he looked at his watch, “you’re due for meds.” He mumbles as he moves you gently off him, resting you back on the couch before bolting into the kitchen.
Oscar and Lily watched, exchanging a knowing look from their place at the other end of the sofa.
Lando returned with two small pills and a glass of water, handing you the small medication and watching carefully as you washed them down. Lily watched carefully, watching your interactions with the boy. Taking mental notes of the mannerisms she observes that resemble her own with Oscar.
Lando resumed his position beneath you, holding you close as he turns to the room, smiling so big before he grabs the remote,
“So, football?”
The four of you spent the rest of the evening talking aimlessly while the tv faded into the background, the sound of boys bickering at the tv filled the apartment as you and Lily gossiped about your neighbors.
Your eyelids began to grow heavy as the clock neared 11:30pm, the feeling of Lando continuing to draw shapes into the skin under your hoodie lulling you into a deep sleep.
“I think she’s out,” Oscar says, pointing at you while Lily non-subtlety took a picture of the two of you.
Lando craned his neck to see your face, soft and undeniably asleep. His eyes combed over your face, your eyelashes kissing your cheeks, fluttering slightly as you dream.
There was something so vulnerable about your sleeping state, making Lando want to hide you from the rest of the world, keep you warm in his arms forever.
“I'll take her to bed and then I'll head out, you comin’ with, Osc?” He asked as he gently gathered you in his arms.
Oscar nodded at him as he stood, lifting you bridal style with ease. The blanket draped across you like a dress, your head falling against his shoulder allowing him to feel your breath trickle along his neck. He walked carefully to your bedroom, kicking the door open with his foot and placing you gently down on your mattress.
As he was tucking you in, you let out a sigh of content and Lando felt the urge to get in bed with you. Instead, he pushed fallen hair from your face, revealing the soft features he was enchanted by.
He bent down to place a lingering kiss on your forehead, holding it before moving to kiss the corner of your mouth, mumbling, “night beautiful,” before he made his way to the door.
He looked back before crossing the threshold, every bone in his body wanting him to get in bed with you, to wrap his arms around you while you both slept peacefully.
But his head told him otherwise, his head let the fear of moving too fast catch up to him, what ifs lingering in the forefront. He wanted you so badly, but couldn’t bear the thought of you risking your career for him.
He knew he loved you, it was that simple. He's known he loved you for a while now. Which is why he won't allow you to risk it all for him.
So he quietly shut the door and went back to the living room where Oscar awaited with his keys in hand.
──── ঌ ────
You and Lily found yourselves in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine while snacking on some salty nacho chips. Work had kicked both your asses and you were due for a much needed girls night. These were your favourite nights, any night not spent sleeping on a small firehouse cot sandwiched between two snoring men, was something you cherished greatly.
You just finished retelling a story from yesterday’s shift, explaining the horrible joke Lando said to Oscar before your last call.
Lily straightens up at the mention of the lieutenant, “speaking of...” she says slowly, the tone of the night changing from lighthearted to something more serious. Lily placed her glass down before speaking again, “You two are good together.”
Your eyes meet Lily's, your fingers running around the rim of your glass. “Yeah,” you blush, “he's been great.”
The girl raised her brow, “can I ask you something though, babe?” You take a breath, bracing for impact, "are you and Lando official yet?”
You frown, taken aback, “no– we’re just,” you pause, finding the words “keepin’ it casual y’know, for the firehouse,” you said, words becoming less confident as they blurted from your mouth..
Lily paused, sitting up slightly in her chair, pursing her lips while she thought. “Babe, I love you,” she spoke, choosing her words carefully, “but that man is basically your boyfriend.”
You stare at her, recounting moments with Lando from the past month. The time he came over while you were sick, all the mornings he offered to drive you to work, every sandwich he brought you mid-shift because he knew you needed to eat.
Your shoulders deflated, eyes stinging, “I don't know what we are, Lils,” you murmured, hiding your face in your hands. Lily knew you inside and out, even better than you knew yourself sometimes, and as much as it helps with daily decision-making, this wasn’t helping your situation at all.
“If you can’t see that that man is in love with you, then the paramedics board needs to check your sight before shift,” she says, taking a sip of her wine.
“Lily, he’s not in love with me.”
Lily took your hand in hers, her eyes are fierce and telling you she's not joking around anymore. “There is no way he took care of you all day last week, carried you to bed and then looked depressed as he had to leave you just because this is casual for him.”
You absorb her words, the sentences hitting you like a train. Maybe she was right. Maybe the moments you shared were more than casual, but Lando could never and would never allow it to go further, as much as that hurt to acknowledge. Your eyes found your lap, fingers picking at the stem of your glass. “It doesn’t even matter, he’s not going to ask to be my boyfriend.”
Lily watches you fidget with your glass and practically sees the gears in your brain turn. As stubborn as you were, she knew you’ll get there eventually, she just needs to help you along.
“Honey, it does matter,” she sighs “it matters, because you want him to be” she adds, gently.
A pang of sadness echoed in your chest. She was right, you knew she was right; You wanted everything, you wanted dates, you wanted nights spent wrapped in each other's arms before coming into shift together the next morning. You wanted him to love you openly and loudly across the city you both have dedicated nearly a decade to.
You didn't realize you were crying until the tears blurred your vision, Lily reaching out her hand to wipe them askew. “Talk to him, babe, I can see you want more.”
She leaves you with your thoughts, alone in the living room as you ponder whether or not Lando wanted you at the same level you wanted him.
──── ঌ ────
The firehouse was always quiet in the morning, fighters coming in slowly with coffee cups clutched like a lifeline.
You were waiting for Lando on the cot by the laundry machines. After your talk with Lily, you decided to talk to him.
You had messaged him to meet you at your spot, saying you wanted to talk. The ticking clock on the wall didn’t lessen your anxiety as its legs reached just past 9:30a.m.
The door opened quietly before Lando snuck his way in, curls still damp from his shower and a crisp uniform on. You noticed the slight tense in his shoulders, followed by the crease in his forehead he gets when he's stressed.
“Hey,” he says shortly, taking a seat next to you before placing a sweet kiss on your cheek. His eyes looked tired and you began to regret choosing now as the time to bring up your relationship.
“Morning, everything okay?”
He sighs, “Zac just dropped a whole stack of reports from last week that admin filed wrong,” he vents, “now I need to go through them all.”
“Oh, well this can wait then,” you stand to leave, but he grabs your hand, spinning you back around to face him.
“No,” he breathes, "don't do that. What's on your mind, love?”
You stare at him, eyes darting across his face to find any excuse to not utter the words you're about to say next. But the steady hold he had on your hand was enough to tell you this was happening now, whether you wanted it to or not.
“What are we, Lando?” You sigh, shoulders falling.
The boy blinks, wrinkles forming between his brows, “what do you mean?”
“I mean us, Lan– what is this?” You say, jutting your hand between the two of you. “Are you planning on being fuck buddies forever?” You add, anger rising in your tone.
You watch the gears turn in his brain, he tilted his head before scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. “I thought we were just keeping things casual,” he says, his voice an octave lower than usual.
You roll your eyes, a scoff escaping your lips before you can shove it down. Taking your hand from his, you cross your arms across your chest.
“No–” the boy catches your attitude, “you were the one who decided no labels,” he argues, utter confusion written across his face.
“I said that three months ago, Lando!” you snap, the boy pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled, running a hand down his face before fanning it out in front of him.
“So what are you saying, you want more now?” he asks, “While zac is breathing down my neck you wanna throw this at him, shall we give him a heart attack while we're at it? Stroke maybe?” he quipped, sarcasm oozing from the anger in his voice.
You watch him rub his temples, your lip trembling slightly as he sighs, calming his emotions before he speaks.
“We work together, y/n, this can't be anything more than casual.” He said gently, like he's trying to let you down easy, it broke your heart.
“Its just easier.”
It was like glass shattering, your chest felt the blow as the words landed.
“Easier...” you parroted, eyes swimming as Lando slowly realized what he'd implied, his face morphing from frustration into regret.
You lick your lips, emotion draining from your face while your eyes dart everywhere but him. “You want easier?” you question, Lando shrugs lightly where he stands, his words failing him in fear of making this conversation fly further south.
“I will do you one better,” the coldness in your voice shook him to his core, and as you said the following words, he felt his heart shatter, “it's done.”
The boy's eyes went wide, breath catching in his throat. “No– what?”
“We’re done, Lando, it's done.” you repeated, voice shaking.
His eyes met yours then, both red rimmed and wide before you turned to leave. He steps in front of you blocking the door. “y/n– baby, wait–”
He's cut off by an unpleasant ring sourced from the ceiling.
You both freeze, eyes locked on each other as the bell reads out. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as Lando opens the door slowly.
He looks at you, eyes glassy with unleashed tears of frustration, “this conversation isn't over,” he mutters, low but firm.
“I think it is, Lando,” you respond, brushing past him as you rush to the garage.
Your partner falls into step beside you, sensing your tension immediately. “You okay?”
You stare forward. “Can you drive?”
She says nothing as you hand her the keys and walk to the passenger side, slamming the door as she starts up the lights and sirens. Your ambulance led the train of first responders down the street towards the cloud of smoke gathering in the sky ahead.
You leaned your head against your hand propped on the window, your mind still reeling from your fight with Lando. You wiped the stray tear that made it past your waterline.
Three trucks behind you, Lando sat furious.
His silence was thick in the front seat; Max in the driver's seat slightly worried his friend had sung into a seashell and a seawitch stole his voice. This wasn't normal for him.
Usually he was listing orders, giving everyone a job to do once they land. Leading his team in the race against time. But today, he looked like he’d rather let the stopwatch win.
Max looks over, finding him starting dead straight at the dash. His fire helmet was held in his hands between his legs. His mind anywhere but the truck.
“You alright, mate?” He shouted over the drilling sound of the siren.
Lando locked eyes with him, empty and cold. “Yeah, I'm fine.”
He lied, he knew he shouldn't've. But how can he say 'my semi-girlfriend just broke up with me and now I have to run into a burning building' without causing Max to crash into a telephone pole.
He just shrugged and looked out the window, shoving the rock in his gut further down. The community needed him, so he needed to shut up and fight a fire.
He smells the smoke before he sees it. The tinge fills his nose as the truck makes a wide turn onto Silverstone road, he spotted the cloud instantly. The black smoke rose rapidly as civilians crowded the road, watching in horror as the house went up in flames.
The truck halts to a stop and Lando jumps out, boots hitting the ground with a loud thud before he's shrugging his jacket on. He turns to his crew, Oscar already grabbing air tanks from the side compartment.
“Mask up boys–” Lando orders, analyzing the flames that are spitting from the first story window. “Gonna be a long one.” he pulls his SCBA over his head, adjusting his balaclava.
Max eyes the house before turning to Lando, skepticism written across his face. “Are you sure you wanna go in, lieutenant?” he asks, shouting over the roar of glass shattering and wood burning.
Lando turns to him, “We have to make sure no one's inside,” he turns to his crew, pointing at Oscar and Carlos. “You two, with me on primary search.”
They take off towards the front door, Lando's step falters when he hears a vehicle door slam shut to his right. He turns to be met with you, staring dead into him. Your eyes narrow, but he can decipher the concern hidden behind your cold gaze.
He holds your gaze for a moment, before shaking from it, his helmet sliding atop his head.“Oi Fewtrell, you coming or what?” He yells at the man scrubbing his mask on.
The door busts open with a satisfying boot kick. A gust of wind follows as flames lick up the walls and devour what's left of what, Lando assumes, was a living room.
The men make their way through the foyer, passing the stairs as the first floor took priority.
Smoke blackened out their vision as they came through, bracing their hands on the wall for any sense of direction. Carlos takes the lead, guiding the group throughout the first floor. Keeping low as they come into a engulfed hallway.
“I’ve got one!” He bellows, spotting a body limp on the floor. A teenage boy with arms singed in burns. Carlos puts two fingers to his neck, “He’s got a pulse!” He shouts down the line.
“You and Piastri take him to the paramedics,” Lando responds, “Fewtrell and I will continue upstairs.”
The two men drag the young boy out past Lando and Max, reporting on the radio to Chief Brown outside. Lando continued on with Max on his heels, the pair finding their way back to the stairs. His heart was pounding as they made their way up, his gear heavy, weighing down his body. The routine hiss from his air tank whispered in his ears every time he took a breath.
The second floor wasn’t much better, fire raging in every direction he could see. The flames screamed a warning, angry red as Lando and Max began their search.
Coming to a closed door, he places his palm backwards against the middle, no immediate heat. Sending a nod to Max, a signal to force entry.
“Fire department, call out!” He roared out once Max kicked in the door, finding a bedroom wrecked from an attempt to control the fire.
He dropped down, checking under the charred twin bed, nothing; behind the rocking chair, nothing.
He turned to Max, the man shaking his head. Just when the flames gave them a moment to think, a woman's voice came from the closet.
“Here!” She screamed out, “we’re in here!”
They followed her voice, throwing the door open to find a mother and son huddling together under a blanket. Jumping into action, Lando assists the mother up, her wincing once she puts weight on her leg. Lando looks down to see burns, bad ones, covering her lower thigh. The skin seared through to the muscle.
“We’ve got you guys, we're gonna get you out,” he assures as he takes her arm around his neck, helping her walk through the hallway and down the stairs. Max moves ahead with the boy in his arms, rushing him to paramedics, leaving Lando to take mom to safety.
They're halfway down the stairs, the sunlight beaming through the smoke as the front door is in sight. But the lady suddenly braces her hand on the railing, halting their step.
“Wait! My husband is in the kitchen; he went back for our dog!”
Lando’s brain short circuits, of course there’s a fourth, unidentified victim. Because the universe wants to play with him today.
“Ma’am, I'm sure he's fine–” he speaks but the lady pushes.
“No you have to find him- I can't live without him.”
Lando could laugh at the sheer irony. But he doesn't, instead he thinks about what to do next.
The smoke gathered at the ceiling, they were running out of time. He needed to think. C’mon Lando, think!
Then, like an angel sent from heaven, Oscar appeared through the smoke, breaking it to reveal the exit ahead. “Need some help?” he queried, taking the woman's hand.
“She says her husband is in the kitchen, did another man come out?” Oscar shakes his head, and Lando curses behind his mask. “Okay, I’m going back, you take mom to ambo–”
“It might be too late, lieutenant!" Oscar argues, his voice wary as Lando shakes his head.
“I have to try!” He shouts before he's gone, leaving Oscar and the women standing in the foyer. The firefighter grumbles before taking the victim under his arm, leading her out the door.
You watch as Oscar carries the woman to an open gurney, allowing you to jump in with an O2 mask, pressing it against her mouth as she gasps from the relief of fresh air. You dress her burns while Oscar stands by his mask hiked up on his face, eyes focused on the front door he just emerged from.
Chief Brown stood tall on the sidewalk, watching as the fire spoke to him. Black smoke began to roll from the second floor, telling him their time was up.
“Alright, nobody in or out, this is gonna blow,” he authorizes, turning to count his men.
Oscar is the first to speak up, “Sir wait–”
Time slowed down in the seconds he paused.
“Lando’s still in there.”
Your heart plummeted, fingers stuttering on the bandages you had just carefully wrapped. You couldn't panic yet, Lando was smart and this woman needed you to be composed.
