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ceruark · 2 months

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eat your heart out

synopsis: you’re a vampire just trying to get by via feeding on your friends, having no desire to find a mate. sunday has other plans. notes: yan! sunday x vampire! gn! reader. (yan! aventurine if you squint) words: 3,396 notes: modern au. vampires are fully integrated into society. cw: yandere themes: obsessive and possessive behavior, stalking, drugging. not nsfw but definitely a bit horny, my bad. a/n: apparently the key to overcoming writer’s block is having a really questionable dream

“Come on.”

“Aven, I said no.”

“Just one bite?”

“No. I’m not hungry.” You shove his face away from your arm, but he just rests his head on your shoulder in response. You roll your eyes in annoyance. “Besides, you’ve had vodka. Your blood probably tastes like shit right now.”

The blonde scoffs at you. “It’s not my fault you have an awful alcohol palate.”

You glare at him, offended. “Wine is one of the only things I can tolerate. It’s not my fault you don’t have a more refined taste.”

Aventurine heaves a loud sigh and pouts, but drops the topic.

It’s common knowledge that, as a vampire, you need to drink blood regularly to sustain yourself. After much trial and error, you found that you can get by just fine feeding only twice a week. Thankfully, your friends don’t harbor any fear toward you and are more than willing to let you drink from them. You always feel bad for leaving such a painful mark on their wrists, but they wave away your worries, insisting that it’s not much to put up with so long as you’re fed and healthy. You’re grateful for all of them and will take what you can get, even if you have developed a particular taste for Black Swan’s and Ratio’s blood— and Aventurine’s, when he isn’t drinking that godawful liquor.

Others of your kind often tell you that it would be easier and more beneficial for you to find a mate. Drinking from a single person would mean that you could feed more frequently, and the consistency of drinking the same blood would make you stronger, and overall healthier. You’re reluctant to tell your friends that drinking blood of various types and quality leaves you feeling more lethargic than could be considered normal. They would react poorly to that information, and the alternative is something you don’t want to do— not in the near future, and maybe not ever.

The thought of being bound to one person until they die leaves you nauseous; you’d seen how well that worked out for your parents. Becoming accustomed and addicted to a single person’s blood is a tricky thing, and your father’s withdrawal symptoms had been brutal for decades. For a long time, doctors believed he would never fully recover.

So you always brush away anyone who approaches you with the intent of becoming your mate, insisting you aren’t interested and you don't need one.

Aventurine seems to be gunning for that position, anyway. He has a habit of clinging to you and flaunting his neck around you, wearing accessories that bring attention to it or leaving it completely barren while wearing a low-cut top. His intentions couldn’t be more obvious, but you refuse to acknowledge them; you love him dearly, but not enough to shatter your fear of taking in a mate.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when the bartender finally places your order in front of you: a glass of classic red wine. You perk up as they bow to you. “Apologies for the wait, we’re quite busy tonight.”

You shake your head in dismissal. You were wondering why it was taking so long to pour a simple glass of wine, but you suppose some things can’t be helped.

“No worries,” you respond with a grin. The bartender watches as you raise the glass to your lips and take your first sip, and leaves once you hum in satisfaction and go back for more.

You remain at ease for a while longer, sipping at your drink and enjoying conversation with your dear friend (who ends up ordering another drink with vodka in it, how disgusting). The two of you are in the middle of an argument about who in your shared friend group would survive in a zombie apocalypse when someone settles into the empty seat on the other side of you.

“Having a nice night?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden voice sounding next to you. You manage to catch the way Aventurine’s fond gaze morphs into a heated glare, the way his laughter breaks off and his genuine smile twists into that of a bitter one.

“Sunday,” he says in greeting, though the name rolls off his tongue with loathing.

Said man’s sharp golden eyes flick to Aventurine briefly, meeting the glare with one of his own, before looking back to you. You repress a shudder and greet him with a tight smile.

Sunday Oak, world-famous actor and esteemed son of the distinguished director Gopher Wood, has an interest in you that you haven’t been able to shake. Mr. Wood had picked up a screenplay you wrote, and you were ecstatic to hear that he wanted to meet with you to further discuss your vision for the film. The movie the two of you crafted together was a massive success, and Mr. Wood quickly snatched you up, not wanting to lose your talent to another agency. He’d seen something in you— “a keen eye,” he’d said— and decided to keep you around as his assistant.

