[kissingchoso]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I don't want him anyway, girl take him

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༘⋆ luna or amaris ༘⋆

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༘⋆ 24 | black | sagittarius | washed up writer | dc friendly ༘⋆

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༘⋆ m.list | rules ༘⋆

[kissingchoso]

spiderman!character x mj!reader — mcu spiderman, based off the trailer for brand new day! previous relationship, amnesia, awkward people who have crushes on each other, yearning. reader makes the first move. imagine who you want :)

~1.3k words

i’m so mentally ill when it comes to tom holland’s spiderman so much that i wanted to create this small piece. it’s rushed, made over 2 nights so it’s not gonna be good lol.

spiderman!character who decided a long time ago that he will allow you to live your life while he gets his own situated. a lot has changed and the world forgot he existed, so he had to start from scratch with no familial guidance.

no one talks about how rough it actually is being alone most of the time. he didn't realize how loud his thoughts can get, so it's probably why he takes to the streets most nights donned in that iconic suit to give him something to do.

if he's lucky, he'll stop a robbery or two, but most nights he swings by the university he should've attended with his two companions.

his best friend and his girl— ex girlfriend.

the two people he had to let go because he fucked his own self over. watching them afar was comfortable (for the most part). they were safe and still kept in touch even with a third of their group is unknowingly missing.

you had gotten active in a few organizations, most related to your major and regularly volunteered. part time, you still worked at the shitty cafe still and he continued to pop by every so often.

you recognized his face and was able to attach a name to it, but that is the extent he'll allow you back into his life. as much as he misses you, the thought of putting you in harm's way again from his mistakes stopped him. the memories of years prior with his aunt dying in his arms and you nearly falling to your death kept him at bay. it kept the interactions minimal, even if you both were stuttering around his same order.

the shy grin you give him before walking away kept him satisfied… for a while.

he hadn't come in a week, mostly because he'd been going through some concerning changes and he was trying to get any form of understanding. everything was so off.

sleep was essentially unreachable most nights, his senses felt extremely heightened and for some reason, he can shoot out organic webs?! his nights out as spiderman has been increasingly messier with all of these changes, so he thought it would be best to give himself a single day off.

one to just reset and try to get some answers from some of the smartest minds in new york, but first he needed coffee. bad.

and you.

he entered the cafe early after another restless night with hollow eyes, a small bruise above his left eyebrow and his body drowning in baggy clothes. (he recently learned of spiderman variants and he convinced himself this is the lowest point any of them have reached.)

it's a busier morning and you were behind the register. your eyes locked for a brief moment and he can see the recognition flash on your face before attending back to the current customer.

he waits patiently at the back of the line, noting how there seems to be a few more students with their computers and bags claiming various tables. it was the middle of spring semester, so he assumed it was the season for midterms.

in another life he'd be hunched over at the closest spot to you, reading off notes while you served the best coffee in the world. thsy thought keeps him daydreaming for the duration of his wait until it is finally his turn.

despite coming here so often, he still gets awkward like it's the first time meeting you. "hi," he greets, drawing his lips into a tight lipped smile.

you take in his drab appearance, head tilting in that cute way before speaking. "you look like hell," you chortle. "did you run into a pole this time?"

there's a small game the two of you like to play called "where did this bruise come from?" at first you thought he was a street fighter and everyday he regrets not going with that front.

"n-no! what, no, i could barely throw a punch. i'm just clumsy like hell." he lied. the look you gave him screamed you didn't completely believe him… but then again why would you think a stranger would lie to you?

"i actually fell out of bed," he responds smoothly, his smile shaky from how tired he is. there's this foggy sensation behind his eyes but this conversation seems to be pulling him out of his daze.

fuck, he misses you.

"oh?" you hum, already typing his order on the screen. "the bed."

his order never changed from when he first came in, a simple black coffee with a few packets of the stevia sweetener packets. he watches with fake interest as you get all the specifications right, offering a short nod for confirmation.

"faceplanted right on the ground, if you could imagine it." you laugh at that and he gives himself an iamginary pat on his back for his efforts.

"i unfortunately can and all i can think about is your poor neighbors," you offer before quietly telling him the price. he fishes his tattered wallet from his pocket, taking out a few dollar bills to hand it to you. "don't worry, i'll make sure this batch keeps you alert and oriented for the next few hours."

he stares at you as if you hung the sun in the sky while you ring up his change, forcing his gaping mouth shut. "thanks."

he shuffles off to the side so that he may wait for his order and pretend to find anything but you to stare at. once you call his name in that sweet saccharine voice, he steps up to the counter and is surprised to find a neatly packaged bag next to his cup of coffee. he smells a savory aroma coming from the bag and immediately knew it wasn't something he ordered.

"it's on the house," your voice cuts in his racing thoughts before he could vocalize his confusion. he whipped his head up to look at you. "avoid falling on your face again, please."

it's the last thing you utter before quickly diverting your attention to more customers filling the line.

the reality of the small gesture was speaking volumes to him and maybe he was reading into this more than he should be— but fuck, you're killing him over here. you're not supposed to know him, that's what spiderman decided. it's for your safety, it's for everyone's safety.

he takes the items from the counter before he shuffles out of the cafe. his cheeks are flushed despite the cool morning air breezing its way through the city.

only when he's a couple streets away from the cafe does he finally open the bag to find a breakfast burrito sitting at the bottom. what really caught his eye was the scribbling of vary familiar handwriting in the inner edge of the paper.

a ten digit number written under a small message. ''hope this helps :) if you ever want to chat xxx-xxx-xxxx"

no way this is a sign. it can't be this easy, right? surely this is a cruel prank some variant is doing. his sweet girl couldn't possibly—

"i figured out you were spiderman before, i can do it again," you tearfully muttered to your boyfriend before tossing yourself into his battered frame.

he should pretend he never saw it.

that's what spiderman is telling him to do. but the warmth that spreads through his chest when he retreads the small note seems to drown away his fears for now.

you voluntarily gave him your number. after months of biding the same place and awkward small talk, he graduated from customer to a new companion— ones that have each other's contacts readily available.

his heart thunders in his chest as he thinks… 'what the hell am i going to do?'

characters i thought of: gojo, HINATA SHOYOO, itadori, choso, kirishima, tartaglia (genshin), jonathan byers (i can see it), steve harrington, izuku midoriya, armin arlert and more

[kissingchoso]

hallo

[showhay]

brazil!hinata shōyō x f!reader ; fluff

cw: suggestive content, read at your own risk.

​;; boyfriend!hinata tracking the exact angle of the afternoon sun hitting your bedroom bed just so he can drag the mattress straight onto the floor, pulling you down into the warm patch of light with him like a giant, golden lizard. he’ll tangle his legs with yours, bury his face in your hair, and just sigh against your skin until the sun goes down, completely content to waste a whole training day if it means absorbing your warmth.

​;; boyfriend!hinata having this incredibly specific habit of testing his finger calluses against the softest parts of your skin. you’ll be sitting at the kitchen island and he’ll come up behind you, his hands—rough and hardened from years of slamming against volleyballs—tracing the sensitive curve of your inner wrist or the skin just under your jaw. he does it so gently, a contrast that makes your stomach flip because he knows exactly how much power those hands hold, yet they’re entirely soft for you.

​;; boyfriend!hinata speaking to you in a sleepy, unbothered mix of japanese and portuguese when he’s waking up. his voice is a full octave lower in the mornings, a raspy, thick murmur against your bare shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest. he’ll call you ‘minha vida’ while sleepily biting at your shoulder blade, his grip tightening around your waist.

​;; boyfriend!hinata being completely obsessed with laundry day, specifically because he loves the routine of it. you’ll find him sitting on the floor surrounded by clean sheets, casually tossing one of his oversized practice jerseys over your head while you’re walking past. he loves seeing you swallowd whole by his clothes, especially when he catches you later sniffing the collar because it smells like his citrus deodorant. he’ll just smirk, pull you by the hem of the shirt onto his lap, and whisper something terribly cocky about how good you look wearing his name.

​;; boyfriend!hinata using his insane athletic reflexes for the absolute dumbest, most affectionate things. if you trip over a rug, he catches you by the waist, spins you in the air, and presses you flat against the nearest wall, laughing that bright, breathless laugh of his. his face will be inches from yours, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes dropping to your lips with a sudden, heavy intensity that reminds you he isn’t a kid anymore.

​;; boyfriend!hinata taking care of your skin after a long day at the beach. he gets so meticulous about it, making you sit between his knees while he carefully rubs cooling aloe or coconut lotion into your shoulders. his thumb will track the line of your tan lines, his touch slowing down, growing heavier and more deliberate until the room feels a little too warm, his breath fanning hot against the back of your neck as he whispers praises about how beautiful your body looks under the sun.

​;; boyfriend!hinata’s absolute favorite way to tease you during his off-season. he’ll be sitting on the sofa playing a game on his phone, and he’ll casually pull you down so you’re straddling his lap, using you as a literal armrest. he acts completely nonchalant, talking to you normally while his large hands slide under the hem of your shorts, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your thighs. he won’t even look up from his screen, but the hot, possessive squeeze he gives your hip every time you try to move away lets you know exactly where his attention really is.

;; boyfriend!hinata being completely incapable of keeping his hands to himself the second you step foot onto a crowded bus. he’ll pull you into the small space between his chest and the door, shielding you from the crowd with his broad shoulders while the bus sways. with one hand gripping the overhead strap, his free hand slides down to cup the back of your thigh, his fingers squeezing firmly through your pants. he’ll lean down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs—low and raspy over the roar of the engine—about how good you smell, completely intoxicated by the mix of your perfume and the heat of the afternoon.

