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its-luna-noel · 2 days ago

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puppy chronicles

03. the playful puppy | nanami x reader

The JJK men are gifted a hybrid puppy. ...wait, that kind of puppy? alpha!human!jjk men x omega!hybrid!reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, hybrid!au, omegaverse, hybrid!reader, omega!reader, pet play, collars/leashes, smut, heat/rut, knots, oral (f! receiving)

word count: 4.3k next: the innocent puppy | choso x reader

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi there! here's nanami's puppy chronicle, i hope you enjoy! had a lot of fun writing this one, he's got such a good dynamic.

When Kento was told he was getting a Christmas bonus this year, he was not expecting to receive an untrained hybrid puppy instead of an extra check.

You tug at the leash his boss’s secretary has you on, nearly knocking her over as you whine and whimper, tail wagging excitedly behind you while you try to catch his scent. Your sheer black slip rides up your hips, revealing matching black panties that accentuate the plush curve of your ass. The flesh around your hips and thighs jiggles gently with every animated lash of your tail.

Kento has to clear his throat and adjust the tie at his neck, suddenly feeling far too warm in his suit.

“Uh, sir–” he tries to say, because he wasn’t expecting to go home with a puppy today.

His boss cuts him off with a grin and a hearty laugh. “Just take her, Nanami! She’s from one of the best breeders in town; I’m sure she’ll make a perfect pet, once she’s trained.” He winks.

So Kento takes the leash from the secretary, pretending his hand isn’t shaking.

He takes you home, keeping you on a short leash to keep you by his side as he unlocks his front door and allows you in. He unclips the leash from your thick leather collar, and you’re darting away, ignoring the calls of your name while you giggle and explore.

He pinches the bridge of his nose while he watches you prance around his living room, exploring all of his decorations, his collection of books, his shelf of records. Your furry tail whips side to side, and your ass wiggles while it wags because you just can’t contain your excitement; you have a home! You’ve always wanted one of those, especially with a handsome, kind owner. He’s got pretty blond hair and warm hazel eyes, and he smells good, too, like a true alpha. You smell him on the air and bound over to him, rubbing up on him affectionately.

“Mr. Nanami!” you cry happily, tail still beating back and forth. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He sighs softly, and his drawn expression relaxes a little as he looks down at you, watching you rub your face against his shoulder. “Call me Kento,” he tells you, reaching up to pet your fluffy, floppy ears.

You hum happily and tap your foot animatedly, making him chuckle. Then, when he pulls away, you bound away, jumping up and down excitedly. “Do you have any toys? Or games? What about a ball; I’m really good at fetch! Or tug-of-war, I’m good at that too!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have any toys, puppy. I wasn’t exactly expecting to bring you home today.”

Your tail drops, and a small pout forms on your lips. Then you brighten up. “That’s okay! We can go get some! Can we go shopping, Mr. Kento? For toys?”

“Just Kento,” he emphasizes gently. “Will you be a good girl if I take you out?”

You grin up at him, bounding towards the front door. “I’ll be good! Oh, please please please!”

So he lets out another soft sigh before gently patting your side, gesturing for you to move away from him. “Let’s get you changed first.”

“Oh, but why? I don’t wanna wait!”

He gives you a stern look. “Because I don’t want other alphas staring at you while we’re out. The walk here was hard enough.”

You smile up at him, tail wagging. It makes you feel good that he wants to keep you for himself, that he’s already possessive over you. It makes you feel like you’re wanted, desired. “Okay!” you chirp, turning and happily skipping towards the master bedroom.

He shakes his head after you, following you. “On the left,” he calls ahead as you sniff at different doors, trying to find the bedroom.

You walk inside, and you’re suddenly overcome by the overpowering scent of him. It’s everywhere, heady in its intensity, drowning you in musk as you, without permission, crawl up onto the bed and curl up right in the center.

Kento walks in and raises an eyebrow when he sees you. “That’s mine,” he says.

You smile, tail thumping softly against the sheets. “Smells like you,” is all you say in reply.

He lets out another sigh before coming over and sitting on the end of the bed. He reaches over a hand and lightly pets your ears, and your foot taps repeatedly against the mattress.. “Let me find you some real clothes to wear, alright?”

You nod happily, bumping your nose against his palm affectionately. He smiles a little and stands.

He searches through his dressers for something you can wear, something more appropriate than the sheer, unsupported slip you were presented to him in. He finds you one of his sweaters and a pair of joggers that might fit you.

You stay curled up on his bed, watching him move around the bedroom with ease.

He’s attractive, you notice again. Almost devastatingly so. With cheekbones so sharp you’re sure you’d cut your fingers on them and those gentle eyes, it makes you want to whine and whimper until he comes over and ravishes you in his bed. But the idea of going on a walk with him is even more tempting, so you sit perfectly still in bed while he brings you clothes, setting them on the bed beside you.

“Get dressed,” he tells you.

You grin up at him and crawl towards him, sniffing at his neck. “You’re supposed to dress me! I’m your puppy now.”

His cheeks burn pink, and you coo at the adorable sight, lapping at his neck and cheeks. He puts his hands on your shoulders to gently push you away. “Stop that. You’re perfectly capable of dressing yourself.”

You whine, high-pitched and pathetic. “But Kento,” you say, and the sound of his name on your sweet lips is enough to make him blush a deeper shade of red, “I want you to do it.”

So he, cheeks still brightly flushed, reaches down towards your thighs, grabbing the bottom of your sheer slip, and starts pulling it up your legs.

Your tail wags animatedly at the feeling of his knuckles brushing your skin.

He pulls the slip up, up, up, until your body is fully revealed to him besides the lacy panties you still wear. Your tits hang perfectly on your chest, and he fights to swallow, averting his gaze before he starts imagining what it would be like to lower his mouth to them and suck, to run his tongue over your heated skin.

He clears his throat and grabs the sweater he brought for you, practically shoving it onto your body.

You whine again at his brusque behavior, ears pinned back, though if it’s in annoyance or hurt he’s not sure. So because he can’t tell, he softens his movements a little, gently helping you to stand at the side of the bed so you can step into the legs of his joggers.

Once they’re up around your hips, he practically sighs in relief. You’re much less of a temptation now that you’re not dressed in see-through lingerie. He reaches up, fingers gently trailing the leather collar at your throat. “Want this off, too?” he asks.

Immediately, you whimper, pulling back to look at him with pleading eyes. Your tail drops between your legs, and you shake your head repeatedly, backing up against the mattress. “No, don’t take it away!”

“Shh,” he whispers, caught off guard by your vehement response. “It’s okay, I won’t take it if you don’t want me to. I was just asking.”

Slowly, you relax. Then, once he offers a soft twitch of his lips towards what you think is a smile, you sniffle and prance forward. “Walk?” you ask.

He can’t help himself; he chuckles. “Yes, let’s go before the shops close.” He leads you towards the front door, and before you walk out the door into the brisk evening air, he clips your leash at your throat.

You hum, leaning your cheek into his hand before he pulls away. Then he opens the door and leads you outside.

He huffs when you bolt out the door, tail wagging wildly once more as you tug on the leash, going up to everything and everyone you see to investigate.

More than a few people stare at the misbehaving puppy.

Kento hisses your name under his breath, giving the leash a sharp tug – not enough to hurt you, but enough to make his displeasure known. Your ears pin back slightly, and you come to a stop, turning and looking back at him with a chastised expression.

He walks over, tightening his hold on the leash. “You said you’d be good.”

You hang your head, and he can’t tell if you’re being dramatic or if you’re actually taking in his soft reprimand. “Sorry.”

He sighs and pats your head, trying to raise your spirits once more. He already doesn’t like seeing you sad. “Come on,” he encourages, giving your ears a gentle rub. “Just try to stay by me, okay? I don’t like when you pull on the leash.”

You nod, seeming to take his instructions seriously. And when you start walking again, you stay at heel, simply gazing around at the sky, the neighborhood, the walking neighbors.

Living in an affluent area, there are a few other hybrids around, some on leashes and some off. They turn to look at you curiously, their ears forward and tails swishing as they realize a new puppy has joined the neighborhood.

Some who pass close enough stop to scent you, and when you scent them back, Kento has to try to not feel jealous. It’s only natural for you to be curious.

But he’s already starting to feel possessive of the little omega he was gifted only this afternoon.

He walks you to the nearby shops, where he buys you things you need like clothes and toiletries. Then, your last stop for the night, he leads you into one of the hybrid accessory shops to buy you toys as a reward for behaving. With bags in hand, he leads you back home, giving you slack on the leash as you continue to walk beside him without complaint.

When you get home and he unclips the leash from your collar, he gently squeezes your chin between thumb and forefinger. His eyes are even softer than they were before, and you gaze up at him, thinking he might just take you and kiss you senseless.

Instead he asks, “Would you rather sleep in my room or the guest room?”

Your heart aches to be away from him. “Can I sleep in your room?”

He nods and helps you take the bags up to his room, helping you unpack all your new things. Once he’s done, he turns with a smile and tosses a tennis ball – new and bright green and fragrant – down the hall.

You bound after it, laughter pealing off the walls. He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head after you. He wasn’t excited to have an energetic pup like you when he first walked you home, but now he’s sure you both will enjoy the company.

Besides, this just gives him the chance to learn exactly what tires you out.

When your heat comes, you’re nearly insufferable.

Rubbing your ass up on him, stretching and arching in bed just to tempt him into taking you – even just the sweet scent of your heat nearly drives him crazy. He’s trying to be respectful, trying to treat you kindly, but you’re making him want to just pin you down and mount you, to mate you like an animal.

He fights it for as long as he can, but he can only do so much when you’re just begging to be taken.

He comes home that day from work to find you nesting in bed, curled up in blankets and whimpering like it hurts, because it does. Every moment that the alpha – your alpha – won’t claim you is another spent in agonizing heat, and no amount of touching or fingering or cumming can fix it without his knot.

You try to tell him as such. You whimper, “Kento.”

“I know it hurts, sweet girl,” he says, voice hushed as he’s hit with the thick, cloying scent of you. “But I don’t want to take advantage of you; I don’t–”

“It’s not taking advantage of me,” you whine, ears flat against your skull as you rise up on your hands and knees and arch, wagging your ass back and forth. You can hear his sharp intake of breath as you show off your wet, darkened underwear, nearly translucent with slick and arousal. “Please!”

He grits his teeth, trying to fight it. But he can’t rip his eyes away from the sight of your barely clothed cunt, your puffy lips poking out from either side of the fabric. You’re so wet he’s pretty sure he could lean in and drink it from you, and yet he holds himself back, he hesitates, all because he doesn’t want to hurt you…

But with one last circular movement of your hips, he can’t help himself. He has to feast on you. Has to devour you.

He grabs your hips, fingers digging into the plush flesh there, and he yanks you backwards towards the edge of the bed. You yelp in surprise, but you just bury your face into the duvet and grind your hips back, the thin fabric of your underwear catching on the buckle of his belt.

He lets out a muffled groan, fingers squeezing your hips. “Sweet girl.” He’s already panting.

He falls to his knees at the end of the bed, spreading your thighs so he can get a better look at your dripping pussy. You angle your hips into an even deeper arch, and he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them to the side, taking a good, long look at the meal he’s about to have.

Then he leans in and licks a long stripe up your pussy from the back, tasting you for the first time.

He groans loudly, and your hips jolt, the vibrations from his voice sending pleasure tingling through your body. “Taste so sweet, darling girl,” he mumbles into your cunt, and then he licks another long line from your clit up to your pussy, tongue swirling there before diving in, making you cry out loudly at the sensation.

All he’s doing is building the heat higher, higher, higher.

“Kento,” you whimper, legs trembling already at the stimulation. He just wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs you forward until your ass is dangling over the end of the bed, giving him a prime angle to eat out your drooling cunt. “Kento!”

He doesn’t stop. He just wraps his arms tighter and commands, “Say it again.”

But you don’t, because you’ve always been a playful little girl, and you like having the power over him. And so he pulls back, panting, hot breath fanning against the back of your thighs as he tries again. “Say my name, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, wiggling your ass in his face, tantalizingly close. “Not till you fuck me.”

He growls, a low, rumbling noise deep in his chest. “You’re being a little brat, huh? I know the best way to get you to stop that, though, don’t I?”

You shake your head, not understanding. You’re not a brat, you just like to play with him. Like when he finally smiles, when he finally lets his guard down enough for you to see the real, soft him, the one who laughs while playing with you and pets your hair like a good alpha.

But he knows the truth; you are a brat, and he knows he loves it.

He tightens his grip on your hips and continues, “Yeah, I know the best way.

“I just have to tire you out.”

You yelp again when he dives back into your pussy, nose nearly breaching your entrance as he licks at your clit with feverish intensity. You try to tug away, just wanting his dick! But he doesn’t let you go; he just wraps his arms tighter around you, beefy biceps pushing against your plush thighs. He laps at your clit repeatedly, finding the exact right angle that makes you moan the loudest and stays there, bringing you crashing towards your orgasm in an embarrassing amount of time. Your cheeks are burning as he makes you cum almost immediately, your thighs tightening and pussy throbbing against the tip of his nose as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

He doesn’t even stop for a moment to let you breathe before he’s forcing you towards a second one.

“Wait!” you cry, reaching back to push at his head, trying to detach him from your cunt. “Wait, I’m sorry!”

“Mm, don’t be sorry, sweet girl. I should be sorry for not tiring you out properly, especially when you’re just in heat and don’t know any better. Can’t know any better, right? You’re just a little puppy who needs to be taken care of.” And he redoubles his efforts against your clit.

You cry out again, hips bucking under his tongue. “Please, Kento!”

“Mm,” he hums against your clit, following your every movement so that he can make you cum properly – that is, over and over and over again. “What, sweetheart?”

You whimper, “Too much.”

“Aw, honey, it’s okay.” He reaches up with one hand and takes yours, which is currently gripping the duvet with white-knuckled intensity. “Just hold onto me.”

So you move your fingers to wrap around his, and it helps keep you grounded as he entirely ruins you.

He makes you cum a second time before he even moves. He takes a moment to catch his breath, working his jaw to relax the sore muscles before bringing the hand that’s not holding yours down to rub your ass. He palms the flesh there for a moment, letting you take a breather. He doesn’t start back up until your breath has started to slow.

Then he moves his hand, and two long, thick fingers push slowly into your pussy, stretching it open for him.

You whine and moan, hips bucking against his palm, but he doesn’t change his pace as he just slowly sinks into the heat of you, your dripping arousal more than enough lubrication for him to comfortably fit his fingers inside.

Then he pulls back and starts to slowly fingerfuck you.

You moan, hips continuing to try and pull away from his touch, instinctually running away from the overstimulation. But he doesn’t let you run; he keeps you pinned there as he resumes his perfect motions, licking your clit once more as he slowly pushes his fingers inside you.

You have no idea how one person’s mouth can be this good. He’s tearing you apart and putting you back together, and all you can do is enjoy it, even as you continue to pout, because you just want him to fuck you.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers against your cunt, “I need to get you ready first.”

And that makes the heat burn even hotter, to know that he is planning on fucking you. You suppose you can wait.

And he makes you wait, until you’re a drooling, panting, crying mess against the bed.

Your legs can’t even hold you up anymore; it’s all Kento as you lean into his strong hands, letting him position you where he wants you. The lower half of his face is covered in slick, and all he does as he finally pulls away from your cunt is wipe it away with the back of his hand and lick it clean.

Oh, it’s a divine sight.

Kento rearranges your limbs on the bed, climbing up behind you until you’re propped up on your knees again, legs wobbly from how many mind-shattering orgasms he’s already given you. He pushes you down into the mattress, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, as he rises up onto his knees behind you, pressing his clothed erection against your quivering, needy pussy. It’s practically slobbering on him, smearing slick over the front of his pants, but he doesn’t care, he can’t care, not when he’s rubbing himself on you, grinding his dick against your swollen lips.

Then he brings his hands down and slowly unbuckles his belt, unhurried. You can’t believe the amount of patience this man has.

He drops the leather to the side, and then he’s unbuttoning his pants, lowering the zipper until the only confines trapping the thick print of his cock are his dark boxer briefs. He pushes his pants down towards his knees and kicks them off, and then he repeats the process from the beginning, grinding his dick against you before finally pushing down his underwear, too.

Leaving him bare behind you.

You can feel how hot he’s running, can feel how big he is right up against your pussy. He slathers slick along the head, gathering your arousal as lubricant before he presses up against your cunt. “Are you ready?” he asks, ever the gentleman.

You just moan in response, right into the mattress. It’s all you can muster.

He smirks a little; he can’t fight it. Seeing you fucked drunk with just his mouth is a sight he’s proud of, and he takes it in as he slowly pushes inside of you, letting you feel every inch and every ridge of his veiny length.

You moan, face pressed into the duvet as you’re nearly drooling at the sensation of his thick, perfect dick stretching you open. You’re practically choking on it; you think you can feel him all the way in your chest.

Finally, he bottoms out, and he pauses, letting you both take another breather. His shoulders are rising and falling a little faster than before, and it makes you happy to know that you affect him just as much as he ruins you.

Then he starts to pull his hips back, fucking you slowly, tenderly. But that’s not how you want it.

You grind your hips back against his, and he makes a choking sound, grabbing your waist to stop your movements. “Knock it off,” he strains through gritted teeth.

You don’t. “Or what?” you tease, turning your head to look back at him.

God, you look ruined. This is the first time he can see your face clearly since he started, and you’re flushed, sweaty, eyes hazy and cock-drunk with only a couple thrusts. Your tongue lolls out at the corner to catch a drop of drool.

He grips you harder. “Sweet girl,” he says, voice tight with restraint, “I can only do so much. I can only control myself to a certain point. You can’t keep taunting me, or I’ll lose it.”

“So lose it,” you say, like it’s that simple.

He snarls and snaps his hips forward, and your back bows into a delicious arch, a loud cry falling from your lips. His blond hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat as he pulls back. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

All you know is the aching stretch of his cock, and the promise of more when you take his knot.

So you knock your hips back again. Toying with him. “Please.”

And, well, who is he to deny your wishes when you ask so pretty?

He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the mattress, pining you into a mean arch as he pummels into your swollen pussy, feeling how gummy and tight your walls are as they convulse around him every time he hits your cervix. You’re hardly even moaning anymore; you’re just whining and crying out, loud ah ah ah!s echoing in his bedroom as he fucks you like you wanted.

Like the brat you are.

He grunts, the slaps of his hips meeting yours just as lewd as the sounds coming from your lips. And it just turns him on more, how fucking filthy it all is, the wet squelching of his cock ramming into your pussy, the sweat and slick and drool that’s ruining his sheets.

He can’t help but think that maybe he is nothing more than an animal.