Even if you were anything but.
Zac grumbles, hiking his radio towards his mouth, “Norris, report” booms through the surrounding radios.
There's silence for a moment. You held your breath, all eyes watching the burning house.
The crackle came through followed by the frantic voice of Lando Norris.
“I’ve got a victim down in the kitchen here, chief," he says, grunted and loud, shouting over the flames you imagine that surround him.
Zac curses under his breath, bringing the radio higher, “Norris, you gotta get out of there right now.” He says firmly, leaving no room for argument.
The silence that followed made you stop, panic rising in your chest as Lando failed to respond. You watch, waiting for him to say something, anything on the radio. You took your lip between your teeth, “c’mon lando,” you mumbled to no one.
The world went silent for a moment. The eye of the hurricane, taunting you with the illusion of safety.
Then it erupted.
There's a deafening clap as the fire flashes, an explosion of flames snapping, shattering any glass that remained. Bystanders screamed in horror as the smoke curled, black and evil like the supervillain had won.
Oscar took off running, securing his mask before rushing inside. Despite the order of Chief Brown and multiple other firemen.
“Piastri– Don't!"
He disappeared into the smoke and your stomach couldn't settle what it was going to be like planning two funerals.
You stood frozen at the ambulance, your partner taking over the care of two patients while you stood useless. Your ability to move stolen as the entire block stood in silence.
Your eyes began to well up as the seconds ticked on, water streaming from the fire hydrants as men began to take off their helmets, all efforts to tame this fire abandoned.
Carlos and Max stood with their hands on head, stress heaving from their bodies as they waited for a sign of life.
Losing one firefighter was enough. Losing two would be devastating.
You all waited anxiously, smoke still filing from the front door. Minutes ticking by, still radio silence.
You covered your mouth to muffle a sob, you think of your fight this morning. How small it now feels to have asked to be his when he was being ripped away entirely.
You shake your head as Zac silently nods to the engine. His signal to ready the water canons, sorrow written across his face as he turns his back to the house.
Your knees feel weak, you crouch with your head in your hands. Tears freely flowing as they prepare to fry two of your best friends alive.
The booming voice of max is what draws you back,
“They’re coming out!”
You lift your head to see the smoke part; a man held up by two firefighters emerges, walking towards the ambulances.
Holy shit they’re alive.
You rush with a gurney, your partner in tow to catch them. You meet them halfway, Lando's mask slightly cracked and his helmet was off centered, but he was standing, breathing here in front of you.
He fell onto your gurney before you –along with Max and Carlos– assist him in shedding his gear, holding an O2 mask to his face, coughs shaking his body as the smoke inhalation takes its toll
“You’re okay, breathe, Lando, breathe,” you shush, voice as calm as you can make it while he gasps for air. His balaclava is toasted, revealing burns running along his neck. Your heart lodges itself in your throat as you dress them.
Your partner shouts, taking the lead. “Alright, let's load ‘em up!”
You stay by his side as they roll him towards the ambulance, his hand searching for yours along the side rail. You link your hands instantly, squeezing his fingers tight.
“I’m here baby, I'm here,” you assure wobbly, the boy lifts his head to look at you, tears filling his eyes in shame.
“I’m–” he chokes out, "I'm sorry”
You shake your head, your own tears blurring your vision. “No, Lan– none of that right now.”
“But I–” He grunts in pain, his grip on your hand strengthening. They load him into the ambulance and you take a seat, wrapping both your hands around his.
“It's okay,” you whisper, placing a kiss on his fingers. “Let’s just get you to the hospital, okay?”
The paramedic hangs him an IV, informing you the sedative will kick in soon, his eyes begin to droop and you watch as the pain fades from his eyes, your heart finally beating steady again.
Lando mumbles incoherently before he's out, his eyes meeting yours before he nods off. “M’kay,” he says, sleepy.
What you didn't hear, lost in the chaos of sirens and potholes, was a faint “I love you” whispered before the meds pulled him under.
──── ঌ ────
At the hospital, nobody dared to speak.
Firefighters taking up the waiting room, gear hanging over their chairs as the whole crew sat in silence.
You were sitting in a plastic waiting room chair that gave no sense of comfort while nurses ran back and forth across the burn unit.
The silence was deafening, you felt underwater. Sound muffled in your ears as the men around you talked amongst themselves, trying to take their mind off the boy sitting in pain somewhere within these walls.
Oscar was sat to your right, fire jacket still on, soot staining his face from the flashover he dove into to save his lieutenant from becoming a cautionary tale.
He hasn't spoken since he emerged from the burning house, refusing to leave your side as you watched them roll Lando into the ICU.
He didn't speak when you took a seat next to him, eyes solely focused on the floor in front of him.
You’ve seen Lando do this before, replaying every moment of the call before it went wrong, trying to understand what he could've done differently so maybe they wouldn’t have to be sitting in the harsh light of the hospital.
Your station was no stranger to the burn unit; in fact, you could probably name every nurse and direct anybody towards a functional vending machine, if needed.
But it was different when you were the one waiting.
It was different when you were the one holding your breath every time a doctor came through those double doors; it felt heavier, it sat with you as the image of Lando's burned, limp body plastered itself behind your eyelids.
You’ve had men in here before, but none of them held the weight lando did.
You sat there for almost an hour before a nurse came out, her hair tied back perfectly in her peony pink scrubs. She locked eyes with chief brown, making your stomach drop.
You stood as she approached; Oscar and Lily–who had recently arrived– rose beside you, everyone waiting anxiously.
The nurse took a breath before turning towards Zac. “He sustained first-degree burns across his neck and a very small second-degree burn along his left ear, along with heavy smoke inhalation,” she began. You felt sick. “But he's going to be fine, just a few days' rest–” you stopped listening then; he was fine.
Lando was going to be fine.
The tears flowed before you could stop them, your breathing stuttered as you sobbed from relief. The world fading as a pair of arms–who you later realized were Oscar’s– pulled you in, holding you tight as his own eyes filled.
The crew watched as you cried, your body shaking as Oscar held you. The nurse leaned into Zac, her brows knit together.
“Girlfriend?” she politely asks, pointing.
Zac tsks his lips, trying to piece together a three month long puzzle that he doesn't even have the reference for. “Um," the man responds, “I'm not sure.” The nurse just smiles, a nod of understanding as she takes a step towards the group of firemen.
You lift your head from Oscar's shoulder, eyes while redrimmed and wet, full of hope.
The nurse stares directly at you when she asks, “do you want to see him?”
Lily held your hand as the crew walked through the hallways, passing hundreds of doors, waiting for Lando to be behind one of them.
She finally paused near the end of the hallway, stopping in front of a pale beige door.
“He’s a little loopy from the pain meds we gave him, but he's alert and responsive.” She warns as the door opens with a soft click and ten firefighters along with two paramedics file inside.
The room was spacious, though you and Lily stayed near the door. You weren't sure whether he wanted to see you, granted you weren't sure if you were ready to see him.
“Heyyy,” his cheery voice fills the room, “there's my people!”
Laughter fills the room as Lando motions you all to come in, a dopey smile etched across his face.
“Thought we lost ya there, pal!” Max jokes from the end of his bed, slapping his calves lightly.
Lando just laughs, “it’ll take more than a fire to get rid of me, maxie!”
The room was lighter, laughter and jokes filling the space. You're still leaning against the door, eyes studying his burns, predicting which will fade with time and which will become a story he tells his grandkids.
You keep an eye on his monitor, checking his vitals like your triple checking he's alive.
“Got burned pretty good there, cabron," Carlos says, pointing to his ear.
Lando just pushes air through his lips, waving his hand in dismissal while he shakes his hand, his curls shaking with him.
“No– guys,” he drawls, those meds must be amazing, "I'm fine, promise!” He declares sitting up straighter, playing into the bit. You watch his eyes scan the room as the room continues to converse, as if he was searching for someone.
“He's looking for you,” Lily whispers next to you and you snap your neck towards her.
You lean further into the wall, slightly hoping it would swallow you whole. You haven't forgotten this morning, and you were unsure if you and Lando stood on solid ground.
The last thing you wanted was to overwhelm him in a hospital bed, but fate seemed to disagree.
“Alright crew, let's leave your lieutenant to rest.” Zac announces after a while, motioning towards the door. His eyes lock with you. “I'm sure he doesn't need you smelly lot crowding him” he finishes as the crew begin to exit.
Zac stops in front of you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You're done for today, stay with him,” he says low, your eyes widened before sending him a grateful smile, nodding. Patting your shoulder, he follows the crew out the door.
The door shuts softly, leaving you and Lando alone. The rhythmic beating of his heart monitors ground you to this moment, drinking him in as he notices your hesitation to come closer.
He looked so small lying in that hospital bed, his tan skin glowing against the harsh white sheets. His hair askew from nurses adjusting his bandages. You hated it. You hated seeing him in this state.
It reminded you of how real your job is, how quickly the world can take something you love away.
He slowly reaches his hand out– his palm facing up– inviting you to take his hand.
“C’mere,” he says softly, eyes pouring into yours like the only thing that mattered was you. You take a seat in the chair by his bed, placing your hand in his, sighing at the feeling of his fingers between yours.
You feel yourself choke up, lip wobbling while your eyes swell. “You really scared me,” you say, voice shaking. His thumb rubs soothing circles on your knuckles.
“I know,” he exhales, turning his head towards the window, looking out over the sunkissed city. “I’m so sorry.”
The silence was full between you, not awkward– but thick. Waiting for someone to speak, you stayed with your hand in his as he searched for his words.
When he finally spoke, his voice was small.
“All I could think about,” he murmurs, looking down at his lap, “during those moments, was how I would never see you again.”
Your eyes rose to meet his, the world fading away to leave just you and him, together.
“How I would never get to have a life with you,” he continued, his heart picked up. “We’d never get to do everything I planned.”
You paused, tilting your chin, “what did you have planned?”
He smiled, thinking for a moment.“I was gonna talk to Zac,” he starts, “y’know, get his blessing,” he adds quickly, you let out a laugh.
“Then I was gonna take you somewhere special, ask you properly.”
You listen, digesting his words as he pours his heart to you. Laying himself bare before you, he squeezes your hand three times.
“I wasn't with you because you were easy,” he said, you feel your stomach twist. “You make everything lighter,” he utters, tears flowing down both of your cheeks. “Just by being you, your smile, your laugh, that little scrunch of your nose you do when you concentrate,” he confesses, your heart doing somersaults in its chest cavity.
“You’ve always caught me when I fell, showed me what it was like to be loved.” he states. Your fingers trembling in his hand.
“What are you saying, Lando?” you sniffle, wiping your tears.
“I want everything, I want to take you on dates, I want to kiss you in my quarters without having to check if the blinds are drawn,” he lists, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you so much, I can’t hide it anymore” he confesses, and your heart breaks open. You smile, warm and bright as he mirrors your expression, his tooth gap on full display.
“You love me?” you question quietly, “it would be hard not to” he says, eyes bright and full of hope.
“I love you, too,” you respond, and he somehow smiles wider, his dimples shifting even higher to meet the crease of his eyes.
“Yeah?” he asks, sitting up as you nod, tugging your hand slightly. “Can I kiss you now?” his eyes begging you to come closer.
You hesitate, not wanting to crowd his burns. But he pulls out those puppy dog eyes, pouting his lip and your defence weakens. Heart melting when your lips brush across his in a sweet kiss.
He pulls you into bed with him, letting you lie on his chest. Careful of his IV and other monitor wires. His chin rests on your hair as he holds you tight.
“So, no more casual?” you say lightly, and tilt your chin to face him. His eyes are serious before he kisses you deeply. Lips sealing over yours as you sigh into him.
“There was never anything casual about this,” he mumbles against your lips, his thumb rubbing up and down your cheekbones.
You smile before returning to your previous position, your head resting just above his heartbeat. A steady thud that brings you back to your stolen moments by the laundry machines.
And when Zac Brown returns at the end of shift to find you both sound asleep, limbs tangled with one another in the small hospital bed, he doesn’t say anything, he just smiles and quietly retreats out the door.
❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !
𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.
❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)
you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.
but lust at first sight?
yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.
he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.
you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.
toji fushiguro.
your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.
the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never really recovered from it.
and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.
(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so. connect the dots.)
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.
fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.
but now?
you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.
and the worst part?
he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.
you wave when you see him— he nods.
you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs.
you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing.
not even a flicker of interest. not even a glance.
at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. maybe he had a secret wife. maybe he was— god forbid— celibate.
but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts—
his eyes dropped.
slow. deliberate.
right to your thighs.
then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.
and that’s when you knew.
he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.
which brings you to now.
standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.
it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.
but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.
because you’re a liar.
and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.
the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.
up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.
his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are not okay.
“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. like he was just in the middle of something. like you interrupted him.
you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.
“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”
he glances down. doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.
“…you live in 402, right?”
your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”
he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”
“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”
there’s a pause. a long one.
toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”
and then. then. a small voice behind him:
“who’s at the door?”
you peek past him instinctively—
and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, like he’s judging you in 4K.
toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”
“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.
“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”
you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.
you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.
“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.
toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”
you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.
abort mission. regroup.
you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”
he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.
silence.
the hallway feels colder now.
you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.
okay. so maybe the fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.
but you’re not giving up!
because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.
he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.
which brings you to:
❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)
you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency. eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.
you have a plan.
a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair and lazy sweatpants. not when his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.
step two starts tomorrow.
or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.
you’re in too deep to turn back now.
besides— if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.
you start running into him a lot more.
not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking. you’re just… situationally strategic.
like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.
you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”
he gave you a nod and kept jogging.
progress.
and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.
he walked in. saw you. paused.
you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”
toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”
another pause.
god, he’s so fucking impossible.
you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”
“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.
you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.
“right,” you laughed. “duh. neighbors.”
he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.
the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.
like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.
“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.
but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.
you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”
that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.
he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.
“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living your sitcom fantasy.
“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”
you beamed. “just making conversation.”
he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.
and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”
toji blinked. glanced up.
megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.
“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”
“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”
you waved. again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.
megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.
“…hi.”
victory.
you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.
he’s slipping.
and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.
❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)
it starts with a fake injury.
not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.
you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.
toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” as though gravity personally attacked you.
he stops. eyes narrow.
“…what the hell happened to you?”
you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”
technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.
“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.
“…gravity’s everywhere.”
he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and then crouches down.
you try not to short-circuit.
his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.
he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”
you pout. “still hurts.”
toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.
you make a noise that is not normal.
“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”
“excuse me??”
“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”
you are going to die here.
he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.
“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”
he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper:
“oh my god.”
step three is officially a success.
after that, things shift.
slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.
the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.
“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.
you blink. “what?”
“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”
you nearly trip over your own shoes.
when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.
and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.
you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.
toji shows up to get him an hour later.
he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.
“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”
you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”
toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.
“…yeah. he’s good.”
he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.
a few days pass.
and then— he knocks on your door.
you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.
“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”
your brain goes static.
you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.
“thank you,” you breathe, like it’s something sacred.
you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic forks. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.
he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed ankle stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.
and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. linger.
“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”
you almost pass out.
“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”
he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.
note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.
❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)
you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.
tight tank tops with no bra? daily.
asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.
bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.
you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.
you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.
you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact— just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.
and toji?
toji has looked.
slow. restrained. but it’s there.
the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.
especially tonight.
it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:
you up?
no response…
you try again:
i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?
there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:
don’t burn your kitchen down.
which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.
you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.
the door swings open. and there he is.
shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.
“you actually baked something?”
you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”
he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.
you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.
“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”
toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”
you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.
“i want something,” you murmur.
he watches you. unreadable.
your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. kiss you.
and then— he stands up.
you freeze.
no.
he walks to the door.
absolutely not.
he opens it.
“go home, sweetheart.”
you blink. “…what?”
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.
“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”
the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.
you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens. closes. no words come out.
no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.
you take the hint.
you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.
❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)
you’ve stopped trying.
no more cookies. no fake run-ins or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could possibly mistake for an invitation
you go cold. polite. distant.
“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.
“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.
you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.
when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.
you start going out more.
wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.
you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
you know he’s listening.
you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.
and then the shift begins.
it’s subtle, at first.
he starts speaking more.
“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.
you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”
“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.
you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”
he stares a second too long.
you keep walking.
the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the first time.
you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.
“…got plans tonight?” he asks.
you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.
“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”
he doesn’t answer. just scoffs. looks away.
but his jaw tightens. you see it.
and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.
you don’t stop. you don’t wait.
and then— one night. late.
a knock at your door.
you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.
but then you do.
he’s there.
black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.
you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.
you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.
“why?” you say. “you jealous?”
he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.
he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.
“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”
jackpot.
you smile. slow. wicked.
“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”
❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)
the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.
his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.
“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”
you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”
“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.
“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”
you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.
you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.
“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”
you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.
he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.
“use your words.”
“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”
“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”
he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.
you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.
“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”
your mouth drops open.
“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”
“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”
his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.
“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”
he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.
you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.
he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.
you scream.
it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.
“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, already setting a brutal pace, hips snapping hard into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”
you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”
he doesn’t. he can’t.
he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.
“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”
“toji—”
“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”
“daddy—” you choke.
his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.
“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”
“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”
“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”
he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.
your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.
you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”
he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.
“not done with you yet,” he mutters.
then he dives in.
he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”
you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.
“yes- fuck- yes—”
he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.
you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.
“too much, too much—”
“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”
and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.
when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.
he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.
“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.
your brain breaks. completely.
you whimper, nodding frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “yes please”
he grins. dark. cocky. dangerous.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.
“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”
you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”
he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.
he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”
his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.
“you’re mine now.”
you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.
you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.
and he’s still inside you.
still hard.
you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.
“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.
his hand tightens on your hip immediately.
“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.
you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”
“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”
you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.
“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”
“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.
“you will.”
your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.
“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.
“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”
you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.
“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”
“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”
you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”
his grip tightens.
“say it again.”
“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”
“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”
“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.
he laughs. low. mean.
“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”
his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.
you jolt hard.
“nono, please- s’too much—”
he circles it anyway.
slow.
you squeal.
your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.
“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”
you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.
“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.
“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”
you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.
he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.
you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.
“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.
you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.
“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”
and then he starts again.
hard.
faster this time.
your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.
“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.
“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”
he fucks you deeper with every word.
“who’s pussy is this?”
“yours—!” you sob.
“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”
“you—! just you—!”
“damn right.”
his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.
“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”
you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.
you’re gone. completely.
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.
“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”
you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”
“yes you can.”
his hand finds your clit again.
you break.
your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.
“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.
you collapse under him completely.
he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.
then, softer this time— just a little—
“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”
you don’t respond. you physically can’t.
you’re just… gone.
and he sounds way too pleased about it.
you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.
and toji’s still there.
sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.
you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.
he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, like the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:
“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”
you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”
he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”
you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.
you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:
“so… what are we now?”
he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)
he exhales.
then, low. rough. certain.
“mine.”
you short-circuit. go quiet.
he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.
you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.
his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, like he’s petting you. like you’re his. like this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.
and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”
toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.
“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.
you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”
“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”
“…you blew my back out.”
“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”
you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.
you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.
i rlly spent the whole night editing/finishing this osmgdkkdks, i’m lowk experimenting and thought i’d try smth different so i hope u guys like thissss >.<
the taste reminds me (i hate what love's turned out to be) ft. satoru gojo !
🪽 જ⁀➴ life was on loop before you met satoru, all strength and lopsided smiles and well-placed passion. it kills you to admit you'll be what ruins him.
pairing / satoru gojo x fem!reader
contents / light fluff , angst , hurt and NO comfort , mdni 18+ , mentions of past sexual partners , short sex scene but it's barely descriptive , reader is bad at love , sorry guys i just love gojo angst it fuels me , if i cant be happy nobody can , ( 3.5k / unedited )
authors note / something short and heart wrenching before i finish the rafe cameron longfics haunting my drafts
i recommend listening to. . . golden age by ethel cain . . .whilst reading for the best experience.
masterlist / navigation
IT LINGERS.
Simmering under your skin and boiling as it travels slowly through your bloodstream. Sticking to you like sweat and trailing down your body like unfamiliar fingertips.
You aren't sure what it is, if maybe you're imagining it. You think you see it when you look in the mirror, in the deep bags that sit under your once lively eyes and the chewing scars on your plump lips.
Sometimes it shows up when it shouldn't, like when you're at the mercy of a man you don't know for the night. You've never acted on it, the deep hunger rooted inside your stomach. It blossoms like thorned roses, then dies all the same.
It's blooming right now, somewhere in your core, as you stare into the kind caramel eyes of a man you don't care to get to know. You don't listen to him as he speaks, waiting for the moment he finally asks if he can take you back to his place. You always agree, your thoughts controlled by a never-ending hope that you might untie the tight knot in your throat. You think tonight you won't swallow it, whatever it is.
You let your mouth water as you taste the man, lips locked unfamiliarly. He's ingested the same amount of alcohol as you, but you’re drunk on something that doesn't compare to any fine wine or strong vodka. You break, planting kisses on his throat as he begins undressing you. You breathe into his pulse, breath fanning over his skin as you find yourself hoping that one day your heart might finally beat in unpracticed synchrony with another. You go back against your internal assumption, swallowing the knot with a gulp before unraveling the man before you.
You feast on his pleasure, eating it up and letting it bring you to your high. The cycle repeats every time. The empty feeling in your gut stays longer than it must, echoing between the enclosure of your ribcage as you waste meaningful kisses on undeserving men, always all knowing of the outcome.
It becomes habitual until you meet Satoru. You're not at a bar or a club, not drunk or high or searching for something to take your mind off itself. You are just you, and he is just him. This is the first time you think that might be enough.
It’s late, nearing two in the morning, and your late-night cravings have gotten the best of you. The only store you knew for sure would be open was a twenty-minute drive. You're suddenly glad you took it.
You hear him coming down the aisle, but you don't pay attention long enough to know he's right next to you, frightening you a bit when he bumps into you. You're both reaching for the same large case of Diet Dr. Pepper, hands equally outstretched as you touch the cardboard case. You pull back in sync when the realization hits you, and you're the first to mutter out an apology.
“‘m sorry, I didn't see you coming.” You say tiredly, eyes trailing up to find a frighteningly beautiful pair of blue ones. They widen ever so slightly when they lock with yours.
His words come out in a stammer, velvety and low, “No worries. I should’ve been watchin’ where I was going.” He sighs out. You breathe it in. Time seems to stop, and the world suddenly moves in slow motion.
You stare unabashedly. He's disheveled, only a bit. A pair of prescription glasses lay comfortably on the bridge of his nose, framing his beautifully tired eyes. Unruly tufts of platinum hair sit unbothered on his head, a simple white T-shirt that has the smallest faded red stain on it, not that you were looking hard enough to notice, and a low-hanging pair of navy blue sweats. His feet are covered by fluffy pink socks and black slides. There's not an ounce of thought put into his appearance. He's different. He smells familiar, like nostalgia and musk-riden vanilla and expensive chocolate without moderation. He looks like he tastes good enough for you to keep and touches soft enough to convince you to.
Icy blue eyes, cold enough to shake your spine with a soft chill, stare at you intently. He breathes you in and lets your scent stick to him like a thirsty tick on a bloodhound. Time seems to stop as his eyes trail over you, scanning your exhausted face with a kind of appreciation you look like you've never felt before.
You're spent. Tired, but not the kind that makes you want to sleep. The kind that sits idly in your bones. Your hair looks like it fought itself into the thick bun you have it tied in, each uncaring stray hair framing your face imperfectly enough that it looks perfect. Your long-sleeved shirt is two sizes too big, the sleeves nearly sliding past your wrists if not for the thick folds on them. Your baggy sweatpants are held up only by the tight knot you have in the drawstring, and they barely pool at your feet enough to cover your bunny slippers. You smell faintly of designer perfume and honey. You look like you might ruin his life. Satoru thinks he would like that.
Your eyes stay linked for yet another passing moment. Then two. Three. They break before four. The world seems to tilt back into the right place on its axis when your gaze leaves his.
He finishes his advance for the twenty-four pack of Dr. Pepper, and, when he picks it up, it suddenly doesn't look that large anymore. He puts the case in your shopping cart, and you scan him once more before letting out a sweet, “Thanks, stranger.”
He puts a case of his own into his cart before pausing, the word stranger tickling his brain uncomfortably. Stranger? That just won't work.
“Satoru Gojo.” He says suddenly, running a long-fingered hand through his messy hair, a nervous habit of his. You swallow your gasp.
“You?” He questions breathily, “What's your name?”
You tell it to him, listening closely as he repeats it to himself under his breath, tasting it on his tongue.
“Nice to meet you, Satoru.” You tilt your head ever so slightly, enough that he wouldn't notice the movement if he weren't so close. Satoru blinks back the urge to jump your bones right there.
You both decide, unbeknownst to one another just how mutual the thought is, that while this interaction could just be nothing at all, it's everything you needed and maybe a little more.
Satoru asks for your number when the two of you walk out of the store. You give it to him.
The painful buzzing under your sternum stops in its tracks for the first time, satiated, and it doesn't return.
Days with Satoru blended into weeks, then months, like compatible hues. Time passes more slowly with him, giving you the ability to wrap the small moments around you like a hug.
For the first time in his life, Satoru feels normal. No pressure to be the strongest or stupid curses and sorcery or higher-ups barking orders in his ears when he looks at you. Just you, and just him. A separate life from his work. He likes it better that way.
You quickly learn that Satoru, though the most extroverted and passionate man you’ve ever met, hates crowds. He doesn’t tell you why, just mentions it in passing. You keep it in mind every time you’re about to ask him to go out, biting your tongue and swallowing your request. It doesn’t take long before he recognizes the hesitation in your eyes.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice soft and tone low enough that you realize he knows something is up.
Your eyes find his from your spot on his couch, unblinking and unseeing. “Nothing, jus’ thinking.” You mutter, averting your gaze.
Satoru scoffs, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” You ask consciously.
He pulls a face, catching your attention, “Act like nothing is bothering you.”
You purse your lips, shoulders tensing at the subtle callout.
“I want to go on a date.” You admit it simply.
Sartorus brows cinch together like twine, “Okay? Go on a date then.” He shrugs, leaning against the back of the couch and staring down at you. Your own stare finds his.
“With you. But you don’t like crowded spaces, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You reply in a curt stammer, causing your words to come out jumbled together and giving away your nervousness.
He laughs quietly, the kind of chuckle that makes your heart beat out of your chest and face heat up. It fades into a smile on his pink lips, and you watch as he tucks his head into his chest and lets his gaze find the floor momentarily.
When he levels his head again and his cerulean eyes find yours, his words come out in a sweet drawl, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me. We can do whatever you want.” Satoru says in response, leaning down and softly cupping your cheeks before planting an affectionate kiss on your forehead.
You learn that day that there aren’t very many things Satoru wouldn’t do for you.
Satoru learns fast that you like the way his hands feel, no complaints about callouses from hard work or tiny scars that give his once soft palms texture. You like his voice, too. He thinks it's partly because that means you don’t have to use yours. You like the way he nerds out about childish things and gives you compliments full of unrecognizable endearment.
His rants started in small amounts, each time catching you by surprise. The first time, it freaked you out a bit. Not because you care that he’s an all-knowing nerd trapped in an attractive man's body, but because of how interested he was in something so little. It made you like him a little more, you think, realizing the way he puts all of his effort into everything he does and never regrets it.
It was your second date, a simple day out that you planned after he told you he didn’t have to work. Make a long drive downtown, buy some sweets at the same store you met at, spend a little time at the nearby flea market, then have a small picnic.
It doesn’t take long for you to find a particular stall that interests you, and your interlinked hands part messily as you begin to sift through trinkets. Satoru pouts for a moment before finding his own thing to be interested in at the same stall.
“Oh my gosh,” You hear him light up from his spot next to you, and you glance over to see what piqued his interest. A small figurine, about the same size as a Coke can, sits flat in his hand.
You don’t fight the smile that appears on your lips at the childlike excitement in his eyes.
“What do you have there?” You ask, grinning.
The second the question leaves your lips, he breaks. “Okay, so basically it's from this show, best show in the world by the way, that I watched when I was in high school…” He trails on about it even after he buys the figurine, still speaking even as he hands the vendor a crisp twenty-dollar bill to pay for both of your items, only pausing to tell the old woman to ‘keep the change’.
Satoru learns that day that the silence you give him as he rambles speaks volumes, and you’re all he really needs.
You’re not quite dating, but you haven’t let yourself be available for anyone since you collided worlds with him. He has no idea, but to you, that might be the biggest step forward that you’ve ever taken. Satoru never let himself be romantic with anybody before you, but he welcomes the change.
You told him about the you before him, about how you gave your body away hoping that you might find a way to silence the unquenchable thirst for love that constantly dries up in your throat and plagues you like illness. He told you about his line of work, why he gets called in so often while you’re together, and then is gone for a week before you get to see him again. Why he sometimes looks extra exhausted, and why it always feels like there's a sentence lingering on the tip of his tongue.
You give each other the truth, and in return, there is a sense of understanding that links the two of you like glue.
You give him a version of yourself that you never gave anybody enough time to see, and in return, he gives you his whole being.
Satoru falls in love with you all over again during your first time together.
Soft, untarnished hands shakily trail over his sullied skin, each unfamiliarly emotional touch fueling you. For you, it's your first time all over again. Except this time, you let yourself be raw and overwhelmed, and Satoru drinks it up like expensive wine.
His bare, muscular back is against the expensive wooden headboard attached to his bed, leaning into it so hard that it might snap under his weight. He helped you sink slowly and steadily onto him five minutes ago, and all you’ve done is grind into him a bit since then. He gives you a break, already having warmed you up twice with his fingers, then shortly after with his tongue. His name has imprinted itself in your mind in that time, and you’ve let your skin melt into his. Your huffs of breath are slowly becoming one.
Satoru plants slow, deliberate kisses down your neck. He pauses on your pulse, and for a passing moment, it feels like your heart is in his hands.
“Okay, Satoru,” you mutter quietly, unknowingly interrupting his moment. You let your fingers grasp the messy strands of white hair on his head and pull softly to amplify the permission in your words.
His hands tightly grab your hips as a low hum leaves his throat, and in one fluid motion, he flips you to your back. You gasp in surprise when your head softly hits his pillows.