;; boyfriend!hinata turning a simple evening walk along the secluded edge of the beach into something entirely different. he’ll drag you into the shadow of a dark lifeguard tower, pinning your lower back against the cool wooden stilts. while the sound of the crashing waves hides your gasps, he’ll bury his face entirely in the crook of your neck, inhaling you like he’s starving. his hands will slide under your top, his rough palms dragging hot over your ribs, and he’ll growl softly against your skin about how he can taste the salt on you, demanding you tell him how much you love him before he kisses you again without even letting you catch your breath.

;; boyfriend!hinata using his knowledge of launguages on dirty talking to completely break your brain when you’re in bed. he’s so loud and unbothered normally, but in the dark, his praise becomes this heavy, suffocating thing. he’ll pin your wrists above your head with just one hand, hovering over you with those dark, hyper-focused eyes, and he’ll praise you for every little sound you make. “sim, precisely like that, look at how well you’re taking me,” he’ll mutter in a breathless rush of portuguese and japanese, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper against your lips as he tells you how beautiful you look when you’re completely undone for him.

;; boyfriend!hinata’s feral habit of scent-marking you right before he leaves for an away tournament. he’ll trap you on the bed, his heavy body pinning yours down as he spends an entire hour just rubbing his jaw along your collarbone, biting gently at your shoulder blades, and leaving hot, wet kisses along your pulse point until you smell completely like him. if you try to squirm, he’ll just tighten his grip, his thighs locking yours in place, whispering praises about how good of a girl you are for letting him take his time with you.

;; boyfriend!hinata taking a massive risk at a crowded post-match afterparty. he’ll pull you into a dimly lit hallway just around the corner from the main room where his teammates are laughing loudly. he’ll press you against the wall, lifting you up by your thighs so your legs are wrapped around his waist. you can hear the bass thumping through the wall and people walking past the entrance, but hinata just smirks, his thumb wiping a tear of overstimulation from your cheek as he whispers, “shh, be quiet, you don’t wanna let them hear how good i make you feel. right, minha vida?”

;; boyfriend!hinata tracking your cycle or just knowing when your body temperature runs hot, entirely driven by his sense of smell. he’ll walk into the apartment after a grueling six-hour practice, drop his gear bag on the floor, and immediately track you down to wherever you’re sitting. before you can even say welcome home, he’s gently parting your thighs on the chair, burying his face directly into the heat of the soft dip of your inner thigh through your underwear. he’ll take a long, dragging inhale of your scent, his pupils completely blown as he groans against your bare skin, his large hands reaching under your top to grip your waist hard enough to leave faint marks, telling you exactly how ruined the bed is about to be.

;; boyfriend!hinata taking advantage of a completely empty, sun-drenched locker room after everyone else has left the training facility. he’ll lock the heavy door from the inside, trap you against the cold metal of his locker, and pull your shorts down to your knees in one rough, impatient motion. with the distinct smell of fresh sweat, laundry detergent, and leather volleyballs filling the air, he’ll lift your leg over his hip and drive into you right there, the sudden, thick friction making you scream into his shoulder. he’ll instantly choke off your voice with a wet, bruising kiss, his hips slamming into yours with that terrifying, rhythmic endurance while he mutters breathless, filthiest praises into your mouth—“take it all, look at how tight you are for me. you like that everyone's right outside, huh, sweetheart?” he’ll grab your face, forcing you to look at him, “look at me while i fuck you senseless, meu amor.”

n: everyone on discord kept distracting me. but i did get their opinions on this one. it was my twin’s idea for the scent marking, shout ot freaky twin.

guys join the discord, i want 67 members

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

iloveu

[stargirl-meltdown]

overworked

pairing: ryland grace x reader

word count: 6k

summary: ryland grace may be able to carry the weight of the world, but not without breaking somewhere. Luckily, he has someone who knows exactly how to bring him back.

warnings: 18+ smut, oral f receiving, p in v, submissive ryland!!, ryland has a hair pulling kink lowkey, needy! ryland, overworked! ryland, slight angst, soft ending, gentle and emotional smut, pornwith plot

The sound of the clock was impossible to ignore that night. 

Now, that’s not to say it was big. Objectively, it was small. An old white thing that had come from Ryland’s first flat, now sitting proudly above the kitchen door. It was cheap plastic and most definitely second-hand, offering a loud click as the seconds crept on. Each landing deliberately as it reminded you what you were trying so hard not to measure. 

You checked it again. 

22:47. 

You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together as you tried to soothe the ache in your stomach that had been pushing harder and harder as the weeks went on. 

The flat was warmer tonight, blame it on the oven being on for too long and the windows not being open enough. The smell of roasted garlic still permeated the air, softened now that dinner was technically over. It now sat on the counter, carefully packed into mismatched Tupperware containers. It had once been plated, earlier, when you thought he’d be home by eight. 

You’d even lit a candle. You were optimistic. 

The flame had travelled halfway down the wick, the wax pooling unevenly along one side, before you decided to blow it out. 

He wasn’t coming back. 

You pulled your knees a little closer to your chest, where you sat curled into the corner of the sofa, a blanket half draped over your legs. The TV was on as it flickered a shifting light across the room. Something mindless played on the screen, not that you were actually watching; you zoned out around an hour ago. 

You just wanted some noise at this point, or rather, the absence of silence. 

There is a brief war in your mind as you debate whether to put the Tupperware away. It was still sitting on the counter. You decide that it is probably for the best to move from your sanctuary on the sofa, stretch your legs and whatnot. 

You wander over to the kitchen, socks shuffling across the floor as you reach for the plastic containers to put away. 

He may not be here, but there are traces of him everywhere. 

It’s what makes you so worried about him. 

You turn towards the fridge—it was the first thing anyone noticed when they walked in. Not because it was particularly nice, but because it was covered. 

Layered in magnets and paper and colour. Crayon drawings, most of them, curling slightly at the corners where the magnets didn’t quite hold them flat.

Stick figures with wildly disproportionate limbs. Planets coloured in purple and green. A sun with sunglasses. A lopsided rocket labelled—very proudly, in uneven block letters. 

MR GRACE’S ROCKET SHIP!!!

You smiled softly. 

He’d come home with that one months ago, careful not to let it crease too much on his bike ride home.

“Look at this,” he’d said, laughing. “They think I’m cool enough to go to space.”

You’d laughed then too, teasing him gently, telling him he was cool enough, and he’d ducked his head.

There were more of them now.

More drawings. More little notes. One that just said “Thank you Mr Grace :)” in pencil.

He’d never had the heart to take any of them down.

Your chest tightened.

Because that was him, wasn’t it?

That earnest kind of care. The way he gave himself to things—fully, without hesitation, without holding anything back. Whether it was his students, or a problem he couldn’t quite solve, or you.

Especially you.

Your eyes flicked back to the clock as you put dinner away. 

22:52.

You wondered, not for the first time, what he was actually doing. 

His most recent job was vague, always described sheepishly. He said there were NDAs involved, said it was "research." Papers were always hidden away where you couldn’t see them, let alone try to understand them. 

You trusted him. That was enough for you not to pry. That paired with the way that he’d looked at you—not excited, but lit from within in a way you’d never seen before. 

That had been enough. 

You didn’t need to know the details to know that something had shifted.

It had started small. A meeting here. A call there. Then longer hours. Then missed dinners. Then the creeping realisation that whatever he’d been pulled into, it wasn’t temporary.

Most nights now, the flat felt too still without him in it.

It wasn’t that you minded. If anything, you were glad he’d found something that lit him up like this. It was the way he gave himself to it, completely and without pause, that worried you. The sense that he was stretching himself thinner and thinner, and that one day there might not be enough left to hold him up.

You lingered for a moment in the kitchen, fingers brushing along the edge of the counter as your eyes drifted once more to the clock. 

23:01

Later than you’d promised yourself you’d stay up.

You should go to bed.

He’d understand. 

With an exhale, you reached for the switch. The overhead light flickered softly, your hand hovering, as if you were hesitating, as if some part of you was still holding out hope.

The sound of the lock turning cut through the stillness.

You stilled.

Metal against metal. A stubborn click. The push of the door easing open.

Ryland.

You could hear he was trying to keep quiet. His shoes hardly made a sound as he kicked them off, nor did the door as it softly shut, trying not to disturb a space he already thought was asleep. 

The flat stayed dim, the kitchen light still on behind you, casting a soft spill into the hallway, catching just the edge of his silhouette.

You could stand here and giggle as he fumbled around, trying to keep silent as he took off his bag and jacket, but the feeling in your chest stopped your thoughts immediately. 

Before you could think better of it, you were already moving. 

You rounded the corner quickly, too quickly for him to anticipate. He barely had time to look up before you were on him, arms wrapping around him and relief flooding your system. 

“Oof—”

He let out a startled sound as you collided with him, hands coming up instinctively to catch you, steady you. 

And then, just as quickly, he melted into you. 

His arms slipped around you, pulling you in close. His chin dipped toward your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. 

He smelled the same. Coffee, soap, completely familiar and him. 

“What are you—” he trailed off, voice lower than it usually was, tiredness hinting at the edges. “Should be in bed by now, sweetheart.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, not taking his gentle scolding too seriously. 

He should take his own damn advice. 

You smiled, practically glowing in his embrace and the knowledge that you’d be able to say goodnight to him in person this time. 

“I wasn’t tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. 

Your eyes lingered on his face, fully taking him in, even if you hadn’t quite clocked everything yet. 

“Plus,” you continued, a little quieter. “I sleep better when you’re here.”

He huffed softly, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“That’s not true,” he said, voice still gentle. “You’re usually still snoring when I leave in the morning.”

You frowned immediately, offended.

“I do not snore.”

He gave you a look. 

“Mm,” he hummed. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

You barely had time to argue before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It was unhurried, something you let yourself smile into.

