#“my blood is on your hands but I will not have yours on mine’ ???”< im going to fucking.lose my mind here. who let you say this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elliespassagerprincess · 1 day ago

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Idk if you watched yellowjackets but i really think you would like it!

It got me thinking about ellie who lost her bestfriend (secret crush/love of her life) reader and cant part with her body and breaksdown when people find out she has it and take it away from her

Dont take her from me - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i haven't watched it yet but its been on my watchlist... I've heard good things about it. Once again i got carried away... i hope you enjoy:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me songs or your silly ideas:)

HUGE WARNING: grief, delusion, breakdown, body transport, psychological decay, corpses/dead bodies, disturbing comfort, jealousy, paranoia, anxiety, mental health strain, grave raiding, corpse handling, delusion, isolation, obsession, gore implied, graphic descriptions, blood, unsettling behaviour

Summary: Ellie’s always had control—until someone threatens to take the one person she can’t live without

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

The blood had dried on Ellie’s hands hours ago.

But she still sat there, legs numb from being folded too long, your lifeless form cradled in her arms like you might wake up if she held you tight enough.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

She didn’t even get the chance to tell you how she felt—how the thing in her chest wasn’t just a crush. Wasn’t just longing. It was hunger. Ached for you so deeply that she sometimes had to grip the edge of her desk just to stop from running to your house and spilling every ugly truth in her head.

Now she was sitting on the cold floor of an abandoned cabin, in the middle of nowhere, covered in blood and sweat and dirt—and none of it mattered. None of it compared to the way your body had gone still. Your breath, your light… extinguished like it was never there.

She pressed her cheek to your forehead. Still faintly warm.

“Don’t go cold,” she whispered, voice shredded from hours of screaming your name into nothingness. “Just stay a little longer. Just stay with me.”

She rocked slightly. Back and forth. Like she could lull you into staying. Like you were just sleeping off a long night.

And when the others came—Jesse, Dina, a couple others from Jackson—Ellie didn’t even flinch.

They saw her first. Then you. No one spoke. For a moment, all they did was stare.

Then Jesse stepped forward. “Ellie,” he said softly, eyes wide with horror, “we have to take her.”

She didn’t look up. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“No.”

Her voice cracked, sharp and shrill, and her grip around your torso tightened.

“She’s not—she’s not ready. She’s not cold yet. She’s not—” Her breath hitched. “You can’t just take her.”

Dina’s face twisted in pain. “El… we need to bury her. It’s not safe out here, there’s—”

“You don’t get to touch her!” Ellie roared, head snapping up. Her eyes were wild—bloodshot, soaked with grief and rage. “You didn’t know her like I did. You don’t even get it.”

She scrambled back as Jesse reached again, shielding your body like a wounded animal. Her fingers trembled where they clung to your clothes.

“She was mine,” she whispered. “I never got to say it—but she was. She was. And you’re not gonna put her in the fucking ground like she’s just gone. She’s not.”

She pressed a kiss to your temple. Desperate. Cracked. “I can keep her warm. I swear. I’ll—I’ll keep her safe. Don’t take her from me. Please.”

But your skin was cooling.

No amount of warmth from her hands, no matter how feverishly she held you, could stop the inevitable.

She had memorized every scar, every laugh, every stupid joke you told just to see her crack a smile. And now you were quiet. Hollow. Just an echo.

They had to sedate her.

It took three of them. She fought like a hellhound, screaming your name, kicking, crying, biting, even when the needle sank into her neck. Even when her body slumped in Jesse’s arms, unconscious… her fingers were still twisted in your shirt.

When she woke up in Jackson days later, you were gone. She lost it.

They wouldn’t tell her where they buried you. Said she wasn’t stable. Said she needed rest, time, healing.

She screamed until her voice gave out. Tore her room apart looking for anything you touched. Burned a hole through your favorite hoodie just trying to breathe it in.

She sneaks out that night. Finds the grave. It’s quiet. Peaceful. The dirt’s still fresh.

Ellie drops to her knees, hands shaking, and begins to dig. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She doesn’t care. She needs to see your face again.

Needs to kiss you, one more time, even if your lips are cold. Needs to apologize for all the time she wasted. Needs to ask if you’d have said yes—if she had asked you out. If you’d have smiled, taken her hand, told her you felt it too.

When they find her in the morning, she’s curled up beside the half-opened grave, fingers bloodied, dirt under her nails, your name on her lips. She doesn’t even look up.

“She was the only good thing,” she whispers, to no one. “And I didn’t get to keep her.”

It had been six days since you died. No one had found the cabin. Not yet. She made sure of it.

The windows were boarded. The door—barred with a chair wedged under the knob. Every possible crack sealed tight. She'd left bloodied handprints on the wood floor from moving you again, and again, and again—trying to find the right spot, the one you’d be most comfortable in.

You were laid out on a mattress in the center of the room, tucked under a worn blanket she stole from your house weeks ago. Your hair combed back gently. Lips touched with rose balm. She even painted your nails.

“See?” Ellie murmured, sitting beside you, her knees folded tightly under her. Her fingers brushed the edge of your arm—skin pale, but not blue. Not yet. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

She hadn’t eaten in two days. Barely drank water. Her eyes were sunken, red-rimmed, skin tight across her cheekbones. But her gaze never left you.

Sometimes, she imagined you blinking. Sometimes, she swore you did.

Sometimes, she dreamed you whispered her name, and when she woke up, her ear would be inches from your mouth, waiting. Just waiting for it again.

It wasn’t decomposition. It was transition. That’s what she told herself. That the smell wasn’t decay—it was your soul trying to root itself in her.

That the darkening under your eyes wasn’t rot—it was exhaustion from everything you’d been through.

That the way your body stiffened wasn’t rigor mortis—it was just you being shy. You’d always been shy.

They came looking for her on the ninth day. A knock at the cabin.

“Ellie? Are you in there?”

Jesse.

Ellie blinked, gaze pulling from your face. She didn’t answer.

“Ellie, please. We just want to help.”

Help?

They didn’t understand.

They wanted to take you.

She stood slowly, reaching for the axe near the doorway. The one she'd been using to chop firewood—and threaten the shadows when they got too loud.

She looked down at you one last time. Her expression soft, loving, doting.

“They don’t get to have you,” she whispered, eyes glassy. “You’re mine.” Then she went to the door.

The floorboards are stained now. Not from you. From the others.

They tried to come in. They didn’t leave.

She had to do it. She had to. They would’ve taken you. Put you in the ground like you were nothing more than meat and memory.

You weren’t. You were everything. Still are.

Now it’s just the two of you again. The way it should be.

Ellie sleeps curled up at the foot of your mattress, arm across your ankle like a child holding a stuffed toy. She tells you stories. She sings to you—soft lullabies she remembers her mom humming, or songs she once heard you hum absentmindedly in the kitchen.

Sometimes she kisses your hand. Sometimes she cries and begs you not to leave her.

“I love you,” she whispers again and again. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I won’t let them bury you. You’re mine.”

The backseat of the truck smelled like copper and perfume. The perfume was yours. A bottle she stole from your bathroom before the blood dried. She sprayed it on you each morning like ritual. Like prayer.

The copper was blood. Not yours, mostly.

She had to kill the man who owned the truck.

He tried to take it—you. Said it wasn’t “right.” Said you were a body, not a person anymore. Said she needed help.

He didn’t understand. None of them did.

Ellie adjusted the blanket over your face again, tucking it neatly beneath your chin. The fabric clung wetly to your skin, the heat of the day making it damp. Your body… was changing. But she didn’t look at the changes. She looked at your eyes, still closed, eyelashes dark and perfect.

She turned the engine and drove.

You were going west. She didn’t have a destination. Not a real one. Just the vague echo of hope in the back of her skull that somewhere, someone out there could bring you back. Fix it.

There had to be a way. Science. Magic. Something. People resurrect dogs all the time in books, right?

So why not you? You were better than a dog. You were her.

Day 4

The desert was hot.

Your skin started to blister.

Ellie cried while wiping you down with a cool rag, her hands trembling. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve covered you better. You don’t like the sun, remember? You always said it makes you dizzy. I should’ve known.”

She stuffed ice in a towel and placed it under your neck. It melted within an hour.

Day 7

She changed your clothes.

It took two hours. Your limbs were stiff now, resistant, like you were mad at her. She apologized over and over again, kissing your hands, your face, your knees.

“You’re so cold,” she whispered, wrapping you in a hoodie that once belonged to her. “But I’ll warm you up. We just need to keep moving.”

Day 9

She saw the lights in the sky. Or maybe imagined them.

A roadside church with the word “HEALING” painted in blood-red letters drew her attention. She pulled over. Inside, there were no people. Just old books, dry flowers, and a candlelit altar.

She laid you there, right in the center, brushing your hair from your forehead. Then she got on her knees.

Prayed.

For the first time in her life.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please. I love her. I didn’t get to say it. Please just… give her back. I’ll do anything.”

The candles flickered. Her heart stopped. You didn’t move.

Day 12

You smelled worse now.

She lined the truck bed with herbs. Lavender. Mint. Anything she could find.

She kept the windows cracked so you could breathe. She never admitted—never—that you couldn’t. That maybe your lungs had stopped working long ago. Because you still looked peaceful. Still looked like you were sleeping. Still looked like you might say her name if she leaned close enough.

Sometimes she imagined you turning to her. Smiling. She started answering for you. Making conversations in the dark.

“Do you think we’ll find someone?”

Yeah, El. I think so.

“Should I stop driving tonight?”

I like the sound of the road. Keep going.

“Okay. I’ll keep going.”

Day 15

The truck ran out of gas in Arizona.

Ellie dragged your body through the sand, arms bruised and bleeding, sunburnt to hell. She tied you to a door she ripped off an abandoned house and pulled it like a sled. Her boots left deep tracks behind her. Buzzards circled above. But she didn’t look up. Didn’t cry.

Didn’t slow down.

“I’m taking you to the ocean,” she told you. “You always wanted to see it. We’ll go together. We’ll walk into the waves. Maybe that’s what you need.”

Your lips were cracked. Hollow.

But she smiled at you like you’d just said “thank you.”

Day 20

She made it to the coast. Somehow.

Body bruised, fingers blackened, lips crusted and bleeding, Ellie stood barefoot in the surf, your body laid out beside her on the wet sand. The tide rolled in. Foam kissed your toes.

She knelt beside you, her voice shaking. “This is it. If you’re gonna come back… it’ll be here.”

The moon hung above like an unblinking eye.

She took your hand, held it to her chest, pressed her lips to your temple one last time.

“Please.”

Silence.

“Please, wake up.”

Nothing.

The water rose. The stars flickered. Ellie’s tears slid down your dead face.

And then—

In the wind, she heard it.

Faint. Echoing. Gentle.

“I missed you too, El.”

Her mouth broke into a smile.

And when the waves swallowed you both whole, she didn’t fight it.

When Ellie opened her eyes, there was no pain. No sand. No salt. No hunger. No rotting flesh between her fingers. Just warmth. A low golden hum.

And you.

Sitting on the edge of a bed, hair glowing in the soft light. Wearing that shirt she loved on you, the one you always slept in. Your legs curled beneath you, a book open in your lap. You looked up, smiled.

“Hey.” Her breath hitched.

She looked down. Her hands were clean. No blood, no dirt. Her boots were gone. She was barefoot, the floor beneath her soft and cloud-warm.

“…Where…?” she croaked.

You tilted your head. “You’re home.”

Ellie staggered forward like a child learning to walk again, eyes wide, unblinking. “Is this—am I dreaming?”

You didn’t answer. Just opened your arms. She collapsed into them.

The scent of you—pure, unchanged—drenched her brain like a drug. Your skin was warm. Your breath against her ear as you whispered her name made her sob.

“I missed you,” she choked. “I missed you so fucking much.”

You stroked her hair. “I know. I waited.”

The house had no doors. No clocks. No sky. Just soft white light that never dimmed. It existed outside of time. And so did you.

You cooked together. Slept curled in one another’s arms. Sang songs in the silence. She traced your face every night, whispering prayers of thanks to whatever cruel or merciful god had made this possible.

But some things weren’t quite right.

You never left the house.

Never asked her questions.

Never said “I love you” first.

Sometimes, Ellie caught glimpses—your reflection in the window lagging behind, your voice echoing before you spoke, your heartbeat silent when her ear pressed to your chest.

But she ignored it.

Because she had you.

One Day…

She woke up and you weren’t there. The bed was cold. Empty.

She searched the house—every corner, every drawer. Screaming your name until her voice gave out. In the mirror above the sink, her reflection stared at her. But it wasn’t her.

Its eyes were black. Hollow. Its skin cracked. Decaying.

“You took her,” she whispered to it.

“You lost her,” the mirror answered.

She shattered it with her fists.

Later, she found you again. Sitting in the bedroom, combing your hair.

Like nothing had happened.

Ellie fell to her knees. “Please don’t leave again.”

You turned, eyes soft. “I didn’t leave. You just forgot where I was.”

Her hands shook as she touched your cheek. You were still cold.

Colder than before.

As the days passed—if you could call them days—you began to fade.

Literally.

Your edges blurred. Your voice softened into whispers. Your body, once warm, became translucent in the light. Ellie wrapped herself around you each night like armor, like a chain.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she hissed into your hair. “I won’t let you go again.” You didn’t respond. But you wept in your sleep.

One night, she woke up alone again. This time, you didn’t come back.

Ellie searched every room, howling like an animal. Her skin began to flake. Her nails fell off. She bled from the gums. The house, once warm, was now cold stone. Shadows whispered your name, mockingly, again and again and again. She clawed at the walls until they bled with her.

Then she saw the door. The first and only door. At the end of the hallway, pulsing like a wound. She stepped through.

On the other side: Both your bodies washed up by the ocean.

Her body, lying beside it. Rotting. Clutching your arm. And a figure, dressed in black, speaking gently.

“You can’t stay with her forever,” Death murmured. “This was your mind's lie. Your denial. It’s time to go.”

Ellie laughed. “Fuck off.”

She turned around, walked back into the house. Back into the version of you that smiled when she arrived. That never asked her to change. That didn’t cry when she kissed your cold mouth.

She never left again.

Ellie stayed in the house—forever rotting, forever hallucinating. Holding your fading, flickering ghost and convincing herself you were real. And in her head, in her twisted, love-drunk eternity, you always whispered the same thing before sleep:

“I’ll never leave you again.”

And even if it was a lie—

Ellie believed it.

When they eventually found your bodies, the costal shore reeked of sweet sick rot.

Ellie was thin. Hollow. Nails broken. Eyes vacant. But Ellie’s smile is peaceful.

She’s lying beside you, one hand holding your arm, the other clutched around a knife driven straight into her own heart. A blood trail leading from her chest to the outline of your body, as if she were trying to bleed into you. Return to you. Merge with you.

There’s a note, scrawled on the sand:

“She waited for me. I’ll stay with her now.”

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eldritch-spouse · 2 days ago

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hey Pinniee.......so i recently stumbled across a new..........certain interest of mine.... and that may ormay not be gettting exteremely turned on when i drink and am encouraged to drink.....I feel like Gallon would like this for obvious reasons but....are there any others that mayhaps....indulge this certain interest of mine? the remasters are brilliant!!!! by the way! you're truly an amazing artist and i find myself thinking of your characters and world semi frequently (especially in unrelated situations and im just like????okay but theyd match my freak<3)

TW: Noncon on most of these

Who likes getting you stupid drunk?

Fank-e is an unlikely candidate, you'd think. But this robot has a particular obsession with seeing squishies out of their mind. That's why he always has stashes of psychostimulants and boosts- Generally many mind-altering substances. Logically, the machine doesn't do drugs, it can't. But it likes seeing you tripping the fuck out of orbit, and stuffing his hands everywhere while you're at it. Alcohol is really no different. Even when you get sick form it, Fank-e's still hovering over you in excitement.

In the same way Jayde doesn't mind buying affection, he also doesn't mind buying you a few drinks for it. Are you sure you can handle Hell's alcohol? Are you? Then show him. Take a few shots with the imp. He's got less body mass than you, so surely... Jayde loves the way you get sloppier with each sip, when you can barely hold yourself together and giggle at all his lame jokes. He likes how he can slide a hand into your shirt and you barely care. You're so pretty like this, letting him take you anywhere, touch you anywhere.

Lacai can and will use pheromones often, but sometimes, it's a bit of a challenge to use other means of getting someone into his hands. Drinks? Oh, he can afford some of the best, he knows places where the ambiance is just right and every glass is served to aesthetic perfection. Oh, just another one, Lacai promises that next one looks even more gorgeous. Take a photo of it, post it somewhere. Not many people get the privilege. One moment you're looking at your drink, the next the world is spinning and his tongue is inside your mouth.