With that thought, he leans down, brushing his lips against your neck. His canines scrape the skin right where your scent glands emit such delicious pheromones. “Sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss there to soothe the red welts his teeth leave, “be mine.”

You just moan, eyes rolling back as he continues to fuck you. He takes that as a yes.

He bites, teeth sinking into the buttery flesh there and breaking skin. He holds on while he fucks into you, and he feels the base of his cock swelling, just a couple more moments and he’ll make you his, oh fuck–!

With one more heavy shove, he forces you to take his knot, leaving you mewling in aching, agonizing pleasure. And then he cums, filling you with rope after pearly rope of his semen, plugging you full of his puppies.

His chest heaves with every breath, and you feel his muscular torso against your back as he slowly sinks down on top of you, his body caging yours in. And he presses soft kisses to the side of your neck, right over his mating mark, trying to soothe you as you come down from the overwhelming experience.

He tries to shift, but that just makes his knot tug at you enough to make you yelp and cry out. So he stays on top of you like that, kissing it all better.

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs against your neck, trailing kisses up to your ear, where he whispers, “my little puppy.”

And oh, at those words, you think you’re in love.

thanks for reading! -luna link to ao3 | next: the innocent puppy

#banners by cafekitsune #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fanfiction #hybrid au #omegaverse #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut

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gf2bellamy · 22 hours ago

Note

Spencer who comes home late expecting reader to have already gone to bed but is instead greeted with an exhausted smile and a groggy "my looove~" as we stumble into his arms

late — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: both of them being tired a/n: hii thanks for your request <3 hope you like this :)

Spencer Reid suppressed a loud yawn as he entered his bedroom. He rubbed his eyes, still trying to shake off the tiredness from a long day at the BAU. However, the moment he caught sight of you sitting cross-legged on the bed, a book resting in your lap, his heart skipped a beat.

You looked like you were fighting a battle against sleep, your head bobbing slightly as you struggled to keep your eyes open. He softly called your name, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, you,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, your eyes still heavy with sleep. A small smile spread across your face as you slowly stood up from the bed, your arms reaching out to him. Without a moment’s hesitation, you wrapped him in the tightest hug you could muster.

“I missed you, Spence,” you mumbled into his hair, brushing your fingers through the soft strands. The scent of your shampoo filled his senses, and he felt an overwhelming sense of comfort wash over him.

“What are you doing awake?” he asked, his voice laced with concern as he rubbed gentle circles on your back.

“I didn’t want to go to bed without you,” you replied, still refusing to let go. Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle at your earnestness.

“You know I’m always just a phone call away, right?” he said, trying to ease your worry. He pulled back just slightly, enough to look into your eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I’m fine, Spence. Really,” you insisted, your expression honest as you met his gaze. “I just really missed you.” With that, you wrapped your arms around him once more, nuzzling your face against his shoulder, your breath warm against his skin.

“Missed you too,” he replied softly, a smile tugging at his lips. Spencer loved these moments with you—where time seemed to stand still and the outside world faded away.

As you both stood there, Spencer couldn’t help but tease you gently. “You know, I was just reading about the migratory patterns of birds and how they return home after long journeys. I think I’m beginning to understand them,” he said, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You pulled back slightly, feigning shock. “Are you comparing me to a bird?” you laughed, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Not just any bird! A majestic, beautiful one,” he responded, his expression playful.

“Spencer Reid, you charmer,” you teased, poking him lightly in the ribs. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Okay, but seriously, you should get some rest,” he said, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You need your beauty sleep to keep being as pretty as you are.”

You playfully rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile creeping across your lips. “Alright, but only if you promise to stay with me until I fall asleep.”

“Deal,” Spencer said, knowing that there was nowhere else he’d rather be. He climbed into bed beside you, pulling the covers up as you nestled against his side, your head resting on his shoulder. He could feel your breathing slowly becoming steady and soft as you drifted off.

“Goodnight, Spence,” you murmured, a content smile on your face.

“Goodnight,” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, feeling utterly grateful for this moment together.

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic

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magicalqueennightmare · 2 days ago

Text

Meeting Belle

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Nicknamed Belle)

You've been best friends with Sarah since high school so when you go to take her boys to school and there's a man on her couch you don't know, you're a bit concerned

You had promised Sarah you’d take the boys to school. It was sprinkling rain and supposed to be like this most of the week. Luckily you didn’t have to be into work until nine so it worked out beautifully. You walked out of your place to your jeep and slid in. Her place was just around the corner from yours. Hers and Sam’s mom had been a god sent when you were younger. That woman had stepped in for you and your brother when your parents checked out. Your brother was living in Texas now but you were still right here home in Louisiana.

You pulled up to her place and jumped out of your jeep, slamming the door behind yourself. The doors on that thing wouldn’t close if you didn’t put a little force behind them. The boys loved it but Sarah would shake her head at them when they’d laugh because of you arguing with it “Aunt Belle likes to act like she’s the beast at times boys” Belle was a long lasting nickname from Sarah, way back from when the two of you were in high school. When you’d raised an eyebrow at her she’d simply tapped your book “Always reading and you’re so damn pretty. Plus she is your favorite princess” so Belle was called nowadays more than your actual name.

You tried the handle and it was unlocked so you walked in “Cass! Aj! Get a move on fellas!” you walked around into the living room where the boys were and instinctively shoved them both behind you when your eyes landed on a man you’d never seen before laying on the couch. He was gorgeous, yeah but the metal arm and you not knowing him meant your claimed nephews were going behind you.

He slowly stood up, hands held out in front of him “Easy doll. Ask the boys, they know me” you shook your head, keeping a hand on Cass and one on Aj. “SARAH! THERE’S A MAN IN YOUR HOUSE AND IT AINT SAM!” she walked around the corner laughing “Belle, you do have a way with words”

She observed the scene and nodded her head approvingly “Got to say, I love that you my boys enough to stand between them and a super soldier but he’s harmless well not harmless but is to us. This is Sam’s friend Bucky” your eyes flew back to the guy, studying him. His hair was shorter, new arm but yeah that was Bucky Barnes. Holy hell, leave it up to you to stand ten toes down against a one hundred and something year old super soldier who could literally snap you like a twig.

Sam came in the backdoor, having been summoned by you screaming and grinned “So you met Belle Bucky” “Belle?” Bucky looked towards you with a slight grin. Damn he really was gorgeous. Standing up where you could see him and know he wasn’t a threat to the boys meant you could fully appreciate the broad chest under that blue henley and those damn dogtags dangling along with how bright his blue eyes were when he smiled at you.

“Belle is a nickname the Wilsons tagged me with in highschool” you explained. Sam told Bucky your actual name then said “But she was always reading, didn’t want to give any of those losers in her high school the time of day and was pretty like Belle plus we have like three different halloweens worth of pictures from when we were younger where she dressed as Belle” you stuck your tongue out at him “Easy Samuel. Just cause you’re Captain America now, don’t get cocky. Me and Sarah can steal take you”

Sarah nodded “I already told him that” Bucky grinned “I like her already” you winked at him “Get to know me Barnes and you’ll love me in no time” and saw a light blush grace his cheeks. Talk about a damn confidence boost to start your day! You just made Bucky fucking Barnes blush!

You saw Sam shoot Bucky a look and weren’t sure what it was about but you cut your eyes at Sarah and she wiggled her eyebrows. You shook your head “Ok well boys now that aunt Belle made a fool of herself, let's get you to school before I’m late to work”

You turned to walk out and Bucky called your name. You turned around and he waved a hand towards where the boys were running towards your jeep “You didn’t know me, you got between your nephews and danger. Nothing to be embarrassed of” you grinned “I hope you stick around Bucky”

You headed down the doorsteps and could hear Sam cackle “Dude, you are as red as a tomato!” and heard Sarah scolding him. You couldn’t get the grin off your face the entire way of dropping the boys off and into work.

You walked into Sarah’s house a few days later, juggling the bags of groceries she’d asked you to pick up. You tried helping her and the boys as much as you could, hell if you were being honest the only real home cooked meals you ate were ones you helped cook in her place. You always just grabbed a little something when left to your own devices.

You kicked the door open with your foot and when you started to walk in the bag nearly ripped but Bucky popped around the corner. Your eyes widened. “Where the hell did you come from?” he smiled “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” as he scooped up all four bags easily and carried them towards the kitchen. You watched with a raised eyebrow and a grin “I mean, not complaining but I thought you left a few days ago”

He nodded “I did” then looked over his shoulder at you “I came back” you felt your face warm “Where is everyone?” he tilted his head towards the back door “The boys are playing, Sam’s jogging and Sarah was firing up the grill”

You laughed lightly “Oh yeah, you’re a Brooklyn boy. Have you ever had any good Louisiana cooking?” he shook his head and you grinned “You’re in for a treat in that case” he watched you with a smile “I’m up for anything doll” you felt your stomach flip “That sounds promising” and saw a blush grace his cheeks.

You shook your head and grabbed his metal hand, considering it was closest to you. His eyes widened when you didn’t seem bothered and you grinned “What?” he shook his head “You’re something else Belle” you laughed lightly “Oh Bucky, you haven’t seen anything yet. Come on” and pulled him towards the door. “Me, cass and Aj always lure Sam into a water balloon fight. You in?” he laughed “As long as I’m on your team” you nodded “Of freaking course” and he laughed “Then I’m in darlin”

@desimarie12

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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fangdokja · 4 hours ago

Text

Some women play hard to get. You play impossible to afford.

♡ Yandere! DILF's x Fem. Reader. Sugar Daddy, Old Money, Professor, Sponsor

♡ Headcanons. Midas Eyes - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 1,916

You learned early on that the world was cruel.

No, really, you learned it at four years old when your mother sold you for a pack of cheap cigarettes and a crumpled fifty-dollar bill to a greasy landlord who smelled like mothballs and desperation. He took one look at your wide, galaxy-stained eyes, eyes that had already started to carry that otherworldly sheen, and promptly died of a stroke before he could even touch you. The police called it a tragic accident. Your mother called it a waste of fifty dollars. You called it a Tuesday. Even now at eighteen years old, life's been like that.

You were shuffled into the system often. Foster homes, group homes, shelters—hell itself would’ve had more warmth. But that’s where you learned the first rule of survival: if you can’t fight it, learn to use it. You were tired of people looking at you like a piece of meat. Tired of the unwanted hands, the constant stares, the whispering in dark corners about how you “glowed like an angel.” You hated it. Hated that your eyes could make anyone do what you wanted, that they could turn even the most self-righteous into a desperate, panting fool.

But you also hated starving. And cold. And the feeling of powerlessness even more than you hated your ability.

So you made a choice: if the world wanted to use you, you’d use it first.

In due time, you had learned to control it. To turn it on and off at will. To make people see what you wanted them to see. You were a ghost in the system, slipping through cracks, taking what you needed, and leaving before anyone could remember your name. Some nights you’d practice in the mirror, staring at yourself until your pupils bled into cosmic chaos, until the universe itself seemed to shift in your gaze. You named it “The Midas Eyes.” Because everything you saw—everything you wanted—was yours.

And eventually, you had tasted money, real money. Not the pocket change from pickpocketing or the damp bills from scamming local creeps, but real wealth. Luxury. High society. It started with a bet. Some bloated banker had looked down on you from his too-expensive car, and you’d made him hand over his Rolex with a single glance. A week later, you had an entire stock portfolio under your name. A month after that, you had real estate. The world bent over backward for you, and you made sure to squeeze every last dime out of it.

But money alone wasn’t enough. You wanted power. Control. A safety net so thick that even the universe itself couldn’t shake it.

So you learned the second rule of survival: play the role they expect.

If people wanted a dumb, submissive slut, then that’s what you’d be. You let them think they were buying you, when in reality, you were buying them. Men who thought they were the hunters quickly found themselves devoured. You became an investment, a commodity with a price tag so high that only the richest could afford a taste. A model. A cam girl. A prostitute. A luxury escort. You didn’t just sell sex—you sold power, exclusivity.

You became a myth in elite circles, a legend whispered behind closed doors.

“She only takes billionaires.”

“She can make you do anything.”

“She’s dangerous.”

You reveled in it. If they wanted a goddess, you’d be a goddess. If they wanted a pet, you’d leash yourself until it tightened around their throat instead. You didn’t care about love, relationships, or any of that sentimental trash. You loved one thing, and one thing only: money.

And now, you had your sights set on the next step up the food chain.

Not just any rich men. The richest. The most powerful. The ones who controlled the world’s wealth like gods playing chess.

You’d already caught their attention. You could feel it, sense the way they watched from the shadows, sizing you up like a meal, thinking they were the predators.

You smiled.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's the human equivalent of a Wall Street crash—volatile, erratic, and absolutely lethal to anyone who underestimates him.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who made his first billion by accident. It was supposed to be a scam. A joke. A fun little side hustle that somehow spiraled into an empire overnight. He didn't mean to disrupt the global market, but oops. Here he was.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who still doesn’t quite understand how he got here, only that money feels like a game and he’s very, very good at playing it. He thrives on chaos. He doesn’t invest; he gambles. He doesn’t plan; he improvises. He doesn’t think things through, but somehow, miraculously, it always works out.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is both a genius and a complete menace to society. If there’s a rule, he breaks it. If there’s a limit, he tests it. If there’s a way to make money off something, he’s already done it—twice.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who meets you at a high-stakes poker game, where billionaires bet islands and countries instead of money. He’s bored out of his mind. Then you walk in.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who watches you clean out the entire table in less than an hour, methodically breaking men apart with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You fascinate him. Not just because you’re beautiful, but because you’re dangerous. Because your Midas Eyes meet his, and for the first time in his life, he feels like prey.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who watches, enraptured, as you make a man sign away his company with nothing but a glance and a well-placed touch. Who leans forward when you finally turn your attention to him, a slow, assessing look that makes his breath catch. Who grins, wild and reckless, because he can already tell—you’re going to ruin him, and he’s going to let you.

———

♡ Yandere! Old Money who comes from a line of men who have never known the taste of failure. Who were born at the top and will die at the top, because that’s how the world works.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who was raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and a dagger in his back. Who learned from an early age that emotions are weaknesses, that sentimentality is a disease, that control is the only currency that matters.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who does not ask. He takes. He dominates. He bends the world to his will, because it has never occurred to him that it could be any other way.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who meets you long before you’re anything. When you’re still clawing your way up, bleeding and starving and feral. He sees the potential. The raw, untamed brilliance lurking beneath your calculated indifference.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who decides, on a whim, to train you. To refine you. To mold you into something worthy of his attention. He does not coddle. He does not nurture. He sharpens you like a blade and throws you into the fire, watching with satisfaction as you come out harder, colder, more lethal.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who realizes, too late, that he has created something he cannot control. That the little girl he shaped into a weapon now turns those razor-sharp edges back on him. That you are no longer a student but an equal. A rival. A threat.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who watches, with a mixture of pride and something far darker, as you carve out your own empire. Who finds himself drawn to you in ways that make no logical sense. Who wants to possess you, to own you, to bring you back under his control—but knows, deep down, that you would rather burn the world than belong to anyone but yourself.

———

♡ Yandere! Professor who is both an enigma and a monster. The kind of man who speaks in riddles and thinks in labyrinths, who sees ten steps ahead and moves accordingly.

♡ Yandere! Professor who is a scholar, a historian, a philosopher—but also a thief, a manipulator, a man who collects secrets the way others collect art.

♡ Yandere! Professor who teaches at the most prestigious university in the world, not because he cares about education, but because it gives him access to the minds of the next generation. Because knowledge is power, and power is everything.

♡ Yandere! Professor who meets you when you enroll in his class under a false name, slipping into his lecture hall like a shadow. Who notices you immediately—not because of your beauty, but because of your silence. Because you sit in the back, watching, calculating, dissecting his every word like you’re searching for weakness.

♡ Yandere! Professor who finds himself intrigued. Who starts testing you, pushing you, setting traps just to see if you’ll spring them. Who watches, delighted, as you navigate his mind games with the ease of someone who has spent their entire life playing a much deadlier version.

♡ Yandere! Professor who realizes, too late, that he has become obsessed. That he lingers on your name longer than he should. That he rewatches security footage just to see the way you move. That he dreams of you, of your Midas Eyes, of what it would feel like to have you look at him like that.

♡ Yandere! Professor who knows, deep down, that you are playing him just as much as he is playing you—but does not care. Because for the first time in his life, he has met someone worthy of the game.

———

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who is quiet, calculating, and impossibly dangerous. The kind of man who does not waste words, who does not make idle threats, who does not hesitate.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who grew up in the underbelly of society, in the kind of places that eat the weak and spit out the strong. Who fought his way out with nothing but his fists and a mind sharper than any blade.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who does not trust easily. Who does not give freely. Who does not believe in kindness, because he has never been given any.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who meets you when you come looking for a backer, someone to fund whatever grand scheme you’ve concocted this time. Who listens as you lay out your plans with the cold precision of a woman who has never known failure.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who sees the hunger in your eyes, the same hunger that once burned in his. Who recognizes a kindred spirit, a fellow survivor, a wolf disguised as a lamb.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who decides, in that moment, that he will back you. That he will give you what you need. That he will watch, from the shadows, as you rise higher and higher, knowing that every step you take brings you closer to him.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who does not ask for repayment. Who does not demand gratitude. Who does not claim ownership. But who watches. Who waits. Who bides his time, knowing that one day, you will realize that he is the only one who truly understands you.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who will be there when that day comes. Who will catch you when you finally fall. Who will remind you that some debts can never be repaid—only collected.

———

Because you may be the predator now.

But sooner or later, every predator meets something hungrier.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

Yandere! DILFs

Headcanons 1 : Midas Eyes (General)

Some women play hard to get. You play impossible to afford.

You're not a gold digger. You're an entrepreneur. And business is booming.

🔞Every orgasm comes with a zero at the end of your bank account.

He’s not jealous. He just needs to remind you why no one else can fuck you like he does.

🔞"You wanna act like a whore? Then be one. On your knees. Now."

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @yandereaficionado , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia , @hopingtocleaemedschool , @doncellaescarlata , @futuristicxie

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

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celestialgallaghers · 3 days ago

Text

Double Dare Ya pt 2 [18+]

Part 1

I’m sorry this took so long I kept changing my mind on where I wanted it to go. I hope you enjoy <3

Summary: Still reeling from your encounter with Noel, you find yourself not wanting to see him again. That is, until you run into him in a place you really should've expected, now face to face with the memory that’s been haunting you.

Word count: 7.6k

--------------------------------------------------------

You paced the length of your flat, chewing at your thumbnail. You weren’t entirely sure why you felt this way.

Well, maybe a little.

Jo already knew, obviously. She’d guessed as much. But that wasn’t what had you on edge.

It was what came next.