When you pulled back, you tilted your head slightly, still holding onto him.

“I made dinner.”

That got his attention.

He blinked at you, like the words took a second to land, his tired eyes softening just a fraction.

“You did?”

You nodded, a little eager despite yourself.

“Pasta. Your favourite.”

He let out a groan, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around your waist just slightly.

“You spoil me,” he mumbled.

You shrugged, smiling as your fingers brushed lightly against his back.

“It’s my job.”

He huffed softly against your skin.

“Should be mine.”

“What was that?” you asked, tilting your head just enough to try and catch it.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, lifting his head again.

You studied him for a moment, then stepped back just enough to gesture vaguely toward the kitchen.

“Do you want me to heat it up?”

He hesitated.

You saw it, even before he answered.

“Nah—no, no,” he said, a little too quickly. “You go, get comfy, yeah? I’ve just got… I’ve just got some stuff I need to read. Then I’ll be right with you.”

You stilled.

“You’re still working?”

The words came out soft, but they hit.

He stopped too.

In the brief pause between the two of you, it allowed you to really see him. 

Even in the low light, it was all there. The shadows under his eyes were darker than they used to be. The strain on his expression that he was so obviously trying to hide. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, unnoticed by him, his hair a little more dishevelled than usual. 

He looked exhausted. 

“Ry—“ you murmur as your chest tightens, lifting your hands to his face. You drag your thumbs lightly along his jaw as you hold him there. “You can’t work all the time.”

“I know,” he said quietly. 

“You need rest.”

“I’m gonna,” he insisted, but there was no real conviction in it. 

You searched his face, your mouth turning into a frown. 

“But you never get any.”

He hated to admit it, but you had a point.

Damn it.

He exhaled and it was heavy. His gaze dropping to the floor like he disappointed you. He didn’t want to argue, but he also didn’t want to deflect. 

Because he knew. He knew you were right. 

You brushed his hair back from his forehead gently, fingers slipping through the soft strands, and the effect was immediate.

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you. 

His shoulders dropped just slightly, his eyes closing for half a second as he leaned into the touch without thinking, like his body recognised something his mind hadn’t had time to catch up with.

Like he needed it.

You let your fingers linger, nails dragging lightly across his scalp, and he let out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively.

Your heart gave a small, startled thud.

When was the last time—

You didn’t even finish the thought.

Too long. Far too long.

Your fingers curled slightly in his hair, just enough to guide his head back, and he followed easily, eyes opening again, a little unfocused now, a little softer.

You had an idea.

You looked up at him, your expression gentler now, something more deliberate settling in your gaze.

“Ry,” you said quietly, almost coaxing. “Are you sure I can’t help you relax?”

It took him no time to understand your insinuation.

He looked at you like the question physically pained him.

Torn.

He dragged a hand briefly over his face, exhaling under his breath.

“Baby, I—” he started, cutting himself off quickly, like he’d caught the words just in time. He shook his head slightly, a faint, tired smile pulling at his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, softer now. “Okay. Yeah.”

His hands found your waist again.

“We can do whatever you want.”

Something bright, almost giddy, flickered in your chest. Because finally, you could take care of him.

Your fingers slid down from his hair, tracing the line of his jaw one last time before you caught his hand in yours. His palm was warm, a little clammy from the long day, but the second your skin met his he laced your fingers together. 

You gave a gentle tug and he followed, his steps heavy and dragging behind you, socks scuffing softly against the floorboards. He moved like a man who’d forgotten how to want anything except the next thing you offered him, like a tired puppy trailing after the only light left in the flat.

You led him down the short hallway. The bedroom door was already ajar; you pushed it open with your hip, and the street lamps outside spilt in through the half-drawn blinds, painting everything in soft gold and cool silver. 

The way he liked you best.

The glow caught on the rumpled sheets you’d left this morning, on the curve of his shoulder as he stepped in behind you, on the faint sheen of exhaustion that still clung to his face.

He stopped just inside the doorway, blue eyes locked on you. Even half-dead on his feet he looked hungry—starved, really—desperate with his pupils blow wide and his breath hitching every time you moved. 

He perked up quickly.

Good.

Time to ease his thoughts away from work and solely on you.

You could still feel it rolling off him in waves: the weeks of late nights, the missed dinners, the way his body had forgotten what it felt like to be touched with anything but clinical efficiency.

You stepped closer, letting your hip cock to one side, head tilting as you looked up at him through your lashes. The movement made the hem of his old t-shirt ride up your thighs, and his gaze dropped there for half a second before snapping back to your face like he’d been caught.

“You gonna let me take care of you, Ry?” you asked, voice low and sweet, the way you knew made his knees weak.

He swallowed hard, throat working. 

“You always take care of me,” he murmured, the words rough.

“Yeah…” You smiled, teasing. “But I have a feeling you’re really gonna like this one.”

He opened his mouth—probably to protest, to say he should be the one looking after you, to offer some tired half-joke—but you rose up on your toes and kissed him before the words could escape. He melted instantly. The sound he made was broken, almost embarrassed, like he hadn’t meant to let it out. 

His free hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, needing something solid to hold onto while the rest of him dissolved.

You kept kissing him as your hands found the top button of his cardigan—soft green wool, the one he’d worn the day he first told you about the “research job” that was eating him alive. 

One button, then another. You worked slowly, letting your knuckles brush the warm skin of his chest each time. He didn’t move to help. He just stood there, eyes half-lidded and gentle. When the cardigan finally slid down his arms and pooled on the floor, he shivered, even though the room wasn’t cold.

Next came the shirt underneath. You tugged it free from his jeans, palms skimming up the flat plane of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jumped and twitched under your touch. 

He was so pliant, so perfectly willing—arms lifting when you guided them, head ducking so you could pull the fabric over it. 

The shirt joined the cardigan and he stood there bare-chested, breathing a little faster now, chest already tight from the weight of your stare.

Your fingers dropped to the buckle of his belt. Metal clicked. You looked up at him again, searching his face. 

“Is this alright?”

His hands covered yours immediately, warm and steady despite the tremor in his voice. 

“Baby,” he said, almost laughing but too wrecked for it, “you can have me whenever you want. You know that.” 

The words came out hoarse and you couldn’t help but think about every night he’d come home after midnight, every morning he’d slipped out before you woke. 

Your chest squeezed—but you shoved the ache aside.

Not tonight. 

Tonight he was here, and he was yours.

You popped the button, dragged the zip down, and pushed his jeans and boxers off his hips in one. He stepped out of them clumsily, kicking them aside, and he was naked in front of you—cock already half-hard and curving up toward his stomach, flushed dark at the tip and beading at the slit. 

He looked so vulnerable like this, eyes soft and a little glassy, waiting for whatever you wanted to do to him.

Before you could sink to your knees or touch him the way you were aching to, he reached for you with that same tired, adoring smile. 

“Your turn?”

You giggled—couldn’t help it—and let him pull you in. His hands were eager, sliding under the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from his drawer. He peeled it off you slowly, reverent. 

God, you missed him.

When your breasts were bare he exhaled shakily, thumbs brushing the undersides like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed. The shirt hit the floor and then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleep shorts, dragging them down your thighs in one go. 

You stepped out and suddenly you were both exposed, skin glowing in the light, the air between you thick with weeks of pent-up need.

He didn’t waste time. He hauled you against him, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that felt deeper than the last, like the exhaustion was finally cracking open. 

One of his hands splayed across your lower back, the other slid between your legs without hesitation. Two fingers stroked through your folds, finding you already slick and aching, and he groaned into your mouth when he felt it.

“Baby…” he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked. “Seems like I’ve been neglecting you, huh?”

His fingers circled your clit once, twice, slow and perfect, and you whimpered, hips jerking forward.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and softly tugged—just hard enough to make him gasp—then shoved at his chest playfully. 

“Tonight I’m taking care of you, Dr Grace.”

Dr Grace.

The title landed like a live wire. You knew exactly what it did to him; he could see it in the way you said it.

His eyes fluttered, a broken little sound punched out of his chest, and he let you push him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Let you move him where you wanted him.

He dropped down willingly, sprawled out on his back, cock now fully hard and leaking against his stomach. He looked pathetic in the best way—chest heaving, cheeks flushed, arms already reaching for you like he couldn’t stand another second without your weight on him.

You crawled over him, knees bracketing his ribs, ready to sink down and take him inside you the way you’d been dreaming about for weeks. But his hands caught your hips, stopping you. His blue eyes were hazy, pupils blown, yet somehow still so gentle.

“Baby… can you go a little higher?”

You blinked down at him, confused, thighs already trembling with want. 

“Aren’t you tired?” The words came out soft, almost worried, and the sound of it made his expression melt even further. “Tonight I was gonna be good to you.”

Not that you were complaining.

He shook his head, thumbs stroking soothing circles over your hipbones. 

“I don’t think I’ll last five seconds if we do that,” he admitted, bashful and honest and so fucking needy it made your stomach flip. “It’s been… Gosh, it’s been so long. Let me do my job first, yeah? Then you can have your way, okay, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded, heart hammering. He guided you higher, hands firm until your knees settled on either side of his head, and you were hovering over his face. 

The light painted his features in silver and shadow—his tired eyes still locked on yours, lips parted, breath already fanning hot against your soaked cunt.

Fuck, he was stunning.

You lowered yourself slowly, and the first drag of his tongue had your head falling back with a moan. 

He was tired, yes, but he knew you—knew exactly how to flatten his tongue and lick a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, how to hum in satisfaction when your taste flooded his mouth.

How could he forget you?

His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks you’d treasure tomorrow, anchoring you to him like he never wanted you to leave.

He licked and sucked with lazy, devastating precision, built from months of learning every hitch of your breath, every roll of your hips.