Fasma is a bum. Misery loooves company. He's such a piece of shit for dragging a pretty thing like you down with him. Really, you've got a lot to look forward to, kid. You're not like him. But if there's anyone he'd love to have some drinks with, it'd be you. You're just too gorgeous, let him treat you to the finer stuff, make this old man some company. He's totally not grinning watching you get wasted, totally not going to slip his fingers into your skirt and watch you slump all open. Yer such a lightweight, he'd feel bad stealing from you even if he didn't like you.

Liter is heavy into alcohol. You're talking about the slime that got Gallon into his craft. Liter plies anyone he likes with drink and good vibes, he's a great talker too, so you're bound to stick around. While he's careful not to give you something crazy, what he does offer is sure to have you blackout hammered. It burns your throat but it burns so good, doesn't it? Yeah that one gets him in a mood too. You poor thing, come closer, he'll hold you so you don't fall, inside him...

Shags isn't a drinker. Buuuut, he shares a similar fascination to Fank-e, in a less intense manner. There's something about seeing the way you transform before his very own eyes, Shags always stocks up on the drinks you like, excitedly following your drunken rambling and engaging in your shenanigans. Please, have all you like, he can afford it, and it makes him so happy to see you so satisfied. Even the way you hold the glass is beautiful... He waits until you pass out somewhere, and promptly lets all his built up arousal seep off him like waves. You're in good hands, rest well...

Caius does enjoy getting blood drunk. And here's a funny thing- You don't even need alcohol to get drunk with him. Just let him feed a little too long and you'll see, that funny little lightheaded feeling that takes you over. He does so love caressing you in that state, singing your praises. Caius does, however, like joining festivities with his own drink, though always encourages you to have more with a blood-soaked grin. Oh what a joy you are like this! He loves jolly people- You're a magnet. And may the heavens damn him if the Magister isn't making the most out of it. Dance, dance with him...

Vorticia is a refined woman -When she's not pigging out at the table- She's incredibly fond of Gluttony's wines and whiskeys and all that good stuff. Flavored alcohol is especially to her tastes, and she knows you'll enjoy it too, you have an eye for this after all. There's nothing like long conversations across the halls, watching you stumble on shaky legs like a doe, until the Queen is carrying you to your chambers, still holding a glass to your lips. Doesn't she spoil you? Don't you like this?

Dishonorable mentions

Mooncalf. Everyone knows fae are indulgent, trapping you with food is common, but so is offering good alcohol. While Mooncalf is not typically the fae type you'd associate with liquor and such, he still delights in occasionally getting you drunk. You already belong to him, so why not celebrate, always?! Be jolly, be wild, be crazy with him, dance like a butterfly under the moonlight with him!

Rinx. He loves to watch you eat, he also loves to watch you drink, no wonder he likes watching you get drunk too. He's more excited and curious than aroused, but it's only a matter of time until he starts pawing at you, particularly if you're the type of drunk that gets a little frisky.

Patches and Stitches. One is a desperate opportunist, the other just likes to embarrass you, a match made in anything but heaven. Patches will subtly keep edging you new drinks, Stitches sloshes shots in his head and dunks them into your mouth like a horror show. You're wobbling your way into their hands regardless of who's piloting....

Cero doesn't so much enjoy the drunk part as he does the wardrobe malfunction that follows. Your helpless state as you slump there barely capable of making a phrase, dress askew, bra peeking, hair unkempt. You're hopeless. And he's steaming alive.

#Fank-e oc #Vorticia oc #Shags oc #Liter oc #(should have made a tag for him sooner)#Caius oc #Fasma oc #Lacai oc #Jayde oc #Mooncalf oc #Cero oc #Rinx oc #Patches oc #Stitches oc

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midnight-bay-if · 2 days ago

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ROs reaction to MC dressing slutty for the first time? Doesn't matter if they're going out or just in the privacy of their room 👀

(Hope this is okay! My brain has been pretty broken recently, but I'm still trying to move forward with everything.)

S: It was one of those precious, rare evenings when Selby had convinced Taj to take Rain out for the night, bribed with theatre tickets for the latest local production. Taj had no interest, of course, but something in their mood must have shown on their face because Taj snatched the tickets and, with a huff, directed Rain out the door, leaving the two of you alone.

You guide them to the bedroom, insisting they keep their eyes closed, and gently push them down onto the bed. Anticipation fills their gut with every rustle of clothing they hear. You didn’t share any further instructions or even hint at your intent. A part of them is waiting to feel your hands against their skin or your breath on their ear.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

They do… and their mouth drops open at the sight of you. Pleasant shivers travel down their spine as their blood rushes downward. They rip at the buttons of their shirt, eyes locked on you without even glancing away long enough to undress.

“I hope you don’t intend on going anywhere this evening, darling. Lock the bedroom door; tonight, you are mine alone.”

Rain: They are unaware of what surprise is, but they are excited. Usually, when you say you have a surprise for them, it is a new VHS you rented for the two of you to watch together or movie tickets for a film they have mentioned wanting to see. But this time, you seemed extra secretive.

They are lying on the couch, their legs hanging off the end, kicking their feet in the air as they wait. Then, they hear the bedroom door creak open a hairsbreadth, and a small beam of light cuts into the room

“Rain? Would you close your eyes?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Rain firmly holds their hand across their eyes, excited butterflies fluttering in their stomachs. Never once has one of your surprises failed to deliver, and they know they will enjoy devising a way to return the favour.

“Okay, you can open them now.”

They do. Then they immediately shut their eyes once more, but the image doesn’t leave. It has burned itself into their retinas, and Rain is so very thankful for it. They bravely open their eyes again, and this time their gaze lingers on the details. The sheer material, the lace, the curves—all of it pulls their attention. They run their fingers across the fabric to distract from how short their breath has become.

“All of this for me?” They hum, pulling you down onto the couch beside them, and you both laugh. “Just so you know… nice Rain has decided to check out for the evening. What is left is willing to do absolutely anything you say.”

Taj: It was date night. They had made plans to spend an evening on the town with you, probably spend an hour or two in the nearest bar, have a few drinks, dance, and let loose. It was all your idea, of course. Taj would have been happy grabbing a six-pack from a convenience store and basking in your company from the comfort of your apartment.

But they also understood that this was as much an excuse for you to dress up and get a little fancy as it was for them to do the same. So, that’s what they had done. Rather than pull on their usual hoodie and jeans, they allowed Selby to choose something for them. Not too formal so that they would look out of place, but dressed up enough that someone might stop and take a look.

They eagerly awaited your entry into the living room, having sought N's advice about what you might wear.

That might have served as the hint they required, yet they are still astonished when you emerge in the form-fitting, alluring outfit you wear. Their ears perk up, and their tail sways as they absorb every detail like a man lost in a dry desert, yearning for water, who has just discovered a life-saving oasis.

“Fuck me…”

Their mouth dries up, and they subconsciously wet their lips with their tongue, unable to tear their eyes away from you. They have never seen you like this before, the tight fabric that clings to you, the bare, tantalising skin that teases them from beneath it.

They storm towards you and pull you flush against them, their fingers practically digging into their hips to keep you still. “Say the word, and we’ll skip the drinks and go straight for dessert.”

N: They hadn’t been told much. They lounged on the living room sofa, pinching grapes from the nearby fruit bowl, kicking their feet in the air while they waited for whatever surprise you teased them with earlier. Your only instruction was for them to be patient, wait for you in the living room, and DO NOT PEEK. Admittedly, being given such a direct order only encouraged them to break it, but for once, they buried the temptation in favour of a vine of seedless grapes.

When you finally step out of your bedroom, N’s fiery blood catches fire. Literally. The guise that protects their true identity burns away the moment their eyes meet yours. Hurls unfurl, skin prongs, and embers sizzle away the excess, but N doesn’t even flinch.

“Give me a spin, my dear.” You do so, slowly turning on the spot, lashes lowered. “Mm… I intend to take my time with you this evening. It would be a mistake to expect any mercy.”

Umbra: They weren’t sure why you asked them to wait outside your bedroom, but pacing the length of the hallway was starting to make their hands twitch with the urge to open the door. It had been about an hour, and Umbra was becoming fidgety. You had proposed spending an evening away from the apartment, and Umbra was merely thrilled that you considered them. If you wanted to go out, they were entirely on board. However, they couldn't grasp why you were so set on getting ready by yourself.

Eventually, the door opens, and Umbra’s busy mind goes silent. Their eyes roam over every expanse of skin, mouth agape, before eventually it all becomes too overwhelming and they shyly turn away, hand covering their mouth.

“What do you think?”

The static in Umbra’s mind continues, and they stumble for an answer. “Beautiful,” they confess, a sense of awe dripping into their tone. “But… won’t you be cold? I… I don’t think I will be able to warm you… hm…” They glance around, hoping an answer might present itself. “Maybe you could wear my jacket over yours? Or you could wear my gloves—”

You tug their shirt towards you, jolting them and refocusing their attention on you. “You know I never intended to go out this evening, right, Umbra…?”

“Oh?” Umbra tilts their head in confusion; then realisation sets in. “Oh. Right.” They cough, their pale cheeks turning a rare shade of red. “Then I think I know exactly how to warm you up.”

#ask answer #taj #umbra knight #nazu raumon #naera raumon #simon selby #rain #simone selby

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muiitoloko · 1 day ago

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I haven't thought about this idea until now: Turpin who is looking for a wife and arrives at Reader's family home and is curious to why Reader isn't being presented as an option for a wife but when he sees her he's immediately caught by her unique beauty (she's albino) and does everything to get her to fall for him (we know Turpin can be impatient sometimes but is patient with the Reader) perhaps she kisses him when visiting him at his office, their first ever kiss together?

(Sorry, I had to send it before it slipped my mind forever)

Title: I See You

Summary: Forgotten by society and dismissed by her own blood, she had long accepted invisibility—until Richard Turpin arrived, and chose her above all.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: I want to thank @smilingformoney for helping me with the title of this story, and I hope you all enjoy it! Sorry for not adding the kiss; maybe I'll do it in part two.

Also read on Ao3

As Richard Turpin stepped down from his carriage, the crisp London air wrapped around him, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and coal smoke. He straightened his coat, his sharp hazel eyes flicking up at the grand façade of the mansion before him. The house was newly acquired, though it bore the timeless elegance of old money, its columns proud, its windows glowing softly in the evening light.

Before he could rap the knocker, the great oak doors swung open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man with a welcoming smile.

"Richard!" The voice was warm, familiar.

Charles Langford, a recently relocated Londoner and old acquaintance from law school, had hardly changed over the years. His hair had silvered slightly at the temples, but his jovial energy was undimmed. Without hesitation, he reached forward, grasping Turpin’s hand in a firm shake before pulling him into an embrace, laughing as he clapped his friend on the back.

"You've hardly changed, Richard," Charles said, stepping back and beckoning him inside.

Turpin allowed himself to be led through the grand foyer, his gaze moving across the fine furnishings, the gilded mirrors reflecting the light of an ornate chandelier. It was clear that Charles had done well for himself.

"I must say, London suits you," Turpin remarked, his voice a smooth baritone, edged with its usual severity.

"As does it you," Charles replied, leading him toward the drawing room. "Come, I insist you meet my wife."

He turned and called toward the staircase, summoning his wife with the ease of a man accustomed to obedience. A moment later, a stately woman appeared, dressed in the refined fashion of the day, her manner poised yet warm as she greeted Turpin.

"It is an honor to finally meet you," she said with a pleasant curtsy. "My husband has spoken highly of you."

Turpin inclined his head, offering a stiff smile. "The honor is mine, madam."

They moved into the drawing room, where a servant had already begun preparing tea. The fire crackled in the hearth, lending the room a comfortable glow as they settled into conversation.

"You must tell me, Richard," Charles said after a time, his expression keen with interest. "Do you have a family of your own now?"

Turpin’s lips curled into a thin smirk. "Not as yet," he admitted. "But I am seeking a suitable wife."

Charles's face lit up at the words. "Splendid! That is wonderful news, indeed," he said, setting down his tea. "I find myself in the opposite predicament—I have five daughters, all in need of suitable husbands."

Turpin’s brow lifted slightly. Five daughters? It was a most fortunate coincidence.

Charles turned to his wife. "Darling, would you be so kind as to call the girls down?"

The woman nodded at once, rising gracefully from her seat. "Of course," she said before sweeping from the room.

Turpin took a slow sip of his tea, his mind already turning. He had not come here intending to secure a match, but perhaps fate had its own designs. Charles had always been a man of good standing, respectable lineage, and considerable wealth. If his daughters were of sound character and beauty, then this could be an opportunity worth seizing.

Minutes later, footsteps descended the grand staircase, followed by the soft murmur of female voices. The drawing room door opened, and in stepped four young women, their figures draped in the elegant silks and muslins befitting ladies of their status.

The eldest, a poised young woman with light brown hair pinned into an intricate style, held herself with quiet grace. Her features were delicate, her gaze intelligent, yet there was a reserve about her—a carefulness that Turpin recognized as the mark of one who observed more than she spoke.

Beside her stood a striking dark-haired girl, her posture impeccable, her lips slightly pursed as though she had already formed an opinion on the guest before her. Her eyes met Turpin’s unflinchingly—a sign of spirit, though whether that was a flaw or a merit, he would have to decide.

The third daughter, golden-haired and fair, smiled politely but kept her hands clasped together, her demure manner making her the most traditionally ladylike of the group.

The youngest present, a girl who could be no more than sixteen, lingered slightly behind her sisters, her curiosity evident but tempered by youthful shyness.

Charles gestured proudly toward them. "Turpin, may I introduce my daughters: Beatrice, Eleanor, Margaret, and Louisa." The girls curtsied in unison, their movements graceful, well-practiced.

Turpin inclined his head, his gaze assessing. They were well-bred, certainly. Each carried themselves with the refinement expected of women raised in a proper household.

"It is a pleasure," he murmured, his deep voice carrying the weight of measured approval.

The eldest, Beatrice, returned a polite smile, though her expression was cautious. "Likewise, sir."

Charles, beaming with satisfaction, gestured for his daughters to sit. "Come, my dears. Mr. Turpin is an old friend, and I hope you shall treat him as such."

The young women took their places, though there was an air of guarded curiosity between them.

Turpin observed them closely as conversation resumed. He was a man who prided himself on careful selection, and while he had not yet decided which—if any—of these young women would become his, the prospect had certainly become intriguing.

He set his teacup down, his sharp hazel eyes narrowing slightly. “You said five daughters, Charles.” His voice was smooth, measured, carrying the weight of unspoken curiosity. “And yet, I see only four before me.”

A shadow flickered across Charles’s face, his jovial expression faltering for the first time that evening. He hesitated, his gaze shifting toward his wife before clearing his throat and forcing a light chuckle. “Ah, well. Yes, that is true, my friend. But I doubt you would wish to make the acquaintance of my eldest. She… she is quite frail, you see. Past the age of marriage, besides.”

Turpin arched a brow, his expression unreadable. “Frail?”

Charles sighed, looking almost apologetic. “She was born with a rare condition. It—ah—it affects her appearance, among other things.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It is something we have long since accepted. I have made peace with the fact that she will remain with us. It is best for all involved.”

Turpin leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied Charles with quiet amusement. “And yet, you did not think to introduce me. Do you believe me so easily deterred?”

“Richard,” Charles began, his voice dropping, “it is not a matter of offense. It is simply—”

“I should like to meet her.” Turpin’s words were deliberate, cutting through whatever polite excuse Charles had been about to offer. His gaze was unwavering, the smirk on his lips as cool as the firelight playing against the fine mahogany walls.

Charles hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, before exhaling a defeated breath. With a reluctant nod, he gestured for a servant. “Send for Miss—” He paused, as if uncertain, then muttered, “Tell her she is wanted in the drawing room.”

As the servant disappeared, Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Richard, I must warn you—”

But Turpin barely heard him. His ears picked up only fragments—“unusual”—“a fragile constitution”—“best if she stays out of the public eye”—before all sound faded into a low hum.

Because he had seen you.

Descending the grand staircase, your posture was measured, composed—almost as though you were bracing yourself for the weight of expectation. Your skin, pale as the moon’s glow, was almost luminous in the candlelight. Hair like spun silk, an unnatural shade of white, cascaded in soft waves over your shoulders, unadorned, unstyled, as though no one had taken much care to present you.

You were unlike your sisters, your presence something ethereal, haunting, as though you belonged to a world untouched by the trivialities of men.

Turpin stood without realizing it, his breath slow, deliberate, as his gaze roved over you with dark fascination. Albino.

He had seen few in his life, and none like you. You were an apparition, a ghostly vision made flesh, and yet—undeniably, strikingly—alive.

