A Fangirl Tries To Write

I’ve been writing some fanfic featuring my OCs, but recently I decided to share them with people! I can always change the stories to reader inserts or take requests to create new ones. MASTERLIST 18+

[oreobites]

!Ryomen Sukuna; who falls in love with the concubine he hated the most

Every woman brought to his estate understood the rules of survival before they even crossed the threshold.

You bowed until your forehead touched the tatami. You spoke only when spoken to. You anticipated his moods, read the terrifying language of his four eyes, and offered flattery or tears depending on what type of amusement he was seeking that day.

To center your entire existence around Ryomen Sukuna was the only way to ensure your head remained attached to your shoulders.

Except you didn't.

You hadn't knelt when he first entered your quarters three months ago. You had been lying on your side, propped up on an elbow, reading a translated scroll from the northern provinces, and you had merely shifted your gaze to look at him, entirely unimpressed by the sudden, heavy drop in atmospheric pressure that usually accompanied his presence.

"Stand when I enter," he had commanded, his upper eyes narrowing into dangerous, ruby slits.

You had turned a page. "Then leave and enter again. Perhaps I will feel like it next time."

The attendants behind him had turned white as ghosts, bracing for the inevitable spray of blood. Sukuna’s jaw had set, a terrifying, low growl vibrating from his chest. But you hadn't trembled.

You hadn't scrambled to fix your posture. You had just looked at him with an expression of profound boredom.

If he wanted to kill you, he would kill you. Fawning over him wasn't going to change his nature, so you simply refused to waste the energy.

He hadn't killed you. Instead, he had left, the doors slamming shut with enough force to rattle the shoji screens.

And that was the exact moment the nightmare began. Because from that night onward, Sukuna became an insufferable, permanent fixture in your life.

"You are eating that wrong."

You stopped your chopsticks halfway to your mouth, letting out a long, slow exhale through your nose. It was midnight.

You had been looking forward to a quiet, solitary meal of cold rice and pickled plums, but Sukuna had simply materialized in the corner of your room ten minutes ago, dripping wet from a thunderstorm, and had proceeded to sit directly on the edge of your bedding.

"I am eating it the way I have eaten it for more than twenty years," you said, not looking at him. "If my technique offends you, the door is exactly where you left it."

Sukuna scoffed, leaning back on his palms. His massive, tattooed frame took up half the space in your small room, his lower arms crossed over his chest while his upper right hand casually reached over and swiped a plum straight from your bowl.

"You have a wretched attitude," he remarked, popping the fruit into his mouth and chewing lazily. "The women in the east hall weep with gratitude if I so much as glance toward their courtyard. You look at me like I am a stray dog that ruined your garden."

"Stray dogs are quieter," you muttered, finally looking up to glare at him. "And they don't steal my food."

Sukuna’s lower mouth twitched into a sharp, jagged grin. He loved it. The realization turned your stomach, a strange, dizzying mixture of irritation and heat.

He didn't come to your room because he wanted a concubine; he came because he was a creature driven entirely by conflict, and you were the only person in the entire empire who refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight. You gave him nothing. You gave him a wall of pure, unbothered apathy, and it was driving him entirely insane.

He leaned forward suddenly, crowding your space. The smell of the storm, ozone and rain, rushed over you. Before you could pull back, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your jaw.

It wasn't the brutal, bone-crushing grip he used on his enemies. It was controlled, a heavy, unyielding restraint that forced your face up toward his.

"You should fear me," he murmured, his upper eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you swallowed. His thumb thumbed the soft skin right beneath your lower lip, a deliberate, electric friction that made your toes curl inside your robes. "A single flick of my finger, and this pretty little throat splits wide open."

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to let the wild, frantic thudding of your heart show on your face. "Then do it. I'm tired of your bragging."

Sukuna froze. For a second, the silence in the room was deadly. Then, a loud, booming laugh tore from his throat, the sound rough and genuine as he released your jaw, shifting his weight until he was practically draped over your lap, his heavy head resting casually against your thigh.

"Insufferable," he muttered, closing all four of his eyes as if he owned the space. "Utterly insufferable."

You stared down at the King of Curses currently using your legs as a pillow, your hand hovering over his unruly pink hair, entirely tempted to shove him off. But you didn't. You just sighed, picking up your chopsticks again, ignoring the way his subconscious weight felt entirely too natural against you.

The shift happened. In Sukuna’s dictionary, words like love or devotion were meaningless concepts invented by the weak to justify their dependency. He would never admit to favoring you. If anyone asked, he would simply say you were a minor amusement, a dull distraction from his boredom.

But the rest of the estate wasn't blind.

The servants noticed that the rare silks brought from the western raids, the ones Sukuna usually threw into the treasury to rot—somehow kept finding their way into your wardrobe because he had casually grumbled that your current robes looked "like rags."

The guards noticed that if Sukuna left your courtyard irritated, he was significantly less likely to execute someone in the main hall.

And then there was the incident with the lord of the northern clans.

During a formal banquet, the lord had made a passing, disparaging remark about your status, calling you an "eccentric, useless mouth to feed" who didn't know her place.

You hadn't even heard the comment; you had been across the pavilion, systematically ignoring Sukuna’s attempts to make you try a cup of sake.

But Sukuna had heard it.

He hadn't made a scene. He had simply stood up, walked over to the lord’s table, and dismantled the man’s entire lineage within three seconds, leaving the pavilion drenched in red before sitting back down next to you, casually picking up his chopsticks as if nothing had happened.

"You're exhausting when you're angry," you had murmured, wiping a stray drop of blood from the sleeve of your robe with a click of your tongue.

Sukuna hadn't answered. He had just grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until you were forced to use your sleeve to wipe a smudge of gore from his cheek instead. He hadn't asked. He had just assumed your hands belonged on his skin.

Late one evening, weeks later, the heat of the summer had turned the air thick and oppressive. You were lying awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling, when the shoji screen slid open without a sound.

Sukuna stepped inside. He looked exhausted, the heavy marks of a curse battle still lingering in the tension of his shoulders. He didn't speak. He just shed his heavy outer robe, letting it hit the floor, before crawling directly onto your sleeping mat.

"Go away," you groaned, trying to roll over to the far edge. "It is too hot for this."

"Silence," he grunted, a large, heavy arm snaking around your waist from behind. He hauled you back against his chest with a single, effortless tug, his massive body completely enveloping yours.

His chest was blazing hot, a furnace of pure cursed energy, and his face buried itself directly into the crook of your neck.

"You cling too much," you muttered, though you didn't actually fight the hold. It was a useless endeavor anyway.

"What nonsense," Sukuna rumbled, his voice thick with sleep, his lower arms tightening around your hips, anchoring you so securely to him that you could feel the rhythmic, heavy thud of his heart against your spine. "You are small. You fit here. Stop complaining."

You lay there in the dark, his breath warm against your skin, his long, sharp fingernails absentmindedly tracing patterns into the fabric of your garment near your ribs.

He was completely unaware of how intimate the gesture was, how entirely possessive his body became the moment he was near you. He thought he was just resting. He thought he was just taking what was his.

You turned your head slightly, looking back at him. His eyes were closed, his expression unusually peaceful in the dim moonlight.

"You're an idiot, Ryomen Sukuna," you whispered softly.

A faint, arrogant smirk touched his lips, though he didn't open his eyes. His hand moved up, his fingers lacing through yours with a casual, unthinking pressure, locking your hands together against the bedding.

"And you are still breathing," he murmured into your skin, his grip tightening just a fraction more. "Be grateful I find your stupidity so entertaining."

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his terrifying, inescapable warmth, finally accepting that while the King of Curses would never say the words, his actions had already rewritten the entire world around you.

............................................................................

thankyou for reading. follow me on tiktok @/oreobitees

[totally-not-niyah]

how this got me feeling like

[purescription]

tldr pissing sukuna off in tomodachi life because he pissed you off in real life

sukuna's been nothing short of a dick today.

he's been in a horrible mood since his eyes opened, barking orders and insults at everyone around him, and shrugging you off when you say something about him. sukuna knows that you hate when he's rude to the people under him, he's got the emotional scars of all your silent treatments to prove it.

and, because your lovely husband decided to be mad at the world today, you decided to be mad at him.

of course, there's not really anyone to blame but himself. sukuna regrets telling you off earlier each time he walks past you curled up in your quarters, that handheld device not having left your hands all day. he doesn't quite remember the name, but he does remember the few times he's crushed the controllers for it because of that little man with the mustache.

(sukuna is no longer allowed to play video games that require any skill because of that.)

"what are you doing?"

your husband's voice grumbles from the entryway, but not enough to pull your attention away from your game. you just shrug and press a few buttons, pretty much ignoring him, causing his eyebrow to twitch. he dislikes when you ignore him almost as much as when you outright berate him.

for a moment, sukuna actually thinks before he acts. he enters your space, sits down next to you, pays close attention to what you're focused on. there's a little character on your screen that resembles you, the same color eyes looking back at you. it's what you'd consider 'cute', he thinks.

"is that supposed to be you?" he asks, the question coming out more condescending then he meant for it to.

"mhm," you quietly hum, "i gave myself a new room."

it goes silent, and sukuna just watches as you feed yourself realistic food and give yourself new clothes. he can sense your frown when your character says it doesn't like something, and can feel your analysis on the clothing choices you have left.

"i made you, too," you admit, hitting a button so you back away from your character. the cursor scrolls into the next room, and grabs the attention of the avatar there.

and, it's him. sure, a watered-down cartoonish version, but definitely sukuna. it's got all the markings on his face, almost 1:1 on how they appear on his skin. his expression is unimpressed, not offering a greeting nor a wave.

however, there is one tiny issue with your rendition of sukuna.

the ugly, wretched mushroom costume you've put him in. he looks quite unserious sporting a frumpy tan stem and a large mushroom cap on his head—sukuna would never wear that.

"why is it wearing that?" sukuna questions with a distasteful look on his face.

"you didn't like the tuxedo i gave you," you begin, a grin pulling at your lips, "so you get the mushroom outfit."

sukuna scoffs quietly, but still keeps his focus on the screen, watching as you try to guess what a pixelated image is. you don't win, so sukuna's character offers you a box of tissues. he then complains about being hungry, and sukuna looks at your cursor scrolling through a list of foods.

it lands on a fried egg and you give it to him. he eats it, wipes his mouth, and his eyes go wide.

he hates it so much his ghost leaves his cartoon body. the mushroom costume falls over with disgust. real-world sukuna frowns, but he can sense the amusement you got from feeding him something he doesn't like and basically killing him in-game.

sukuna may not quite understand it, but he'll leave it be if it makes you happy.

[hellilovedit]

This Guy Botherin’ You, Sweetheart?

Husband!Frank x Wife!Reader

Summary: Your new coworker causes problems between you and Frank. You can’t figure out why—you’re nothing special. But when drinks at the bar prove you wrong… the night ends in blood.

Warnings: slow burn conflict to violent explosion, threats, detailed violence, blood, jealous!Frank, protective!Frank, negative self-image/imposter syndrome/negative self-talk & self-worth, manipulation (not Frank), sexual innuendoes, implied fingering, attempted drugging (not Frank), fuck ton of cussing, power plays, mentioned death of an animal (trust me, you’ll see, it’s not sad). 

W/C: JESUS CHRIST 10k

Requested by anon: here

A/N: I kept Frank as still being semi-active as The Punisher. My personal opinion: Frank would not do the job if married. He loves you too much to put you in unnecessary danger. HOWEVER… it’s hot as fuck so that’s my reasoning. 😂 Pics from Pinterest, not mine. I lowkey took this to some extremes. Reader is always 18+. Minors do not interact. Tag list is open for 18+. Asks open for Frank.

Frank can smell bullshit the way a shark smells blood: one drop, a quarter mile away. 

Shit’s not close enough to see yet, but it fuckin’ stinks. 

A cool breeze whistles through the crack in the window as the rain patters down, crisp ozone and wet tarmac in Frank’s nose. Night settles in; so consuming it’s comfortable. Maybe it’s the anticipation of waiting for you. His girl, gettin’ off her shift to get in his car, get you back home safe, drive you through that coffee joint for a chai latte and a coffee just to drag it out longer. Windshield’s speckled, raindrops streaking, but he’s still got a clear enough view. Woulda been out there waitin’ for you, but last time he did, you said you loved the rain and the run to the truck. So… he stays put. Gives you whatever simple pleasure he can. 

The seat creaks under Frank as he adjusts, elbow on the console, chin in his hand, eyes fastened to the door you’ll be comin’ out of. Totally casual. Boot totally not taptaptaptaptapping in the footwell. Van off, artillery in the back; the unsavory pieces Frank isn’t scared to show you anymore. 

Started stinkin’ six weeks ago. Not your bullshit. Jason’s bullshit. Your new clean-cut, savvy-tongued, personal ass-kissing coworker. Started small. Innocent enough. Frank knows better. 

A text on your phone during dinner guy’s first week. Frank raised a brow in question, fork left hovering in front of his mouth. “Sweetheart, that guy botherin’ you?” 

You raised a brow at your screen, then your expression neutralized. You blink across the table at Frank. “Him? Oh, god, no. He’s been a breath of fresh air.” 

…Breath of fresh air. You hear that shit? Christ. 

“New guy at work just has questions. Normal stuff.” 

“Questions can’t wait until work hours?” Frank’d asked, voice smooth through the lurch of instinct in his chest. 

“Eh, he’s… trying,” you reason, “to get up to speed. You know how it goes being new.” 

No. No, he doesn’t.

Then the phone calls. He ain’t even subtle.

You walked in the apartment humming acknowledgment, phone sandwiched between your shoulder and cheek while someone else gabbed. When you did answer, it was respectful. Tasteful, nothin’ out of the ordinary. That amicable professionalism Frank dotes on, hearin’ you talk all smart, talk your shop. You’d chime in, small cues you were home. Polite excuses to get off the call. Didn’t work. 

Frank cornered you against the countertop, hands planted on either side so his barrage of affection was inescapable. Soundless, you laughed, squirming in the cage of him as Frank nipped your neck, kissed your jaw, muttered nothings about gettin’ you a bath ready, askin’ if you taste as good as you smell, pressin’ about your day… so when you didn’t reciprocate… when you—still laughin’, still smilin’—turned away to give attention to the damn phone call… Frank knew exactly who stole your attention, knowin’ damn well you’re home. And it pissed him the fuck off. Not pissed at you. Christ, no. Never you, his sweet angel. Pissed the fuck off at the guy callin’ a married woman—Frank’s girl—after hours, keepin’ you on the phone ‘about work’ until night came around and Frank suggested, in good nature, you needed sleep.

Frank didn’t sleep much that night. When he did? He dreamt about reachin’ through the receiver to crush Jason’s windpipe.

The double-doors unlatching retrieves Frank from his thoughts. Automatic, he sits straight, heart stuttering the second he sees you walking out into the night rain. Wind catches your hair, tugs your jacket, but when you look up through the needles of rain? See him there, the van? Jesus, he’s gone. Delight lifts you up. Puts a skip in your step, literally. You beam. Smile. Wave like you ain’t seen him in weeks even though he kissed you goodbye that same morning. 

Frank rolls the window the rest of the way down. Leans out the side, elbow hooked out, squinting against the weather. Gives a whistle, looow’n slow, goddamn obnoxious as the commoners settle and the city comes to life with rats. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Frank calls across the lot. “Need a ride, huh?” 

You laugh, keeled a bit, shoes staggering a step. God, that sound fucks with a man’s common sense. “Yeah!” You call back, playing into it. “I need a ride. You got a seat?” 

“Yeah, princess, I got a seat alright. Wanna learn how t’drive this bad boy, huh?” 

“Frank,” you shout back, weak from laughter, “it’s an automatic transmission.” 

“Sweetheart, you’re supposed t’play along, not use that beautiful brain ‘a yours.” 

You dash the rest of the way with a wild grin. 

Frank reaches over and pushes your door open so you can barrel in. 

You do. 

The van rocks as you catapult yourself into Frank, lips crashing into his. Your mouth’s cold on his, sweet from whatever you were drinkin’, soft from the chapstick you can’t survive without. 

Frank knows he won’t make it into Heaven, but god damn you taste like it. 

Breathlessly sweet, you pull back first, an arm hooked around Frank’s neck as best you can in the confined space. You nudge your nose against his, cold to warm, heart tripping as the best part of your day nears. “Chai latte time?” 

“Hell yeah, baby,” Frank rumbles, his hand splayed over the entirety of your lower back. “Chai latte time.” 

“Yes!” And after another quick, planted kiss of appreciation that conjures a groan in his throat, you plop back into your seat. 

But as Frank shifts the van into drive, foot on the brake, he feels your excitement diminish. Craning his head over, he sees you—his girl—a wry smile, a hand on your stomach like you’re full. 

“Well…” you start, “maybe a… decaf for me.” 

Frank gawks. “You feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” Pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “They workin’ you too much in there, huh?” 

You breathe a dismissive laugh, guiding his hand down. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Promise.” You tip your head against the seat, smile all soft. “I had a chai already. I don’t think I need anymore caffeine before bed.” 

You. Already had a chai. From somewhere in the vicinity. Frank blinks. You hate the chai’s in the vicinity. Frank specifically drives you twenty minutes outside of town to get the chai you like. Every damn night, Monday through Friday, rain or shine. Before he can get the question out, you answer. 

“Jason and I got called out for a meeting on the other side of town. He must’ve remembered I mentioned you and I go there every night after work, that it’s our thing. It was on the way back,” you explain. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.” 

Frank. sees. double. Knee-jerk reaction, Frank double-stomps the brake, his stun moving the truck. Guy drives a married woman to the place she shares with her husband, buyin’ the same fuckin’ drink he gets her every night? Guy buys the married girl the drink before her husband can—that’s the bullshit. It fuckin’ reeks. 

You shift, sensing the fizzling tension radiating from Frank. “…What?” you ask, quiet, like anything too loud’s illicit. 

Low, a promise to make it known: “He know you’re married?” 

Brows knotted, then lifting up, you waggle your hand at him, ring catching in the distant streetlamp light. “You made it pretty hard to miss, Frank.” You pause, eyes narrowing as you study him; the impossible person you’ve managed to learn, love, and keep. “…Why?” 

“He ain’t actin’ like you’re married.” 

“What?” You sit forward, knees angled towards him. “That’s ridiculous. He’s just a nice guy, trying to make friends. He does these things for everyone.” 

“Work ain’t f’friends.” Frank immediately hates saying it, regrets the low-drip of spite that’s got you tensin’ your shoulders, face twisting in pure confusion. 

“Frank…” your tone to reason. 

Here’s the problem: ya don’t see it. 

Rain pelts the windshield. Heavy, angry spit from the sky. 

He shakes his head, almost… solemn. “Don’t get it, sweetheart, do ya?”

“Get what?” With a red-mottled face, panic bouncing in your veins. “I’m so confused here, Frankie. I don’t- I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be getting.” 

Frank leans an arm on the center console. Waves you in close with his other hand. 

Like the two of you are magnetized, you follow, leaning your chin in his palm, your eyes searching between the both of his for answers. For clarity. 

“Baby…” Frank drops his voice the way he does when he needs understanding without proof. It’s a big ask. Frank knows. Frank knows you trust him, too. And you know—trust—Frank won’t lead you in the wrong direction. 

The rough pad of his thumb slides slow strokes over your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours. “Guy ain’t doin’ this shit for the right reasons,” Frank says. “Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause he’s nice, or-or tryna make friends. Nah. Guy knows exactly what he’s doin’. He’s tryna weasel his way t’ya. Playin’ nice, playin’ dirty, yeah? Guys ain’t nice t’pretty ladies f’the hell of it. He ain’t a good guy.” 

Your lashes falter as you process, mouth circled in disbelief. Wind howls through the seams of the truck, nullifying the silence. “You’re… deducing that from what…? A tea?” 

“Everything. The texts. Calls. Keepin’ you late at work. Buyin’ you shit like that, yeah?” 

“No—” your head glitches a shake, hesitant at first. “No. That’s not it at all, Frank, oh my god. That’s- that’s ridiculous.” 

Thunder roars like distant bombs. Lightning draws a jagged white fissure through the sky. 

Frank grimaces, pressing his mouth into line. “Ain’t ridiculous. It’s right, sweetheart. You need t’stay away from that guy, you hear me? Away, before he does somethin’ I really don’t like. You need me t’talk to him, huh? Give a gentle nudge?” 

“Approach Jason and threaten him over work and tea?” You shake your head, exasperated by being in the middle of such absurdity. Ferocity of your truth—the false belief you’re never enough—in your eyes, you pin Frank’s stare. “You have nothing to worry about. I have nothing to worry about.” 

“Yeah?” His brows lift in a goad. “Why’s that, huh?” 

“Because I’m not spec—”

Your phone cries and vibrates on the dash like a wasp. 

You startle, eyes snapping to the phone. 

Franks clocks it with a vile glare. 

The air constricts; a noose around both your necks. 

The name?

Jason. 

You hesitate, heart in your throat, stomach an empty pit. 

Jaw pulsing, expression empty—the preamble to violence against another man—Frank stares out the windshield with darting eyes. For five long seconds, you don’t see Frank. You see The Punisher. You see what man’s capable of, if pushed too far; if what’s his is threatened. 

Eyes on Frank, you slink your arm out to silence the call. 

Softer, barely a whisper, you say, “Neither of us has anything to worry about, okay? I’m not special—”

“Bullshit.” 

The phone clicks to black. 

“It’s not bullshit, it’s true. You don’t have to blow smoke up my ass like I’m not the most average person you’ve met,” you bubble an incredulous, pained laugh.

“Bull-shit.” Frank argues, twisting to drill his truth—the truth—into you, head-on. “Don’t you ever say that shit ‘bout yourself, sweetheart, you’re the—”

A second time. Your phone buzzes a frenzy, incessant and disruptive, deafening in the space between you and Frank. Goosebumps race up your arms, like an augury to what’s to come. Not now, but later. 

“I- I need to answer that,” you say, voice thin. 

Reluctant, at a loss, Frank throws a nod at it. 

You swipe to answer, phone to your ear with a tight, “Hello?”

Frantic nonsense on the other end. Nothin’ Frank can hear. He can, though, feel your anxiety spike. An innate sense tailored to you, Frank slowly turns his head in your direction. Watches you pale, fear zigzagging your eyes. 

There’s no fight in him when you’re lookin’ like this. Impatient for answers but quiet, Frank leans over the console. One big hand kneads over your thigh, keepin’ you here, with him. Whatever it is—you ain’t alone. Not with Frank around. 

“Oh my god,” your gasp wanes to a halt, eyes round with shock. “Oh-oh my god. Okay! Okay, yes. Yes, l’ll be right there! Just- just give me a few. Okay? Yep. Yes. Bye.” 

Click. 

The phone slides from your ear. You don’t even realize it’s dropping until Frank grabs it. Sets it in your lap. Kneads a little firmer into you. 

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” Dumb question, but he needs to pull you back into focus. 

“Um— uh-ha… no.”

Frank braces, steady inhale through his nose. “Talk t’me.”

“We, uh- Me and- yeah. We have a presentation tomorrow. Like— big presentation, Frank. Like, could be a promotion and a raise big.” 

“Yeah, alright. I remember, baby. What about it?” Kneading, kneading, kneading. Here for you. All of you. Always you. 

Your hands steeple at your mouth to keep the bile gone. “It’s gone. Our system crashed during backup. Frank— it’s all gone.” 

“Fuck, sweetheart—”

You bolt to action, scrambling for your things. “I’ve- I’ve gotta go back in. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry, Frank, but I have to. This is one of our highest priority clients I cannot fuck this up. This- this cannot be happening.”

You fly outta the car after smearing a distracted kiss to Frank’s cheek. You don’t hear him ask you to wait. Or call your name. Rain and thunder drown him out; an army of one muted by mother nature and some motherfucker named Jason. 

You sprint for the door, swinging it open and a flood of sallow office light spills out, haloing you. 

Through the rain, the heaviness in your gut, the scorching of your throat, you yell out: “I love you!” 

And the door slams shut behind you, separating you from Frank once again. 

Quiet’s got a way of gettin’ in the skin when business’s left unfinished. 

Left things unfinished with you. 

Frank’s got a few rules. One of the first: fix the fuckin’ problem. 

‘Cause you never know when it’ll be your last chance to. 

Frank’s eyes track the empty parking lot. 

Finds a sedan there. One with plates Frank’s memorized. 

Jason’s.

Bastard never left. 

And now he’s got you for the night.

Frank snags his phone from his pocket. Thumbs a number without looking. Three rings—an answer. 

“Yello?” David answers in a chuckled hum. “Fraaaaank. Long time no talk, big guy. What’s up? How’s it goin’?” 

“Need a favor,” Frank grits. 

Micro scoffs, “Hello to you too… The family’s great, thanks for asking. Kids’re doing good in school, Sarah has totally forgot about that kiss…”

“Jesus Christ, Micro. Need you to check a file f’me.” 

“Dude, it’s dinner time… Sarah made this Mediterranean sala—”

“Salad. Great. Won’t get cold while you check this fuckin’ file f’me.” 

“Okay, so I’m sensing I don’t really have a choice here, did I nail that vibe?”  

“Right on, genius.” 

With a sigh, grumbled huffs, a muffled excuse to Sarah, Frank hears Micro retreating. Laptop opens. Fingers flying over the keyboard. 

“Okay, alright, here weeee go…” Micro says, computer light throwing blue over his face. “Company name?”

Frank gives it. 

“File type?”

“Fuck, I dunno? PowerPoint?” 

“Sheesh, ancient, okay. Who uses PowerPoint these days?” 

“It’s- it’s a goddamn presentation, David. Deleted in the last half hour. Can you find it or not?” 

“Frank. I’m offended you even asked.” A hand over his chest to stop the hurt. 

“Christ.” 

Clack clack clack. 

“Okay… okay… breaking the firewall… okay… system override, easy… Like, concerningly easy, Jesus…” 

Frank bounces a leg. Drums a hand on the wheel. 

“Aaaaaand… here… I think… Found it!” 

Stock-still, back straight, Frank stares at the building, the door you vanished behind. “How was the file deleted?”

“Uhhh… Manually. Frank, what is this? Promise me this isn’t another government database I’m cracking because y’know, I’m home now—”

“Goddamnit, Micro, the username. What the hell is it?” 

“Jason underscore Caldwell. You, uh… you know the guy? Another one of your… targets?”

“Worse,” Frank’s nostrils flare. “Guy’s fuckin’ with my wife.” 

☠︎

That night… 

It’s late. Regrettably late, and that always seems to be when the thoughts trickle in. Slow at first, and you don’t realize you’re drowning until you can’t breathe. 

Tucked away in the privacy of the bathroom, you lean into the mirror. You bat the facet on so the sink disguises your dissection, muffles Frank tossing and turning in bed. Hips bent against the counter, your forehead an inch from the glass so you can magnify and inspect every conceivable flaw. 

Your fingertips shake as they ghost under your eye. Thread-thin lines on the delicate skin only you can see. And then across your cheek, your head angling with the motion, over the dots of pores everyone’s made of, but you never see theirs. Only yours. Your hair could be better. Your nose could be different. You manipulate your skin with your fingers, experimenting to see how you’d look if your eyes were just… like this. Or if your nose was like that… Or if your eyebrows sat here, instead of there. Just… making yourself into a puppet instead of a person. 

You don’t… you don’t understand… 

Who could love this? Who would want this? Why does Frank? Let alone, for someone else to be interested enough to prod at your marriage when there’s plenty of other available women out there. There’s always smarter, prettier, better. 

Frank’s words recite in your head from earlier. 

“Guys ain’t nice t’pretty ladies f’the hell of it.”

“He ain’t a good guy.”

“You need t’stay away from that guy, you hear me? Away.”

You scoff at his certainty, the mere idea flushing your face because it hurts to consider. It fucking hurts to look at yourself and see an imposter instead of this divine concept of you Frank has.

Turning away from the mirror, your eyes squeeze to shut out the thoughts, you smack the lights off. Safety in darkness; comfort in the blindness. Once you have the shower running, you bat off the sink. Constant noise, anything but the grating static of inadequacy. You shrug out of your cardigan. It falls to the ground in a heap; shed skin, but it doesn’t slough off the fraud. 

Everything you’ve built… it’s just luck, right? Your job. Your education. Your friendships…Your marriage. And all luck runs out eventually. What happens when they see you?

The real you. 

What do you do when… it all comes crashing down? When they see you’re just… you? 

A soft knock at the door startles you. Your gasp lodges in your throat against raw flesh. 

“Sweetheart?” Frank asks, voice low and husky from sleep he hasn’t had. 

“Just—” you clear the snag in your voice. “Just a second.” 

You wipe the backs of your hands under your nose, shake the rotting guilt from your face, and pick the mask back up to maintain nonchalance.

A second is what Frank gives. 

With a creak, the door opens. 

Heavy shuffled steps follow, then pause in the doorway when he clocks the total darkness here, and in the bedroom behind him. Still, you can see his towering silhouette, something carved from mythology and given sentience. 

Bare, broad shoulders, the sharp slant of his trapezius. 

“You, uh…” Frank huffs a chuckle, no humor in it. “You good? Seein’ alright in the dark?” 

In your tank and slacks, in the dark where it’s safe, you lean back against the counter, hands grasping the ledge. “I’m… okay.” 

It convinces neither of you. 

“Need some sleep, yeah? Got your clothes in the dryer.” 

Your arms cinch around yourself, holding together the shaking pieces, wondering if this is the night they all break. He’s… so sweet. Frank. Always. Thoughtful in ways you’ve never been loved before. Considerate to the extent that the only fear you live in is when he’ll realize you aren’t worth all this. 