Satorus lips smash into yours after the first slow thrust of his hips, keeping a steady pace as your lips move in sloppy unison.
A wet stream of tears begins pooling down your cheeks out of nowhere, salty and unrelenting. Satoru stops immediately.
He's wiping them profusely, and you're not even aware of what's happening. You feel like you're craving in on yourself, everything you ever knew about intimacy suddenly feeling like a sick lie. Hard, fast, unfeeling, and what you're used to is nothing in comparison to this. It hits you like a hard slap why.
His words barely reach you due to the static in your ears as you cry, but eventually he gets through. “Baby, what's wrong?” Satoru asks, worry etching his features, “Did I do something? Tell me if I did something.” His words leave his swollen lips in rushed stammers.
Satoru is pulling out when you finally speak, “It’s okay, Satoru. I'm okay.” You say, hands leaving their tangled spot in his hair to cup his distressed face.
He pauses and his eyes search yours. “Did I do something wrong?” He asks, brows punching together worriedly.
You shake your head, “No, ‘toru,” you breathe out, “I'm just so happy.”
Saying it out loud feels like admitting that you like Satoru more than a little, and that scares you more than you thought it would. Your words lift a weight he hadn't even realized was there off his chest. He blinks, and suddenly his eyes are glassy and he's crying, too.
“I love you."
You're gone the next morning.
Your phone is littered with missed calls you purposely ignored and unread texts from him, words you wish he'd stop repeating filling your screen.
toru ❥: whered u go? the bed is extra empty:(
toru ❥: when u come back ill make breakfast for us 8:24 AM
toru ❥: did you get lost on the way back to my place or something? 8:56 AM
toru ❥: is this some kind of joke? 9:03 AM
toru ❥: answer your phone please 9:05 AM
toru ❥: is this because i said i love you?
toru ❥: if it is come back to me and we can talk about it.
toru ❥: i love you, i mean it. 9:08 AM
More flood in by the minute, but only one catches your eye.
toru ❥: ill be over in 10 9:17 AM
You should've known he meant ten seconds, because you don't give yourself any time to wipe your tears or prepare before he's bursting through your bedroom door and cupping your face the same way he did when told you he loves you and searching for something. Anything. A reason, maybe.
Your hands wrap around his wrists as he scans your face. Worry is painting his features, and when he finally realizes that there's nothing wrong with you aside from the tears pouring out of your eyes, he lets go. Your hands stay on his wrists. He let's them.
You're trembling as you spit apologies like venom. Satorus is confused, upset, and hurt all at the same time.
"What happened?" He asks as his brows pinch together. The second you open your mouth to speak, he realizes he can't stay upset at you long.
You sigh, "I just- Satoru, I can't. I've never done this before and you're too good for me and-"
Satorus hands find your hips, cutting you off, "Slow down, baby," He orders softly, pulling you into his chest for a hug.
His head rests on top of yours, and you hate that you melt into him.
You hate that Satoru has become constant. Hate that he never argues and always understands. That he makes you feel beautiful and loved and appreciated and says endearing things that shoot you right in the heart. You hate that, yes, you love him too.
And most of all, you hate that that's the one thing in the world you can't let happen. Because you got so used to existing without being loved, finding comfort in the buzz and solace in the hunger.
You stiffen in his hold, and he lets you go in response.
Satoru sees it in your eyes, in the way you avoid his gaze like the plague and clench your fists out of frustration. He knows he's about to lose you. Lose all the progress he's made. All the progress you've made. "Was it me?" He questions, face blank as he parts from you.
You stare at him for what feels like eons before you reply.
"No. No, it's me." Your voice shakes and your breaths become shorter and shorter as you swallow down the urge to cry more.
He scoffs, and suddenly hurt is turning into anger, "Don't give me that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit. If you were going to pull this shit you should have dropped it on me before I said I love you." Satoru curses, teeth clenching and brows furrowing. You once told Satoru that when he's upset it shows all over him, and a part of him hopes that you can see it and it hurts you.
You exhale sharply, "And I love you too! I just can't." Your gaze meets his.
"Why not?" He asks angrily, letting it flare in your face.
Your face contorts uncomfortably, "Because I've never been used to anything else." You reply, chewing on your bottom lip.
"Are you fucking serious? You're going to throw this- us -away because you're not used to it?" He asks, tone mean and voice raw.
You purse your lips, silence thickening between you and filling the air. "I love you, and I'm sorry that I do." You finally say, clenching your eyes shut.
"If that's all you have to say for yourself, then whatever we are? It's fucking done." Satoru replies venomously. Your eyes shoot open, and he's already gone.
The static in your ears is so loud that it feels like your head might burst.
You step back inside the bubble wrap and enclose yourself until you can't breath, because that's what you're used to.
In the midst of it all, the gnawing feeling in your stomach returned just as easily as it left, and it's already dug itself into a bottomless pit.
You never satiated it, never gave it satisfaction. Just silenced it enough to have your moment.
Synopsis. Choso Kamo: Itadori Yuji’s older brother, drummer to the Löded Diper, that touch-starved punk-rocker that’s been absolutely obsessed with you. You: nothing less than queen bee on campus, leader of The Plastics, about to show that loser that he totally can’t sIeep sit with you! …Maybe.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!popular!reader, punk!Choso, Regina George x Rodrick Heffley AU, college AU, Itadori family shenanigans, wingmanning, Mean Girls references (like a lot), slight crackfic, he’s SO down bad for you, píning, parties, pússydrúnk Choso, face-sítting, oraI (fem rec.), first times (him), fíngering, spítting chokíng, Choso with piercings, D piercings, ROUGH S, he goes FÉRAL, making it fit, síze k, manhandIing, matíng presses, creampíes, slight cúmplay, confessions, getting together, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 14.0k
A/N. Hehehe am I late…
Choso sighs, “Isn’t she amazing…?”
“She just looked at you and giggled? She just whispered about it to her friends and now they’re all staring? She’s walking away without even looking back?”
“I know- she’s more than amazing.”
Yuji looks at his older brother. Then he looks at you. He looks at his older brother. Then he looks at you- and the next time he’s setting his sights on the dark-haired man, Yuji sort of feels like slamming his face into his bowl of mushy peas.
He squints at your disappearing back, “Right…” If this is what the college experience was about then put this college at the bottom of his safety schools.
But listen! It’s not like he’d ever speak bad about his big brother - this was his cool, calm, collected brother after all (at least he was supposed to be). And so Yuji’s pushing the bulk of his skepticism aside, and turning back to Choso.
“So when are you gonna ask her out, bubba?”
“A-ask her out—?!”
Choso Kamo’s voice cracks on the mere words, at the mere notion—and Yuji can only ogle him in utter bewilderment. Oh…my god…?
Alright so not calm or cool or collected.
Fuck, he was so far gone that it almost looked painful.
He’s never seen his big brother’s eyes shine like that before - whether in excitement (at the delusion) or in panic (at the reality) he couldn’t quite tell. He’s never seen his big brother’s face burst into a blush so strong that it makes him wince. He’s never seen his big brother turn his toned frame away and start muttering - more to himself than anything.
“Why would you even suggest that? Why would you want me to- heheh…ask her out? Why did you know that’s been my biggest dream since freshman year? Why did you think that I could ever possibly manage to-” And then he’s gasping in realization.
And in a split-second - so fast that the poor pink-haired boy could never have seen it coming - Choso’s whirling around to grab him from either side of his shoulders. “Unless- unless you saw something between us that I didn’t!” He exclaims, shaking Yuji with every word. “Unless you believe that I actually have a chance and you want me to go for it before it’s too late?!”
Yuji’s jaw drops, “I uh…huh?”
“But of course!” Choso was on a roll now, jostling the boy back and forth even harder. “In dad’s nighttime k-dramas the two romantic leads never really know when they like each other—but of course!” People in the cafeteria were starting to stare now. “I’m the male lead and you saw something in her eyes that made you want me to confess! Before either I get hit by a truck and get amnesia or she gets married off to some faraway 6’7 CEO-”
“CEO? What the f-”
“So what was it you saw?” Abruptly stopping his shaking now, Choso leans in with widened eyes. He probes at his younger brother with eager questions, “What was it you saw in her eyes? Hidden longing? Desire? Betrayal? Lu-”
“M-maybe?” God, he was feeling dizzy now and those peas weren’t helping…“Webster’s Dictionary did say that betrayal could be a synonym for disgust. I think.”
To which Choso pauses - still with that same insanely hopeful expression stiff on his face. And Yuji thinks that he might just’ve have broken him when-
“Oh, it’s no use—” He almost thinks he prefers the ramblings of a madman, rather than the dramatic way that Choso’s throwing himself over his space on the cafeteria table. Head in his hands. Shoulders shaking with a sigh.
The metal trays they’d been provided with rattle ever-so-slightly at his ministrations, and Yuji has to be the one to nudge them to the side. Mouthing out apologies to the students around them that throw them dirty looks—honestly, this was supposed to be his tour of his older brother’s college campus before he attended. He was supposed to be the one being taken care of during this pivotal time of his life.
Which (to Choso’s credit) had been what ended up happening for most of the day: through all those labs and lecture halls and facilities he’d been led to by him, through all those professors that Choso made him speak about his future major with, through most of lunch where his brother kept on insisting that he take more until…you came along.
Almost as if thinking of the very same thing (you), Choso’s sniffling even louder. And Yuji’s gingerly patting at the AC/DC t-shirt on his back, “There there…it’ll be alright, bubba. Wait- if you’re the male lead then who am I?”
Choso sputters out, “I don’t know? Homosexual supporting cast? I don’t know anything-” Pathetically bemoaning, “I can’t even do anything-”
Yuji insists gingerly, “I’m sure if you just asked her-”
“No you don’t get it, Yuji.” He finally raises his head from his hands, silver lip ring twinklin’ in the light. His older brother brings a ringed hand up to twist at it - in just the way he did whenever he got nervous about something. “She’s part of The Plastics- the leader, actually. And those other two? Utahime and Shoko.”
It seems that you and your duo of friends had been stopped by a few more of your acquaintances just outside the cafeteria. And as you laughed and talked amongst yourselves, Yuji and Choso leaned over in their seats to catch more glimpses of you.
He points subtly at the brown-haired girl with eyebags and a…scalpel close by you. “Ieri Shoko’s one of the smartest girls you will ever meet. Eso sat next to her in Anatomy 101 last semester, and he said she cheated so well that the professor changed their marking scheme.” Then as Choso moves the tip of his digit, so do Yuji’s eyes onto another girl with a scar across her face and an arm thrown over your shoulder. “That one with the traditional dress? That’s Iori Utahime, she’s totally rich because her dad invented the Toaster Strudel. Utahime knows everybody’s business, everything about everyone- that’s why her hair is so big…it’s full of secrets.”
Yuji stifles a giggle, “And ah- the one you’re obsessed with?”
“Shhhh- not so loud!” As if he hadn’t just been causing a scene earlier. Choso just has to take one look at you before he’s repeating your name in the most dreamy manner, “-perfection takes human form in her.”
“Perfection?”
“Don’t be fooled. Because she may seem like your typical selfless, smart, gorgeous sweetheart but in reality…she’s so much more than that.” Choso sighs, “How do I even begin to describe her?”
“I don’t get it, we have popular kids in our high school too?” Yuji asks. Hell, if they were counting like that then he wasn’t doing too bad socially himself.
But Choso’s fervently shaking his head. In an instant, he’s getting up and dragging Yuji away from his mushy peas. Ignoring his whines- “Come with me.”
They all said your name.
“She’s flawless.”
“She has two Fendi purses and a silver Lexus.”
“I hear her hair’s insured for ten thousand dollars.”
“I hear she does car commercials in Shibuya.”
“One time, she met Jacob Elordi on a plane. And he told her she was pretty.”
“One time she punched me in the face. I liked it.”
And by the end of his (second) tour around campus (and his first tour around the gossip mill), Itadori Yuji could…somewhat understand where his older brother was coming from. In addition to being liked so much, you were somewhat…scary.
He feels himself shiver involuntarily as you pass him by, not seeing the two tall boys hidden beneath a large oak tree on campus. Watching you. Though, Shoko does- and glints her scalpel threateningly at them until they duck back behind the scraggly trunk.
“But still-” Yuji hisses at Choso, crouched against the flares of green grass. “-I don’t see why you can’t at least give it one try to ask her out? I thought you weren’t scared of anything, bubba.”
“And then there’s that problem-” Handsome face suddenly hardening, Choso checks whether the coast is clear for Shoko and her scalpel before gesturing at his younger brother to follow. Popping their heads from the side of the oak trunk once more, he’s pointing an index at the other man you’d walked up to.
The tip of his finger - all chipped with black nail polish - honed in like an arrow at the silver haired man. Yuji watched as he grabbed you to his side with a guffaw, where you wrinkled your nose at the way he crinkled your blouse- but let him do as he pleased anyway. “That two-toned, two-inch bastard- Naoya Zenin.”
“From the Zenin Corporations?” Yuji gawked.
“The Zenin Corporations, and he goes ‘round acting like it too.” Choso grumbles, lightly thumping his fist against the tree. “His family’s old old money, but word is they’re gonna be charged with embezzlement soon, heh. He started dating her at the start of freshman year- no idea how that happened, some say he bribed her with a GMC Hummer and they’ve been on and off ever since.”
“Wild.” The pink-haired boy whistles- inadvertently catching the attention of you. Turning away boredly from a lecture on Naoya’s latest business ventures to catch the two tufts of hair peaking through the oak trunk. You have to stifle a laugh as they duck out of sight with matching yelps.
“Something amusing about wining and dining the CEO of the World Bank, honey?” Naoya leers out, and you know he doesn’t mean that pet name he uses.
“Nothing amusing at all, actually.” You’re plastering a painful plastic smile, and he doesn’t catch the snipe. You’re angling your head to try and catch a glimpse ‘round the trunk, at those doey brown eyes that caught yours. “Tell me all about your ah- glorious old money again.”
“Why most certainly.”
You’re rolling your eyes, and you don’t catch the way that Shoko threatens her scalpel in the direction of the oak once more.
Yuji - who’d been craning upwards to take another look - hastily sits back down on the ground with a thump. “Bubba, we’ve got to do something about her though. The Itadori men don’t just sit around doing nothing in a time of crises-”
“Do what though?” Choso puts his face in his hands, long chestnut hair falling around his face. Obscuring his pout from view, though one could hear it. “It’s hopeless-”
“No.”
Choso looks up in surprise.
At Yuji’s determined face, that smile. Brighter than the sun.
He pulls a handheld camera from Choso’s backpack and takes a picture of them both, you in the background. Blissfully unaware. “I’ve got a plan.”
.
.
.
PHASE ONE OF WIMP: Everybody needs to know.
“There are four phases, the first is-” Yuji whispers, face pressed against the cold library shelf. Textbooks the size of his head. Names of authors that blurred into one. A wall of words that he’d shuffled aside to spy on the other side of it, “-we first have to get the word out about our WIMP.”
“WIMP?” Choso hisses back in confusion. He was standing right beside his younger brother, stooped down to look through their little crack.
A nearly-empty table.
A column of books.
A certain purple-haired girl rarely seen without leaving your side.
“Yeah?” Itadori answers, “Wingmanning Itadori’s Mythical Party- or WIMP for short.”