When you started to rock against him he groaned, the vibration shooting straight to your core, and the sound was so desperate—so pathetically grateful—that it made you clench around nothing.

“That’s it,” he mumbled against your pussy, voice muffled and wet, “ride my face, baby. Use me. Let go for me—”

Please.

His fingers dug harder into the soft flesh of your thighs, pulling you down with a desperate strength that belied how exhausted he looked. 

You could feel the tremble in your legs already starting, the way your muscles quivered around his head as he devoured you like a man who’d been starving for months—and maybe he had. 

Ryland Grace, brilliant and overworked and so fucking touch-starved that he couldn’t get enough, kept dragging you back and forth over his tongue with low, needy sounds vibrating straight into your core. 

He was rock-hard beneath you, cock straining and leaking against his stomach, but he didn’t even seem to notice or care. All that mattered was you—your taste, your weight, the way you ground down on his face like it was the only thing keeping him awake.

He cursed every single late night he had, every single hour overtime.

How on earth could he put work before this pure heaven?

You reached down blindly, fingers tangling in his messy hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan loud and broken against your soaked pussy. The sound was pathetic in the most beautiful way. He’d let you use him until there was nothing left if that’s what you wanted. 

And you did. 

You rode his face harder, hips rolling in messy circles, chasing that building heat while he licked and sucked and hummed like he was trying to memorise every single reaction you gave him.

He felt it when you started to tip over the edge—your thighs clamping tighter around his ears, your breath hitching into these sharp little gasps. His blue eyes flicked up to yours, glassy and adoring even through the fogged lenses of his glasses, and he doubled down, tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit until you tugged on his hair again and came with a broken cry that echoed off the bedroom walls.

It was overwhelming, the way he didn’t stop—licking you through every pulse and shiver, dragging you back down when your hips tried to pull away.

Oh no, you don't.

He cleaned you up with reverent strokes like he couldn’t bear to let a single drop go to waste. 

You were shaking, quivering above him, vision blurry with the aftershocks, and only when you were completely spent and whimpering did he finally loosen his grip on your thighs. His hands slid up your sides instead, soothing, like he was afraid he’d break you even though he was the one falling apart underneath you.

You lifted off him on unsteady knees, sliding down until you could look at his face properly. His glasses were completely fogged up, cheeks flushed crimson, lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. He blinked up at you, dazed and blissed-out, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.

“Was that… good?” he asked, voice hoarse and shy; he still needed the reassurance even after you’d just ridden his face into oblivion.

Tell him he was still good.

You let out a shaky sigh, brushing a thumb over his wet bottom lip. 

“You know it was, Ry.”

A sleepy smile spread across his face—pure, unguarded bliss.

You shuffled lower, knees bracketing his hips now, and looked down at him with a teasing little tilt of your head. 

Finally, it was his turn.

His cock was throbbing between you, flushed and leaking steadily against his stomach, and he was staring at you like you hung the moon.

“You gonna let me ride you now, Dr Grace?” you asked, voice dripping with sweet mockery.

He groaned, head dropping back against the mattress with a soft thud. 

Again with the titles?

“You’re gonna kill me, I swear,” he mumbled, but his hands were already sliding up your thighs.

You chuckled, leaning down to nip at his jaw. 

“Good. Maybe that way you’d finally get some rest.”

He huffed a breathless laugh that turned into another groan when you reached between you and wrapped your fingers around his cock. He was so hard it was almost painful to the touch and he jolted up with a sharp wince, hips bucking involuntarily.

“I—sorry, baby—”

It’s been so long. 

His cheeks burned even darker, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment.

You looked at him. His flushed face still shiny with your slick, hair sticking up in every direction from your tugging, that tired but desperate expression that made him look so beautifully pathetic. He was the most gorgeous thing you’d ever seen, soft submission and needy love, and your chest ached with how much you’d missed this version of him.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, meaning it with every part of you.

He whined, hips twitching again. 

“Stop teasing, please. I need you.”

You chuckled softly, finally taking pity on him. You grabbed his shaft properly, angling it so the thick length slid easily between your slick folds. The motion had his tip catching perfectly against your clit before popping free, and you both moaned at the wet glide.

Fuck, it's been too long.

He sighed against your mouth, which had fallen open in a silent ‘o’, rolling his hips up in search of more friction, chasing the heat of you like he couldn’t help it.

“Patience,” you began, but the last of the word was stolen by a gasp when you ground down to meet his next thrust. The blunt tip of him prodded at your entrance, gliding up again with just the right pressure to make sparks shoot up your spine. 

You both moaned louder this time, the sound tangled together in the quiet room.

His arms circled the curve of your waist, pulling you closer, dragging you over the full length of him again. It made you shudder hard in his grasp, nails digging into his shoulders for balance.

He caught right where you needed him most, your walls fluttering greedily around his tip, trying to suck him in. A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest when he tried to push a little more. But it was your hips that rolled this time, taking just enough for him to finally slide all the way in with a slow, delicious stretch that had you both gasping.

“Fuck,” you whined, feeling so full for the first time in way too long. Your walls clung to him tightly, trying to accommodate his size after all these weeks apart. You sat up straighter with a low huff through your nose, letting your nails drag down the centre of his chest. He shuddered hard under you, eyes rolling back for a second. “Fuck—missed you so much—”

“Language, baby,” he managed to choke out, but the words dissolved into a broken moan as you rolled your hips again, taking him even deeper. “Taking it so well—just like that—”

His praise hit you like a spark. You clenched around him involuntarily, and he twitched hard inside you, a fresh spurt of pre-cum leaking out. His big hands found the tops of your thighs, pads of his fingers leaving trails of fire as they slid up to grip your hips.

You started riding him properly then—slow at first, savouring every inch as you lifted and sank back down, the sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room. Ryland turned into an absolute babbling mess beneath you, desperate, eyes glassy as he stared up at you like you were everything.

“Missed you so much,” he gasped, hips jerking up to meet yours. “Missed this—missed  baby, I—feels so good, so—”

You let out a sharp whine when he hit that perfect spot inside you, and his eyes lit up with that familiar hunger.

“Right there? That’s it? Yeah, baby?” he panted, begging you to tell him he was doing it good. “Look so beautiful, you—“

You moaned, head tipping back as you kept moving, chasing that building pleasure while he fell apart under you. His hands roamed everywhere—your hips, your waist, up to cup your breasts like he couldn’t decide where he needed to touch you most.

“Please, sweetheart, please,” he begged suddenly, voice wrecked and so fucking pathetic it made you throb around him. “Look at me—need to see you. It’s been so long, I need your eyes on me—”

It was hard to open your eyes—the slow, dragging drag of his cock against your slick walls was almost too much, the feeling of being so perfectly connected to him after all this time. But you did, locking gazes with him as you rode him harder.

He was trembling now, fingers digging bruises into your hips, breath coming in short, desperate pants. 

“Not gonna last—I’m not gonna last much longer—”

“Neither am I,” you breathed out, leaning down to kiss him messy and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue again. “Cum for me, Ry. Let go.”

That was all it took.

He did—hard. His whole body seized up, back arching off the bed as he came with a broken, guttural moan that sounded like it had been ripped out of his soul. He swore he saw stars, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in silent ecstasy while he kept thrusting up into you through it, needy even in the middle of his orgasm.

You followed right after, clenching around him as the wave crashed over you, moaning his name like a prayer while your thighs shook and your vision whited out.

You both came down slowly, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. His arms circled you immediately, pulling you down against his chest. You stayed there for a long moment, just breathing each other in, hearts hammering in sync.

For a while, neither of you moved. You lay half-draped over him, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the way his heartbeat slowly began to steady beneath your ear. It was still a little fast, still a little uneven, but it was him again.

Not halfway lost in whatever equations or impossible problems had been pulling him away from you.

His hand rested at the small of your back, fingers tracing against your skin like he didn’t quite know what to do with all this quiet. Like he was relearning it.

You felt him shift slightly beneath you, reaching again for the tissues on the bedside table.

“I’ve gotcha,” he murmured, softer this time, more awake.

He's always got you.

You huffed a small breath against his chest, but you didn’t move away. Let him fuss. Let him take care of you in the way he always did. He needed to feel close as much as you did.

He worked slowly, methodically, brows pulling together just slightly in concentration as he cleaned you up, determined to do it properly. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, the light catching on the slope of his nose, the faint flush still high on his cheeks, the way his glasses had slid crooked again without him noticing.

You reached up, nudging them back into place with a small smile.

“Occupational hazard,” you murmured.

He blinked down at you, a little dazed still.

Tease.

He finished cleaning you up, then his hand came back to you, settling at your hip, thumb brushing. You traced your fingers lightly along his chest, following the faint rise and fall of his breathing.

“You know,” you said after a moment, voice softer now, “you should take nights off like this more often.”

He huffed a breath, eyes flicking down to you, something a little brighter sparking there now.

“Oh, trust me,” he said, a hint of humour creeping back in, “I will be adding that to my schedule immediately. Very high priority.”

You stilled slightly.

The smile didn’t quite leave your face, but it shifted.

“Ry…”

He noticed.

Your fingers paused against his chest, your gaze lifting to meet his properly now.

Here we go.

“I know you can’t tell me what you’re doing,” you said gently, not accusing, not pushing. “And I’m not asking you to.”

He nodded slightly, something flickering in his expression—gratitude, maybe. Relief.

“But,” you continued, quieter now, more earnest, “I am serious.”

Your thumb brushed lightly along his collarbone, grounding yourself as much as him.

“You need to take time like this. Not just for you.”

A small breath.

“For me.”

That stuck. You could feel it.

You saw it in the way his expression shifted again, the humour softening. He looked at you, not just the comfort of you, but the person who had been waiting. Who had been worrying.

Who loved him.