Needless to say, you were in no position to treat Sunday with anything but respect, even if he did unnerve you. The two of you met in Halovian Entertainment’s main office during a major company meeting; as the heir to the man’s fortune, he was always at his father’s side, but as his assistant, you now had a place on Mr. Wood’s other side. You two are frequently around each other, and the more you speak to him, the more he seems to pop up in your life, even in places he shouldn’t be. He has a way of conveniently being in the right place at the right time, always lending a hand when you’re struggling to carry heavy equipment, or running through lines and providing an actor’s perspective when you’ve hit a roadblock while writing a script.

He’s always showing up when you’ve gone just a few days longer than usual without feeding, standing closer to you than he usually does. He’ll linger nearby, and the normally graceful and composed actor will somehow manage to gain a small wound that causes him to bleed and fills the air with a scent you can just barely resist.

You considered him a good friend at first. You might still be taken with him if you hadn’t long since figured out that he’s trying to sink his claws into you by getting you to sink your fangs into him. His demeanor is sweet, and his blood smells even sweeter— but you know better than to bite into the apple that the devil tempts you with.

Tonight, he’s decided to crash your weekly meet-up with your friends and sit beside you at the bar. He’s wearing a sheer white top that hangs lowly around his chest, leaving his pale, unblemished neck and collarbones as yours for the taking. Aventurine eyes his outfit choice with disdain, and had this been anyone else sitting with you two, you would have called him out on his hypocrisy; the black off-the-shoulder top he’s wearing shamelessly leaves everything on glorious display.

You turn your head to face Sunday— maybe a little too fast, given the way the room seems to spin a little. You blink rapidly, trying to pull yourself together against the fuzziness in your head.

“It’s nice of you to join us,” you say pleasantly, trying to smooth your smile into something less forced.

Sunday returns your smile, before shaking his head. “I wish I could join you on more friendly terms, but I do have unfortunate news.”

You straighten up, a bit alarmed. “What is it?”

“It seems teenage drama is more serious than we thought. Yanqing and Yunli are unwilling to continue to work with each other.” He sighs. “They’re both demanding that the other drop the film.”

You stare at him incredulously. “We’re already halfway through filming.”

“Yes,” Sunday says, sounding as tired as you already feel. His eyes flit to Aventurine, before looking back to you. “I’ve already discussed potential solutions with my father, but we shouldn’t go over them in… mixed company.”

As an actor under a different agency, Aventurine shouldn’t be around for a conversation like this. He narrows his eyes, giving Sunday another strained smile. “Certainly you can discuss it another time then, yes?”

“It’s an urgent matter,” Sunday answers easily. “If we have to recast and reshoot, we should have this sorted out as soon as possible.”

The blonde is about to fire off another snarky response, but pauses when you place a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right, we need to get this figured out.” You squeeze his shoulder. “Why don’t you go and make sure Veritas hasn’t killed Boothill over poker? They both left the bar pretty drunk.”

Aventurine eyes Sunday warily, then looks back to you. “Fine.” He drops his voice to a whisper, “But you come find us if he tries anything, alright?”

“He won’t,” you whisper back, “I’ll be fine.”

He clearly doesn’t believe you, but he stands to leave anyway. He flicks Sunday a cool look before turning his back on the two of you, wandering away from the bar and toward the casino.

You turn back to Sunday, ignoring the way your head starts swimming again. You suck in an unsteady breath. You feel hot all over, burning like a million needles are pricking at your skin. You glance at your empty wine glass with concern— alcohol never hits you this hard.

You clear your throat, putting your discomfort on the backburner for now. “So what did your father say?”

Sunday hums, propping his arm up against the counter and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “There aren’t many teenage actors with the skill to replace either of them, and those with the availability are under IPC contract.”

Your eyes go wide. Halovian Entertainment and the IPC don’t mix well, under any circumstances. “He’s not seriously considering extending the casting call to them, is he? The media will be a nightmare if we do that.”