You log every single example of how Frank loves you, nausea souring your stomach because it’s overwhelming and beautiful and unconditional. 

he drives you to and from work, every damn day 

every damn day, your chai tea Except… except today… 

you never go to the grocery store alone 

you never lift a finger unless you ask to do it yourself, or ask to learn the task with him 

holds you while you cry, even cups a tissue under your nose and tells you to “blow” after

has never made you feel unsafe 

loves you unconditionally, indefinitely

warms your clothes in the dryer 

there’s always an electrolyte water in your lunchbox, something you forget, but Frank never does 

You don’t even realize you haven’t said anything until Frank’s hand is on your waist, guiding you into him, asylum from your mind. Out of touch with your body, you shuffle in automatic steps. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head’a yours, huh? C’mere.” Before he can settle you against his chest, you halt. 

“Why?” You finally spurt out, disgust spoiling the one question you haven’t been able to answer after all the years. 

Against the dark, his head cranes, his fingertips curling your tank-top where you’re just out of reach. “Why, what?”

Steam compresses the air, humidity stifling—nowhere to run, nowhere to breathe. Everything you hold back sears your throat, veins in your head swelling with pending implosion. “Why… me?” 

Needing the light to see the repulsion in your voice, Frank flicks on the overhead bulb. 

You recoil as though the light scorches. 

There, in the light, he sees you. All of you. The prey animal darting of your bloodshot eyes. Deep lines of worry trekking through your face. The goddamn sincerity from which your question came, bowing your shoulders in, shrinking your spine. 

Frank narrows his eyes on you, certainty cemented in every bone in his face. “‘Cause there’s only you.” Gritty fact coming out between his teeth, tendons in his neck standing. “Only you. Always you. You and me, sweetheart? We got somethin’ no one else does. We got this, yeah?” Gesturing his finger between you two. “This. Us. You and me.” 

Biting back tears, your skin crawling with your desperation to leave it, you squeak out, “I hate when we fight. Earlier,” you swallow around the lump in your throat. “I hated that.” 

He softens, eyes opening to mirror your vulnerability, looking a helluva lot like the foot of distance between you hurts him. “Hell,” he rasps, “wouldn’t call that a fight. Just me. Lookin’ out f’you. Same shit. Always gonna look out f’you, even if you don’t like hearin’ it.” 

“I don’t like hearing it because it’s not true. Plain and simple. I don’t get why you think Jason’s after me.” You bubble an unconvinced laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth to stop it. “I don’t even understand why you’re with me. You could do so much better, Frank.”

A loaded silence perforates the air, bleeding out something ugly, something broken from Frank. Tension ratchets up his shoulders, and self-control shoves them down. A dry, empty swallow tugs his adam’s apple. 

The anticipation is anger. 

The reality is worse. 

It’s heartbreak. 

The water’s gone cold. Steam dries up, leaving an empty chill in its wake. Just the patter of the water, amplifying the chasmic space separating you from him. 

“…The hell did you just say?” Frank croaks out, his brows jutting up. “Better? Than you? There ain’t no better. There ain’t anyone else. There’s nothin’—I’m nothin’—without you, goddamn it. You?” One shake goes through the finger he points at you. “You fuckin’ saved me, sweetheart.” 

It’s heartbreak. 

It’s grief. 

It’s thanks. 

Your eyes crawl from the tip of his finger, up the corded veins in his forearm, and flick a fleeting glance to his eyes. God, does it ruin you. The anguish in his stare, so pure you wonder if what you said is form a torture for Frank. 

Goosebumps cover your arms, and you drag your cold, clammy palms over the skin to intimate comfort, but there’s no sensation. It only feels like you’re rubbing filth onto yourself, grabbed straight out of the oxygen you used for those words. 

“That’s not true,” you try to argue, but the words hold no faith. Small. You feel small. And like the rotten parts of you are being seen. And seeing those parts… that means leaving, doesn’t it? It’ll mean Frank’s had enough. He’ll realize what you are, what you’ve always been. 

“Yeah?” Frank grates his hand over his mouth like he needs to get rid of the urge to vomit, his eyes jittering with loss. “It’s my damn truth.” 

And just like you expect— Frank leaves. 

You stuff your fist in your mouth to keep a sob from punching out, and swing for the shower handle to cut the fucking noise out. 

And with the shower severed, there is… nothing. Grotesque proof you’ve always been right. You’re nothing special. And someday? Frank will leave. Frank is leaving. 

Before the silence makes a home in yours, a new noise takes its place. One that startles you, something wooden clattering together rooms away. Almost sounds like… the kitchen table…? 

Answering your question, proving you wrong, Frank reappears. Shirtless, grumbling curses, knocking one of the kitchen chairs through the doorway of the bathroom. 

“Frank! What’re you doing!?” 

Dropping the chair down in front of the mirror is his response. Knuckles tented white over the back of the chair, Frank stands angled partially towards you. He jerks his head, summoning you. Shallow breath contracts the muscles in his chest, the ridges of his abdomen. Everything about him screams bridled rage, but he says nothing. 

“Sit,” he says, voice cracked low. 

Your eyes slide from Frank… to the chair… back to Frank… “You want me to—?”

“Sit. Yeah.” 

“Wh—?”

With the curt wave of his hand, Frank ends the follow up question. 

Okay. No more questions. No more excuses. On the balls of your feet, you move in soundlessly until you perch in the chair, drawing your legs up to cross on the seat with you. You don’t look at the mirror. You can’t. Clearing your throat, your chin on your shoulder to be near Frank without looking, your whisper comes strained, tight. “What am I doing in our kitchen chair in the bathroom at two in the morning, Frank?” 

“Somethin’ I shoulda done a long time ago.” 

Frank towers from behind, heat pouring off his body and into your back. His hands cover your shoulders, his focus on the mirror, your reluctant reflection in it. Beautiful, he thinks, my perfect girl. If only you could see it. He moves a hand to cup your chin. Moves it ‘til you’re head’s straight, ‘til you’ve got no other choice but the face the person in the mirror. 

Your bottom lip wobbles. Your eyes strain sideways with your refusal to see. 

“Look,” Frank whispers, bending just enough to keep his voice a private rumble, just for you. “Look at yourself f’me, angel… C’mon.” 

It’s harder than you think. Looking yourself in the eye. Accepting the imperfections, who you are, who you are not. Because he asked, because your jaw quivers under his affection… you look. You see. You see yourself. Exhausted, disheveled from the day, half-dressed, fully embarrassed. His thumb skims your cheek, then skates down the curve of your neck to plant back on your shoulder. 

“There she is…” Frank’s rough cheer, a twitch at his mouth like he might smile. Frank doesn’t smile much, but the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

Eyes, after all, are the window to the soul. 

“There’s my girl.” 

A quick, unfiltered laugh barks out of you. This is ridiculous. You press the back of your hand to your mouth, shielding the dark flush over your face. Nerves bounce your leg. “I’m here,” you shake your head. “Now what?” 

“Now, sweetheart, we’re gonna get those thoughts outta your head and keep ‘em gone.” An unsettling solemnity takes his face, his instruction inarguable. “You’re gonna sit here, with me, ‘til you say fifteen nice things ‘bout yourself, yeah? You and me both. No bullshittin’ me. No half-assed answers, you got me?” 

“Frank, I—”

“Uh-uh. Ain’t playin’, sweetheart. We’ll sit here all damn night if we got to.” 

Panic catches your breath, but you stay. You flick your eyes to his, looking for any chance to escape, but the lift of his brows says he’s read your mind and it’s not an option. 

“Ain’t playin’,” he reiterates, setting his shoulders back to lead. “Alright. ‘M first.” Frank draws in a slow, composing breath through his nose, head cocking. “You gotta lotta faith in people. Trust ‘em ‘cause you’re always seein’ the good.” 

Your eyes narrow, face warm. “…You usually say that’s poor survival instinct.”

“Don’t mean it ain’t special,” he shrugs a shoulder. “You won’t let the world break ya. That’s special.” 

Lips rolled in, a new perspective warm in your stomach, you look down at the interlace of your fingers as you toy with your thumbs. You nod; a thanks without words. 

“Your turn,” Frank squeezes your shoulder. 

“I…”

“In the mirror, sweetheart. Eyes on you.” 

You try again. Staring back at yourself, you expand with a steeling inhale. “I… like… my neck length…?”

“…Your neck length.” 

“Yup. Your turn?” 

“Nice try, sweetheart. Try again.” 

Your shoulders deflate, but Frank’s right there to give a little shake of encouragement. “Okay. I like……… how I show up for the people I love.” 

Frank perks, slightly, approving of the sincerity. “Atta girl…” He lifts a hand from your shoulder, big fingers instead weaving through the ends of your hair. He quiets again, expression smoothing with the gravity of confession. “You’re a saint, yeah, I think you are. Got such a big heart you need’a find room in it f’yourself.” 

The honesty—the real truth—puts you in pensive thought. Teeth grazing your bottom lip, you nod. You understand. You see it, too. Arms linking around your knees, you smoosh Frank’s hand against your cheek and shoulder to keep him. 

“Only one you,” Frank says as he leans down, planting his lips against the top of your head, breathing you in so his world keeps turning. “That’s what makes you so goddamn special. Makes an ass like me so goddamn lucky.” 

Throat constricting, tears full but balanced in your eyes, you push out the words, “I love you, Frank,” and the man you love smiles. 

“Love you more, sweet girl. Ain’t off the hook yet, though. Fourteen more, c’mon.”

And as you conjure up fourteen more things you can say you like about yourself, your posture straightens. Laughter returns, shared between the two of you. Tears well in your eyes but don’t fall. The first one was the hardest. The rest you find with Frank’s help while he threads his fingers through your hair, or drags the back of his knuckles over your cheek, or brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. 

You’re talkin’. Laughin’. Finally cuttin’ yourself some slack. Seein’ you like this—soft, unguarded—reminds Frank what he first fell in love with when he met you. 

Your heart. 

Your goddamn heart. Got so much you’re full of it. 

Frank understands what needs to be done. He’ll do it. Without a doubt. 

He’ll put the fear of god into the motherfucker that preys on your doubts, your heart, under the guise of kindness. Usin’ his wife’s goddamn sweetness to manipulate her. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s got all the time in the world. 

Time’s fuckin’ up. 

☠︎

3 days later…

Shark to blood, Frank stalks the maze of halls to your office. Black on black, ballcap cinched down, he cuts through the normality of business casual and overhead lights like plague. 

In reality? 

He’s the fuckin’ omen. 

Fist vising a fresh bouquet of flowers, the cellophane crinkles. A stalk snaps. Boots thunder down the corridors he memorized first structurally, by blueprint, then physically, during his first visit years ago. Your colleagues flatten against walls, find convenient exits, avert their eyes—anything to be small in the presence of The Punisher. They don’t know it’s him… but they feel it, the conquest for blood, the irrefutability of his violent nature. 

Frank did his homework weeks ago. Soon as the bastard got hired, Frank had a full background check, credit scores, past addresses, and medical history. Poor bastard’s got scoliosis—no wonder he employs sick tactics on a sweet girl like you. Guy’s got no damn spine. Frank’ll reshape it, alright. 

The hall empties out by the time Frank approaches your office. He slows, head craning to see you through the open door as you work. Sunlight from the new picture windows soaks you ‘til you glow gold. You mutter to yourself, movin’ here, movin’ there, unpacking trinkets from a box to arrange just how you like it in your new office. 

Promotion paid off. You earned every bit of it. ‘Specially when your breath of fresh air wiped your fuckin’ work. Frank’s not told you that. Won’t let you carry that hurt when he can handle it. 

Without a sound, Frank leans a shoulder against the doorway. Flowers hang at his side. Temporarily? He forgets the real reason he came. It’s you. ‘Course it’s you. But it ain’t this. Flowers.

He came for Jason. 

Frank’s the kinda guy who mistakes warm and fuzzy for heartburn. He gets alotta heartburn around you. 

Turns into a full blown coronary as he watches you dip both hands into the box, takin’ somethin’ in those gentle fingers like it’s priceless. You lift it out, and Christ, he’s done for. 

Front and center on your desk, you nestle a framed photo between your monitors. The picture?

You and him. Years ago. Halloween. Hours after Frank got back, beaten only a quarter of the way dead this time. You sat between his legs on the front steps of your apartment, handin’ out candy to kids. Frank gave you relentless hell for your costume, a damn scarecrow. 

When a kid asked Frank, “What’re you dressed as, mister?”

And Frank said, “An asshole,” without blinking, he’ll never forget the way you laughed. 

You, stupidly adorable makeshift scarecrow costume. Paint on your nose, cheeks. Cheeks puffed in the biggest smile known to man. 

Him, busted mouth crooking what it could of a smile he forgot how to make. Reminds himself of the goal he’s not yet shared: get away from the life. Retire. No more busted lips in pictures. No more bruises to come home and concern you with. No more holidays spent dressin’ his wounds. 

Masking the aspirating blast of love tightening his voice, recalibrating to the mission instead of reminiscing, Frank speaks. “Workin’ hard, sweetheart? Or hardly workin’?”

Hearing Frank’s voice—familiar rumbly gravel—sparks through every nerve in your system to liven you. You spin on a heel, face breaking into a wide smile, big smile. You’re dashing to him before you realize, drawn naturally. 

“Frank? Oh my god, hi,” your arms already winding around him waist, pressing your face against his chest to feel the steady thud, thud, thud of his heart. Your safe place. Your home. “What— I wasn’t expecting you,” with a breathy laugh. “What’re you doing here?” 

“Congratulatin’ my girl, yeah?” He binds his arms around you. Gives a loving nudge of his stubbled chin on your forehead to ease you back, get access, and find your mouth with his. 

Lifted on your tiptoes, your weight braced by Frank’s forearm banded across your lower back, you tip your head to get a better taste. Lips slotted deeper—easy to blame your excitement on the surprise—you hum a sound Frank laps off your mouth. 

You want seconds. You consider seconds, delight teetering to greedy, so you compromise with two pecks and pull back to look him in the eye. Hands on his biceps for support, head tilted back so your lashes fan your eyebrow, you beam up at him. 

“Damn,” Frank blinks, halfway disoriented. “I get that every time I bring flowers?”

“Stop by more often and you’ll find out.”

“Yeah? Gonna let me in, give me a tour?” 

“Maybe more than a tour, if you’re lucky.”

“Luck’s drawn to me like flies on shit.”

You snort. “…Right.”

Separating a fraction, Frank offers the flowers to you in the space between his chest. Your eyes fall to them, face softening. Gentle with appreciation, over the bundle of white lilies, you press another kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” you murmur against him. “These are beautiful. For being a hard ass, you’re kinda romantic, Frank.“ 

“Romantic, huh?” Frank watches the shape of your body as you go to tend to the flowers. “Can’t let you get used t’that.”

“Too late.” You flash a small smile in his direction, acknowledging what you both know: Frank’s not romantic in the big ways, but he loves you so much weaker men would’ve gone stupid. 

While you cut the stems over the wastebasket, Frank performs a simple recon of the room. Finds evidence of his target. A blazer thrown over the back of a chair. A half-drank coffee. Sloppy handwriting over an abandoned notepad. 

“Your friend here?” Frank asks, anything but innocent. 

Snip. Snip. You glance at him with a raised brow. “Stephanie?” 

“Nah.” Frank points at the notebook. “Him.” 

Sn…ip… Skepticism setting in, your nose scrunches. “…Jason?” 

“Yeah. Him. He around?”

“Does it matter?” 

“Figured I should meet the guy spendin’ forty hours a week up my wife’s ass.”

You shoot a glare, lacking any real depth. “…He’s gone for the day.”

“And left his shit in here like this?” Frank wants to say he’s an inconsiderate slob. Frank refrains from pointin’ out the guy’s makin’ himself at home in your space. 

“It’s three things,” you quirk a brow. “Not a big deal.”

“He gonna be back tomorrow?” 

“We have a meeting at nine a.m. sharp, so I’m gonna hope so.”

“Good,” Frank concludes, satisfied. That works, too. 

Stalks trimmed, you arrange the lilies in a vase, fingers hanging on the glass rim when you’re finished. “Forget about him,” you shake your head. “You’re here, visiting me, it’s just the two of us, and you definitely made my day. I couldn’t be happier right now, Frank.” 

“Yeah?” Something rare and short-lived flashes in his eyes; the look where he’s still trying to believe this—you—are his. “Guess I did my job.” With the heel of his boot, he knocks the door shut. Prowls the rest of the way to you, his hands at home on your hips to draw you right up against him. 

Your arms snake around his neck, melting into the solidity of Frank. By the bill, you ease his hat off, seeing him in the full, natural light of the windows behind you. Hat in your hands, his head bent, you reach up and kiss the crook of his nose. And again, on the bridge. And again, on the tip. And falling lower, to his mouth. 

There’s no tentative introduction. Not when your arms buckle around him and jerk him closer. Not when his mouth opens, inseparable from you, to taste the seam of your lips. You hiccup something dangerously close to a moan, stifled by the palm that cups your jaw, the big fingers that press into either side of your cheeks to lightly mush your lips. 

“‘Bout to start somethin’ we won’t be able to walk away from,” Frank goads on your mouth, voice reduced to hot husk and need. 

Upper lip twitching, your teeth clink against his. “Can’t get my outfit dirty. I’ve got a presentation in twenty.” 

“All’s I need’s ten.” 

“…To finish?” 

“You.” Boot hooked around the chair leg, Frank yanks it over. Drops down into it, knees spread wide. Looking up at you, his stare inevitable and dark, Frank pats his thigh. “Sit. Wanna show you how good the city can look from up here.” 

You forget everything—especially the presentation in twenty—while you overlook the city in your new office, on your husband’s lap, his hand between your legs and the other over your mouth, his boots hooking your ankles open.

You forget about the flowers on display in your desk. Frank communicates through the flowers he buys. You should’ve known. Should’ve read into it more. But you didn’t. 

A harbinger in the form of velvet petals and the color of purity, specifically picked by Frank: the lilies. 

The funeral flower. 

☠︎

That night…

Wasn’t anything unusual when you texted Frank that afternoon with a change of plans: 

Going out for drinks after work! Stephanie’s driving me there. Pick me up after? Come a little early to help stage my escape and we can go somewhere else to have a few together. Xoxoxo 

Frank replied:

I’ll be there, sweetheart. Count on it. 

So he was. 

Bar stinks. Smells like fuckin’ shit. Not actual shit. Bullshit—worst kind. Full moon’s got people squirrelly. Has Frank on edge. 

Tucked on the other side of the room, corner high top, Frank monitors you from afar. Won’t interrupt your time out. Doesn’t like people much, anyway. Sipping his beer, bottle small in his grasp, Frank clocks the faces he knows from your work, watches every interaction. Even if he hasn’t met ‘em, he’s done his homework. Has faces to names, street addresses, registered vehicles. Five coworkers with you, and a sixth, unattended drink beside you. 

Who could that be? 

The rock in Frank’s gut says he knows. Says it’s divine intervention, givin’ him an opportunity. A gift. Wonders if Red’d see it that way, too. 

Fuck, sweetheart, you glow under the shitty neon lights and grimy haze of smoke. Too damn pretty for a place like this. Kinda place where if you go out back? You’ll get gutted while a handful of bikers smoke and it’s your own fault for havin’ the balls. 

Feeling Frank’s stare, you look through the crowd, finding him at his usual post. You lift your glass. Frank lifts his. A salutation from a distance, a promise for more time together later in a cheers, a sip, and a smile. 

You go back to your friends. 

Frank resumes guard, ensuring your safety, so you can focus on enjoying yourself. 

Turning back to the bar, the animated chatter of tipsy talking, inebriated laughter, you feel… good. Happy. Elbows on the sticky counter, the vodka soda in both hands, you smile. Content now, knowing later promises the best kind of fun, but it’s just you, Frank, and the entire night. 

You don’t have long to indulge in the thoughts. Jason sidles back up beside you, his shoulder pressing against yours in the congested room. He smells like aftershave, smells good, honestly, not in a hungry way, just respectable. He smells like he tried. 

“Everything go okay at your doctor’s appointment?” you ask, nudging at the reason he left the office early today. 

“Doctor’s appointment?” Jason fires back before he realizes. “Oh, right. Yeah, definitely. Doctor’s appointment went good, went well… Just… routine.” 

You hum, nod along, but as you look at his profile—conversational attention—you notice the clean clipper passes through his hair. And then at his jaw, the skin faintly red, leftover friction of a razor blade. So he… went to the doctor… got a haircut… shaved… and then you notice his clothes… Dark dress jeans, a fitted quarter-zip. Jason’s not a bad looking guy, but he’s definitely not your type either. Too clean, too concerned with gaining, obtaining instead of sharing or supporting. Talks a little too much about crap he can convince you knows a lot about, even if he knows nothing. Helps him at work, and he knows it. 

“I hope I’m not prying here, surely you won’t mind me asking…” Jason says, not asking permission, taking it anyway. He faces you completely, elbow on the bar. He looks down, thumbing the rim of his old fashioned, pensive as an act. “Is your husband… good to you?” 

Almost swallowing your straw, you spit it out in a stuttered cough, brows over your head. “What?” 

“You seem really… tense all the time. You said yourself, he’s intense.” 

You bubble a genuine, incredulous laugh. “My husband’s not the problem. He’s intense, sure, but that’s not a downfall.” 

“It is if you’re distracted and uneasy.” 

“I’m— what?” you belt out, face screwed. It’s the first you’re hearing about being distracted, uneasy, or tense. “I’m at work. We have deadlines, high stakes, high pressure. Home isn’t the problem.” 

Jason draws a clicking breath between his teeth, as if he knew you’d say that, and you’re still wrong. Kind, compassionate, even, he looks at you with enough sympathy to drown you. 

“I think for you, work’s a break. I’m just looking out for you, definitely not trying to be the bad guy here, you know I’d never do that,” Jason raises his hands to claim innocence. “What I’m trying to say is… you deserve someone… nice.”

“Like you?” you prompt, heart thrumming with Frank’s accusation from days ago. 

Jason shrugs, biting back a smirk since you said it. “Something for you to think about. I mean, look at all the time we spend together. Calls, staying later than we have to in the office… I know you, I see you in those quiet moments.” 

Bewildered by the audacity, brain turning the words over multiple times as you put together a rebuttal. “You call me, Jason. You- you have questions, need help on a sheet… I answer and stay because I’m supposed to. It’s called being a good coworker, not attraction.” 

“But you answer. Every time. And you never tell me you have to go. You stay on the line, stay in the office… with me. What’s that say about you? Your marriage?” Jason gauges your reaction. Pushes harder. “What’s the say about us?” 

Jaw hanging, your mind races to the last long call you had with Jason. That night Frank cornered you at the counter, kissing and biting your neck, your jaw, trying to coax your attention to home, to him. You told Jason you were home. You vocalized polite deflections that hinted the conversation needed to end. But… this is where being polite got you, stuck with the ideas of yourself you continuously reject, watching them come to fruition. You resist the urge to yell for Frank. You know, desperately, Frank can make the problems go away, remove you from this equation, but Frank can’t fight all of your battles for you. 

“You,” you say, cocking a hip out, your jaw jutted. “You need to learn your place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go to the bathroom, and when I come back? This never happened, and it will never happen again. Are we clear?” 

Giving him no time to respond—the only answer is yes—you storm off. Shoulder through the crowd, and close yourself in the bathroom to cool down. 

Frank watched the whole thing. Waited for you to give the signal. The: Frank, I need you over here signal. You never did. You wanted to handle it on your own. Alright. Frank respects that. Admires it. But seein’ you walk off like that? Shit. No stayin’ out of it now. 

No stayin’ out of it when…

At the bar, Jason rummages in his pocket, hands trembling with urgency. Pulls out a baggie, small, coke-sized. No coke in it. Just five peach, oblong tablets.

Violent inspiration for Frank. 

Jason digs a finger in the baggie. Scoops out two pills. Drops a third on the floor with a hissed curse, fumbling for it. 

Sockets yank loose in Frank’s head, vision going red. Tendons cable through his neck, breath ragged and shallow; an animal without a leash. Frank chains himself with a fist around his beer bottle, squeezing tighter. 

If that pill goes into your fuckin’ drink… 

Tighter. 

Frank shoulda taken this sick fuck out in his own home, do it on his turf, repaint the sonnuva bitch’s apartment with his brains. 

Tighter. The glass creaks. Whines. The bottle quakes. 

Ghosts in his palms, clear as day, Frank jolts as he feels old bones and old corpses break in his fingers. Hundreds—thousands—dismantled by the hands he uses to love you. 

The noises start. You know the ones. The guttural reeving of a man-made machine; an element of pure fucking consequence. 

Tighter. To demolish. 

The bottle explodes. Glass bursts. Beer flies. 

Jason drops two tablets into your drink. Through the swarm of people, Frank sees the drugs contaminate, spreading poison without your fuckin’ consent. 

Instinct and action converge—then explode. 

Before Jason can lower his hand, Frank tears through the masses. Not a man. A weapon. Retribution. Vengeance. Divine wrath.

The fuckin’ judge, jury, and executioner. 

Punishment. 

Pain reaching him before realization does, Jason screams. Bloodcurdling agony scratches out the music, the clamor, all fuckin’ sound. Brain catching up to the excruciating pain, the cause of it, Jason stares at the snare of his wrist. What’s left of it. Snapped back, hand hanging off the wrist, bone spearing under the skin in fractured protrusions.  

If not for the pain, it’s the sound that puts the fear of god in Jason. 

It’s Frank. 

In the span of two seconds, Frank bounces Jason’s head on the counter with a wet crack of skull, heel of his hand pinning him in place. The glass—your glass—absorbing the drug magnifies Jason’s skittering eyes, his stammering breath painting the countertop. 

“Puttin’ shit in a girl’s drink, huh?” Frank spits, smashing Jason’s head until it purples. 

Everyone gives Frank a wide berth. Whispers of The Punisher start to circulate, always do on this side of town.  

“I didn’t-! I-I-I—” Jason sputters, spittle and fear flying. 

“You DID!” Frank roars, slam, slam, slamming Jason’s head for a three count, blood sprinkling the wood. “You think I’m stupid, hm? Talkin’ to me like I’m fuckin’ stupid? You think I look stupid?” 

“No- no! No! God, no!” Anything to get off the hook. 

“Then don’t fuck with me like I’m fuckin’ stupid. Now,” Frank cages Jason in from behind, a massive hand squeezing between his cheeks to pry open his mouth. “Drink it. You were gonna feed this shit to my wife. You drink it.” 

Frank lifts the glass as Jason pounds the counter with his good hand, smearing his face in a desperate bid for escape. 

As the narcotized drink teeters the rim of the glass, ready to spill over into Jason’s pleading, incessant mouth, a voice—concerned, still sweet—cuts through the thick of it. 

Your voice. 

“F-Frank?” Legs jellied from shock, you shuffle forward, the herd parting for you. “What’s going on…?” 

Frank looks over his shoulder. Right to you. Jesus, his heart almost gives out. You. His wife. Precious, delicate, so fuckin’ good the scum of the earth tries to eat ya. Frank won’t let that happen. “Hey, sweetheart, no problem. Havin’ a civil conversation with hotshot here about human decency. Caught your breath’a fresh air spikin’ your drink, s’all.” 

A green-tinge floods your face. “Oh—? Oh… my god…” The ground beneath you swirls. A hand on your stomach to keep the vomit in, other hand curling into a fist, you grit your question through your teeth. “Why?” 

Jason huffs, all panted breath and nowhere to run. “Because,” he hisses, grunting when Frank pinches the back of his neck like scruff. “Because you’re special.” 

☠︎

Jason’s thrown into the brick wall of the back alley with a heavy slap of limp meat.

“Tell me what the fuck that was!” Frank yells, words clawed from his throat. 

Intimidation tactic, galvanic rage with nothing to do but bleed, Frank slugs his fist into the wall by Jason’s face, letting him cower and piss and beg while he feels the fury sailing an intentional centimeter off mark. 

“Fuckin’ tell me. Tell me. Tell me.” 

Bam. Bam. Bam. 

In harmony with the strike of his fist. 

The drizzle of piss on the ground’s the fucker’s first answer. 

“It- it wasn’t—” choked on his own terror, Jason tries to crawl up the wall. “It wasn’t bad! I swear! It- it wasn’t roofies or anything, just- just something to help her relax. It was just Xan—”

And with a shark to blood… there comes the frenzy. 

“You don’t decide what my wife fuckin’ needs! She’s a strong woman—“ wham, an uppercut straight into Jason’s solar plexus. “She’s fuckin’ strong. Goddamn right she’s special.” 

Blood gurgling from his mouth, Jason groans, tries to double-over. 

Tries. 

“Stand the fuck up. Ain’t finished with you,” Frank clocks him back, velocity of his punch leaving Jason damn-near crucified on the wall. “Take it like a fuckin’ man since that’s what you wanna be. Controllin’ women like that. Fuck.” 

Weak men are what’s wrong with the world.  

“She’s the only good thing I fuckin’ got. You fuckin’ hear me? Huh?” 

No reply. Just the sputtering cries of a grown man in crisis. Music to Frank’s ears. 

“I said—” Frank latches onto both of Jason’s ears. Rips. Blood gushes out as the seams start to separate. “YOU FUCKIN’ HEAR ME?” 

The shrieking says he’s heard. And felt. 

Leaves ‘em connected even if he shouldn’t. 

Frank thinks about you. His girl. Your grin over that chai latte. Your laugh in his ear late at night while you narrate a documentary on fuckin’ whales. Halloween night those years ago, same picture on your desk now. Slow dancin’ in the kitchen to your terrible music, half asleep, tucked into him like he’s safety instead of a biblical reckoning. 

And this motherfucker was gonna do only god knows what to you. 

Frank snaps back when Jason hacks up blood. 