Choso can only look at him in pure aghast.
“Anyways, going back to our WIMP-”
“Yuji, stop trying to make WIMP happen. It’s not going to happen.”
“About our party then.” To which the pink-haired boy waves off easily, “Don’t sweat it- dad is out on some bonding trip with Uncle Kuna and grandpa, so they won’t be back until tomorrow so we have the house alllll to ourselves.”
It was true that their home actually sat on the outskirts of campus, right alongside the other dorms and residential buildings for the students. It was actually one of the reasons that Choso had chosen this particular university in the first place, because of its proximity (and it led him to you so, good thinking on his part, hm?) And so he still resided there with his family, but as for throwing a party…“Yuji, parties really aren’t a big deal in college. I don’t know if it’s even a good-”
“Do you wanna do this or not?” He pulls away to give Choso a deadpan look, the sharp edges of the books embedding vertical lines on his face.
The other man stammers, “W-well…”
“Let me rephrase-” Yuji says, “-do you want her in your house-”
“Yes.”
“And there you go.”
Choso sputters, face flushing at the fact that he’d been caught out so easily. He scratches behind his neck and looks anywhere but into his brother’s mischievous eyes, “W-well! You’ve clearly been spending too much time with Sukuna…and what about the fact that we have a house and apparently the word- but still no actual- party-”
“Semantics, semantics.” And to Choso Kamo’s complete and utter horror- he’s pulling out his camera to take a picture of their stakeout. He’s starting to push off the bookshelf and walk away.
Reaching out a hand, “Wait- wait, Yuji!”
Right up to the corner of the shelf, he grins. “First we’ve got to get the word out.”
And before Choso can do anything about it, Yuji’s pranced right up to the long student desk. Making a few of them look up at his sudden, yellow-hoodied intrusion- he’s clapping a hand over his forehead and bemoaning. “Oh, woe is me! Woe is me!” Choso’s clapping a hand over his forehead, too, though for a much different reason. He thinks he’s having an aneurysm. “Oh, I seem to have gotten myself a little lost…”
Trailing off, he peeks at Utahime out of the corner of his eye - and finds her completely unphased.
It was as if she didn’t even hear his display, and flicked casually through a glossy athletics magazine that’d been stuffed between the pages of her textbook.
Choso watches as he starts up again, slightly louder this time- “My poor, innocent high school self- all alone in this big, bad campus. All abandoned. If only I had a good samaritan to guide me back…” He peeks at Utahime again and she doesn’t even flinch—and what the- was that a textbook on children’s education she was reading?!
“Oh, how I wish a future teacher—” Yuji lets the words ring in the air, shooing away another student that’d come over to help him. “-could maybe get some practical work in and help me…a poor, poor high school student who doesn’t know of the big world…”
Utahime looks up at him—this was his chance!
And Yuji’s brightening up- before he registers she was looking right past him and at the clock that’d been ticking away on the wall behind him. The two brothers come to the realization at the same time and they bite back groans.
Goddammit! “How I wish I had someone to help me lest they wanted me to miss my brother’s party- tonight. Yes, a party tonight. A partyyyyy—” Emphasizing his words; his initial idea had been to strike up a conversation with Utahime as she (with her heart of gold) helped his poor lost self, and to naturally weave in the idea of the party and perhaps invite her and her friends as a thank you.
But now, Utahime (with her heart of thorns) was pleasantly ignoring him to pack her bag and leave.
Though, he was catching the attention of almost everyone else in this part of the library. Wondering just who the kid was and why the hell he couldn’t shut up—“He doesn’t even go here!”
Yuji sighs, “Free beer.”
“Oh, are you lost?” Utahime asks with a warm smile.
“What the-” Choso squawks, but ultimately gnaws down on the inside of his cheek to shut himself up before she hears. He watches Utahime get up from her seat and sling her back over her shoulder, leading an allegedly lost Itadori Yuji out of the library (the exit was two shelves away but she didn’t seem to question it).
From here, he can hear snatches of their fading conversation - Utahime inquiring about this party, Yuji responding in kind. He rattles off their address that she makes him text her, along with an invite extended to her friends. She says she has two best friends who would just love to come. “You’re Choso’s brother, aren’t you? I saw you two in the cafeteria today, yeah, my friend would tooootally love to come- just don’t tell her boyfriend.”
Yuji tilts his head in slight confusion.
Choso notices that his brother also greatly exaggerates about the beer (which, obviously, the high-schooler wouldn’t be able to drink) and some DJ they’re flying in, but he doesn’t quite have it in himself to feel anything but cautious excitement right now.
You.
You, you, you.
Yuji throws a thumbs up behind his back.
Pulling out his camera and starting to coax Utahime into a selfie picture or two.
Choso’s lifting off of the shelf with a chuckle - he can’t believe it worked. He can’t believe it actually worked! In both shock and slight relief, he’s taking a few steps back—now that he thinks about it, how did it even work-
Before he’s crashing into someone.
“Oh, fuck- I’m so sor-”
“You’re alright, baby.”
That voice.
Choso whirls around so fast that he feels the world tilt. Choso whirls around so fast that he feels his tall figure sway. That he’s chasing the sound of your voice- and he doesn’t even care if he looks a fool doing it.
Though he’s sure it shows, if the way you’re giggling at his action is anything to go by.
Slightly fluttering your lashes, “Something the matter?” You ask, with a smile.
“N-no…”
“Mhm.” And then you lean in—so close that he could kiss you.
One of your hands reaches past him, almost caging him against the book shelf. And Choso’s plastering his back against their hair columns- face burning, hands pressing to his toned sides, pink lips quivering with greed. His eyes dip down to those lips of yours that just kept on getting closer…“Wh-what you are-”
“I got what I need.” In the corner of his peripheral vision, he sees you lift off a hefty textbook from the shelf. Past his figure.
Where your hand had actually been reaching - and Choso feels his heart drop down to his stomach when you neatly distance yourself with the book. That very same slightly-dangerous smile still on your face, “As for you, have fun with your…” Your eyes drift to the gap between two books he’d created, a peephole. Narrowing, though your smile only widens. “-spying. Bye now!”
“W-wait-” Choso’s voice only comes out once you’d left, “Wait I wasn’t-”
.
.
.
PHASE TWO OF WIMP: Break her up with her boyfriend—yeah yeah, Choso’s bored!
Nobody in the lecture hall seemed to question why a high-schooler was sitting and swinging his feet happily amongst them. Nobody in the lecture hall seemed to question why there was a sudden flurry of texts and whispers more prominent than usual, either.
A palpable excitement in the air.
And Choso doesn’t think that Professor Yaga was paid enough to notice nor care.
It seems that telling Utahime first about the party was the smart move. Because before Choso had even stepped foot outside the library (moving on autopilot after that lil’ encounter from you), the news had trickled down from her and to almost the entire department. He was immediately being thrown looks left and right- hell, even a clap on his shoulder by some frat dude he didn’t know congratulating him on ‘finally throwing a rager’.
He didn’t say he was throwing a rager…nor that he was inviting them…but alright…
Even now, a few of the students around him would nudge each other and not-so-subtly point. Giving him a few glances. Dropping each other the pin of his address. Whispering about how ‘that quiet punk’ kid was throwing a party. Which honestly would’ve been completely tolerable had it not been for the fact that he was drawing attention from the row before him. Think that’s not too bad? Think again-
Choso takes just one glance at the row below—and feels his heart jump to his throat as he recognizes the beautiful back of your head.
He’s spent so many long hours studying it, you couldn’t fault him for immediately knowing…
But it didn’t matter if he knew or not.
It didn’t matter how close he was.
It was you, along with a few of your friends that’d managed to register to the class in time (though, it’s not like you were lacking for willing volunteers). Along with your boyfriend beside you.
Choso’s only able to look from behind.
Always an invisible wall between you two, invisible galaxies in every inch. Even that conversation he had with you in the library had ended in misunderstandings and distance. Oh…his heart ached, he hung his head low.
Your worlds would simply never cross—
“Haibara Yu, an invite for you.”
“Ah! Why thank you, Itadori-kun.”
“Anytime, my dude.” Yuji replies, eyes glimmering with stars.
Choso snaps his head to Yuji in utter astonishment as he leans down and prods the man with the bowl cut in front of him - one of your closest friends, Haibara. And here Itadori Yuji was - speaking to him as if it was absolutely nothing—doesn’t he know that you! Were! Right! There! The pink-haired boy seated next to him hands Haibara an impromptu invitation (really, a scrap of paper ripped off of…Choso’s lyrics book with their address written down).
Chuckling at the cutely childish action, Haibara fist bumps Yuji. “I’ll be there, and say thank you to your brother for me.”
“Oh- he’s right here.” Yuji stabs a thumb to the seat beside him, which Choso looked as if he was trying to sink into. And when Haibara gives him a friendly smile and wave, Choso can only reciprocate with a jerky nod of his own.
And then Choso’s attention gets caught by the way that Yuji reaches deep into his hoodie pocket. Pulling out several more crumpled scraps of paper- how the hell did he have so many? And what the hell was Choso supposed to write songs on now?!
He places his head in his hands and grumbles, “Yuji…”
But Yuji simply continues, “Nanami Kento two for you-” His brother was now throwing the invitations at their unsuspecting recipients, the blond man catches it with a disgruntled scoff. “Ijichi Kiyotaka—four for you Ijichi Kiyotaka, you go Ijichi Kiyotaka!” A bespectacled man catches it with a yelp that catches Yaga’s attention (and his disregard). And then Choso’s heart catches in his throat as Yuji sing-songs out your name, gently handing you your own scrap of paper.
His scrap of written-over…lyrical…paper.
The scrap of paper that Choso had written songs about you on-
“Aw, you wrote my name on it and everything?” You’re cooing at the boy, beginning to unfold the invitation. It was a palimpsest of words, and your eyes go down the slightly-blurred lines of faint writing beneath Yuji’s blocky letters. It was cursive, slanted, with a sweetly messy impression so that you couldn’t make out half the words on it. Just your name. Over and over. “That’s so sweet! Um, you wrote my name…like…a lot-”
“No!”
Before you can read any further, the pierced man behind you reaches over and snatches the paper out of your hands. In a split-second, he has it crumpled up and stuffed deeeep into his bag where no mortal soul would see it ever again.
What follows next might be the most awkward few seconds of silence in his entire life.
Yuji looks at him. Yaga looks at him. Your friends look at him. You look at him-
“Um, why are you so obsessed with me?”
And he can’t even say anything in response because it’s fucking true—!
Yuji takes a picture of the scene.
It’s only Naoya who - seeming to not have noticed a single thing amiss - raises his index in the air and punctuates it with his annoying, grating voice. “Um-”
“And none for Naoya Zenin, bye!” Yuji stuffs the rest of the scraps inside his hoodie.
“Excuuuuuuse me-”
Choso blocks out the tirade of threats that Naoya then proceeds to spit their way, his black-tipped hair flying askew in all angles as he starts arguing with the younger boy. The previous tension between you and Choso left unsettled (not good tension, certainly, no matter what Yuji may think), you’re resigning yourself to lean back in your seat and let Naoya throw his arm over your. Jostled by him. Sighing at the fact that you were jostled by him. “Naoya, let it go-”
And oh—it makes Choso fucking angry to see you still with this asswipe.
But fuck—does it almost make him smile seeing that look on your face.
Only getting more bored with every word falling from Naoya’s lips. Only barely putting up with him. A fleck of angry spittle falls from your (hopefully soon-to-be-ex) boyfriend’s mouth, and you’re meeting Choso’s eyes in the middle as you follow it.
Both of you grimace in disgust.
Next to him, Yuji nudges at his ribs- a victory for Phase Two! He almost wants to laugh.
Yaga drones, “Mister Kamo, would you mind letting the class hear your thoughts on the subject of Caesar and Brutus at hand?” It seems he’d gotten enough of the ruckus in the back rows.
Choso stands, clearing his throat. “What’s so great about Caesar? Hm? Brutus is just as cute as Caesar. Brutus is just as smart as Caesar. People totally like Brutus just as much as they like Caesar. And when did it become okay for one person to try and claim everything, huh? Because that’s not what Rome is about.” He looks straight at Naoya, “We should totally just stab Caesar!”
.
.
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PHASE THREE OF WIMP: Ask her (to the party, if not out)!
“Bubba-”
“No-”
“C’mon bubba-”
“No-”
Yuji’s throwing his hands up in defeat, letting Choso’s own fall from his grasp. His wrists were all red n’ raw from all the pulling- even after the younger of the two brothers had seemingly given up on bodily draaagging Choso halfway down the campus gardens.
Right to you.
And honestly, Choso should be thankful that his brother’s such a fervent advocate for him getting his shit together and actually talking to the girl of his dreams.
But you’re just meters away, so beautifully oblivious.
And he can’t help but feel his knees weaken—“B-but what am I even going to say to her-”
“For starters, you can apologize for the way you snatched her invitation out of her hand.” Yuji’s saying - so very practically that it almost hurt. Was this really the same kid who’d run after him crying when he first left for college? “And then you can invite her to the WIMP-”
“I said stop trying to-”
“I got it, I got it!” Yuji puffs out his cheeks in a pout, “Man, you really know how to squirm your way out of important conversations- but you won’t be squirming your way out of this!”
Before he knows it, Choso’s being rounded by his younger brother- who then slams both palms against the others shoulders and starts shoving him in your direction. You were talking to someone, with your back turned to him and your air one of complete ease.
And here two Itadori brothers came to shatter it.
“You- won’t- be- getting out of this one, bubba-” Yuji forces out between pushes, and with every time Choso struggled against it, his throws only got even harder. “Talk- to- her-”
“And- and say what-”
“I don’t know- I’ve never asked anyone out before?”
“Fuck!”
With a final profane exclamation, Choso’s shoved right at your footsteps- and you’re turning around at the commotion. Raising your brows at the man that was bent so low before you, that he could practically look up your skirt if he wanted to.
You take a step back, “Um…”
“F-fuck-” He seemed to be saying that a lot today, and he stands upright instantly. Rubbing at the back of his flushed neck, Choso tries looking anywhere but in your eyes—where the fuck did Yuji disappear to?! “Anyways um…nice weather we’re having, huh?”
“Right…” You look up, there was a rain cloud formulating above you. There was a 30% chance that it’s already raining.
Your company - some business major by the name of Mei Mei, he believes, throws her single long braid over her shoulder - “Ooo la la~ Guess I should leave you two alone then, hm?” Waving just the tips of her fingers at you, “Toodles~!”
“Buh-byeee, again- I love your hair!” You’re calling out with the sweetest smile.
“Thank you~!”
And only once Mei Mei was well and fully not in earshot do you turn back to Choso and deadpan, “That is the ugliest fucking hairstyle I’ve ever seen.”
He hides a laugh behind his fist, “I-it certainly is eccentric…” Well, he’d be lying if he said he never secretly thought the same.
You tilt your head, his contagious smile making your own lips slightly quirk. In this dimming light, you could see the dimples by the corners of his lips- “And so? I don’t suppose you’re here to hear my tastes in hairstyles, are you?”
“I-I wouldn’t mind.” He coughs underneath his breath, self-consciously thinking to his own cutesy space-buns. He’s seen you staring at them a few times before…at least his imagination liked to think you did. He’s almost glad he wore them down today, “But ah- but no, you’re right. First of all, I came to apologize.”