His hand moved from your hip to your cheek.

“I know,” he said quietly.

He exhaled slowly, gaze dropping for just a second before coming back to you.

“I think I… yeah,” he admitted, softer still. “I think I’ve been… a little—”

“Obsessive?” you offered gently.

He huffed.

“That’s a polite way of putting it.”

You smiled faintly.

“It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish. “It’s also one of the things that turns me into a complete disaster when I don’t manage it properly.”

Your fingers threaded lightly through his hair again, softer this time.

“You’re not a disaster.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Debatable.”

You nudged his shoulder.

“Ry.”

He smiled at that. 

“I hear you,” he said, more seriously now. “Okay? I do. I… I can take a night. Or—” he paused, recalculating, already trying to be better, “a couple. I can make that happen.”

You searched his face for a second, like you were checking if he meant it.

“Okay,” you said softly.

His thumb brushed your cheek again, lingering there.

“Okay,” he echoed.

There was a quiet between you. That was until you saw the cogs in his head turning once again. 

“…we should probably shower.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

Typical Ryland.

“Probably.”

He glanced down at himself, like he was doing a very quick, very scientific assessment.

“Yeah,” he added. “Definitely.”

You pushed yourself up slightly, offering him your hand this time. He took it without hesitation. You tugged him gently toward the bathroom, and he followed, steps still a little heavy but no longer dragging. 

The light flicked on with a click, filling the small space with warm yellow, as steam already began to gather as you reached for the shower.

He leaned against the counter, watching you, something gentle in his expression.

“What?” you asked, glancing back at him.

He shook his head slightly, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

“Nothing.”

He gave a small shrug as his cheeks heated again. 

“I just… missed this.”

Your chest tightened, but in the best way.

“Yeah,” you said, stepping back toward him, brushing your hand against his as the water started to run. “Me too.”

He squeezed your fingers before stepping in with you, pulling you under the warm spray.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like he was finally back with you. Where he belonged.

a/n: first ever post on this blog wooo!!! not new to writing, just new to ryland and couldn't help myself.

just testing the waters to see if there is anyone interested in more of ryland, lowkey want to do a series on him for the movie/book (it will be angsty though but with a happy ending) if people were into that?

anyway let me know what you all think and if you want more of ryland x reader!!

[mysticetes]

doechii and megan could literally kill a man in broad daylight and i'd be on here defending them

[kissingchoso]

you, me, writing collab, when..? :staringface:

just don’t be mad when it takes me fifty million years to do it!

[keyara-nyasha]

[uncleromeo]

if you don't do anything else today,

Please have a moment of silence for the people who were killed instead of freed when news of emancipation finally reached the furthest corners of the american south.

have another moment for the ledgers, catalogs, and records that were burned and the homes that were destroyed to hide the presence of very much alive and still enslaved people on dozens of plantations and homesteads across the south for decades after emancipation.

and have a third moment for those who were hunted and killed while fleeing the south to find safety across the border, overseas, in the north and to the west.

black people. light a candle, write a note to those who have passed telling them what you have achieved in spite of the racist and intolerant conditions of this world, feel the warmth of the flame under your hand, say a prayer of rememberance if you are religious, place the note under the candle, and then blow it out.

if you have children, sit them down and tell them anything you know about the life of oldest black person you've ever met. it doesn't have to be your own family. tell them what you know about what life was like for us in the days, years, decades after emancipation. if you don't know much, look it up and learn about it together.

This is Juneteenth.

white people CAN interact with this post. share it, spread it.

[kissingchoso]

hi

dawg LMDAOOOOOOO

[kissingchoso]

i haven’t been here in a while, sorry bookies <3

[pillbaby]

satoru's obsessed with your glasses (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵) ୨୧ dryhumping softdom!toru

satoru has a thing for your glasses. you're not sure what it is... or why it is. they're just lenses—you keep them on so that you don't run into walls or break traffic laws. they're practical, that's all. for you, at least.

for him? they drive satoru fucking crazy. his current obsession is the way they fog up when you're kissing and how they slide down the bridge of your nose when his teeth clash frantically against yours, spit mixing.

you'll be sitting on his lap, in nothing but one of his old shirts and panties, arousal soaking through the fabric of them, and right onto his boxers.

like now.

"fuck, you're so pretty, doll," satoru breathes, looking at you through his lashes. his hands sit firmly on your hips, keeping you close to him.

he watches with a grin as you huff in frustration, pushing your glasses back up. again. all because he won't let you take them off. despite that, your hips don't stop rolling against his, your clit catching on his budge with every motion.

soft moans slip past your lips, and he presses his mouth to yours, drinking them all up. he trails down to your neck, leaving wet kisses, occasionally stopping to suck softly on your skin.

"sato—i think m'close," you whine, gripping the fabric of his shirt tighter. your hips stutter against his, and he hums.

his voice is smooth, and he clicks his tongue, "yeah, baby? i can tell. go on, then."

that's really all it takes to push you over the edge, a broken gasp leaving your mouth. you struggle to keep moving against him, but satoru's hands guide you, hips bucking slightly up. he helps you ride your high out, murmuring sweet nothings.

"fuck me, 'toru?" you ask, breathy and dazed, but still needy. he responds by pulling you into another kiss. when your glasses knock against the bridge of his nose again, you pull back, wanting to toss them aside—

"wait... keep them on? please?"

[kissingchoso]

this may be a noob question but how did you put your “hi gorgeous” ask link directly in your bio? i can’t seem to find any tuts on it :(

hi!! yes, you need to be on a desktop version of tumblr and when you go to your settings, you’ll see the space where it only focuses on asks, and there you can add a title!! :)

i hope this helps!!

[aquasprings]

∘₊✧ and if your roommates were nerdjo and nerdcho..? 3!! ✧₊∘

✧ why have one when you can have both? ✧

the series

satoru can hear the way you're practically choking yourself on choso's cock. he can hear it every time the other man's tip presses down your throat, because you make this gagging sound that sends jolts to satoru's already painfully hard member.

of course he tries to get a closer look.

of course satoru moves closer and closer to the doorway, straining to see for even the tiniest glimpse of you. he imagined you were shirtless - would you be in a pretty lace bra?

he lifts the collar of his shirt to his mouth and bites back a groan at the thought, hand moving furiously over his cock with a wet schlick sound he prays you can't hear from inside.

you moan around choso's cock. satoru's eyes roll back into his skull and he presses his ear to the door, hoping to catch another one of your pretty sounds.

until he loses balance, and he sees his entire life flashing before his eyes as he stumbles through the door, yelping as he lands a couple feet in the room.

choso yelps and you fall backwards onto the bed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes wide as you stare at gojo who's tucking his cock into his pants with clumsiness.

"gojo, what the fuck?" choso says, face crimson.

“…hey,” satoru says. his voice cracks and he clears his throat immediately, trying again, pushing his glasses up his nose like that’ll fix anything. “hey.”

the room is dead quiet.

choso is frozen where he is, chest rising and falling a little too fast, eyes locked on satoru like he’s trying to decide whether to throw him out or kill him.

you’re still half-propped against the bed, lips parted, breath uneven, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you stare at the absolute disaster standing in the doorway.

satoru looks like he just got caught breaking into a vault he’s been casing for months, a hand still on his waistband. “i can explain,” he blurts.

neither of you say anything.

“…okay, i can’t explain,” he corrects immediately, running a hand through his hair. “but in my defense—”

“what defense?” choso snaps, voice sharp with embarrassment. “you just fell into my room.”

“it was an accident!” satoru shoots back. “the floor—”

“the floor didn’t drag you across the hallway and into my door.”

“you don’t know that.”

your gaze flicks between them then settles on satoru. “you were listening,” you say.

he opens his mouth and closes it, pushes his glasses up again, buying himself half a second that doesn’t help at all.

“…yeah,” he admits.

choso makes a strangled noise. “you’re unbelievable.”

“oh, relax,” satoru snaps back, but there’s no real bite to it. if anything, he sounds frayed. “like you haven’t been—”

he cuts himself off.

“…been what?” you press, softer.

satoru exhales sharply like he’s cornered. “like i haven’t been thinking about her too,” he mutters.

choso goes still. you do too.

satoru huffs out a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “god, this is so humiliating.”

he drops his hand, meeting your eyes fully now. “i think about you all the time. it’s annoying, actually,” he goes on, voice a little uneven now. “i’ll be doing literally anything. studying, gaming, talking, and then boom. you. stuck in my head.”

he gestures vaguely, frustrated. “and i can’t even count how many times i’ve had to—” he stops himself, jaw tightening, then forces it out anyway, “—you know. deal with it on my own.”

choso’s ears go red, your stomach flips.

satoru lets out a breath, shoulders dropping slightly, like the worst part is over now that it’s out. “...i wanted to watch.” it slips out quieter than everything else he’s said.

choso’s head snaps toward him. “you—what?”

satoru doesn’t look at him. he’s looking at you.

only you.

“i know it’s messed up,” he says, voice rough around the edges, “i know i should’ve just stayed in my room and minded my own business but..” he laughs, short and sharp, like he doesn’t even believe himself. “i couldn’t,” he finishes. “i just… wanted to see you. hear you. whatever you’d let me have.”

your breath catches.

choso shifts beside you, his blush deepening, and he tugs his blanket further up his chest. “...you’re insane,” choso mutters again.

satoru finally glances at him, jaw tight. “yeah, well. at least i don't hide her panties under my pillow.”

choso chokes and splutters out some weak excuse. "i—it's—"

"yeah, you thought i didn't know about that?" satoru mumbles under his breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. "you got there first."

your gaze flicks between them. choso, still flushed and unsteady, and gojo, trying to play it off but failing in all the ways that matter.

two completely different kinds of wanting, both aimed at you.

your pulse trips over itself.