Charles shifted uneasily beside him. “She is—”

“Exquisite,” Turpin murmured, almost to himself.

You reached the foot of the staircase, lifting your gaze to him. Your eyes, pale as ice and framed by near-invisible lashes, met his without hesitation. There was no fear there, only a quiet, solemn understanding.

You were used to being looked at, scrutinized, judged. But Turpin was not a man so easily unsettled. If anything, his intrigue deepened.

“Miss Langford,” he said at last, his baritone voice low, rich. He stepped forward, offering his hand. “It is a pleasure.”

For a moment, you hesitated. Then, with the practiced grace of someone who had been taught to obey, you extended your fingers to him.

Turpin took your hand, and the moment his skin met yours, a dark thrill curled through him, cold and fragile. And yet, there was something else—a quiet, enduring strength beneath the delicacy; a mystery worth unraveling. Turpin smiled, slowly and knowingly.

Yes, you would do perfectly.

Charles clapped his hands together, breaking the strange, charged silence that had settled over the room. “Well, then! Now that introductions have been made, let us move to the dining room. A meal will do us all good.”

Turpin inclined his head, his sharp hazel eyes still lingering on you as Charles gestured for everyone to rise. The sisters, ever obedient, stood gracefully, following their father’s lead. You, however, moved with deliberate slowness, as though you had long learned that haste served no purpose when one was always overlooked.

The dining room was grand, its long mahogany table gleaming under the light of the chandelier. Silverware glinted, and the delicate porcelain dishes bore intricate floral patterns, a mark of wealth and refinement. Servants moved silently, ensuring that every place was set with precision.

Turpin took his seat at Charles’s right, the honored guest, while the daughters arranged themselves opposite and beside him. You sat at the far end, next to your mother, your posture impeccable but distant, as though you had already resigned yourself to fading into the background.

As the meal began, the sisters wasted no time in attempting to engage Turpin in conversation. Eleanor, ever curious, tilted her head slightly, her dark gaze fixed on him. “Sir, my father mentioned that you and he were acquainted in college. Is it true you studied together?”

Turpin, who had been idly swirling the deep red wine in his glass, lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Indeed, Miss Langford. Your father and I spent many years as classmates.” His baritone voice was smooth, deliberate, every word measured.

Margaret, the golden-haired sister, leaned forward slightly. “What was he like?” she asked with a small, mischievous smile. “I can hardly imagine my father as a young man.”

Charles let out a hearty chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, I am sure Richard has more important matters to discuss than my youthful indiscretions.”

Turpin, however, set his glass down and studied Charles with the faintest smirk. “On the contrary,” he said. “I remember your father well. Always diligent, always proper… but not without his moments of mischief.” He took a slow sip of his wine, letting the words settle before adding, “He had a fondness for music, as I recall.”

At this, Charles’s face lit up with nostalgia. “Ah, yes! I remember you enjoyed music as well, Turpin. You were always quite particular about it.”

Eleanor, intrigued, glanced between the two men. “Did you play, sir?” she asked.

Turpin shook his head. “No, but I did appreciate a fine performance.”

Charles beamed at this. “Well, you are in luck, my friend! Beatrice plays beautifully.” He turned to his eldest daughter. “Perhaps, after dinner, you might indulge us with a piece?”

Beatrice, ever the dutiful daughter, gave a poised nod. “If it pleases our guest, I shall.”

Turpin offered a polite smile, but his gaze, once again, drifted toward you. You had not spoken. You had not even looked at him. Instead, you focused on your meal, your fingers delicate as they handled your silverware, your every movement precise and controlled.

His eyes gleamed with intrigue, and so, he asked, “And what of you, Miss Langford?”

You did not raise your head. Instead, you took a small sip of your soup before replying in an even, unhurried tone, “I am not as interesting as my sisters, sir.” A brief silence followed.

Charles forced a laugh, though it was a touch strained. “Come now, my dear, you are far too modest. Richard, she plays the piano as well, though—” he chuckled, shaking his head “—of course, not as well as Beatrice.”

Turpin said nothing. He merely watched you. A flicker of something crossed your face, though it was gone before anyone but he could catch it. A quiet, resigned acceptance. You did not contest your father’s words, nor did you seek to prove yourself otherwise. You had long since learned your place.

He lifted his wineglass once more, swirling the liquid as he considered you. This was becoming more interesting by the moment.

As the last note of Beatrice’s performance faded into the air, polite applause filled the drawing-room. The sisters exchanged murmurs of approval; their mother beamed at her second-eldest daughter’s talent, while Charles nodded with pride.. Turpin, however, merely inclined his head, his expression unreadable. His sharp hazel eyes flicked once—just once—to where you sat at the far end of the room, your hands folded neatly in your lap, untouched by the evening’s pleasantries. You had neither clapped nor smiled, your presence as muted as the candlelight flickering against the walls.

You were accustomed to being overlooked, but Turpin? He noticed.

When Charles suggested retiring to his office for a drink, Turpin agreed without hesitation. The two men rose from their seats, leaving the women to their quiet conversations, their skirts rustling softly as they bid them good evening. As Turpin followed Charles down the dimly lit corridor, his polished boots tapping against the wooden floor, he let the sound settle into his mind, a measured rhythm to accompany his thoughts.

Charles’s office was a stately room—high shelves of thick leather-bound books lined the walls, and an ornate mahogany desk sat before a great window overlooking the gas-lit street below. A decanter of whiskey and two glasses awaited them, as though Charles had anticipated this discussion well before it had begun.

Charles poured them both a generous measure, his face already set in the expression of a man who relished a good conversation. “London has been kind to you, I see,” he remarked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a thoughtful sip. “Though I must confess, I never expected to find you still a bachelor.”

Turpin did not respond at once. He took his seat opposite Charles, his fingers closing around the cool glass, but he did not drink yet. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, settled on Charles with calculated ease. “I had little interest in such matters,” he said finally, his baritone voice smooth, measured. “Until now.”

Charles brightened, chuckling as he leaned back in his chair. “Ah, yes. Beatrice is a fine girl. Graceful, accomplished. She would make an excellent wife.” He lifted his glass in silent toast, clearly pleased with himself. “You have good taste, my friend.”

Turpin did not immediately correct him. Instead, he brought his whiskey to his lips, took a slow sip, and allowed the warmth to settle in his chest. Then, setting the glass down with deliberate precision, he said, “It is not Beatrice I desire.”

Charles blinked. His jovial expression faltered, confusion knitting his brows. “Not Beatrice?” He sat forward slightly, his glass lowering as he studied Turpin with renewed curiosity. “Then—”

“Your eldest,” Turpin interrupted, his voice unwavering. “She is the one I intend to take as my wife.”

Silence stretched between them. Charles did not immediately speak, nor did he move. For the first time that evening, his confident, affable demeanor wavered, giving way to something more guarded. He exhaled slowly, setting his whiskey down with a muted clink.

“My friend,” he began, his voice quieter now, less assured, “you cannot be serious.”

Turpin tilted his head, his hooked nose casting a shadow under the flickering lamplight. “Do I appear to jest?” His tone was cool, edged with the sharpness of a man who was not accustomed to being questioned.

Charles exhaled, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I… do not misunderstand me, Turpin. It is not that I am ungrateful for your interest. But…” He hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “She is—she is different.”

“I am aware.”

“She will not make the wife that Beatrice would,” Charles pressed, his voice lowering, as though reluctant to even discuss the matter. “She is quiet. Withdrawn. You are a man of reputation, Richard. You require a wife who can stand beside you with confidence, who can hold her place in society.”

Turpin smirked. “And you believe she cannot?”

Charles hesitated, glancing toward the window as though searching for answers in the gas-lit streets below. “She is… unlike her sisters,” he admitted finally. “You saw as much tonight.”

Turpin merely leaned back in his chair, studying Charles with mild amusement. “That is precisely why she interests me.”

Charles let out a quiet breath, clearly at war with himself. He lifted his glass once more, took a slow sip, and then set it down with finality. “How long do you intend to court her?”

Turpin’s smirk widened, his sharp hazel eyes glinting with satisfaction. “That depends,” he murmured. “How long would you deem appropriate before I take her as my wife?”

Charles considered this for a long moment. His fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he gave a slow nod. “Three months,” he said at last. “No less.”

Turpin inclined his head in agreement. “Very well.”

For a brief moment, it seemed the matter was settled. Charles sighed, lifting his glass once more, his friendly smile beginning to return. But then—just as Turpin reached for his whiskey—Charles’s expression darkened.

The warmth vanished from his eyes, the affability stripped away in an instant. He straightened, his broad shoulders stiffening as he leaned slightly forward.

“I must warn you, Turpin,” he said, his voice lower now, heavier, carrying a weight that had not been there before. “If you so much as cause her the slightest harm—if I hear of any cruelty, any neglect, anything less than the respect she deserves…” He paused, his gaze cold as steel. “I will kill you.”

The room fell deathly silent. Turpin, to his credit, did not flinch. His smirk barely wavered, his fingers still wrapped loosely around his glass. For a long moment, he simply regarded Charles with that same knowing amusement, his hazel eyes glinting under the dim light.

Then, at last, he arched a brow and murmured, “A lawyer, making threats? How very unseemly.”

Charles’s lips twitched, his smile returning just as quickly as it had vanished. He let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head as he took another sip of his whiskey. “Ah, you know me, Turpin. Always protective of my own.”

Turpin chuckled softly, lifting his glass in silent toast before taking a slow, deliberate sip. But beneath his cool amusement, he knew well—Charles Langford was not a man who made idle threats.

And that, perhaps, made this arrangement all the more interesting.

In the days that followed, Turpin found himself engaged in the peculiar challenge of courting you. He had expected resistance, of course. A woman such as you—hidden away from society’s cruel gaze, long resigned to a life of quiet obscurity—would not yield so easily. But he had not expected this.

You were not defiant, nor were you openly disdainful of his presence. You were not like other women, fluttering their lashes or feigning modesty while hoping to secure his favor. No, your rejection was a quiet, measured thing, a simple insistence that you were not worth his trouble. You did not argue or refuse his gifts outright, but there was always that same, unwavering look in your pale eyes—a silent urging for him to give up.

And yet, how could he?

Turpin had never been the sort to let something slip through his fingers once he had set his sights on it, and you were no exception. If anything, his fascination only grew, deepening like ink spilled into water. You were an enigma, a delicate wraith confined to the dim glow of your father’s grand estate, emerging only under the strictest of circumstances, veiled and gloved as though even the sun itself had no right to touch you. He learned quickly that you hardly ever left the house, and when you did, you were so covered from head to toe that he often wondered if you even felt the warmth of the world beyond these walls.

And so, his courtship was relegated to the house. Always, there was someone present—your mother, a sister, a servant lingering in the background, their presence a barrier he could not yet breach. Not that it mattered, for you rarely granted him an opening, offering only polite acknowledgments and little else. When he spoke, you listened with quiet composure, your hands resting primly in your lap, your expression unreadable. Other times, you would sit at the piano, your fingers moving deftly over the keys, the music a more honest conversation than any words you ever deigned to offer him. And sometimes, you would simply read, your gaze cast downward, absorbed in some novel while he watched you in silence, studying you as one might study a portrait of great intrigue.

Turpin learned more of you through others than through you yourself. Your sisters, eager to fill the silences, provided glimpses into your world—small, seemingly inconsequential details that he tucked away with growing interest.

You liked to read. That much, he had observed.

You liked to bake pies, though you rarely did so now.

You liked tulips, though none adorned the house.

You could speak the language of the deaf.

That last revelation had caught him off guard. He had learned, through the idle chatter of your younger sisters, that years ago, your father had represented a deaf client, and you, acting as his secretary at the time, had taken it upon yourself to learn sign language in full so you could communicate with the man directly. It was, they had said, a testament to your patience, your intelligence. A skill you still possessed but rarely used.

Turpin did not know why the knowledge unsettled him, why it lingered in his mind long after the conversation had ended. He had no need for such a thing, no particular use for it. And yet, two days later, he sought out a tutor, meeting twice a week in secret. His progress was slow, and at times, his patience wore thin, but he persisted. He was not certain why.

Perhaps it was because no one else had bothered to do such a thing for you, perhaps it was because he wanted to see something other than resignation in your eyes, or perhaps it was simply because he enjoyed surprising you. Whatever the reason, the moment finally came.

Turpin had just stepped out of the house, the weight of another evening spent in your presence pressing against him as he approached his waiting carriage. But something stilled his steps. He felt it before he saw it—that peculiar sensation of being watched, the slow crawl of awareness along his spine.

He turned, and there you were.

Standing at the window, shrouded in candlelight, you were barely more than a ghostly silhouette against the glass. Your gaze met his, quiet, unreadable, as it always was.

And for once, Turpin did not smirk. He did not speak. Instead, he raised his hand, fingers shaping the words with the careful precision he had spent weeks learning.

I see you.

Your expression did not change at first. For a moment, you simply stared, as though uncertain whether you had truly witnessed what you had seen. Then, slowly, your pale lips parted, and though no sound emerged, he caught the faintest exhale, the ghost of a breath.

And then—at last—your eyes flickered with something new.

Surprise.

Not admiration. Not awe. Not any of the simpering nonsense he was accustomed to receiving from women. No, this was something deeper. You were not impressed; you were astonished. It was as if, for the first time, someone had acknowledged that you existed beyond what the world saw of you.

It wasn't enough, but it was a start; and Turpin, ever ruthless, ever determined, would take whatever ground he could gain.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #judge turpin x reader #judge turpin

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daniiwrites · 2 days ago

Text

Ties That Bind - Chapter 2

Pairing: Aaron Pierre and OC, Jade Laurent

Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Hints of smut.

Summary: Now that the cat is out of the bag, Jade and Aaron begin to get to know one another, to see if there's more there than they initially believed.

Rebuilding my tag list, so please let me know if you'd like to be added.

Chapter 2:

“What do you mean pregnant?? How the fuck is she pregnant?”

Aaron sighed softly as he looked over at Kelvin, slight irritation etched into his feline like features. His friend paced back and forth in front of him, seeming more upset about the news than Aaron himself.

“Did your parents not tell you how babies are made, Kel?”

“I mean, y’all didn’t use a condom?”

“Used quite a few of them. Guess one didn’t hold up. I don’t know. That night got pretty wild.”

“How do you know the baby is even yours? Are you gonna ask her for a DNA test?”

“It’s mine, Kel. She’s not like that. Hell, she didn’t even care that I’m an actor. And lets be real, it’s not like I’m rolling in money.” “Yet,” he corrected, shooting Aaron a pointed look.

“You’re right. Yet.”

Aaron cleared his throat before taking another sip of the whiskey Kelvin had poured him immediately after hearing that he was soon to become a father.

“She comes from a good family. She doesn’t need money from me. Her dad is Vincent Laurent.”

Kelvin narrowed his eyes as he wracked his brain for why that name sounded familiar.

“The real estate guy?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Damn. How’d you meet her again?”

“That afterparty in December… She’s friends with my stunt double and he invited her to the premiere.”

“How do you know it’s not his kid?”

“Cause I was the one who was all over her that night.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Aaron shrugged, taking another small sip of whiskey.

“Tell my parents… hope they aren’t too disappointed. Be a dad. I mean, honestly, what am I supposed to do? Stick my head in the sand and act like this isn’t happening? I can’t do that… My kid doesn’t deserve that and neither does she.”

“Have you told your team yet?”

“Absolutely not. Hell, I’ve only had a couple of days to wrap my head around it.”

“You are… startlingly calm about this. I would be losing my shit if some girl told me she was pregnant with my kid.”

“I’m still processing it. I wanted more from her before I found out about the baby. Despite the circumstances surrounding me getting her pregnant, I was actually interested in her that night. Very much so. And I am kind of excited. I’ve always wanted kids. Between the two of us, we can definitely afford to take care of a kid. And of all the women I could have gotten pregnant, at least I picked one who’s gorgeous and smart as hell. You know she went to Howard and got her masters from Cambridge? My baby’s gonna be a little genius.”

Kelvin snickered, shaking his head as he looked over at his friend.

“Well, you seem determined to do this, so, I got your back.”

“Appreciate that.”

—

They really should call morning sickness all fucking day sickness. Jade had been in the bathroom of her office puking for the last half hour. There was nothing left in her stomach and she was exhausted. She dragged herself up from the toilet and began to brush her teeth. Her pitch meeting from earlier had gone well and her calendar was clear for the rest of the day. She was strongly considering finishing out her work day from the comfort of her couch with Netflix to keep her company. She reapplied her lipstick and fluffed her hair in the mirror.

“You got this, Jade…”

When she stepped back into her office, there was a large bouquet of blood red roses sitting on the small table near her sitting area. With a little smile on her face, she walked over, plucking the card from the bouquet.