Before you can say anything else, he’s bowing before you.
Sharp and sincere.
He couldn’t see the expression on your face like this- and so Choso scrunches his eyes and spits out the words. “I apologize for how rude I was during the lecture earlier, it- it’s completely my fault and I shouldn’t have snatched the invitation out of your hands. It was just…”
“Personal?” You ask, and he’s whipping his head up to catch your warm smile. “I get it. Your secret’s safe with me.” Before thinking about it a little more, “And Utahime…and Shoko. Maybe Ijichi-”
His pinkish mouth gapes, “A-and the…”
“My name?” Teasingly, you pretend to think. “I didn’t see a thing. My name? What name?”
Beside himself, he begins to laugh- “And I uh- there’s also…” He’s only slightly leaning up from his bow now, fists clenching upon either side as if tries not to lose his nerve. And Choso might just have- had it not been for the flailing body of his brother.
Just a little distance away, Yuji dances about and gestures at Choso to keep talking. Shaping out hearts with his arms. Mouthing a little ‘go on’. Puckering his lips and making kissy faces—
You notice the way his gaze strays past you and start to turn-
But Choso’s grabbing your hand in a panic- stopping you from moving- making you turn around in slight surprise. “I uh!” And he feels…he feels so much. The heat of your hand thrumming in his own. The zaps of electricity as your eyes meet his. The adoration at just how beautiful you were in this light. Somehow, some way, the shy man manages out. “I wanted to…to invite you personally to the WI- I mean, the party.”
He winces, waiting for your rejection.
Only-
“I’d love to!”
In the distance Yuji’s camera runs out of battery with how many times he’s flashing away pictures.
Choso’s on cloud nine all the way back home, he doesn’t think his feet even touch the pavement. Yuji gives him a good, hard smack on the back in congratulations as they get on Choso’s bike—“Wow, maybe you’re not a hopeless case after all, bubba!”
Choso rides a little faster that day.
.
.
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PHASE FOUR OF WIMP: DON’T BE A WIMP!
It honestly hadn’t taken them too long to turn Itadori Jin’s home into the habitat of a college party. It was already big enough, and it had a pool out in the back and a rooftop to climb. All they needed to add were a few key components: booze, beats, onion rings.
Most of it was ordered with their uncle’s credit card…
He’d asked his Löded Diper members to join him for a gig later in the night. And Yuji had begged his friends to help them with the decorating and set-up on account that they could join the (alcohol-free, to them) party afterwards.
Meanwhile Choso had paced their living room so many times that he thinks his footsteps were seared into the carpet - some excuse of a cool big brother he was. He’d damn near twisted off his lip piercing with the way he’d been nervously toying with it- it’d taken Yuji and Nobara dragging him off to get a bit more dolled-up for him to stop.
And so here he was.
Dressed in his best ripped jeans, chains glinting, biceps flexing through his short sleeves, nails painted and re-painted.
He throws his silky bangs out of his eyes and watches as the students trickle in- he didn’t even know half the people that dapped him up before treading inside the Itadori family home. And through each smile and greeting, Choso’s eyes flickered over the blur of faces for only one.
Yours.
The slosh of beer. The splash of ping-pong balls inside cups.
It was nearing midnight and Choso still couldn’t find you. Fuck, he almost considers letting the party rage on and leaving to find you himself-
“Bubba!” Yuji calls out over the thumping bass, and the dark-haired man is whipping around to find his brother surfing over the sea of people. “Bubba- bubba!” Hand cupped over his mouth to let his voice project, the other gripping his camera. “I saw Utahime and Shoko by the food table, no sign of her though.”
“Yuji-” Choso’s yanking on his brother’s arm, tugging his brother to him. His eyes probe down in concern, “What do you mean no sign of her? You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Yuji nods, “I asked them, too- they said she’d be coming separately but still no sign of her.”
“I hope she’s okay…” Choso worries on his lip ring, he looks over the perspired heads of party-goers. The party was in full swing by midnight, and it showed no sign of stopping. He’s sure he saw at least one antique vase smashed, and one drunk couple making out in Sukuna’s room…“Maybe I should go check on her?”
Yuji tilts his head in confusion, “How?”
“I’ll just wait by the door maybe…”
“All night?”
“All morning if I have to.”
Waving off his concerns, he tells his brother to order some more food and leaves for the front door.
Ignoring the calls of his name and the compliments. Trying to squeeze past the slightest gaps between bodies, “Excuse me-” He’s whispering, wincing as he forces his way through them. “Excuse me- coming through. Excuse me.” Seeing the widely gaped door as a few more people shove themselves inside the party, the door starts to close. “Wait wait don’t close, I just want to get to-”
You.
A hand stops the front door from closing, and he’s instantly putting a name to face. A name to body. A name to each fingertip by fingertip.
The party hushes just a little when you enter. The music slows. The chatter dies down. The eyes of everyone present snaps to you- holy shit, it was you. It was really, really you.
Dressed in your prettiest slip dress. Hugging every inch of you so perfectly in the way he wanted to. Your eyes shimmering with a bit of glitter on the edges. Your lips resembling a candy he couldn’t wait to suck on right now. Immediately, it’s as if his world was bending to your will, your intrusion - as it always did.
Holding the door open, “Oh!” You’re clearly startled to come face-to-face with Choso Kamo so soon - and especially so close. Your eyes widen as they flit up his sculptured body, that t-shirt that clung to him attractively. “Ditching your own party so soon?”
“I was about to until you came along.”
Fuck—why did he say that?
In the distance, he can hear three irritating (strangely familiar) squeals. And he’s bringing a hand up to fiddle with his lip piercing, apology on his tongue when-
“Well, then I sure am glad I came along.” You’re smiling in that way that feels like you’re analyzing every inch of him, “This party wouldn’t have been much fun without you, Cho.” You push his shoulder with yours, and he thinks he might just melt.
He thinks he does.
There’s a flash of a camera that jolts him into action once more.
“Can I uh- get you uh—a beer? Or something?” Grimacing at his own choked-up hosting, he ushers you in and closes the door. Your shoulder brushes against his, and he thinks he might just cream his pants. “Or a shot? Ah- onion rings?”
“I think I’m good on the alcohol…for now.” You hum, and there’s something in your tone that he can’t quite pinpoint. The party parts ways for you, and he’s leading you inside.
Choso raises a brow, curious. “How come for now?”
“Ah- because I know if I want to drink I’ll drink until I drop out of anger.” You huff, looking up at him meaningfully. You’d reached the dance floor by now- or at least, the living room that had found itself being turned into a dance floor. The music was much louder here, and you beckon Choso in close to whisper in his ear—your breath brushing his sensitive earlobes. “Break-ups tend to do that to you.”
Choso shivers at the proximity, before registering what you’d just said. “Wait- break-up-”
“It was a long time coming anyway.” You’re sighing, a slight smile on your face. “And this time it’s done for good- don’t worry, it’s not like I’m upset or anything…” Huffing out contemplatively, “Well, maybe a little- but not over him, rather the time I wasted.”
“I-I see…” Choso swallows, his throat was parched as if he’d just run a marathon. He clenches his fists, and then he wipes those sweaty palms down his sides—before bringing them up to hold yours. In just a little, his band would be playing (he’d been holding them off for you), but until then…
You look up at him in slight surprise, slight warmth.
“Then…” He tugs you down to the dance floor, “-shall we dance?”
.
.
.
“Fuh-fuck…” Choso can’t help but let his slick tongue flop out- as if he wanted to surge his head between those pretty legs of yours, as if he wanted to chase that sweetly honeyed cunt you’d plopped right on top of him.
It didn’t take long after dancing together - so close, you’re sure the rumor mill was working overtime by now - and listening to Choso’s rock set before you’d all but dragged him upstairs. Blindly, he’s the one that’d led your impatient self to his bedroom and locked the door.
And you’d barely had the time to admire those rock posters along his walls, his practice drum kit, before he’d laid you out on his jet-black sheets.
Before you’d flipped him over and set your thighs upon either side of his pretty, pretty face.
With your hips hoverin’ over Choso’s face, you’re letting your mouth upturn into a smirk as his gluttonous tongue lavishes out. The ridges of his tastebuds already watery with how badly he wanted you, he’s groaning from underneath. “S-sit on my face.”
“What was that?” You’re leaning in with your ear cupped, pretending not to hear. Not close enough for him to actually get what he wants, but enough to have him lunging forwards with a whine. “The music’s really loud, Cho.”
“Sit on my- face.” Such a pretty hot blush spreads all over his cheeks, as if Choso couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth. With both hands gripped upon both your thighs, he’s pulling you in. “Please sit on my face, ngh- what do I hafta do to have you fuck my mouth properly?”
“How about you beg-”
“Please—”
“Call me ma’am?”
Tears start twinkling at the edge of Choso’s eyes at how badly he wanted you, how ravenous he was. “Please…” Mumbling out in such a pouty way, his lip ring glimmers. “Please, ma’am.”
You shiver, zaps of arousal running down your spine and straight to your core- you couldn’t believe that it was so damn easy to get him to bend to your will like this. And Choso’s noticing your slight shakes with a whine of concern, batting up his lashes-
“Something the matter, baby?”
“Oh, nothing—” You hum, and the bed creaks as you inch just a lil’ forward. “It’s just, you’re already so tempting as is- just one question, have you ever done this before?”
You didn’t know it was even possible for his furious flush to grow even stronger, “N-no…”
“Mmm, thought so.”
To which his brown brows furrow in a plea- “But I promise I’ll be so good for you- mmpf!”
Immediately shutting him up with the front of your pussy- your bloated lips end up glued against his mouth. His greedy maw. His agape cavern. His lip piercing was cold against your outer cunt. His tongue sticks directly out to swipe at your sultry pussy, and you watch in real time as Choso’s doe-like eyes widen, entire body jolting as if he’d just been struck by a million volts of electricity.
And he takes one lick, he takes one slurp.
That’s all it takes for Choso Kamo to get fucking addicted.
“O-oh my god…” Slurring out right between your pussylips, you’re being dragged forwards as if you were nothing but a ragdoll atop him. Nudged right until the tip of his straight nosebridge ends up shoved between your folds, “Mmm, oh my god-” He breathes out—that’s until he realizes that he has to remove himself from your pussy to actually breathe.
And it’s with great pain that and multiple seconds that Choso actually unlatches himself from your cunt to intake a few gasps. Before plunging straight back in with a wet sluuuuurp—“Oh my god- are all pussies this sweet- or is it just yours, ngh! I think it’s just yours, baby…”
Oh, it’s going to be really fun to control him to your lecherous whims.
“I didn’t realize you’d be a fuckin’...oh, fuck.” You’re throwing your head back with a slight yelp. Because without any warning, Choso’s smearing aside your folds with his nose to find your sensitive nub.
Instantly letting his mouth fall open, he’s latching at your clit and drag-drag-draaaagging. And especially with his frigid lip ring, it’s making you feel sensations you didn’t even know were possible. “Mmm, and then there’s this clit of yours—fuck!” As if that wasn’t enough, he’s reaching up a hand to hold your pussylips wiiiide open. Sucklin’ away even deeper, “Just the gift that keeps on givin’, baby, mmm- this pussy is just such a treat. I think I could have her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner-”
He just starts babbling - so drunk on your pussy already that the only thing you can do is grab onto a lock of Choso’s dark hair and pull him off. “Ch-Choso, oh my god.” Wait- did you think you could control him?
He’s blinking his long lashes at you blearily, lips all glossed with your sweetened slick. “What were you saying again?”
“Munch.” You’re spitting out, almost accusing- and a drivel of your spit dangles out of your mouth, ready for Choso to open his mouth and let it splatter onto his mouth. You’re looking down at the display and letting out a shiver, “I didn’t think you’d be such a munch, Choso- you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“P-pussy…” He’s prattling out, hypnotized. Before shaking his head out of that daze, slightly giggling. “I mean- positive.”
Your peripherals widen in disbelief—did he seriously just mix that word up with your pussy? “You can’t be serious…” Deciding to take things into your own hands, you’re tightening your fist ‘round his sweat-drenched bangs a bit more. “Unless you want to- hah, suffocate then you might wanna take it slow, baby.”
“B-but…”
“But what, Cho—?” And oh, he could see that mean glint in your eyes as you tugged his head to the side and made him groan. The sudden movement made Choso’s lips break off with a dampened mwah! and the poor boy is reaching upwards with a few pleas.
“Please-” This eyeliner smearing ‘round the edges as he all but cries at the very thought of your pussy being taken away from him. “Please- no! Don’t take her away from me m’begging- you can take it slow, you can take it slow.” Choso shakes his head fervently, “You can take it slow just…”
And you catch his dilated pupils darting somewhere towards the edge of his bedside cabinet, curiosity growing. “Just what, hm?”
“I just want to have one condition of my own.”
You let him trail off of your pussy- and it takes him a few more open-mouthed kisses before he can even bear to remove himself from your cunt. Without delay, he reaches to open up the drawer beside him. “What are you…”
And you can only watch - slack-jawed and speechless - as Choso fits a silver orb of a tongue piercing right in the middle of his tastebuds.
Right smack-dab in the middle.
You take back what you thought about control.
And you’re barely allowed the time to register just how attractive he looks this way, before Choso’s back plastering his flattened muscle over your pussy. “S-slow, I said, Cho. Slow.”
“Sorry, baby, sorry.” Brows knitting together, he tries to concentrate. “Slow…m’gonna take it…slow.”
You’re gyrating your hips backwards in such a sensual pace - it was almost agonizing the round-a-bout way you’d move your hips back against his face. Keeping him wrapped around your lil’ pinkie, “Mmm, yeah- just like that, Choso.”
Holding onto his scalp, your channel constricts at the way he just kept on cracking out tiny whimpers every time you tugged a bit too harshly at him.
Humming, “Just like thaaaaat-” Feeling his overeager mouth surge faster upwards at the compliment, “Ah ah- slow down, baby. Mmm, just like that.”
Because at least this tempo let you keep your wits about you.
Somewhat…
But then something happens.
But then he’s sensing your deviating hips angle themselves- he’s sensing you crave the cold drag of his piercing. And Choso Kamo just can’t stop his body being sent into a state of frenzy—where it doesn’t matter how much you’re holding yourself back, he’s pulling you in, he’s squelching his tongue upwards, he’s kissing away. “This—” Lapping and lapping up the crevice of your cunt with his lengthy tongue. “Does it feel good on your pussy, baby? Please- please tell me you can feel it.”
“I can feel it.” Breathily, you have to fight to keep your tone under control as he slips n’ slides his textured tastebuds all over your outer pussy. Alternating between those ravenous kisses and lil’ tugs on your clit. “F-feels so cold on my clit- hah.” Fuck slow, he was going wild.
“Good.” And you swear you can feel Choso’s smile spreading across your folds, oh-so-sensitive with his sheer friction. The longer he was kissin’ away at your cunt, the more honest he got. “I got it just for you, y’know?”
And no matter how tightly you’re trying to grab onto his sweaty scalp, Choso was just so feral with his movements. Uncontrollable. You try to haul him backwards to slow him down, but he was only manhandling you further onto his face. “Wh-what do you mean you got it just for me?”