“…you really just wanted to watch?” you ask softly.

gojo huffs, cheeks pinking. “i mean—yeah. i’d take literally anything at this point,” he admits, a little wry and wrecked. “i’m not exactly in a position to be picky.”

you shouldn’t laugh but you do anyway, just a small breath of it, because the situation is so absurd it loops back around.

satoru's eyes flicker as you push yourself up properly now, shifting closer to the edge of the bed.

closer to him.

choso notices immediately. his hand twitches like he’s about to reach for you but then stops, watching instead.

you tilt your head slightly, studying satoru like you’re seeing him in a new light. “you were just going to stand there?” you murmur. "and watch?"

his throat bobs. "...yeah," he says.

your hand comes up, catching lightly on the front of his shirt and for the first time since he stumbled in satoru goes completely still.

"that's kind of pathetic," you whisper, before your lips crash onto his like you've been holding it back just as long as he has, and his eyes go wide in pure shock before he melts.

his hands hover uselessly for a split second before they find you, one catching your waist, the other tangling in your hair, like he needs to make sure this is real.

satoru makes a low, muffled sound against your mouth, something between disbelief and relief like he's been starving for it. he breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, forehead bumping lightly against yours, glasses askew, expression dazed in a way you've never seen before.

“…oh,” he says faintly, his grip on your waist tightens, a little more certain now.

“yeah,” you murmur, still close enough that your words brush his lips. “oh.”

behind you, choso hasn’t moved, but you can feel him.

the heat of his gaze, the way the air shifts with every shallow breath he takes, like he’s trying to figure out where he fits now that satoru's here. that this is happening.

your hand slides from satoru's shirt, but only to reach back, your fingers catching loosely in choso’s sleeve. he inhales sharply.

“don’t just sit there,” you say softly, glancing over your shoulder at him.

he looks completely overwhelmed. eyes wide, cheeks still flushed, hair a mess, like his brain hasn’t caught up to the fact that this didn’t stop when gojo walked in. that it didn’t end.

choso’s lips part, breath catching. “i—” he starts, then stops, because what even is the sentence here?

you don’t give him time to find one, and your fingers tighten just slightly in his sleeve, a quiet, grounding tug. “c’mere,” you murmur.

choso moves, hesitant at first, like he’s stepping onto unfamiliar ground, but once he does, he doesn’t stop until he’s right there at the edge of the bed again, close enough that you can feel the warmth rolling off him.

satoru's still holding your waist, his breathing quickening, and choso crawls up behind you until he's resting his head in the crook of your neck, kissing softly at the junction of your shoulder.

you hum, lips curving into a smile like you've won the biggest prize at the carnival.

well. you did.

"satoru," you purr, and the man holds his breath at how is name sounds coming from your lips. his name. "what do you want?"

"erm—i—what?" he stammers, pushing his glasses up by the ridge with a shaky hand. "what do you mean?"

"what do you want," you repeat, choso's insistent kisses and gentle sucks down your neck making it increasingly hard to think. "you want me to touch you? you wanna touch me?"

his eyes nearly bugger out of his skull, blue irises growing the size of saucers. "you—you're serious?"

"satoru." you pull him down so he's inches away from your face, and his gaze darts to your lips. he swallows thickly before you say, "tell me. what you want."

"you. any of you. i—i need to feel you," he exhales, voice cracking through the sentence.

choso tilts your face to his and captures your lips in a soft kiss and satoru whimpers, hands trembling on your waist now.

oh, how badly he's waited for this. for you.

satoru trails his hands up your sides and watches your reaction carefully, before lightly grasping your tits in his large palms.

so soft, he nearly moans out, squeezing and testing the weight of them in his hands.

the sound you make when he pinches your nipples shoots straight to his crotch.

"fuck, satoru," you breathe, pulling away from choso's lips to bring the white-haired man's mouth to yours, tongue pushing through and colliding with his at the contact.

he squeezes your tits more firmly now, pressing into you and pushing you down onto the bed. choso makes some indignant noise to the side but satoru ignores it, his mind on you, you and only you.

"wanna take this off, please," he murmurs, suckling down your neck until his teeth are tugging at the straps of your top, and you quickly pull it off.

both men go silent at the sight of you sprawled on the bed, panting, tits out, and before you know it they've each got their lips on you. choso moans around your tit and squeezes your waist like he's gotta make sure you're really there. satoru gently tugs your nipple between his teeth, and your hands lock into their hair, soft silver strands to your left, inky locks to your right.

"holy shit," you moan, back arching slightly off the bed. "yeah, shit—"

satoru pulls off with a pop!, his lips coated in spit and his eyes blown wide with want. like he can't get enough of you, he lurches forward and kisses you deeply, sloppily, hands roaming over your hips, your stomach.

"fuck," he whines, "you're—you're so perfect, i can't believe—"

choso moans softly around your nipple and kisses down, and down, dipping his head between your legs under your skirt.

your heart nearly dissolves. satoru whines in protest.

"i wanted to do that first," he mumbles, something almost petulant in his voice despite the way his hands refuse to leave you.

you let out a breathless, half-laugh, half-moan, head tipping back against the sheets as choso disappears beneath the line of your skirt, your fingers tightening instinctively in his dark hair when he kisses your cunt over your panties.

“then you should’ve moved faster,” you manage, voice unsteady.

that earns a soft, muffled sound of approval from below, pleased, almost, while gojo huffs in disbelief.

“ 's not fair,” he mutters, and hands are still mapping you like he’s memorizing something sacred. his eyes sharpen with something deeper than want.

competition.

he leans back in, pressing his forehead briefly to yours, and his mouth is on yours again, slower this time, deeper, like he’s trying to prove something. not rushed, but focused.

you break the kiss to let out an airy gasp when choso pushes one, two fingers in you, curling them at an angle that's got you seeing stars. his mouth finds your clit and you cry, nails digging into satoru's shoulders.

“you okay?” choso’s voice comes, softer now, before pressing more sloppy kisses to your dripping heat.

your chest tightens and you nod, breath catching. “mhm.”

gojo lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh against your mouth. “he’s asking for permission now?”

“shut up,” choso mutters, but there’s no bite. just embarrassment threading through it.

“no, it’s—” you start, then stop, because finding words feels impossible when everything is happening at once, and because choso's sucking your clit again, fingers relentless as they push and twist in you. “it’s go—ooooddd.”

you writhe on the sheets, soft moans spilling from your lips in time with each of choso's desperate yet reverent licks and sucks. you latch onto satoru's arm, pulling him down to your chest, and he happily obliges, palming at the dewy flesh and sucking marks onto your tits.

your orgasm hits you like a shockwave and has your back arching even further off the bed, hands in choso's hair tugging so hard he moans. his hands grip your thighs, pulling you closer to his face, and satoru keeps your body close to him, worshiping every inch he can get his hands on.

your clit throbs, zaps and jolts coursing through you at rapid speed, making your toes curl and chest heave with pleasure. choso's moans are muffled contendly against your pussy, his tongue still working at lapping up every drop of your slick he can collect.

satoru can't help but go still watching the way your face morphs and contorts in pleasure, and he's got his hands in his pants again, freeing his cock (so hard it hurts) from the confines of his boxers. he exhales, breath catching somewhere between his chest and his throat as he watches you come undone.

it’s not even just what you look like. it’s how you look. like you’ve let go of everything, like you trust them enough to fall apart right here, in front of both of them.

“…holy shit,” he breathes under his breath, voice rough, almost disbelieving, hand fisting his cock at a slow, languid pace. you watch precum dribble out the slit, trailing pathetically down until it's gathered around his fingers and pumped back down.

choso doesn’t stop immediately. he lingers like he’s reluctant to pull away, like he’s memorizing you in this state, committing every little reaction to memory. his grip on your thighs loosens just slightly, thumbs brushing absent, soothing circles.

only when your body starts to settle and when your breathing comes back in uneven, shaky pulls does he finally lift his head. his lips are parted, eyes dark and glassy, hair a mess from your grip.

he looks dazed.

“...you okay?” he asks softly.

it’s such a choso thing to say it almost makes you laugh, even through the haze still buzzing through your veins. you nod faintly, chest rising and falling. “mhm…”

your hand, still tangled loosely in his hair, softens its hold.

behind you, satoru shifts.

the mattress dips slightly as he moves closer again, one hand coming up almost instinctively to brush your hair back from your face, thumb tracing along your cheek like he can’t help himself.

“…you’re unreal,” he murmurs, voice cracking as he fists his cock faster, breathy little grunts filling the room.

you glance at him, eyes still heavy-lidded, and there’s something about the way you look at him, all soft and wrecked, that makes his breath hitch again.

he's already close. it's pathetic, and he knows, but satoru feels it. how his cock starts to feel like it's buzzing, and how his balls feel tighter and tighter against his base.

you moan and pull him by his waist closer to you until his cock's pressed against your cheek, and you drag it along your bottom lip, satoru's eyes rolling back when you take his tip between your pretty, plush lips.

satoru’s already too far gone. he exhales shakily, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, and your hand at his waist tugs him closer, deeper.

he lets himself be pulled. lets himself fall into it.

his head tips back for a second, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of you, of this moment, your lips and your tongue that swirls around his tip. it's too much and not enough at the same time, and the feeling crashes over, cum shooting down your throat, sticky and hot.

he whimpers. it's music to your ears, the way cute, breathy gasps die on his lips, glasses fogged and hair all mussed.