“You stay away from her,” Frank’s fists ball in Jason’s collar, nose to nose, teeth bared as verbalized venom poisons the air. “Look me in the eye and tell me you fuckin’ hear me. Say it. Fuckin’ say it. Say: I hear you, Frank. I get you, Frank. Say: sorry I’m a stupid cunt, Frank. Say: I deserve everythin’ comin’ my way.” 

Jason recites every word, verbatim, through chattering teeth. Calls himself  a stupid cunt. Says he hears Frank, gets Frank, deserves this. 

“Are- are you gonna kill me?” Sprawled pliant on the wall, shirt catching the rough brick, reduced to a stuck hog instead of a man. 

“Yeah,” Frank says simply. “Yeah. ‘M gonna need to do that.”

And Frank unloads. 

☠︎

1 Week Later…

Sun’s hot on Frank’s back, even at seven in the morning. Sweat funnels down his back, soaking his tee. Been up before the sun digging the shit for a proper burial. Size twelve shoebox duct taped shut and off to the side. 

Grunting, Frank stakes the shovel back in the ground, adding to the mounds of fresh dirt on either side of his boots. Hole in the ground sized for a dismembered man in a garbage bag. 

Shovel leaned against his side, Frank wipes the back of his hand over his forehead. Sweat smears dirt. Looks up at the sky. Blue as can be. Bright as hell. Looks a lot like forgiveness. Or deception. Frank can’t tell these days. 

Readjusting the handle in his blistered palms, spade ready to pierce the dirt, the back door creaks open. Gets his attention. 

Frank straightens in sections of his vertebrae, squinting against the halo of sunlight around… you. 

You walk out, barefoot in the grass, sleep-soft in your pajamas yet. And you bring coffee. An angel. His angel. 

Frank lets go of a breath he didn’t know he held. “I’ll be up soon, yeah?” he calls. Doesn’t stop you. “Dirty work out here you don’t need t’see, sweetheart.” 

You ignore the advice, shuffling your way right to him on an invisible track. When you reach him, you pass a mug of coffee. 

Dirt-lined fingers clasp it by the rim, taking a generous sip through the billow of steam. “Mm,” he hums, angling from the pit in the ground and towards you instead, eyes sliding down the satin set blessing your curves. “What’re you doin’ out here, huh?” 

“Bringing you coffee. Enjoying the sun,” you sip from your own cup, eyes locked on him. 

“Ain’t complainin’.”

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” you murmur, curling into Frank’s side. 

The hole in front of you two. But it doesn’t bother you. Maybe it should, but… it doesn’t. Not how you thought it might. 

Frank leans down. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. Drapes an arm over your shoulders lightly, afraid of dirtying you, too. “Yeah,” Frank agrees. “Didn’t have to.” He shrugs. “Wanted to.”

“Kinda looks big enough for a body in a garbage bag,” you tilt your head, lips pursed in thought. “You know, if you chopped him up.” 

Frank raises a brow. “Screwy thoughts for a pretty little thing like you so early,” but he stamps two kisses your temple like he approves. 

You hum, chin inclining for more affection. “To be fair… Twinkles was a really fat cat. It’s nice of you to do this for Ms. Jenkins.”

“The lady’s, what? A hundred? Ain’t gonna make her dig the damn hole for her own cat.” 

You laugh, quiet and soft for the morning. Warms Frank right up.

Pretending your top needs adjusting, Frank smooths the fabric at your shoulder, fingertips dragging down your arm, landing at the small of your back. Light touch. Featherlight. Keeps you clean. “You alright, sweetheart?” Quieter, with the weight of last week. 

Your chest inflates with a slow, steady breath. Coffee in one hand, other splaying over Frank’s stomach, you think. Then nod. “Yeah, I’m… okay. A little fucked up over it all, but I’m okay. I’m good.” 

“Alright. Good. We good?”

“We’re good. More than good.”

“S’long as we’re good.” 

“I got an update, by the way…”

Frank tucks his chin, looking down at you in the closeness. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah… got the email this morning. Jason’s been relocated to another building. So he must be out of the hospital.”

“Hm,” Frank hides the satisfaction with indifference. “Good.”

“…to another state.”

“Even better.” 

“Hey,” you shift. “I’ve been meaning to say a few things… Like I’m sorry. And thank you.”

“Ah,” Frank shakes his head. “Don’t owe me nothin’.” 

“I owe you an apology for not believing you.” You slide in front of him, reaching up to span your hand over his stubbled cheek. “You warned me. You were right. I didn’t listen. I… couldn’t see what you saw. About the situation, about… me.” 

Frank leans into your touch, brows knitting before they relax. “Always lookin’ out f’you. Don’t need to apologize for believin’ someone’s good.”

“I need to be more aware.” 

“Nah,” Frank turns his head in. Kisses your palm. “You stay sweet. You leave the cynicism t’me. What you need t’do, though, sweetheart?” Frank drops the shovel. Wipes his mouth on his shoulder. “Believe in yourself. Ain’t nothin’ in here that’ll change how people see you,” Frank says, tapping his finger against your sternum. “This’s good. Special. You. Can’t go all your life with doubt. It’ll rein you in. Keep you there. Won’t let you go far.” 

You drop your forehead to his chest, his sweat placating the old wounds. “I know…” 

“We’ll work on it.” 

It’s a promise. A plan. 

“Thank you,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. “I never said thank you. Thank you for… looking out for me. Being patient. Doing everything in your power to keep the world from hurting me. Even when I’m the one hurting myself with my doubts. Especially then.”

Frank tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Dips in, his nose nudging yours. “Nothin’s gonna take you from me, yeah? Bubble wrap you if I got to. I got you, baby.” 

Hand sliding to his neck, you draw him down. Kiss him. Slow and easy, intimate in the understanding of what this man, your husband, will do for you. The extent he’ll go to. 

Drawing back, he nips your bottom lip. Replaces your mouth with a drink. Not the same warmth, but it’ll do. For now.  

Arm around his waist, nestled back into his side, you stand with the question that’s burned you most. Until you can’t. “…Why’d you stop?” 

Frank turns his head to you. You look up at him. You see each other in the light of a new day. A quiet day. “You wouldn’t want that, yeah? Pretty girl. Everything I do’s f’you.” 

“Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” 

“Love you too, sweetheart.” 

“Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“We should probably finish burying Twinkles. I think Ms. Jenkins is watching from her window.” 

“Eh. Let her. Wanna give her a show?” 

“Mmm, probably not. It’d probably be her last.” 

“Helluva way to go.”

Frank takes a breath of fresh air. 

Shit doesn’t stink anymore. 

Just the damn cat. 

*****************************************************************

content is mine, always without the use of AI. do not share or repost on any other site without consent of the author (hi, me). characters are not mine.

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Tags (tag list open, only for 18+ users): @emma-frxst @jakegyllenhaalscharacters @tigerf-cker @harbouredsoulss

[and-corn]

Dragon Comic - Table of Contents

I've noticed that a lot of people started following me for the dragon comic, so here's a sort of landing page (pinned post) where I'll keep all the parts if and when I update the story!

pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7

[totally-not-niyah]

✮✴ 𝒢𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈 ✴✮

Pairing: Harry Hook x Reader

Notes: glasses wearing!reader; no, Harry doesn't wear glasses in this, sorry, i thought that the pic was cute and fitting for the concept; mentions of bullying and teasing for wearing glasses and slightly socially inept Harry

Word Count: 1.9k; short and sweet!

—

=

When you were younger, your eyesight was amazing. It was the one thing you prided yourself on as a child. Then, around your second year of middle school, your vision started to waver. 

At first, you thought it was no big deal when it started off with you having to squint to read your schoolwork, even though it was practically right in front of you. But over time, it started getting worse. 

One day, you’d tried examining a cut on your hand, only to find that the sight was incredibly blurred, and the closer you brought it to your face, the more you were unable to see. In fact, the attempts were putting a strain on your eyes, so much so that they would cause eye and headaches afterwards. 

It led you to confide in your parents, recounting all the different incidents to them. Already suspecting your problem, they brought you to the physician, who had determined that you had become far-sighted, only able to properly see things that were in a more distant range. 

The solution? Eyeglasses. 

You hated coming to school the following week. It was an onslaught of questions like “what happened to your eyes? Does it go away? Will you have to wear those forever?” or backhanded stuff like “you looked better without those things on,” as if wearing glasses suddenly made you unappealing. It also didn’t help that practically everyone else in school had no need to wear any glasses; sure there were a few here in there, but in its rarity, you kinda stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Over time, though, as the idea of you wearing eye aids became…normalized to others, having them on never bothered you as much, even well on into high school. 

Well, at least up till recently. 

There was a boy who started going to your school, Harry Hook. He was a part of the group of VKs who were getting transferred to Auradon, and to you, he was the prettiest guy in the world. 

You’d talk to him ever so often; he was in a couple of your classes (one during the first half, one during the second), so you’d engage in conversations. Part of you just wanted to go ahead and ask him if he wanted to finally be friends, but there was also one thing that was holding you back. 

He had a bit of a…habit of making jokes out of your glasses. And as unserious as it sounds, that part of you who was still sensitive and insecure about having to wear them felt uncomfortable most of the time when he made them the center of unwanted attention. 

The first time he did it, it was by taking off your glasses and asking you how many fingers he was holding up, which was embarrassing because you’d gotten the number wrong. He laughed it off and handed back your eyewear, and you decided to laugh along, too, because it wasn’t that big of a deal, right?

Then the teasing got worse. 

Somedays, when you would take the frames off to give your ears or the bridge of your nose a small break, you’d reach back a couple minutes later only to find them completely missing. After the first 3 times it happened, you’d automatically know who to go to about it, but he was always there behind you, hovering above you with a grin you could just barely see, dangling your glasses in front of your face with his hook. He’d lead you around in a little cat and mouse game before returning them to you, patting your head with a giggle and leaving you alone. 

Along with that came little nicknames that either highlighted the fact that you wore glasses or the fact you couldn’t see, which wasn’t even completely true, because you most definitely could see for the most part. With all of those factors piled on top of each other, you started feeling more and more like the same child back in middle school who felt ashamed of your predicament. You weren’t exactly sure how to tell him to stop with the jokes, since you hated conflict and confrontation, so you resorted to the only other available option.

The day after you’d decided you had enough, Harry comes and approaches you right before class starts, the grin plastered on his face fading when he sees that your glasses weren’t on your face, or anywhere in sight, actually.

“Darlin’,” he says with a frown, dropping his bag so he could grab your face freely, tilting it from side to side as he gives you a long and hard look. “Wha’ happened ta your glasses?”

You shrugged off the question, pulling your face away to continue flipping through your school binder. “I wanted to wear contacts today.” 

Contact lenses were your alternative glasses simply for the fact that they were a lot more discreet (and because you could get ones that give you a different eye color?? absolutely), but you never trusted your younger self to put them anywhere near your eyeballs without an accident, so this was the first time you’d tried them out. 

You see Harry thinking for a moment, looking almost…disappointed? before he nods and trails off to his own seat, leaving you be. 

He thought maybe it was just something you were into at the moment, and that maybe in a couple days, you’d be back with your usual frames. But when those few days rolled over into a few weeks, and then almost two whole months, he started to feel like there was something else you weren’t telling him.  

Sometimes, he’d keep asking you why you stopped wearing your glasses, but you’d always try to brush away the subject with a vague answer, saying that you “liked it better this way,” and quickly changing the topic before he could inquire anymore. 

For Harry, relentless teasing and jokes at someone were signs of his affection. Growing up on the Isle, outward displays of affection were extremely frowned upon, so he tried to show it the best way he knew how. 

He thought you knew he was merely messing around for the sake of just getting to interact with you, plus, he really loved how nicely the frames looked with your features, but that’s besides the point!

Given the fact that you had never said anything otherwise regarding his actions and went along with it, he assumed you were on the same page. 

But now that you were blatantly avoiding him, he was starting to rethink that conclusion. 

And now he had to make it up to you. 

After spending the entire night figuring out how, the next day, during lunch, he seeks you amongst the multiple tables of students. 

You’re a little startled when he plops down in the seat in front of you, bristling at the sudden action. 

“Harry,” you say with a small frown upon seeing his face. “What is it now?”

The tone of your voice really establishes that you’re not in a mood, all you want to do is eat your sandwich in peace. However, what you didn’t expect was for him to plop a long, black box onto the table, giving it a slight push with the hook sitting in his other hand. 

Cautiously, you examine it. “...What is this?”

“Open it,” he prompts you, and, succumbing to curiosity, your hands take the box, slowly opening it up to reveal the contents inside. 

Your eyes get wide for a moment, staring speechlessly into it. You aren’t sure what to say at first, trying to wrap your head around the item. 

“You…” Licking your lips, you try again to form a sentence. “You got me a…pair of glasses? With charms on them?”

He stares dead at you and nods, awaiting another reaction from you. 

So you pull the frames out of the box, which helps you to better admire all of the pretty charms decorating them. They were absolutely adorable, you have to admit, but the gesture seemed confusing considering the fact that he always had something to say about your usual pair. 

Unable to resist making a remark, you ask, “Are these something else for you to make fun of me for wearing?”

He winces at the question, looking so guilty that you almost regret it. 

Shaking his head, he goes, “...It’s…me tryin’ ta say sorry.” 

“Sorry?” you parrot back at him, earning a nod. 

“Sorry…for makin’ yeh not wanna wear yer glasses around me,” he details. “I didn’t think I was makin’ yeh feel bad about them.”

It was the last thing you were expecting, as your face suggests. The apology feels so…genuine that it takes you aback. Harry stares back at you, wondering if he should add to what he’s just said, until you beat him to speaking. 

“But…why? Why do it in the first place?”

He sighs softly, “Because…I’m not very good at ‘social cues.’ On the Isle, yeh don’t exactly learn how to show someone yeh… care about ‘em.” 

“So you guys show it by…making fun of each other?” A small pause between the two of you, a small bout of understanding making its way to your brain. “...Actually, that makes a little sense. I’ve heard worse, honestly.” 

Harry seemed a little relieved that you were now becoming aware that his actions didn’t come with any ill-intent. 

You seem to have distracted yourself by looking down at the glasses again, holding them up as you open up the arms. 

“...Where did you get these, anyways?”

“The, uh…glasses? Or the charms?” he wonders. 

“Both?” 

A small smile crosses his face. “I asked Ben ta…help with the glasses. Evie suggested the charms. Uma helped glue ‘em on.” 

“You went through a lot of effort for an apology,” you comment softly.

His reply, just as soft, makes a fluttery feeling crash into your stomach like a harsh wave. 

“Yeh were worth it.” 

Well, what are you supposed to say to that? 

Something with some sort of gratitude would suffice, you scold the foolish part of your brain. 

“...Thank you. This is really sweet,” you tell him. “It means a lot to me.” He nods, staring at you with this hopeful look in his eyes. 

“Does tha’ mean I’m forgiven?” 

“Hm…maybe.” There’s a teasing lift to the corner of your lips as you put on the eyewear, adjusting them to rest on the bridge of your nose just right before your eyes lock back on him with an expectant gaze. “How do I look?”

There’s only one answer lingering in the back of his mind. 

“Perfect. Not that yeh didn’t before, but… I like seein’ yeh wearin’ glasses again.”

Feeling your cheeks burn, you clear your throat and playfully roll your eyes, sliding the glasses off. “You’re sure laying it on thick today.” 

“Well, I ‘ave months of tormentin’ ta make up for,” he hums, and you get to see the familiar sight that is his grin. “It’s a good start.” 

“...Yeah, it is,” you agree, sitting back down in your seat. “Since we’re on the topic of progress… do you wanna be my friend? Officially? Now that we got this all cleared up?” 

As if he’d want anything else. 

“I thought yeh’d never ask.” 

A beat of silence. A chew of your sandwich. A nod of your head. 

“...Does tha’ mean I can still nicely make fun of yeh?” 

“Don’t push your luck, Hook.” 

[cbinotes]

taglist     masterlist

dangerous!leonard who lowers his voice when he talk to you

dangerous!leonard who lowers his voice when he talks to you, not out of softness but control — like the world doesn’t deserve to overhear what’s meant for you. his tone drops into something smooth, private, a low murmur that cuts through noise without ever rising above it. you lean in to hear him, and he never misses how that closes the distance.

dangerous!leonard who speaks to everyone else in his usual cool, sharp cadence, words edged with warning or wit. but with you, the volume shifts. slower. quieter. deliberate. like each sentence is measured before it reaches your ears. like you’re something handled carefully, even if he’d never admit it that way.

dangerous!leonard who does it in crowded rooms most of all. bars, safehouses, anywhere voices overlap. he’ll tilt his head just enough, mouth near your ear, voice low enough that it feels like a secret even when it isn’t. partly so you can hear him. partly so no one else can.

dangerous!leonard who knows a low voice makes people listen closer. he uses that. weaponizes it. but with you it’s less manipulation and more instinct — a quiet channel carved out in a loud world.

dangerous!leonard who sounds calmer when he talks to you like that, as if the act of lowering his voice lowers the temperature of whatever storm is always brewing in his head. you get the version of him that isn’t performing for fear or reputation. just the man beneath the parka and the gun.

dangerous!leonard who, when he’s warning you about something, gets even quieter. a near whisper. because urgency doesn’t need volume when it carries weight. and you learn quickly — if he’s speaking softly, you should be listening closely.

dangerous!leonard who would never call it tenderness. never frame it as care.but the truth sits in the space between his quiet words and your ear — a place he doesn’t let anyone else stand.

     taglist :

@cassbass2000

@letosalt

@theonetruepotato87

@allthegirlsdreamed

@iloveubunches

@girlblogger-04

[skyrigel]

simon wasn't one for pick-up lines. everyone told you as much in case you end up in a headlock with broken neck as result.

he came everyday at the shop, nervously placed his order without looking at anyone except straying his gaze just when you're handing him the unnamed coffee cup and then he would come by again the next day; same time, always on your shift.

and when you exchanged your shifts then it was purely coincidental that simon came making a second round for coffee just as unbothered and stiff and grudgy

huh, you wanted to see him smile or say something that wasn't keep the change.

“don't...this is scary.” your friend told you as much, with an ominous glance to where simon's bike made a stop outside as always on time.

“it might cheer him up though, c'mon.” you grinned—fixing the stupid collar—and greeting him with a big smile. “what would you like?”

simon perked, a physical spark in his ears and mouth. he stood like a brick for a moment because this was the first time you said anything to him. everyone had told you previously not to bother him and you did, they also told you not to mess up his coffee—always the same, and you did.

“the regular?” you tried.

simon nodded, then opened his mouth closing it again. “ah...yes, the regular.”

since it was a new dawn of new beginnings, you made his drink just he liked but smiled around the words and asked him. “So, what's your—”

“Simon.”

while you already knew his name from the card, but it was nice to hear him say it. he sounded exactly like he looked—but more fucking sexy.

You looped the 'o' towards 'n' feeling at once very much about improving handwriting. “Actually...” fuck, you couldn't believe you were doing this, “Uhm, you look like my first husband.”

simon's whole face shifted so much that you got anxious the way his eyes shone. Nerves popped out on his thick neck, and his arms flexed massively when he put hands in his leather jacket.

He stared, and you shockingly placed the coffee cup losing all your whimsy at once.

“So ya’ ere married.” simon said, all resigned and heavy and mysteriously dangerous.

“NO!” you explained, “Its a...it's a pickup line. I say 'oh woah you look like my first husband' and then you say 'oh how many husbands you got?' and then say I say haha, I never got married.”

You felt wild and erratic, feeling three heartbeat in one thumb, breathing hard then you swallowed, “Got it?”

it was a moment later that you realised this was how it must feel looking at the sun and not getting torn; simon smiled. a soft curl of his lips, a light trinkling around his iris, warm glow settling on his cheeks—impossiblily maddening, but a smile.

“how many husbands do you have?” he asked, very sincerely for an ordeal of playful pickup lines would allow.

all breath was knocked out of you, left with giddy anticipation and confetti, “I..I have never been married.”

masterlist

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Comfortable With You

Pairing: Inexperienced/Virgin!Choso x Black GF!Reader (Established Relationship)

Synopsis: Choso has never been anyone like you before: so confident and sure of yourself yet so sweet and compassionate. He can’t stop thinking about you. So to make this Valentine’s Day one you’ll never forget, he’ll show you just how comfortable he is with you and how desperately he wants to make you feel the same…even though you’re his first everything. [Based on the song “Comfortable” by H.E.R.]

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); Inexperienced BF!Choso x Experienced GF!Reader; First Time Sex; Painter!Choso; First Time Blowjob; First Time Eating Pussy; Deepthroating; Facefucking; Switch Sub!Choso x Switchy Dom!Reader; Girl on Top/Cowgirl; Fucking From The Bottom; Begging; Creampie; Cumming Together; After Sex Snuggles

Word Count: 13.5k

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

Credits: All photos in collage found on Pinterest! Choso fanart done by Einruji (follow on Twitter, TikTok & IG)!

Writer's Note: An early V-Day gift for y'all. I wrote this about 2 years ago & decided to revise it for 2026!! Something romantic & nasty for my baby Choso & for V-Day. Happy (early) Valentine's Day, y'all!! I've got more coming tomorrow!! 🥰🥰❤️❤️ -Jazz

Comfortable by H.E.R. on Apple Music

Song · 2020 · Duration 4:15

Choso has never met anyone like you before. 

You’re just so confident in the way you speak; the way you move; the way you carry yourself. You know exactly who you are and you aren’t going to let anyone tell you differently.

You’re so sure of yourself, something he has never been about himself. You’ve inspired him to be more like you, gently encouraging him just because of who you are. 

And you’re so sweet. So compassionate. You care so much about others, even a stray cat that happens across your apartment whom you feed every day. You understand Choso and all of his quirks which he more than appreciates. And you’re so damn beautiful.

Even now, months after meeting and going on your first date, months after your first kiss, he still can’t even over how breathtaking you are. From your glowing skin to your pretty, brown eyes to your luscious body he can’t get out of his mind. 

He still can’t understand for the life of him why you would want him. He isn’t like his younger twin brothers. Yuji is more of a golden retriever out of the three of them with how bubbly and adorably clueless he is, but he’s also excellent at sports and loves to have fun which any girl loves. And then there is Sukuna who is all tattoos, piercings, and a bad attitude that gets panties wet. He can sweet-talk any girl into his bed. 

And then there’s Choso. Although older than his twin brothers, he is the awkward one. The shy one. The artsy one.

He is the one you’ll usually find with his nose stuck in his guitar or up painting in the apartment that he shares with his brothers, staining his fingers with oil paints. He has his own tattoos and usually, the artsy guys are adored, but his tired, bored look usually makes women steer clear of him. 

Choso had gotten used to it. He told himself he was happy to not be romantically involved with someone as it makes life too complicated and messy…until he met you.

He was working a Friday night shift at a bar which he usually does to make extra cash, strumming along on his guitar and singing covers. Your eyes met when he looked out into the audience and that was it. He still can’t describe what happened. It was like the world stopped and he very nearly forgot the words to the Summer Walker song he was crooning in the mic. 

You sat in the middle at the table with a couple of friends, your smooth, shapely legs crossed over one another, manicured hands folded in your lap. He could just see the space where your thigh met your ass under the mini dress you had on that hugged your body the way he wanted to.

Your braids, black and perfectly twisted at the bottom like coiled snakes, were pulled back to show off your gorgeous face and plump, glossy lips parted slightly as you intently watched him sing. You never took your eyes off of him and he didn’t want you to. In his mind, he sang to you, but to the audience, he sang to everyone else. 

He didn’t expect you to come up to him during his break, body absolutely all over the place. He could barely focus on setting his guitar up next to the stage when he turned and saw you. “Hi,” you greeted him, giving him a beaming smile that made his brain stop working. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to tell you how good you were up there. You can really sing.” 

Choso didn’t say anything at first, not sure how. You were the first girl to ever talk to him first, especially about him and not about his brothers. “Uh…thanks,” he finally said, swallowing harshly. He did his best to not look down at your delectable cleavage that sat invitingly in front of him. 

“I’m Y/N,” you said, holding your hand out for a shake. He noticed how long and pretty your acrylics were and envisioned them gripping his shoulders or snaking down his muscular back. “I’m a regular here, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” Hesitantly, he took your hand, noticing how small it was compared to his. “Choso,” he replied. “I don’t work here full-time. I take shifts now and again.” 

You nodded understandably. “I was about to say,” you giggled, “I would’ve definitely remembered a voice like yours…and a face like yours too.” There wasn’t anything funny about the way you said it. You were dead serious, your tone soft and flirtatious. Choso swore he nearly combusted. You were flirting with him. Him! All he could was blush, but you pretended not to notice. 

You stood there talking for the majority of his twenty-minute break and he didn’t mind one bit. He loved getting to know you, placing and storing all of your features into his memory for later. When you asked for his number, he flipped it and asked for yours, smiling fondly at the cute emoji you put next to your name. He left that night feeling like he was floating on cloud nine, prompting Sukuna to ask him what pussy he got when he came into the apartment that night. 

That was six months ago and you’re still here. Despite his flaws and his quirks, you have stayed. He has never been happier than with you…or more comfortable. There are things he’s told you that he hasn’t even told his brothers or closest friends. He feels like he can tell you anything and you won’t run, from how stressful it is to be a parental figure since his parents died when the twins were toddlers or how sometimes he’s afraid that he’ll lose interest in his art or how he doesn’t feel good enough. 

He feels like himself when he’s with you. He feels free. Relaxed. You bring him peace. He wants to give you something to show you that. Though he isn’t familiar with the “rules” of Valentine’s Day because he’s never celebrated the holiday, he knows he wants to make the day one you will never forget. 

So the week before February 14th, a Wednesday, Choso spends his time making his gift for you, closed up in his room with his equipment, and forcing his brothers to bring him meals.

That weekend, he invites you over to his place on Friday. When he calls and asks you if you’re free after work tonight, he feels his pulse jump and his body grow warm. What’s the big deal? You’ve been over his place so many times before, playing video games and shooting the shit with his brothers. 

‘But this is different,’ he thinks. This is for Valentine’s Day. This is to spend the night, with no one around for once. This is for more. “You want me to sleep over?” you ask, sounding surprised yourself. “Are the boys gonna be there?” 

“No,” he replies, smiling at the slight intake of breath he hears you make. So you’re just as excited as he is. “They won’t be here. I have a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise?” you giggle softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Can you give me a hint?” He hums a no, earning a groan of disappointment. “You’ll just have to wait and see, but I think you’ll like it.” 

On Saturday, he kicks his brothers out, telling them to bunk with Megumi for the night. Yuji and Sukuna are more than happy to do so, wanting to see Megumi’s dogs (though Sukuna acts like he isn’t). Then Choso spends the whole night cleaning, wiping down the entirety of the apartment until it sparkles. Before he starts cooking the V-Day dinner, he jumps in the shower and lathers himself in the vanilla and lavender-scented soap you love so much, making sure every part of him smells like the soap. 

Once finished, he picks out a casual yet presentable outfit––a black tee that sticks to his toned body, jeans, and the Armani boxers Sukuna got him for his birthday telling him he has “no taste in nothing”––and lets his black locks fall into a mullet over his head rather than applying gel to put them into his usual ponytails. He usually doesn’t put too much effort into his looks but for you? He’ll do anything to turn you on with his appearance. 

You get off from work at 5 PM and he already ordered an Uber for you to arrive on time to pick you up, telling you to not worry about paying him back. “I don’t want your money, baby,” he tells you, hopping right off of texts when you start to argue to call your phone. “I’ve got money. People love my shit, remember?” 

He remembers you telling him that at his winter art exhibit in December. He took you as his plus one and you took it upon yourself to wear his favorite color on your sinfully tight dress. All he could think about was bending you over as you walked around admiring his work of the city in the wintertime––white snow on the roofs of houses; the park glinting in white; schoolchildren in their colorful coats; citizens with red noses and steams billowing from their takeout cups of coffee.

Many of his paintings were sold that night, including one of himself, Yuji, and Sukuna decorating their Christmas tree. “You capture things so well!” an art critic has gushed to him. “I feel as if you’ll do so many amazing things, young man.” 

Choso had squeezed your hand, trying to not blush. That was only the tip of the iceberg of praise he received that night. He felt that he had achieved what he went to art school for at that moment. And he was so happy to spend it with you, his number one supporter, who also purchased a painting of a little schoolgirl in a red coat smiling at the person behind the photo. He made bank off of that exhibit and, after doing commissions on his IG page, he is able to save up enough for the next month. 

After taking out the ingredients for miso ramen and spending the next hour preparing it, you arrive in your Uber. After bringing the broth to a simmer, Choso wipes his hands off on a dish towel and guns to the door to answer it. You stand behind it in a red sweater and hip-hugging jeans that he’d like to replace with his hands. In one hand, you have your work bag while in the other, you have your overnight duffle. “Hey, you,” you greet him, looking oh-so happy to see him. 

You inch closer to him and he wraps an arm around you as you lean into him. “Hey yourself,” he greets, feeling relaxed the minute he has you in his arms. He stands aside, letting you step into his apartment. He eyes your swaying ass as you do, unable to stop his cock from hardening at the sight of your cheeks. “Nice outfit. You have a date with your boss too today?” 

You look back at him and smirk. “Oh, yeah, and he loved these jeans on me.” You slide a hand down your behind to which he shamelessly follows, blushing. God, how he wants to see that ass without anything over it. He wants you naked. But in time. You close your eyes at the scent of spices and herbs wafting in from the kitchen. “Mmm, somethin’ smells good,” you hum.

You put down your bags and follow him into the kitchen, grinning at the broth and noodles. “You’ve been sayin’ how much you wanted me to cook with you,” he chuckles. “It’s almost done. You go relax and I’ll take your bags upstairs.” You nod and stand up on your toes to peck him on the cheek before doing as he says, leaving him rock hard and blushing a bright red. 