She’d want to talk about it. Pick it apart. Ask you how you felt. And a week after the incident, you still didn’t have an answer.

What you did know was that you felt guilty. You’d been avoiding her calls for days and it was starting to weigh on you.

Soon after she’d caught you, she had her little "told you so" moment, but the second she started prying, you shut down. You’d barely been able to process it yourself, let alone talk about it. Instead, you mumbled a half-assed promise to talk soon and basically ran all the way home without saying another word to anyone.

But now, after days of radio silence, you had no excuse.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up the receiver and dialed her number.

"Finally," Jo answered on the first ring, exasperation evident. "I was about to send a search and rescue team to make sure you were still alive."

You winced. "I know, I know. I’m sorry. I should've called sooner, I just… didn’t really know what to say. And I still don’t, so don’t expect much," you warned.

You could practically hear the smug smile in her voice as she waited for you to continue.

Then, a sudden realization struck, sending a wave of panic over you. You weren’t her only source of information in this situation.

"You… uh, didn’t talk to him about this, did you?" you asked hesitantly.

"Noel?" she half-laughed. "No, I trust you way more to tell me the truth."

Your pulse slowed, but only slightly. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

"But," she continued, "I did see him briefly, a few hours after you left. Completely off his head with some other bird, doing god knows what." She huffed. "Sorry."

She added it as an afterthought, as if you’d be hurt by this information.

"No, no, it’s not like that at all," you said quickly. "This was just a one-time thing. I really couldn’t care less who he’s screwing."

It was easier that way. Knowing it wasn’t a big deal to him. And yet, somewhere deep in the back of your mind, there was a flicker of something that you didn’t want to name. It was quickly smothered.

"I think I just want to put the whole thing behind me," you said, hoping to make it sound final. "Chalk it up to a moment of weakness."

She was quiet for a moment. "Really? Well that’s a shame. I think you two would get on well."

You huffed out a laugh, trying hard to downplay her words. "I think I’ve had enough of your matchmaking, thanks."

Silence stretched between you. She was obviously waiting for you to continue.

You twirled the phone cord between your fingers anxiously. "So, um, I guess you already know what happened, but I don’t really know where to start and I know you have questions so—"

"You sucked him off, right?" she cut in bluntly.

You choked. "Well, no, I—"

She gasped. "Oh my God, you fucked him? Right in that dirty field? You little slut!"

"Christ, let me finish," you groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. "I just gave him a handy. That’s all."

God, what was happening? You weren’t a prude by any means, but just saying the words out loud made your face burn like you were confessing some deep, filthy secret.

"Oh, that’s all is it?" she teased, amused by your flusteredness. "Must not have been a good one if he was fishing for more after."

"Oh, shut up," you shot back. "It was good enough."

"Was it?" she prodded, clearly fishing for more.

You hesitated. "Yes it was."

Flashes of Noel’s trembling body beneath you surfaced in your mind, unbidden. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing them away.

"And that’s all you’re getting," you added firmly.

She tsked. "What’s the point of having girlfriends if we can’t talk about how men are in the sack?"

You sighed. "This is different, and you know it. He’s… well, him. And you’re friends with him too. It doesn’t feel right."

And while you knew Noel didn’t exactly shy away from bragging about his sex romps, something told you that whatever happened in that field wasn’t exactly routine for him. Or at least you thought so. Although you could be entirely wrong. You barely knew him for fucks sake.

Either way, the idea of sharing the details didn’t sit right with you. Jo could keep a secret, sure. But still… you didn’t want to tell her.

"Then what’s the point of even calling me?" she grumbled.

"Fine," you huffed. You had to placate her in some way. "All you’re getting is that he’s a good kisser. Spread the word I’m sure it’d inflate his ego even more," you said dryly.

She sighed dramatically. "Fine. D’you think you want to see him again?"

You bit your lip. You didn’t really know the answer to that.

The logical answer was no. You should avoid him. Avoid every place he might be. The idea of facing him again made your stomach churn. Would it be awkward? Would he act smug about it? Or worse—would he brush it off completely?

And yet another part of you was saying yes. Because what if he wanted more? The thought had never fully formed before now, but the moment it did, it burrowed deep. The whole thing had been amusing and incredibly filthy.

But would he want it again?

Would you?

It seemed impossible. He was famous. He did this all the time, didn’t he? It was meaningless. That’s what you should believe.

And yet, that glimmer of vulnerability, of realness, it had enthralled you much more than you would've liked to admit.

Not that you’d ever admit that to Jo.

"I don’t know," you admitted. "I don’t think so."

"Why not?"

"It’s…too confusing. Like I said, it was just a one-time thing."

She was quiet for a moment. Like she was holding back her disappointment.

"Well, I’m not gonna force you," she said, "but I think you should reconsider."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Jo."

"All I’m saying is that you guys would—"

"Jo, I’m hanging up now."

"Wait!" was all you heard before you slammed the phone back onto the receiver, exhaling sharply.

Fucking hell what had you gotten yourself into.

❦ ❦ ❦

True to your word, you became hyper-aware of everywhere you went.

The city was massive yet it suddenly felt suffocating, like you were navigating a minefield. No matter how much you tried to avoid him, Oasis was inescapable. Their songs followed you into every shop, their faces stared back at you from every magazine stand. It was maddening. Everywhere you turned, there he was. A reminder of that night. It was like the universe was playing some cruel joke on you.

One night, you flicked on the telly only to be met with Noel’s face. He was on some late-night interview show, sprawled lazily in his seat, exuding that signature self-assurance. Your thumb hovered over the remote, hesitating. Watching him now, it almost felt like you knew something about him that no one else did. Because for all his bravado, for all his sharp words and easy smirks, he was actually quite malleable. Quick to break if you knew where to apply the right pressure.

Then, as if on cue, he flashed the camera a crooked smile, and for a moment all you could think about were the broken moans that had fallen from that very mouth. The weight of him in your hand. The way he had unraveled beneath you.

A flush of heat curled in your stomach, creeping lower before you could stop it.

With a sharp inhale, you grabbed the remote and switched off the TV, tossing it aside like it had burned you.

You needed to get a fucking grip.

Nights out had become a hassle too.

Jo kept trying to drag you along, promising Noel wouldn’t be there, but you didn’t want to tempt fate. No matter how much you didn’t want to, you spent night after night in your flat, drinking alone, watching trashy TV with a scowl on your face. You knew you couldn’t keep this up forever, but it needed to blow over before you were less on edge.

Yesterday, though, Jo had finally lost her patience.

"I don’t understand what’s so bad about what happened that you won’t even face him. This is starting to get a bit ridiculous. You're gonna have to come out of hiding at some point."

She was right of course. What was so bad about it? You were starting to feel too much like a coward.

Her words still rang in your mind tonight. And after one too many glasses of wine, irritation was starting to creep in.

Why the hell were you letting him dictate your life like this? You’d spent weeks holed up like some estranged recluse, avoiding places you used to love. And for what? Noel fucking Gallagher?

It was pathetic really. And you were over it.

Before you could overthink it, you were rifling through your closet, yanking out the most flattering dress you owned. Twenty minutes later, you were out on the streets, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Like shedding an old skin. A rebirth. A good fuck would be just the thing to snap you out of this.

You hadn’t even registered where your feet were taking you until you found yourself outside the same club where this whole mess with Noel had started.

Well. If there was ever a place to begin again, this was as good as any.

The fleeting thought that he might be inside entered your mind, but you ignored it. You were too determined to care. And besides fuck him. You didn’t owe him anything.

It didn’t take long before a man approached you. He was attractive enough, at least for what you needed tonight. When he offered to buy you a drink, you let him. You laid it on thick—laughing at his mediocre jokes, brushing your knees together, a coy smile curving your lips.

When he asked you to dance, you didn’t hesitate. This new version of you liked dancing. For a while, you let yourself melt into the music, let the bass vibrate through your bones, let the alcohol dull the edges of everything sharp.

His body was pressed against yours, radiating heat and hands roaming. It was making you feel alive. Letting yourself revel in the heady mix of sweat, liquor, and fleeting affection. It felt good. It felt easy.

You were breathless and flushed, and when he leaned down and asked if you wanted to get out of there, you agreed without a second thought.

The two of you stumbled through the club, laughter bubbling in your throat as you leaned into him, ready to disappear into the night. But the moment shattered when you rounded the corner and collided heavily with another pair of bodies.

"Watch it, cunt," he voice was sharp, impatient. Familiar.

Your stomach plummeted.

Noel.

His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt rooted to the spot. Your mind was suddenly infuriatingly blank. For all the time you’d spent avoiding him, you hadn’t once considered what you’d say if you actually saw him again.

For a fleeting second, something unreadable flickered across his face. Was he thinking the same thing? Or had you not even crossed his mind since that night?

"Sorry mate," the man beside you muttered, breaking you out of your sudden trance. You’d nearly forgotten he was there. His arm slipped around your waist, and the touch suddenly felt like acid burning your skin.

Noel’s gaze flicked down, tracking the movement. His jaw tightened just slightly, just enough for you to see it if you were looking. And you were looking.

You forced yourself to look elsewhere. That’s when you noticed he wasn’t alone. A brunette clung to him. Not the same one as last time, but close enough.

Right.

This was what he did. Moved from one woman to the next like it meant nothing.

Again the irritation flared hot in your chest. Now you remembered why you were avoiding him.

"Noel," you greeted smoothly, summoning every ounce of detachment you had.

His lips curled into something smug, his usual arrogance snapping back into place. "Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again, love."

"Yeah, well," you tilted your head, mirroring his smugness. "Let’s hope this is the last time."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement glinting in his eyes as his gaze dragged over you before flicking dismissively to the man at your side.

"Enjoy her, mate," he said, voice light but laced with something else. "She’s a right good time."

Then he winked at you and sauntered off, pulling his brunette along with him.

You exhaled sharply, tempted to grab the nearest object and hurl it at the back of his head.

So that was it then.

"Was that Noel Gallagher?" The guy beside you squinted after him. "Do you know him?"

You clenched your jaw. "Not really."

He studied you for a moment before adding, almost absently, "Y’know, you kinda look like that girl he was with."

Something twisted violently inside you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked away.

"Hey, wait! Where are you going?"

You ignored him. His voice sharpened behind you, something ugly creeping into his tone, but you didn’t stop. You just kept moving, his thick Mancunian accent you hadn’t noticed before faded into background noise.

This had been a stupid idea. A really, really stupid idea.

Gripping the edges of the sink, you stared at yourself in the club’s bathroom mirror, swaying slightly. The fluorescent lights cast sharp shadows across your face, making you look as wrecked as you suddenly felt.

You exhaled hard, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. The night had gone sideways. Now you were just drunk and alone. Again.

You reckoned you should probably go home, but your limbs felt restless, skin too hot, mind buzzing with unspent frustration.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed open the door and stepped back into the hallway.

As you passed the exit leading to the alley, your eyes caught on it for a moment.

What the hell might as well. It was hallowed ground now.

You pushed the door open, welcoming the rush of cool air. You had just wrapped your fingers around your pack when a voice cut through the quiet.

"Where’d your man go?"

You froze.

No fucking way.

Sure enough, Noel emerged from the shadows, cigarette perched between his lips, the ember casting a faint glow over his face.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you tried to suppress the aggravation rising in your chest. "Where’s your model?"

"Sent her home." he replied easily, smoke curling from his lips.

You considered walking away. That would be the smart thing to do. You didn’t need to stand here and entertain his bullshit. But there was just enough alcohol in your system, just enough lingering frustration in your chest, to make you stay. To push back.

"Were you waiting out here for me?" you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

A slow smile tugged at his lips. "Maybe." He shrugged, taking another drag. "Thought it was worth a shot."

Oh. You hadn’t expected him to be upfront about it. Something about the way he said it so casually made it worse. Like he already knew you wouldn’t walk away. And you knew it too.

His gaze dragged down your body, eyes lingering in a way that sent a prickle of heat across your skin.

"S’nice dress."

"Thanks, I was dying for your approval," you deadpanned.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, unfazed. "So, what brings you back here tonight?"

"Same thing as you, I presume."

His brows lifted. "What, him?" He jerked his head toward the club. "C’mon. You can do much better than that."

"Oh yeah? Like what, you?" you said, not even considering the implications until the words were out of your mouth.

His grin widened, all teeth, all ego. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you said it. Not me."

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "Jesus, do you ever stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Deflecting. Acting like nothing ever gets to you," you said, folding your arms. "Like you're untouchable."

His smirk didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes.

"And what, you think you’ve got me all figured out, yeah?"

"I think you're exhausting."

He let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, well. Can’t win ‘em all."

You narrowed your eyes. "So that’s it? That’s the whole act?"

"Dunno what you mean."

"Yes, you do," you pressed. "This little performance you put on is bullshit. You always go on about how real you are, but this—this is fake as fuck. And I can’t believe more people don’t see through it."

Something flashed in his gaze. It was subtle, but it was there. He took a slow drag, exhaling through his nose, like he was buying himself time.

"And what if there’s nothin’ to see through?" His voice was even, but there was an edge to it now. "What if this is just who I am? Arrogant cunt."

You studied him, trying to pick apart the layers he kept so tightly wound. He was good at this. Keeping people at arm’s length, at never letting anyone see past the smirk.

But you'd seen something else.

You tilted your head slightly, voice quieter now. "No. I know that’s not entirely true."

His amusement faltered, just slightly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I happened to really like the version of Noel I met in that field."

His expression flickered again. And for the first time since this conversation started, he didn’t have a response ready.

His mouth opened slightly, then shut. He inhaled deeply, tapping ash from his cigarette, gaze flicking away for just a second.

"And which version was that?" His voice was different now. Lower. Cautious.

Your stomach flipped.

There were two versions, weren’t there? The one who had been laid-back, at ease, warm in a way that had caught you off guard. And then the other one. The one who had let you undo him completely. The one you couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard you tried.

The silence between you was tight, buzzing. A question waiting to be answered.

You weren’t sure if he wanted to go there. If he wanted to acknowledge what had happened. Or if he’d rather let it fade into nothing.

There was really only one way to find out.

You swallowed before speaking. "You know which one." Your voice was lower now. Careful. Calculated. Just in case he chose to pretend he didn’t hear the subtext.

His gaze flitted away for the briefest moment, like he was considering his next move, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to acknowledge it. When he looked back at you, something in his expression had shifted. Less cocky, more guarded.

You grinned. "What? No witty comeback?" You stepped closer, emboldened by his silence. The longer he stayed quiet, the bigger your smile grew.

The cigarette between his fingers hung idly, forgotten. You reached out, plucking it from his hand before bringing it to your lips, dragging slowly. Your fingers barely brushed, but the contact sent a spark skittering up your arm.

He watched you silently, his expression unreadable. Even as you blew the smoke directly into his face, he barely reacted. He just kept his eyes on you, like he was working something out in his head.

Then, like he’d been holding it in for too long, he asked, "Why’d you run off?"

Now it was your turn to be thrown. You hadn’t expected him to confront you on that.

Why had you run? Because staying had felt like stepping off a ledge. Because the weight of the moment had pressed too hard against your ribs, and the uncertainty had been suffocating.

What would he have said afterward? Would he have just rolled over, lit a cigarette, and acted like it was nothing? The fear of the unknown had sent you running before he had the chance to make you regret staying.

But you weren’t about to tell him that.

You took another drag, letting the smoke linger in your lungs, buying yourself a few extra seconds before responding.

"Look, I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of groupies overstay their welcome. I just figured I’d make things easier for you by leaving before you had to ask me to, okay?"

He stared at you for a long moment.

"I don’t think of you as a groupie," he said finally.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don’t you?"

He exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. "No groupies don’t usually make me work this hard."

You raised a brow. "Is that what this is? Work?"

He tilted his head slightly, considering you. "Let’s just say you’re not making it easy for me."

You weren’t sure why, but that response sent something sharp and unexpected through you. Maybe because it felt dangerously close to admitting something.

Silence settled between you, thick with something unspoken. The air between you had become charged and neither of you seemed to know where to go from here.

You took one final drag on his cigarette before flicking it away, the ember sparking briefly against the pavement.

At some point the space between you had shrunk, unconsciously drifting toward each other. It was like he had some sort of magnetic field that you’d gotten pulled into. And now you were now stuck in it.

Your gaze lifted to his. He was already watching you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

You parted your lips slightly, but no words came out.

His gaze dipped to your mouth. Then back up.

Your heart pounded.

Oh, fuck it.

You closed the shrinking gap and kissed him.

He responded instantly. His hand slid to your back, pulling you against him, the heat of his body searing through the thin layers of fabric between you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and the noise it pulled from him, deep and needy, sent something sharp and electric surging through you.

He tasted just like you remembered. Or maybe better. Just as intoxicating, just as addictive.

At first he seemed tentative, unsure. But then he melted into it, kissing you back with a quiet urgency that made your knees weak.

"I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you," he gasped against your lips.

Heat flared in your chest. And something else. Something akin to pride.

"Me either," you admitted, voice just above a whisper.

You felt him smirk. "Oh really?"

"Yeah." Your fingers tightened around his waist, pulling him closer. "But don’t let it go to your head."

You deepened the kiss, swallowing the groan that slipped from him. The sound sent a shiver straight through you, and fuck you wanted more of it. More of him.

You nipped at his lower lip just to hear him again. Another soft noise escaped him, and you drank it in greedily.

Now you knew. Knew where you could take him. And god you wanted to see it again.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your grip on his waist tightening. "Come back to mine."

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face before you turned, making your way down the alley.

He followed.

The ride back to your flat had been…eventful.

Noel had called his driver, and the two of you had slipped into the backseat, your legs brushing together. Neither of you spoke at first, but the silence was thick, pulsing with something electric, something inevitable.

Then his hand found your knee.

His touch was barely there, but you felt the weight of it hit you hard. A jolt of heat shot through you as he began rubbing small circles against you.

That was it.

Before you could stop yourself, you turned to him, capturing his mouth with yours in a kiss that sent him back against the seat.

He barely had a second to react before you were climbing into his lap, fingers diving into his hair. His hands shot to your waist, gripping hard. The feel of him beneath you again was dizzying, sending heat rushing straight to your core.

A low moan slipped from his throat as your weight settled over him. His fingers tightened, digging into your ass, pulling you flush against him.

"This dress," he groaned against your lips. "God."

You smirked, lips brushing his as you teased, "You like it?"

His breath was ragged as he rasped, "So much."

You leaned in, dragging open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down the column of his throat. His skin was warm against your lips, his pulse wild beneath your touch. He shuddered when you reached the spot where his neck met his shoulder, grinning to yourself before biting down, just enough to make him gasp.

His grip on you tightened. His body tensed.

And then—

The car jerked to a stop, sending you both lurching forward.