“I can never thank you enough for the gift you’re giving us. I hope you’re feeling better. With love, AP.”

The man wasn’t even here and he was making her swoon. That’s how Chloe caught her when she popped in a few moments later, a cup of tea in her hand.

“Oooooh who are those from? They are absolutely beautiful. I brought you some ginger tea for your stomach.”

“Thank you, Chloe.”

She took a small sip of the tea, prepared with honey just the way she loved.

“You take such good care of me.”

“Like you haven’t taken care of me your whole life…” Chloe plucked the card from Jade’s hand and read it with a little smile. Smooth… real smooth. Jade smiled over at her little cousin, incredibly grateful to have someone like her firmly in her corner.

“How did he take the news? She asked, nodding towards Jade’s still flat belly.

“Shockingly well. Honestly, I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I mean, it’s not like you got knocked up on your own.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to be around. I googled him the other day and he’s kind of becoming a big deal… C’mere. Look at this.”

Jade dragged Chloe over to her laptop, quickly pulling up his appearance on the Jennifer Hudson Show.

“Aaron Pierre- that’s Mufasa!”

She couldn’t help the little giggle that bubbled up from inside her as she watch him dance down the spirit tunnel. She found it kinda dorky and super cute.

“Girl, your baby daddy is a whole meme.”

“And I didn’t even know who he was at the party. Not a clue. I just thought he was fine as hell. How did I not know who he was? The man is everywhere. I saw him on Entertainment Tonight last night..”

“I mean… you thought right. The man is fine as hell. I saw some of the comments under that video before they turned them off and those women are going feral for him. It’s kinda crazy.”

“Yeah… You know he’s called and checked in on me every day since he found out? Multiple times a day? Sent little gift baskets to the office…”

“That’s sweet. Bare minimum, but sweet. Have you two talked about how you’re gonna handle the munchkin?”

“He’s based here in LA for the next year because of some new show he’s on. We haven’t gotten too deep into custody agreements. Nothing like that. We’re still in the getting to know each other stage.”

“Yeah, usually people do that part first,” Chloe joked, ducking when Jade tossed a pen at her. “What about when he goes home? I’m gonna assume he’s not moving to the states just yet, huh?”

“He’s undecided. According to him, he’s seeing where things go work wise. So I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it…”

Chloe plopped down in the soft leather chair in front of Jade’s desk, crossing her long legs as she narrowed her gaze on her favorite cousin.

“And what about you? How are you handling all this?”

“Excited… grateful. Terrified. What if I’m not good at this? What if the baby gets here and he changes his mind and then I really do have to do this on my own?”

“First of all, you’re gonna be an amazing mom and this kid is lucky as hell to have you. Secondly, if he turns out to be a deadbeat, you got me.”

Jade shot her a grateful smile.

“When are you going to tell your parents?”

“Aaron suggested he just meet them first and tell them we’re dating. That way when the I drop the baby news, it’s not outta nowhere.”

“That’s a smart idea. Uncle Vincent is still gonna freak when he finds out. I think your mom is mainly going to be excited to be a grandma. If anyone deserves to be a grandma, it’s that woman.”

Thoughts of her mom brought a smile to her face. Jasmine Laurent was truly a powerhouse of a woman and Jade couldn’t have asked for a better mom. She actually was looking forward to telling her mom and soaking up all her parenting wisdom. Even if things didn’t end up working out with Aaron, her mom and Chloe would never let her down.

“She’s gonna be an amazing grandma… You know I cant help but to wonder about just how this all worked out. I’ve always wanted to be a mom and have a family. But I’m not supposed to be able to get pregnant on my own. And in waltzes this handsome man who completely upends my life and gives me the one thing I’ve always wanted. Sounds like a Hallmark movie.”

“Do you actually like him?”

“I don’t know him yet. But he’s gorgeous and gave me the absolute best night of my entire life. But I’d like to get to know him... see where it goes. Even if it doesn’t turn into anything, I still want to know what kind of man the father of my child is.”

The quiet buzz of her cell phone brought their conversation to a pause. Jade quickly checked the caller ID, unable to hide the little smile that tugged at the corners of her lips when she saw it was his name lighting up her screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey mama…”

That deep rich baritone had her clenching her thighs together and her nipples tightening behind the silk of her bra. Instantly she was flooded with the memory of him talking her through it, his big body on top of hers and his breath in her ear. Aaron had recently taken to calling her the affectionate little nickname and she found that she loved it way more than she should at this point.

“How are you? Are you working?”

“I actually just got wrapped earlier than I expected. Wanted to see if perhaps you wanted to grab an early dinner? I can come to you if that’s easier.”

“I-,” she glanced down at her outfit. “I’d love that. What time are you thinking?”

“Gonna take me at least an hour to get to you from Burbank. How does six work? Give you time to get even prettier than you already are for me.”

The heat in her cheeks came back with a vengeance.

“Six is perfect. And thank you for my flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re very welcome. Can you do me a favor?

“Maybe… what’s the favor?”

“Wear a dress for me tonight. One that’s your favorite color.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said with a little smirk.

“I’ll see you soon, mama.”

Jade hung the phone up, a little smile on her face as she glanced over at her cousin.

“Your calendar is clear for the rest of the day. Please go ride that man to kingdom come cause you look like you’re about ready to fuck him through the phone.”

Jade scoffed as she stood and grabbed her bag, slipping her laptop inside.

“I am not having sex with him. That’s what got me in this situation in the first place.”

“Why not? It’s not like you can get pregnant again.”

“Because we shouldn’t complicate things anymore than they already are.”

“Babe… you’re pregnant with your one night stand’s baby. It’s already pretty damn complicated. Plus, you said you wanted to get to know him...see where this goes. I suggest seeing if y’alls chemistry is legit or if it was just an alcohol fueled romp gone wrong.”

“Chloe…”

“You know I’m right.”

“Goodbye,” Jade said with a little laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Thankfully, traffic was better than usual and she made it back to her Manhattan Beach home in less time than usual. Once inside, she tossed her bag on her sofa before beelining it straight to her bedroom. Although she was serious about not sleeping with him, she still wanted to look absolutely delicious for him tonight. There was something about him that made her want to drive him crazy. The way those green eyes darkened when they’d settled on her that night was still fresh in her mind. He’d looked like a hunter who’d sighted his prey. She wanted him to look at her like that all the time.

Hot water poured over her smooth brown skin and she sighed softly, lathering up with her favorite vanilla caramel scented body wash. When her fingers drifted across her belly, she found herself wondering what she’d look like when she was showing. What would Aaron’s reaction to her pregnant body be? He seemed to love her breasts and hips, practically worshipping her body the entirety of their night together. Her nipples peaked and she shivered as she remembered how good the hot lash of his tongue felt against her overheated skin. She’d never been with a man like him before, one who took the time to get to know the curves and peaks of her body. Those massive hands and wicked mouth had worked her into a frenzy before she'd even reached for his pants. By the time she got him naked, her body had already been on the precipice of one of the biggest orgasms of her life.

Honoring his request, she picked a pretty orange body con dress, complete with a pair of strappy heels. Her pretty brown skin was moisturized and radiant and for the first time since discovering her pregnancy, she actually felt like she was glowing. A quick glance at her phone let her know that she only had a few minutes before Aaron was due at her place. She headed back downstairs and let her dog in from the backyard, grinning when the big black Shepard nuzzled her hand.

“How’s my sweet girl?”

From the moment she’d brought Kali home as a tiny little puppy, she’d felt a kind of love she’d never known before. Kali was her protector and the one creature that loved her unconditionally, expecting nothing in return except love. She offhandedly wondered if Aaron liked dogs… Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a soft knock at her front door.

He was here.

Butterflies kicked up in her belly as she made her way towards the door and she didn’t know why. The need to impress him, to make him want her again was unfamiliar to Jade and she swallowed hard as she pulled the heavy oak door open. Aaron stood there, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he let his eyes drift over her. Goddamn… she was perfect.

“These are for you.”

Jade tore her eyes from his fine ass face to see the bouquet of stargazer lilies he held in his hand.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly, taking the flowers from him and stepping back so he could come inside. “They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome. You look…incredible.”

Heat flashed in his eyes and Jade felt the answering pulse in her clit. Down girl. Kali ran up to him, curious about the strange man in her home. Her tag wagged softly as she sniffed him.

“This is Kali.”

Aaron squatted down in front of her, a huge grin on his face as the Shepard nuzzled at his hand.

“Hi Kali… Hi sweet girl. Beautiful like your mama, I see.”

Jade couldn’t help the little smile on her face as she quickly put her flowers in a vase, keeping a close eye on her dog and Aaron.

“She doesn’t usually take to men like this…”

“Guess that’s good thing since she’s going to be seeing a lot of me, huh?”

“Is she?”

Those hazel-green eyes of his met hers as he rose to his full height, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes briefly dropped down to her lips before meeting her steady gaze.

“I plan to be around for whatever you need… whatever our baby needs. So yes, she should get used to me.”

Jade nibbled her bottom lip as she felt her heart thudding in her chest. He was saying all the right things so far, but this was the easy part. She’d see if he’d be around for the four am feedings and diaper changes. As much as she wanted to hope for the best, she had to be realistic about this. It was safer to just expect the worst. No disappointment that way.

“You mind if I wash my hands real quick?” He asked, motioning to her kitchen sink.

“Of course…”

Jade grabbed her purse, waiting for him to make his way back over to her. For a man of his size, he moved so damn silently. Once outside, he guided her over to his sleek SUV with a hand at the small of her back. It seemed crazy to her that this man had already seen her naked and yet a hand on her back was making her pussy leap with joy. Hormones.. it must be the hormones. She’d already started reading pregnancy books and was very aware that her hormones would be going haywire over the next nine or so months.

His hand shot out before hers could, opening the passenger door for her and helping her inside. Jade couldn’t help but watch him as he walked around the front of the car, licking her lips when she caught the little dip in his stride. She knew she was down bad if the way the man walked was doing it for her.

Conversation was light and easy as they drove towards The Strand House. Aaron couldn’t help the way his gaze kept drifting down to her bare thighs as he drove. He was trying his hardest to be a gentleman, but goddamn. The woman was a walking sexpot and there was something deeper, something that felt almost primal in the way he desired her now. Maybe it was the flourishing of life they’d created together. He wasn’t sure what it was but he felt this… almost magnetic pull towards her. After handing off the car keys to the valet, he opened her car door, reaching in to help her out. Even in her heels, she still barely came up to his shoulder.

“What’s that smile for?”

“You’re so tiny.”

His hand slid to her lower back as she glared indignantly up at him, only further proving his point by the way she had to crane her neck to even look up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true.”

“I am a very average height, thank you very much.”

Jade couldn’t hide the laughter in her voice as they were led to their booth by the hostess. It was relatively private, tucked away in the corner of the restaurant. She scooted in, nibbling her bottom lip when he slid in closely behind her. The warmth from his thigh seeped into her bare thigh and she shivered.

“Are you cold?”

The intensity in those golden green eyes of his, framed with the kind of dark lashes she paid for, temporarily rendered her unable to think. She just shook her head, tearing her eyes away from his. Jade didn’t miss the way his broad shoulders shook as he chuckled.

“You make me nervous…”

Her voice was soft and unusually timid. His gaze met hers again and this time, there was a little crease in his brow that she wanted to rub away with the pad of her thumb.

“Why? I don’t want you to be nervous around me. I want you to feel comfortable.”

“I do feel comfortable… that’s what makes me nervous. I’m not usually this comfortable with people I’ve just met.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “You make me feel like this is all going to be ok.”

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted when their waitress approached, handing them menus with a too big smile directed at Aaron. Once she’d made her retreat, Aaron turned his body more towards her, giving her his full attention.

“I know you don’t know me yet and my word means nothing to you, but I meant what I said. I do want to get to know you. And I want to be there for my child. Even if this,” he motioned between the two of them, “goes nowhere romantically, I will always be there for you as the father of our baby. I don’t want my child growing up feeling unloved or unwanted. Whatever I have to do to make sure the both of you are good, I’ll do.”

Her dark eyes searched his and he prayed that she saw the sincerity in him. It would take more than words to convince her. The only thing that would was time.

“How are you feeling about it now that you’ve had some time to think?”

“Happy honestly. This isn’t how I expected to become a father for the first time, but I love kids. I’ve always wanted them.”

“Me too. I’ve always wanted to be a mom.”

“Before, you said you didn’t think this was possible for you? Can I ask why?”

“Essentially, I don’t ovulate the way I’m supposed to. A few years ago, I had some eggs frozen in the hopes that I’d get married one day and we could try with IVF. But I guess… I don’t know. I guess the universe had different plans.”

Aaron nodded and she could see the thoughts behind those mercurial eyes of his.

“Have you told your parents yet?”

“No… no… My mom is going to be so excited, but my dad…” she sighed, dropping her gaze to the table. “He’s going to be disappointed. I’m not married and he is very traditional.”

Aaron reached over, taking her small hand in his. His thumb stroked back and forth across the satin soft skin of her palm and the rhythmic motion comforted her.

“We can tell them together. I mean, if you want to. We don’t have to tell them the actual circumstances if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I think I’d like that.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a little smile and she couldn’t help but to smile back at his fine ass. Damn… drunk her had picked a good one. Their waitress made her return to their table and took their orders. Jade crossed her legs, turning her attention back to Aaron.

“Tell me about yourself… The stuff I can’t find online. What’s your favorite book?”

“Like my comfort read or a book that changed me?”

“Ooooh…. Good distinction. Both.”

“Comfort read is most definitely Bloodchild by Octavia Butler. And when I was a teenager, my mother gave me a James Baldwin book called Notes of a Native Son. Blew my mind…”

“You just earned major brownie points for that one,” she said with a little laugh. “My mom’s favorite author is James Baldwin.”

“Smart woman. What about you?”

“Uhhh…. I don't have a specific comfort book, but I love a good thriller. The In Death series by J.D. Robb has never disappointed me. And a book that changed my life…. Oh… Bell Hooks’ All About Love. That one sat with me for a very long time after I finished it.”

“I haven’t read that one.”

“It’s beautifully written. I love the way she explores love beyond just romance, especially in this day and age. I have a copy if you’d like to read it.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

The way his deep voice dripped like honey made her nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of her dress. How did the man make talking about books sexy? Almost as if he knew how he was affecting her, his eyes dropped to her breasts and Jade knew there was no way he could miss her body’s reaction to him. She could feel the flush in her skin deepen when he dragged his eyes back up to her face.

“I know I said it earlier, but you look so beautiful tonight. I appreciate you wearing this for me.”

“Thank you, Aaron..”

“Mmm…” His voice rumbled in his chest. “I love the way you say my name.”

“You like making me blush, don’t you?”

“Might be my new favorite thing. I like making you do a lot of things.”

The way he was looking at her right now…the man was thinking a lot nastier than just making her blush. This time she didn’t look away, holding his gaze. Two could play this game. Aaron chuckled darkly when she matched his stare. Sure, making her blush was his new favorite past time, but bringing out this new side of her did it for him.

“You look so beautiful with my baby inside you. Did you know that? You were stunning that night. I remember I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. But now… baby doll, you are positively radiant.”

Her breath caught in her throat at his loaded compliment. Maybe it was because she was pregnant. Maybe it was because he was so fucking handsome. There was some kind of pull in her towards him. Jade couldn’t quite put words to it yet but it both fascinated her and scared her. They were supposed to be getting to know one another and all she wanted to do in this very moment was push the table back and straddle him right here in the restaurant, all the other patrons be damned.

“How am I supposed to be getting to know you when you distract me so easily?”

The tip of his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip and his smile was downright wicked.

“Now you know how I feel. I’m sitting here trying to get to know the woman I’m tied to for the rest of my life but you’re so damn pretty, I cant focus on anything except how you felt that night. I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman, mama. I really am.”

He was lost the moment those dark brown eyes of hers filled with mirth and she leaned in even closer to him.

“What if I didn’t want you to be a gentleman right now?”

As always, please let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list.

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre fan fiction #aaron pierre smut #black writer #original fiction #black girl writers #black love #smut #ties that bind

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asce-of-hearts · 2 days ago

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Could I request Itachi or Sasuke with 🐕 Once I have you in my arms, I'm never letting you go, 🍁 You belong to me and only me and 🦔 Because you're all mine, I won't hand you over to anyone. If it can be only one you can choose any of the ones I chose. thank you

Grievance

Contents: Yandere!Itachi with prompts: 🐕🍁🦔

more Itachi content here

TAG LIST

PROMPT LIST

WARNINGS: SOFT YANDERE, OBSESSIVE AND POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, IMPLIED KIDNAPPING.