After the broth is finally done and the noodles are soft, he sets the two bowls of ramen aside before taking your bags upstairs to his bedroom. There, on the bed, is your gift, wrapped in a gold wrapping paper. He feels nervous butterflies flap around in his stomach. Will you like your gift? Will you accept it? Will you think he’s too cheap to have gotten you something better or more expensive? 

He puts these thoughts on the back burner as he walks back downstairs to see you sitting upright on the couch, shoes off and looking relaxed. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he walks past you to fetch your dinner. When he returns, you’re wearing a giddy smile. “So where’s my surprise?” you ask, pretending to be impatient. 

“Damn, baby, you just got here!” he laughs as he sits down next to you on the couch. “You can’t wait till we eat?” You bounce on the couch, making your breasts jiggle and Choso hard enough to fuck a hole into the wall. Why are you so fucking hot? “I’m too excited to eat!” you groan. “You know how much I love surprises, Chosi!” 

He blushes at the nickname only you’re allowed to call him. “Relax, mama,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “You’ll get it soon. For now, just enjoy the lovely ramen I made you. I even added extra ham.” You look up at him with big, wobbly lips, touched. “You love me,” you coo. 

‘Yes,’ he thinks. ‘I really do.’ But he’s never said it. He figured it was still too early in your relationship to do so. Not to mention that one elephant in the room: you haven’t had sex yet. You’ve been dating since September and it hasn’t happened yet, mostly because it would be Choso’s first time doing so. 

He has kissed a girl before and has touched some titties here and there, but he’s never slept with anyone before. He never thought it was a big deal until he met you and fell so deeply for you that he wants to give all of himself to you. He has never told you and hasn’t tried to push things any farther during makeout sessions or heavy petting, but he’s hoping tonight that all of that will change.  

He sits and watches you eat, asking you about how your work week went and what you did today. He watches your glossy mouth as it moves, transfixed and wishing his cock was between them. It takes everything in him to finish dinner like a normal person though his body is itching to get this thing going. It is a peaceful dinner regardless, a comfortable silence settling between you both that neither one of you fills. His knee brushes against yours and sometimes, you reach over to wipe broth from his lip. Little touches like that drive him insane. 

By the time you finish and he forces you to wait until he loads up the dishwasher, you’re dying of impatience and anticipation. “Chosiiii,” you whine, lying on the couch. “I can’t wait any longer. Please can we exchange gifts now?” He pauses from turning on the dishwasher, slowly turning to you. “You got me a gift?” he asks, shocked. 

“Well, of course!” you giggle, sitting up. “It is Valentine’s Day after all and last time I checked, you are my boyfriend.” Your boyfriend. Choso has never been more proud of that in his life. As quick as lightning, he finishes up in the kitchen and hurries to fetch your gift, doing his best to not seem nervous when he returns. 

You both sit on the couch, face to face, knee to knee, both shy yet excited. You pass him a small box wrapped with a bow. “It’s something small,” you shyly say, “but I hope you like it.” With shaky hands, he unties it, revealing two gold chains, one with a C hanging from it and the other with the first letter of your name. 

You pick the chain with your initial, handing it to me. “So I’m always close to you, even when I’m not there. I bought one for myself too.” Gawking at the chain, Choso nearly bursts. He’s never gotten a gift so thoughtful before. “Why are you this fucking cute?” he sighs dreamily, earning a cute giggle from your luscious lips. “This is perfect, baby. Thank you.” 

Now it’s his turn. He smiles at you, taking your hands in his. “Close your eyes first. No peeking.” You pout but do as he says, closing your eyes. He then takes the gift from behind him and places it into your hands. “Now open.” You do so and tear open the wrapping paper to see what lies inside. When you finally do, your smile fades and you are speechless as you stare at your face on the small canvas. 

He copied it from a picture he took of you one day in the park, the autumn sun on your sleeping face, the sunlight in your lashes. You looked like a Goddess slumbering for the day. He chose the colors carefully, wanting to capture the right tone of your skin in the sunlight and the way your braids lit up from the sun’s rays. He used more defined strokes for smaller details like the coils of your braids, your eyelashes, and the blades of grass beneath you. He used larger strokes for the background, blurring it together so only you stood out. He truly believes that this is the best piece he’s ever painted. You gape at the painting before looking up at him. “Did you paint this?” you squeak. 

He nods, smiling proudly. “This was when we were at the park on one of our dates. You fell asleep in the sun and I couldn’t resist not taking a photo.” He gently runs a thumb over the canvas, admiring your painted face. “I love seeing you like this: so at peace. So comfortable. That’s how you make me feel every time I’m with you.” 

You continue to stare at him, mouth parted and eyes wide. In the silence, he finds his confidence and the will to speak. “Y/N,” he begins, nervously so, “you make me feel something I’ve never felt with anyone. I feel so comfortable with you, like nothing and no one can hurt me when we’re together. You’re like my personal diary—I can tell you anything and can trust that it won’t ever leave you. I wanna be that for you too, baby. I just hope this painting says it more than I could.” 

Now you finally crack and your eyes well up with tears. You lower the painting onto the coffee table beside your gift before leaning into Choso’s chest, wrapping your arms around him. “It does,” you sob. “And you are. You’re that and more. I love you, Choso.” As soon as he hears those three little words, Choso is aglow, nearly jumping for joy at the fact that you feel the same way. 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I love you too,” he whispers, pressing a hand to the back of your head. All is right with the world. All is even better when you lean up and press your lips to his. He falls into your sweet, soft lips immediately, pressing a hand to your face to caress your cheek. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to grow more passionate and heated, leading you to slip into his lap and straddle him. 

Choso groans when he feels the heat in between your legs rub up against his crotch where he can already feel the blood rushing to his cock, especially when his hands find your ass. You wrap your arms around him and bring yourself closer to him, pushing your delectable breasts up against his chest as you slowly grind your hips into his hard-on. He moans at the same time you do, the act of moaning into each other’s mouths making him even harder. You pull away, looking dazed.

“Is this okay?” you ask, breathless. He nods, speechless. “I only ask ‘cause you’re so hard.” 

He blushes scarlet, realizing he’s been caught, but then again, it isn’t like you haven’t felt it before. You’ve made out dozens of times before and he sprouted a hard-on but never did anything. You both agreed to give it some time and move slowly. “I mean…you feel really good,” he sheepishly chuckles, earning a proud, beaming, pretty ass smile from you. “But if this is as far as you wanna go, we can.” 

You’re thinking differently though. You hold his face between his hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Choso, I’ve been wanting you to fuck my brains out for months,” you boldly say. “I’ve just waited because I thought it was still too early for us.” Choso swears he nearly busts a nut hearing that. “But are you okay with this?” you ask, looking worried. 

He pauses, thinking to himself. Is he okay with this? As fast as the question appears in his head, the answer is there: Yes. He knows he wants this with you and no one else. But he also knows he’ll have to tell you the truth. “I-I am,” he stutters. 

You look at him sideways, your brows knitted. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?” you ask worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?” Fear and guilt strike within him.

No, no, this isn’t what he wants! He doesn’t want to make you, his baby, feel bad. “No,” he instantly replies, taking your face in his hands. “No, Y/N, you’re doin’ amazing. This is me just bein’ a fucking coward.” 

He looks down, ashamed. What will you ever think of him if he tells you? “Cho,” you coax him with your sweet voice. Seeing the worry in those pretty, brown eyes, he gains the confidence to tell you. 

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” he sighs. “I do want you, Y/N. I want you so fucking bad, but there’s something I need to tell you.” At the sight of slight fear in those perfect, big eyes, he feels himself wither. He doesn’t want to scare you, but he can’t lie to you either. “I want us to have sex, but…I wouldn’t know what to do,” he confesses. 

You pause, the new information processing in your pretty head. Then your lips part in realization. “Choso, you’ve never had sex before?” you ask, sounding just as surprised as you look. Though blushing red, he slowly shakes his head. “With any type of sex, right?” you continue. “No oral? Nothing?” Once again, he shakes his head, feeling like he will die of embarrassment. 

You exhale softly, stroking up his chest. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” You sound oh-so disappointed by that, making him feel even more guilty. “I was afraid you’d laugh or think I was a loser or somethin’,” he admits. “I’ve just never gotten to doing any of that stuff. You’d be the first.” 

At that moment, something in you shifts. He sees a fire flicker behind your eyes which excites him. “So I’d be the first woman to see you naked?” you ask in a soft, sultry voice. “And wrap my lips around this?”

Your hand snakes down between you and him to cup his bulge, making him tense and softly moan at the foreign yet pleasurable feeling of someone else’s hand on his cock besides his own. “Y-Yeah,” he whispers, staring deep into your eyes. “The first. I want to give myself to you tonight, Y/N, if you’ll have me.” 

Though there is a part of him that feels afraid of being so vulnerable, he knows deep down he can trust you. You practically melt at his sweet words. “Chosi,” you coo, stroking his cheek, “of course, I’ll have you. I want us to have each other tonight.”

You lean in to kiss him, coaxing him to open his mouth and swirl your tongue with his. His eyes roll back into his head at the taste of you. “Just relax and let me show you what you’re missing,” you moan into his mouth. “Let me take care of you tonight, baby.” 

As you continue to kiss him, you begin to palm him through his pants. “Will you let me do that?” you teasingly ask. He gasps into your mouth, your touch so magical. He can’t imagine how it will feel on his naked cock. He can’t take much more and begins to grind into your hands, desperate for relief. “Yes,” he groans. “Yes, baby, please, just touch me!” 

You giggle against his lips, giving him a peck on the chin before doing what he wants and needs of you. You stand up and begin to strip for him as he lays back against the couch, legs spread and cock twitching in his pants. His eyes drink in every part of you as you take off your clothes: your soft, brown skin; your slender back; your legs, calves, and thighs; your breasts that jiggle in your bra; your ass in your pink, lace panties. You’re beautiful. 

You put your hands on your hips, pursing your lips at him playfully. “Well?” you ask. “You gonna join me, stud?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He stands before you and strips with your insisted help. You take off his shirt while he works off his pants, pulling them down his muscled thighs and legs. Finally, he is in his briefs, the rest of his clothes left on the floor. You begin to feel him up, your hands and eyes greedily indulging in his body. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. “You’re so sexy, Cho.” 

He shivers in delight at your reaction to his body. “Not as sexy as you,” he hums. He wants to squeeze your ass or play with those gorgeous titties, but his hands don’t seem to want to move. Noticing, you giggle and coax him back onto the couch. “You can touch me too, you know,” you purr. “Or are you just gonna stare and leave me aching like this?” 

You take off your bra to show him just what you mean, exposing your hard, brown nipples to him. Choso has never seen such beauties in his life and he can’t resist wrapping his lips around one of the hardened peaks.

The sounds you make only encourage you to continue sucking and lapping on your nipples, switching between each like a hungered man in need of milk. He fondles your breasts two, gently pulling at a nipple that isn’t between his lips. He pays close attention to your reactions, each one sending tingles into his dick. 

“Fuck, Choso, just like that,” you moan, gripping his shoulders and arching your back, pushing your tits farther into his face. “That feels so good!”

He looks up at you from your chest, loving how your lips part and your eyelids flutter from the pleasure that he’s giving you. “Yeah?” he asks. “That feels good?” You hum in enjoyment as he nipples on your tight nipples, using his hand to fondle your other breast that his mouth isn’t occupying. 

He continues to indulge your delectable, wonderful, heavenly titties until you’ve finally had enough. You pull his mouth away from your nipple, a string of saliva dangling from his bottom lip. “I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Can I do that for you?”

Choso’s eyes widen in both shock and excitement. Oh, ho he’s wanted to feel those plump, soft lips around his cock for so long! “Yes,” he agrees. “Just be gentle…please.” You give him a warm smile and kiss him softly before moving off of him. You get on your knees between his thighs and slowly take down his boxers, freeing his cock from its trap. 

“Fuck, Choso,” you gasp. “You’re so big…and you have a dick piercing! That’s so hot!” He flushes at your reaction. “It was a dare by Yuji and Todo,” he admits. You grin up at him and lick your palm before wrapping a hand around him. “Just tell me if it’s too much or if you need me to slow down,” you instruct. He nods and leans back, urging you to continue. 

You first begin to stroke him, coating his dick in your spit in the process. He can’t explain how good yet different your hand feels. Yours is soft and much smaller compared to his, your brown skin and bright-colored nails contrasting with his paler skin. Not to mention the tight grip you have on him. It feels better than all of the times he’s fucked his hand or his trusty fleshlight. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groans. “Your hand feels so good.” 

“You’ll like my mouth even more, I think,” you giggle. “And you can fuck my throat if you want to. I love it rough.” You give him a wink to which he blushes a ruby red. “R-Really?” he stutters. “Are you– oh, shit!” His questions are halted when you wrap your lips around him and begin to gently suck on him, getting him used to your mouth. His mouth forms a pleasurable O as he watches you take his cock on your knees, sucking on it like it’s your own personal lollipop. 

Your warm mouth and wet tongue feel so good against his cock, caressing every sensitive part of his shaft. You even take your hand and fondle his balls while your other strokes him in time with your mouth, twisting this way and that as if you’re trying to drain the cum out of him. 

“Oh, my God, baby,” he moans, gripping the couch for dear life. “Your mouth feels so fuckin’ good!” He’s never felt anything so wonderful in his life. 

You briefly pull away to breathe, your mouth coated in spit. It only makes him harder seeing you––his pretty girlfriend––look so slutty for him. Then you put that mouth on him again, swallowing him whole. “Yeah?” you ask, your voice muffled by his cock stuffed deep inside your mouth. “You like my mouth, baby boy?” You go deeper, taking him into your throat with ease despite his girth, and he nearly jumps off of the couch from the sensations. “Fuck yes!” he whines. “P-Please don’t stop!”  

He can feel his hips moving on their own beneath you, gently bucking into your mouth the more you gag and flex that throat around him. Your plump lips look so good stretched around him, dripping in your spit as lewd sounds of you gagging all over him fill the air. You then pull away to take a breath and recover, but not for long. “Fuck my face,” you say, your eyes pleading. “Give me that dick, Choso. I can take all of it.” 

He blinks at you, not sure if he’s just hallucinating from the pleasure, but the eager strokes of your hand around his cock make it very clear that this is real. You plan that throat on him again and, after ensuring that you’re okay, begins to fuck your face the way you pleaded him to. He grabs your hair and thrusts up into your mouth like it’s his own personal fucktoy.

He starts to see it as such, not wanting any cock in your throat but his. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, fuck, baby, fuck!” He can’t keep quiet, too overcome with lust and the pleasure he feels as he pistons into your throat again and again. 

It doesn’t take long for him to feel that familiar tightening in his balls, signaling his end. “Shit, Y/N, you’re gonna make me cum,” he warns. “I-I can’t stop! You need to get off of me if you don’t want me to–” 

You shake your head and he loosens his grip on you so you can breathe. “Cum for me,” you plead. “Cum deep down my throat, Daddy, please.” Choso nearly busts right there. Again, he grabs you and thrusts into your throat, focusing on the way your tight, wet walls flex around him until he can hardly take it. “Oh, shit!” he groans loudly. “I’m gonna fucking cum, baby! Don’t stop, please! Fuck, I’m…I’m…” 

He can’t finish his sentence because his orgasm erupts inside of him, spilling out into your throat. You moan around his cock as he cums, his sexy groans of release echoing throughout the apartment. He spurts rope after rope of warm, creamy cum into your mouth which you eagerly, your mouth sliding off of his cock. You sit back and swallow it all, some of it dripping down your chin. Once the fog of his orgasm finally fades, Choso looks down at you and feels embarrassed. “Sorry,” he shyly apologizes. “That was…a lot.” 

You giggle, wiping at your chin and the corner of your mouth. “Yes, it was,” you agree. “Mmm, you gave me such a big load, baby. You must’ve needed that.” He blushes again though you seem like you enjoyed it. You then look up at him with those big eyes and a warm smile. “So how was your first blowjob?” 

He doesn’t even have all of the words to describe such a feeling. “Incredible,” he sighs happily. “But now you need your turn, don’t you?” At the mention of this, your smile grows wider and you stand up so you can lie down on the couch beside him.

He faces you and gently moves your thighs apart to reveal your panties. “You may have to guide me though. It’s my first time eating pussy.” He gives you a sheepish smile, staring into your pretty eyes between your thighs. “Can you show me where you like to be touched? And how?” 

He keeps his eyes on yours as he slowly drags your panties down your legs that he stops to coat in wet kisses. You moan and run your hands through his black locks of hair, gripping them when he begins to gently run his finger up and down your slit, feeling how hot and wet you are. “C’mon, mama, show me,” he coos. “Guide me. Guide my face.” 

And so you do. You lift your hips as he slides down your panties, whimpering softly as he stares at your pussy. He’s never seen anything so soft and beautiful. As he encouraged you to do, you guide his face to where your clit is and instruct him to gently suck on it while using the flat of his tongue to slowly lick up and down your slit. He does so, enjoying your taste and the sounds you make. 

“That’s it, baby,” you softly moan. “Lick that pussy. Lap up all of me…it’s all for you.” Something inside of Choso bursts at those nasty words falling from your pretty mouth. Something like a wildfire blooms inside of him with no way to put it out until you’ve cum too. 

He goes slow, letting you get used to him and himself used to you. After a few minutes, he’s got it down and knows just how to make you squirm under his hands that stay planted on your ass, angling your hips so he can reach that spot that makes you let out that voice even more. “Oh, my God, Choso!” you gasp, gripping his locks of hair. “Fuck, that’s so good! Please keep going!” 

“You taste so good,” he moans into your pussy. “So fuckin’ wet…so tight…I need all of you.” He’s so pent up that he begins to fist his cock that has begun to harden again at the feeling of your wetness dripping down his chin. He loves eating your pussy. He could get drunk off of you. 

Before he realizes it, he has started to move his tongue faster, his jaw beginning to ache. But he keeps going, encouraged by your loud whines and sobs that bounce off the walls and caress his ears. “Fuck, Choso!” you whine. “You’re gonna make cum!” 

Like a dog reacting to Pavlov’s bell, Choso continues to eagerly lap at your cunt, encouraging you to cum. “Mmm-hmm,” he hums, lips still wrapped around your perfect little clit. “Cum for me, pretty girl. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” His words become pleas and begs, needing you to cum for him. Needing you to soak his face. “Cum for me, please! I need it! I fucking need it!” 

And you do. “Fuck, Choso!” you moan at the top of your lungs, arching your back and gripping his hair as you finally cum in his mouth. All over his chin. All over the couch. It’s the hottest thing he has ever experienced. Hearing you sob in pleasure and watching your body contort like you’re being exercised is better than any porn. He nearly cums watching you, still pumping his cock as he laps up every bit of your cum along your sensitive pussy and twitching thighs. 

Finally, he sits back and takes a breath while you lay there, eyes closed and chest rapidly rising and falling. “Oh, my God,” you sigh. And then, again, laughingly this time, “Oh, my God!”

He smiles at the little breathless, delirious giggles that leave your lips. “I guess I did a good job?” he asks, giddy at the fact that he made you feel that good. You open your eyes and smile up at him, noting but sedated lust and adoration there.

“That was amazing, baby,” you happily sigh. “You sure that was your first time eating pussy?” He laughs at this, his stomach flipping with joy. “I don’t think my dreams count, so, yes.” 

Noticing your eyes have fallen to his hard cock, he begins to soothingly stroke your thigh, not wanting you to feel obligated to continue. “You need to relax for a minute?” Silently, you shake your head and sit up to straddle him, forcing him onto his back. “You sure?” he asks, concerned. “What about your–” 

“I’m fine,” you interrupt. “I’ll be even better when I get you inside of me.” His eyes widen as he stares up at you, not used to such impatience. The same fire inside of him has grown inside of you too. “Hold onto my hips, okay? I’m gonna guide you in.”

Wordlessly, he nods, swallowing hard as your hand wraps around the base of his cock and guides him down to your entrance. He feels himself getting harder as the anticipation and the sight of you on top overtakes him. 

Finally, after running his cock up against your slit, emitting soft moans from both of you, he finally slips inside of you. “Fuck!” he gasps at the same time as you release a moan of pure pleasure. “B-Baby, you’re so tight!” Your soft, wet walls flutter around him and squeeze him at the same time, making him feel like he is being tightly embraced. 

You slide up halfway, grasping his shoulders for leverage. He keeps his hands on your hips to help guide you though he trembles as he does. “Too much?” you breathlessly ask. He shakes his head, nearly groaning when you move black strands of his hair out of his face. “I’ll move slow, okay? Just feel me, Choso. Don’t fight it.” 

Choso doesn’t. He couldn’t even if he tried. The way your wet, spongy walls squeeze around him so tight, slowly stroking his cock the same way your mouth did but way more intense, is driving him further toward the edge of insanity.

You begin to alternate between rolling your hips and bouncing on him by balancing on your knees, making him plunge his cock into you again and again. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your tits flush against his chest. “That feel good, baby?” you coo into his ear. “You like this pussy?” 

Choso can’t take any it—the wetness of your pussy; the slow rocking of your hips; your soft body moving up and down against him as you slowly bounce on his dick. He holds you closer to him, needing more. “Fuck, Y/N!” he groans. “N-Need it…need it faster!” 

He feels you grin against his ear as you nibble on his earlobe and kiss down his neck. “Faster?” you chuckle. “Is that what you said?” He frantically nods as you pull away to stare into his eyes. “Then grab my hips and make me go faster,” you purr. “Take what you want. I’m yours, Daddy.” 

That fire inside of Choso damn near explodes. You just gave him confirmation to fuck you up completely. So he grabs your hips and begins to fuck up into you, driving himself deeper and deeper into you. Your walls begin to flutter around him more intensely as lewd, squelching sounds begin to emit from your wet pussy the more his cock fucks up into it like it’s his personal fleshlight.

You’re loving it, your arms tightening around his neck and thighs tightening from the pleasure he is giving you. “O-Oh my G-God!” you moan, each word shaky from being bounced so much on his cock. “F-Fuck, Choso! Sh-Sh-Shit!” 

He grins, proud to be making you feel this good and act this slutty for him. “Yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly. He grabs your ass and gives into a smack as he drives his cock into you, his slamming up against yours. “That dick feel good? Tell me, mama. Tell me how good I feel fucking you.” You grip him close, pressing your face into his shoulder. “Yes, like that!” you sob. “You feel so good, Chosi! You make me feel so fucking good!” 

He can’t explain the way that makes him feel. He is overwhelmed and flooded with waves of lust, love, and everything in between as he feels you; hears you; tastes you. He wants to make this count. He needs to make sure you understand how you make him feel.

“Come here,” he demands. “Down here, right against me.” He pauses and lays back against the couch, pulling you against him. There, he begins to thrust up into you again, gripping your ass as you slide a hand between your thighs to frantically rub your clit. 

“You deserve this,” he groans. “You deserve every minute, every second of this. I wanna give this to you all the time. Can I do that for you, baby? Please?” He holds your face between his hands, staring into your pleasure-stricken expression and lust-blown eyes. “Can I give you my cum?” he whispers. 

Biting on your bottom lip from the pleasure, you nod your head, gripping one of his hands and pressing it closer to your cheek. “Yes,” you whimper.

You begin to push yourself down against him, slamming your pussy down onto his cock again and again to bring you both closer to the edge. “Yes, baby, give it all to me! Please make me cum with you!” 

Choso then presses a rough, passionate kiss to your lips as he slams into you, gripping you closer to him. “I love you!” he growls. “I love you so fucking much! Let me show you how fucking much.”

The more he thrusts in and out of you, the more it feels like your cunt is trying to suck him in. You soon begin to move against one another, swallowing your shallow breaths and desperate moans as the couch squeaks beneath your bodies. He can feel himself edging closer to his end, his balls swelling and that fire growing. 

“Tell me you love me,” he demands. “Tell me right now.” You sink your nails into his pecs, giving him a bite of pain that sends his cock into a frenzy.

“I love you!” you damn near scream. “I love you so, so much, Choso!” You stare into his eyes, pleading for him to give you what you crave. “Please cum with me,” you beg. “Please, please, baby, fill me up!” 

Your sobbing wet pussy does the same, begging for his cum the more he pistons into you. Finally, he feels it building and can feel your walls tightening, signaling that your end is near too. “Cum on that cock,” he moans. “Do it for me, baby, c’mon, please!”

Your jaw falls slack as does his and a small lull of silence swells around you as the pleasure builds. When that damn finally breaks, neither one of you can hold back. Moans, cries, and gasps fill the air as you both cum against each other, you gushing around his cock and him filling you up.

“Fuck!” he groans, sloppily thrusting his slick cock into you again and again as he rides out the last of his orgasm with you. You fall slack against him, your moans dying down to soft gasps and tiny whimpers as your pussy twitches around him. 

Finally exhausted, Choso’s thrusts grow sloppier and slower until he finally stops and lets your mingled cum drip down his balls, not even caring if it stains the couch. He feels you twitch slightly against him, but he holds you close to him. “No, don’t move,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on you. “Just stay here for a minute with me.” 

Silence falls upon you as you lay in your afterglow, you on top of him. He stays inside of you, his cock growing soft, but he feels so at home there. So…comfortable. He breathes in your scent, stroking your clammy skin, back, and ass. He can feel his eyes fluttering closed from the sedation of the sex and that amazing second orgasm. “Babe?” you ask. 

He lifts his head to look down at you. “Hm?” 

You peel your head off of his chest, smiling up at him. “I have to pee,” you giggle. Blushing, Choso quickly releases you. “R-Right, sorry! You need me to walk you?” He watches as you carefully slide off of him, his flaccid cock flapping against his lower stomach. You slowly plant one foot on the floor and then try to stand.

“Uh, I think I’m–oh, shit!” you gasp as your leg wobbles. You slide the rest of the way off of Choso and nearly fall to the ground, but he catches you. 

He wraps one arm around your waist and sits you back down on the couch. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry, I’m not too tired to carry you.” Slowly, he stands, butt naked, and scoops you, also butt naked, up against him bridal style.

“What a gentleman,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck as your feet dangle off the ground. “You paint and cook for me, make me cum my brains out, and carry me to the bathroom.”

He softly laughs at your compliment, blushing mad hard and secretly beaming with pride. He is so happy you feel this way about him. 

After taking you to the bathroom, he waits for you on the couch with some water. When you return, you both lay on the couch face to face, front to front. “So how was your first time?” you gently ask, stroking his chest. 

He takes a moment to think about this, wondering which words will satisfy you. “It was amazing,” he sighs, earning a pleased smile from you. That was obviously the right answer. “You were amazing.” He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. 

“So were you,” you sigh, mirroring his actions. It causes him to lean in to kiss you which only makes his cock twitch against your thigh. Noticing, you giggle against his mouth. “Again?” you whisper. 

“Y’know, we’ve got plenty of time before my idiot brothers come back,” he murmurs against your lips. “And I’ve always wanted to have shower sex with you…if you’re up for it.” He adds this sheepishly, not wanting to see like a sex fiend when you just got done one round. After all, you need the rest. 

But you seem to be on the same time as your hooded eyes stare into his and your hand gently caresses his cock pressed against you. “Lead the way then, stud,” you purr. 

Choso has never moved so fast in his life. 

THE END.

[coralstories]

Bro why did I literally tear up at them saying the words “I love you” for the first time T.T

And then after that it was just

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hey love could I request a BF Choso ×fem reader? Thinking of watching a movie with your bestfriend but when the spicy scene comes on he notices you squirming and doesn't let it slide, such a mean tease🙏🤭 pleaseeee

Pairing: Bestie!Choso x Fem!Reader (Friends to Lovers)

Synopsis: When your best friend comes over for a movie date when your boyfriend starts acting up, you both expect just a simple night of fun, Netflix, and simple, platonic bonding until a sex scene in a Rated R film has you both feeling a certain type of way. Lucky for you, Choso is a good friend and he knows exactly how to take care of his dear Y/N.

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); Friends to Lovers; Crushing; Sexual Tension; Foreplay; Netlix n Chill; Coercion; Dubcon/R*pe (because of Choso coercing you into sex); Oral; No PIV; Fingering; Cunnilingus; Pussy-Drunk!Choso; Gooning; Masturbation; Mutual O; Choso is DOWN BAD for You

Word Count: 4.3k

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

Writer's Note: I'm so sorry this took so long, Anon!! The winter slump plus work got to me & this took longer than it should've but I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the request! -Jazz

Credits: Divider made by @pixopix!

When you invite your bestie for several years over for movie night, he already knows what type of time you’re on. You’re just too damn shy to say it. 

He knows it as soon as you show up at your apartment door in a silk robe with those teddy bear-textured shorts and a cherry red cami that does nothing to hide the outline of your bra underneath. Choso is no stranger to your game as you’ve been platonically flirting for years, but this? This is something different. 

These are straight-up ‘fuck me’ clothes…or maybe he’s just overthinking this because of his undying crush on you. He’s seen you wear way less than this before.

“What’s with the outfit?” he asks, doing his very best to hide his blush and increasing hard-on. “You couldn’t have asked your boyfriend to come over?” 

Your smile at seeing him fades as you scoff, hitting him in the chest. “Asshole,” you tut. “These are just my pajamas and, plus, you know me and him aren’t exactly cool right now.”

You look off over Choso’s shoulder and he knows from your sour expression that things aren’t good with you and your boyfriend right now. He pushes away the hopeful butterflies in his stomach. “Still mad over that Christmas mishap?” he asks. 

You give him a look. “It wasn’t a mishap,” you argue, referring to the fact that your boyfriend forgot to buy you a Christmas gift but had time to do so for his best friend who is also his ex. “It was completely intentional. Now are you gonna come in?” You open the door wider, moving out of Choso’s way as he comes walking into your cozy little apartment. 