You let out a quiet curse, quickly sliding off his lap as the driver cleared his throat from the front.

Face burning, you smoothed down your dress, stealing a glance at Noel. He was still slumped back, breathing heavily, hair a mess, lips wet and parted.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes dark as they watched you.

Neither of you spoke as you stumbled out of the car and into your building, the silence thick with anticipation, charged with everything you hadn’t said.

Now, standing in the middle of your flat, the reality of the moment sank in. The mess you’d left behind suddenly felt glaring—clothes draped over chairs, an empty wine glass perched precariously on the coffee table.

But Noel didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

His eyes were on you. Watching. Taking you in.

Then they lifted, met yours, and held.

"Hi," you breathed, suddenly shy in a way that felt ridiculous after everything that had just happened.

"Hi," he murmured back.

And then he was on you again, pulling you into a slow, deliberate kiss. It was different from before. Less frantic, more controlled. Like he wanted to take his time.

You let him take the lead this time, curious to see where it would go.

He backed you against the wall, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, while the other found its way to your waist. His grip was firm, grounding. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss, tongue brushing over yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

He seemed much less overwhelmed this time. More sure of himself. And, god, it was sexy.

Not that the other version of him wasn’t, but you were beginning to understand why he had a reputation for this.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. "So… is this your move then?" you teased, though your voice was slightly uneven.

His lips ghosted over your jaw as he hummed, "What move would that be, love?"

You swallowed, heartbeat unsteady. "Oh, come on. You know. The one that drives all the girls mad with desire." You tried to sound mocking, but it barely landed.

He chuckled, low and knowing. "Depends." His thumb stroked idly along your cheek. "Do you feel mad with desire?"

Your pulse stuttered. You hated how good he was at this.

"I bet you’d just love for me to say yes, wouldn’t you?" you challenged.

"You will," he said, completely self-assured.

Then, he dipped his head, lips grazing over the curve of your neck.

You sucked in a sharp breath, body tensing as he found a particularly sensitive spot. He lingered there, lips warm, tongue darting out just slightly. Testing. Teasing.

You could feel his smirk against your skin.

And then he bit down. Not hard, but just enough. Enough to send a shock straight through you.

A strangled sound tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Noel pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, a smug look settling on his face.

"Bastard," you muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

He only grinned, unbothered, before moving to the other side of your neck, continuing his slow, torturous assault.

You pressed your lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of another noise. But then, one particularly well-placed kiss just below your ear had a soft whine slipping out before you could stop it.

Noel pulled back again, eyes dark, lips wet.

"Feeling mad yet?"

You exhaled sharply, realization hitting you. This was payback. For last time. You were going to have to admit to something if this was going to continue. And god you wanted it to continue.

"Absolutely barmy," you muttered, conceding just this once.

His smirk widened before his lips crashed onto yours again, this time with a heated urgency that made you lightheaded. Your hands roamed him, desperate to feel as much as you could.

You weren’t sure how this would end, but right now you didn’t care. You just wanted more.

You pulled him toward your bed, kicking off your shoes, heat pooling low in your stomach as he pressed his body flush against yours. His breath was heavy, lips brushing along your jaw as his hands skimmed down your sides.

He exhaled a quiet laugh. "I haven’t been able to stop thinking about touching you. You didn’t let me get a turn last time."

Your stomach tightened, heat licking up your spine. You tilted your head, lips grazing the shell of his ear. "Then you’d better make the most of it, yeah?"

A low sound rumbled in his chest, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you back onto the mattress, covering you with his body. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, his gaze dark and searching.

"You always such a tease?" His voice was low, almost accusing.

You smirked, fingers threading through his hair. "You always so easy?"

For a second, you let yourself soak in the weight of him, the heat rolling off his skin, the way his breathing had shifted. Then, with a slow grin, you flipped him onto his back and straddled his hips.

A surprised sound escaped him, low and unguarded. His hands instinctively found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. The shift left only the thin barrier of your underwear between your aching core and the rough denim of his jeans. The friction sent a delicious shiver up your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

Noel shuddered beneath you. For a moment you wondered if he wasn’t comfortable with this dynamic again. But when you met his gaze, you searched his eyes for any hint. There was no sign of hesitation, no resistance—just raw, unfiltered desire. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat surging through you.

You leaned down, pressing slow kisses along his jaw, trailing down his neck as your fingers worked open the buttons of his shirt. When it fell open, you let your nails drag lightly up his chest, reveling in the way his breath stuttered.

Then, unable to help yourself, you brushed a thumb over one of his nipples just to see what he’d do.

A strangled groan tore from his throat, his head tipping back against the pillows. The sound, deep and wrecked, sent a sharp pulse straight between your legs.

You were mesmerized. You needed to hear more. You moved to the other, teasing it with the same deliberate touch.

This time, the noise that left him was broken, raw, coming from somewhere deep inside him. The sound sent sharp heat twisting through you, your clit jumping at the noise. The need was possessing you, urging you to draw more out.

You bent to kiss down his heaving chest. You couldn’t resist flicking your tongue over the hardened bud. This time his hand flew to your hair, and a breathless, high-pitched noise escaped him.

"Fuck—" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Please, I... I can't—"

"I know you can," you spoke against his skin, trailing your lips lower, down his stomach.

He shivered beneath you, body taut with tension. His breath came in uneven, shallow gasps, and you relished every single one.

You traced your fingers over the sensitive skin just above his belt, feeling him tense beneath you. Then, dazedly, you murmured against his stomach, "Do you let other people see you like this?"

His breath hitched. "Not often," he admitted, voice strained. "Doesn’t fit the image."

"Shame." You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above his waistband. "You’re so pretty like this."

A weak laugh escaped him, breathless. "Pretty. That’s a new one."

You glanced up at him, your fingers toying with his belt. "But you are. And the noises you make are also so, so pretty."

He exhaled sharply, like your words had knocked the wind out of him.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he muttered, voice wrecked, desperate.

You grinned, trailing your fingers lower. "Oh, I think I have some idea."

You pressed your palm against the bulge beneath his jeans, feeling him jolt beneath you.

You reached for his zipper, hands eager, impatient. The rasp of metal sounded loud in the quiet room as you shoved his jeans down, dragging them off with no pretense.

Then your eyes landed on him.

The thick strain against his boxers, the way a damp patch was spreading at the front. Your mouth went completely dry.

Noel was panting now, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. "Love, you need to—"

His words were cut off by a strangled moan the second your fingers traced over him, pressing just enough to make him twitch beneath your touch.

You exhaled sharply, warmth pooling low in your stomach. He was right there in front of you, already leaking through the fabric, the evidence of his need making you lightheaded. Your breath ghosted over him before you leaned in, brushing your lips over the damp spot.

Then, with a slow pull, you closed your mouth around it, sucking gently through the fabric.

Noel let out a ragged curse, his hips jerking up against you. "Fuck."

The desperation in his voice sent a fresh wave of arousal straight through you.

Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, you dragged them down, drinking in the sight of him. The way his cock bobbed, standing heavy against his stomach, had something hot and primal unraveling inside you.

A small, unguarded whimper escaped him, his hands clenching into the sheets so tightly his knuckles went white.

You flicked your tongue over the bead of precum gathering at his tip, tasting the saltiness of him.

His entire body shuddered and a broken moan tore from his throat, raw and wrecked. He seemed to be struggling to form words, his lips parting, closing again, as if searching for something to say.

But he didn’t need to. You could see the silent pleading in his eyes.

And christ it undid you.

The heat coiling low in your stomach was nearing a breaking point, the relentless throb between your legs getting to be too much. You wanted to keep tasting him, wanted to hear more of those breathless, ruined sounds. But if you did, you knew he wasn’t going to last. And you needed him inside you.

Now.

Without a word, you spun, moving your hair over your shoulder. "Help me out."

His hands were shaking as he reached for you, dragging the zipper of your dress down in one slow, trembling motion, exposing every inch of you. His fingers traced along your spine, and goosebumps skittered across your skin in response.

You let the rest of the dress slip off, stepping out of your underwear in one fluid movement before turning back to him.

Noel’s gaze swept over you, his jaw tight, hands clenching into fists as if he were holding himself back.

Not for long.

You captured his mouth in a slow, deep kiss, guiding him back onto the bed, settling over him once again.

His hands grasped at your body, touch hot and desperate, sending wave after wave of need crashing through you. Your bodies were flush, nothing between you now, and the feeling of him hard against you sent a helpless moan tumbling from your lips.

You grasped him, positioning yourself over him, your breath coming in shallow, uneven pants.

"Can I?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Noel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips parted as he looked up at you, utterly wrecked. He nodded, unable to form a single word.

Slowly, you began to sink down onto him, gasping at the stretch, at the heat, the way he filled you completely. Your fingers dug into his chest as you took him inch by inch, your thighs shaking from how overwhelming it felt.

His hands shot to your hips, gripping you like a lifeline as a strangled moan tore from his throat.

You could feel him deep inside you as you finally seated yourself against him. You took a moment to adjust, shivering at the contact. The white-hot heat in your veins was everywhere.

"Fuck," he choked out, his voice breaking. His body trembled beneath you, every muscle tensed, struggling to hold on.

You glanced down at him, and his dark, desperate gaze met yours.

"Christ, you feel so incredible," he rasped, voice wrecked and rough. "Need you—fuck, I need—" His words dissolved into a sharp gasp as you shifted slightly, searching for the right angle.

You settled a hand against his chest and rolled your hips experimentally. The reaction was immediate.

A guttural moan tore from his throat, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding you into a rhythm he clearly needed just as badly as you did.

Your body was drowning in sensation. Every nerve alight, every muscle quivering, every inch of you focused on where you were joined. You rocked against him, getting lost in the pleasure.

You barely registered when he planted his heels into the mattress, bracing himself. But you felt it the second he used all his force to thrust up to meet you.

A sharp, helpless cry ripped from your lips.

The force of it would have knocked you off balance if he hadn’t been gripping you so tightly, keeping you flush against him as he snapped his hips upward again.

"Fuck—Noel." His name broke from your lips as another surge of pleasure hit you like a shockwave.

Each thrust sent lightning shooting down your spine, pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. You tried to meet him, to match his rhythm, but the way he was hitting so deep, so perfectly, made it nearly impossible to keep control.

You felt him everywhere. Filling you, consuming you. It was dizzying.

His grip on your hips tightened suddenly, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you down onto him harder, deeper. His own hips surged up to meet you with every thrust, dragging you into the frantic, unrelenting pace he so badly needed.

The sounds filling the room were obscene—skin meeting skin, ragged breaths, broken moans spilling from both of you.

Your mind had gone completely blank, overtaken by pleasure, your body running purely on instinct. The only thought was ‘Noel Noel Noel’. Your own moans were getting higher, more desperate, your broken off sounds of "No-el" between each thrust spilling out.

"Fuck—" his breath came in ragged, labored gasps, his words shattered. "You feel—so fucking—good—don’t stop—"

Your thighs were trembling from exertion, but stopping wasn’t an option. Not when you were this close. Not when every nerve was buzzing, your entire body tightening around him, the telltale buildup coiling inside you like a live wire ready to snap.

"You’re so close, love," he groaned, his grip tightening. "I can feel it—I need you to—please—I can’t hold on much longer—"

His plea sent another wave of heat crashing through you, tipping you closer to the edge.

Desperate, you moved a hand between you, flicking his nipple again, watching as he arched into your touch with a helpless, ruined moan.

"Fuck—" His voice broke. His hips stuttered, losing rhythm. "You’re gonna make me—fuck—I can’t—"

Then one deep, perfectly-angled thrust sent you spiraling.

Pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body seizing as you cried out his name. Your walls clenched around him, dragging him over the edge with you.

A strangled moan ripped from his throat as he came, his hands gripping you so hard you were sure there would be bruises. His release flooded inside you in sharp, pulsing waves.

You collapsed against him, body giving out entirely. Every muscle felt spent, useless, like you’d been wrung dry. His chest rose and fell beneath you in quick, uneven bursts, both of you still gasping for air.

For a long, breathless moment, the only thing in the world was the two of you. Bodies tangled, limbs shaking, lungs fighting for air.

You figured you should get off him to allow him to fully breathe. You slid off and onto your stomach, melting into the mattress. You could feel him leaking out of you and onto the sheets, but you made no move to stop it.

Then finally, finally, the world came back into focus.

Noel shifted onto his side as he caught his breath, his fingertips resting along your spine in slow, soothing strokes. The touch sent a shiver through you, but not from arousal this time. It was something softer, something more dangerous.

The intensity of what had just occurred was overwhelming, but unlike last time, you didn’t feel the need to run.

His voice broke the quiet, rough with exhaustion. "You alright?"

You forced yourself to lift your head, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes were heavy-lidded, searching yours.

"I think so," you murmured, still breathless.

His fingers brushed damp strands of hair back from your face, the gesture unexpectedly tender. "You’re shaking," he noted, voice softer now.

You blinked. You hadn’t even realized.

Something stirred inside you at his tone. It was unfamiliar—giddy, weightless. It felt like… affection. A small smile tugged at your lips before you even realized you were doing it.

"Yeah well that’s entirely your fault," you mumbled.

He huffed out a quiet laugh before tugging you closer. His fingers resumed their slow, steady circles, and the warmth of it seeped into you, easing some of the lingering tremors.

This kind of intimacy wasn’t something you were used to. Fucking him was one thing, but this… this was something else entirely. Something you weren’t sure you should allow. But you weren’t stopping him either.

If this was what the real Noel Gallagher was like then you were in trouble.

You laid there for a moment before a nagging thought entered your mind. "I’m sorry I left you in that field."

He stilled for half a second, body tensing before he relaxed again.

"I think I was scared," you admitted. "So I ran. I’m not even sure what I was scared of, really. But… I am sorry."

Noel exhaled through his nose, considering. "I get it," he said finally. "I’m sorry if I was being, uh… too much."

You let out a quiet laugh. "No, I liked it," you confessed, cheeks heating. "I think that’s what scared me. Everything changed so fast, and I wasn’t ready for it."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were warm. "Well I’ve been known to overwhelm people with emotions."

You nudged him playfully, laughing.

"Don’t deny it, love," he teased, his voice dipping into that cocky lilt again. "You know you can’t resist me. I’m magnetic."

"Don’t you start with that again," you warned, pushing up onto your elbows.

He let out a low chuckle, but his gaze flickered down, roaming over your body now that you weren’t caught up in the haze of lust. His expression shifted, less teasing, more appreciative.

"Oh, but it’s true," he replied, his tone cheeky and playful. "You’re completely captivated by me."

You pursed your lips, fighting back a smile. "That’s yet to be proven."

"Is that so?" he murmured. He closed the space between you with a soft kiss. "I think I’m more than capable of proving it to you."

Then, in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, drawing a startled laugh from your throat. He grinned against your skin, pressing playful kisses along your jaw, your cheek, your neck.

"See?" he said, punctuating his words with another kiss. "Captivated."

You laughed breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair.

You were starting to think he might be right.

--------------------------------------------------------

I know this is another Noel post but I pinky promise that I have concepts of a plan for a Liam post coming next.

#noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher fic #noel gallagher #oasis #noel gallagher smut

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sosomonimagines · 3 days ago

Text

Rewriting: House's girl - part one.

"House, overnight, needs to learn how to be a father"

⚠️ abuse, but not very explicit

The previous night had been hell.

Sean, that pretentious guy your mom met at an art convention, had another meltdown directed at you. All because of a single dirty plate. Just one plate. You were exhausted — you’d spent the entire day at school and had planned to wash it the next day, no excuses. But Sean didn’t care. He hurled the plate at you. Shards flew everywhere, some even got stuck in your hair. Then he punched the wall, screamed some more, and stormed off to bed.

Your mom did nothing.

She never did.

It was insane, to say the least.

She spent a few hours a day acting like a normal person, then would snap and say she couldn’t stand to look at you anymore. That because of you, she’d had to work as a lawyer and give up her talent for art. That you were holding her back from soaring.

She used to be a real mom, once. Before Sean. Two years ago, he started messing with her head. And now, to both of them, you were just a burden. Someone to take their anger out on. Your mom had turned cruel. She let Sean be cruel to you.

And you were tired. You were tired every single day. You spent as much time as possible at school—studying, joining every extracurricular activity you could. Anything to stay away. Anything to make sure your future didn’t end up trapped there.

But the few hours you had to spend at home were becoming unbearable. So, you decided to leave.

That night, at just 15 years old, you packed your things.

You stuffed some clothes into your backpack, along with your tablet for studying, your Kindle, your phone charger, and $50. You left the house at 2:30 in the morning.

That night, you slept on the street.

It was Saturday, and for a moment, you felt relieved you didn’t have to go to school. You had a whole weekend to figure out what to do with your life.

The street was terrifying. Cold. You curled up in a parking lot, hoping no one would bother you. You were ready to scream, kick, make a scene if you had to. But you couldn’t sleep properly. By 7:30 a.m., you were already up, walking to the social services office.

You filled out a form. Minutes later, you were called in. The woman who helped you looked to be in her fifties, with short, dark red-dyed hair. She wore round glasses that were too big for her thin face. Her eyes were tired but firm.

“You don’t look a day over eighteen,” she said, serious.

“Well, I’m not. I’m 15.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“My stepdad got aggressive last night. My mom did nothing, as usual. I decided to leave before it got worse.”

“Did you file a police report?”

“No.”

“What about your dad?”

“Well…”

“Why didn’t you file a report?”

“Because he didn’t hit me”

The woman sighed, leaning her elbows on the desk.

“Look, without a police report and with you being a minor, options are limited. Your dad… is he in jail or something?”

“No.”

“Does he live in the city?”

“Yes.”

“And can he support you?”

“He’s a doctor.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Let me get this straight. Your dad’s a doctor, and you’re here at social services looking for shelter? Do you know what the options are for a minor? Either a shelter or a juvenile detention center if you have a criminal record. Do you have one?”

“No!”

“Then we’ll contact your dad.”

“But he doesn’t like me.”

“Is he abusive?”

“No.”

“Not emotionally, not physically?”

“No, he’s just… hard to explain.”

The woman closed the folder.

“Listen, kid. The shelter isn’t a good option. People do what they can, but the state doesn’t provide enough resources. Go to your dad. You don’t want to end up in a place like that.”

You took a deep breath as she picked up the form, read your dad’s name, and typed something into the system. The report about your running away was there. And within minutes, she was on the phone, relaying everything.

You definitely didn’t want to go to his place. Gregory House was a man built to be alone. Brilliant and cold. People said he had no feelings. You’d seen him only a handful of times in your life, and you were never greeted with a hug. Never with warmth. He fulfilled obligations, sent you money, but never tried to be a father. Now, it seemed like that was about to change.

“He’s on his way to pick you up.”

