The Dump

Dawg, I just wanted my pookie tf

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

The outing ends. You get home. He hits you with the: “I’m picking you up tomorrow.” via text. You fold like a wet spaghetti noodle, because, of course, you do. You meet tomorrow. Are in his car. Make small talk about the weather or something. Discussing what the weather could be like next weekend. Before he just hits you with another: “So… what are you doing next weekend?” Not even ashamed of it. Which makes you give this man a good, hard stare from the corner of your eye. Because, technically, next weekend was supposed to be reserved for the activities y’all are suddenly doing today. Next week is now empty, as those plans have been moved. But he knows that. Obviously. He’s jumping on the opportunity. Shoto, the man of planning your next meet-up before y’all have even start the current one. God, this man. This man. THIS MAN.

Shoto, who sees you being an absolute nervous wreck because of your studies. You haven’t showered in days - greasy hair, sweaty body, nerves flared - because of all the assignments you have due. Maybe it’s because you might have procrastinated a little too much. Or maybe it’s just a demanding semester. Whatever the case, when you do eventually manage to get through majority of them and take a shower, then are left with the last day of presentations that leaves you absolutely sweaty. Endorphins rushing through your brain because it’s finally over. He doesn’t hesitate. He lays in bed with you, rubbing any sore spot of your body while murmuring ‘I love you’s or cooing how ‘you did such a good job’. So what if you’re a bit sweaty and gross and he can’t stay away? So what if your back is pressed flush against his chest? So what if his hands slowly wander across every slope of your sweet, soft skin to dip below your tummy toward your thighs. Parting them slightly to make his palms settle right at home. He can’t help himself. How is he supposed to? Not when you’ve been working so hard and stressing so much. You need a little relief, don’t you? It’s what you deserve, baby. Let me help you. How could you possibly dream about saying ‘no’? Not when he’s so warm and solid behind you, his face pressed right next to your own, settled in that crook between your cheek and shoulder while he envelops you from the back, smelling so good that it makes you dizzy. And you’re so tired. And the shape of his cock is straining against his sweats, pressing into you in a way that just feels so right. It basically makes your eyes roll into the back of your head from how out of it you are. And you’re aching, because, of course you are. He knows you are. But that’s okay. Because he’ll take care of it for you. He’ll make it all better soon. Just rest, baby. I’ve got you.