When you shut the door, he makes himself at home by taking off his shoes, placing them at the door, and hanging up his coat on the hooks near the door. “What’s on for tonight?” he asks. You give him a secretive smile and skip over to the couch to fetch the remote. With one click, Netflix pops up and so does the cheesiest, sapiest romcom with a man and a woman gazing lovingly at each other on the poster. “No,” Choso groans.

“Yes!” you reply, giving him a cute pout. “You promised that it was my turn to choose!” As much as Choso would rather kill himself than watch a single second of this movie, your pretty face and puckered lips defeat him. “Fine, but if you start crying, trust that I’m making fun of you.” 

He gives you a smirk as you gape at him, your hands on your hips that he has ached to hold. “Not when I made you hot pockets!” you bark, nodding down to the covered bowl on your coffee table.

You lift the lid, revealing dozens of delicious-smelling, sizzling hot pockets ready for consumption, along with a bowl of popcorn and a couple of sodas. Choso dives to yank a hot pocket out of the bowl, but you beat him, grabbing the bowl. “No, no, you made your mark on me already.” 

Your best friend dives for you this time, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto the couch. You squeal with laughter, doing your best to get away, but he tightens his hold on you and ends up accidentally putting you in his lap. At some point, you both realize how close you are and your playful smiles fade. It isn’t like you and Choso haven’t play fought before or gotten close like this. He’s your best friend, after all.

But something feels odd now. Different. Like the warm scent wafts up into your nostrils, making your heart pound. Is that his cologne? And why are his arms so strong? And…why do they feel so good? 

Quickly, Choso unravels you from his arms and places you on the couch. “Sorry,” he mutters. His handsome face and pale skin burst with red as he blushes. You do your best to compose yourself and stop your body from reacting in such a way for your best friend. “You’re fine, Cho,” you say, clearing your throat. “Uh…let’s watch the movie, shall we?” 

You offer him a smile and dim the lights on your phone before flicking on the movie. In the darkness with him sitting so close to you on the couch, you try to think about nothing but the movie. And not at all about how your hand is inches from his. Or how his knee brushes against yours every so often when he shifts positions. Or how his cologne is making you feel drunk. 

At some point during the movie, right when the female protagonist is finally alone with her leading man, the both of them unrequited lovers from different parts of the world, you start to feel your eyes sag. Your legs are thrown over Choso’s lap and the pillow under your head is feeling a little too good. Choso looks over at you, the light from the TV illuminating his handsome features. “Gettin’ tired?” he asks, a smile in his voice. “You had work today, right? Y’know, you can lean your head on me.” 

You shake your head, lazily staring at the movie. “No, no, m’fine,” you reassure him, hiding a yawn. “I’ve been wantin’ to see this movie. I don’t wanna miss it just because I’m…” Your words die in your throat when you suddenly see the female protagonist and her leading man kiss. Very passionately, you’ll add. 

You watch, transfixed as the two hold each other, the man’s hands grasping the woman’s ass while hers venture under his sweater, their lips and tongues dancing together. The sounds that escape them feel so real that you start to become warm. A snort breaks your hypnotized state and you find Choso staring at you in humor. “What?” you demand. 

He shrugs, laying a hand on your ankle which sends tingles up your body. “You act like you ain’t never seen two people make-out before,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Shy?” You threaten to kick him, instead sitting up and crossing your legs. “Whatever,” you scoff. 

A loud moan comes from the TV and you both turn, finding the woman lying on her back on a couch and the man sucking her nipples, writhing underneath him. The camera pans down to her hands quickly unbuckling the man’s pants and taking his cock out. You giggle at Choso whose face is beet red. “And look at you! That face is as red as my top now!” 

“Well, I didn’t think they were gonna show dick!” he argues. “I thought this was PG-13!”

“It’s Rated R, Choso,” you giggle, moving to cross your legs over one another now. Mostly to dampen the throbbing between your thighs. “C’mooon, we’ve watched porn together before. I think you can handle a sex scene.” Your best friend looks at you, his eyes glittering with something unrecognizable in the dim light of the TV. “Can you?” he asks, but the way he says it isn’t the friendly teasing that he usually has in his voice. It is almost seductive. 

Unfortunately for you, it affects you TREMDENOUSLY. So much to the point that you can’t think of anything else but you and him acting out the sex scene on your TV screen. The man is now in between his costar’s thighs, his hand palming her clit while his tongue licks at her pussy, moans escaping the both of them. It makes your entire body grow hot and heavy, your nipples tingling as well as…somewhere else. 

Worried about your rigid posture, Choso looks over at you. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?” he gently asks. 

The man has now begun to perform cunnilingus on the woman and you can’t help but wonder if that really is her pussy on screen. “Y-Yeah, m’fine,” you stammer. “I’ve just…never anyone do that to a pussy before.” Choso scowls in confusion, his eyebrows knitted together. It’s almost adorable. “What, your boyfriend has never done that to you before?” 

“That’s none of your business, perv!” you bark. Your friend cocks his head to the side, staring you down. “Fine, no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “He’s not very adventurous and I never said anything about it before because I don’t wanna argue.” Looking at the male actor on your screen, you have never been more jealous. You can’t remember the last time your boyfriend ever made you cum from head…if he even gives it. 

Watching them together, you cross your arms tighter over your chest to hide your hardened nipples and uncomfortably shift, feeling your panties tighten. “You’re squirming.” You turn to Choso again, blinking at him in the darkness. He stares at you almost intensely, definitely not in a way a friend should. 

“Huh?” you exhale. It’s all your dumbed-out brain can conjur. 

Suddenly, he scoots closer, even as the sex scene finishes. “You’re squirming,” he repeats. “And don’t tell me some bullshit excuse as to why other than the fact that is gettin’ you hot.” 

“W-What?!” you squeak, your body temperature peaking. “What are you–” He is now thigh to thigh, calve to calve, with you, and you suddenly can’t speak. “Don’t make it weird, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and breathy. “You’re not the only one who’s feelin’ this scene.” 

His hand, adorned in rings, lightly touches your bare knee and trails up to your thigh. You can’t find the willpower to push it away. Especially not when your eyes catch the outline of his dick pushing against his jeans. “Choso,” you gasp. “Y-you’re…you’re hard.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts in a sheepish smile. “Not just from the movie, babe: from you and this little outfit.” His hand moves up to toy with the straps of your cami and bra, pulling both down. “You can’t tell me you weren’t planning somethin’ when you invited me over and threw this shit on. Are you tryin’ to test me?” He leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You need to stop him. You should stop him. This is insane! He’s your best friend! 

“Choso,” you gasp. “Don’t. We can’t–” 

“Why not?” he interrupts, his minty breath from his gum fanning your face. “Y/N, we’ve been friends for years. I know everything about you: what you like.” His pillowy-soft lips are suddenly on your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your bare skin. “What you don’t like.” His lips trail up to your neck. “What makes you tick.” 

You instinctively tilt your head back, your body betraying you. His lips trail liquid fire across your skin and throat as his big hands move to hold your waist. “B-But we…oh…but we’re friends,” you all but whisper. 

“And we still will be, baby,” he replies. “But you’re so needy right now. What kind of friend would I be if I neglected you in your hour of need, huh?” All common sense and logic leave your head when his other hand cascades down between your legs.

His fingers press against the heated part of your shorts that he can already feel dampening. You gasp, your mouth falling open, as Choso nuzzles your neck to inhale your scent. “Just let me make you feel good,” he murmurs. “Let me be a good friend to you, okay?” 

Before you even realize what’s happening, you find yourself sitting on your best friend’s lap with your thighs spread wide and his two fingers doused in your slick and his saliva rubbing between the folds of your wet pussy. “So much for this dumbass movie,” he chuckles. “You’re not even watchin’ it.” 

His palm glides against your pussy, sending trendles of pleasure throughout your entire being that start at your toes and stop at your nipples, exposed and on full display outside of your cami and bra. Choso latches his lips onto one, gently sucking on a hardened peak and dousing it in his spit. 

His fingers then sink into your pussy, slowly stretching out your hole. You are so wet and open that it’s easy for him. He can only imagine how it would be for his cock. “Oh, fuck!” you moan, tossing your head back. His fingers curl against that spot that makes you see stars exploding behind your lids, especially when Choso begins to pump them back and forth. Squelching sounds drift into the air, mixing with your slutty moans and the sounds of the movie playing. “Choso!” you whine. “F-Fuck, please!” 

He smiles against your tit, using his right hand to massage the other while his left plays with your pussy. “Please what, mama?” he asks. “I thought I was givin’ you exactly what you needed.” He slides his fingers out of your shorts, your juices glistening in the blue light of the TV on his digits. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he gasps. “Just look at my fingers.” 

You gaze at them in your face, your vision blurry from the pleasure. “Bring them here,” you pant. 

He does as you request and damn near creams his pants when you begin sucking and licking on his fingers. He can feel his cock chubbing against his pants, desperate to be free and feel your ass against his bare skin. “Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You’ve got me so fuckin’ hard. Just look at what you did. Look down fa’ me.” 

You do, your thighs opening wider to give you a view of Choso’s hard bulge pressing against your satin-covered pussy. The only thing separating you are the articles of clothing. “You’re so hard,” you whimper. “Fuck, Cho…” 

You swirl your hips to the front, grinding your cunt against the tent in his pants. The moan that escapes him is delicious, making you want to do it again and again. “Tell me what you want,” he raspily demands, his mouth suckling your neck. “Say it and I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want just to make you cum.” 

Sploosh-sploosh. His fingers sound like they are swishing in a pot of the wettest Mac n Cheese as they finger your cunt, causing your juices to spill down to your asscrack and ruin your panties.  “Your mouth!” you moan. “I need your mouth on me, Cho, please!” 

Choso needs no other confirmation. Immediately, he coaxes you off of his lap and sits you down on your couch before kneeling on the floor before you. His eyes are hooded and his lips are flushed. He looks absolutely drunk off of you. “Don’t look away from the movie. Just keep watchin’ while I’m down here.” 

You don’t know how you’re supposed to do that when the spike-haired stud dips between your thighs and begins lapping at your juices. Your mouth falls open on a moan as soon as his soft lips and wet tongue make contact with your sodden lips, clit, and every sensitive part of your pussy.

Choso moans at your taste, his tongue flicking along your clit and making the most lewd, wet sounds you have ever heard. “Fuck, right there!” you whine. 

His eyes tick up to meet yours, drinking in your beautiful reaction. “Right here?” he teasingly asks. He twirls his tongue upward, flicking a spot that makes you grip his spiked, black hair for dear life. In the heat of the moment, you yank on it and push him deeper into your cunt, emitting a surprised moan out of him.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” you pant, quickly letting go. “Did I hurt you?” 

Choso stares up at you in a crazed, feral way, his eyes darkening with desire. “Do that again,” he nearly begs. “Pull me in.”

Then he takes his two fingers and slips them back inside of you, where they belong. As he does this, his mouth busies itself sucking your clit, gently stimulating the needy button of nerves. 

You become a loud, moaning, gasping, writhing mess, leading you to grab the remote and turn the volume to the movie up. You don’t want your neighbors suspecting something nasty going on…but the idea of them healing you get your kitty eaten turns you on more than you can express. You gush at the naughty fantasy, spilling it all into Choso’s mouth. “S’good,” he mumbles into your cunt. “You taste so fuckin’ good, baby, shit.”  

Knelt before you, he uses his free hand to unzip his pants and begins stroking his hard cock at the sound of your sweet moans filling his ears. How he has longed to hear those moans with his own ears! He has envisioned being this way with you so many times, fucking his fist to the thought of pounding your pussy or having you ride his face. 

He has even jacked off with you on the phone in secret, catching onto your sweet giggles and cute ramblings that have made him quietly bust into his hand more times than he’d like to admit. He is a total goon for you and he is prepared to show you that tonight. 

One hand plays with one of your titties, pinching your own nipple, while the other fingers Choso’s hair, gripping the black strands as he works your pussy with his tongue. “Oh, fuck!” you loudly gasp. “Sh-Shit, Choso, yes! That’s so…ah!” 

You have no idea what he does, but he does something with his fingers inside of you that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back. With your eyes closed and your mind blank, you miss the end credits to the movie and soon, the familiar “Are you still watching” notice from Netflix pops up on your screen. 

No, you’re not watching. Because you’re too busy cumming. 

You can feel the urge tighten in your core, making you grind your hips up into Choso’s mouth, riding his face from your position on the couch. He welcomes in, moving his hand faster against his cock, fucking his palm as he feels your velvety, wet pussy tighten around his fingers. “Oh, my God!” you gasp. “C-Cho…baby, I’m gonna cum!” 

Baby. You called him baby. Oh, God, he’s going to cum too. “Give it to me,” he moans. “Cum for me, please! Cum all over my fuckin’ mouth!” He needs you to cum with him. His balls are tightening so much that they ache, threatening to make him shoot his load all over his hand. 

Fortunately for him, it doesn’t take you much longer or much else. With an adorable gasp, you feel the first wave of your orgasm hit you. When the second comes, it smacks you dead in the face and draws a loud moan out of you that the neighbors definitely hear.

You cum all over Choso’s fingers and mouth while he spurts rope after rope of spunk into his hand, sputtering moans and gasps into your pussy as he greedily slurps up your juices. 

As the waves of your high pass, you are left smiling and dazed, staring up at the ceiling as Choso’s licks at your inner thighs and cleans up your pussy lips. “Oh,” you sigh, a slight laugh leaving you. You feel winded but in the best possible way. 

“That was amazing,” Choso breathlessly laughs, a drunk look in his eyes. “Way better than this shit movie.” You concur. When you look down, you make the sound sound but in surprise at the sight before you: “Oh!” you exclaim. “Did you–” 

“Yeah,” Choso sheepishly admits. His cock is semi-hard though he just came, his fingers listening in his nut. “Sorry. You got me excited.”

He blushes red, his nervous eyes flitting down to his hand. You can’t believe it. He came just from eating your pussy?! 

Now you know he can’t be your friend anymore. “Well, that’s not fair. I came in your mouth and you didn’t cum in mine.” You bring his hand to your lips and begin to lick his spunk off of his palm and fingers, moaning softly as you do. He watches you, his cock twitching in excitement at the sight.

“Let’s fix that,” you suggest. “Lay down on the couch for me.” 

Quickly, Choso rises to his feet and is in the process of stripping off his pants when your phone ruins the erotic moment. Your ringer is shrill and annoying, but nothing is as annoying as the caller ID. “Babe is calling,” Siri announces. “Babe is calling.”

Your boyfriend…well, ex-boyfriend now. 

You go to silence your phone, but Choso beats you to it and grabs it. “Wait, Choso,” you say, but he stops you by holding up a finger. Wait a minute.

You watch with bated breath as he clears his throat and presses the green button to answer. “Y/N’s residence,” he answers, smirking at whatever face your ex is wearing at hearing another man answer your phone. 

“Uh…who is this?” your ex asks, his voice drifting from your phone. “Where’s Y/N?” 

“Oh, she’s right here,” Choso replies, smirking down at you. “It’s Choso, her best friend, by the way. You don’t have to call anymore.” 

“Wait, wha–?” 

Choso hangs up before your ex can say anything more and tosses your phone aside, forgotten and discarded, on the coffee table. When he finally strips off his clothes, giving you a view of the man you can’t believe you even considered keeping as a friend, anything about your ex is forgotten. 

“Now how about round 2?” Choso suggests. 

THE END.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Will U Be Mine? 🩷

Pairing: Tech Nerd!Choso x Black Bimbo!Reader

Synopsis: Choso the nerdy IT guy that works in your department who has secretly been obsessing over you and his major crush on your cute ass. You're the cutie at the office who is always brightening up his days with your bright smile and bubbly personality. You both find yourself single on Valentine's Day and alone together after hours in the office. How can you make this V-Day worthwhile? And what about the strange V-Day card that Choso finds under his favorite coffee mug? Surely, you couldn't possibly have left it for him...right?

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); Office Romance Trope; Coworkers to Lovers; Nerdy!Choso x Popular!Reader; Obsessive!Choso; Secret Crush; After Hours Shenanigans; Clueless!Reader lol; Crush Confession; Requited Crush/Romance; Office Sex; Almost Caught; Mutual Oral; Reader Has Nipple Piercings; Big Dick!Choso lol; Switchy!Choso x Switchy!Reader; Deepthroating; Tongue Piercing; Doggy; Daddy Kink; Creampie; Mutual O; Aftercare; BF!Choso x GF!Reader

Word Count: 8.4k

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

Writer's Note: Y'all know I love writing me some Bimbo!Reader shit lol and I had to write more about my baby Choso. I've got WAY more coming later in the week <3 enjoy!! -Jazz

Credits: Choso fanart in collage done by k4enyu on IG! (Link HERE!) All photos found on Pinterest!

*****************

When Choso first walked into the office and saw the little heart-shaped card sitting underneath his favorite coffee mug in the employee lounge, the one he ALWAYS uses, he thought he was hallucinating. 

It was an adorable, pink, heart-shaped card decorated with a sparkly, ruffled bow on the front of it. When he lowered his takeout coffee on the counter, he tentatively slipped the card out from under his mug and opened it to reveal a message written in sparkly pink pen on the white insides of the card: 

Will U Be Mine?

Choso immediately felt his body grow warm from the message, his eyes drinking in each detail of the beautifully, neat print and the adorable drawn parts over each lowercased I. He was confused as to why he specifically got this card, but even more confused as to why he got it on a random work day…until his younger brother and the office intern walked in behind him. 

“Hey, what'd ya get?" Yuji asked, clapping a hand over Choso’s shoulder. "Oooh, is that a Valentine's Day card?! You got a Valentine, bro?!" He said it so loud that the people chilling in the lounge stared at him curiously. 

Choso blinked at his younger brother for a short second, realizing that it was, in fact, Valentine’s Day. A day of romance, romcom marathons on TV, and companies marketing romance to couples and horrible partners who didn’t show their significant others affection through sweet gestures throughout the year so they made up for it through chocolates and last-minute flowers. 

He had forgotten that it was Valentine’s Day, figuring that it was just a normal, cold winter workday in the office. He paid no attention to the red and pink hearts decorating his favorite cafe or the flower shop at the end of the corner being 50% off today only. He called himself dumb for it, but he was just oblivious. He paid no mind to holidays except for Christmas and Halloween (since that was his favorite one). Any other day was just a normal day for him. 

So the fact that he was receiving a V-Day card despite having NEVER gotten one before, even in high school, was more than strange to him. It felt odd, like something was askew in his life and he couldn’t figure out what. "Fuck, Yuji, shut up!" Choso hissed, smacking Yuji hard in the side. "I don't know what this is. It's probably not even for me." 

Choso wasn't a bad-looking guy. Quite the contrary. He thought he was pretty average with his black, mullet-like hair, pale skin, lean yet muscular build, and the dark circles surrounding his brown eyes that was hereditary and not because he was the IT guy at a busy business center. He also had tattoos that he hid behind his baggy sweaters and piercings—one embedded in his brow, a couple in his ears, and snakebites that he took out for work. 

But he was never as lucky in the dating department as his twin brothers were. Yuji, a tall high school student with a bright smile, soft pink hair, and skills for all sports, was quite popular among the girls. Sukuna, who was the total opposite of their golden boy brother Yuji, always had a different girl under his arm every week, his tattoos, piercings, and jagged personality making him a heartthrob (Choso never understood it). 

But Choso? He was lucky to have a girl even smile at him. He didn’t have a big, boisterous personality like Yuji and he wasn’t a “bad boy” like Sukuna. He was a tech nerd; always had been, always would be. You’d often find him in the IT department sitting at his work desk, peering through his glasses at a laptop screen, muttering swears to himself when he ran into a complicated issue or rolling his eyes over the phone with a client who just didn’t understand technology. 

He didn’t go on dates. He didn’t participate in workplace dating or hookups because of the messiness that came from them. He was never asked out or given phone numbers. And thought sometimes it got him down in the dumps, he also knew that if any other girl ever showed interest, he wouldn’t be as excited about it. Because his feelings were reserved for someone else. 

Yuji curiously peered down at the heart-shaped card, sipping his takeout cold brew. "But it's under your mug though.” Choso shrugged, trying to seem passive but his heart was thumping wildly. “Yeah, but someone probably left it here by accident." 

Yuji hummed indifferently, smirking at his older brother. “Mmmm, I dunno, Cho. It's pretty strategic that your secret admirer left it right here." He gave Choso a wink to which the black-haired tech nerd shoved him again, pushing him away from the door to the hallway. "I don't have a secret admirer." 

But even he started wondering if that was even true. It didn’t make sense that someone would “accidentally" leave a V-Day card under his favorite mug; the only mug he used at work. It was a Pokémon mug shaped like Gengar, his red eyes and creepy yet adorable smile posted on the front. Nobody used it but Choso, and someone knew that he did. 

When and Yuji walked back out into the office hallway, Choso stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the sweetest thing he has heard all morning: your voice. You were giggling as you came skipping out of the elevator with another work friend of yours, a bright smile on your pretty face, dressed in your pink puffer coat and matching hat, gloves, and scarf. 

You looked so fucking cute, Choso couldn’t help but realize. He stared at you like a longing idiot as you obliviously skipped down the hallway between cubicles, telling people “Happy Valentine’s Day” and reaching into your bag to hand out V-Day cards. Choso watched as employees’ faces broke into expressions of surprise, happiness, and affection, touched by your sweetness and infectious generosity. Choso was more than attracted to it. 

And to you, the cute little office assistant that had been bugging him for over a year since you arrived. 

He watched as you skipped over to your cubicle, pink and decorated adorably, which was right beside Yuki’s, situated outside of your boss’ door that sat adjacent to you as his assistant. You smiled as came into Yuki’s little office who turned toward you in her chair, her blonde hair in a ponytail. She gasped when you presented her with a red card decorated in tiny hearts, your glossy, juicy-looking, pink lips stretching into a grin. "Happy Valentine's Day!" you chirped. "This is for you, Yuki!" 

Yuki covered her mouth with her glossy acrylics, touched by such a gift. “Awww, honey!" she cooed. "This is so sweet! You're such a doll, thank you!" She stood and hugged you tight, never mind the snow dusting your coat. Choso’s body ached to feel you against him like that, holding you tight. 

“Maybe she gave it to ya," Yuji whispered, earning an elbow in the gut. He laughed and rubbed his stomach as Choso shoved the card away into his coat to hide. ”Shut up. Don't even mention that shit." 

The truth was Choso had a sick obsession with you. Like beyond unhinged and borderline mental. He wasn't thinking about kidnapping you and stealing you away to keep as his own…at least not ALL the time, but only if you happened to be chatting with the losers and fuckboys crawling around the office that seemed to always be sniffing at you like horn dogs. 

He couldn’t exactly blame them. You radiated a sweetness and an adorableness that was attractive as it was sexy. You always wore pink every season, with some additional colors tossed into the mix, but pink was your obsession. Choso thought it was so cute how you decorated your cubicle with the color, pumping hot coffee out of your pink coffee machine into your pink mugs, typing away on your laptop with your fresh, pink acrylics and scribbling notes with your sparkly, pink pens. 

You were a walking, talking sun drop, but he has overheard some regard you as a bimbo. It had everything to do with your personality, so bubbly and oblivious, and the clothes you wore. You often came in wearing hip-hugging skirts and dresses that hugged your curvy form and accentuated the curve of your ass, thighs, and tits. You never dressed inappropriately, but your banging body made it so any type of clothing looked obscene on you. 

Anytime Choso saw you, you always gave him a polite wave and a smile, telling him “Hi, Choso!” and “Good morning!” in your sweet voice. Whenever you walked by to deliver papers to someone or to chat with IT about your laptop crashing again (to which Choso always made himself available to help you), he could smell your sweet perfume and body mists. Sometimes, you smelled like vanilla and gourmet goods, other times you smelled like spring flowers. 

God, he wanted you. He ached to push your conversations to somewhere other than the weather and usual pleasantries at work. He yearned to get the balls to finally ask you out. But every time he tried, he either always chickened out, his anxiety getting the best of him, or someone beat him to the punch. 

“Besides, she probably has a date already,” he whispered to Yuji. Just as he said it, he overheard Yuki chatting with you as she brewed you some coffee. “So you ready for your date tonight?” she giggled to you with a wink. “It’s with that security guard Nao, right?” 

Instantly, Choso felt his stomach drop. Not just because you had a Valentine already, but because it was with one of the worst fuckboys in the building. He couldn’t stand Nao or any of the security guards that swore they were hot shit just because they were big, buff, and intimidated visitors. Not to mention they went through girls like Choso went through black nail polish. 

But why the hell would someone as pretty as you go out with someone like him? He was just the tech nerd. He wasn’t anything special. So he always watched from afar, keeping his feelings to himself. But as watched as you went around handing out other V-Day cards to those in your department, he started thinking that maybe it would be possible to change this situation and finally have you for himself. 

‘Nah,’ he thought and went to the IT department located at the far end of the office near the control rooms. He wasn't even in your department, so why the hell would you randomly give him a V-Day card?

******************

That night, Choso stayed after hours as he usually did to get some work done early, but it was also because he didn’t want to face the depressing fact that he was single on Valentine’s Day. Again. 

It wasn’t anything new. He had been single for a long time, so he grew comfortable with the idea of being by himself, especially on Valentine’s Day. Besides, it wasn’t a real holiday anyway; just something to force people to buy into the idea of romance and what it was supposed to be. 

Yet even when he thought this, he still felt a pang of envy when Yuji bid him farewell for his own date with his boyfriend Megumi tonight and Sukuna told him that he’d be home late tonight after yet another date with a girl he met during classes. Both of his brothers were comfortable in their dating lives, always experiencing the new, exciting things that come with romance and attraction. But Choso wasn’t. He didn’t even know the first thing about dating the way he knew laptops, viruses, and coding. 

Which is how he found himself at his work desk, getting the assignments meant for next week done early with a steaming mug of coffee and his extra cartridge of cherry-flavored vape beside him. He was a weed-smoker, but sometimes he chose his vapes to take the edge off when he was alone. He preferred working alone in the dimly-lit room with just the glow of his laptop and his Spotify playlist playing softly on his phone. 

It was something that took his mind off of the strange V-Day card and the stupid idea that he had a “secret admirer”. His brother as stupid. There was no way any girl, especially you, left that for him without it being some misunderstanding or an accident. 

But just as he glanced at the clock to see that it was 7PM and saved the Excel chart that he was working on, he heard something. A little rattle that didn’t sound normal like the sounds of the janitor working on cleaning the office. Alarmed, Choso stood up and grabbed his ring of keys before locking up the IT room with his stuff inside and venturing out in the empty office. Everyone has long since gone home…except for one, apparently. 

As he turned the corner to see all of the cubicles lining the small office space, he saw you standing at yours, struggling with your short self with moving your desk. You grunted and whimpered, your knees buckling and arms straining in your bubblegum pink work dress. Choso tried not to check you out too much, but it was hard since the dress stopped right at your creamy thighs since it was riding up so much and showed off the slender curve of your breasts. 

Were you wearing a push-up bra? He had to wonder since your tits looked a lot perkier than usual, bouncing enticingly as you struggled to move your work desk. 

You pulled your hair up as you worked and adorably enough, still wore your ballet flats even though this was some heavy lifting you were trying to do. Cleaning products littered your little space and everything looked a lot more organized than this morning: papers neatly stacked, folders filed away, desk wiped down, etc. How long had you been in here without Choso realizing it?

When you finally gave up and released the desk with a cute huff of frustration, you turned, realizing that you were being watched. “Oh!” you exclaimed, planting a hand on your heart. “Choso, hi! You scared me.” Choso felt instant guilt and regret for staring at you from your cubicle doorway, feeling like a creep. “Sorry. I just…I’m usually the only one here besides the janitors.” 

You instantly looked like you had gotten caught with your hand in the cookie jar, standing there among your pink fortress. “U-Uh…I’m just organizing! My area was sooo dirty! Lotta cobwebs and all.” You motioned behind your desk, but Choso didn’t see anything. No dirt, no trash, and definitely no cobwebs. But he didn’t mention it. Okay. You need any help?” 

He watched in amusement as you went back to trying to move your desk, squatting in your dress much to his enjoyment. “No, no, I’ve got it! It’s MY desk, s-so…” You cutely grunted, damn near popping a blood vessel. Finally, you gave up and gave him a sheepish look. “Yeah,” you sighed. “Thanks, Choso.” 

Choso was already stripping off his sweater, revealing the black V-neck and his tattoos underneath, unaware that you were staring hard. “Sure thing.” He tossed his sweater on your Hello Kitty wheeled chair as he came into your little office space, smirking humorously at the overabundance of pink items: pink coffee mugs, a pink coffee machine, pink posters, pink pens, a pink file holder.

“So you like pink?” he asked, smirking. You gave him a sheepish, shy smile. “Is it that obvious?” you giggled. “I just love the color. I think it makes me look cuter.” He didn’t tell you that he agreed, holding his breath as he walked by you to avoid popping a boner at the scent of your sugary body mist. 

He walked right up to your desk and pulled on it, keeping a firm grip on it. You told him where to move it and he pushed it up against the wall of your cubicle so instead of you facing away from the doorway, you could see it from the side. Is here good?” he asked, barely panting from the movement. You happily nodded, jumping up and down, making him fall deeper for you. “It’s PERFECT! Wow, there’s so much room now!” 

Quickly, you cleaned up everything from behind your desk—only a fallen pen and a wrapper of strawberry gum—before you turned to Choso with glittering eyes filled with gratitude. Thank you so much, Choso! Can I buy you dinner? Oh, wait, you might have a date tonight, right? Not that I heard or anything, but it’s Valentine’s Day, so I figured that…” You abruptly stopped, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m babbling again. I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

Choso raised a curious eyebrow at you. Nervous? Why were you nervous? Was it him doing that to you? “O-Oh, no, it’s fine,” he awkwardly replied. "I’m gonna be here for awhile. And no…no date. Just me.” He knew it sounded as pathetic as he felt saying it, but you seemed to hide your pity for him rather well. 