“He agreed?!” You blinked, surprised. You thought it would be a long, complicated process.

The social worker took your hand and gave you a warm look.

“No matter how much you think he hates you,” she said, “no father likes to see his daughter in a situation like this. Well… almost no father.”

He arrived a few minutes later. He wasn’t alone.

Beside him was a man you’d never seen before. They approached, and it was the stranger who greeted you first.

“Hi, I’m James Wilson, your dad’s friend,” he said, smiling.

Your father stood beside him, leaning on his cane, with a look that said he’d rather be anywhere else. Did he even care?

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you replied. “Hi, Dad.”

House just nodded, without much enthusiasm. He definitely wasn’t thrilled to be pulled out of his routine so early.

“So, your mom finally lost it for good?”

“House!” James scolded him.

He sighed, impatient.

“Where’s your stuff?” he asked, cutting off any attempt by his friend to lecture him.

“Just this backpack. I left in a hurry.”

James gave you a sympathetic look.

“Let me carry that for you,” he murmured, taking the strap of the backpack and guiding you to the car.

When you got in, he glanced at you through the rearview mirror.

“Are you hungry? We can stop to eat.”

“We’ll be late,” House grumbled, annoyed.

“You’re always late, House. And this would be the first time you’d have a good excuse.”

You forced a smile.

“I’m not hungry. I just want to go home.”

You hated being a burden. And at that moment, you knew you were—especially to your dad.

James didn’t push it. He just drove to Baker Street, apartment 221B. You’d never been to his place before and were surprised. The place was… cozy. A huge bookshelf filled with books, a piano, dark upholstered couches, a full kitchen—though you doubted he cooked anything more complicated than grilled cheese.

“There’s a guest room at the end of the hall. It’s yours until we figure this out,” House said finally, still leaning on his cane, with his usual sarcastic expression. “I have to work. I’ll probably be back late.”

“Good luck with work,” you replied, trying to sound light.

James smiled and thanked you. House simply ignored it.

The guest room was good enough.

A large bed, a spacious wooden wardrobe, and a small desk that could double as a study area. It was dusty, probably from lack of use, and the lamp didn’t work.

You sighed in relief. Maybe you’d finally have a little peace.

You tossed your backpack onto the bed, grabbed some old clothes, and headed to the bathroom. You let the hot water run over your body, feeling the tension slowly melt away. You only realized you’d wet your hair when it was too late—and the only shampoo available was a men’s one that smelled like mint and something woody. You used it anyway. You grabbed the rough loofah and scrubbed your skin until it turned red, as if you could scrub away the remnants of last night. As if you could wash it all away.

After getting dressed, you went to the kitchen and drank more water than you had in a long time. How long had it been since you’d had a proper drink? Your body felt starved for it.

Finally, you decided to clean the room. You found a rag and a vacuum cleaner tossed in some corner. You dusted everything, vacuumed the floor, and changed the bedsheets—you found clean linens in your dad’s room and knew he probably wouldn’t be happy you’d taken them. But at that moment, you didn’t care.

By the time you finished, it was already 9 a.m. Your entire body felt heavy. Not just from the physical effort, but from the exhaustion that had built up over the past few months. From the anxiety. From the tension.

You closed the curtains, lay down on the bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

You woke up to a cane poking your face—not subtle at all.

Your father stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Did you take my sheets?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

You stared at him for a few seconds, not answering. He cleared his throat, as if he didn’t have the patience to wait.

“I brought dinner. You’d better come out before I have to deal with another headache about you being mistreated.”

You slowly pushed the sheets aside, feeling the weight of your body. Maybe you’d slept too much.

On the table, you found a takeout container from the hospital cafeteria. Pasta with tomato sauce and meat. You felt immediate relief—you hated mac and cheese, but any other kind was welcome. Did he know that? Or was it just a lucky guess?

“Thanks for the food,” you said.

House didn’t respond.

You served yourself and sat down at the table. He did the same, with a burger on one side and a bottle of whiskey on the other. He poured himself a shot.

The silence dragged on. Long minutes. Maybe hours.

“So… how was work?” you asked, trying to lighten the heavy air.

He didn’t even blink.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make small talk. Try to be polite. I’m helping because you’re my daughter. My legal obligation.”

The coldness of his words didn’t hit you as hard as it should have. Maybe because you’d expected something like this. Maybe because, deep down, you knew he wasn’t as bad as he pretended to be.

"And you don’t have to be a jerk all the time," you shot back, crossing your arms. "I know something hurt you in the past and made you build this wall around yourself, but you’re not a sociopath. Or a narcissist… okay, maybe a little narcissistic. But aside from the depression, there’s nothing seriously wrong with you. So, please, just tell me how work was. I care about you."

House rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Oh, great. Not only do I have a daughter, now I have a therapist. I don’t know which is more annoying."

You smirked.

"Any interesting cases?"

"A girl with cancer having hallucinations."

"Is the tumor pressing on her brain or something?"

"No. We don’t know yet."

"You should check for a blood clot."

He didn’t respond, but you saw the analytical glint in his eyes. A glint that said your suggestion wasn’t as absurd as it might have sounded. House knew you were smart—with his genes, it would’ve been hard not to be—but he didn’t expect your intelligence to lean toward medicine.

After dinner, he went to the living room, and you followed.

He sighed audibly, giving you a sarcastic look before turning on the TV to some generic medical drama.

"I thought doctors hated these kinds of shows."

"It’s fun watching them get the diagnoses wrong."

"Got it. What’s this one called?"

"My God, do you always talk this much?"

"Usually worse. But come on, I’m 15 and I barely know you. I have questions."

"Please don’t ask them."

"Aren’t you even a little curious about your own daughter?"

"Not really."

You laughed.

"You’re so boring."

Silence settled as you both watched. At some point, even though you’d slept all day, you ended up dozing off.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you were covered with a blanket.

And you knew it had been him.

Maybe your dad wasn’t so bad after all.

#fanfiction #gregory house x reader #house m.d #imagine #james wilson #house m.d x reader #house x reader #gregory house

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apomaro-mellow · 7 hours ago

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Courtship Read on AO3

@stmarchmm prompt: courting rituals

National Geographic Presents: A series that delves into the intricacies of the greater Hawkins pack.

The world is filled with many extraordinary organisms. In today’s program, we shall take a look at a particular community. Indiana is home to many packs. As we zoom into the town of Hawkins, we can see a flurry of activity as spring arrives.

There are as many different courting rituals as there are stars in the sky. But they can all be organized in these categories: song, gift, physical display. As an alpha on the bottom rung of their community, this curly haired young buck will have his work cut out for him. For he has set his sights on the omega of the season. We shall call him, Eddie. And his target? Steve.

What makes a good omega can differ by environment but certain traits are common - a pleasing scent, an affinity for pups, a willingness to submit should a good alpha present themselves. Judging by the group of alphas that are never far from Steve, he has this in droves. An omega may entertain many suitors before deciding on who they want.

Let us follow Eddie’s path. Should he be unsuccessful, he shall be alone for another mating season. He is a few cycles older than Steve, something that can either be an advantage, or a detriment. Only time will tell.

In Hawkins, there is no particular order to the courting ritual. But there is a checklist to be marked off if an alpha hopes to be successful. The first that Eddie has completed is a demonstration of his own affinity for pups. While an omega’s care for their pups is held in high regard, alphas are expected to be just as protective of their own. For an unbonded buck, they can best show this with a pack’s communal pups.

In full view of Steve, Eddie play-fights with the pups, baring his teeth but keeping them out of the way for the more vulnerable members of the pack. The fact that he is able to do so under Steve’s watchful eye speaks for itself. An omega won’t let an unattached alpha anywhere near pups in the pack if they didn’t trust them. While Eddie is not related by blood, he is considered pack. We will discuss pack dynamics later in the program, but for now, it is enough to know that Eddie’s foot is already in the door.

Having the omega’s sights turned on him, Eddie goes on to the physical display. The greater Hawkins pack favors feats of strength or coordination. See how this particular alpha, Jason, performs a display on the court. It gets him the admiration of onlookers, but he preens under the attention of the omega he has chosen to court. Take a closer look at her reaction. Chrissy, as she is named, is flushed in the cheeks. There is a slight dilation of the pupils. Scent is not visible, but the reaction to it is. If we note how those surrounding her give her space, it is clear that her scent had changed. And it is wise to give a path from an omega to the object of their arousal. Jason has succeeded in checking off this point. But what of Eddie?

Eddie has chosen a more private arena, that of Steve’s home, rather than a public court for all to see. Compared to Jason, Eddie’s movements are much less coordinated. He has only made half of the shots he has taken. Steve’s cheeks are neither flushed nor are his pupils dilated, though Eddie has almost lost his breath attempting to show his physicality in the form typical of their peer group.

But wait. What is this?

Rather than finding this alpha’s display lacking, Steve has granted him favor. A smile. A kiss on the cheek. Much more than Eddie has received in any of his past seasons. Perhaps Steve appreciates the fact that this demonstration means that Eddie will go beyond his limitations to please his omega, should Steve become his.

Emboldened, Eddie prepares for the next step. Many communities favor a call or song of some kind and Hawkins is no exception. Scientists are still figuring out the evolutionary advantage of the song and why some are favored over others. But preparation begins from a young age.

A pup will hum a tune heard by its parents, imitating what they know. Steve’s ears have favored upbeat melodies. A typical alpha will use a call that is familiar to the omega of their affections. But Eddie is not a typical alpha. A song can be intimate and this late into the season, an omega can be quite amorous when receptive. It is often prudent to complete the last courtship ritual in private.

But Eddie has chosen a literal stage for his mating call. The weather is warm and for Hawkins, that means many events to take advantage of the weather. For adolescents in the throes of passion, the Spring Fling dance is such an opportunity. Live music is expected at these and it is often an alpha staking a claim. Only time will tell if Eddie’s claim will be successful.

Steve hasn’t rebuffed the alpha’s courtship but nor has he stopped entertaining others. This performance could make or break Eddie’s season.

He steps to the mic.

He finds Steve in the crowd.

And plays.

Eddie has chosen a rougher, louder sound, one that the others in the audience don’t seem to appreciate, based on their expressions. This doesn’t bode well for his chances. An omega of Steve’s stature will almost always deny an alpha that has been deemed an outcast.

His song has finished. Some give him a perfunctory bout of applause as he exits the stage. It appears that for yet another season, Eddie will remain unmated.

Oh, well now what’s this?

Steve is pushing through the crowd, apparently making a beeline for Eddie. And he’s not only embracing him, but gracing him with a kiss! As Eddie steals him away from prying eyes, it is clear. He won’t be spending this season alone.

Day 2 will be a lil different but stayed tuned for this lil series :3

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #stmmm25

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little-miss-bioweapon121 · 3 days ago

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Part 5 Welcome Home

(part 1 here)

(Part 2 here)

(Part 3 here)

(Part 4 here)

Sanguinius and baby head back home for a big party! This is longer than my usual chapters and with the plans I have going they’re likely to only get longer. This is technically a two part chapter but I think it’s just easier to call it part 5 lol

CW: none

The day Sanguinius had announced there was to be a naming ceremony for his youngest son was in and of itself a celebration. His sons wasted no time with the festivities and prepared a feast that very night. Sanguinius recalled the night fondly, a night where the gloom of the future was temporarily forgotten in favor of the joy of the occasion. With both spirits and glasses high it took very little time for the news to reach Baalfora and its inhabitants.

His home was overjoyed at the news. A blessing of course, the Son of the Son, and a second great angel. A new child to be named and brought into the ways of the blood. His people were insistent on planning the celebration themselves, a gift to him and all he had done for them. Sanguinius could hardly protest against it when he learned that Elder Morela would be cooking the food for the celebration.

Her food was a wonder on Baalfora, a master chef in all but official title, and many a blood angel would sacrifice a limb for one of her homemade meals. Sanguinius was no better—he practically dreamed of her stone snake stew.

Sanguinius brings himself back from his reverie as his son fusses from the cradle of his arms. Ah, the bottle was empty. With a wry smile he sends one of the serfs to fetch another bottle. It had taken him a few days to grow accustomed to the feeding schedule of the infant, and even more to be accustomed to the tiny portions he was to be fed. But with time—and the almighty patience of the lady serfs—Sanguinius found himself to be quite adept to his sons care.

It felt like his son was growing by the day now —both too big and far too small. His appetite, at least, had grown significantly in the few days since he arrived. But considering how little the baby had eaten when he’d first arrived it was nothing short of a relief to see the change in him now. A sigh escaped Sanguinius’ lips.

“Sometimes I wonder where in the world you’re hiding all that milk. Your stomach is the size of a walnut little one,” Sanguinius briefly tickles his sons belly for emphasis. The baby is entirely unamused. “And yet you eat enough for a child three times your size!”

Sanguinius stifles a laugh as his son responds to his lamenting with fussy little growls, his brows scrunched adorably in an attempt at a glare—oh what a fierce warrior he would be. It is as the serf returns with a second bottle that one of his older sons peaks their head past the high arch of the door way.

“Father, Captain Antagrion wished for me to tell you that we will be landing soon. Will you require any assistance before then?”

Sanguinius adjusted the baby in his arms once more as tiny hands eagerly reached for the second bottle. The baby had a silly little habit of wildly flapping his wings when excited and if caught off guard could result in a quick launching from one’s arms.

What a terrifying discovery that had been.

“Assistance no, but I seem to have misplaced my radiation shawl. Have you by chance- ah,” The astartes picks a length of fabric off of a nearby chair and hands it to him. Sanguinius hooks the shawl over the arch of his wings and takes extra care in draping it over his baby.

“Many thanks.”

The descent to the surface was smooth and uneventful. The gunship, large as it was, had to land a ways out into the desert but the caravan procession from the city had been alerted and was already waiting for them. The doors of the ship open with a steady groan of the machinery and the blistering air of the midday desert rushes past them. Sanguinius closes his eyes in nostalgic bliss as the distinct scent of ‘home’ washes over him. He may spend the majority of his time on the ship, but in every fiber of his being he knows this is where he truly belongs. The appreciative sighs from his nearest sons echo his sentiments.

Descending the ramp a line of serfs and guards in the rich embroidered Thobe of Angels Fall greets them. They stand at attention as Sanguinius and his sons pass them, occasionally handing over neatly folded radiation shawls to the other serfs descending from his ship. Two elders stand at the forefront with exquisitely embroidered clothes in the colors of the Blood Angels’ legion—two shimmering figures amidst the wide expanse of sand around them. The sight of them has Sanguinius’ wings twitching with the urge to simply fly the distance of the dune to reach them. More than the planet or the city, more even than the familiarity of the cliffs he came from, Sanguinius had missed two of the few people he could truly consider family.

“Don Tameri, Dona Sibalba, it is so good to see you two.”

With joyous relieved laughter the two elders come up to greet him with hugs. The baby in Sanguinius’ arms begins to fuss again, unhappy at being left out of the excitement. Dona Sibalba coos at the sound, peaking through the barest crack in the veil.

“Ay is this the little angel I hear so much of? Oh the little darling! Come come, it is too hot for one so small let us return to the settlement.”

Don Tameri lets out a good natured laugh as Dona Sibalba hurries ahead, gesturing at her serfs excitedly with bejeweled hands. Arms clasped behind his back Don Tameri matches Sanguinius’ more leisurely stride.

“It is good to have you back, my lord. You have been dearly missed.” The guards and serfs around them begin loading into their own sand crawlers, hurrying with all the practiced speed of desert skinks escaping the heat. A few of Sanguinius’ sons tread the sand and join them. Sanguinius turns a warm smile to the Don.

“It is good to be back. It is an honor to serve my fathers will, but my hearts will always ache for the familiarity of home.”

Ahead of them Dona Sibalba lets out a noise of mock frustration that sends her serfs skittering away with giggles. She fusses over a pillow inside of the ornate sand crawler as they catch up to her.

“You would think I was inviting a mere governor and not our lord Angel with how these women gossip! Metiches!” She ushers the men in, heedless of Tameri’s protests at the light manhandling, before closing the door and activating the radiation seals. Sanguinius takes a moment to adjust his wings in the relatively cramped compartment. Even with a full row of seats to himself he feels them twitch and bend at the confines. Once he’s settled Dona Sibalba pins Sanguinius with an expectant look.

“Aver, let us see the little blessing!”

The baby babbles its own agreement from behind the shawl and Sanguinius can only sigh fondly as he moves the corner and reveals the infant. His son blinks owlishly at the sudden change in light and Sibalba coos in delight.

“Oh look at you! You’re the spitting image of your father!”

The baby puts up no fuss as Dona Sibalba picks him up, utterly entranced by the myriad of jewels and golden hoops adorning her arms and head. He gnaws on one massive ruby ring as Sibalba dotes on him. Don Tameri hums his own consideration.

“Mmm, he is a little thin no? Babies should be rounder,” Tameri tickles one of the baby’s feet and gets a little kick in return, a tut of disapproval. “He is too small. Like the crag-lizards.”

Sanguinius doesn’t let himself express how much those words truly sting. Ever since he could remember he’d seen the elders on Baalfora always admonishing even the fattest of babies, fussing over their meals and appetites, he knows this is done out of care and familiarity. But given his sons strenuous origins it almost feels like a personal failure to hear it said out loud. Sanguinius can only smile thinly, he knows it means nothing.

It must mean nothing.

Dona Sibalba thankfully saves him from further scrutiny, her squeals of delight eliciting raucous squeaky laughter from his son.

“Oh we will fatten this one up, feed him so many good foods and little sweets. Oh yes we will, oh yes we will!”

The baby flaps his downy wings in delight as Dona Sibalba playfully coos at him. The tinkling of her jewelry has his son very firmly captivated and Sanguinius makes the executive decision to retrieve him before any sort of unfortunate pulling incidents can occur. Again. Don Tameri wiggles his fingers towards the baby while he speaks.

“The people have been planning such a gathering for you, I have not seen them so excited for an event! Every day you hear them and see them,” Tameri moves his hands as though conducting a magnificent symphony. “The bands, The music, and the dancers with their silks, oh and the food! Ah the food!”

Dona Sibalba smacks Don Tameri playfully on his shoulder.

“Always thinking with his stomach this one! No matter the event, it’s always about the food for him!”

Sanguinius feels his hearts clench with the nostalgia that floods him in the moment. Don Tameri and Dona Sibalba are some of the only people left who he grew up with. To see them now in their old age so successful and still so full of life brings a strange sort of painful warmth to his chest.

Oh how he had missed these two.

“Im excited to see what our people have planned. I remember the naming ceremonies from my younger years and how grand these events were. I can only imagine how impressive it will be to have been planned by all of them.”