A scroll is delivered to your doorstep. You recognize the handwriting.

"My dearest ___,

Do not alert of my presence to anyone. I know I'm a bad man, I know I don't deserve forgiveness, but in truth, I don't care too much about that. What I do care for is my wish to see you, and to fulfill a promise I made a long time ago, when I was something entirely different to the monster I am today.

Please, do not be afraid. I do not wish to hurt you or your family. I only wish to see you once more. Although, I feel obligated to warn you, once I have you in my arms, I'm never letting you go.

Sincerely yours,

Itachi"

Your eyes grow damp at those words. Itachi seems like a stranger to you in that moment. The man who killed his clan and left, disappearing in the night. You remember him, you remember how he didn't leave without saying goodbye. You remember he told you to not mind the stench of blood that plagued him in that moment, that he told you to stay quiet, and to wait, because he would be back for you.

That promise seems so distant. And even so, when you read those words, you can't help but hope he comes back soon.

The night is cold, summer heat transitioning into autumn coolness. And the moon is full, and your hopes are slowly getting crushed. Why would he come back? He hasn't been near you in years, and now all of the sudden he's interested in seeing you once more? Foolish. You're a foolish girl for believing a man like him, a criminal, a murderer, a... a sight for sore eyes.

"You came." As soon as those words leave your lips you throw yourself in his arms. You don't care if he might stab you and kill you in that moment, you can only think of his warmth and his love and his promises. He came back, he really did. He's standing there, tall and menacing, in the middle of your room.

"I'm a man of my word," He whispers, his lips pressing against yours in a firm caress. And you cling to him, afraid he might be an ilussion, that he might dissapear in any moment. His red eyes darken, going back to the dark grey you grew so familiar with. "I would never lie to you, ___." He cups your face with his hands, rougher and more calloused than you remember them, his expression serious. "But... It's time for us to leave, ___. We can't stay here for much longer."

"Eh? But you just arrived? And... leave... us?" You are confused, and he only gives you an indulgent smile in response, as enigmatic as always.

"I cannot leave you here on your own. I cannot leave you here knowning you might be promised to someone else one day. You're beautiful, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And to think... to think some other man could have you, I can't stand the thought," His grip on your face tightens just enough for you to feel a little scared. "You belong to me and only me."

Your expression clouds with something akin to anger, and you don't know what to say without blowing up.

"You disappeared for years, Itachi. You have done... unspeakable things," You exhale, a dark, shaky chuckle leaving your lips. "And now... after years of letters as the only confirmation that you were still alive. You... you want to take me with you? Why?"

"Because you're all mine, I won't hand you over to anyone." He's being blunt, sincere. "I would rather destroy this village before letting you be wedded to another useless man who won't be able to care for you, to protect you, to do things like I could."

"And what if I refuse?" You say, and his gaze softens, eyes glowing red once more.

"I'm afraid you don't have that choice, my love."

hope you enjoyed this!!!!!!!!

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @mimihaitani @bad4amficideas @janeisnotonline @architectofsuffering @thatoneweirdkidattheplayground @poopooindamouf @staarflowerr @starberryzos @kaylarilla @mallowryblog @whatupbishs @dreamcastgirl99

#asce of hearts #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere naruto #yandere naruto x reader #yandere itachi #yandere itachi x reader #itachi x reader #itachi x you #itachi x y/n #itachi imagines #naruto x reader #naruto x you #naruto x y/n #itachi uchiha #itachi naruto

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scarletdreamers · 22 hours ago

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Phoebe Bridgers and her lyrics are so Hannigram coded I sometimes believe half her songs are based on the show.

''Can the killer in me/Tame the fire in you?/Or is there nothin' left to do for us?/I am sick of the chase/But I'm hungry for blood/And there's nothin' I can do''

''And while you're bleeding on your back in the glass/I'll be glad that I made it out/And sorry that it all went down like it did''

''You are sick and you're married and you might be dying/But you're holding me like water in your hands/When you saw the dead little bird, you started crying/But you know the killer doesn't understand''

''A copycat killer with a chemical cut/Either I'm careless or I wanna get caught''

''You asked to walk me home/But I had to carry you/And you pushed me in/And now my feet can't touch the bottom of you''

''So I will wait for the next time you want me/Like a dog with a bird at your door''

''I drag you to the shore/Sweating through the sheets/You're gonna drown in your sleep for sure''

''Baby, you're a vampire/You want blood and I promised/I'm a bad liar/With a savior complex/All the skeletons you hide/Show me yours and I'll show you mine/All the bad dreams that you hide/Show me yours, I'll show you mine''

''And I have this dream where I'm screamin' underwater/While my friends are all waving from the shore/And I don't need you to tell me what that means/I don't believe in that stuff anymore''

''If you're a work of art/I'm standing too close/I can see the brush strokes''

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #phoebe bridgers

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dakusan · 23 hours ago

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Recently found your account and I'm just loving your writing, and I'm also obsessed with Vamp Chan that I've already read all your posts about this fanfic. I wanted to know more about the two of them, like silly things, like what their routine is like as a couple or if they argue a lot, I also wanted to see what it's like when She's jealous of Chan. If you don't mind, never stop writing ♥️♥️

anon, my darling bat-winged sweetheart — welcome to the bloodstained side of town. at this point? i am accidentally building a vampire cult and you are so, so welcome here. you said you wanted silly things? jealousy? arguments? routine? baby, you're not ready for the cursed domesticity of vamp!Chan x blood doll!reader.

now let’s get into it: rituals, bloodlust, cuddles, and chaos—

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

✦ T H E I R R O U T I N E ✦

(aka: soft monstrosity and his favourite chew toy)

✦ He absolutely sleeps. In fact, he lives for sleep. But only when it’s with you. You’re sprawled on top of him like a weighted blanket and he’s purring like a devilish cat in a sunbeam.

✦ If you nap before him, though? He will sketch you. One hand on the pencil, the other absentmindedly stroking your arm. You wake up to soft humming and see a sketchbook half-covered under his chest. You ask to see it. He says no. So you pout. He caves. (They’re all you. Every one of them. Some naked. Some asleep. Some laughing. One that says “mine” in the corner.)

✦ If you’re brushing your teeth? He’s beside you, bent over the marble sink, polishing his fangs with a sleek little black-handled tool like he’s in a vampire K-beauty commercial. You: "Are you flossing your fangs right now?" Him: "They’re a weapon, sweetheart. They need maintenance."

✦ Every feeding is ceremonial. He doesn’t just drink. He lights candles. He puts on music. It's a whole thing!

✦ He pretends not to care about technology… but gets weirdly possessive over your phone wallpaper. "Why am I not your lockscreen? Change it. Now."

✦ You both own like six silk robes, yet somehow end up in his old oversized shirts and underwear every night. He claims he doesn't care. Then sucks a bruise onto your thigh because the shirt rides up too high.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

✦ D O T H E Y A R G U E ? ✦

(yes. and no. but also yes.)

✦ You can’t really argue with someone who can hear the change in your pulse when you're mad. He’ll just tilt his head and go: “Your heart’s upset. Talk to me.” (And how do you stay mad after that??)

✦ Most “arguments” are over stupid things. — "Stop glamouring the delivery guy to tip you more.” — “I wasn’t! …Okay. Maybe a little.” — “CHAN.” — smirk “Fine. I’ll glam you instead. Happy now?”

✦ The only real fights come when he goes too long without feeding and starts slipping. You can see it in the way his eyes darken. The way he flinches at loud noises. The way his hands tremble when he touches your face. And you say, “Stop protecting me. Feed.” And he says, “I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” And you say, “Then trust me to stop you.” It ends in tears. And a bite. And a promise. Every time.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

✦ W H E N Y O U ’ R E J E A L O U S ✦

(she’s soft-possessive. he’s a smug menace.)

✦ you don’t get jealous of feeding. he only feeds from you. that part’s sacred. untouchable. you’re the altar. the addiction. the reason he stays sane. but—

✦ you do get jealous when people flirt with him. when mortals get bold and ask what cologne he’s wearing. when they giggle at his laugh. when someone dares to say, “you look familiar, have we met before?” (yes, bitch. in your nightmares.)

✦ and chan? oh, chan notices. he thrives on the flick of your eye, the shift in your jaw. he’ll drag a finger up the stem of his wine glass and say, “that look on your face…” “what look?” “the ‘i’m gonna tear her throat out’ look.” “should i not?” “no, you should. i like it when you’re a little… territorial.”

✦ your revenge? brutal. quiet. you bite his neck in the backseat. you leave hickey marks on his hips, visible when his shirt rides up. you make sure his lips are too swollen to flirt with anyone.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🩸 anon, my darkling beloved—first of all, welcome to the bloodstained palace. yes. it’s real. yes. we’re growing. i don’t know how we got here either but apparently i’ve started a vampire cult and you just joined by accident (or fate?). thank you for such a sexy little ask. silly, possessive, mildly chaotic vampire domesticity? YES PLEASE. don’t worry—this is just the beginning. you’re so not ready for what’s coming next. fangs out, baby. we’re in bloom 🖤🦇

#ask dakusan #vampire!bang chan x reader #vampire!bang chan #bang chan

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katakosmos · 3 days ago

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Age-gap rosekiller microfic

explicit. there's a time skip, but i needed barty's pov to survive tonight.

The first thing Evan does when he enters the room is take off his jacket. Drops of sweat fall down his temples, and more sweat soaks his shirt under his arms, in two large transparent patches. Evan notices it, and blushes slightly. Barty, however, doesn't find it disgusting; not at all.

It's a hot summer day, one of the last, towards the end of August. A long and interminable day, the kind that Barty spends between boredom and pleasure. He wakes up late, has breakfast at lunchtime, dives into the pool on the balcony and tans while waiting for the evening. When the sun, orange and hot, begins to disappear behind the skyscrapers, then he knows that Evan is on his way.

He always goes the hotel where Barty lives right after work. He, on the other hand, doesn't work anymore.

“How is the new assistant?” he asks Evan, who heads towards a window. He opens it slightly, letting in the warm wind, and goes over to it, lighting a cigarette. He has left his jacket on the floor, next to Barty’s shoes and clothes. Sweat mixes with sweat.

“Oh, incredibly boring” Evan snorts. Then he exhales smoke. “I miss you at work.”

Barty smiles. He tilts his head toward the faint sun that still illuminates his room, and Evan follows the movement with his eyes. He loves Barty’s freckles. He always licks his face while they fuck.

Barty calls Evan to him with a movement of his index finger. He comes running, carrying with him the smell of tobacco, faded cologne, the city, summer.

He looks down at Barty, sitting on the bed. There are streaks of gray in his blond hair, combed back from his head. It makes Barty’s blood boil, a savage growl ringing in his ears. It shouts mine, mine, mine.

He opens his legs and grabs Evan by the belt, yanking him close.

“I love it when you tell me I’m unique and unforgettable.”

Evan laughs. He strokes Barty’s bare shoulders and then crouches down, his arms resting on Barty’s legs and his face tilted up, playful and affectionate. He’s still smoking, and Barty steals his cigarette.

He runs his fingers through his hair, and Evan holds his breath. He’s beautiful. So soft and helpless.

“What do you like most about me, when we have sex?” Barty asks, unable to help himself.

Evan licks his lips, curled in a smirk. Then he quickly kisses one of Barty’s thighs, and he tightens his grip on his hair.

“Your ass. Your back. The way you whisper my name right before you come, your heavy breathing, your moans, your long eyelashes tickling me–”

With his hand previously tangled in his hair, Barty grabs Evan’s face and tilts it towards him.

“I meant: what do you like about what I do to you?”

Evan grimaces in embarrassment, but the answer comes immediately: “I like it when you ride me.”

He hesitates, so Barty invites him to continue.

“Also when you grab me. My hair, my face, my hips. I like when you put me where you want me, when you tell me what to do. I like when all I have to do is think about making you come. When all you want to do is come, and you don’t care if I finish.”

As he speaks, his blush deepens, as if he’s confessing a secret. As if Barty doesn’t already know.

He lets Evan sit down next to him, so he can sit on his thighs. Soon Evan’s hands are cupping his nakend ass. They’re so big, he can’t stop himself from grinding into his lap.

“I like riding you too” Barty says.

Evan bites his neck. “Why?”

“Because you can’t stop touching me. Because you moan like a bitch, and give in to the pleasure. I like to look down on you, lying beneath me, docile–”

With his hands, Barty pushes Evan back, and he falls to the mattress with a moan. He’s already hard as a rock. Barty knows he can make him come in his pants.

And sure enough, Evan’s hands fly to his hips, squeezing Barty with inhuman strength. Barty places his hands on his chest and moves his hips onto Evan’s covered cock, bringing him to the orgasm with a shuddering sigh.

Beautiful, Barty has never seen anything sexier. This is what a brilliant, rich, married man is like: a dog to him, properly trained. Barty has him in his grasp, and the thought warms him like a fire.

Yes. Evan is his. His, his, his. He’ll never admit it, but they both know it. Evan knows who he belongs to.

“Again,” he groans, underneath Barty, “give me another.”

His face is completely red, but he meets Barty’s movements as if he hasn’t touched a human body in decades.

Barty slows slightly, to lean over him.

“Evan, I have a question for you.”

He opens his half-closed eyes, nodding.

“Have you ever tried to bottom?”

The question, Barty sees, leaves him stunned. So the answer is no. Good.

Barty slides to his side and starts kissing his neck.

“Do you want to try? I can make you feel so good.”

He’s been dreaming of putting his cock in that man since the first moment he saw him. He doesn’t mind being fucked, but he misses… The control, the power, someone holding onto him. The humiliation. Humiliating someone like Evan must feel so good.

He puts his erection on Evan's thigh, grunting as he uses it to seek that meager pleasure that can push him over the edge.

But Evan stops him. He looks into his eyes.

The sun, now fiery red, is disappearing behind the skyscrapers. The night is coming.

Evan quickly takes off his pants.

#where's that post that says: “destroy that man's ass asap”!!!#evan rosier #barty crouch jr #rosekiller #age gap rosekiller #irene writes

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luck-of-the-drawings · 1 year ago

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POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #cw gore #jrwi suckening spoilers #jrwi suckening #jrwi gabriel #jrwi gabriel montez #LOOK FAMILIAR?hahahahahDONT WORRY #IM REUPLOADING THIS HERE BC i fixed up the drawing a lil. and also i wanted to add main tags #U WONT SEE ANY DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THISSUN N THE POST ON MY SIDEBLOG.i changed the image there too.HA!!!!!!!#ANYWAY.i rambled plenty about pain and gabe on my sideblog.SO LETS TALK ABT THE ART SHALL WE.ihad i very hard time getting the colors down #would u believe i nearly left this uncolored??FUCKED UP!! it was only a sketchhow did it end up like this. it was only a sketch...#BUT IM RLY GLAD I WENT W COLORING IT.this time i actually used the airbrush n pencil tools BUT i also have a handy dandy brush i made #its just the mspaint air brush tool. fucking LOVE THAT THING. but now its in fire alpaca and it can be slightly transparent.IT LOOKS SOGOOD #perfect for splatters and grime.i love you mspaint i love youuu.im also so happy w the blood here.i think i reached a shift last year #back when i made that genloss fanart something abt the way i draw blood finally CLICKED and im like OH. the inside must always be darker.#like i KNEW that already but it was like my hand itself finally had it click.i wonder what i will learn next?I LIKE THE ORGANS HERE TOO #not as veiny or thready as i usually draw em. but i think thats fine. not as WET as id like em to be but thats also fine.#i got the point across. the point ofc being WOW THIS IS GRUESOME AND PAINFUL AND TERRIBLE #I LOVE HIS EXPRESSION.i love pain and thinking abt pain. you lose yourself to it after enough time passes of just being in an ocean o agony #at one point its just too tiresome to scream or writhe. theres a point when the body accepts it.sometimes.atleast.#OHHH GABRIEL AS A CHARACTER DELIGHTS ME SO MUCH.he is a dog to me.a thing to serve others.I WISH I KNEW MORE #WHAT ELSE DID YOU WANT BOY?? SURE POWER AND SECURITY AND SAFETY ARE NICE.BUT DID YOU HAVE DREAMS? WANTS? PASSIONS?#WHAT WAS THE STORY BEHIND THAT TIGER TATTOO ON YOUR ARM?WHAT DO THE DOGTAGS SAY BOY?I WISH I COULD HAVE TEA W U #OHHH TO SIT DOWN WITH A CHARACTER AND JUST SPEAK TO THEM. AND YET. AND YET IN THE END ITS ALL TRAGEDY AND COMEDY #TRAGEDY AND COMEDY THAT IS SO SO PAINFULLY UNBALANCED. SIGH.#WHATEVER CMERE BOY YOURE BECOMING AN OC OF MINE NOW UR GONNA BE IN SPACE AND UR NAME IS GONNA BE VINEGAR #UR STILL GONNA BE SHIP OF THESEUSED THOUGH. OOOHHH GABRIEEELLL GABRIEL MONTEEEZZZ #HOW MANY PEOPLE WERE BUILT INTO YOU.HOW MANY DID YOU LOVE AND CHERISH.HOW MANY TATTOOS DO U RECOGNIZE ON UR NEW ARMS #WHAT WAS IT LIKE? ON THE NIGHT U WERE SIRED?WERE YOU EXCITED? DID YOU SEE YOUR BOSS' FACE?WHAT WAS THIS PROMOTION LIKE?