Sunday opens his mouth to respond, then pauses. He takes a sweeping gaze of the crowd around them, too close for comfort. “Perhaps it would be wise to take this conversation elsewhere.”

You nod in agreement, rising to your feet—

—and immediately go crashing toward the floor.

The burning intensifies once you’re standing, and if it was swimming before, then the room is somersaulting now. You let out a cry of distress as you flail, your hands attempting to catch onto the counter or your chair as your legs give out beneath you. One hand feebly latches onto the counter, but slips off of it. Before you can hit the ground, Sunday rushes to your side and wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you against him.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice dripping with concern and something else you can’t quite place.

“Something—” You cut yourself off, surprised at the way you slur your words. “Something’s wrong.”

Sunday’s face comes into view. His brows are drawn as he clicks his tongue at you. “Did you have too much to drink?”

“No.” You shake your head, and immediately regret it. “Alcohol doesn’t affect me much.”

He frowns more at that. “Might you be getting sick?” He presses his hand to your head, feeling for your temperature. At the contact, your stomach roils, painfully contracting within you.

With horror, you realize it’s hunger. You fed yesterday— you shouldn’t start feeling hungry for at least a few days, nevermind feeling like you’re starving.

You tremble as he withdraws his hand. Your fangs poke at your tongue in your mouth, presenting themselves against your will. Standing this close to you, Sunday’s scent is too strong, and you feel your resolve hanging on by a singular thread.

“You’re running a fever.” He leans in closer, and you clench your jaw. “Do you want me to take you back to your hotel room?”

You don’t trust yourself to open your mouth right now. You shake your head, then move to separate yourself from him. You need to find your friends, any of them, and you need to do it now. But the second you manage to slip out of his grasp, you’re unsteady again, sent tumbling to the ground.

Sunday quickly catches you by the arm before you can fall and pulls you back toward him. The arm around your waist is firm this time.

“Please,” he says, sounding stressed, maybe even a bit desperate. “Let me walk you back. You can’t make it back in this state.”

You want to talk, want to tell him that no, he doesn’t need to escort you back— in fact, you’d rather him take you to one of your friends. But you can’t, not with the way your hunger overrides your brain and leaves you salivating. You can only bring yourself to nod slowly. Once he dumps you in your room, you can call Aventurine up and feed all you like.

The walk to the elevator is agonizing, but the ride up to the thirteenth floor is even worse. At least near the bar, you could distract yourself by catching bits and pieces of the patrons’ conversations, or by staring at the lights of the machines at the casino.

In the small and confined space with no lights or sounds— just you and Sunday— it’s much harder to ignore the roaring of your stomach. Unconsciously, the hand you have settled on his hip to steady yourself tightens, your nails digging harshly into his shirt and leaving crescent marks in his flesh.

He looks at you again, eyes shining in what seems to be anticipation. You would notice it if you didn’t have your gaze resolutely fixed to your feet. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You nod again, still refusing to open your mouth.

The doors slide open, and somewhere in your hunger-induced haze you manage to feel relief at the sight of your hotel door. You reach into your pocket and produce the key card. Sunday takes it from you and opens the door, holding you every step of the way until he can set you down gently on the bed.

Once you’re seated, you use every ounce of strength you have left to say, “You can go now.” Your voice is strained from the effort of holding yourself back.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like this,” he says, and you grit your teeth at his words. “You’re clearly ill. I don’t want to risk things getting worse with no one around.”

“I’ll be fine,” you mutter as you close your eyes. He needs to leave, and soon, or you’re going to lose your mind.

His hand is against your head again, and you jerk away from his touch, clenching your hands into fists to ground yourself.

“At least let me take your temperature,” he pleads. “The first aid kids have medicine that will help with the fever.”

“Fine,” you concede, and he sets off to the bathroom.

His return is indicated by the bed dipping beside you and the sound of the first aid kit being rummaged through. You feel the press of the thermometer against your forehead, and then hear a beeping sound go off.

“102,” he says, sighing. “I’m going to give you some Tylenol, alright?”

You nod weakly. You sincerely doubt the medication will help with your particular ailment. You hear the packaging being ripped open, and for a long moment there’s nothing else.

And then, you smell it: the metallic, unmistakable scent of blood.