The rest of the ride to the city is spent reminiscing and catching up on their lives. Sanguinius speaks of the battles he’s faced and the moments he’s shared with his fellow primarchs, and the Don and Dona share the woes of nobility and the plights of leading a stubborn people in his absence. Long before the walls of the city come into view, the sounds of celebration reach their ears. Trumpets and cheers crescendo with every second they come closer and as if on cue shimmering pieces of confetti begin to flutter past the windows.

Oceans of people line the Main Street as the caravan makes its way to the city center. The buildings are covered in glimmering banners of every shade and color and garlands of fresh flowers hang between lamp posts and roofs. The people are everywhere, waving and cheering, held a respectable distance away by stone faced city guards. The sky is a shifting rainbow of confetti both stifling and inviting. Sanguinius feels fondness bloom in his hearts, more so as his tiny son stares wide eyed at the window, but there is an undercurrent of weariness that chases the feeling. There is always a level of performance that’s required in events like this— something he’s never been overtly fond of.

The Don and Dona, as sharp and astute as they’ve ever been give him warm encouraging smiles. The sandcrawler slows to a stop as it reaches its destination and Don Tameri makes to exit.

“You’ll be just fine my Lord, there is plenty of good food and drink to be had first!”

Dona Sibalba pushes the Don out of the vehicle with a firmly planted sandal to his rear and he stumbles out with wheezing laughter. The Dona pauses at the door with a sympathetic sigh.

“I know how it is, but there will be less of the posturing here than usual. We celebrate your son tonight, and even the nobles know better than to bring politics to something like this,” She holds her hand out as one of the guardsmen comes to help her down. “Enjoy yourself, Sanguinius. There will be few celebrations like this.”

With a moment to calm himself Sanguinius tucks his son to his chest and steps out into the light of the city center. The cheers and music hit a fever pitch and Sanguinius can only smile at the excitement of it all.

The celebration has officially begun.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #wh40k #warhammer #primarch #sanguinius #blood angels #samael #writing #my writing #short story #original story #storytelling #warhammer fanfic #fanfic #baby #worldbuilding

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 hours ago

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Fear Not (Male!Reader x General Zod)

He's quite simply there.

When the muggers arrive, there was no one else close enough to intervene. And why would they?

You don't know them, they don't know you.

One moment, a mugger, one of three, is pushing you up against the wall just inside the alley-

and the next, he is not.

A veritable wall of a man is there instead, the mugger landing hard, impossibly far away. He's well over six feet tall, broad enough that he seems to take up the whole alley on his own, wearing a sturdy leather jacket over a simple hoodie, shaggy brown hair and piercing eyes, impossibly vivid.

"Don't be scared. Just run." he says, in a measured, deep voice. This is an order, but you have no doubt in him whatsoever.

You run, and feel a rush of wind from behind you.

Something makes you feel as though this was a visitation from an angel, or a Greek god in disguise or something.

Your savior is etched in your memory for weeks after, wondering what became of him.

But you spot him, leaving an apartment building on the route you take home from work.

"Hey! Uh, sir?"

"Hmm?" he recognizes you, clearly, but makes no encouraging noise. There's something almost military about how even his at-rest stance seems alert and ready to handle anything.

"You saved me. I didn't... get the chance to thank you."

"You don't need to." he shrugs. "I was there. I had the ability to intervene, so I did."

"Still... thanks."

He nods, and you start to stammer, the intensity of his gaze hard to bear.

"I didn't mean to bother you or anything... just... if there's anything I can do - take you out for coffee or something..."

You trail off, noticing he's become amused by your babbling.

"It was my pleasure. That said... would you like to take a walk? I've been told there's a public park nearby."

"Oh! Uh... sure! Uh, I'm Y/N."

"You may call me Zod."

"Zod?"

"...it's a... family name."

"Oh, I see."

Zod is both warm and curiously distant - he seems careful to not even brush against you, constantly aware of how much space he takes up and how he moves.

And yet his tone is friendly, his answers open but careful. He has a stilted speech pattern, as if English is a second language, and yet little trace of an accent, and an extensive vocabulary.

People take notice of him, though he takes pains to seem unassuming. They nod and smile to him as they walk by.

He's fascinating, and seems genuinely interested in you.

He's military, well-traveled, and had to deal with a tough end to his career and came to Metropolis for a new start.

Apparently he's a union organizer now. Although he's kind of vague about that.

You're still not sure what he does, but already you're starting to hope for a second date - if this even counts as a first one.

"Do forgive me if this is forward. I want to see you again. If you're amenable."

"Oh, uh, like a date?"

He nods. "If that suits you."

"Yeah! -I mean, uh, sure."

He smirks at the verbal backpedaling. "Would you mind if I walked you home?"

"Well, I mean, I did see where you live, so-"

"And I would much like to protect you in case of any skullduggery."

You avert your eyes as he offers you his arm. "Oh - uh... wouldn't that impair your ability to-"

"I am perfectly capable of protecting you with one hand." Zod says, not with confidence but complete assurance.

You loop your arm through his, feeling the sheer heft of his bicep, and smile a little to yourself.

This man, somewhere between guardian angel and rom com lead, is walking you home.

And of all the emotions you feel, not one of them is fear.

#general zod x male reader #zod x male reader #superman x male reader #superman headcanons #dc headcanons #headcanons #general zod x reader

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serandipity · 3 days ago

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"That's fine. You've already given me more than enough. I can go one day without conditioner," She said softly. Luckily, the man didn't seem to keen on wanting to use her for anything or holding her out burst last night over her hair. If she had been staying somewhere fancier things would have played out far differently.

Hylia should at the very least make the effort to compensate this man for his hospitality. She had taken up space in his home and now he was going to fix her car for her? It was probably more kindness than she deserved at this point.

The notice of the broken shower and the threadbare towels were noted. Looked like this man could use the extra money she was about to give him. Well, at least the money was going to the right places this time and would be used for more than just frivolities.

Regardless, the shower did feel nice, even if she could get little more than luke warm water. It was enough. She could take a hot jet bath when she got home. Sometimes roughing it wasn't so bad though.

Although if she asked Faron, Faron would hardly call this ''roughing it''. She was just spoiled.

Stepping out of the shower she rang her hair dry and put her clothes back on from yesterday. All her actual items were locked in her car, so she'd have to change later. Hylia was lucky she didn't end up being sick last night.

Ugh.

Her phone pinged to life. A text from her soon to be ex-husband. He had something to tell her and wanted to call her. Truthfully, Hylia didn't want to deal with whatever nuclear bomb was about to be released on her personal life so she simply ignored it for the time being.

By the time she got out the mechanic had stepped out to look at her car, or maybe other people's cars? Who knows. If he was the only mechanic in town then everyone would have to come to him along with whatever passing tourists drifted through town. He must have been making good money, but he seemed to live modestly. The state of his home and belongings gave that much away.

She stepped out to meet him, a little more awake than before the shower, the tinge of oil and gas and brake fluid hung in the air.

"So, does being the only mechanic in town pay well enough? I don't think I ever caught your name either."

She was offering an explanation for everything she had vented about the night before, but the explanation just felt a bit unneeded on the heels of everything he had been told the night before.

"Yeah... I already figured that much out." Lucas' tone was idle; he didn't want to act like he was holding it over her head, but if she didn't remember everything she had told him then maybe it would be best to remind her. Just a little, at least.

She seemed willing to take him up on the offer of a shower, and he nodded before getting up. "Alright. Give me a sec to grab you some towels. You gotta twist the nob before you turn it on too, or else you're gonna get nothing but ice-water." There was a joke he had heard at some point where there was nothing that made you feel more confused or more of an idiot than trying to work someone else's shower. In his situation, it wasn't helped by the fact that his shower was broken, and he was just dragging his heels on hiring a plumber to fix it.

Lucas laughed a little when she finally relented and offer to pay him. "Don't worry about it. I wasn't workin' last night; that's why it would've cost you so much. But my shop opens this morning. I'm not gonna overcharge you."

Two towels. clean if not a bit threadbare in some spots.

"There's shampoo by the tub, but uh... I can't say I have any conditioner."

#agloryofuniicorns #muse: h.ylia #fandom: l.egend of z.elda #verse: modern.

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shinayashipper · 10 months ago

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i need to find other jobs... But I can't let go of this one yet... maybe more freelance work... but idk... I dont think I have the time hhh they keep saying I should make more Money QwQ or make my own business. just... more Money. idontknoww QwQ im running out of time. if i reached 30 it's all over for me and Everyone in my extended families and the neighbors will Talk abt Me, The Failure Daughter who can't have enough money and marry a decent man

#red rambles #i know its not true and i have friends irl and online who are women and over 30 and Thriving #but they always make me feel like im running out of time #im too old now and too late to start anything #im stuck in shitty retail job and cannot make more money to provide my family #they brought me to college and invested all that money for my education #but they still said I 'grew up Wrong'#immm sooooooooo hhhhhnghhhhhhhh #at least i can still pay the bills...#im Scared i will suddenly off to marry the next man im intriduced to just because of the Pressure #its okay... lets not think abt it...#I will make plans to resign tho but it's because I'm Miserable in this job haha #getting called names at home is Enough already

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cicada-candy · 1 month ago

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I get the sense that Nina is gonna haunt the next season.

#creature commandos #discussion in tags ->#im having A Moment #bride crashout incoming question mark.#i would Love To See her go after flag but its not gonna happen lol #i mean i guess she already kinda did. killing Rostovic. but like. i want her to lose it #bride says shes the only kind one out of them. she finally accepts that theyre friends and then accidentally drives her to her to her death #i want nina to have been a Uniting Force of the team. i want everything to go to shit w/o her there #a character whose Whole Life is defined by being a perceived burden to others is finally almost able to prove herself and.#i want the bride to go absolutely postal i want phosphorus to try changing for the better. asterisk. sorta. hear me out #the bride is just about nihilistic atp. she straight up says if rostovic hadnt killed nina she wouldnt have cared enough.#she deserved to have a sparkling fiery vengeful meltdown about everything next season. and she should get to kill eric godspeed.#phosphorus has already gotten his revenge.#he went through terrible shit and killed everyone who wronged him and then went on a hedonistic bender about it.#(phosphorus is also the only one to go by a different name. and he chose it for himself. i dont have anythng to say abt that yet but. ow)#but he clearly is still wracked with guilt about his wife and kids deaths too. He goes for Thorne at home. He definitely kills his kids.#in what i can only see as an intentional parallel.#but then in pokolistan when he is given a Very Legitimate reason to kill the little girl [she could out the team] not only does he Not-#he talks to and plays with her in a way that is Immediately a parallel to his own kid owwwww #[for hours possibly? isnt it night when theyre being chased and morning when her parents come down?? ill have 2 check tho]#good god im off topic anyway #phosphorus is a sarcastic prick like. comedically so.#the aformentioned scene is pretty much the only time in the whole show hes even remotely sincere #when him and the bride are trying to reassure nina before she goes to kill the princess-#he A] sounds genuinely earnest B] calls her “kid” and C] waits for her to leave before ruining it lmao #and like. i dont know if he felt paternal or anything but i do think her death is gonna mess him up a little #or maybe theyll all get worse.. i wouldnt be annoyed if they all crash the fuck out together. GI is gonna find out eventually too.#also hes reformed. kinda. in some of his recent comic appearances which makes for a fun dynamic certainly #christ this was a novel im sorry hsajdghkgdah #i dont rly have a satisfying ending i just. Ouagh

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partiallysame · 26 days ago

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Being Price’s lil wife

-Task force 141 knew Price was married. Man wore his ring religiously, always putting it back on the second they were in the helicopter/plane/whatever after each mission

-He’d come to work with a lunch packed with a cute lil heart note

-To be honest they all assumed you were the same age as Price (old) He always said he’d been “married for years” (3)

-They never knew your name, Price only ever referred to you as The Missus

-Gaz swore Price had a photo of you in his wallet (he did) but they never knew what you looked like untilllllllll

-You called your husband simply to complain. The AC had gone out and the repair man wouldn't be able to get there for a couple days. No no this simply would not do, his perfect lil lady could not be uncomfortable in her own home he wouldn’t have it but fuck he’s out of the country for a few more days. His team however is not and while stupid, they do know how to do maintenance work (why? Just because.)

-He called his team for a very important mission. Gave them the address, accompanied with “I don’t want to hear a fucking thing about you causing any trouble or being disrespectful to the Missus you hear?” The boys were absolutely giddy to finally see the ever so important Missus.

-The second you opened the door Soap was apologizing for having the wrong house and oh so politely asked if you knew where the Price household was. This had to be the wrong one because there you stood, pretty young thing, big doe eyes. Standing in just a big shirt ending at the very tops of your thighs, lashes batting at the three soldiers standing at your door.

-“You’ve got the right place. John told me you were coming, please come in.” You had to hold in a giggle, watching all of their eyes go wide. Gaz immediately looking at the sky, the floor, anywhere but the wife of his captain that he was just undressing with his eyes.

-When you turned to guide them into the house they all saw PRICE printed on the back of the large tshirt just barely covering your ass (this is your own home pants are never required and its hot as hell without the ac). Now it was Ghost’s turn to look anywhere but at you.

-As they worked you’d bring them water or snacks. They now understood why Price kept you hidden from them. The perfect lil housewife. The woman of all of their dreams already taken.

-When they were finished they went to the kitchen to inform you they were done only to find a full meal set on the table waiting for them but worst of all? There you were reaching up to the top cabinet. On your tippy toes, your shirt (Price’s shirt) riding up enough to expose the bottom of your ass and lacey pink panties. Soap had to bite his knuckle to keep from groaning. Ghost grabbing the tops of his teammates heads, turning them away from the incredible sight in front of them.

-Price was right to keep you hidden from them

-They might just have to sneak in and break something every time Price was out of town if it meant this is what they got to see.

Price's lil wife Masterlist

#john price #captain price #price x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost #cod x reader #blurb #cod modern warfare #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #prices lil wife

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tonycries · 3 months ago

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Sweetener - C.K.

Synopsis. You, hit by your heat cycle and accidentally calling your best friend over in a daze. Choso Kamo, your utterly sweet best friend - and totally not an aIpha, right? Right?

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Choso, heats, best-friends-to-lovers, pining, creampíes, bréeding, Choso goes FÉRAL, OMÉGAVERSE AU, overstím, knots, MARATHONS, making him cúm blanks, MATÍNG BÍTES, cúmplay, first times (Choso), pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem), proposals, p talking, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.1k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“Open up f’me, beautiful.”

Choso Kamo was approximately four seconds away from kicking down your front door and tearing your apartment down in search of you. Or, at least, he would be if he didn’t know how much you’d huff at him afterwards.

Because it’s not everyday that his precious best friend wakes him up at 3AM with a hazy, six-second call. Mumbling nothing but an adorably sleepy “Cho— come over?”

So what if Choso had instantly thrown on the first t-shirt he saw and broken about seven traffic violations on his motorbike here?

“Come on, come on-” he’s hissing underneath his breath. Weight shuffling nervously between his two feet, he raps on your door once more. Twice. Thrice. “D-don’t make me use that spare key again.”

It was a half-threat - really, it was.

But the louder your answering silence grew, the tighter his fingers curled around his own metallic key. Breathing out a low, “I’m- I’m coming in.” And slowly - ever-so-slowly - he’s cracking your door just an inch open before-

Oh.

It hits Choso like a wave - hard enough to knock him down onto his knees.

“What-” he’s gasping, heaving. Words tumbling out drunkenly in rasping ahs! that he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even register the bright, blossoming pain sweeping his knees with the way his lungs felt like they were scorching - and Choso just couldn’t get enough.

It wasn’t a new candle of yours, and Choso already memorized every one of your perfumes for this to be one. This was just so…carnally sweet.

He was drinking in every drop, every ounce, every waft of that candied air inside your cozy apartment like he couldn’t breathe if it wasn’t that.

And something in the sugary scent makes Choso twitch.

Oh, shit.

Hastily swiping away a translucent mess of drool that’d somehow made its home by the rosy corner of his mouth, he’s straining out once more. For his sanity, more than anything. “Beautiful? Anyone home?”

Still no answer.

Absolutely nothing.

It takes him a few more sloppy seconds swimming his melty mind to even consider stumbling back up onto his two unsteady feet. Blinking away the bleary film over his gaze, Choso slams! your door shut with the back of his foot - cutting off the heady perfume from emanating into the corridor.

Noise complaints from your neighbors be damned - he’ll apologize to them all personally later.

But right now, something about the way that mysterious essence was all his, his, his scratched at such a dangerously primal itch in his brain.

Shit- what was he even thinking?

Choso was here for you and only you.

He’s running a jittery few digits through the sweat-dampened valleys of his hair, tugging in a stinging little pull to try and snap some sense back into him. Clearing the strangled mess in his throat, Choso smacks! his palms against his burning cheeks before calling out once more, “I’ll be coming in–”

Because it’s not as if Choso’s never been in here before - he has. Many, many times, in fact. And during every one of those hangouts you’d made it a point to pout about how he should really “let loose” and treat this home as if it was his own, too.

Honestly, it was hard to feel anything but comfortable after knowing each other for so long - even despite those embarrassing, mushy feelings that he always drowned in around you.

But that was a conversation for another time.

And right now, Choso couldn’t even dream of any “comfort” when every step deeper into the saturated cloud of scent made Choso gulp. Every blink had his eyes watering even more - and his pants- fuck- Choso’s biting down on his rawly worried lower lip, eyes flickering anywhere but where he could feel his achy cock stirring.

Something about this smell was so…hypnotic.

And if he didn’t know any better then he’d have sworn he was practically floating down that familiar pathway to your bedroom. Feet padding down anxiously along the mahogany-covered floors, it was becoming so much harder and harder to breathe in the fragrant air without getting fucking addicted.

Or, Choso swallows, one arm balanced on the wall, the other feeling for his thundering pulse. He probably already was.

But what if you were sick? What if you needed help? Fuck, if he didn’t live every waking moment dancing along to your heartbeat.

That is, when he hears it. That.

Filtering from inside your bedroom…a moan. ”Ch-Choso–”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

You didn’t know what you were thinking, forgetting to take your monthly dosage of suppressants - you’d blame it on all the time you’d been spending studying for finals with Choso lately, but you’d never put the fault on your sweet best friend like that.

After all, he was a fellow omega like you at the end of the day. Right?

“Fuck” You’re scrambling to clasp onto a sodden sweatshirt of his on your bed, nose burying into the slightly sunny vanilla scent. You knew it was wrong to think about him this way, you knew it was made even worse considering his second gender. But- but fuck, if he didn’t have your hands slipping and sliding guiltily down towards the slick-lathered spot between your legs. Concentrated puffs of heat stifling from between your lips, “Ch-Choso–”

Honestly, you wanted him so badly you could reach over for your phone and call-

No, no, no, no - your fatigued eyes flick over to the winking clock by your bedside. 3:26AM.