“you’re—” he starts, then cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, one hand coming up to his face like he needs to steady himself. “you’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, half breathless, half laughing at his own lack of control.

choso's gaze flickers between the two of you, something tight and conflicted pulling at his expression. like he wants to step in, but doesn’t know how without breaking something.

your hand reaches forward again, fingers catching his wrist this time, grounding him the same way you did satoru. “don’t just watch,” you murmur, voice softer now.

choso inhales sharply and lifts himself off his knees, moving closer, closer, closer until he’s right there again, the three of you pulled into the same orbit, no space left for hesitation.

satoru's dick is still weakly spurting cum down your chin as he pulls out of your mouth. choso watches the action with bated breath, cheeks darkening pink, his own cock leaking, flushed against his stomach, begging to be used.

satoru is still half-breathless against you, forehead tilted forward, glasses slightly crooked, eyes hooded in that dazed, undone way you’ve never had the chance to see on him before. his grip on you doesn’t loosen.

if anything, it tightens, like he’s afraid choso stepping closer means something gets taken away.

choso notices. looks.

months restraint and late-night thoughts all condensed into a single, suffocating silence.

then choso moves first, but not toward you.

toward... him.

satoru blinks once, surprised, as choso reaches out and catches the front of his shirt. firm, not aggressive, but certain in a way choso usually isn’t.

“…you’re always so loud,” choso says quietly, like it’s an accusation he’s been holding onto for too long.

satoru lets out a short laugh. “excuse me?”

choso doesn’t answer. he pulls satoru in.

it’s sudden, clumsy in the way it starts, like neither of them fully knows what they’re doing with the weight of this moment, but there’s no hesitation behind it anymore.

satoru makes a sound of surprise against his breath, then something in him clicks. his fingers curl into choso’s hair instead, gripping like he’s anchoring himself, and the space between them collapses.

the kiss is messy. all deep angles and tongue and choso leans in deeper, prying satoru's jaw open further. satoru's hand slides up to choso’s jaw, tilting him slightly like he’s testing angles, and choso responds with a quiet, broken exhale against his mouth, fingers tightening in gojo’s shirt like he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he lets go.

you go very still, breath catching as you watch it happen.

ho...ly...fuck.

"holy fuck," you whisper, heart racing and arousal heightening at the sight of your two, stupid-hot, stupid-down-bad roommates making out. you grab gojo's shirt and help him tug it off, muscles contracting as he brings choso closer to him, falling back onto the bed beside you.

you grab the two men by their shoulders and breathlessly bring them to your mouth, the kiss sloppy and messy and everything in between. two tongues pushing into the cavern of your mouth, licking, sucking, breaths mingling.

holy fuck.

holy shitting fuck.

choso—or is it satoru? whines into your ear, and both of their hands are grabbing at your tits again, dipping to your cunt, feeling. everything. all of you.

"please," satoru whimpers into your neck, eyes blissed out and watery. "wanna fuck you." he ruts his cock against your thigh needily, hands still holding onto you.

choso kisses you below your ear softly. "i wanna," he complains. "wanna fuck you too."

"i get to first," gojo bites breathlessly, sliding his cock against your slippery folds, moaning a high-pitched, strained sound into the air. "please. please, can i."

"yeah," you whisper, holding onto satoru's shoulders. "fuck, 'toru, do it quickly, i need—"

he moans of relief when he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks in all the way, cock pulsing deep in your walls, stretching you so, so good.

the three of you moan when satoru starts thrusting, his hands finding purchase on your waist, your legs. he pushes your thighs back so he's practically laying on top of you, cock hitting angles you didn't know were possible.

you wail, completely debauched atop the bed. choso has to physically restrain himself from cumming untouched at the sight of you and your parted lips. the way you moan for satoru so prettily.

he wants it to be him.

"i get to next, right?" he pleads, cupping your face. "please? gonna make you feel so, so good, i promise—"

"ye—eeeah, yes, fuck, you—ngh—you next, choso," you babble out, sounding drunk. satoru's cock fills you up so good, and he blabbers about how tight you are, each word punctuated with a grunt that sends your head spinning.

"feel so good," he mumbles, voice shattering at the end. "i'm so lucky, i'm—ngh, you're so tight—i'm so lucky—"

he presses you further into the mattress, his body gently holding you down as his pace quickens, thrusts rough and deep and oh so perfect inside your fluttering walls.

choso's watching, completely entranced, pumping his cock with each slap of satoru's pelvis to your ass, biting his lip to draw blood away from where every ounce of it in his body has already gone to.

he feels lightheaded. this simply can't be real — his pretty, beautiful roommate, getting fucked dumb on satoru's cock.

and he gets to fuck you next.

"sa—to—ru—" you gasp, clawing down his back as you feel your climax build again. the ache is undeniable. your legs sore and trembling and core pulsing more and more and more.

"fuck, cum on my cock, please," he whimpers, each jerk of his hips growing messier, the sound of it wet and absolutely messy.

so you do. you see stars, vision blurring white, and you feel satoru pull out before coating your stomach with his release. somewhere to your right, choso's moaning, biting his hand, cumming all over your pretty tits.

you're panting. choso's still catching his breath. satoru's whining softly, cock still hard in his hand.

you barely register choso say that it's his turn before you're flipped onto your stomach, moaning as he slips into your hole, hands squeezing the soft flesh of your ass.

"ohmygod," he slurs into your neck, back warm and solid against yours. "ohmygod, you're so good. ohmyg—"

you push yourself back onto his cock, eyes squeezed shut, pussy throbbing from overstimulation, and choso finally starts pushing into you.

he doesn't start slow. his pace is rough from the get-go, glazed, sleepy eyes glued to the way your ass ripples with each of his smooth, deep thrusts.

"so good like this," he moans reverently, and you clench around him, sobbing softly into the pillow.

"fuck, cho," you cry, one arm trembling out and holding onto satoru's bicep, your other hand fisting the bedsheets. "there, right there—"

"y—yeah, okay, there," he stutters, cock so deep it's bruising your cervix with every thrust. "ngh—"

you're positively buzzing, body going limp and your jaw hangs slack against the pillow, eyes back in their sockets.

he's so good. they're both so good, and perfect—

"i'm sorry, i—i think i'm close again," choso whines, gripping onto your waist with every fiber of his being. "i'm sorry, i wanted to—"

"hold it," you say, tilting your head back just slightly to catch the way choso's expression morphs into pleading. "don't cum yet."

"i—fuck," he moans, whimpering as his pace turns sloppy.

satoru grunts softly from where he's laying down, thumb tracing lines down your neck. mentally, he's still recovering from the best sex of his life. he's also bloody grateful that you didn't edge him.

(maybe for another time, he allows himself to think, body tingling at the thought.)

"choso, hold it," you repeat. "and don't slow—fuck—down."

"y—yes, sorry," he stammers, voice uneven, cheeks red and chest heaving with effort as he tries to hold his orgasm.

he’s trying.

trying so hard it almost hurts to watch.

you’re too focused on the way choso is holding on like he’s barely managing it, the way his restraint is visibly fraying at the edges, the way he keeps looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“good,” you say eventually, softer now. “just like that.”

choso lets out a shaky exhale at the praise, shoulders trembling.

satoru notices, his thumb drifting absently against your skin and choso shifts again at the edge of the bed, trying to steady himself, but he’s clearly at his limit now, every breath strained like he’s balancing on a knife’s edge.

“i can’t—” he starts.

“yes, you can,” you cut in gently.

it’s obvious he’s struggling.

his control is hanging by a thread, every movement a little less precise, a little more desperate, like his body is arguing with his will. you feel it in the way he trembles against you.

“good,” you murmur, softer now, gasping softly with each of his impatient thrusts, hand sliding to steady his wrist where it presses into your waist. “you’re doing so good, choso.”

he sobs, tears pooling in his eyes, trickling down his face. "please," he begs, voice so broken and airy. "please, i—i can't hold—"

"ok—okay," you whisper, clenching around him hard again. "you can come."

choso cries of relief, pulling out with a half second to spare before he's spilling all over your ass, your back, your thighs, panting, tears flowing steadily now.

"thankyouthankyouthankyou," he whimpers, "thank you, holy shit—"

his whole body folds forward slightly, like the tension finally snaps and leaves him hollowed out in the gentlest way. his hands stay on you, but they’ve lost their urgency now and his breathing is uneven, shaky, like he doesn’t quite trust his own body yet.

you’re still catching your breath too, chest rising and falling fast, skin warm, mind a little hazy at the edges from how intense everything’s been.

“…i think i died a little,” choso says weakly.

you let out a short laugh despite yourself, sinking back into the pillows. “you’re dramatic.”

“i’m not dramatic,” he protests immediately, then winces like even talking is a mistake. “i just—i need a minute.”

satoru, who has been suspiciously quiet, finally exhales a laugh through his nose. “you were literally crying,” he says.

"you were about to," you counter, teasing smile on your face. "what, was it that good?"

"yes," both men say instantly.

your pulse stutters. they really are perfect.

you fall into comfortable silence, limbs tangled and sweaty on the bed, satoru curled into your side, choso resting his face against your thigh, gazing up at you.

satoru's the first to break the moment.

"are we gonna skip over the fact that choso hoards your underwear?"

"are we going to forget how you fell through the door cause you were trying to get off on the noise?" choso counters weakly, cheeks burning.

"shut up."

"you shut up."

"shut up," you snap, tugging at their hair, and they go quiet, pressing their lips together.

"sorry," satoru murmurs.

choso kisses your thigh softly. "yeah, i—i'm sorry."