“Oh! Well, that’s cool…I-I mean, not cool that you don’t have a date, b-but cool that you’re cool about it!” Externally, he saw you cringe to yourself at your babbling and he quirked a little smile, finding you oh-so adorable that it was hard to resist not falling more for you with every passing second. 

God, how much cuter could you fucking get? Were you trying to get snatched up by him? All he wanted to do is scoop you up and put you in his pocket! 

An awkward silence descended upon you as he watched you work away with organizing your desk space again, your pink nails gleaming in the dimly-lit office. “So what are you up to tonight?” he finally asked. “Don’t you have a date or somethin’?”

As if realizing that, you blinked at him and popped up straight like a Jack In The Box Box holding a spray bottle. “O-Oh, yeah!” you squeaked. “I mean, I did, but…b-but…” And immediately, you dropped the bottle and burst into tears. 

A sob-like exhale broke through that chest and sobs began to escape those pretty lips as you weeped into your hands. Like full on bawling, ruining-your-makeup type crying. Choso stared,  taken aback, not sure what to do. “I-I’m sorry,” he awkwardly said. “I didn’t mean to…” Quickly, he reached for the box of tissues sitting next to you and handed them to you. “Here. Sorry.” 

You paused enough to grab a tissue and blew into it, luckily not fucking up your pretty makeup too much. Your lashes were still long and thick with mascara and your lips were still juicy and pink. “Thanks,” you hiccuped before using the tissue to dab at your eyes. “It’s not your fault, Choso. I’m so sorry to freak you out like this.” 

“It’s cool,” Choso said, still worried, but glad that he wasn’t the one to make you cry with his presence. “You okay? Did I say somethin’ wrong?” 

“N-No,” you sniffled, vigorously shaking your head. “It’s just that…I had to cancel my date tonight. You know Nao, right?” Choso nodded. Everyone did. Again, the guy was a total player. 

“Well, he had asked me to dinner tonight after work. He told me he always had a thing for me, but I never knew!” 

Choso resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Nao probably only told you that to butter you up and a girl as cute, oblivious, and slightly naive as you, you probably took his word for it, thinking he was genuine. “S-So, I…” You paused, covering your face as you muttered, “This is sooo embarrassing.” 

But Choso crossed his arms over his chest, surprising both himself and you by uttering, “Try me.” He couldn’t help! He hated to see you so upset, especially over some stupid guy like Nao who only thought with the head in his pants and not the one attached to his skull. 

You still looked apprehensive saying anything, but you continued nonetheless. “Well, people were telling me to be careful because he always has lots of girlfriends. I ignored them, but earlier, I overheard him and his friend talking about me.” Just like that, your lush bottom lip wobbled and your eyes welled with tears again. “He just wanted to take me home for sex and then leave me alone! Yuki told me that would happen, but she still was excited for me to go and…” 

You stopped, your shoulders slumping. You looked oh-so down. “I feel so stupid,” you sighed. “But what else is new? That’s all anyone ever calls me.” 

Now Choso was mad. Really, really mad. “What?” he demanded. “Who? Did Nao call you that?” He wanted to find the douche himself and make him regret ever making you cry. Not many knew this, but in addition to being a tech nerd and a video game buff, Choso was also a gym guy, using free time to pump iron and work on his cardio. 

When you looked away, your silence a deafening answer, his urge to find Nao and strangle him grew. “I really thought he was different,” you sniffled. “But why would he wanna date me? All he sees me as is an airhead. A dumb fucking bimbo.” 

With every horrible word you uttered, Choso felt his gut twist. He wanted to tell you that you were none of those things. But he didn’t, watching you hug yourself tight, consequently smushing your tits together. “It wouldn’t have been a fun date anyway. I would’ve been thinking about someone else the whole time.” 

Suddenly, as if realizing what you said, you gave him an uneasy look, your eyes big and wide as saucers. Choso felt his throat tighten and his heart furiously pound, but he did his best to keep as easy as possible. Chill. Not at all interested in knowing who already had your heart. “Oh…well, who then?” he asked. “S-Sorry, I…you don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.” 

He blushed furiously, turning away to hide his red cheeks. He felt as desperate as he was sure he looked. To give himself something to do, he bent down under your desk and began to busy himself untangling wires, not wanting you to trip over them. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” you replied. “Um…a-actually, it’s someone I gave a V-Day card to today, but I doubt they even got it.” Abruptly, Choso stopped detangling as the room began to squeeze around him. 

“I’ve always been too scared to tell them how I feel,” you continued. “I didn’t think they’d care or even go for someone like me. We’re total opposites, but still, I…I really like him.”

SMACK! 

“Ow, fuck!” Choso grunted as he slammed his head against the top of your desk. He forgot in a split second that he was underneath it and like an idiot, hurt himself trying to stand. “Choso!” you worriedly asked. You kneeled down beside him and helped him out from under your desk. You looked so afraid for him, your hands carding through his black locks. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I…” He paused, licking his lips. “No, I’m not,” he answered. But it wasn’t because of the injury and possible bruise he just gave himself. It was because of you, the adorable, pretty little thing kneeling in front of him with your tits in his face and your whipped cream-sweet scent tantalizing him, could possibly like him. Want him.

“Did you hurt yourself? Here, let me get the first aid kit!” You raced to get up, but he stopped you, placing a hand on yours. An electric shock ran through him at your soft touch and you seemed to feel it too when you looked down at his veiny hand covering yours. “No, m’fine,” he replied. “I just feel like a fuckin’ idiot.” 

“What?!” you exclaimed, your eyes comically widening. “You’re, like, the smartest person in here! You’re like a tech wizard or something! How can you—“ 

There you went babbling again, but Choso found a way to shut you up. Gently, he cupped your jaw and placed a soft kiss on your lips, silencing you. A soft moan of surprise left your lips before you fell into the kiss, your lips melding with his. He swallowed your mewls and soft moans as he kissed your lips, making his sticky with your gloss. He gave you those moans right back, desperate and yearning, as you gripped his shoulders and biceps, feeling him up. 

He could feel how warm and soft you were as his hands tentatively dragged down your back, feeling you up. They ended up falling to your ass and quickly he tried to retract them, but you surprised him by placing them back on the curve of your irresistible behind.

You ended up into his lap suddenly, forcing him to feel the rest of your body heat, especially between your thighs. You grinded against his crotch as your hands stroked up his chest and his squeezed and molded the thick, soft globes of your ass under your dress. Fucking finally. “So the tech nerd is what you want?” he panted. You pulled away, staring at him dazed, kissed dumb. 

“I got your card,” he explained. “You left it under my mug.” Instantly, realization flooded into your eyes and your lips parted, a silent explanation on them. “I thought it was an accident or a joke, but now that I know you wrote it for me…” He gripped you to him, needing to understand.

“So it wasn’t a joke or a prank? You actually left it for me?” 

Your eyes were soft as you gazed at him, peering up at him through your thick lashes. “Yes,” you softly replied. “I really like you, Choso. I’ve always been too shy to tell you.” Choso felt his entire body go flush like he just finished running a marathon and he could hardly breathe. 

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he stammered. 

Your lush, glossy lips pouted seductively at him, in need of more kissing. “Don’t say anything. Just kiss me again.” You placed your hands on his chest, groping and feeling him up through his shirt. “Please?” you whispered with those big, brown eyes. And how could he ever say no to that? Or to pretty little you? 

Quickly, he kissed you again, pushing you back against your desk. Instinctively, you hopped onto the edge of it, causing Choso to slip between your thighs as he continued to kiss you. You grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer to you, giving him the initiative to touch you more. 

“Finally,” he murmured through your kiss. “I’ve been wanting you…wanting you for so fuckin’ long.” One hand trailed up your back to caress your spine while the other rested on your ass, coaxing you to continue to grind your hips into him. “Me too,” you whimpered as he nibbled gently on your plump, pillowy-soft bottom lip. 

“Yeah?” he murmured. He stared into your dazed, hooded eyes, his cock embarrassingly brushing against you. “Y-Yeah,” you panted. “Fuck, Choso, I need you closer!” You practically tossed yourself at him, cupping his face in your hands as your sticky, glossed lips slid against his. 

He smiled through the kiss, happy to know that you had been aching for him in secrecy too. This was insane! He was so sure he would go home tonight, play some video games, and smoke a blunt to end his night. He didn’t expect anything like this to happen to someone like him. And he certainly didn't expect to find his mouth latched onto your neck, giving you hickeys, while your hands boldly slid down to his ass.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your sweet voice making him hard as a rock. “Cho, I-I need—“ 

CLANK, CLANK!

Abruptly, you both jumped away at the sound of metal against metal, finding the janitor right outside with his cart of cleaning supplies and his headphones on. “Whoops!” the old man exclaimed, holding his gloved hands up in defense. “Sorry to interrupt! You kids don’t mind none!” 

He didn’t seem at all alarmed that he caught two coworkers dry humping after hours, but then again, he probably saw worse working here. As he rolled away humming, you and Choso looked at each other, panting, and then began to giggle. “Sorry,” he chuckled. “Do you wanna stop or—?” 

“No,” you whimpered, gripping his body to yours like you were afraid he’d vanish. You locked your legs around his waist, keeping him there. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” you said, your tone sultry and sweet. “I’m not doing this ‘cause my date fell through. I’ve always liked you, Cho, and there’s a reason why I gave you that card.” 

You gave him a shy smile that nearly makes him bust right there in his pants. “If you’re down for it,” you added, batting those pretty lashes at him. “I’d really like for you to be my Valentine…will you?” 

Choso had to hold his breath to keep from nutting. This was a dream come true! “Fuck yes,” he grunted. “Come with me. My office has a door that locks.” You broke out into the prettiest smile, making Choso smile too. He loved making you happy. “Okay,” you giggled. “Let me just gather my stuff.” 

Choso helped you gather your pink Coach tote bag along with your recyclable Starbucks cup studded in rhinestones, thinking of you as some pretty princess from a distant land who only indulged in cute shit. He then took your hand and led you to the IT department right to his office. As soon as he was inside, the door was locked behind him and you placed your items aside, forgotten. 

The only thing that mattered was you now as you reached behind you and confidently unzipped your dress for him. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned, shuddering at the sight of you. Each curve was sculpted to perfection, your skin illuminated by the glow of laptop screens, your tits jiggling and bouncing as you yanked the dress down your body. 

He helped you bring your dress down your ankles while you slid off your shoes, leaving you in just your pink lace bra and Strawberry Shortcake panties. He laughed at your undies, making you smack his arm. “I think they’re cute,” he cooed, bending down to press a kiss to your ass. 

"Cho,” you giggled, reaching a hand back to caress his hair. “You’re making me blush.” That was music to his ears. He wanted nothing more than to make you blush and giggle and smile and cum for as long as you wanted him around. “Baby, he groaned. “You’re perfect.” Realizing his slip-up when you turned around with a shocked expression, he blushed with regret and stood. “S-Sorry, is it okay if I call you that?” 

Luckily for him, you were still giving him that pretty, giddy smile. “Yeah,” you giggled. “You’re not too bad yourself.” You began to strip off his clothes as he toed off his shoes, laughing as you helped him tug his sleeves down his too-big biceps and stole hot, breathless kisses in between.

Off came his shirt, revealing his toned body and tatted arms to you. He never liked to brag about himself, but the way you were looking at him made him want to. You stared at him like he was a Ken Doll you just unwrapped. “Oh, wow,” you shuddered, gazing upon him. "I’ve always wanted to see you like this.” You placed your hands on him, hot and soft, making him shiver. 

“Yeah?” he gulped. You nodded, sexily biting your lip. “Me too, baby. You have no fuckin’ idea.” His eyes drank in your cleavage, wanting to stuff his face in it, as you felt him up.

“You’re so, so pretty, Chosi,” you mewl, dragging your long, pink, pretty nails across his skin. You ran your hands over every part of him: his arms; his hips; his chest and pecs; his toned stomach that led down to his V-line pebbled in a happy trail. “I-I didn’t shave,” he stammered. “Is that okay?” But you were more than okay with it, kneeling down in front of his bulge pressing beneath his slacks. 

“That’s so sexy,” you whimpered. You then unbuckled his slacks for him and yanked them down alongside his briefs, revealing his curved, girthy cock to you, harder than steel and veiny from the shaft to his balls. The way you stared made him dizzy with arousal. “I wanna make my Valentine feel extra good~”, you purred before bending down to press your lips to his cock head, leaving a stain of your gloss there. “Can I, Papa?” you whispered. 

Can you?! Choso swore he almost busted the fattest load on your face from the pet name and that sultry look alone. “Yes,” he choked out. “Fuck yes, baby, please.” 

You giggled and suddenly, his thick, fat cock was wrapped in your soft lips, your tongue lapping at the pre-cum bubbling from the head. You settled on your knees and began to suck without hands for a moment as you unclipped your bra, revealing your soft, juicy tits and glittering nipple piercings to him. 

Choso moaned quietly at the sight of your pretty, swollen nipples so flushed and pinched between the studs of your piercings, making him want to lap and nip at the hard peaks himself. Your pretty eyes and doll-like lashes stared up at him while you stroked and gagged on his cock like it was your profession. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, tossing his head back at the sensations. He wanted so desperately to keep looking at you, but the sight and the feeling was almost too much. 

Your mouth was just so wet and your throat was so tight! When you released him, your mouth and lips were coated in spit and pre-cum, your lash line slightly glittering in tears. “You taste so good, Chosi,” you moaned, biting your lower lip as you watched your hand stroke his wet cock up and down as fast as a blur. He was just as hypnotized, loving how your pretty, vibrant nails look wrapped around his thick, veiny dick. 

You pressed his hard dick against your soft cheek, nuzzling it. “Am I doin’ a good job?” you teasingly asked. “Am I makin’ you feel good?” You dipped back down to take him deeper down your throat, gagging and choking along his length. He grunted, one hand gripping your hair while the other grabbed the edge of his desk. “God, yes!” he moaned. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good f’me, baby. Such a good girl.

You giggled, drunk off of him, and continued to eagerly take him, your soft lips sliding along his shaft as your mouth slid up and down, up and down, giving him throat like he had never experienced in his life…and in his office, no less! “Oh, my God,” he groaned, his brown eyes rolling back behind his skull. “Shit, baby.” 

You watched him intently, loving how the whites of his eyes looked. “You taste so good, Cho,” you purred through lips wet with his pre and your spit. “I need more. Gimme more.” Choso paused, staring down at you in awe. “You sure?” he whispered, but when your mouth locked on him again, it was too much to handle.

“H-Ha, shit! Oh, fuck, hgn, baby, hold on!” he groaned. “M’gonna cum!” You eagerly sucked him more, swallowing him down. “No, no, wait!” he gasped.“I-I—oh, fuck, I wanna make you feel good too!” 

Immediately, you stopped, confused, drool dripping form your bottom lip, and your eyes shone with lust. “How do you want me, Papa?” you slurred. Choso felt a feral fire ignite inside of him as you stood on wobbly legs, prompting him to grab you to stead you (and to just fucking touch you). “I don’t care,” he hissed. “I just wanna taste you.” 

He didn’t expect for you to bend over his desk for him when he demanded it. “Bend over for me,” he said in his deep, smooth voice that made you whimper. Gone was the nerdy, shy Choso, his new identity created by you and your adorable sexiness. 

You looked back at him, presenting your ass to him to take for himself, the cheeky pink panties wedged between your full asscheeks the way he wanted to me. He felt like a wild animal the way he moved your panties down to your knees, leading you to reach back and pry your ass cheeks apart. He couldn’t believe it! He was staring dead at your puckered asshole and your pussy, glistening and wet for him. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. Such pretty holes you had. His hands molded and smacked your ass, loving the way it jiggled and how you gasped every single time his hand came down to hit one of your jiggly, soft asscheeks. Then he shoved his face into your pussy, starved for you. 

“Oh, my God!” you gasped in delight as his tongue hit your pussy lips. “Is that a tongue piercing?!” He pulled away to smile, the stud embedded in the muscle already slick with your wetness. “My brother did it for me,” he murmured. “I-I can take it out if you—mmph!” You reached back to shove his face back into your pussy, shutting him up.

His lips and tongue quickly became well acquainted with your hot, wet, pretty little pussy, licking, sucking, and lapping up your juices which you allow by pressing your ass further into him. “Fuck, Choso!” you moaned, moving one arm back to run your fingers through his long, black, mullet. “You’re so, so good at this!” You made sounds and moved your hips in a way that made him feel like every other guy you had been with hadn’t been treating that body right. 

He wanted to make up for all of it, so he continued to lap at your sweet, pretty little cunt and moan as he did it, drunk off of the taste of you. He was drunk in love with the way your ass bounced in his face, wanting to see his cum dripping down it; the way your cute sobs and whines of pleasure sounded in his eardrums; the way your nails massaged his scalp as you gripped his hair; the way your ass and hips whined and ground back into his mouth like a little slut in heat. 

“You’re so good to me, babe,” he murmurs against your clit. “My girl taste so, so good. “You whimpered at his words, sneaking your hand down to rub your clit while he tongue-fucked you against his desk, your slick dripping down your inner thighs. But when he curled his tongue up and his piercing hit your clit, you damn near hit the ceiling. “O-Oh, fuck!” you loudly gasped. “Shit, Choso, yes!” You immediately paused, listening for any voices. 

Though he felt his cock surge, proud that he could make you bring that voice out for him, he gave you his fingers to suck on. “Here,” he slurred. “Open your mouth f’me.” You pried your lips open and sucked on his fingers, using them to pacify you as he began to finger fuck you with those long fingers and painted nails with his other hand. He listened to your body, watching as you fucked that wet, gushing pussy onto his digits in time with him curling them up against that spot. 

“I’m gonna cum, Cho,” you whined around his fingers. He blinked at you, a rush of arousal rushing through him like a drug. “Really?” he panted. “O-On my fingers?” You shook your head, looking oh-so needy as you stared back at him. “I wanna cum on your cock,” you boldly whispered. “W-Wanna feel you. Please, Papa?” 

Between your hot begging and your dripping pussy gripping his fingers, Choso wanted nothing more than to pound you against his desk. But there was one problem: no protection. “B-But I don’t have a—“ 

“I’m on the pill,” you interrupted him, beckoning him with your eyes and that clenching, squelching pussy. “It’s okay, Choso. Just fuck me.” He ain’t need anymore persuasion. Quickly, spat on his cock and had you turn around to do the same for extra measure, making it slick in saliva. As he slid in, it took everything in him to not grunt out loud like an animal. 

He kept quiet, biting back a loud moan as you squeezed around him, even as you were less discreet. “Oh, fuck!” you gasped, your voice bouncing off of the walls. Your voice caused his cock to throb inside of you, making it harder to give you slow strokes.  

“B-Baby, keep quiet,” he stammered. “You’re gonna get us caught.” You bit your lip, trying to silence yourself. “S-Sorry,” you whimpered. “You just feel so good!” 

Choso groaned as you clapped a hand over your mouth, his hands gripping your hips. “Fuck, you too. You’re so fuckin’ tight and wet and…oh, fuck!” The way you squeezed around him tight and your plush ass bounced against him made it hard to see straight. He wanted to fuck the living shit out of you, till you were seeing stars. But he never sped up or pushed it without your permission. 

Not until you looked back at him with wobbly lips and a need in your eyes that almost made him blow his load. “Fuck me hard, baby,” you begged. “Please! I-I’ll be quiet, I promise! Just give it to m—“ 

Choso didn’t give you time to finish your sentence because he was already pounding into your tight, wet heat without abandon as you held onto his desk for dear life. “Like this?” he grunted. “My baby needs it like this?” Because that was what you were to him now: his baby. His girl. His His pretty girlfriend to please and squeeze and fuck and love on as long as you wanted him to. 

“Uh-huh!” you lewdly hummed behind your hand, covering your mouth to muffle your moans, even as the janitor continued to clean outside the door, unaware that two people were fucking like horny rabbits in the locked office. 

And when you tossed that ass back into him, he just about lost it. He gripped your hips and began to snap his hips into your wet heat, paying close attention to your sounds and the way your body moved, your knees wobbly and body shaking. He wrapped one arm around you, gripping you tight to his front, pressing himself fully against your ass so he sunk in more.

“You’re so tight for me, cutie pie,” he moaned, continuing to give you that cock deep and fast. “So wet too. You needed this too, didn’t you?” He took you by the back of the neck and angled himself in a way that made your moans grow louder when he pounded your pussy, making the desk squeak. 

“Yes!”you moaned behind your hand, your eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. “I needed you, Cho! Only you!” Choso didn’t tell you how happy that made him, smiling like an idiot. It gave him the chance to really fuck you like you’d never been fucked before. To make you both feel sorry that neither of you confessed a lot earlier. 

“Faster, Choso!” you begged. “Please fuck this pussy faster! Harder!” He couldn’t deny the way his cock swelled and twitched inside you at the sound of your pleas. 

He locked his bicep around your midsection as he gripped your hip with the other, fucking you so roughly that your knees began to buckle and your moans mingled with the lewd, squelching sounds of his fat cock plunging in and out of your pussy. His own hushed sounds of pleasure mingled with yours, mixing with the sound of his cock lewdly swirling in your squelching, wet pussy that grips him tighter than a vice. 

“This isn’t the last time,” he growled in your ear. “After this, I’m takin’ you on a proper date, okay? Would you like that, baby?” You vigorously nodded as your ass bounced furiously against him, your hole sucking him in deep. As if your pussy was agreeing to this too. 

He smacked your ass in time with his thrusts, causing sharp sounds of his hand connecting with your cheeks to fly off of the office walls. Your ass was just too perfect! He couldn’t get enough of the way it bounced and jiggled so enticingly against his stomach as he drilled you.

He wouldn’t mind seeing his cum dripping off of it or down your pussy to your thighs, marking you as his. He wanted to walking funny into the office tomorrow morning, knowing that it was HIM that gave you good dick. That no other man can have you now because HE has you.

“That feel good, hm?” he teasingly asked, continue to hold your neck as he pistons into you. “You like that, baby?” You moaned in response, absolutely gone from the pleasure. He paused and slowly held your leg up, waiting for your consent to continue. You nodded, pushing back into him as if you couldn’t get enough of his cock. 

For a while, he fucked you just like that with one hand holding your leg up and the other gripping you back by your waist, holding you steady as he stroked your insides, his heavy balls hitting that clit and making you tingle all over. “F-Fuck, Choso!” you babbled. “Oh, my God, you’re so fuckin’ good!” 

You turned your face to the side, your mouth beckoning him forward. Quickly, he kissed you, moaning hotly into your mouth. It only made him fuck you harder, making you bounce against his cock. “M’gonna cum!” you whined against his lips, your tongue slipping and sliding with his. “Make me cum, Papa, please!” Choso felt the same pressure building, causing him to fuck you a little faster, all self control and shyness flying out the window. 

He could feel his balls tightening and that knot in his stomach threatening to snap the more your pussy slammed onto him and the more those precious titties jiggled and bounced for him. “Cum with me, Chosi!” you begged in that sweet voice, your nails digging into his biceps. “Give it to me please! I’m so close!” 

Ever the vixen, you began to slowly grind your ass back into him and giggled like a damn villain when Choso groaned, his cock edged and your wet walls just too much to not fuck deep into. 

Finally, as gripped you to him, slamming himself into you again and again, his moans and grunts of pleasure mixing with yours, he felt himself tripping down the edge, your mixed juices dripping down his balls, making your pussy wet enough to fuck with vigor. “Cum with me,” he demanded as you whined into his ear. “Cum on this dick, baby. C’mon now, cutie, give it to me!” 

It didn’t take long for you to cum all over his cock, your pussy squeezing him tight enough where he could hardly move. When you did, it triggered his own nut and he quickly pulled out of you to fuck his fist until his cum spurted all over your ass and pussy, drenching you in it. His lips found yours again, his moans and heavy pants mixing with yours as your tongues swirled with one another. 

The orgasm seemed to last for hours, leaving Choso feeling weak and dizzy. Your pussy gushed with your cum and dripped with his, trailing down your thighs, soaking them. You giggled into the kiss, causing him to laugh too. “Fuck,” you sighed against his mouth. “That was so good.” You pressed yourself back into him, intertwining his arms with yours. 

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.” And he meant it. You were the most perfect little thing in the world. You turned around to face him, your eyes glistening with happiness, and properly kissed him, standing up on your tip toes to reach him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, practically lifting you up off of the floor. 

You cutely giggled, nuzzling your nose with his, and then looked terrified within that split second. “Oh, shoot! I didn’t ask you to be my Valentine!” you gasped. Choso laughed, unable to stop himself. You were just too damn adorable! 

“Baby, baby,” he chuckled, stroking your shoulders to calm you. “You already did. In your card, remember?” You pouted at him, looking unswayed. “Well, yeah, but not verbally. It doesn’t count.” 

Choso just snorted, squeezing you close to him. “Yes, it does. I would think that load I just gave you was answer enough.” You playfully smacked his chest only to lay it across his heart, feeling it pound against your fingertips. 

“But yes,” he murmured, cupping your soft cheek in his palm. “I’ll be your Valentine…if you’ll be mine too.” You broke out into a bright, blinding smile like the sun and joyfully wrapped your arms around him, pressing kisses all over his face that made him blush. “Yes!” You laughed. “Yes, yes, I’d love to!” 

Choso could have lassoed the moon with his happiness as you kissed, standing in the empty IT room. Finally, this Valentine’s Day would mean something. “Now let’s get dressed so I can take YOU to dinner,” he whispered to which you nodded, giggling.  

The next work day, when you came in that morning in your pretty pink coat, you were shocked to find your favorite Starbucks drink—a cinnamon iced latte with pink sprinkles—and a beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting for you. Other employees eyed it curiously and enviously as they passed, wondering who could’ve ever left you such sweet gestures. 

“You got a secret admirer,” Yuki said with a wink. “These were left at your desk.” 

You stripped off your coat and gingerly at your desk, the soreness from yesterday’s “activity” after hours making your stomach flip and your pussy tight with arousal. “Not so secret,” you giggled, reading the message scribbled in sharpie on the Starbucks cup: To the prettiest girl in the office! — C

And as you sipped your drink pumped full of caffeine and sugar, you read the greeting card tied generously to the bouquet and grinned: 

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, baby! Enjoy the coffee too! 🩷 -love, your favorite IT guy

THE END.

[angellude]

ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ. if you wanna come, give my brother some! (part 2)

synopsis: the one where you and choso have been ghosting each other. which is expected, after all, hookups aren't that serious. right? after yuji itadori drags you to a rugby match, you find out just how serious choso kamo is.

part two of this!

content: MDNI. frat!rugby!choso kamo x reader, college au, modern au, rugby au, top reader x sub choso kinda maybe we hoenstly will never know, established dynamic, pining, explicit smut, established relationship by the end, size kink if you squint, breast play, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, switch choso, wall sex, locker room sex, slight dom choso? maybe? he tries. also crack humor per usual y'all know my damn rodeo by now.

wc: 3.5k

a/n: art by vah_arina! HELLO as promised, part 2... i feel kinda bad abt this one because i didn't really write part 1 with a series in mind but honestly?? it was kind of satisfying and maybe i'll do a part 3 i lowkirkenuinely have an idea. LMK EYE EMOJI. also i kind of have to lock in on school this week so next upload will most likely be porn no plot, but get ready to be TOUCHED bc mama chanel is gonna feed you guys. okay have fun reading this mwah

two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours.

you set your phone down on the library table. it had been just a little over two weeks since you’d snuck out of choso kamo’s bedroom at the sigma tau party before it died down completely. the reason? it was just a hookup. that’s it. plain and simple. yuji had asked you to talk to him, just talk! not go up to his room, play video games, and hookup!

he hadn’t texted you despite you putting your number in his phone. and you obviously weren’t going to text him first.

which was fine! totally, completely fine. you'd gotten what you came for: a frat party, bragging rights, and the personal satisfaction of making a six-foot-something rugby player whimper a little. you weren’t pressed, you weren’t checking your instagram story views obsessively, and you definitely weren’t posting cryptic songs in your instagram notes. 

“what’s wrong?” yuji’s voice broke you out of your mind-wandering. 

“nothing’s wrong,” you murmured in reply, quickly scanning your lecture notes to appear busy. your pink haired friend, who happened to be the younger brother of choso and your unspoken wingman, looked up from his laptop and gave you a look. 

“you’ve been checking your phone once every two minutes. obviously something is wrong.”

you didn’t respond, instead scribbling down something furiously into your notebook. yuji only sighed. “look, he’s bad at communication. between labs and rugby practice, he never even responds to the tiktoks i send him anymore. not to mention he’s never really had a girlfriend.” your head snapped up so fast you almost got whiplash. “what? he’s never had a girlfriend?”

yuji shrugged. “he’s had hookups and shit, but nothing serious.”

you blinked, unsure how to take that information. “right… speaking of, has he… mentioned me at all?”

yuji’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile and failing miserably at hiding it. “whyyy?” he dragged out. “you miss him or somethin’?”

you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “oh my god, relax, i was literally just asking.”

“right,” yuji nodded. “so you were checking your phone fifty times in the past fifteen minutes because you were… what? tracking the time?” you kicked him under the table. “i didn’t check it fifty times!”

“you did,” he groaned, rubbing his shin. “it’s honestly getting kind of sad.”

“shut up before i kick you again.”