You couldn’t call him over for help now. Choso was so sweet that he’d probably rush over in his pajamas and rack up a fair few tickets on his motorbike.

Which was why you preferred to spend your heats without his help - it had been that way since you’d both presented back in high school.

You’d met Choso after your family had moved to the cutest little suburb in Tokyo, stumbling across the tiny boy-next-door with wide honeypool eyes and a chubby hand that waved shyly your way. Even at the wise old age of eight, you remember thinking how he was so pretty.

Pretty enough that something your health teacher had taught in your last school clanged throughout your mind - this boy was probably an ah…what was the word? Omega.

A quiet, comfortable understanding - and it wasn’t something that the two of you never quite had to talk about too in-depth. At least, outside of sneaking the answers to pop quizzes on secondary genders, and giggling when another classmate sauntered to school with a garish bitemark on their neck.

But, often, you wondered whether you’d ever see Choso with that type of mark.

He never looked at another alpha - not even another omega, or beta, for that matter. You knew that society was stepping towards a more accepting environment for rather “unconventional” pairings - but Choso Kamo seemed well and firmly intent on rejecting every single one of them.

Instead, staying by your side. Unpaired.

Even when he followed you all the way to university - two peas in a pod, so tightly intertwined that most wondered whether you two were mated for life. And he never bothered to disagree - but then again, neither did you.

Even when the years treated him well and he grew so tall, so unfairly attractive. All prettily timid smiles, glinting piercings marrying his ears, and dark, droopy eyes tinged with the slightest kiss of dark eyeliner. Rivalling even the most cocky alphas on your entire campus with his sheer stature and ambience.

Like he was right now.

Towering at the very edge of your unlatched bedroom door.

And only one word registers in your mind - alpha.

Choso - a Choso that was so utterly real and in the flesh - jumps once those startled syllables spill from your mouth.

Fuck, you didn’t even realize you said that out loud.

Not until he’s slamming! one massively spayed-out palm by the side of your doorframe. Shattered pieces of wood crumbling beneath him, you’re unabashedly ogling the flex of his curvaceous biceps. Another hand covering the lower half of his handsome face, Choso rasps. He whines, “You called, m-my omega?”

Oh.

Your entire shivering body bolts upright, like you were being electrified with a thousand voltages of bliss that make your drooling cunt gush. Treacly wafts of pheromones clouding out from you all over again - and the look on Choso’s face is just drunk.

Thick lids so heavy that they were practically falling half-closed, it’s as if his entire body was flushed a prespired red. Lips all ruddied and laminated thinly with spit, his teeth were drawn back into such a wild snarl.

Like he was about to tear something into bits and it might be you.

So…pretty.

It almost hurts you to dart your eyes away in an urgent glance at your suspiciously open call log - did you…really call him in your haze? Fuck.

“Y-you’re-” You swallow a few times - and even then, the words don’t come to you. They can’t. Too stuck on what a delicacy your best friend looked all slumped over by your doorway like he was begging for you. Like he’d crawled all his way to you and would do it all over again. “You’re an alpha, Cho?”

As if you had any doubt now. You could smell the sheer power on him, the thrumming strength threatening to rip through that clingy white undershirt of his. So transparently thin that you could still count every ridge of his washboard abs. And his velvety black boxers hung low-

“Shit-” he gulps. “Yes- fuck! Y-you’re an omega?”

You can only nod. Brows raising when Choso plants another slam right onto your doorframe, indenting all slender lanes of his digits onto it this time. “And is that…mine?”

With a sudden inhalation, you’re snatching behind that sweatshirt of Choso’s that you’d still been holding. Heart thumping - but there was nothing more to say. What could you say?

Turns out, Choso is the first to break. “L-Let me prove it.”

You’re blinking, squeezing your thighs together at the bittersweet throb. You didn’t know what had your honeyed head reeling more - the sudden reveal of Choso’s secondary gender, or his answer. His sheer need. “Prove it?”

Choso’s head hangs low, chestnut bangs covering his greedy gaze, but you could tell that he was looking at you. Really, really looking at you.

Words dripping with something you’d never heard of before. Hoarse. Tight. “Can I…can I come in, beautiful?”

You know you should say no to letting him inside your nest - you know it.

But oh, how it looked like it was taking him every shred of will to keep standing there. To not fucking collapse at the way your gooey pheromones have him spellbound. And he likely would have had it not been for your small, trembling answer, “Yes.”

Choso whimpers - if there was ever a singular moment that would have him crawling back from the afterlife just to re-experience all over again, then it would be this.

When he feels something in the back of his mind switch.

Senses sharpening almost painfully with one step inside your humid bedroom. Two.

Until Choso’s stalking so languidly towards you like a predator cornering his prey, foot by foot. He takes his dreamy time prowling towards you - all the way up until your flushed best friend is looming across the foot of the bed.

There’s something vicious in his eyes. Something that has him salivating, “Can- can I?”

You’re breathing out, “Y-yes.”

Slow, sultry fingers unfurl out to draw a steady line along your ankle - he walks. Fingers blazing up your twitchy thighs, up your drenched excuse of shorts, up, up, up to smear that delirious line of your dribble.

“T-tell me what you want, beautiful.” He pecks an innocent kiss on your forehead, then another to your throat - heaving in your perfumed air. “Anything- I’ll give ya hah- anything.”

His words are low. Hot against your face.

And just about the only thing you can do is slither your unsteady hands down to toy with the hem of your pants. A sight that makes Choso swallow thickly with a rasping grunt.

“I want you to…” you’re trailing off. Fingers dipping down to where you haven’t been able to satisfy for hours now. Your inner omega yelling - screaming that nothing was enough, but he might just be. “-touch me here, Cho.”

SWAT!

Instantly, you’re letting off a saccharine mewl at the way your hand is being oh-so-rudely thwacked away by one of Choso’s own. The slight sting throbbing - but not as much as your poor cunt is when meeting his digits.

Sliding just between your cottony shorts- oh? Choso’s heart stutters. No panties? You really are going to be the death of him. He’s lingering a dewy stroke down your teary slit, honeying his ringed fingers in all your slick juices.

For a second - just a second.

Lightning-fast, Choso’s trailing away with a slew of spatters left behind, and it makes his skin feel ten times hotter. Ten times dirtier in only the best way.

Even more so when those very digits end up slipping easily into Choso’s mouth. One by one. Eyes trained darkly on yours, his long pinkish tongue ends up lazily lathering up and down up and down up and down every beaded gleam of your juices.

“Y-you’re so-” your voice cracks embarrassingly - pathetically, in a way that makes every copious ounce of blood in his body sprint south. “-filthy.”

Pulling off with a waterlogged pop! Choso’s tongue probes between his two long fingers, smacking his lips open and shut with the sticky dredges. And you swear you catch a whiff of smugness in his scent. Yet, he’s blushing, “All for you- only for you, my girl.”

And you can’t even complain - you can’t even tease him about the way that just another mere touch up against your feverish pussypound has Choso gasping. Eyes crinkling with something like delight and sheer awe.

Because he’s crashing his mouth into yours, suckling on your lips like his favorite berry lolly-

“Sh-shit-” Choso’s rich tone cracks into shattering lilts, and you can hear him laugh against your lips. Laugh. Humorless and crazed - pure desperation bleeding out with every swash of his intoxicating vanilla scent. “Beautiful— you taste even sweeter than in my ngh- dreams, y’know that?”

No, you didn’t - you didn’t even know that Choso dreamed of you in the first place.

And you don’t get to pay it any mind because before you know it, the swirling edge of his rounded fingertips tuck just past where your puffy folds were pursing in a ready pucker. Cold metal rings making you gasp.

And Choso’s greedily snuffing out the sound with a sinking bite of his sharpened canines into your wobbly bottom lip. Drinking in every noise from his pretty girl. His pretty girl.

Cratering dimples notching prettily at the ends of his lipbite, he’s practically begging them out with every slow gyration of his fingertips around and around your peaked clit. Tracing over every tiny ridge and sensitive bundle like he was trying to fucking memorize it. “H-has any other- fuck-” Ringing out a thundering growl at the back of his throat that makes your skin coat in tiny goosebumps. “-has any- other- made you feel this good?”

No no no - your inner omega purrs, and you can practically feel yourself groaning lowly at the back of your throat when you pull away.

Trying - failing, when Choso’s chasing your kiss-bitten lips like he was hooked. Slurring after the syrupy strings of spit that smear the traces of your mouth, he’s meshing his lips in a dramatic smooch. Again. And again. And again and again-

“L-look how wet ya are…” And it wasn’t even a command, but you can’t help lolling your head down to blink at the way his pale wrist was glistening with all your laminated juices. Musing, “Gonna make ya feel so fuckin’ good. So good.”

Two deft fingers pinch your clit. Hard.

“Ah! N-no!” Your spine bends into such a pretty curve off the bed, perfectly in position for Choso to slide his massive palm underneath and massage away your tensely knotted back. Your fingers are trekking up the clamoring hike onto his broad deltoids to feel the droolworthy jolt of his back muscles. Babbling belatedly, “N-no other alpha has made me feel s-so…”

So…what?

Hypnotized? Addicted? Gone?

But whatever it was, the sight of you being ruined into a few shattered jumbles of limbs is enough to make Choso’s alpha hum.

Whispering out, “Can I…” And with a steep inhale of the thick surrounding air, he’s gulping. “C-can I-”

Before you’re gracing him with an answer, you’re helping inch those sleep shorts down. Snailing an almost-blasphemous slicked coat that seeps into your skin. He’s twirling his thumb over the remaining excess left behind - not wasting a single drop.

And it takes only one saturated hit from where your pheromones were the most concentrated - only one shy peak down at your drooling cunt - before Choso can feel his mind shattering. Gasping.

The top half of his body all but collapsing on top of yours.

It’s not even on purpose the way he flinches at the thick curve of your thumb floating upwards to tenderly glide away the swab of drool that was flooding Choso’s mouth right now.

His neat brows quirking upwards, heaving chest choppy - you’re so lustily trapped against the bumped-up planes of his pecs. Feeling the rumble of his heated words, “I-I’ve never…”

Sounding so utterly worn-out already, Choso’s planting a few firm pecks at the corner of your chin. He’d meant for it to reach your lips - but he couldn’t. Too in a trance to even think about it. And as if to make up for it, he’s kissing your neck, the valley of your thighs, your tummy. Every and any inch he hasn’t been blessed with reaching for the past few years.

Shuffling all the way until he was practically lips to lips with your sloshing pussy, eyeing down directly at the way your sloppy entrance was welcoming him with another fresh bout of clingy slick. Choso heaves in a long breath.

“Been waitin’ a looong time f’you, y’know? Can I make a mess?” Choso’s whining sweetly, greedy gaze still trained firmly downwards. Tenderly rubbing over your glossed-up folds, “Can I m-make you break?” And those grasping begs of his are barely even audible over the sheer squelching resonating from your slobbery pussy. Your jaw falls slack at how they only make Choso nod. “Y-you’re right- s-so right–”

Talking. And before you know it, the filthiest French kiss is being placed right on your cunt.

He’s not even hesitating, not even easing you into it - because Choso Kamo has waited so long for this. And he was going to have his fill.

“This is what y-you taste like- this good?” Dragging the very pointed tip of his pretty button nose down your plump clit, he’s smushing it in place with a firm kiss at the very edge of your snug hole. “Th-think this cute cunt can take my fuckin’ cock, beautiful?”

So fucking impatient.

You’re tangling one set of fingers into the stray strands of his hair, bucking up to drag a slow glide down the lower half of his pretty face.

And, usually, with an alpha you could be expected to be snapped at with a snarling command. An instruction to just stay put.

But Choso’s only letting his sharp jaw comfy against the silken sheets, head nuzzling drunkenly into your thighs when you’re pushing and pulling him as you please. Leveraging the vice-like grasp on his scalp to drive steady grinds just the way you like it.

Whining, “Need you so bad, baby–”

“Yeah- yeah, use me-” Choso snickers around a teasing bite against the fattened edge of one of your pussy lips. Sucking. “R-reach your pretty high on my face, omega- need you to cum all over me till I-I’m dripping.”

Fuck.

Was this really your nervous, sweet best friend? His words were so dirty, as if he didn’t even realize he was saying them. And they almost make you embarrassed. Shying way just an inch-

“Oh- no. No no no-” His words come buzzing around your clit, and with a final bite of his elongated canines, Choso’s frantic. He’s scrambling. He’s grasping his powerful arms to loop your thighs and dragging you to him like some ragdoll down the protestingly creaky bed. “S’gonna go to waste- can’t- can’t let it.”

And it’s only about then that you’re dredging up the courage to angle your head further downwards - immediately hit with the sinful sight of Choso in heaven between your limp legs.

His hair a disheveled curtain, eyes narrowed and smudged with eyeliner. Damply bleeding down onto the regal apples of his high cheekbones at the way your meady slick was reaching his blushing cheeks. It masks his coral pink lips, his jaw, his fucking chin.

So sopping wet that it’s forming a little puddle down below him that Choso could never even imagine being disgusted by. No, in fact, he was disappointed with himself for not lapping it up even sooner.

Pumpish lips jutting out in a pout, Choso’s pushing away the hair from his eyes sexily. “Wh-why are you runnin’ away- don’t run away, my girl.”

With a slight giggle, you’re veering your scent to tinge with something comforting. And oh, does it do the trick - because Choso’s eyes swoop downwards drunkenly. Almost closed, almost ruined, he’s huffing out a drawled-out mantra of your name, “Lock it.”

“Wh-what?” You’re choking out.

Soft palms massage gently down your legs, wrapping them around the back of his head. “Lock it.”

Oh.

That was a command, and it has your body pulling taut. Every sensory spot all down your skin screaming to obey - yet, this is something you would have done anyway. Ankles tying together, it’s jostling Choso’s hotly open mouth against your pussy so deeply that you wonder whether he doesn’t have to breathe.

Whether he doesn’t even want to.

Because your dear best friend looks so satisfied to die right in the heaven between your legs right now. And he would go such an utterly happy man, too.

Rosy red lips rubbing rawly against your clit, you’re left a puddle of a needy mess when the roughened tastebuds of his tongue swirl in meticulous little circles. Cheeks hollowing as he sucks, your whines can’t even be heard over the most oozy squelches.

“Heheh- she’s talkin’ back ta me-” Choso’s sputtering out peck after peck. In awe. “She’s talking. Th-think she wants ngh- more.”

More.

More, more, more.

Choso’s beginning to think that your dripping pussy’s speaking for himself with the way that’s exactly what he wants right now. Teasing the mushy outer lips of your puckered hole with his fat fingerpads, before bullying in. Inside.

You’re taking him so well - hips careening even further downwards when he’s feeding your greedy cunt with every long inch of his digits. Slow enough that you could count it - just about six, ringed inches all the way to his knuckles.

Shit- it’s so hot inside, as if your pretty pussy was practically melting around him. Molding to his every shape as Choso’s driveling swirling around in rummaging little stripes down your gummy walls. Slow. Slick.

Slender cylindrical intrusions that bump up deftly against your battered g-spots. The chilling stretch of his banded metal rings was too much. Your eager cunt is splattering out a pornographic little gush of your sweet, sweet juices all over again at the way he’s teasingly fondling over that magical spot.

“J-jus’ a little higher, baby–” you’re spewing out. Deprived.

And oh, Choso’s darkened eyes are practically lighting up. He doesn’t pull away from your bruised clit to answer - not even to breathe before vibrating out a keening, “Here?”

So desperate.

Even needier than you.

You’re blinking through large, globular tears that occupy the space behind your lids. Nodding, “A little more- jus- oh!”

And Choso didn’t need to hear it from your lips. Hell, he didn’t even need to hear it from the way your snug channel was all but milking his fingers dry. Clinging on in a soppy kiss when he’s probing into your g-spot harder. Meaner. Because the way your intoxicating scent changes - concentrating ever-so-slightly makes Choso realize that you’re cumming before even you register it.

Slamming headfirst into your high, you’re plowing out a belated cry of “I- fuck- m’cumming, Cho. M’cumming, m’cumming-”

Sparks of white splinter your vision, and your knees find themselves just wrenching free from the lecherous comforts of the bed - but Choso won’t let you escape so easily.

No.

Barely batting an eye, he’s straining his biceps deadlocked around your legs. Pinning you to the bed until you could barely squirm, barely do anything but take his punishing little clashes against your g-spot head-on. Bumping in. Over and over.

Choso suckles on your clit like his favorite little gummy, stretching and nibbling until you see stars with your orgasm.

“Don’t run away-” he’s puffing out into your cunt, the very idea of parting with drizzling pussy making him yelp out a pained grunt. “P-please don’t run away- I promised to make a mess. O-one more f’me, beautiful?”

You’re just molten at his touch. Ravenous and overwhelmingly greedy for you as much as you were for him. Something carnal inside you screaming for more-

“H-hear her?” His eyes are drifting closed at the pulpy little noises your cunt mashes on. Dangling ear piercings twinkling when he’s leering even closer to hear. “Tellin’ me she’s gonna give her- hngh- alpha one more.” Fuck, Choso’s features decorate with the most blazing blush at his own words. How embarrassing. “Wontcha use my mouth all over again? I didn’t get fuuuuck- messy ‘nough last time…”

And as if to prove his point, Choso traces a slow glide of his worked tongue across the sloppily wet coating that drips down his lips. Just for a second.

Your veins bubble sensitively with need at the broken whine sounding from the back of Choso’s throat when you drag him even snugger between your legs. Puffs of leaky pheromones driving the two of you wild, making your hips stutter out a slurring pace up and down his face.

“Th-this pussy is all f’me- isn’t it, my girl? S’all f’me?”

Even sloppier once you battle out a nod.

Your cunt is extra slobbery because of your heat anyways, but Choso’s making such a mess on purpose.

Eyes running away to the back of his head, tongue lolling out even messier. He’s planting such dousing draws of saliva, lathering your sweet spots mercilessly. And his fingers- oh, his fingers were relentless. Shovelling up in solid, wet nudges until you’re able to feel every circular indent of his digits on your g-spot.

Every run of his manicured nails across where you’re sure you were beginning to get bruised. And every-so-often whenever his eyes glaze green with raw greed - with slight, stupid jealousy over his fingers - you’d peek at Choso plunging his digits into his mouth and sucking.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Matching the lecherous sound of your thundering heartbeat, you can feel yourself squeal at the overstimulating touches. Sobbing out the cutest little whines that make Choso chuckle, “Easy– easy there, my girl.” Letting your cunt free with a sodden pwah! only to spit. Once. Twice. A sticky wad of his thick saliva that blusters its way to coat your puffy pussy lips, “You’re cumming again, right? A-all over my face?”