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year ago

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I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.

It's right-handed

I am right-handed

There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly

I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.

There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.

I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.

A homo erectus made it

Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.

Who were you

A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?

Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?

Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?

Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?

Who were you?

What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?

What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.

Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?

Or has it always been divine?

Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?

Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.

The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.

Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?

I'm not religious.

But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine

I don't know what is.

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chiarrara · 4 months ago

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@sanguineerose @thedarknesseater @darkimaginativeplace @otabekisautistic (even though i'm literally rbing from you) @uriekukistan @hijinks-n-lowjinks @northwestern-airfield @annadante @lmskitty @sleepyams @letyukisayfuck @pichirobi @waiting-for-a-sunny-day (i DUG through my comments to find what you changed your blog title to) @chaoslynx + my fave fic author ever who's not on here anymore @boxwineconfession/@pseudo-side and a few more i can't tag <3

#you all have written something that made me do this #you give me so many butterflies #i wish the blood in your mouth was mine #a helping hand #glimmer #right where you left me (a corner i haunt)#crash you and crave you & and i've been tryin' not to feel it (but i'm still behind)#Storm Signs #lipstick smudges #kugisaki is on the case!#noxious weed #snap crackle pop (to pick just one)#heart of a lion #falling in love is easy. admitting it is not.#if i had been good enough ...#and... from almaty with love ...of course #yall have all had a very significant impact on me and i'm so glad you wrote these fics.#each of them was a significant moment in my life that i carry with me from now on

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tonycries · 4 months ago

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Madam Kamo - C.K.

Synopsis. Bréeding kínk? Going feraI? What the hell is that? Maybe your sweet clan leader husband knows the answer…

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Choso, arranged marriage, mentions of heirs, he’s a little ínsane, elders are awful, MARATHONS, he goes FÉRAL, BRÉEDING, creampíes, a lot of cúmplay, semi-public, dóm Choso, oraI (fem rec), cervíx kíssing, making it fit, bulges, cúmflations, matíng presses, dúmbification, overstím, making him CRY, p talking, spítting, HEADLOCKS, slight 5 + 1 things, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.3k

A/N. CLAN LEADER CHOSO CLAN LEADER CHOSO

Choso Kamo - firstborn son of the ancient Kamo clan, more of a myth than a man.

Those who attended the sprawling Kamo Estate never dared utter a word about him; and those who didn’t, well, he was all that they could talk about.

He left no evidence, he left no remorse.

Only rumors of a silent, stoic leader who could slaughter four entirely different clans before he let even a singular whisper of it spread amongst the masses. Ones of pretty mahogany eyes, and a silver bow and arrows that hit the target of your very soul - so fluid it was as if he’d forged the weapon with his own blood.

And then there were the other rumors - more gossip than anything, really. Spread throughout every nook and cranny of stuffy social functions about how the deadly Kamo clan leader had another, secretive side. A softer side.

But, of course, rumors were rumors. Choso Kamo was simply an enigma.

And…your new husband.

“Zoning out, hm?” A hot gust of breath sends shivers sprinting down your spine, and in an instant you’re snapping your eyes to latch onto deep, hazel ones. Choso’s. The edge of his plump lips curl slightly upwards, “My apologies, this wedding reception is quite droning, isn’t it?”

Hastily breathing, “N-no! Of course not, I…” You’re wincing when yet another wizened elder saunters up to the raised platform of your table. Probably the hundredth of the night. “-yeah, maybe a bit.”

Choso stifles out a rumbling bout of chuckles as he catches your gaze, so close now that his pearly white teeth almost nick your sensitive earlobe. “Let me take care of this, my wife.”

And when Choso shifts over to nod curtly at your oncoming guest, you couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful he is. All tall, towering lines of lean muscle, his silken black yukata wafting of heady cologne, and delicate features that made him have almost as many admirers as he did foes.

Or, at least, delicate features that were currently twisted into something hardened. Something exactly like clan leader Kamo of all the stories.

He’s tilting his head up, long lashes narrowed, “Elder Tanaka, a pleasure.”

“No no! The pleasure’s all mine.” The older man slurs drunkenly, and despite the way his words were just dripping with saccharine sweet politeness, years of suffering through these exact interactions had made it easy for you to spot faux niceties. Like right now. “Or should I say- the new madam’s. You must be glad to marry into a clan as esteemed as the Kamo’s.”

The plastic smile that smears all over your face is painful, and you’re biting your tongue before it betrays you. “Yes, of c-”

“My apologies for cutting in, madam.” You’re startling - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the softened fingerpads that intertwine around yours, or the utter fire curdling in Choso’s eyes. “But I must say, I am the lucky one here.”

Oh.

Elder Tanaka is more impressive than you thought - his mask of respect barely even cracks, other than the jerky twitch of one eye. Honestly, you don’t think he’s ever heard Choso speak this much ever before. Quickly gathering his bearings, “Ah- ah, of course, master Kamo! Correct as always!”

Fuck- you can’t hold back the way you roll your eyes, only remembering yourself when Choso’s engulfing hands loosen from your own to give your thigh a warm squeeze.

“You have wedded quite the catch, of course of course.” Your unwelcome company finally, finally looks at you properly. A sneer coating his slow blinking, “I-I simply meant that considering the master’s incredible power, wealth, and options, what she brings to the table-”

“-is herself.” Choso finishes off monotonically. “And that’s all I need.”

Choso’s words were husky, his grip on you tight. And you wonder if he even realized just how hard he was clutching onto your heated skin - mountains of his palm dragging a smooth up n’ down your clothed leg.

You knew he was well-hidden underneath the lacy tablecloth, you knew that not a single elder, family member, or friend bustling about your wedding reception could see that particular touch over the dim yolky lighting.

But something about it just made you feel hot.

It takes you a few fuzzy seconds to realize that Elder Tanaka was still speaking - in fact, he’d even summoned over a few more members of the council to encircle your decadent table. All the more voices speaking at you rather than to you.

“-that’s what I was saying-” You’re catching croaked-out snatches of conversation, warily eyeing the way the men clap each other supportively on their backs.“-it’s about the right time don’t you think?”

Another one nods, “Jin has been waiting for so long, after all-”

“-yes yes, to have an heir-”

Oh.

That’s what had Choso’s high cheekbones currently dusted with a faintly blossoming rose pink. That’s what had his thickened digits dipping past your luxurious evening yukata to rover between your thighs higher, and higher- like he didn’t even realize what he was doing.

Like he was yearning for it.

“The Kamo clan shall have an heir.” You’re interrupting their ramblings, the mere sound of your voice enough to make Choso’s fingertips twitch. Smooth skin prickling with heaps of goosebumps already when you lock eyes right with his. “As soon as my husband is ready, right?”

And Choso Kamo was brought up with the most rigorous of training, raised to never show even the barest flicker of emotion - especially one where he’s caught off guard.

But right now he knows that he looks as stunned as he feels.

Coral pink maw falling into a soft oh! dark whirlpools of his eyes glinting with something so utterly raw. The trembling tips of his fingers lurch up just the barest inch to drag a lazy line down your pussymound.

He’s instantaneously shifting his free hand up in one, fluid motion to cover the feverishly flushed half of his face. Jaw clenching with a sharp click! of his teeth when he swipes the fat pad of his thumb down a fresh bead of your leaking slick, making such a flimsy mess of your drenched panties. Was this all for him?

Because now Choso’s getting…greedy.

And you’re almost letting off a slight whimper when he hastily drags his scouring hand away - that is, before every and any sound dies in your throat once your husband dips his wetted thumb past his lips and sucks.

Subtly.

And his voice cracks oh-so-pathetically, “R-right.”

Eyes staring deeply into yours when he parts his doughy fingertips mere millimeters to lather it with a fat wad of saliva. Your breath hitches in your chest, frantically glancing at the babbling group of men who were, thankfully, way too absorbed in themselves to notice your little…tryst.

And it’s only with all his years as a seasoned fighter that Choso’s nuzzling his soaked digits back between your jittery thighs. In a flash.

Planting exactly three soppy smack! smack! smacks! plapped onto the perfect arch of your drooling pussy. Choso’s raising his neat brows at just how those tremors make you squirm in your seat.

“Ch-Cho—so-” You’re gasping under your breath, hips repeatedly shuffling on your cushiony chair when he licks up repeated, sultry circles- no, wait, hearts along the slippery slit of your covered cunt. Up and down. “Th-they might see…”

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear, baby.” He’s leaning in to pant out a murked cloud against your ear, throat bobbing with a ravenous swallow of saliva as he then probes a few stuffy fingers under your panties. “You seem stressed– Let me take care of it.”

Oh, it was a promise - and the rasping growl that bled into Choso’s tone told you that he was well and fully intent on accomplishing his little task. “Spread those pretty legs now.”

With a steady, muscular calf hooked with your own, he’s cracking your thighs evermore parted. The scorching hot press of his big, beefy forearm over your shoulders making you feel as if you’re on the verge of melting. Practically on his lap now-

“Is everything alright, master–?” You’re hearing from what sounds like somewhere over in the distance, even though you already know that it’s from right in front of you.

“Everything is quite alright.” Choso’s plush pecs vibrate with his rapid answer, and you’re finding yourself leaning your weight onto his. Huffing and puffing near the crook of his neck, “It seems the madam is just feeling a little ah…tired, right now. Continue your talk, elders.”

Tired - you couldn’t feel more riled up if you even tried.

“Ngh- Choso-” You’re sinking your teeth into your wobbly lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. High, carved chair singing off a slight creak! when you’re bucking your hips up to jostle his gluttonous fingers closer to where you wanted him the most. “-need you.”

Well, whatever his wife wanted - you got.

In simple nanoseconds, Choso’s snugly prying away your gauzy lace. Letting the too-thin fabric snap back against your sappy cunt with a teasing little swat!

Before you can blink, he’s gracing your panties with microscopic tears at just how eager he was to give your plump, buttony clit a good, hard push. Cold golden wedding ring perking up against your most tender spots. Flexible wrists bending towards an even vulgarly deep angle to keep you from escaping-

And you think you could scream, you think you could open your mouth to make a scene - before Choso beats you to it. Purring out an oblivious, “Is everything alright, my wife? You seem a little feverish.”

All the while slipping n’ sliding his fingerpads to smear your gluey pussylips open. Mazing down, down, down in a lecherous little pace to plug up your geysering entrance snugly full with two of his fattened digits.

You’re clutching helplessly onto Choso’s thick yukata sleeve when the elders stare over at you curiously, “I-I’m fine, Ch- my husband. Just a few post-wedding jitters.”

“Awww, that’s alright.” He’s cooing from above you, words sugarcoated with such gentleness - but his hands were anything but. “M’here, m’here.” Setting out a vicious, ceaseless pace that has his manly fingers outlining numerous circles round n’ round your tight, flooding entrance. Motioning in slight, sleazy swirls all around your elastic hole just to fit inside properly. “Your dear Choso’s here, y’know? And I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Ah! Of course-” Ring out the replies, evidently your hurried-out shudders were not enough for your guests to lose interest. Or for Choso, either - because he’s just feeding your slobbering orifice with more fat inches upon grinding inches. “-producing an heir is a very integral part of the marriage contract. It’s understandable to be nervous.”

Shivering, “S-sure.”

“Mhm—” Choso’s trawling his pouted mouth down your perspiration-simmered temple, “-a very integral part. But, of course, we’ve got to make sure that my beloved wife is-” Quirking the very edge of his digits to clash right into the target of your g-spot. “-ready, after all.”

The clingy embrace of your warm cunt so cozy that it’s bumping Choso’s metallic ring further and further from his hilled knuckles to dredge out a chilling, languid massage along your channel.

It takes everything in you to manage up a half-heartedly narrowed glare up at your chatting husband, easily conversing his way through every battering ram being placed on your pretty pussy.

He doesn’t make a sign - he doesn’t even make a noise. Nothing except for a sharp, sudden inhale once another innocent peck at your lips makes your filthy hole fountain out a fresh lather of sickly sweet juices.

Dripping all the way down to his wrist with thickly viscous adhesive, he’s making such a fucking mess. And a loud one, too.

Slurp after slurp being wrenched out with every pound of his neatly cut nails patterning out little indents onto your most favorite spots - ones that have your legs shaking underneath the humid table. Choso’s bouncing his knee to drum out a staccato against the floor, just to cover up your cute little melody.

He has you going insane.

You’re pushing apart your legs to dig into either side of your chair with just how desperate you were for him. For more more more.

Bumping your thigh against one of his, and the mere touch is enough to send shockwaves down Choso’s sloped body.

“Trying to tease me, baby?” He’s hovering over you even closer, darting out a hefty thud! of two fingertips- no, three - when did he even bully in another one - onto the goopy roof of your cunt.

“M’not-” You’re biting out, head lolling ever-so-slightly backwards when Choso furrows his brows and pumps out copious thrusts that hit your forbidden g-spot dead on. Engulfed so deeply inside your hot core that the gentle curves of his palm smudge against your clit now. “J-just keep- talking.”

And, truly, it wasn’t just because your company was peering over the two of you expectantly - it was because Choso sounded so very hot.

Vibrato husky with an animalistic sort of need, tremoring ever-so-slightly-

“Agreed, I would like a few sons and daughters.” Choso’s nodding along smoothly, although his full attention is focused on you. His wife. And the way your sweltering hot gummy walls clench around his bludgeoning fingers even tighter at the words. Faster. “Maybe three. Maybe five. Although, it’s up to the madam.”

In the corner of your eye, you’re catching them all staring at you, and you urgently force out a nod.

“C’mon now, answer them using your words like a big girl, why don’t you–?” He’s humming, tilting your burning face up. Faster. So that you can’t hide.

Lilting shrill just as unbalanced as your head was, “Y-yes-”

But of course, that wasn’t enough - that would never be enough. “Louder. They can’t hear you over the music, baby.”

Can’t do anything but claw down drawings of red, red lines all across Choso’s milky arms when he bustles into the targets of your honeyed spots even harder. Unsteady syllables spilling out from your lip before you can even register them, “Yes- yes. As…many as possible.”

“That’s it- good girl.”

Fuck.

And those raked scratches make perfect artwork for him to admire - just as he was admiring you right now.

It was just such a shame that the others here were, too, even if they didn’t know the complete and utter sin happening just underneath the table cloth. Sloppier.

Choso’s kissing his teeth, broad deltoids of his shoulder positioning to hide you away from any sleazy gazes. Because they could be near, but they couldn’t see. You were his.

“Then, it’s settled-” He’s drawling, hooded eyes locked onto you. Memorizing your every minute twitch and reaction when he urges his free hand to hold onto yours on your lap. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like to the outside. In fact, Choso’s snugly prying apart your silken robes to roll over your throbbing clit and pinch. “-we can look forward to an heir, soon. Right, madam?”

And that’s all it takes for you to cum.

Your head tucking into his sculptured shoulder, thighs closing with a dull clap! as your high crashes into you headfirst. You don’t need to mutter a single sentence for Choso to know.

For his eyes to widen just a fraction at the way your treacly slit only got infinitely dewier, rounded gumdrops of your slick sprinkling down in a weepy sheen all over his messy hands. Mouth going parched at the realization that you’re orgasming right here, right now.

“O-oh? Seems my wife agrees.” Choso’s waving those elders away now, not taking his eyes off of you for a single second. It was just too adorable how you were shaking like a leaf at his side, “Well, m’glad. So- so…glad.”

Motioning your hips in such salacious semi-circles to bump up his upright fingers against your every extra sweet orifice.

Your sticky walls were so staggeringly tightly wrapped around him that it’s making his forehead bead with sweat, low puffs of air escaping with every peak he fucks you through. Every peak of white-hot pleasure that he draaags out until your guests are finally - finally - walking back to their own tables.

“Sh-shit-” you’re mewling when Choso barely hesitates - barely even takes a quick sweep around the room to check who might be looking - before parting from your sappy cunt with a resounding squelch!

Immediately popping those viscously-glazed fingerpads into his starved mouth, he’s letting his glassy eyes sprint to the back of his head. Musing out a moan, “Fuck- fuck!”