“oooo, someone’s got a cruuuushhh…” yuji teased, bringing his legs criss-cross applesauced in his chair so you couldn’t kick him again. you only shot him a glare in response and buried yourself back in your notes.

the thing was (and you’d never admit this aloud, let alone to yuji) maybe you did have a crush on choso. it had been a surprisingly good experience, better than any experience you had with hookups in the past. the man had played overwatch with you, taught you how to use the controller, he studied blood, and mothered a bonsai tree in his dorm. above all, in that moment before he’d fallen asleep, he’d looked at you like you’d personally hung the moon. maybe it had been the alcohol talking, or maybe you really did like him.

two days later, your phone was still dry. you’d been curled up in bed watching some shitty netflix romcom when a rapid knocking interrupted your bedrotting. "i need you to come to something on saturday," itadori smiled, materializing at your dorm room door with two cups of dining hall coffee like a golden retriever who'd learned to use a meal swipe.

you snatched the coffee out of his hand. “what thing.”

“the… um… homegamerugbymatch…” he murmured at volume one.

“the what?”

“the home game rugby match…?” he smiled nervously. “yes, choso will be there, but he invited me and i don’t wanna go alone and i think it would be a good opportunity for you to-”

“absolutely not.”

"--and it's outside so the weather's nice and i'll buy you wendy's after–"

"yuji."

he stopped and slumped, then just looked at you with those annoyingly sincere, adorable brown eyes. "just come watch the game. you don't even have to talk to him. you can pretend you don't know him. i won't say anything."

you stared into your dining hall coffee.

the thing about itadori was that he was genuinely, aggressively hard to say no to. not because he was manipulative- he was possibly the least manipulative person you'd ever met- but because it was like telling a puppy you couldn’t take it on a walk or give it a treat or throw the ball.

"wendy's after? on you?" you asked.

he beamed. "wendy's after. on me." 

it was unusually hot for october. the sun was beating down on your skin, drenching you with sweat. you were squinting underneath your sunglasses, arms crossed, thoroughly unamused.

“this is some bullshit, yuji,” you scoffed. “we aren’t even winning.”

“chocolate frosties… french fries…” yuji reminded you, practically drooling at the thought of the fast food run you two were going to grab afterwards. “shit, they’re bringing cho out. CHOSO I NEED THISSSS!! MY TEAM IS KINDA POINT-LESS!!!!”

you wanted to melt into a puddle as yuji stood and flailed the foam pointer finger in the air, attracting the entire mid-sized stadium’s attention to you two. choso, in his six-foot-something glory, jogged onto the field, and you had to squeeze your thighs together on the aluminum bench. his tan skin was slicked with sweat, his dark purple-ish hair pulled into pigtails, and his muscles bulging. eye black was painted in thin strips over both eyes, from his forehead to mid-cheek, and across his nose bridge, each stripe pointed with little arrows. you tried not to remember how he sounded when he whined your name, or the feeling of him thrusting up into you when he got close.

his gaze scanned the cheering crowd, then landed on obnoxious yuji itadori next to you. then, it landed on you. you looked away so fast you almost got whiplash. what an interesting popcorn kernel on the bleachers, you thought while yuji smacked your arm. “dude, dude, dude, he’s staring right at you!!” he smiled, “you missed it!”

“yuji. shut. up.” you groaned as the whistle blew. 

choso was fast for his size, aggressive in a way that his quiet off-field energy hadn’t prepared you for at all. every time the ball got into his hands something shifted in him, in the crowd, in the bench underneath you that yuji was vibrating on like an excited chihuahua.

“LET HIM COOK!!” yuji practically screeched, and you yanked him down by his sleeve. the pink haired boy buzzed with excitement, shaking you by your shoulders. “come onnnn be excited! we’re winning now!”

you sat there and crossed your arms silently, your gaze following choso behind your sunglasses.

jujutsu uni was up by a lot in the second half when choso scored again: a brutal, clean run that made the crowd erupt and made yuji lose what little remained of his sanity. and this time, when choso turned around, breathing hard, his dark hair coming loose from its ties, your eyes met and held for a beat too long.

he didn’t smile exactly. but something in his expression settled, like he’d been waiting to confirm something and now he had.

“okay, you’re both down bad,” yuji grinned, elbowing you. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

the final whistle blew and the jujutsu university spirits had won. choso was tackled by his teammates, all of them celebrating in a clump of sweat and cologne. the crowd, including yuji, surged. 

okay. game over. wendy’s time. time for a chocolate frosty, fries, and more bedrotting in your dorm. you decided to get up and make a graceful exit, and you’d text yuji to tell him you were at the car. huffing as you shoved past cheering parents and students, you realized maybe after this yuji would finally stop trying to set you up with his brother. your sneakers thudded against the grass as you made a beeline for the exit.

“hey!”

you froze, then turned slowly in hopes that you’d compose yourself before seeing him. you didn’t, of course. once he was only two feet away from you and you could smell his musk, sweat, and cologne, you almost threw yourself at him. 

“choso… hi,” you opted for an awkward greeting instead. “good game.”

he panted softly and scratched the back of his neck, tilting his head at you. “you were leaving?”

“um… yeah, yuji and i are gonna go grab some food…”

choso nodded. “…oh.” then he stood awkwardly, digging the toe of his sneaker into the grass. he looked at you for a moment. his chest was still rising and falling from the game, his jaw doing that thing where it worked slightly before he figured out what he wanted to say. “can you just come with me for a second? i want to talk to you.”

you blinked. “oh, um… y’know, yuji’s probably wai-“

“he’s not. he’s talking with the team,” he cut you off. “please.”

and there it was: the same “please” as before, same low, quiet delivery, same effect on your ability to make rational decisions. you let out a long breath through your nose.

“fine,” you said. “make it quick.”

his shoulders dropped like he’d been bracing for a no. “c’mon,” he led you back past the gates and through the tunnel underneath. 

the locker room was empty, the rest of the team still outside celebrating, the overhead lights flickering slightly before settling. it smelled like grass and cheap body spray and something that was very distinctly male, which for some reason sent your pheromones into a rage. you swallowed your hormones, crossed your arms, and leaned against the row of lockers.

choso set his bag down on a bench and stood in front of you. he looked you up and down, then opted for “you look nice.”

you blinked. “thanks. um… you too?”

he laughed softly, gesturing to his grassy jersey, bruised knees, and sweaty skin. “you don’t have to lie.”

finally, you cracked a smile. “i’m not lying.”

he swallowed and nodded, then inhaled heavily. “i… listen. i’m sorry. i’m really bad at texting,” he started. “i had so many labs to do and then practice was crazy, and also… i didn’t even know if you wanted me texting you, which was stupid—“

“it was.”

“— and you have every right to be annoyed with me about that. by the time i knew i wanted to text you, it had been a few days, and then a week, then two weeks… it just felt stupid to text you after that long. i thought i’d missed my window or somethin’.”

you were still, and his heart beat rapidly. no, not matter how badly you didn’t want to admit it, you weren’t annoyed with him. okay, maybe the tiniest bit, but if anything, it had just been a test of patience. 

you smiled and stepped closer. “if it makes you feel better, i checked my phone every two minutes instead of just texting you first. but… i didn’t wanna seem desperate. so… we’re both a little stupid, huh?”

he huffed out something close to a laugh. “yeah, i guess so.”

you looked at him for a moment. rugby jersey, grass stains, the little scar on the bridge of his nose. “so just text me next time,” you took his dog tag necklace in your fingers and gently pushed at his chest. he didn’t budge, only chuckled. “okay. i will, i promise.”

and then neither of you said anything, and the silence stretched out. you became very aware of how close you were standing to him, how he was looking at you, and how his hands had drifted to hover near your waist the same way they did last time, like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he was allowed to yet.

“congrats on winning the game,” you murmured, smiling coyly up at him. “i almost thought we were gonna lose.”

he shrugged and smirked. “yeah, well, once you put me out there, the other team is cooked. besides, i had to lock in since you were watching.”

you rolled your eyes. “oh, shut up.”

he laughed and finally let his hands rest on your waist. “make me.”

you didn’t hesitate, tugging him down by his dog tags. his lips crashed against yours, moving with needy urgency. he pressed you up against the back of a locker, wet kisses smacking against your lips. he was already making little noises and trying to not grind against you. 

“w-wait, your teammates-“ you stammered against his lips. 

“we got time. five minutes, i’d say,” he murmured, trailing his kisses downwards now. “besides, yuji will watch for us.”

damn. maybe he was an annoying little shit, but you had to admit, yuji was a solid wingman.

choso thumbed at one of the buttons on your blouse. “can i…?” he just barely whimpered, and he almost ripped your blouse apart when you nodded. he undid your bra without hesitation and immediately buried his face between your tits, squeezing them and kissing up and down your sternum. 

“c-cho—“ your back arched against the cold metal, and he shut you up by latching onto a nipple and suckling, the sensation making your bud perk up in between his lips. “missed you so fucking bad…” he whined against your tit, staring up at you with those goddamn puppy eyes. his fingers fumbled with your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them in a hurry.

your head tilted back against the locker. even just this felt too good. you hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed his lips on your skin, or his fingers trailing up your inner thighs. the pads of his fingers rubbed over your dampened lace, then pulled it aside and swiped through your folds. “god damn…” he grunted, easing two fingers in with a wet squelch.

a whine bubbled up from the back of your throat. “choso, s-shit…” you groaned, nails digging into his bicep. he wasn’t this dominant last time, but you figured he was probably pent up after the game. dark hair brushed against your neck as he moved from your tit to your collarbone, sucking hickies into your skin while he pumped his fingers in and out.

“need t’fuck you. now. please…” he begged, whining against your saliva-slicked skin. “please, baby… been fuckin’ dying t’feel your pussy around my cock again, pleeasee…” aaaand there it was. maybe he could take control, but at the end of the day he was still a whiny, desperate, pussydrunk man. 

you nodded, gently tugging at his hair. “cho, ‘m not gonna stop you…”

his shorts dropped to the floor in a second, followed by his boxers. the fabric of his jersey stretched as he picked you up, biceps flexing to keep you pressed up against the locker, your legs wrapped around his waist. he slammed into you without hesitation, practically crying into your neck. “sorry– ‘m sorry, i need- need t’feel you- fuck, ohmygod…” he panted and whined. “you’re so tight, s-so good…” 

your nails dug into his back, brow knit as he slammed into you. you hadn’t considered how strong he really was, considering you’d topped him last time, and now each thrust was dragging a pathetic moan out of you. a tingling feeling spread from your cervix outwards, only intensifying each time his tip kissed it, making you twist his jersey between your fingers and squeeze his hips with your thighs. 

“when i saw you in the stands,” his voice broke, panting with effort as he rutted into you. “f-fuck, i couldn’t believe- you really came out t’see me–” his pace picked up, slamming you into the cool metal over and over again. “i-i wan’ you– hic– t’come to my games–” 

he was twitching inside of you, his sack slapping against the curve of your ass with each thrust. you could feel how close he was. “cho…” you gasped. “i’ll come t’all of ‘em. be your– f-fuck– personal cheerleader or some shit–”

that seemed to set him off. the image of you in the stands, waving some cute little pom-poms and cheering for him in a little skirt? his cock throbbed.

“fuck! h-hngh!!” he whined against your neck, spurting hot ropes of white inside of you. his load was so heavy it seeped out of your hole and fell to the floor of the locker room with a splat! you followed close behind, whining into his neck and arching your back off the locker. 

he slumped against you, not dropping you just yet, but relaxing his muscles. he panted against your skin, then pressed wet, soothing kisses to where he’d sucked purple spots into. “you’re amazing…” he mused, smiling shyly when he pulled away.

you actually felt yourself blushing. “oh, stop.”

“no, ‘m serious…” he mumbled, letting you down carefully. he grabbed a tissue from his gym bag and cleaned himself off, pulled his bottoms back up, then grabbed a tissue for you. he carefully wiped at your inner thighs and sensitive pussy, then squatted and pulled your jeans up, nimbly zipping and buttoning them back up. “there.”

he hesitated, scratching the back of his neck as he stood. “were you, um… serious? about coming to my games?”

“and being your cheerleader?” you teased, smiling. “sure. i’ll get a little kamo jersey and do the eye black stuff ‘nd everything. i’ll get yuji to do it too”

he swallowed thickly, gulping down the lump in his throat. “right, with yuji. i meant, um… like… would you maybe wanna be my, like… girlfriend?” he struggled to get the words out, unable to look you in the eye. he opted for staring at the floor like he was asking the tile out instead of you. his face had heated up a bright pink color.

you stared at him for a moment. choso kamo, the best rugby player at your school, who studied blood, took care of plants, and played video games, basically your exact type… was asking you out. “like… girlfriend girlfriend?”

“i mean… yeah,” he lifted his head. “i mean- if you want to, that is. i just figured because you said you’d come to my games, but i know it’s only been twice and if that’s, like, weird, i–”

“choso,” you cut him off, stepping forward and fixing a tuft of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes, then you smiled. “yeah. i’ll be your girlfriend.”

his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. surprisingly, a smile spread across his face. a genuine, warm smile that lit up his dark, tired features. “... ok,” he nodded. “cool.” 

“cool,” you agreed. he laughed, actually laughed, ducking his head so his hair fell forward. you hadn't heard him laugh like that before. you brushed his hair away again, and he got that look in his eyes again, like you were his moon and stars and every plant in his garden, like he wanted to put you under a microscope and learn everything about you.

“what?” you grinned.

“nothin’. just…” he cupped your face and kissed your lips, softly and tenderly, like this time it was for real. you were stunned for just a moment before responding, cupping his face and–

there was a clambering and muffled shouting noise you two hadn’t even noticed. not until it was too late, when the locker room doors swung open. “YO–”

you two jumped apart like you’d been electrocuted.

“OH SHIT—” “KAMO?!” “AGAIN?” “bro couldn’t even wait until after the post-match huddle.” naoya smirked.

“shut the fuck up,” choso snapped, voice cracking just slightly as his face went bright red. he turned away immediately, dragging a hand down his face like he could physically wipe away the embarrassment. you were pretty sure your face matched his.

“we’re leaving,” you muttered quickly, grabbing his wrist before he could spiral any further. “yeah. okay,” he nodded, not even arguing, letting you pull him along as you both made a very quick, very awkward exit past a group of grinning rugby players.

“wrap it up next time, kamo!” a deep voice called after you.

“fuck you, todo!” choso called back.

yuji was waiting by his dumbass modded honda civic when you two came hurrying over, still holding hands. he looked up from his phone and immediately gave you two a shit-eating grin.

“well, well, well. that took a lot longer than a quick ‘good game.’”

“shut up, yuji,” you and choso both muttered.

“ew, now you two are in sync,” he grumbled as he hopped in and started the car up. he gave you two a look as you both slid into the backseat. “leaving me alone up here? i'm hurt...”

“just drive,” you sighed, and he shrugged, backing up and roaring the engine as he pulled onto the university’s main road. “fiiine. so now i’m your plug, wingman, and personal chauffeur.”

“and wendy’s is still on you,” you replied snarkily, draping your legs across choso’s lap, at which he blushed and gently thumbed your thigh. yuji caught it in his rear view mirror, and scowled, but didn’t protest.

“alright, but we need to set some ground rules here. rule number one: no fucking in the backseat.”

you and choso both blushed furiously. “yuji!” 

“rule number two: you both share your fries with me. y’know, since i set this whole thing up… yeah, yeah, you’re welcome, by the way. again.”

choso chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, then reached forward to ruffle yuji’s hair with his free hand. “sorry, little bro. both of those rules are gonna get broken.” 

© all writing belongs to angellude. all characters belong to gege akutami.

tags ♡: (I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TAGLISTS WORK FOR SPECIFIC FICS ON TUMBLR IM SO SORRY PLS DON'T STONE ME, so i just tagged everyone who commented asking abt part 2. if you want to be removed or added pls lmk!!) @kittyrainbow1016 @stykook @yuunachuu @shortnsweetsstuff @rhirhihehe @devilyevsky @mrskamikazekaito @d0nk3y-k0ng @clydethespectre @dazaisfavgf @noname2246 @eyrelo13 and my number one cutiemootie ofc @teenytinyparade2

[angellude]

ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ. if you wanna come, give my brother some!

synopsis: the one where you’re dying to go to a frat party. you don’t want to go alone, and your best friend itadori promises to take you on one condition: you talk to his older brother. just talk, nothing crazy. of course, you never do anything half-assed.

content: MDNI. frat!choso kamo x reader, top reader x sub choso, college au, modern au, drinking, edible usage, vaping, alcohol, hookup, mutual attraction, explicit smut, slight age gap (college, reader is a freshman and choso is a senior), oral sex (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, creampie, dry humping, choso cums too soon, reader tops, teasing, crack humor, overwatch references (i have an addiction)

wc: 4.6k

a/n: art by thatsallitchief! y'all when i tell you i had so much work to do after spring break but mama got it done and is feeding y'all. except i feel like this one wound up being kind of rushed... also can you tell i've never been to a frat. they lowkey scare me which is why i would want my close personal bestie yuji itadori to accompany me to one!! anyways. i wrote most of this while half asleep soooooo sorry if there's any mistakes i missed while proofreading <333 i feel like i treat a/ns like diary entries lmfao

“pleaaaasee, itadori,” you pouted and rested your head on his shoulder, giving him puppy eyes. “please? kappa is throwing a huge one this weekend.”

itadori, who had his laptop open to his lecture notes but was really buried in his instagram reels, waved a hand. “kappa sucks anyways. weird ass frat.”

you raised a brow. “and you would know? you never go to frats, you spent every friday night playing fortnite or whatever…” you retorted, crossing your arms and slouching back in your chair. itadori scoffed in response. “modern warfare. and for your information, not every friday! sometimes i go to sig tau.”

“sig tau?”

“yeah. my older brother is a member.”

you shot up in your seat. “you have an older brother?” your jaw dropped, and itadori finally looked up from his phone. “yeah. look, dude. tung tung sahur.” he grinned, showing you his phone. you didn’t pay any attention to the brainrot he was showing you, more focused on the pressing matter at hand.

“itadori. you have an older brother who’s in a frat and you haven’t taken me yet?”

he shrugged. “i didn’t think you’d wanna go. buuuut i guess i can bring you with this weekend… on one condition.”

“anything.”

itadori grinned like how he did when he was about to steal one of your ramen cups. “talk to my brother.”

your raised brow and your smile dropped. a set up? “hell no.”

“please? i think you’ll really like him. he’s on the rugby team, he’s really tall—“

“nope. i told you, after that situationship from welcome week, men are off limits for me,” you held up a hand, shaking your head. itadori scoffed. “i wouldn’t really call fushiguro a situationship, more like a deluluship—“

“regardless! men are a no-no.”

itadori gave you a knowing look. “okay then. no frat. you can go to kappa on your own.”

you frowned at the thought of sticky floors, cheap alcohol, and being by yourself with no other friends. kugisaki and maki had no interest in coming with you to a frat. “… fine. what’s his instagram?” you gave in with a sigh.

itadori’s thumbs flew across his screen before he pulled up the page: a blank. user chosokamo. not even a profile picture.

“wow. he’s handsome,” you muttered sarcastically.

“he’s shy.”

“a shy frat guy on the rugby team? i don’t buy it.”

“you’ll see,” itadori grinned. “he’s nice. really, he’s quiet, but he’s a sweet guy. you’ll love him.”

“do i have to sleep with him or something?”

“i doubt you’ll get that far.”

you weren’t one to turn down a challenge. come friday night, you’d stalked down all of choso’s profiles. instagram, twitter, snapchat (practically nonexistent snap score), tiktok, spotify, linkedin, battle.net account. reposts of cat videos, playlists with rap and 2000s emo rock music for workouts, worked at a… plant nursery as a part time job? majored in biology with a focus in hematology. mained mizuki in overwatch.

you looked yourself over in the mirror while itadori waited outside. micro shorts, a cute halter top, some layered jewelry, shitty sneakers (in case of spills), and dolly makeup. good enough.

“come onnnnn slut!” itadori groaned outside your door. you swung it open and glared at him. “give me the goods.”

itadori rolled his eyes and slammed a red, sugarcoated gummy and pink vape in your hand. “can’t believe i’m your plug and your ride to a frat. for free.”

you scoffed, chewing the gummy. “hey, i gave you answers to the midterm, didn’t i? consider this payment. also, strawberry cloud dream?” you raised a brow at the pink device.

“it matches my hair!”

the sigma tau house was three blocks from campus and you could hear it before you saw it. it was brick and not exactly a small house, led lights in each window. red cups littered the lawn and a few guys out front were doing something that looked like it had started as a drinking game but had wound up being something entirely different.

you took a long drag of the strawberry cloud and ghosted it before braving a step inside. sticky floors, bass that vibrated your inner ear, faces you couldn’t really make out due to the low lighting.

you hadn’t even realized itadori left your side when he came back to you bearing gifts: a red solo cup. “sprite and svedka,” he grinned proudly.

you took a hesitant sip and grimaced. “holy shit. dude, this is svedka and like… a splash of sprite.”

itadori laughed and slung his arm around your shoulder. “welcome to your first frat party. okay, so, choso is in the kitchen—“

“the kitchen?”

“yeah, he doesn’t like the main room. actually, he doesn’t like coming out of his room…”

your brow furrowed. this guy didn’t sound like he belonged to a frat. then again, he studied blood. you let yuji lead you to the kitchen, shuffling past a girl who was throwing up into the trash can and right towards—

holy shit.

definitely over six feet worth of pure muscle, not too bulked but just beefy enough, eye bags, a scar on his nose bridge? no matter. dark hair that reached just below his ears, a wearing a band top and jeans. the hand holding his phone was both veiny and boney, his knuckles highlights with ridges of veins that ran down to his forearms. definitely your type. fushiguro who?

“yo, bro!” itadori smiled and waved, guiding you towards him. the man looked up, glanced at you, then looked back to his brother. “hey, yuji.”

you stood awkwardly at itadori’s side, mouth watering as you watched his older brother converse with him. his jaw was nice and defined, his lips pouted just the slightest bit…

“so this is my friend…” he finally introduced you. “the girl from my freshman year seminar i told you about? and this is my brother choso kamo, he’s a senior… right! so, um, i’m gonna go grab another drink—“

“wait, itadori!” you hissed, but he was gone in a flash. you whipped back to face his older brother, laughing nervously. “hi…”

“… hi.”

you stood in awkward silence for a moment. “so… kamo? not itadori?” you blurted out the ice breaker, and immediately regretted it. who asked a stranger about the specifics of their last name? was it the alcohol, or your nerves, or both?

“it’s… a long story…” choso looked away.

“right…” you dropped your gaze to the ground, then back up at him. you weren’t giving up. “so… itadori tells me you study biology? hematology?” a lie, obviously you’d figured out from stalking his linkedin. choso blinked up at you. “… yeah. he told you that?”

you nodded and lied through your teeth. “yeah. pretty… specific. why blood?”

choso shrugged and took a sip of whatever was in his cup. “my family has a history of blood disorders…” he murmured. “i wanted to understand it, so… i studied it.”

“oh,” you nodded slowly. it wasn’t the answer you’d expected. to be honest, you didn’t know what to expect with this guy. his head tilted up and you could make out the faintest tint of pink of his ears. “sorry. not good party conversation, huh?”

you shrugged. “i wouldn’t know. this is my first frat.”

his eyes widened. “your first— and you’re talking with me?” he scoffed. “you should go out and have fun with yuji.”

“i like talking with you,” you blurted out thanks to the 99% svedka drink in your cup. you realized how stupid you'd sounded. maybe three sentences exchanged with this guy and you liked talking with him?

he swallowed thickly. “you do…?” he mumbled, then straightened up when you nodded. “… what do you study?”

you could’ve easily ended the conversation fifteen, twenty minutes ago. once you got to the forty minute mark and had flown through three different topics of conversation with choso, you’d forgotten about your deal with itadori.

“so… mizuki?” you tilted your head. choso was smiling just the slightest bit by now. “yeah. used to main reinhardt, but his shield got nerfed.”

“so you abandoned him for support?” you laughed softly. “hey, at least you could be my d.va’s pocket healer now.”

choso raised a brow. “you play d.va? not surprised.”

you scoffed. “what’s that supposed to mean?” choso shrugged, not answering the question. “you play other video games?” he asked. you shrugged. “usually cod or fortnite with itadori. you?”

“… league of legends. on occasion.”

“ew.”

“hey!”

you busted out laughing, holding his arm for balance. you were about to make another snarky comment about his taste in video games when a head of pink hair swayed up to you guys.

“heyyyy guyssss…” he laughed and threw his arms around the both of you, effectively squishing you against choso’s firm chest. “having fun? need refills? you want—“

“yuji. go away,” choso playfully shoved his brother, earning a wide grin from your friend. “right right, of course, if you guys need anything… more drinks, condoms—“

“yuji!”

you laughed and rested your hand on choso’s chest, not having moved from where you’d been pressed against him. he tilted his head down to look at you. “sorry about him.”

“don’t apologize for him,” you smiled. “he’s an idiot, but i'm getting used to it.”

“yeah? how’s that going?” choso smirked, earning another small laugh from you. “not well.”

choso hummed. “try living with him for 19 years.”

“huh?” you tilted your head. the music had been turned up impossibly louder. choso leaned in and spoke a little louder in your ear. “i said, try living with him for 19 years.”

you laughed softly, the alcohol making you bubbly and flirty. “it’s loud in here.”

“it is,” he agreed, setting his cup down. “you wanna go up to my room?” he blurted out, then stilled. “i mean… just ‘cause it’s quieter. and i have my xbox so we can play games. not ‘cause… i mean— unless you’d—“

you suddenly felt sobered up. this had just been a stupid challenge, you remembered, but now it was real. “choso,” you cut him off, then nodded with a small smile. “lead the way.”

on your way up the stairs, led by choso holding your hand. you glanced down at the party to find itadori’s jaw dropped as he stared up at you, then he gave you a thumbs up and a big smile. you pretended you didn’t see him.

choso’s hand immediately left yours as soon as you were in his room. assuming he was undressing or tidying up his bed or something, you looked around his room. my chemical romance and deftones posters, textbooks, a bonsai tree.

then you heard the xbox turning on. you whipped around to find him sitting in his beanbag, thumbing the controller and looking up at you expectantly.

oh my god. he was actually serious about playing video games.

you glanced at him, then the tv. “you’re… serious?”

he furrowed his brow. “why wouldn’t i be?”

you pushed aside the ache between your thighs and settled next to him in his beanbag, noticing how he tensed up a little. you took the second controller and resigned yourself to the fact that instead of getting laid tonight, you’d be queuing up in ranked.

you were terrible at overwatch on console. you were used to pc and were still getting used to the controls. “you just walked into the enemy team,” choso muttered.

“excuse me. i’m tanking.”

“your kd is tanking, you mean.”

you frowned. “i’m used to pc, okay?”

“here,” he actually smiled, scooting closer behind you, wrapping his arms around yours and placing his hands over yours. “okay, left stick moves,” he mumbled in your ear. “right stick is for camera. this button shoots. this one’s your ult. you good?”

you glanced up at him, your faces inches away from each other. “yeah…” you murmured, looking back to the screen and playing better now that you knew the controls. “like this?”

“yeah, just like that… good.”

your thighs squeezed together, and you blushed as you realized he was close enough to probably feel it. you glanced back up at him, hearing your character die on the screen as you lost focus. choso didn’t comment, only staring down at you. he was close, close enough that you could make out the little scar on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips had parted just a bit.

without thinking, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. both controllers clattered to the floor.

choso was quick and eager, returning the kiss and grabbing your waist. his tongue slipped into your mouth, rubbing against yours as he grunted with effort. you felt his cock straining against his jeans as he almost rutted against your thigh.

he caught himself, though, and pulled away panting softly, his lips glossed with your saliva. “s-sorry, that was—“

you shut him up with another kiss, pulling him close and swinging your leg over so you were straddling his lap. he groaned and pulled you closer, grinding up into you. you rolled your hips in response, and a high pitched noise bubbled up from his throat.

you pulled away to find him beet red with wide eyes. “that wasn’t—“

“you whimpered.”

his face scrunched up a bit. "what? no, i didn't-"

his protest was cut off as you rolled your hips again, an undeniable, broken, high pitched noise spilled from his lips. his fingers dug into your waist, trying to hold you still as he looked away, his cheeks flushed.

"oh my god," you half breathed out, half laughed out. "you're serious."

"stop." his voice held no conviction, his body betraying him as you felt his hips bucking up and rubbing up against you just the slightest bit.

you smirked and lifted your hips, pulling off of him. "fine," you murmured, and he immediately got the look of a kicked puppy, instinctively reaching for your waist again. "wait, no, don't-"

he paused as you got on your knees in front of him, running a hand through your hair to push it back. "... oh," he murmured, his hand sifting into your hair as you undid his jeans. his breath audibly hitched when you pulled his boxers down, his cock slapping up against his abs. he was already throbbing in your hand and beading pre, which you thumbed and smeared over his flared head.

“fuck…” he groaned, spreading his legs further apart. you looked up at him through your lashes. “sensitive?” you teased, and he only managed a nod in response.

you hummed and gently pumped him, barely even that. deciding to tease, you basically ghosted your fingers over his length, then leaned in and pressed a little wet kiss to his leaking tip.

“mm-hm!” his hips bucked up and a whine bubbled up from his chest. his tip prodded at your lips, and you took the opportunity to close your lips around him and sink your head down just a few inches. he was already a whining mess, tugging at your hair as his thighs tensed.

“fuck—“ he groaned after not even a minute. “wait, wait, wait— ‘m not gonna—“

you pulled off of him, lips still connected to his cock by a string of saliva. “don’t tell me you’re already close,” you raised a brow.

he huffed a small, nervous laugh. “i… think i am…” and judging by how he looked, he wasn’t lying. dark hair sticking with sweat to his forehead just a bit, his chest rising and falling as he panted, his flushed skin, face and ears tinted pink.