Your eyes fly open, pupils blown wide as they lock onto Sunday. He’s pricked himself on the needle in the first aid kit, and a small bead of blood sits on the end of his index finger.

Were you in your right mind, you might have been able to piece it together: the way the bartender watched you as you drank the wine, the way Sunday was in the right place at the right time again, and the way he holds the needle in a way that makes the injury look more purposeful rather than accidental. But such a train of thought has no chance of departing when your blood is roaring in your ears and your carnal instincts take over.

In an instant, you're lunging at him. One of your hands grips the side of his neck and the other settles on his hip again. You push him onto the mattress, using your body weight and enhanced strength to pin him down.

Your lips brush momentarily against the soft skin of his neck before you open your mouth wide and bite into him.

Sunday lets out a soft groan as your fangs pierce his neck. Your fangs hold no venom yet he finds himself going still, paralyzed from pleasure. Despite the stabbing sensation, he cranes his neck and presses it against your lips as much as he can, trying to make access to his blood even easier for you. In a haze of his own, he reaches up and tangles one of his hands into your hair, placing the other on the small of your back and pulling you into him even more.

His blood is sweet against your tongue— sweet like syrup, as sweet as he is to you. You’re past the amount of blood you need to drink to be sustained, but you persist in drinking, indulging yourself just this once. You need more, taking in such big gulps of it that it spills out of the sides of your lips and dribbles down your chin.

You move lower, trailing tiny bites down his neck until you bite down firmly into his shoulder, taking as much as you please. He breathes shallowly and moans at every nip and bite, but he makes no move to push you away. If anything, he only holds you tighter against him.

He trails a hand down your back, and a coherent part of your mind registers that his hold on you has gone slack. Suddenly, an urgency to stop manages to cut through the fog still lingering in your mind. If you drink anymore than you already have, you’re going to leave him weak and seriously injured.

You detach your fangs from his shoulder and peel yourself off of him. He gazes up at you through half-lidded eyes, desire evident and overflowing in his gaze. His hair is a mess from the rough way you handled him while keeping him pinned down. His chest rises and falls with the ragged breaths he takes now that you’ve stopped, drawing your attention to the blood smeared along his neck and shoulder, staining his white shirt beautifully. He reaches for your hand, delicately placing his own on top of it.

Coming to your senses, you pull your hand back as though you’ve been burned. And you have, in a sense— the realization of the night’s events and what he’d done to you hits you all at once. You pivot backward, scrambling away from him until your back slams harshly into the bed’s headboard.

Surprisingly, Sunday follows you, using the last of his strength to rise and move across the bed to sit at your side. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you against him. You curl in on yourself, turning your face toward the wall and away from him.

You can feel the haze already starting to pull at the corners of your mind. Whatever he drugged you with is still in your system, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re hungry again.

In a quiet voice, barely above a whisper, you ask, “Why did you do this?”

You can feel him hum where your back is pressed against his chest, then you feel his fingers settle on your chin. He coaxes you into looking at him, grasping your face gently and slowly turning it toward him.

The affection in his eyes makes your stomach turn. With what, you do not know.

“I thought it might be nice if you wanted me as much as I want you.”

He moves his hand to cup your face and pulls you toward him. He presses his lips against yours, relishing in the taste of his blood on your lips.

#yandere hsr x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere x reader #yandere sunday x reader #hsr x reader #hsr sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #sunday x reader #ceru.writes #ceru.yan #this fic came to me in a vision

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mononijikayu · 6 days

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puddin’ pop — kamo choso.

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!

WARNING/S: fluff, romance, opposites attract, female! reader, not safe for work (nsfw), r-18, smut, body praise, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, pet names (puddin' pop, sweetie and others....), societal prejudice, love, overflowing cuteness, slice of life, humor, light-hearted, being in love, romantic gestures, healthy relationship, tender affection, sexual intercourse, aftercare, boyfriend – girlfriend relationship, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of body praise and care, depiction of naked bodies, mention of sexual innuendo, mention of alcoholic consumption, mention of sexual intercourse, metal head bf! choso, pastel girlie! gf reader, pastel girlie gf! loves her metal head bf! choso so much, everyone if you're looking for love, make sure its as stinking cute and loving as this one, its what everyone deserves!!!;

WORD COUNT: 7.8k words.