You can only watch with an awed gape whilst Choso stares right into your heart-shaped pupils as he cleans himself off. One by one. Before trekking his lustrous fingers back over to your cunt, and measuring out a wide few inches - perhaps nine - from the base of your teary entrance up to your tummy.

“Choso…” you’re whispering, hazy eyes blinking up at him as if through molasses. “Wha’s that for?”

And Choso only grins, stray range of knuckles thoroughly bitten underneath his gleaming canines while he measures you up.

As if he was holding back. Keeping himself sane. And the half-lided greed in Choso’s eyes told you that he’d fuck you all proper right here and right now if he could. “N-nothing- just making sure of somethin’, my wife. Making sure that you can take me.”

Oh.

This was far from over. You were fucked.

And you were completely and utterly sure of it even if the topic of an…heir didn’t come up for the next few days after that.

Not that you didn’t think about it, though - it was hard not to, when your fatally notorious husband showed such a tender side of himself with his younger brothers.

With you.

And soon enough even through all the bustling meetings and duties of a madam, you’re still figuring out a way to tell Choso that you really weren’t kidding about what you said during that wedding reception.

Sure, you were drunk on his fingers but - that wasn’t just all, was it?

But you’d sorely underestimated just how busy a clan leader could get. And before you knew it, putting off the conversation for the morning after your wedding night had turned into putting it off for the weekend.

Then putting it off for next week. Two weeks.

All the way until you’re trudging along the winding corridors of the Kamo Estate during the most unholy hours of the night. Grumbling groggily to yourself about how you’d finally told him and it had ended supremely well - in a dream, that is.

Choso had been absent for almost the entire day today, attending an important land negotiation with a far-off clan, according to Jin.

Now, you knew just how powerful your husband was - it was impossible to escape the legends and rumors, in fact - and you trusted him. Still, you couldn’t help but toss and turn the entire night away in your coldly empty bed as you wondered just how safe he would get home.

You’d been to such veiled conferences before, after all.

And it’s simply pure worry that has you dragging yourself out of your king-sized bed to shuffle into the barely-lit kitchen. Stifling half-blindly in the moonlight through cabinets and coolers to find ah! Exactly what you’ve been looking for.

Thank goodness this place was empty right now, you didn’t know if you could handle it if the chef was here to lecture you about balanced diets when you’re bites deep into your sugary, shaved icing.

And it’s exactly with this thought in mind that you hear a loud thud! emanating from the far end of the hallway. Your eyes widen, ears searching for more-

Footsteps.

At this time? Your fingers itch towards the sparkling display of knives tucked in one corner of the granite counter. Ready to aim for that tall approaching shadow, ready to fling just as Choso had taught you when-

“Baby?”

“Oh–” Your breath comes out in a heavy gust of relief, eyes unable to tear away from the shaded outline of your husband, taking up every inch of the doorway. “It’s just you, Cho.”

It was. But there was something about Choso that seemed…different. Off.

But not in a bad way - your eyes rover appreciatively over the tautly flexed muscles of his upper half, peeking out almost-blasphemously where he’d shrugged the upper half of his deep purple yukata off.

Glinting bow and arrow stained with crimson, held in one tightly-gripped hand. Your nose wrinkles at the slight, dangerous scent of something metallic. Something not his.

Yet, you can’t help but ogle the slow path of dewdropped sweat trailing down between the curvaceous bulge of his heaving pecs, bumping up and down over his washboard abs, before disappearing below-

It’s like you’re being bolted with an instant flash of lightning as soon as this happens, snapping your eyes over to find Choso’s weighty ones. And oh- the moment you do it’s like something in him melts.

THUD!

You’re jumping when his weapons hit the floor - uncaring of whether this might alert anyone else in the household, uncaring of anything other than crossing the sizzling distance between the two of you in three urgent strides.

You don’t even have the time to process it before Choso halts right before you and falls to his knees. Dark lashes fluttering up at you, he echoes, “Baby.”

Like a broken little mantra.

“Ch-Choso- baby-” It’s just about the only thing you can manage out through hollowed gasps when he’s immediately digging two hands on either side of your hips to easily and pliably seat you on the icy counter. Just where he wanted. “-what’s gotten into you?”

“Dunno.” He’s garbling out, and you’re letting your boneless legs tumble further and further open to let him bury his face right at his favorite place - into your fluttering cunt. “Was jus’ thinking about you alllll day.”

And you could tell.

Because Choso’s every movement was depraved. Jerky. His sensory fingertips trembling when they card underneath your cottony sleep garments, bringing it up to his canines to rip–!

All with his mouth.

“Fuh-fuck-” You’re squealing at the sudden hit of cold air - followed very closely by a scorching hot breeze overtaking every inch of your cunt when Choso leans in and sniffs. Long, hard. Curdling out a feral keen at the back of his throat, “-that’s so filthy, baby.”

“Nothing’s filthy for me if s’you, madam.” At the glint of something slobbering and sharp, you can tell that he’s grinning. “If s’you or…her.”

He was enamored with your ready core, curving a gentle thumb down the glossy edges to give your driveling hole a good trickle of spittle.

And Choso Kamo knew he had perfect aim - he knew he didn’t have to make a mess.

But oh, he couldn’t keep himself from tilting his head just degrees to the side to let the splatters leave dripping wet splotches down your saturated folds, your inner thighs.

Tongue so long, lolling out drunkenly to smear away that filthy excess. He’s poking heated ounces again and again back into your soppy entrance. You were practically flooding torrents of sweet, sweet juices around him, already making a mess that lacquers his dimpled chin.

You were always so sweet - so good for him. And he can feel his ears pop already with the greedy anticipation of what he was craving to do.

“Think you missed me, too.” He’s snickering, teeth sinking down onto the fleshy nub of your clit. It’s enough to make you want to sob. “Didn’t ya?”

Gyrating your hips in such hypnotizing little swivels off of the smooth counter, you’re feeling his candied breaths hit your gummy walls even deeper. Sloppier. Whimpering out, “Yes- yes. Missed you so badly, Cho–”

“Oh yeah?” He’s tensing up the dexterous edge of his tongue to swipe up unhurried skids of his roughened tastebuds around and around your quivering entrance. In and out. Syrupy slick leaking in heaps right as he does, Choso tilts his head back to let those gooey masses slide down his throat. “Mmm— you’re wetter than usual, baby. How badly do you want the ngh- clan leader on his knees for you, hm?”

It was true - and Choso can feel something coiling and coiling heatedly at the base of his stomach at the idea of giving you perhaps…a kid…or two to make sure you’re not so lonely anymore.

Ah, he was pussydrunk.

“So- too badly.” You don’t think you’d ever be babbling away like this if Choso wasn’t making out with your needy cunt like that.

You’re tangling your fingers hastily into his dark, silken locks - gripping desperately onto his sweat-dampened scalp as you use up all your strength and push. All the way until the very tip of Choso’s button nose was meeting your pulsing clit in a harsh smooch, his chin smacking the teary ends of your cunt.

Words tremoring against the very outer ring of your puffy pussy, silvery strings of saliva n’ sap break off when Choso mutters, “Was talkin’ to her, y’know?”

Fuck.

And you think you would be huffing and puffing about how he was talking with your dousingly wet cunt instead of you.

That is, if you weren’t talking back to him from between your legs.

Because the only thing louder than the slack-jawed ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with every repeated thrust of Choso’s tongue, was the sound of your soppy squelches. “Ohhh- so that’s how your day was? Tell me more…”

So loud - so embarrassing that you can feel your heart race.

And Choso’s was, too, but for a much more lecherous reason as his tongue clashes even harder to draw out those very same pretty noises from you. He was craning his ears closer - he was addicted.

“Yeah- yeah, tha’s right.” Choso’s groaning, eyes faltering droopily until they were almost shut at the way his husking growls only make you wetter. Well, he could help with that. Hitting your hot core with wad after weighty wad of even more sugary spit. “Thaaaat’s fuckin’ right, missed how mouthy you hah- are. My talkative girl.”

“Cho- ngh!” You’re biting down on your tongue to hold back your words when Choso raises up a hand to leave a solid spank right on your bloated pussymound.

He’s nodding along, head lurching intoxicatedly ever closer and closer. Wiping away a glistening streak of slick painted over his blushing cheeks - his blushing cheeks. “That’s right- would’ve made a- haaaah- a whole lotta b-better points than that stupid council does.”

Before pecking a lingering French kiss on your throbbing clit like a lover would.

And you count one, two, three- partway through four before Choso seems to remember that he’s still in the middle of his conversation with your cute cunt. It’s rude to leave her hanging, he’s pondering.

“Well-” Stringing himself away with such a pained grunt, cerise lower lip plumping out in a pout at the mere thought of being away from you. “-better points than that stupid council d-did. They won’t be making aaaaany comments ‘bout you anymore, madam.”

Your leaden eyelids struggle to flitter open, “Wh-what do you ngh- mean, baby?”

But the only response you get is a quick staccato of swats at your leaky slit, before Choso’s curling in a thick thumb past your watering lips and in to your slicked entrance. Followed by the delicious drag of his lengthy tongue doubly slipping back inside.

Thrust after thrust.

So extensive that he was skimming across all your ridges, mapping out every sweet spot of yours on his mouth. Your adhesive walls were clinging onto him like a vice, sappy mushes making him pry apart your thighs even more through furrowed brows.

“Jus’- just means-” He can’t even bear to speak. To break off from stretching you staggeringly open. Your legs wrap mindlessly around Choso’s ravenous head, “-means I don’t let anyone- hah- say anythin’ about my wife.”

Without a second thought, your eyes find his splayed-out arrows on the floor. The way they were sullied with red…

Oh.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than let your head jerk backwards, muffing out slight whimpers when he alternates in such sloppy measures between swirling the fattened expanse of his tongue all over every possible spot of your gummy walls and sucking on your clit like his favorite candy.

“They won’t say- do- anythin’—” In so deep now that all you could make out were numerous wet gurgles. And the pure, unadulterated love in Choso’s tone when he twists his thumb to graze right against your bruised and battered g-spot. Hard. “Not when I love her so much.”

He’s gonna raise your kids to love you just as damn much.

And when you cum, you think you might be sobbing - you’re shaking.

Flurries of stars bursting behind your eyes as you dig your fingers through your husband’s perspired strands. Keening out, “Fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming–”

“I know I know.” He smirks hotly against your puffy pussy lips, so close that you could feel the cratered dimple of his grin. “Yer cute cunt told me, baby– heh- wouldn’t mind being welcomed ah- home by my wife like this every day.”

He lets himself be manhandled, pulled and pushed to your every whim. One of the strongest clan leaders whimpering - whimpering - when you pull just a bit too hard to mash his cushiony mouth in a deeper kiss.

Hot. Sappy.

You’re still shaking with sparking bouts of heat that rush down and up your spine, legs twitching when Choso pulls away with a loudly kissed mwah! Overly exaggerated just to see that shy, fucked-out expression on your face.

He was so unfairly pretty like this - a delicate red blush burning all over his face, eyes half-lidded like he was feverish. A shimmery spray of your juiced slick drips down his chin, his bruised lips, all the way up to his regal cheekbones.

He made a mess. And he was wearing it like a badge of honor.

Rising up, up, up to shutter your ajar jaw and plant a drenching kiss. Choso always left your mind so melty and stupid no matter what he did.

“Do you…do you want some hngh- sh-shaved ice?” You’re babbling with your cottony tongue, unsure of what exactly to say after something as intense as…that.

“Nah-” One kiss. Another Two. Five. “-I jus’ had something a whooole lot sweeter, madam.”

Right now it was so quiet in your kitchen. Just you, Choso, and the gleaming moonlight illuminating his pussydrunken enchantment. Even more so than usual.

You’re glissading your arms around his sweat-matted neck, reeling him in even closer. He smells so good, piney cologne searing your senses even despite that tint of iron. Nervously musing, “Hmmm, wonder if s’always gonna be like hah- this whenever I get…cravings.”

Well- it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say, but, better than nothing.

“Cravings, huh?” Choso’s eyes twinkle - and you’re not sure if that’s a result of the muted lighting or because of what you just said. Hopefully the latter.

“Well- well just saying I wouldn’t mind if-”

Cutting yourself off, you’re sure it’s the latter when he rests a massive palm, warm against your tummy. Just for a split-second before tucking his big, strong arms underneath your body and propping you in an easy princess carry. “If you have cravings then I’d be the one cooking for ya, my wife. 24/7, at your feet.”

Yeah, you were fucked.

But you never really realized just how much - just how badly - until just a few days later; seated on the polished hardwood floor of the famed Kamo archery dojo.

It was routine for your husband to practice his pinpoint precise shooting, and by now it was your routine to watch him.

How could you not? Because it was such a heavenly sight.

Choso’s pristine, white yukata unravelled at one muscular shoulder; showing off the rippling curves and dips of his sculptured back. Strong. His honed eyes filmed with a focus he only ever gets in bed. Adonis-like biceps bulging in a lecherous little flex when he draws the string back, back, back and lets go-

“YES!” Yuji’s resounding cheer thunders across the vast chamber with way too much volume than a six-year-old should possibly have. “Let’s goooo- big bwother hit the target again.”

A simpering smile stretches across your lips as soon as he turns to you for reassurance, gesturing out a slow nod at the way Choso keeps piercing bullseye after bullseye. “He did, your brother is very talented, Yuji.”

Humming, “When I grow up m’gonna be just like him.”

“Of course.” You’re chuckling at his enthusiasm - the youngest of your husband’s brother’s always did have a special spot in your heart. And you can’t help but wonder when - if - you had an heir with Choso, whether they would be much the same. “You are his brother, after all.”

You’re frantically hovering your hands behind him once he bustles to a haphazard stand. Stumbling only a few times as he races over to the neat line of inventory, “Then- I’ll be just like him now.”

“Be careful!”

Ah, he really was a handful - which meant, you really didn’t expect it to go over perfectly smoothly. You’d known that simply wouldn’t have been possible as soon as you met Itadori Yuji.

Yet, you didn’t expect everything to go so wrong in just a mere matter of seconds.

Before you can even blink, Yuji’d tottered his way over to one particularly large, wooden bow - one used only by Ryomen Sukuna whenever he visited. Puffing out his chest as he reeled out the massively heavy weapon - overly heavy, way too much for even the most determined child-

CRASH!

“Yuji!” You don’t know who yelps louder - you, or Choso. But with your proximity, you’re the one that reaches him first, cradling the sniffling boy in your arms.

You jostle away the weighty bow - honestly, how he even managed to lift this in the first place you have no idea.

“Awww, don’t cry don’t cry–” You’re cooing, distantly registering the worried pants of his older brother skidding to a stop beside you. He always did have him curled around his little finger. Pushing away the pinkish curls from his forehead, “-you’re alright. See? You’re alright.”

“Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you feeling nauseous-”

“Choso.” You warn, catching the way Yuji’s eyes widen in panic.

Taking a few deeply necessary breaths to calm down. “You- don’t do that-” Choso’s hissing, but you could practically feel the worry seeping into his tone. Thumbing slow circles on his aching shoulders, “-ask me for a bow instead.”

You have to bite back a grin - with the watery glaze taking over his eyes, you wondered who was really hurt - Yuji or Choso himself.

“M’sorry big bwother.” Blubbering through big, pearly tears that dry salty streaks down his chubby cheeks. He’s batting those lashes in a way you’re sure gets him out of any sort of trouble. Ever. The full, merciless force of it hits your poor heart as Yuji turns to you. “Sorry, mama.”

Mama.

You freeze. Choso freezes.

Hell, even the twittering birds outside freeze mid-song.

It seems like everyone in the entire world freezes except for an oblivious Yuji who only continues inching his tiny hands closer towards that guilty bow. Clearly not having learned his lesson - but you didn’t even register that right now.

You’re staring at Choso, only to find that he’s staring right back. Droopy eyes uncharacteristically wide, blinking rapidly - it didn’t even look like he was breathing right now.

Maw parting and closing stupidly agape, and you’re almost tempted to reach out and check whether he’s doing okay - before he finally finds his voice again. Finally. Husking out a choked-out, “W-well- maybe we should- ah- should-” He’s turning towards his contrastingly okay younger brother, “Yuji?”

“Big bwother!” Comes the, unfortunately, helpless answer.

And something in his beaming expression seems to jolt Choso out of his reverie, something that makes him let out a tight nod. Scooping up the giggling boy over his shoulder, he calls out at you, “Wait here.”

As Choso walks out of the doorway, you could only watch.

Only sit there for what could be four seconds - or maybe even four hundred years - until he’d presumably dropped off Yuji at the safety of Jin. Taking steady, focused strides back to you that thud! thud! thud! right along to the beat of your racing heart.