"just lay here for a sec," you mumble sleepily, body aching and eyes drifting shut.

there’s a pause before they both obey like it’s the easiest thing in the world. satoru shifts closer on one side, choso on the other, until there’s no space left to argue in.

when the room finally goes quiet, neither of them leaves.

a/n ~ ...so that was something...lmk if we liked ;)

[kissingchoso]

[vampire-luvr]

choso is just so needy, not that you were complaining. it just felt constant. you’re walking around the house in shorts? he’s behind you immediately, already hard cock pushing onto your ass. you get changed in front of him? he’s on his knees pulling your panties to the side claiming he’ll “only kiss her a little”. you’re sleeping but you happen to push up against him and some of your boob is spilling out of your tank top? he’s fisting his cock and trying to contain his whimpering. but how could you blame him! you are just so hot and he loves you so much (he has gotten hard at the thought of how much you love him, he also cried).

tonight was another one of those nights. you had worn the smallest shorts around the house with a loose tank top. choso thought he was going to lose it. it was so hard to contain himself from begging you to touch him, to do whatever you wanted as long as it pleased you. he had managed to hold back his urges until bedtime. it had been around an hour, and you’re peacefully sleeping by his side. choso, however, has been so painfully hard it’s kept him up. he could jerk off, but he felt so guilty doing it while you were sleeping :(. he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to fall asleep when he heard a moan. his eyes immediately shot open, looking at you.

you let out another small moan, you hips moving slightly back and forth as you did. choso’s cock twitched in his pants. god he felt like such a perv, being even more turned on at some noises you made in your sleep. his eyes closed again, trying to ignore it when

“mmm- cho-“ now he couldn’t ignore it. he loved when you moaned his name. his dick strained against his pants so much he was sure the seams would rip. he cursed himself as he unzipped them and took them off. “just a little bit, i won’t do too much” he promised himself as he lined his covered cock with the fabric of your shorts. despite the barrier, it felt so good. moving a little won’t hurt, right? he began to gently grind against your ass, trying to contain his whimpers with every move. was it wrong? a bit. but it felt too good for him to stop. he blamed the hours he spent pent up.

your hips unconsciously shifted abruptly, the feeling causing choso to let out a pathetic moan. his blood ran cold as you stirred awake at the noise. he didn’t want you to be mad at him, but there was little way out of this. you turned over slightly to look at him.

“cho? what’s going o-“ before you can finish he’s tearing up

“i’m sorry baby i-i just-“ he sniffles “i was so hard because i w-was so horny all night but i didn’t want to bother you since im always on you a-and then you started moaning and you s-said my name, and you know what that does to m-“ to stop his rambling, you placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “it’s okay cho, keep going.”

choso’s face flushed immediately. “y-you mean you aren’t upset with me?”

you shook your head. “of course not. i honestly feel bad, i don’t want you retraining yourself because you think you’re bothering me.”

your hand began to trail down to the waistband of his boxers. “you said you’ve been hard all night?” choso nods. “my poor baby. that must’ve been awful” he whimpers quietly at your words and wipes his eyes.

you move your hands now to fully pull down his boxers, his tip red and leaking. you look back up at him, “can i help you with this, baby?” his nods are frantic and you wrap your fingers around his large shaft. you begin to slowly move up and down his length, kissing as neck lightly as you do. choso is whimpering again already, the feeling of your hand on his dick and lips on his neck is borderline euphoric. your kisses start to trail up to his ear.

“what do you want me to do?” you whisper, your grip around him tightening. choso bites his lip to hold back a moan, “i want you to fuck me- please-“ he sounds to desperate, making you clench your thighs together.

“yeah baby? you think you deserve it after you grinded on me like a perv?” his head falls to the crook of your neck, another moan escapes his lips. “i said im sorry— please ill do anything, i’ll be s-so good for you-“

you grin, you’ve barely done anything and he’s so wrapped around your finger, and it’s hot. “you’ll be a good boy for me cho?” he whimpers so pathetically once again. “y-yes i’ll be such a good boy for you,”

with that, you kiss his neck again before pulling your sleep shorts down. your move his dick to align with your wet folds, and bring the tip up and down your slit. choso can’t stop moaning. the hours of waiting to the teasing is just too much for him. his eyes start to well up again and he’s begging you to put him inside. he’s letting out pleas and cries, trying to his hips up onto you.

“baby, i said to be good. is this what good boys do?” you tsk. he shakes his head, “im s-so sorry— please i can’t wait— need to be inside you so b-bad— please-“ his cries are pathetic, but instead of teasing him more you decide to allow him what he wants. you sink your throbbing heat onto his excruciatingly hard dick, and the tears flow out. choso’s hands moves to grab your hips, your back, anything he can grab onto. his head is once again in the crook of your neck. his moans are muffled, but you can make out what he’s saying. lots of

“i love you so much”

“your pussy feels sooo good— like it was made for me”

“please tell me im your good boy”

he can’t stop stuttering through his sobs and whimpers as you talk him through it. saying how perfect he is and how he’s doing so good. your hand moves to tangle in his hair, pulling slightly.

“mmm- don’t d-do that please. i-i’ll— mmm c-cum right now” choso warns, but you don’t listen. when you do it again, telling him how much you love your good, perfect boy, he cums instantly. you moan at the feeling of him filling you up and continue to ride him through the rest of his orgasm. he moved his head out of your neck and you wipe his tears off.

“thank you, baby” choso says, nuzzling his head into yours, “of course baby. anything for you.” he smiles and presses gentle kisses to your face, “can i stay inside you tonight?”

who were you to say no to him?

જ⁀➴⋆.˚ a/n: some (not proofread) sub!choso smut for tonight! for more choso smut, click here! for fluff, check my masterlist ≽^•⩊•^≼

[kissingchoso]

choso teaching his nerdy friend how to shotgun, something short n sweet bc im losing writing confidence lol

you're undertandably nervous. the scent of weed is filling your nostrils. it acts as a painful reminder of what you agreed to do.

a smoke session.

have you ever picked up a blunt before? no. is it something you've ever imagined yourself picking up? also, no.

but as your college years pass by you, your friends have urged you out of your little shell to explore the world a little. parties, bars, and drinking weren't as bad as you thought but smoking was the one activity you couldn't bring yourself to do.

choso, one of your closest friends, was the main person who partook. he'd never try to force it upon you after learning your reluctance, often keeping that part of himself reserved for his own private affairs.

but once your curiosity finally allowed you to reach out for a trial run, he was more than pleased to show you the ropes. that's why he set up everything for you, all you had to do was swing by his apartment.

that's how you find yourself awkwardly sitting next to him on the couch, hands tucked under your thighs to prevent you from fidgeting. all you can do is watch as choso ensures the blunt is properly lit before turning towards you.

"come here," his comforting voice cuts through the noise in your head.

you obey with no complaints before scooting yourself closer to him.

as if sensing your worries, he offers you a plain smile, deep voice chiming in again. "it's not going to bite you if you are worried about that."

you return his statement with an eye roll. "it's not that! i just… what do i do? just... inhale and hold it in?"

he holds the blunt towards you, a thin tendril of smoke coming from the end. you allow one hand to meet his halfway, fingers brushing each other's in the momentary exchange.

"don't do that, unless you want to have a coughing storm," he replies smoothly. "inhale and exhale, that's all. it's gonna taste like hell the first time, but it gets easier."

thankfully following instructions has never been too complicated for you. the first puff was albeit a little clumsy with you having to clear your throat a few times, but choso was quick to reassure you that this will pass. you were grateful of his planning, a cool glass of water sat on the coffee table in front of you to soothe the burn in your throat.

thus began your next lesson— the concept of puff, puff, pass. under his watchful eye and instructions, the anxieties you felt from earlier seemed to melt away with each passing minute. your shoulders finally relaxed and an easygoing smile formed on your face the more you two talked to one another.

choso noticed the change immediately.

"feeling better?" he asked.

"mhm," you respond, handing the blunt back to him. "it's… different than being tipsy."

choso laughs at your naivety but there's no genuine bite to it. his knee knocks into yours as he adjusts himself further on the couch, taking a hit from the halfway done blunt.

"it is." on his exhale, you watch almost mesmerized as thick plumes of smoke exit his lips. it joins the rest of the fog surrounding both of you, creating a hazy environment that has you focused on him as your lifeline.

if choso notices your staring, he doesn't draw attention to it just yet. instead, he lazily cocks his head so that he's facing you directly.

you try to ignore the way the action makes your stomach flutter.

"want to try shotgunning?"

"what's that?" your head tilts to the side just a smidge, curiosity shining in your gaze.

"it's nothing crazy. i just blow smoke into your mouth and vice versa," he explains casually.

before you can even process what that can look like, choso's warm presence is pressed snugly against your side with the blunt hovering over his lips. "i'll take a hit and get close to you. it'll look like i'm trying to kiss you but—"

"we should keep a little bit of space? t-to let the smoke go through?" you shyly finish.

"smart girl," choso compliments. "let's start off slow. if you don't like it, just tell me."

the next few moments seem to pass in slow motion. one moment, he's taking an extra omg drag and in the next he's bringing his face close to yours.

your eyes widen at the proximity, unable to tear your gaze away from all the small details from his face. the dark tattoo running across his nose, dark tendrils of hair falling over his eyes, even the reddened bags under his eyes catch your attention. he's even prettier up close but you don't dare to say anything to fuck up this moment. eventually your eyes lock and the world goes silent.

without being asked, you let your mouth fall open. choso follows along immediately, slowly blowing the weed into the space. you do your best to inhale every vapor, unable to tear your gaze from his.

his lips are careful not to brush against yours but there's no denying that you can feel the heat from his proximity. it's tempting to attempt to close the space but that would be considered innapropriate, right?

so why aren't either of you moving when the smoke clears?

you break first. "w-was that okay?"

in response, choso merely lets out a short chuckle before his head nods just a bit. "you did perfect, sweetheart."

then he adds, "want to give it a shot?"

safe to say you two won't stop at just one blunt for your first time <3

tagged: @thiccwhorrorbunny <3

[kissingchoso]

manipulative stepbro choso who begs you to let him hit because he’s been feeling real down recently and he just needs to cum to feel better