“that fast?” a shit-eating grin tugged at your lips.

he groaned and let his head fall back, scrubbing his free hand down his face. “you were just…!” he protested, gesturing vaguely to his lap, then you.

you hummed. “fair.” you moved to take him back into your mouth, but a tug on your hair stopped you. frowning, you protested. “what…?”

his chest was still heavy with his panting, his hips twitching up into the air. “just— i won’t last if you keep—“

“so?” you shrugged, dropping your gaze back to where your hand was wrapped around him. you stuck out your tongue and let a glob of spit spill to his tip, then smeared it along his slit. “i know i was teasing you, but i don’t care. really.”

he groaned and tugged at your hair again, then reached down and pulled you up by your arms, making you squeak in surprise. “choso—!”

“not like this…” he grunted, hoisting you up effortlessly, holding your legs around his waist as he stood. “wanna make you feel good first…” he mumbled shyly into your neck, setting you down on the bed and kissing down your body. his lips left a wet, cool trail on your skin, goosebumps following.

your stomach did a flip. itadori was right… he really was sweet. your expression softened. “you don’t have to—“

“i want to,” he mumbled against your inner thigh, his lips suckling gently at the skin there. he hesitated, pulling just an inch away and gazing up at you like he was already drunk on you. “… is that okay?”

your heart flopped around in your chest. “yeah…” you sighed out softly. he nodded and carefully undid the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down with your panties.

“holy shit…” he mumbled aloud, probably meaning to keep that in his head. he reached up hesitantly and gently spread your drooling folds with his fingers. he glanced back up at you with wider puppy eyes, quietly asking for permission.

you nodded, fingers threading into his dark locks. “go ahead.”

he didn’t waste a second, pressing a wet kiss to your clit before suckling the bud between his lips.

“fuck—!” your knees jerked up along with your hips. "oh my god, where the fuck did you-?"

"mmph," he grunted against your cunt. "'m not a virgin, y'know,"

your cheeks flushed. "yeah, i knew that..." you grumbled, even though up until about five seconds ago you'd figured he hadn't felt the touch of a woman before. he huffed against you and picked up his pace as if he now had something to prove, his tongue delving between your folds and slurping up every drop of your slick. his thumb came to rub quick little circles into your swollen bud, leaving you fisting at his hair.

"choso- holy shit-"

"mmf..." he grunted, his hips jerking against the mattress. he kept humming and grunting in both the effort of eating you out and the pleasure from grinding against his bed, the vibrations shooting through you and making your back arch.

he definitely knew what he was doing, at least with you. every time your hips jerked up or your thighs twitched or you tugged at his hair, he chased it, learning you in real time. his hand slid up your stomach, grabbing a fistful of your top to ground himself. he was practically humping the mattress, desperate for friction to soothe his throbbing cock.

you were too lost in your own cloud of pleasure to even notice it. one hand fisted at his hair, keeping his face buried in your pussy, the other fisted at the sheets. "f-fuck, cho- 'm close..."

he groaned and grabbed your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to his face. "c'mon." you could barely make out what he said, his voice was so muffled. he sucked harshly on your clit, then brought his hand to plunge two deft fingers into your hole, bullying your g-spot. "c'mon, give it t'me... please..."

you came with a whine of his name, your back arching and obscene squelching noises coming from where choso’s tongue met your sticky walls. he groaned loudly, his jaw going slack for a moment, and the moment the mattress stopped squeaking was when you realized it had been making noise at all.

he shuddered a bit, pulling away from you with glossy lips, your cum dripping down his chin. your hazy gaze raked down his body as he sat up, finding a dark patch in his boxers.

you couldn’t help the laugh you exhaled. “did you seriously cum in your pants from eating me out?”

choso was beet red again, red crawling up his neck. “shut up.”

biting your lip, you smiled and crawled forward, slowly and deliberately, like a jaguar stalking her prey. choso gulped visibly, almost shrinking back a little, but his body froze up in fear... or excitement. or both.

"you couldn't even wait..." you smirked, tilting his chin up once you were on top of him. your fingers ghosted down his shirt, feeling his abs, dipping below his waistband.

choso let out a shaky breath, bringing his hands to hover over your waist, as if he wanted to grab on but he wasn't sure if he was allowed to. "i- i tried..." he murmured, the tips of his ears blushing pink.

your smirk widened. "didn't seem like it."

he swallowed hard at that, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. your fingers teased right at his trail, waiting until he was bucking up into you to pull his waistband down. he was still rock hard and throbbing, sticky cum dripping down the veins of his cock.

you bit your lip and smiled, your eyes lighting up at the sight of him like you'd just won the lottery. "mmh..." you moved your hips to hover over him, and he finally grabbed onto the swell of your hips.

"wait-" he stammered out. "... protection? i have condoms-"

"fuck that, 'm on the pill," you muttered, tossing your hair back and moving to sink down on him.

"are you s- ohhhhmygod..." he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow knitting as you enveloped him with a sweet squelchh! the stretch dragged a little whine out of you, and you bit your lip to hold it back. you bottomed out, ass flush to his thighs, and took a moment to stare at him. panting, flushed, brow seemingly permanently knotted upwards.

"choso."

"one second."

"are you seriously trying to not cum already?"

he whined and let his head fall back to the mattress, already humiliated from cumming in his pants, and now you were just being cruel. "just- give me a second, okay? jesus..." he panted.

you gave him a second, waiting patiently. then two, three, four, five...

you rolled your hips, and his hands flew to your waist. "fuuuuckk...!" he rasped, lifting his head to glare up at you, only to find you with a shit eating grin. "theerre he is..." you purred, rolling your hips again.

"please-" he whined into the back of his hand after throwing it over his face. "please, i just need a minute, 'm not gonna-"

"choso," you pulled his hand away, staring down at him. your free hand smoothed over his chest, feeling his heart banging against his ribcage. "look at me. you're doing so good..."

the sound that left him was sharp, broken, and obviously he hadn't meant to let it slip out. something like a whimper crossed with a groan and maybe even a little sob. his hips bucked up into you, your hole squelching softly. "don't say that..." he murmured, his face hot.

"takin' me so well, stretchin' me out..." you purred, just to see his reaction. it was gold, of course, another whine spilling past his lips. his fingers dug into the fat of your hips, not stopping you, just holding on for dear life. "you're doing that on purpose," he accused breathlessly.

"obviously."

you took his hands from your hips and brought them up to the curve below your breast, letting him hold you where he could feel your heartbeat. then, bracing your own hands on his chest, you leaned forward a bit, glancing down at where his cock disappeared between your drenched folds. little bubbles of pre foamed at where he did.

you dragged your hips up, then sunk down-

"fuck-" choso's breath hitched, and his bit his lip to keep from being loud. his jaw clenched, his eyes were shut tight like if he didn't look at you, maybe, just maybe, he could keep himself from cumming right now.

"you can be loud, cho. no one's gonna hear you over the party downstairs."

he swallowed thickly and nodded. "right, right..."

"and open your eyes. wan' you to watch me ride your cock."

he twitched inside you, and he huffed. "can you not-"

you rose and dropped your hips to shut him up, and a broken whine interrupted whatever complaint he had. and you didn't stop there, speeding up and bouncing on him without any pauses.

"shit, shit, oh my- fuuckk-" it dragged out of him. long and dissolving. his head pressed back into the pillow, his hands flexing against your waist. "okay. okay, okay, okay-"

your hands moved from his chest up to his hair, fisting his soft locks in both hands like handlebars. he whined and hugged you to his chest, burying his face in your neck.

"cho-"

"don't stop, please..." he almost cried into your neck. "please don't stop, feels s-s'good, 'm... fuuck, 'm not gonna last..." he dragged his words out with soft whines.

you felt it building in your stomach too. it was impossible to ignore at this point, the way his cock was rubbing up on your gummy spot and smearing globs of his precum over it.

"yeah?" you managed to pant out, dipping your head down to gently nip at his earlobe. "you gonna fill me up? hm?"

"hngh- fuck-"

you sped up, sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin as he began to buck up desperately into you.

"hm? can't hear you, cho. i asked if you're gonna cum inside me," you panted. choso was panting heavily, his gaze trained on where your pussy lips stretched and drooled around his cock, bouncing up and down.

squelch!

squelchh!

squelchhh!

he finally slammed his hips up into you, his head thrown back as a strained cry spilled from his raw lips. "h-hngh- 'm cumming- cumming-!!" his cock throbbed and twitched against your velvet walls, spurting and sticking his seed to your walls. "oh my god..." he panted, hips hips rutting up in aftershock, mushroomy tip smearing his sticky white allllll around your walls till he was leaking out of you.

you followed close behind, your fingers twisting in his hair, back arching and head tilting back. your poor hole quivered around him, squeezing his swollen cock in quick pulses. you glanced back in the mirror to find sticky patches of white dripping down your inner thighs, and your jaw dropped.

you looked back down at him underneath you: totally fucked out, half lidded eyes, chewed and raw lips parted, drool slicking down from the corners of his mouth. "that was..." he rasped, then closed his eyes.

"yeah..." you exhaled a small laugh, still catching your breath. you pulled off of him with a lewd drag, then plopped down beside him. his hand subconsciously came up to your hair, sifting into your locks, and you wondered if he was even awake at this point.

careful not to wake him up, you reached across him to the nightstand for his phone, hovering it over his face for the face ID. you scrolled to his messages to add your number, then furrowed your brow as you saw his group chat being blown up.

SIGMA TAU BROTHERHOOD 🔥💪🍻 todo aoi: CHOSO GETTING CHEEKS TN YO todo aoi: I SAW HIM TAKE A GIRL UPSTAIRS itadori yuji: i set it up hb of the year over here naoya zenin: kamo actually pulled? no way LMFAOOOOO kinji hakari: STOP CALLIN MY PHONE SHE GETTIN FUCKED TN😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹 naoya zenin: yo this mf got negative aura how did this happen todo aoi: CHOSO BROTHER I'M SO PROUD naoya zenin: i'm serious bro wtf

you snorted and tossed his phone to the side, burrowing your face into choso's neck and snuggling into him. the party thumped on downstairs. for once, though you'd hate to admit it out loud, you could say itadori was right. you were glad you didn't go to kappa.

© all writing belongs to angellude. all characters belong to gege akutami.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

[lim3s]

I love your kili fics! I feel like there are hardly any out there anymore 🥲

Could you write kili x non dwarf! reader where reader grets stressed/breaks down over her duties in erebor post BOTFA, followed by lots of comforting words & cuddles and hair braiding from kili?

Beneath the Mountain, Beside His Heart

Kili x reader

cw: break down/panic attacks/generally just stressing out too much

AN: tbh I feel like we all need some cuddles from Kili and out hair braided. It'd solve a lot of my problems at least 🫠 Thank you nonnie for requesting this wonderful idea I had to forcefully stop myself from writing more

The mountain was alive again—but it was not the same kind of life it had once held in the songs.

Where once there had been music, now there was rebuilding. Where once there had been pride untouched by loss, now there was determination forged through it. Erebor breathed in steady, heavy rhythms: hammer on anvil, boots on stone, low voices discussing trade, recovery, survival. It should have felt triumphant. It should have felt like hope.

Instead, to you, it felt like standing in the middle of a storm no one else seemed to notice.

You had thought—naively, perhaps—that after the battle, after the grief, things would slow. That there would be time to heal. Time to simply exist beside him, to cherish the miracle that he had lived when so many had not.

But being the one who stood beside the prince of the mountain meant there was no stillness waiting for you. Only expectation.

Your days no longer belonged to you.

They belonged to councils that stretched for hours, where voices overlapped in thick accents and stronger opinions, and you had to listen, understand, decide. They belonged to ledgers and scrolls stacked higher each morning—trade negotiations with Dale, rebuilding agreements with the Men of the Lake, disputes between craftsmen whose pride had survived the dragon even if their homes had not. They belonged to ceremonies, to appearing composed and gracious before dwarves who looked to you now not as a guest, but as something far more permanent.

As something important.

As someone who must not fail.

You had not expected how much of it would rest in your hands.

Grain distribution for winter. You had never thought about grain before. Now you lay awake thinking of shortages, of caravans delayed by early snow, of families who would suffer if numbers were miscounted. You were expected to oversee communication between Erebor and Dale—your words shaping trust between kingdoms still healing from suspicion and loss. You were asked to mediate disputes that had existed long before you ever set foot near the mountain, yet somehow now fell to you to resolve.

And every decision felt heavy.

Every choice felt like it could ripple outward into something terrible if you were wrong.

It built quietly, that pressure.

At first, you told yourself it was simply adjustment. Anyone would struggle stepping into such a role. You smiled through it, listened carefully, worked longer hours. You wanted to be worthy—not just of the title, but of him.

Of Kili.

Because when he looked at you, there was never doubt in his eyes. Only warmth. Only certainty, as if the world had rearranged itself into something right the moment you stepped into it.

You wanted to be as sure as he was.

But certainty did not come easily when the mountain seemed to press in around you.

The halls of Erebor were vast, magnificent, carved with histories that stretched back centuries. Gold veined the walls, intricate designs telling stories you were still learning to understand. It should have been awe-inspiring.

Instead, some days, it felt suffocating.

Too large. Too full. Too loud. Too much.

It was late when the tremor in your hands finally became something you could not ignore.

You were seated at your desk, long after the last council had ended, long after most of the torches in the lower halls had dimmed. The mountain had quieted, but your thoughts had not. Scrolls were scattered around you, half-read, half-signed, ink drying in uneven strokes across parchment where your focus had faltered.

You stared at the words before you, but they refused to settle into meaning.

Trade routes. Supplies. Numbers.

They blurred together until they were nothing but shapes.

Your grip tightened around the quill in your hand, and only then did you notice it—how unsteady your fingers had become. A faint tremble, subtle at first, but growing the longer you tried to hold still.

You set the quill down carefully.

Or tried to.

It slipped slightly, leaving a dark streak of ink across the page.

Your breath caught. It was such a small thing. So insignificant.

And yet it felt like something inside you cracked at the sight of it.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though there was no one there to hear you.

The words sounded hollow in the quiet room.

You pressed your hands flat against the desk, willing them to still. They did not. The tremor climbed, creeping up your arms, settling somewhere deep in your chest where your heart had begun to beat too fast.

Too hard.

You inhaled sharply.

The air felt thin.

That didn’t make sense. There was nothing wrong. Nothing had happened. This was just another evening, another set of tasks, another responsibility to fulfill.

So why did it feel like everything was slipping just slightly out of reach?

You pushed back from the desk abruptly, the chair scraping softly against stone. The sound echoed more than it should have, bouncing off the high ceiling and coming back to you distorted.

Too loud.

Everything was too loud.

You crossed the room quickly, your steps uneven, drawn toward the open balcony doors as though the night air might fix whatever had gone wrong inside you.

The cold hit your face the moment you stepped outside.

Sharp. Immediate. Real.

You gripped the stone railing, leaning forward slightly as you dragged in a breath. Then another. And another.

The sky stretched endlessly above the mountain, scattered with stars that shimmered like distant fire. Far below, the lights of Dale flickered faintly, a reminder of the world beyond these walls.

It should have calmed you.

It didn’t.

Your thoughts refused to slow. They spun, faster and faster, each one colliding into the next.

What if you made the wrong decision? What if the grain didn’t last? What if trade failed? What if the dwarves began to doubt you? What if you disappointed Thorin’s memory, Fili’s expectations, the entire mountain that had trusted you to stand beside its prince?

What if you weren’t enough for any of this?

Your grip tightened painfully against the railing.

“I can’t—” The words broke off as your breath hitched again.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the feeling down, to bury it, to regain control the way you always had before. You were not weak. You had faced far worse than paperwork and expectations.

So why did this feel like something you could not fight?

Footsteps sounded faintly behind you.

You didn’t hear them at first.

Didn’t notice the way they slowed as they approached, quieter than most, as though whoever it was already sensed something was wrong.

“Fili is going to ask where you’ve disappeared to if I do not return with you,” a familiar voice began lightly—but it faltered.

The tone changed.

Shifted.

Because he saw you.

“...Amrâlim?”

You froze.

You hadn’t realized how rigid you’d become until that moment, how tightly you were holding yourself together, as if one wrong movement would shatter whatever fragile control you had left.

You didn’t turn around.

Not immediately.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did—if you met his eyes—you weren’t sure you would be able to keep pretending that everything was fine.

And somehow, that frightened you more than anything else.

Because Kili always saw too much.

And tonight, you were certain there was far too much to see.

You tried to steady your breathing before turning, but it was useless—Kili already knew. He always did. The moment your eyes met his, whatever fragile composure you had pieced together unraveled under the softness in his expression. He wasn’t smiling, not in the easy, carefree way he usually did; instead, there was quiet concern there, something gentle and attentive as he stepped closer, slow enough not to startle you, as if you were something delicate he refused to mishandle. “Hey… what’s this?” he murmured, voice low, warm, careful. You shook your head immediately, too quickly. “Nothing. I’m fine—it’s just been a long day.” Even to your own ears, it sounded thin. Unconvincing. His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t call you out—not directly. That was Kili, too. He reached you, resting his hands lightly on your arms, grounding without gripping, his thumbs brushing small, absent circles against your sleeves. “You’re shaking,” he said softly.

That was all it took.

The words broke something open, and suddenly the tightness in your chest surged upward, your breath catching again as you looked away, blinking too fast. “I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. It came quieter than you expected, fragile, like if you spoke too loudly it might shatter completely. “All of it—it’s too much, Kili. Every decision feels wrong before I’ve even made it. They expect me to know things I’ve never even thought about before, and I keep thinking if I make one mistake, it will all fall apart.” Your hands curled slightly at your sides, trembling again despite yourself. “I can’t sleep properly. I keep going over everything in my head—what I said, what I signed, what I might have missed. I don’t think I’m—” Your voice faltered. “I don’t think I’m what they need me to be.”

Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty.

Kili didn’t interrupt you, didn’t rush to fill the space. He simply stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of him cut through the chill of the night air, one hand lifting carefully to your cheek, guiding your gaze back to his. His expression had softened even more, if that were possible, something steady and unwavering settling into his features. “You think we expect perfection from you?” he asked quietly, almost incredulously, but not unkindly. You swallowed, uncertain. He huffed a faint breath—not quite a laugh, but close—and rested his forehead lightly against yours. “Amrâlim… we are dwarves. We rebuild mountains after dragons burn them. We argue over stone and gold and ale, and half the time we do not know what we are doing until it is already done.” His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, catching the faintest hint of moisture there. “You are learning. That is all anyone could ask.”

You shook your head again, though weaker this time. “But what if learning isn’t enough?”

“Then we learn again,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. His hands slid from your arms to your hands, carefully threading his fingers through yours despite the slight tremor still there. He didn’t try to still it. He just held on. “You are not meant to carry this alone. Not the mountain. Not the people. Not… this.” He lifted your joined hands slightly between you. “You have me. You have Fili. You have all of Erebor, whether they realize it or not. And they do not see you as failing—they see you trying. That matters more than you think.”

Something in your chest eased, just slightly.

Not gone—but softer.

Kili squeezed your hands once, then gently tugged you closer until you were fully within his arms, wrapped in a warmth that felt far more real than the cold stone beneath your feet. You hesitated only a moment before leaning into him, your forehead pressing against his shoulder as you exhaled shakily. His arms came around you without hesitation, firm and steady, one hand settling at your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you as though there was nowhere else he would rather be. “You do too much,” he murmured into your hair. “Even for a dwarf, that is impressive.”

A small, breathless sound escaped you—something between a laugh and a sigh.

“I mean it,” he continued softly. “I’ve seen your desk. It looks like it declared war on you and is winning.”

That earned a real, if quiet, laugh, muffled against him.

“There it is,” he said, a smile returning to his voice. “I was beginning to think I’d have to start telling truly terrible jokes.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes still tired but lighter now. “You already do.”

“Ah, but I save the worst ones for emergencies.”

You huffed softly, shaking your head, and he took the opportunity to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His gaze softened again, something deeper settling beneath the lightness. “You don’t have to be unbreakable,” he said quietly. “Not with me. Not ever.”

Your throat tightened at that—not from panic this time, but from something warmer, something that settled gently in your chest instead of clawing at it. You nodded, just slightly, your hands tightening in his tunic. “I was trying not to worry you.”

Kili’s expression shifted, something almost fond crossing his face. “You disappearing into the night and looking like the mountain is about to collapse on you worries me far more,” he replied. “Let me be here, amrâlim. That is what I am meant to do.”

The simplicity of it made your chest ache in an entirely different way.

You leaned into him again, this time without hesitation, letting yourself rest there as his arms tightened slightly around you, grounding, warm, steady. The mountain still loomed, the responsibilities still waited, nothing about your duties had changed—but somehow, in his arms, they felt… manageable.

Not because they were lighter.

But because you no longer felt like you were holding them alone.

Kili didn’t let go of you right away—and this time, you didn’t try to pull back. The tension that had been coiled so tightly inside you slowly unraveled the longer you stayed there, wrapped in his arms, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. It grounded you in a way nothing else had managed to that night. Eventually, he shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Come,” he murmured gently. “You’ve done enough ruling for one evening, my lady.” There was a teasing lilt at the end, but it was softened by warmth, not expectation. You huffed quietly, though there was no real protest left in you, and allowed him to guide you back inside.

Your chambers felt different now—less suffocating, less overwhelming. Or perhaps it was simply that you weren’t facing them alone anymore. Kili nudged the scattered scrolls aside without ceremony, ignoring them completely as he tugged you toward the bed. “Sit,” he insisted lightly, already moving to stoke the fire just a little higher, filling the room with a steady, comforting warmth. You sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion catching up to you all at once now that the storm inside you had eased. He returned a moment later, studying you with a softer expression, something fond and a little knowing. “You look like you haven’t rested properly in days.”

“I haven’t,” you admitted quietly.

“I thought as much.” He disappeared briefly again, returning with a brush and a small tie, holding them up with a faint, almost mischievous smile. “Then we start small.”

You blinked at him, confused at first—but the moment he stepped behind you, gently guiding you to turn so your back faced him, understanding settled in. Your shoulders relaxed almost immediately, anticipation mixing with a strange, quiet comfort. His fingers were careful as they slipped into your hair, easing out tangles with a patience you hadn’t realized you needed. He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak much either. Just the occasional soft murmur when he found a knot, the light pull followed by the soothing pass of his fingers smoothing it away.

It was… peaceful.

More than peaceful.

Your eyes drifted closed as the repetitive motion lulled your thoughts into stillness, the earlier chaos fading further with every gentle stroke. You could feel the warmth of him behind you, close but not overwhelming, his focus entirely on something so simple, so grounding. “My mother used to do this,” he said quietly after a while, voice softer than before, touched with memory. “Said it helped settle the mind. Kept thoughts from wandering too far into trouble.” His fingers separated sections of your hair with surprising skill. “Fili was terrible at sitting still for it. I was the opposite.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “I can’t imagine you sitting still for anything.”

“Oh, I can be very well-behaved when I choose to be,” he replied, mock offense threading through his tone—but it softened quickly as his hands continued their work. “There. See? Evidence.”

You let out a quiet, sleepy laugh, the sound far lighter than anything you’d managed earlier. The braid slowly took shape beneath his fingers—neat, careful, each movement deliberate. It wasn’t elaborate, not like the intricate styles of the dwarves, but it was steady. Secure. His thumbs brushed lightly at the nape of your neck as he tied it off, lingering there for just a moment before his hands settled gently on your shoulders.

“All done,” he murmured.

You reached back slightly, fingers brushing over the braid, something warm blooming in your chest at the simple gesture. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Kili leaned forward then, resting his chin briefly on your shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, just as quietly. Then, without giving you much time to think, he shifted beside you and tugged you gently down onto the bed with him.

You let out a small sound of surprise that quickly melted into a soft laugh as he pulled you close, one arm wrapping securely around you, the other adjusting the blankets over both of you. “Kili—”

“No arguments,” he interrupted lightly, though his hold tightened just slightly, not forceful but certain. “You are resting. That is an order from the prince under the mountain.”

You tilted your head just enough to look at him, amusement flickering in your tired eyes. “Oh? Is that how it is?”

“Absolutely,” he said, entirely serious for all of half a second before his expression softened again, something gentler taking over. “Stay,” he added more quietly.

There was no command in that word. Just a request.

You didn’t hesitate.

Settling closer, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. His hand found yours beneath the blankets, fingers intertwining easily, while the other traced slow, absent patterns along your arm—back and forth, over and over, until your breathing began to match his.

The mountain didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

The expectations were still there. The responsibilities hadn’t vanished. Tomorrow would come with its duties and decisions and challenges you were still learning how to face.

But tonight…

Tonight, you were warm.

You were safe.

And you were not alone.

Kili pressed a final, soft kiss to your hair, right above the braid he had made, his voice barely more than a whisper against the quiet of the room. “We’ll face it together,” he promised.

This time, when your eyes closed, sleep came easily.

And for the first time in a long while, your mind was still.

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[sweetieelilii]

⸝⸝⸝ cuddling with 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 after being overwhelmed :(

the door to your dorm swings open like it always does. there’s no knock or no warning—just him.

“hey!!” he yells dramatically.

you’re curled up in your bed, a blanket wrapped tight around you. your eyes are open, but there’s nothing behind them—just that blank, distant look you get when you’ve been sitting in your head for too long.

usually satoru bursting in meant you’d start groaning and complaining—telling him to get out, calling him annoying, shoving him off before he even got the chance to touch you.

he’s your friend.

your really annoying friend.

there’s never been a time where he wasn’t too loud or too close. he’s always pushing and trying to get a reaction out of you because you always give him one.

but this time you don’t give him anything. you just look at him with a dull expression.

that makes him pause.

“hmph. all comfy without me?” he says anyway, trying to lighten the atmosphere to get you to say something.

instead, you blink at him slowly. “mhm.”

that’s not true. you’re not really comfy.

and he can tell. of course he can.

his expression shifts—just a little—before he pushes the door shut behind him and walks over like he always does, as if nothing’s different and you’re not looking at him like that.

the bed dips as he climbs on without asking.

“move,” you mumble, because that’s what you’re supposed to say.

“no,” he replies, just as automatic. though maybe softer if you squint.

he reaches for you, hand settling on your arm, and gently—gently, which is new—turns you toward him even though you’re technically facing his way by laying on your back. he’s acting like he just wants you closer.

so you end up inches apart. but your face is still blank.

his isn’t. he’s really watching you now.

“you look comfy,” he tries again.

you don’t answer. because if you do, it might come out wrong.

and because you don’t his arms are suddenly around you, pulling you in, close. you’re chest is to chest, face brushing his, forehead almost knocking into his as he tucks you in against him instinctively.

the hug is tight.

your body tenses immediately.

this is the part you always hate. being too close to someone. it’s too him. too vulnerable. you should push him away like you always do.

your hands lift between you, ready to press against his chest…but then something possesses you to stop midway. the truth sits heavy in your chest, impossible to ignore today even though it’s there all the time.

you don’t want him to move. you don’t want space. and you really don’t want to be alone in your own head right now.

your hands hover until they slowly settle instead—resting against him, fingers barely gripping his shirt.

he goes still.

“…you’re letting me?” he mumbles, quieter like he’s not sure if he should continue crushing you like this.

you don’t answer.

your face presses into him instead, surprising both him and yourself.

his arms tighten around you in response, but not the usual way. he’s not playful or teasing like usual. instead he’s steady. holding you because he means it. like he understands what’s with you. like he understands you.

his hand moves up your back—slow and careful in case you maybe change your mind. but you don’t. if anything, you lean in closer.

your fingers curl more firmly into his shirt, your other arm sliding around him in a way that feels unfamiliar. it’s awkward at first because you don’t quite know how to do this.

after all, you’re not like him at all. you never reach out first. you’re not clingy. and you definitely don’t need this.

except you do right now.

when your hold tightens and you actually hug him back properly—he freezes. just for a sec. and then he’s pulling you in closer like he’s been waiting for that without realizing it. your bodies press together, no space left, his chin dipping near your shoulder, your face tucked into the warmth of him, and suddenly it’s not one sided like it usually is.

you’re both holding on. tight. neither of you wants to let go first.

your annoying friend doesn’t say anything. for once he’s not joking or teasing.

thank god he doesn’t do that.

satoru just stays there, arms firm around you, afraid this is temporary. he’s worried you might go back to pushing him away tomorrow. and maybe he’s right. he probably is.

“hey,” he murmurs eventually, close to your ear. “is something wrong?”

you shiver slightly at how close and warm he is—and your grip tightens around him without thinking. you hesitate for another second but decide to tell him half the truth this time.

“i’ve just been stressed.”

it feels small, saying it like that.

he doesn’t question it. he just pulls you closer if that’s even possible. his hand starts moving slowly along your back like he’s trying to ease something he can’t see.

“it’s okay,” he says softly. “i’ve got you now. there’s nothing to worry about.”

and you stay like that—wrapped up together, holding each other too tight for just friends—neither of you saying what’s actually there even if you both feel it.

i really want a hug from satoru 😓

jjk angst + hurt/comfort taglist @monoash @ethezreal @angxlicwanda @postresfresitas @winkli @tojis-juicymantitys @toesy3 @scarlet-kazuha @liliklei @oneofthesevensins @norsaval @satorusivut @valberryboos @ack24601 @bryght-world @liasacountgothacked @sh0kos-fav-doll @insertkillingcurselol @asteriia-png @babydollbri @torusblindfold @rvyneluu @sadteam666 @starlaxyy

woah 2 drabbles in 1 day

[batsandbirdsandothers]

Damian’s Secret Little Brother PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

Please do not repost:)

[batsandbirdsandothers]

Damian’s secret little brother PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

[batsandbirdsandothers]

Damian’s Secret Little Brother PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3