Choso’s expression is blank - pale as if he’s seen a fucking ghost. And he doesn’t even look at you, can’t even bear to once he walks back to the thickened air of the dojo. Now pointedly alone.

Very, very alone.

Wordlessly, he picks up his famed bow. And you swear that you can see his practiced hands tremble. Something was happening.

It’s like an artwork that you can’t look away from. The fluid motion of aligning a singular arrow to aim for his final, rounded target. Doughy pads of his fingers pinching the string back, back, back until it snaps!

And misses. For the first time in years.

“Fuck.”

You barely have the time to compute - to even suck in a gasp of surprise before your husband comes and crashes into you. It’s as if he was magnetized and couldn’t get away even if he wanted to.

It’s a frenzy of white billowing sleeves and powerful arms, throwing you over Choso’s shoulder in only two seconds flat - much the same way that he’d done with Yuji moments prior.

Except more…urgent.

“Choso- Cho!” You’re squealing, as he lurches into hurried treads away. Legs kicking weakly in the air, only for your stubborn self to be granted with an unapologetic spank! right on the mound of your ass. Your nose crinkles as his long, inky locks tickle your face, “What is-”

“Be quiet.” Choso’s rasping, so small that it could not have been more than a whisper. So close that you’re drinking in heady wafts of his masculine cologne.

Something in his snarling tone makes your stomach tighten. Digits grappling precariously onto the toned curves of his shoulders, your fingertips slide down the sweltering expanse of his exposed skin.

And only too late do you recognize the familiar pathway towards your shared bed chamber- oh.

So that was what it was.

And judging by the dark, primal look swimming in the clan leader’s eyes you could only hope that you made it out alive-

SLAM!

You don’t know what’s forcing you more out of your excited little reverie - the shuddered slam! of your mahogany double doors, so hard that it makes the golden hinges shake, or the way you’re thrown haphazardly on the bed.

Like some glorified toy. One of Choso’s favorites.

You’re throwing your arms over his broad shoulders as you fall, lugging him in even closer with each springy bounce on the bedcoils.

But closer wasn’t close enough for your husband - he’s bullying into every ounce of your personal space, caging you in between two splayed-out palms on either side of your thoroughly spinning head.

“Mama, is it?” Choso starts out. Slow. Thick. Like he was approaching a cornered prey. “Baby, I want…I want it.”

You’re blinking up at him through eager eyes, “Want what, Cho?”

“I want an heir. I want to make you…” He gulps. The circles of his fingertips were so warm on your skin, trailing down lovingly all across your cheek. Your collarbones, your heaving tits - down to where you predictably flinched as he palmed your tummy. “-a pretty momma.”

Fawny strands of chestnut brown curtain his gaze, but you could tell just how serious he was. Just how greedy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Choso like this in his entire life.

All you can breathe out is a crackling, “Yes.”

You said it. You finally said it after all these weeks.

And it’s the only thing you hear before your yukata is all but torn off of you, Choso doesn’t even realize when he’s doing so. It’s melting away like butter underneath his strength, mere obstacles to where the real prize is - your gorgeous, shivering body.

Pebbles of goosebumps rise onto the surface of your flesh when he throws away those useless pieces of fabrics onto the tatami floor - you can have more newly tailored anyway. Many, many more with just how round and full you’re about to be very soon.

He’d take care of it for you.

“Oh, madam- madam.” He’s spitting into your unfastened mouth, low growls sounding out across each four corners of your room. Held hostage by the arousal in your eyes, he can’t stop staring. “M’gonna ruin you.”

And Choso is feral like never before.

Usually one to take his time during sex, finetuning you into it like a sultry waltz. His favorite hobby was to drive you mindlessly wild before he even thought of stuffing you full. But now…

Still not breaking his dreamy eye contact with you, Choso hooks a rapidfire finger over the cute bow-tied hem of your panties. Slurring down an oozing little snail trail of slick that laminates your jittery thighs with evidence of just how badly you wanted him.

You feel the blistering pant of his mindless oh! fanning your features, leaning backwards with a loosened maw to admire just how glistening you are in this lighting.

How ready.

With a low, fucked-up whimper breaking at the back of his throat, he rubs over the bloated curvature of your needy pussy. Slipping ever-so-slightly at the saturated puddles leaking out, Choso has no hesitation or shame when he tugs his fingerpads into his mouth once.

Twice. Thrice.

Dipping back down for more and more and more-

“Can’t-” He’s guttering out, eyes crinkling and- fuck, were those tears? “I c-”

You reach your hand up to smear away his hot rivulets of salt, and Choso stops his prattling like a broken record forced to a halt. He jolts as if your touch has just sent a zillion shocks of voltage down his spine, all the trekking trailway down to his furious, aching cock.

Unsteady hands flinging apart his snowy robes - barely even bothering to remove them and wrench down his undergarments before you see it. You finally understand why Choso was so…restless.

Because he’s never been harder.

Fuck being furious, his bawling cock was seething. Equally as red as the ripest of strawberries, the split-ended crown of his cockhead was just as plumply swollen. All proud inches nestled underneath his painfully-clenching breeder balls, ballooned and lush. Only the barest of your gaze is enough to make Choso’s lustrous tip twitch, laminating himself with a freshly dripping glaze of translucent pre.

Though, it’s not like you were doing any better.

Your gluey lips pucker and pout up at him once he’s wrangling your legs into a boneless hold. The feeling of his palms underneath your thighs are so soft - even despite his battle-hardened calluses. Worshipping.

But the way he’s resting your legs on his shoulders, and folding you in half like a whining lawnchair is the complete opposite. Mercilessly into a-

“M-mating press-” Choso’s getting out through strangled breaths, as if the sole words had his poor sanity fraying at the edges. “-mating press- a- a-” Something he’s never tried out before. His head dips down, pearls of sweat simmering across his trembly upper lip as soon as your sticky folds leave a wet snog on his fattened mushroomy tip. Topping it with a generous heap of honeyed sap, “Well, hello there, baby. I have you in a mating press n’ m’gonna…gonna…”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

Couldn’t even finish his thought before Choso was doing - body moving miles and miles ahead of his stupidly saccharine-sweet mind.

“F-fuuuuck–” You’re letting off the keenest of whines, the edges of your nails leaving neat crescents all over his toned back. It was the perfect little present for the way he had you so split open.

And he was barely even pushing past the tip.

“Oh. Oh.” Choso’s grunts are throaty, as if they weren’t coming from the man himself but somewhere murked and dark inside him. And the same went for his feverish thrusts - tight, rigid little pushes past your slicked-up hole just to fit inside. He’s spitting into your slacked mouth, “C’mon- c’mon c’mon–”

Usually, it takes so long to prepare you to take his nine- no, ten inches. But currently, fast just wasn’t fast enough.

There’s a thundering slam! abovehead - only hours and hours later do you have enough brainpower to realize that it was Choso striking his palm down on the headboard - and it makes your clingy walls grip onto the battering mountain of his dewy head.

Squeezing in a repeatedly adhesive-like tempo, Choso’s nose crinkles at the rubbery resistance of your snug hole. Still molding to the slightest curves and ridges of his drowned slit with every desperate rut-

“Please- take it- fucking take it.” His voice was trembling on the edge of a crack, thickened exactly the way one does when he’s about to cry. “H-how can I fuck! How can I breed ya…if I don’t-”

And you’re swearing you see his ruddied cheeks glisten with a few slipped-off tears - though, that just might be from the way that your own vision mists over when his stray hand plugs up your spilling entrance to pry two thickened, scissoring digits inside and stretch. “Fucking- take that big fuckin’- cock-”

Bullying in a few more long n’ girthy inches- You’re so full that it feels like Choso’s pushing his bloated crownhead against the spongy edges of your lungs.

The bed dips and moans with frequent soft creaks! when he plants his curved knees firmly further apart. Flexibly so. And you’re getting a good, greedy eyeful of his pale, bulky thighs - angling at the perfect bend to snap his slender hips and jackhammer-

“Sh-shit-” Your head sinks into the cushiony pillows underneath you, and it already feels like you’re in heaven. “-don’t- don’t know if it’ll fit, Cho–”

With a bitten lip, Choso rovers down his sturdy hand from the surface of the bedframe to measure out ten solid inches. Bringing it down much the same way he did during your wedding reception, “Y-you can, baby–”

“But-”

“You will.” He’s gasping, gracing you with a soft brush of his curvaceous mushroomed head along one of your utmost favorite hidden sweet spots. It’s enough to make you buck. “Gonna take my cock, n’ you’re gonna haaah- take my seed ‘ntil you’re bloated. So I’ll make it fit- fuck- watch, I’ll make it fit.” Before you know it, that very same hand finds itself crowning your head, threatening to push you down- “C-can you say hngh- ‘biiiig stretch’ f’me?”

You’re hiccuping out, “B-big stretch?”

“Nuh uh-” By the time that Choso shakes his head, you’re being sprinkled with loose flecks of his sweat. He was in so deep now. “Say it with me- b-biiig stretch, baby–”

“B-biiig- stretch!” It takes you everything in your body to hold your own against the vicious pounds being planted and struggled into your goopy depths. Choso was determined. Frenzied.

And god, the way you’re dumbly parroting his words is so hot. He can’t help but dollop out muggy icings of pre that slosh and swab at every nook and cranny inside you.

“Good girl.” Rewarding you with a slow heart being patterned right on the throbbing peak of your clit, the roughened edges of his fingertips rub you just right. Not too hard. Not too soft. Your husband nuzzles his flushed head into the havened crook of your clammy neck, “S-say it again, madam.”

“Biiig-”

Honestly, it’s a wonder you manage to get exactly two syllables out at all. Because soon enough, Choso’s taking your distracted few seconds to lace his fingers onto your scalp push. To bump his hips back until your geysering cunt was struggling around his fat, bulbous tip.

Before stuffing you full all the way in-

“Fuck- no.” Choso’s spitting out venomously against your thrumming pulse, sharp fringes of his teeth digging in animalistically. Bottomed out but still pushing and pushing- Slamming a lazy stripe of luscious precum down your spongy cervix, “No- no no–”

No sooner are you full of all his massive, rummaging length, he’s making you take even more. This time in the form of dribbling, ribbony volumes of cum that leak and leak and won’t stop from his heated divot.

It’s ballooning up your tight channel even more. Swashing around and sticking to your gummy walls like a treacly lacquer. Filling you to your very brim-

“S-so much.” You’re gaping, through tear-strung lashes. The shivering edges of your fingers subconsciously dance downwards to splotch over the puddling globs of seed tricking from either side of your sloppy slit. Squeezing out even more to coat Choso’s bulky base with creamy rings upon rings.

And, usually, your husband might be just a bit embarrassed. Usually, he would have pulled out to make out with your pretty pussy until your scores were more than tied.

But that wasn’t your husband right now.

“Don’t.” Choso clicks his drunkenly heavy tongue, lips pulling back into what almost looks like an oh-so-feral snarl. And you have to admit that it looks so sexy on him. He’s rudely swatting away your curious hand, “Move that fucking hand n’ let me see.”

It takes only a split-second for both your hands to be pinned underneath one of Choso Kamo’s.

“Tha’s not enough to take.”

And only one more split-second for him to flip you over onto your tummy and stuff your head into the cushy pillows.

He’s fucking you like he’s using you. Like he’s pumping his mushy, swollen head to nudge in the weighty heft of his cum deeper and deeper and deeper-

“Y’know I hate hngh- disrespectin’ my wife, baby–” He leans over to sigh against your ear in craving hisses, pinning you with his body. His muscles. You could count each n’ every one of Choso’s bulging abs, glissading damply against your perfectly arched spine. Bubblegum pink nipples pressed roughly into your scorching skin, “Hate it- but…”

You gasp at Choso’s audacity next - at the way it makes you so traitorously soaked when he hikes up one of his feet to rest upon your head.

Gurgling out a stupid. “Ch-Cho–”

But he didn’t seem to hear you - you didn’t know if he was even managing to breathe at this point. Only letting his devious lips twitch up, up, up into such a satisfied grin. “-but ‘ntil I get my hngh- heh…heir, you’re gonna hafta be my cumdump, madam.”

And if the saturated slurps singing out at a near-deafening tone from your dripping pussy said anything - it was that you loved the idea.

Especially when the changed angle makes his scouring cockhead maze between the most treasured spots of your jelly-like walls to strike numerous, merciless hits dead-set on your g-spot.

Ah, there it was, pipes up that small voice in Choso’s overtaken brain. Jostling your hips back onto his with a sudden spank on the target of your drivelling hole, the stinging pressure makes you bump your tenderest spots again and again into his ruthless batters.

It’s bruising - the proud circumference of his plummy cock against your elastic cervix with every recoiling bounce, the rounded patterns of his balls against the hind of your pretty pussy with each thrust.

If you didn’t think you were being fucked stupid before then you were sure now.

Your velveteen pillowcase dampens with the ever-flooding saliva spilling from your mouth every time Choso rears his aching shaft back to plant rapid, precise strikes where you wanted him the most.

Whimpering at how every ramming dab of his split cockhead leaves leakages of pearly white cum all over the bottom of your pussy. That sultry swirl of his dumped heaps inside of you making your head spin just as dizzily.

You almost don’t notice it when Choso’s drifting both hands to skirt over about halfway down your tummy. Feeling for that bloated, cylindrical outline of him vulgarly messing up your insides, “Gonna be e-even fuller here soon, y’know-” He’s giggling - giggling. Erratically letting his hands slide down to your clit to give the peaked ends just a tiny pinch. “-have you all round. Full. Full-”

He can’t say anything else.

He can’t do anything else - other than watch in purely entranced awe when that makes you cum all over his fucking cock.

So big n’ thick that your claggy walls can barely even squeeze around his throbbing shaft. The thought makes you huff as he rams rigorously through your blinding high - teeth grit, your fingers fist at the pillows and make sure you can clench-

When you do- oh, when you manage to cling your gummy cunt onto his girth as if to suck out his fucking soul, it makes Choso cum, too.

Fatigued hips somehow matching his cadence, your knees shiver on top of the softened mattress stuttering through every dousing mass of cum gliding inside your cute cunt. It was so heavy having his massive torrentials inside of you, spraying the door to your womb with a slippery sheen.

It was maddening.

And maybe it’s been hours - maybe it’s been mere minutes. But all you know is that you’re put through rounds and rounds and more rounds. But he’s still not stopping. Still dredging out the tiniest of hollowing grinds.

Until much, much later Choso’s breath hitches in feverish stutters. It was so steamily hot inside you, only getting more humid by the minute as you ride out yet another crashing high.

“G’na milk e-every ngh- drop-” He titters, fleshy edges of his fingers closing in around where your pussylips were the most buxom. The most leaky. “-n’ you’re gonna ngh- keep it. Keep ‘ntil you give me an h-heir. Remember that, baby– keep it.”

You’re fighting against the weight of his muscular leg on top of you. Was he clamming your pussy shut?

“Choso, baby.” Your straining out, throat drier than the Sahara at this point. Even despite how the hypnotized way your husband looks at you makes your tongue lather with watery saliva. “Want- want more.”

You think you might just have broken Choso Kamo.

Might just have made him reach another surprising high all over again with just your simple request. He’s lifting off the powerfully pressurized foot crowned on your head in favor of lurching downwards to grab your tender throat into a headlock.

Manhandling you as he pleased. Lifting you off of the tattered pillow, the completely splintered bed frame now.

Your chin juts over his thick, bulging biceps, fighting for both air and the space-

“More- more, she says-” He’s chuckling out, words cracking a few octaves higher than normal. From the corner of your eye, you sneak glimpses at the way that Choso’s eyes were wide, crazed. Flashing all sorts of feral promises when he plants one, two, three long thuds against your soppy cervix. “Fucking- m-more.”

You’re letting off a tiny whimper - your orgasm nothing but tingles at this point. Yearning for that the piping hot streak of seed flushed into your already-overspilling cunt. Syruping in with the rest of his numerous goopy volumes, it’s thick and needy.

Only one.

“Sh-shit.” He’s wheezing against your ear, free hand flying down to tug at his reddened base for more more more- one’s not enough. Every possibly wiry wisp and speckle that could fill you up. Could give him an heir. “Can’t cum dry- won’t- oh.”

Rutting into you like Choso won’t stop - didn’t know if he even can stop anymore. You flinch at the suddenly hot splatter! of something warm…and wet at your shoulder.

“Cho- oh!” Not only was the clan leader drooling out glossy spatters of saliva, he was crying. Hugging you even closer, you’re showered in neverending streams of overstimulated tears.

And Choso can only babble away, “Hope- hope s’a daughter, madam.”

A/N. AYYY y’all have been wanting more dom Choso saurrrr- Anyways hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

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