NOTE: this entire thing was inspired by this art made by the lovely ushy on twitter!!! i was just dazzled and in love with the possibilities of who metal head bf choso could be like. i was enthralled. so, a lot of credit goes to ushy for creating such spectacular art that inspires me and others well!!! please check out ushy's art and support them too!!! anyway, this is the first time choso won the polls so im happy!!! i hope you all enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

YOU LIKE THE FACT THAT YOU BOTH WERE DIFFERENT. Because it compliments you both so well, almost like yin and yang. At least that’s what Choso likes to say. And you agree with him. Choso and you couldn't be more different on the surface.

You were the pastel princess of the campus, always draped in floral skirts, baby pink cardigans, and bows in your hair. Everywhere you went, you seemed to bring a little sunshine and joy, something that stood out against the often drab college environment. People on campus often teased you, calling you a "walking cotton candy" or a "flower fairy."

Your boyfriend Choso, on the other hand, was a looming presence. Tall and muscular, his arms were covered in dark tattoos of skulls, serpents, and symbols no one dared to ask the meaning of. He wore black band shirts—Slayer being a favorite—ripped jeans, and chunky boots. His piercings glinted under the sun, and his eyeliner gave him a perpetual brooding look. Kamo Choso was the guy you didn’t approach unless you had to.

And because of this, people always wondered how you two could possibly be together. You couldn’t have been anymore from different worlds, galaxies entirely. Whispers never failed to follow you both wherever you went on campus, speculating that you must be too sweet for him or that he was just putting on an act. No one could see how you fit until today. And if you were being honest, you could care less about their invalid opinions.

Today was Choso’s concert with his metal band, and you hadn’t seen each other all day due to classes. And you can tell that it was already getting to you. It was fine to text him and all, but you like having your boyfriend around. You like holding him and kissing his cheeks. And he was warm. And it was getting colder. As you stood chatting with some friends outside the student union, the heads started to turn.

“Is that Choso?” one of your friends whispered, wide-eyed.

You turned, and there he was, his black combat boots stomping across the quad toward you. Your face flushed, your eyes bright eyed. Your lips peaked into a smile. But you noticed the look on his face and you couldn’t help but blink.

His face was still set in that familiar grimace that made people nervous, but you could tell immediately something was different. His hands were hidden behind his back, and his eyes flicked to the ground every few steps, like he was nervous.

“Hey, sweetie.” Choso said, his voice a soft contrast to his intimidating appearance. You could feel people watching you both, but Choso didn’t seem to notice. He reached behind him and pulled out a black band T-shirt—one with a matching Slayer skull logo to the one he was wearing.

“Uh, I was wondering if you... y’know, wanted to match tonight?” he asked, his face flushing red under the tattoos. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, as if he wasn’t the lead guitarist of one of the loudest, most intense bands on campus. He was just your beloved boyfriend Choso, looking like a shy boy asking for a favor.

There was a moment of stunned silence from the people around you. You could feel their confusion, the gears in their heads turning as they tried to reconcile the image of the “scary goth guy” with the one standing before you, blushing and fumbling over his words.

You giggled, clicking heels as you stepped closer and took the shirt from him. “Of course, babe! I’d love to match with you tonight.” You leaned up to kiss his cheek, making his blush deepen as a soft, content smile spread across his face. “I’m thankful you thought of me at all, babe. Thank you so much.”

“I always think of you a lot, sweetie.” He says to you in reply, which only made you swoon even more as you let your body embrace his own as you squealed about how much you loved him. And he smiled, as though the world was the most beautiful place.

That was when everyone seemed to get it. They saw the way Kamo Choso looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world, how gentle he was with you despite his intimidating exterior. They realized that underneath all the black clothes, makeup, and tattoos, he was a gentle giant—soft, sweet, and completely devoted.

The campus finally understood why you worked. And yet all at once in the same breath, still not understand it at all. But you could hardly care.