“Exactly what I said, baby—” He’s batting his teary lashes, “That I was thinkin’ of you when I- ngh, got it. That all I could fucking think of when I got my tongue pierced was havin’ your sweet pussy on me like this, and my piercing rubbin’ up against you like- that-”
Lurching on top of him when he stretches your tight hole out with just the crown edge of his tongue. Choso’s circular piercing knocks up against the sides of your walls and leaves you feeling mad, “Oh my god—” Saliva splattering down your front.
Then Choso’s feeling the way you clench, feeling the way your entrance quivers around nothing.
And it was just such a shame to leave your pretty cunt waiting, wasn’t it? So like the good boy he was, he’s slipping an inch of his wet muscle inside and making you gasp at the stretch. His orbed piercing marking his pathway perfectly, “Shit! At least give a girl a warning-”
“M’sorry, baby.” Choso whines, “Y-you won’t take my pretty pussy away from me for that, will you?”
“Well…” At least dragging out your answer let you see him all hopeless and needy like this. But honestly, looking at him - all starry-eyed, blushing-cheeked, half his face slicked in your sap - how could you ever say no to him?
Shit, he might just have you drunk on his tongue.
And your body starts to quake with tiny shivers, with both your hands woven into his hair for stability. You feel the desperate slashes of his tongue increase, and realize that he wasn’t edging any closer to your hole without your permission. How cute…“Nope- but s’gonna be on my terms, baby- oh.”
No sooner are the words panted out of your mouth that Choso’s mazing his prolonged tastebuds straight through your entrance.
A direct pap! to the gooey roof of your cunt- and you gasp at the contact, slightly pulling back. Before Choso holds one side of your hips and makes you sit properly down on his face to slash and slash and slash at your innards. Fucking you with his mouth like such an animal- “Y-yes, anything you say…”
“Fuck- fuck- then-” You’re tugging back with his hair, almost simply to watch the way that Choso’s chasing your cunt afterwards.
“T-tell me m’doing a good job, baby- tell me-”
Hiccuping out, “You’d be a much better boy f’me if you were a little more in control.” His lip piercing was practically glued to your outer cunt, and Choso simply couldn’t decide between sucking on your slit and spreadin’ open your hole with his very lips.
Maddened.
You’re struggling to even think beyond the primal stretch at your hole, and as you tug on Choso’s hair yet another time- he’s moving back in with a growl. “C-can you even think, baby?” Asking, whining through the great dollops of saliva clogging up your throat. He shakes his head and you continue, “Do you even know what you’re doing? Can you even breathe?”
“How can I?”
Drippin’ straight down his pointed chin, droplets of your slick wobble across his skin as he mumbles. “Like I said- m’taking it sloooow—” Stroking your glistening walls multiple times a second, his tongue piercing zig-zagging rapid lines. “M’taking it- hah, just the pace you want it.” His brown eyes glinting with something that looked almost predatory. “M’giving you m-mercy.”
“F-fuck…” A breathless gasp leaves you, eyes widening at the sinful epiphany you’d just come across. “I really…can’t control you.”
Shoving himself a few inches deeper inside your wet pussy, “But she certainly can.”
And then it’s not just Choso’s tongue that’s muddlin’ up your mind (and your cunt), but his fingers decide to join in on the fun, too.
Not only were they unfairly long, but they were so flexible.
Curving juuust the right way to make those chunky metal rings on his fingers dig against your softened walls, “J-just can’t control myself when it comes to this pussy, baby.” He’s whining out between your slick-sheened thighs, splatter after splatter of syrup letting out of you. Choso thrusts his digits in until they’re knuckle-deep, and his skin ‘round that area stings bright red. “Just drives me…wild. Just makes me wanna make her mine and- fuck, fuck everyone that th-thinks otherwise.”
“Oh, please—” Throwing your head back, your thighs start to shiver - and you’re not quite sure whether that’s because of the exertion or the sheer amount of pleasure he was pumping into you. “Please, you’re just so close-”
“No, you’re just so close.” He’s giggling out, taking a lavish lick inside your hole. “I can taste it on her.”
“You- you can…” You breathe out in disbelief.
He locks his lips ‘round your clit now, permanently back to sucking on that cute nub. Drawing out the most adorable whines from your mouth, Choso’s swervin’ his ringed fingers inside of you. Looooog zig-zags, “I can.” Poking his textured tips into any crevice he can find, any orifice. “You’re startin’ to taste so much sweeter, baby- fuh-feels like you’re gonna cum on my tongue.”
Bucking, “I am I am- ngh, I’m so fucking close.”
“Mmmm—just need to hit that p-pretty lil’ g-spot, don’t I?” At that surprised look you’re throwing down at him, “What? Just because m’a virgin doesn’t mean that I’m- ngh, unknowledgeable. I read up on it y’know…”
“And what exactly did you read up on it, Choso?” You can’t help but ask.
“That I need to find that spot and you’ll feel—” The circle of his tongue piercing draaaags so lecherously, right on time with one of his silver rings inside of you. The cold material makes your pupils swirl inside the whites of your eyes, and you almost don’t hear his next words. “-like c-cumming on my face-”
Jostled up by him-
“Please tell me where it is, baby.” He begs, words nearly drowned out by the squelches! of him hammerin’ two fingers away inside of you. “Please- please I want you to cum on my face. I promise I’ll be good…after, just let me know where-”
“Fuh-fuuuuck, Choso.” You’re bawling out, that fire starting out at the pit of your stomach. “You’re just too much- think m’gonna cum soon n’- hck! my g-spot should be…”
He moves, fingers twitching excitedly inside of you.
“-right- up.”
And he’s probin’ into your sweetest spot perfectly—just perfectly.
The roughened knobs of his fingers stick against your bundle of nerves, and you’re feeling a sudden surge of pleasure that makes you see pure white- before you’re throwing your head back and announcing your high. “C-cumming-” You gurgle out, “Oh my god- m’cumming, Choso.”
“H-heh…all on my tongue.” The dark-haired man declares smugly - just as he’d expected, you’d toppled over the edge. He told you he could taste it. “More, baby- more. Ride your orgasm out on my tongue, will you?”
“Doing so…”
Fucking you with his hands.
Not only were you gripping Choso’s long locks in two places and using him to bounce your hips backwards, but he was elongating your high with not two- not three- but four ringed fingers bullied between your tender pussylips.
Just plain mean. The sheer stretch of it was just incredible, and he was openin’ you up like never before.
Eating you out like never before.
You’re feeling wet tears roll down your cheeks at the feeling of his tastebuds rolling over your throbbing clit—slurp-slurp-slurp! Precisely whenever it felt like a peak of your bliss was coming onwards, and that only left you more gone on his tongue. “Feels good like this, doesn’t it, baby?” With a sloppy noise, he then continues to suck on your clit. “Mmmm- not bad for a first timer.”
“P-perhaps.” You didn’t even know what else to say. You’re shivering throughout your entire body when he slobbers his tongue over from your clit to start pricking n’ prodding at your hole. “Shit- y’know my high’s almost over, right, Choso?”
“I know.”
And yet he still doesn’t stop.
Not until you’re left fucked utterly dumb on his mouth, not until he’s letting you ride through your entire orgasm and then some, not until he has you in actual tears of overstimulation-
“P-please-” You couldn’t believe how you sounded at this point - you. Queen Bee. Things always went your way- but now you were at Choso’s complete and utter mercy. “Give your mouth a little rest, Cho-”
He seethes, as if offended. “I don’t even need to breathe when I have your pussy on me, you think I’d stop because m’jaws fuckin’ tired, baby?”
Blubbering, “Maybe not- but hck! if you slow down now then I’ll have more stamina for ah- something else…” For him? You’d have stamina regardless, but the lil’ warning worked in getting Choso to unglue his pierced lips from your pussy with a final mwah!
And it was the loudest, most sinful noise you’ve heard in your entire life.
Enough to get you to shake with arousal, and for Choso to use his strong arms n’ seat you down on his lap. With your legs straddling his slender waist now, he’s sitting up.
Staring down at you through heavy half-lidded eyes, “You were saying…?”
“I was saying.”
He just looked too sexy like this.
Long hair all rumpled with you running your fingers through them. His eyes faintly misty and sex-crazed. More than half his face was gleaming with your syrupy slick. Lips puffy. Eyeliner smeared. Rings all stained with a few layers of your sap that he licks right off- all while looking straight into your dilated pupils.
Your cunt throbs.
Eager to get him back for this, you’re tearing off Choso’s t-shirt of some punk-rock band. And beneath—oh, were you pleasantly surprised.
You’d somewhat expected Choso to be one of those types that were silently muscular, silently toned, silently so strong.
Your eyes greedily followed the curves and dips of his sculpted front, and realize that he was blushed all the way down to his prominent pecs. You reach out and touch the spattering of star-like freckles across them, and then so on forth to his…nipple piercings.
Your thumb snags on the glinting bar that pierced his left pec- and he hisses.
“Oh my-” You’re cooing, “S’this for me, too?”
“Y-yes.”
You push him down flatly onto the bed, making his pillows puff up with the pressure. Your hands then sensually caress the ladder-like ridges of his abs - all smoooooth and rippling at your touch.
Down, down, dooooown to ultimately end up buried in his slightly unruly happy trail. “It’s always the quiet ones, huh?” His breath hitches once you start fiddling with his jeans, tugging—pulling. “Who would’ve thought that cute lil’ Choso Kamo, always so quiet and shy, would be like this.” Your mouth waters as his pants start loosening, “That he’d be so, so…”
Big.
There was no other adjective for it.
Choso Kamo was simply so big - just the prettiest rose-red at his tip, all engorged that it was as if every ounce of blood in his body had ended up at his cock instead. A few puffy veins. Just the barest curls of brown at his base. His erection stood looooong and upright, dribblin’ out a few lines of precum at the intensity of your stare.
And there- right in the middle of his shaft was a circular piercing that sat snugly underneath a particularly prominent vein. Winking up at you like it couldn’t wait to feel you.
And even from here, you could tell that Choso was already the type to be so sensitive-
“D-don’t-” To your surprise, his right hand snakes down and ends up at your throat. Gently holding you back from getting any nearer to his raging hot cock.
You’re mentally counting about ten of his inches- maybe eleven?! And you look up at him in slight confusion.
He clears his throat, “I mean- it’s just that I know what you’re thinking. But the thing is, if you put your lips on me now then m’just gonna…cum…instantly.”
Your brows raise damn near to your hairline, “What if I want that then?”
“I’ll beg you not to.”
“Beg.”
“Please, ma’am- fuck-” You’ve just made that punk-rock boy beg—and not only that, whilst he was midway through his pleading, you’d made him throw his head back with the cutest whine.
How?
Simply swervin’ your hips over his aching hot length, and whilst Choso had been talking- you’d just runnnnn your glossy pussylips down the thickness of his length. Simply sandwiched between your folds, he’d felt so thick and solid against your entrance.
Throb-throb-throbbing away.
It’d only left you…ravenous for more-
“Need you to fuck me now, Cho.” You lean in to tell him, your breath scorching against his face. And Choso had the urge to lean up and lick those dried tears off your cheeks. “Want you inside me so fucking bad-”
“Fuh-fuck- don’t talk like that.” He’s urgently saying, head snapping downwards.
And you’re following his gaze just to find that Choso’s bawling divot had started pouring out bead after bead of gooey white sap at your words. Simply your words. He was almost on the verge of cumming at your words.
And oh- how he both loves and hates that mischievous smile that spreads across your pretty face. “But it’s just the truth, Cho.” Batting your lashes up at him, “I just really want you inside-”
“Please-”
“Always wanted you inside-”
“I w-won’t go easy-”
“Always dreamt of you inside- oh, fuck.”
It’s the last thing your nasty mouth can get out before Choso’s grabbing onto either side of your shoulders and shoving his thick, aching cock inside of you.
Just a single inch, perhaps not even that.
Just the slightest intrusion.
And it’s so sexy that you almost wished you recorded the way he’s letting his toned chest heave with a gasp, the way he’s flushing all the way down to his roots, the way that Choso’s entire body seems to zap with sultry lightning—a mere pause.
You could almost feel the question that hangs in the air - so this is what you feel like?
Before then he’s shoving and shoving.
Like he’s gone absolutely wild- “Fuck-” Choso spits between his honed teeth, “Fuck- hold still.” Grabbing onto you anywhere, everywhere—just anything that would keep you there while he tried to fuck his cock inside you until your sweetened sap is overspilling. “Hold still, hold still, hold—” You weren’t even prepared to accommodate him, and yet you can feel an inch or so more of his thickness funnel inside. “—still.”
“Oh my- oh my god!” You’re thrashing at the sudden pressure being put on your lower half, but Choso’s keeping his hold firm. He’s pinning you down. He’s not letting you move a single inch. He’s not even giving you a mere warning before reeling his puffy inches back-
Your eyes snap open, and you’re just about to ask whether he was pulling back.
-before Choso’s snapping his hips to yours and only tunneling that globular tip of his even deeper. “Hold still.” He spits down a splat! accurately onto your cunt, “You- you just need to hold still.”
It was like a mantra. You’re shivering at the tone of his voice.
There was a certain roughness to his words, a certain primal want in them that you’ve never heard from Choso before. Or anyone, ever, really.
It made your heard damn near beat out of your chest, and your fingers tremor as you reach up to him. Gliding away the sweaty bangs that obscure Choso’s gaze, “What did you say now, baby?”
“I said-” And you can only gasp as he lunges his hips back a few more inches, barely even letting your cunt constrict around nothing before he’s pushing in with a deep thwack! It’s enough to make your body lurch at the sudden intrusion- to which Choso’s tightening his grip on you until he was white-knuckled. “-hold. Still.”
But how could you possibly hold still when you were stuffed in so tight that you barely felt like you could even breathe. Could barely even keep it together. Could barely do anything but arch your back and-
“Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you to hold still?”
Your jaw drops, turning your head down to look at him—weren’t you supposed to be the mean one out of you two? “You did, but-”
“Then hold—” Clearly feeling that he needed to up the ante, both his hands detach from your sides. You could already feel the steam wafting out from where his touch had once been, and those very same rude palms waste no time ending up…laced on top of your crowned scalp. “-fucking-” Using the leverage to push you down onto his drilling hips, “-still.”
He finally looks up at you then - finally.
And what you see shakes you to your very core.
Because Choso Kamo’s pupils were dilated until it looked almost animalistic, in a way you didn’t even know was possible for a human. He looked crazed. He looked hungry. He looked as if he was on the verge of devouring you whole right then and there.
And then he’s fucking you like it, too.
Rough, rapid half-thrusts just to fit inside.
Fuck—Choso’s throbbing circumference was just too fucking big to bottom out immediately. But he’s sloppily dragging down your channel until he was just about halfway inside, with the knob of his silver piercing tickling your entrance.
With a gruff groan, he swipes that frigid metal ‘round your hole as if claiming you. The shy man hisses at the resistance of your cunt before holding you down and pushing- “Hold still before I fucking c-cum.”
“Oh-” You’re gasping, “So that’s why-”
“Fuck- actually, don’t even speak.” And you’re quickly understanding why when even the mere sound of your whiny voice leaves Choso’s bludgeoning tip twitching.
Hard and fast.
Desperate and needy.