You’re nodding - nodding and nodding so hard, but that wasn’t enough for Choso Kamo.

He wasn’t satisfied until a slow pull of your clit right from between his pearly whites had you bawling out. The backs of your hands dipping upwards to hide your face - which he quickly, and calculatedly spanks away with his free hand. “M’gonna cum soon- ngh- please- Cho- don’ stop.”

Hah, if this was any other time then Choso might’ve laughed.

Might’ve teased you until you were begging for him in that cute voice once more. But maybe it’s the way his alpha was clawing at his chest from the insides to give you whatever you want, maybe it was the way seeing you fall apart on your heat like this all over him had his cock twitching-

Because Choso only smiles - drunk. Dazed. “Cum f’me, p-please. Ruin me, ma’am..”

He was ruined alright.

Absolutely sugar-coated with your overlaying juices - it’s dripping down his bed and disappearing into the now see-through fabric of his undershirt like a badge of honor. A badge to say that he’s made you cum for the second time on his mouth.

That he’s made you squirt.

Splattering out all over his face with every slurping taste - and yet, Choso still couldn’t get enough. Sweeping up the milky droplets, Choso’s boring his heady gaze right into your widened eyes when he’s leering his mouth agape to make you spy the way each splash slides down his throat.

God- you’re seeing white all over again. You’re seeing spots, having you gulp in necessary gasps of the soiled air to once more regain your steady heartpace.

“Ch-Choso-” you’re struggling, voice brittle and gone. Frantically trying to haul - to force - Choso from his favorite home between your cunt, to stop his greedy tongue. “S’enough- can’t cum anymore can’t- ngh-”

“But, beautiful–”

Shit- it would be so easy to get swept up all over again. Because Choso was parched, and he was still far from having his fill.

Words tinting with a slightly commanding tone, you’re making something dark and primal rear its head when you manhandle him upwards with one hand in his locks, and another on his undershirt. So heavy but pliant.

Up, up, up-

“Choso–” you’re mumbling out. And before you know it, Chosos hands had toppled you over into the cushiony mattress, and yours were tracing the edge of his too-tight boxers. Tugging. Needy. “I-I want these- off-”

“Anything.” He’s echoing, like it was all that he could right about now. Dewey brows scrunching up into something of a beg, you’re catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Deprived. “Anything f-for you-”

Fuck- in your currently woozy state you’re not sure if Choso removed his pants or if he ripped them off. Stumbling and tripping to let the few scarce tatters droop into the floor in a sullen pile.

With a gulp, your fingers skitter across the planes of his useless undershirt - letting his pretty, bulging muscles peek out at you from underneath when you slide them off of him. Palms smearing in gluttonous little touches across his push pecs, down his rippling abs, down that lusciously dark happy trail and oh-

“S-something the matter, beautiful?” Choso’s heaving in a struggling gulp at the way your gorgeous eyes widen, maw slacking into a soft oh! Head tilting innocently, “M’your hah- best friend, you can tell me a-anythin’.”

“You’re just so…” Comes the whirling answer, your voice slow and alcoholic. He was getting drunk on your words already. “...big.”

Not only was Choso big - he was massive.

The fat, rotund circle of his head ruddied a strawberry pink, gradiating all the way down his shaft to meet blend into his creamy base. He was so hard that it looked painful, visibly throb! throb! throbbing, bumpy lightning bolts of his veins hammering up at you cheekily. He was so pretty - thick enough that you’re feeling your cunt clench already. Even the burn of your stare has Choso’s reddish divot weeping out a few ropey spurts of pre. Making you dizzy with the incredible size and that musky vanilla scent of his.

And was that-

Oh. Fuck.

It was.

Through the honeyed slew of precum pooling at Choso’s thick tip, you’re gasping at the slight wink of something metallic.

Without thinking - without even breathing - you’re drifting your hand down to thumb those syrupy globules thin. Discovering the absolute treasure chest that was a studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the weepy edge of Choso’s shaft.

“I got if for- you- Gotta a-another one, y’know-” His gentle rasp jolts you out of your sinful reverie, engulfing hands guiding your own to wrap around his flushed tip and peek under. Right on the slippery sliver of his slit, “A ngh- matching one. Th-thought you might like it…”

Oh- two.

And, embarrassingly, you can feel the way your scent turns headier. Hypnotizing. Enough so that Choso can’t help the way he’s hanging by a bare thread, head falling into the crook of your neck to breathe in. “Y-you act so innocent but…”

“But m’only l-like this for you.” He’s tucking your tender earlobe between his teeth. “P-promise. I haven’t even…”

Ah, a virgin.

Sweet and absolutely gifted.

And something about it was so cute the way Choso was acting exactly like it. Every wordless toy of your fingers up and down his sensitive glans, making him snarl a lipbite. Girthy length fucking up in shuddering slams into the cushiony tunnel of your palm. Weightily muscled abs flexing with heat when you’re running a thumb under his head to press down on that silver piercing.

“S-so tiny- heh- your pretty hands are so tiny takin’ my cock, beautiful.” he’s giggling - giggling. Perspiration-simmered forehead knocking into yours, Choso’s letting his tired head loll there and bore into your eyes. “You needa ngh- fuck! Needa slow down, my girl, m’already so close jus’ from making out with yer sweet c-cunt out.” Already close. Just from eating you out. “Else m’n-not gonna be able to control it-”

“I can handle it–” you’re pouting stubbornly. Soft digits clenching even tighter around his cock, and shit, Choso lets his head fall into the junction between your shoulder and your neck.

Finding himself growing more needy. More feral. Tight, hot curdling in his stomach building up and up.

“M’serious.” His lilting voice breaks, teeth skimming over the pulpy flesh of your sweetened pheromone glands. Nibbling. His incredibly shaky fingers wrap around your shoulders, “Please- ngh- please m’gonna break ya.”

And it’s like you wanted him to.

Dick twitching at those filthy fingers of yours - the way they only pump him faster. And faster. Tighter around the hefty base, more teasing up the slippery slope of his tip - like you were trying to milk out something delicious.

And you can already feel the way your mouth lathers with a fresh coating of saliva, face inching closer and closer to the bawling peak of his swollen cock. Wanting oh-so-badly to taste the silver of his Prince Albert’s.

“But I want you to, Cho.”

SMACK!

You’re left stupidly stunned when Choso’s behemoth palm coils like a tight shackle around your tender throat. Pulling you away from his achy cock in a flash, you’re being thrown around like his own personal ragdoll.

And Choso snickers at the way you’re bouncing cutely on the plush mattress, legs drooping wider and wider agape with every sleazy second he really can’t help but leer over you. Wrangling those boneless legs of yours over his shoulder with a sharp click of his tongue.

“I-I already told you, beautiful–” he’s bending down, down down to nose along your sweat-dotted cheeks, your skin stark hot against the icy chain of his silver necklace. Chest grumbling with a slight purr. “M’gonna make such a mess of you- can I?”

And that drunken look in Choso’s eyes made him look like he would absolutely shatter if you let your lips shape into a teasing no right about now. Like those warm, salted tears spattering from the corners of his half-lidded eyes and right onto your cheeks would only hasten.

“Can I- please, my girl- jus’ wanna-” His lips wobble adorably when his sobbing cock glides a slow line between the mushy lips of your pussy. A graze for a graze of his mouth down your own. “-wanna make you mine.”

And just the tip - just a single fat inch shoved into your gummy hole is all it takes for Choso to whimper.

You’re brushing over his precious cheek, “Ch-Cho, are you okay?”

And Choso can’t answer - hell, he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Because that gushing little clench of your clingy walls all around his sodden wet tip absolutely ruins him. Delicate rivulets of slobber streaming down the smiling edges of his tongue, he’s puffing out an open-mouthed, “No- fuck- d-do I look okay?”

He didn’t.

He seemed like he was burning up - fucked-out already, practically. Pecs rippling with a bolting flex, muscled body shirking with violent shivers when with a low keen of your name - Choso’s cumming.

“No-” he’s crying out, head flailing backwards. Just from putting it inside for the first time. “No no no no- m’not s’pposed to- yet-”

But he was. Hips recklessly meandering again and again into yours - slight, tugging grinds of just his thickened tip like Choso was afraid of sinking into your heavenly pussy anymore. Like he knew it would break him even more.

Have him flooding out voluminous ribbons of thick seed, splattering against your spongy channel, and smearing around in dripping vertical patterns with every one of his animalistic ruts.

“Give it t’me–” you’re locking your ankles even tighter. Prattling out such filthy nonsense that you’re sure you’d get embarrassed about had you not been in your heat. “I-I need your cum, baby- wan’ it allll inside me-”

“Ngh-” Choso’s letting off a broken sound at the back of his throat, squeezing your own with that one hand of his happily making its home there. Blocking off your airway, your heady pheromones only struggle to waft out even more. Saturating. “D-don’t talk like that- n-not outta ya pussy, beautiful.”

“But I w-ngh! want it-”

He gulps, “A-are you sure?” Because this is his best friend - this is the one person he’d never even dreamt of having because that was too dangerous. Too fanciful. The one person he’d written about in every diary, and gotten teased for it by his family just the same. Perfect.

Yet, you’re so stubborn when you’re in heat. “Mhm– wan’ you to…breed me.”

And he loved it.

Couldn’t get enough of it - or you.

Choso’s scrambling up one of his jostling hands to latch your hips into a perfect almost-semicircle. Lower lip worried underneath his canines when he’s wiping his fat thumb over the dewdrops of seed treacling from your soppy slit.

That digit finds its way rummaging between your lips, “Lock it.”

This time, you don’t need it said twice - you don’t even need it to be a command.

Because Choso’s reigning up his own hand to pin both your ankles behind his head, and you think you’ll forever remember just how hot he looked this way. Biceps bulging with the strain, simmering with a slick sheen of perspiration, and his hips-

Oh, it’s like any and every slip of restraint in Choso’s hulking body snapped.

Because with a loud, saturated squelch! you’re being filled up to what it feels like your lungs with every solid inch of his engorged girth. Inflating your tender insides, buttering your poor cervix with a thick stream of pre when he’s kissing it with a wet thwack!

“Oh- oh.” Choso’s head pushes into the crook of your neck, into your pillow until you were sure that it was soaked with tears of absolute bliss. “Th-this feels nothing l-like my ngh- hand. S’so much more heavenly-”

Yet, you weren’t in the right state of mind to be paying attention to the utter filth that was spilling from your innocent best friend’s mouth. Breath choking up in a lead ball in your throat, you whisper, “Ch-Cho…s’that your knot?”

Your slicked-up folds puckering up in a wet snog against the overinflated ring ballooning around his thick base. The sheer thumping circumference of it makes you squeeze-

“Y-yes–” he’s humming out. The sodden base of his cock thwack! thwack! thwacking your bruising entrance when he’s rutting in and out. Sloppy. Slow. Still trying not to see stars. “God- s’even softer than I ngh- imagined.”

And soft you were.

This is what your sweet pussy felt like? This good? This should be fucking illegal, he was babbling out - but wouldn’t realize until much, much later.

Being spearheaded open with every unapologetic rifle to fill you up, the leftover dredges of Choso’s seed trickle a slippery pathway leading him to ambush your g-spot head on. Stubbing his cool metal piercing into your sweetened bullseyes so hard, you swear you could feel the indenting divot of that sinful Prince Albert’s.

“There?” Mesmerized, his eyes grow wide. “R-right there?”

And he’s hot - so feverish.

Glissading body on top of yours burning up with radiating heat, fracturing our rationality just as much as the sweet vanilla scent of his pheromones were. That tiny heart friendship charm on his necklace hitting your collarbones in a dirty staccato.

You can feel yourself start to drool with how stupid Choso’s cock was fucking you, curling a few neat raking lines down his statuesquely muscled back. It makes him just arch his cock even deeper to jostle your snug insides riotously.

“I-imagined about me a lot?” Ah, you’re finding it in yourself to smirk.

Something that Choso’s jackhammering out in quick, increasingly sloppy juts of his hips. Slathering the entirety of his cock with your slicked juices.

“O-of course.” He’s shifting his eyes gingerly away from yours with a boyish blush. But now that Choso had started talking, he couldn’t stop. “Always wan’ed to f-fuck you through a rut or h-heat like this- to-” Couldn’t keep from hiking up a flattened foot to angle his pierced cockhead into every untouched inch inside you. The special upright curve of his shaft driving you mad. “-to absolutely ruin you and-” The hand at your legs hover right over where he was plummeting your insides with gluey kisses - your womb. “-and make you mine. Ours.”

Ours.

God, just the mere act of confessing those embarrassing little words had Choso’s hulking body practically melting into yours.

It’s like his abs were made of adhesive, massaging up and down your front. Drowning you into the plethora of wrecked sheets and him when he’s collapsing on top of you - but still going. Still placing pound after pound.

“I-I want that too-” And you think you hear Choso sharply gasp, but you can’t confirm over your popping ears. “Always wanted it- ah- wanted you to fuck a baby into me, Cho.”

SLAM!

The slowly-splintering bedframe creaks when one particularly harsh rut has the headboard slamming into the wall behind.

And that’s all he needed to hear.

A baby - he wants a baby. He needs one - and this wasn’t just his alpha talking - and he was going to get it.

All that Choso thinks he ever could hear all through his honeyed mind for the rest of his life. Replaying it over and over in his mind like his favorite catchy tune.

You don’t miss the way that he looks so in love above you, gaze practically heart-eyed and gone. Choso’s raw, swollen lips meteor shower your face with peck after peck - just in time with the collisions of his rounded tip into your sweet spots.

“Boy or girl?”

“H-huh?” you’re questioning, barely-lucidly.

“Boy or girl.”

And after those senseless little answers are falling from your lips, Choso’s brushing a hand over your lower tummy. Pushing. Hard. Until his twitchy knot was covered in buttery residues of cum, “Ah- a-always wan’ed a daughter with ya first. With your c-cute smile and ngh- eyes.”

Huffing out an embarrassed, “Choso.”

And he’s only scooping back in the leaky sediments of seed that he’s responsible for making a mess of. Turning a slow thumb right over your tight ring of muscle, “Gonna have my- ngh- style of course, heh- you’d be the best momma. D-don’t care if you’re my best friend, m’gonna breed ya until you’re overspilling, beautiful.”

You needed it so badly. Your heat turning up a notch until it felt like you were boiling from the inside out, candied scent drifting more.

He’s giggling out, dark lashes batting without his permission. “M’gonna- ngh- take care of you-”. The hand caressing your elastic entrance flies upwards to get cleaned off by his own tongue - before prying your jaw sagging open to spit. “Goood fuckin’ care. N’ hopefully you’ll end up p-pregnant…hopefully.”

He’s encircling the dip in your waist and dragging you forwards to smack against his washboard abs. Unable to squirm. Unable to run away. “Gonna be the p-prettiest momma- the ngh- most beautiful.” Other hand restricting your throat so cozily that your vision tinges with black, “Gonna be mine.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words in mind.

The way your sopping walls were milking him for all he’s worth - so greedily - shoving Choso to tip over the edge, too.

Choso’s letting his body sexily cave into yours, not breaking even a mere inch apart when he’s got you trapped and overfilled with every dollop of his cum icing your insides. And right now you could already feel the way your scents were mixing, the way Choso turns slightly cross-eyed-

Before sharply turning to your glands and biting.

Hard.

His predatory canines break through your epidermis layer like butter, a crimson lipstain gushing from the wound and staining his lips a handsome rouge.

And - only belatedly, once your omega’s snapping at you with her teeth bared - do you realize that it’s your turn to do the same. As if you would want any other.

Locking your jaw to dig into his pale, dampish throat, Choso sucks in his cheek to muffle the slightest whine when you’re wringing him through every speck of bliss he could possibly ever feel in a lifetime. Furious cock stuttering out a few more lazy wisps of cum at the mingling feeling of finally being yours.

“Not ‘nough-” He’s eyeing the leftover ring of cum painting his knot, “Can I fill ya up m-more? Please? Please- my girl.”

You’re pulling away with a woozy nod to rub your thumb over the dug indents of your teeth, gently soothing slow circles over the feral sting.

Filling you up over and over with each pound, he’s fucking you into the mattress like he hates you. And he’s fucking you like every shuddering ram had a creamy ounce of cum pouring into your gummy walls. Glueing in wet splats against your g-spot, your cervix, like a second sloppy skin.

Generous helpings of cum drifting into almost blanks-

“Heh- haaaah- y’know tha’s makin’ me still c-cum, beautiful.” Choso’s leaving sodden kisses on your own mark, your lips. “M’sorry m’sorry I- I can’t stop- I just- can’t.”

And it’s sheer animal nature in you that’s screaming at you that you don’t want him to stop until you’re sure it takes. That’s bending down a hand as much as deftly as possible to wrap around Choso’s slightly softening cock - that only tuts in impatience.

“Wh-when I said inside-” You’re pumping his soaked base as much as possible, feeling the stiffening twitch at his tip buried inside you. “-I mean- inside-”

It’s like you’re being split-apart - like you couldn’t be any fuller if you tried.

And, yet, only the very curvaceous top of Choso’s inflated knot had bullied its way in-between your lewdly stretched hole. Gaping a pathway so incredibly girthy that it makes you scrunch your brows, head tumbling backwards.

“Oh- oh, my greedy, greedy girl.” But Choso doesn’t look one bit admonishing - not one bit. Slithering a hand down to your cunt, he’s steamrolling two thick pads of his fingers. Rubbing up against your squeamish walls, scissoring your tight entrance so amply open. “I can put it…inside. R-really, really inside?”

Oh, Choso doesn’t know what blessings he’s received in his past lives. But absolutely nothing could have prepared him for how swelteringly hot and cushy you were around his fat knot.

Swallowing up the bulging circlet, plugging up your seeping slit safely so that you’re not spilling a single glutinous splotch of his cum. So that it will take. It’s such a tight fit. Such a burning stretch. You felt so full you could burst with every throb of his swollen knot probing your walls.

Ah, you look so pretty this way.

And Choso’s half-wishing he had a camera to capture this moment. With his lips pressing a few syrupy kisses along every inch of skin he could reach. Somewhere near your tummy - so full and slightly inflated with the copious amounts of cum that were dumped inside you.

He’s murmuring something drunken - something you probably weren’t even supposed to hear. But at the curious tilt of your head, your best friend chews over his lips nervously.

And a giddy smile plasters across your face at the saccharine love in your best friend’s eyes - the way he was probably mulling over asking you out on a date. There was no turning back at this point, and your omega purred in agreement as you got ready to say yes. For him to say a sweetened-

“Marry me.”

A/N. You show up at the next Itadori family dinner with a ring and Sukuna has an actual heart attack.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #choso #tonywrites #choso kamo

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sttoru · 3 months ago

Note

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”

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