Like he was trying to claim even the slightest ounce of space inside you, Choso bucks his hips and lets his dewy eyes flutter shut. Mouth falling agape, “Shut up and take it. D-don’t test me, baby.” With the hand plastered on top of your scalp, he’s ramming you right back down to meet his hips. “Not unless you want me to cum i-inside right this very second.”
“But what if I do?”
“Fuck…fucking- shut—” Shutting you up by a ringed thumb pushed into your mouth, it was just so easy for him to reach down from your crown. Preventing you from talking back, preventing you from running, preventing you from doing any fucking thing but taking his thickly massive cock.
Ignoring those words of yours that were definitely riling him up, Choso instead focuses on letting his blushin’ tip scrape at your g-spot.
It leaves you absolutely incoherent, squealing ‘round the intrusion of his thumb. “Please-” You’re somehow managing out, “Please I- hck! love it like that- would love it even more if you would cum in-”
“Fucking- I can’t even—” And he just sounds so agonized as he drills up into you like a madman - Choso’s oversensitive cock wasn’t even ready to, didn’t even think he could handle it. And yet he’s doing so to prevent you from yammering on with those filthy words of yours. Choso’s crying out. “Is that you or her talking- you or her—stop talkin’ outta your pussy, baby, s’gonna drive me w-wild.”
Blinking away your tears, the edge of his thumb had slipped out of your mouth by now. Drawing a splattering smear of saliva, “And here I thought you said you were g-going to let me have my way-”
“Did I say that?” As he pauses to think, you could see the brief glimmer of human recognition spark in Choso’s deep irises. “Can’t remember, heh.”
“You little-”
You’re cut off by your own surprised yelp, because in absolutely no time- Choso has your positions flipped over. It was you that had your back against the mattress now, being pushed further and further in the direction of the headboard any time he moved.
And Choso was just lurking above you, was just pinning you down with his mere muscular weight.
He didn’t even have to try to halt your restless hips in their pursuit, and throws your legs over his shoulders easily to fuck you in the meanest mating press possible.
Your ass against his thighs, his forehead bending down to press against yours.
This angle was just perfect.
In absolutely no time, his rounded cockhead was bludgeoning against every sweet orifice on your walls. Before he’s ultimately slide-slide-sliiiiding down to dig his circular girth against your cervix- with a great thud! that sets your teeth on edge.
His pale hips slam into yours again and again and again- “H-hold still.” Just about the only thing that he could get out now, right between those clenched canines of his. It was more on autopilot than anything, because you weren’t moving a single inch- and yet Choso was already so gone on your cunt that he couldn’t stop babbling. “Didn’t I tell you to stop moving- oh, this sweet pussy…she’s just being so filthy f’me.”
“And you’re just being so pussydrunk, Cho.” You’re somehow giggling out, though he’s slowly fucking that laughter out with a rough few slams at your deepest depths.
Not slowing down until you couldn’t help but feel his bruisin’ tip even after he’s pulled out, just to sink all the way back in again. “Hold- fucking- still—”
“I am.”
“Wh-what do you even mean?” Sounding genuinely confused, genuinely so dazed. You’re sure that if you squeezed your soft, velvety walls this very second then Choso would completely forget the last few seconds of your conversation.
Almost to test it - you do.
And you watch as the dark-haired man immediately drops his head to the crook of your neck, clammy skin-against-skin. You watch as he shivers, you watch as he only raises his face to stare at you with bleary eyes. “Wh-what were we talking about again, baby…?” And even more so- you’re raising both your hands up to toy with the glinting silver of Choso’s nipple piercings, rolling your fingers over his rosy buds. And you watch as an even more dopey expression overcomes his features, “We were nght—talking?”
Even his syllables were slurring together. You had to bite back a giggle, “Just talking about how much I wanted you to fill me- ngh- up.” You’re tugging and teasing his cute nipples, he lets off the prettiest short gasps any time you’re pressing down on the pierced nubs of his nipples like a button. “You can cum inside right now if you wanted, Cho.”
“R-right…” And his eyes grow just a bit clearer, he’s nodding as if he remembered exactly what you meant. Scouring one hand off your head and down the middle of your core, “Right- was talking about how I wanted to fill this ngh- cute womb up like craaaaazy- weren’t we?”
“Yes- fuck yes.” You’re moaning as his speed suddenly grows even faster.
“And we were talking about how m’gonna cum any second now?” He presses down on the top of your stomach as he pounds past your geysering orifice, creating the perfect pressure that makes the both of you whimper. “And how m’gonna be the one to cuh-cum first?”
“Yes- yes-”
“Because m’so patheeeeetic on this pussy, aren’t I?” An almost crazed tone in his voice, something that sends zaps of electricity thrumming through your every vein. “I’d die for her- I’d ngh- do anything for her.”
You throw your head back, body arching against his glissading abs. “You…are…oh.” And you didn’t know who was more shattered at this point - you or—
“But you’re not pathetic for wanting this touch-starved loser virgin to fill your cunt up with my cum?”
You.
It was absolutely you.
At least, it was you in this very moment.
Because somewhere in the middle of his vulgar strokes, Choso had somewhat regained his senses. At least enough to make you end up with heart-eyes on his cock, your cunt slobberin’ out any time he’s pulling his hips back.
A great splosh! of sap pathetically spilling out from between your legs leaves him crinkling his nose with a shy chuckle. “Cute.” Before you know it, his hands lift off of your scalp to wrap one at your throat. The other drifts down somewhere between your legs…“You- ngh, reeeeally want me to fill this pretty pussy up, baby?”
And you can’t help but become so-very-honest on his rovering cock, knockin’ against your every sweet spot and aching to knock you up! “Yes-” You blurt through tears, “Yes, I really- ngh, really want you to.”
“Sh-shit, you don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of you saying that.”
You might have been opening your drooling mouth to respond with something, but Choso’s cutting you off by slithering his slender index and thumb between your pussylips and pinching your cute clit. You’re moaning loud enough that you’re sure the party downstairs must have heard- “J-just like that-” Letting your limp limbs twitch with the crackles of pleasure. “Just inside, baby.”
“Mhmmm- inside inside- inside.” Choso’s grunting out after each ravenous roll of his thumb atop your nub. He’s hitting your pelvis a few more times with his, making the slamming of skin echo out into the room. “But you better cum f’me first, baby.”
Your eyes snap wide open, “Why me first-” Speeding up, your g-spot was practically getting bruised by this point.
“Can’t you indulge this loser a little and let me make you cummmm again-” He coos, fingers so fast on your clit that they look like nothing but a blur. “S’all I’ve ever wanted ever since I first- ngh, saw you, y’know? To give this pussy a gooood proper fuckin’ that I knew she wasn’t getting- I might’ve been a virgin but I could learn.”
“And you’d be the- hah, one to do that?”
He’s slamming his globular length into your so hard that your tastebuds sizzle, and you swear you can taste his salty pre at your throat. Choso’s starin’ you deeply into your eyes whilst he fucks you maddeningly, deeply into your eyes whilst he says. “Baby, I already am.”
As he finishes his filthy sentence, Choso purposefully shortens some of his furious thrusts. Because he didn’t even want to wait for the recoil of your spongy womb before he’s pumping in one more, because he wanted to assault your poor throbbing g-spot with his orb piercing. Rubbing and rubbing—
Until you’re finally crashing into your second high of the night.
Such an incredible sensation that you can’t decide which one was better - both of them were the two best in your entire life, however.
“Hold still-” Choso unplasters his hand from your neck, which then moves down to grip at your waist. To keep your waist pinned down to the creaky mattress, “Hold still while I fuh-fuck you like you deserve.” And above all - to let the fat, drivellin’ tip of his cock glide down your g-spot and alllll the way to your womb with absolutely no problem. Again and again. Every peak upon peak being draaaaagged out—“Hold still while- ngh, oh…fuck, I can barely even speak because of her.”
It takes over your body in waves - first your toes that curl, then your thighs that just won’t stop twitching, your heaving chest your muddled mind.
And then finally that mouth of yours that keeps on begging- “Now- now your turn.” Stubbornly, you lock your ankles around the back of Choso’s neck. Not even halfway through your own orgasm before you’re begging for his, “Gonna hold still- so you h-have to do it inside, m’kay, Cho?”
He’s staring at you with such dazed eyes, “Y-yes, ma’am.”
Because you always did get what you wanted.
And the tingles of your high have just barely begun to peter out, before they’re being replaced by the sheer sultry warmth of Choso’s ivory syrup.
The volume.
The way he was flooding you up with only a few vicious strokes.
It oozes out like a never-ending fountain by his strawberry divot, ending up emptied allllll the way near the back of your womb. “Y-yes—” You whine. You pinch Choso’s nipple and he spurts out just a few more pearly beads of cum, “Right there, Cho, want it all deep inside.”
“F-fuck—ngh—” Red-hot. Splashing. Entire body bowing into yours, sweat breaking out across his skin. He scrunches his eyes shut and lets the powerful bliss overtake him, “Oh my god it just feels so- hck! S’even better than I imagined cumming inside you- oh.”
You follow the line of his bleary sight- only to find that Choso was staring where you both were connected.
Your swollen folds. The ring of white ‘round his base.
The fatness of his thumb hovers right down to smear away that cute gloss of white, slurp! “Except in my, mmm, dreams, it was more like—” Though it was for no use, because Choso’s free hand only presses down on your stomach anyway. Until his creamy white cum oozes out of you in slick layers, “-this.”
You’re gaping at the mess he’s made, “And you were telling me to h-hold on-”
“I still am.”
Body moved around by him like a ragdoll, he’s using the hand on your stomach to pin you down. Shoving every solid inch of his cock back and forth—Choso thud-thud-thuds at the goopy wetness of your womb with each of his wads.
Fucking each one inside you.
Webbing up your insides until your toes curl-
His second hand tilts open your jaw and spits- before kissing you, tongue piercing and all. “Wanna take my virginity a second time?”
.
.
.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
“Rise and shine—! The sun is shining! The grass is green! Your father is back from his trip-”
Now, Choso Kamo will say that he isn’t exactly sure what it is that woke him up that morning. Perhaps it was his father’s usual morning call, as one of those people that were much too happy in the early hours. Perhaps it was the warmth at this side, the way he doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know who it is. Perhaps it’s the way he presses a soft morning kiss on the side of your neck, how it all felt like a dream.
Perhaps it’s the girlish scream.
Two of them. One from his father and one from him.
Sitting up in alarm, Choso’s dragging his blanket further up your partially-covered bodies. Trying (quite futilely) to perhaps cover the nail marks down his back and shoulders, the hickies all over your body, the way both your mouths were still swollen.
Face heating up at Itadori Jin’s wide, gawking eyes from the doorway, “D-dad!” And you start to stir at Choso’s yelp, “Dad, get out-”
“R-right away!”
BANG!
As the thunderous sound of the door closing, you’re lurching up in his bed. Now fully awake, you pull the sheets to your chest. Words nothing but a whisper- sore with all the overuse from last night, “Tell me what I think just happened didn’t just happen…”
Choso opens his mouth to answer (maybe lie and forget this ever happened)-
Before there’s a rapid knock and the door swings wide open once more.
Jin’s pinkish hair makes an appearance, and he keeps his eyes trained shamefully on the floor. Choso starts to protest. You yelp- “Breakfast is downstairs and I’ve made enough for everyone so please stay, okay bye!” He announces over your two voices, and promptly slams the door shut once again.
And you’re left in the silent wake of it—floor rumbling with the vibrations of the door, loud enough that you think you could hear your two thumping heartbeats. Oh my god….
Choso’s the one to break the silence - he kisses you chastely on the lips. “I uh- first day as a couple is going smoothly?”
Sitting up in alarm, Choso’s dragging his blanket further up your partially-clothed bodies. At some point in the night you’d gotten up to make yourselves somewhat presentable and help Yuji clean up after the party. And at some point in the night you’d also kept getting handsy in his room…
It doesn’t take you too long to throw on whatever t-shirt and pyjama pants that Choso hands your way, before admiring just how cute you looked in his clothes…alright maybe it did take long before the two of you were finally ready to make an appearance downstairs. But only because he kept insisting on kisses!
The kitchen quietens down at your entrance, and you’re setting sights on a man that must be no other than Choso’s grandpa- right along with another, younger, one who was the spitting image of Jin. Just slightly rougher around the edges. Tattoos. Piercings- ah, you understood where Choso must’ve gotten his style influenced from.
You’re at their round breakfast table, with his uncle (Sukuna, you hear) on your right, and Choso on your left. The dark-haired man reaches over and runs a hand down your thigh soothingly once conversation starts back up-
“How do you like your eggs, my dear?” Jin asks you, and when you answer he instantly gets to work - waving off your urgent requests to help. “No no- sit, sit! You’re the guest! I always have told Cho here to treat his guests- not that he ever brought anyone over, you’re the first!”
“Certainly- treated her well-” Sukuna coughs out the words only to get elbowed by Wasuke and flicked with egg by Jin. Batting away the concoction, he looks at you by way of explanation. “I’m not a regular uncle, I’m a cool uncle.”
Jin starts up another batch for you, “But anyways- I know we’re just getting to know each other now, my dear, but I do want to thank you for taking care of him.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” You meet Choso’s eyes, and he blushes.
“Awwwww—” Jin, who’d been there to witness the entire thing, starts to flutter about in excitement. He didn’t even care that the eggs were starting to burn- “You two are just dears! Oh, is it too late to show you the baby photographs- tell me it’s not too late!”
Not sure what to say, “I uh…”
“Oh, it’s alright- I’ll just show you the middle school pictures for today and we can save the baby pictures for…also today.” Without waiting for your response, Jin’s disappearing somewhere into the living. Spatula and all. “Yuji, where’s your camera again, my dear?”
Yuji, who’d been shooting smug looks at you two ever since you’d entered calls out- “Should be uh- on the couch?”
And for a second, there’s a moment of peace.
Only for a second, however, you have to remember that this is the Itadori household that you’re in.
And Itadori Jin’s voice thunders from outside the kitchen—“Choso Kamo. Itadori Yuji. Get to the TV room this- instant!” A shiver goes down your own spine despite not being called out, and you wondered just what made the sweet man sound this way.
As a group, everyone in the kitchen rushes along with the boys.
Only to find Jin standing with the camera, plugged into the television, and its screen displaying—
Choso pouring a mountain of shots on their very kitchen table.
Jin deadpans, “Choso…can you explain to me what you are doing in this photo?”
Choso squints at the screen, “That’s not me.”
“That’s not you?”
“…Nope.”
“Okay.” Jin replies easily, “How about these?”
Shuffling through the pictures on the camera - and you have to hold in a nervous laugh at the shots upon shots of shots, of Choso’s band playing at the party last night, of all the rambunctious students dancing, of a few smashed vases that was likely no one but Jin’s - and then, finally, he’s stopping on one.
One of you and Choso—dancing.
So close.
Your foreheads pressed together
Smiles only for one another.
In the peripherals of the shot, you could see people starting to whisper and hoot at the two of you, you could see your own friends squealing excitedly at the fact that it’d finally happened. But there seemed to be a strange world of your own there that no one else could quite penetrate. Choso’s eyes were just sparkling.
He giggles, “Heheh, that’s me…”
A/N. Oh this was so funnnn- thought of Yuji as Greg and was like WAIT-