As you slipped into the matching shirt, a wave of excitement ran through you. The black Slayer logo against your usual pastel aesthetic was jarring, but you loved the idea of supporting Choso in his world. Even if metal concerts weren’t your usual scene, being there for him made it all worth it.

You walked hand in hand toward the venue where his band would be performing later that evening. You enjoyed having his fingers intertwined with yours and his skin rubbing against you. You looked at him and grinned, which he returned. You both just enjoyed each other’s company, no matter what. Well, that’s what happens when you’re each other’s world.

Onlookers still stared, trying to wrap their heads around how the “campus goth king” and the “girly sunshine queen” made sense together. It wasn’t long before one of your friends caught up with you, curiosity bubbling over.

“Okay, I have to ask. How does this even work?” she asked, her eyes bouncing between Choso’s heavy chains and your flower-printed purse. “You guys are, like, total opposites.”

Choso chuckled softly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand. You smiled up at your beloved boyfriend, feeling the warmth in his gaze before answering. You didn’t even want to stop looking at him. Your boyfriend was the prettiest, loveliest boy you ever laid eyes on. And everytime you looked at him, you just fell more deeply in love.

“Well, it’s pretty simple, really.” you started, glancing at him for confirmation. He nodded for you to continue. “We balance each other. He’s got this tough look and I’m more on the bright and bubbly side, but it’s what’s inside that really matters.”

Choso squeezed your hand and added, “She brings me a lot of peace. People think I’m all dark and broody, but if there was any color in me, its my sweetie, here. She’s the one who helps me stay grounded. And honestly, I don’t think I’d ever smile this much without her.” His eyes softened as he spoke, showing a rare vulnerability. “I just….love my sweetie, you know?”

Your friend’s expression shifted from confusion to understanding, the pieces falling into place. “That’s actually... really sweet.” she admitted, looking at Choso with a bit less intimidation and a lot more curiosity. “I guess it’s just surprising because you both seem so different on the outside.”

You laughed, nudging Choso playfully. “Well, I’ve always believed it’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?”

Choso smiled shyly, looking a little embarrassed but happy. “Yeah, and we love each other. Doesn’t matter if we’re all black or pastels. We’re happy together. That’s it.”

By now, more people around you were starting to take notice, seeing the softer side of Choso they’d probably never expected. It became clear to everyone that your differences weren’t a problem—they were the reason you worked so well together. You could be the sunshine in his life, and he could be the calm, steady presence in yours.

As you approached the venue together, You could see that Choso’s bandmates were setting up the stage. They were all dressed in their usual dark, edgy attire, but they greeted you with warmth and fondness. It’s been like this for as long as you remember. They’re really the nicest people you know. And you’re happy because it means your boyfriend will always be surrounded with good people. And because of that, you would be too.

“Looking good in that shirt!” one of the band members teased, smirking at Choso as if to say, You really got her to match you, huh?

Choso grinned sheepishly, clearly proud but trying to play it cool. “Yeah, well, she’s supporting us tonight. Best girlfriend ever, right?”

You giggled and nodded, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Only for you, my baby.”

Before the show started, you found your place in the crowd. It was always the same one. Choso alway insisted that you always be near him as possible to not only make sure he knows you were safe — but so he can always see you and wink at you. And then you would blow back a kiss each and every time. It’s your boyfriend’s favorite part of the show.

You take a sip of your drink. People smiled at you and greeted you. You were a regular at the shows already. But it was always surreal being surrounded by people dressed in all black, while you, with your pastel skirt peeking out from under the band shirt, stood out like a daisy in a field of midnight roses. And all of them were happy to see you there too. Choso’s shows were always such a happy, safe space for you.

But as the music started, something magical happened.

The moment the first riff tore through the air, it was as though Kamo Choso transformed before your eyes. His quiet, reserved demeanor melted away, replaced by an electrifying energy that radiated from the stage. The powerful riffs and heavy beats pulsed through the venue, reverberating in your chest, and you could feel the intensity of every chord he struck. His hands, the same ones that were always so soft and tender when they held you, moved with precision and power across the strings, commanding the music with effortless grace.

Despite the raw energy of the performance, there was something oddly calming about watching him like this. Seeing him completely in his element, doing what he loved with such passion, brought you a quiet sense of pride.

Every note, every beat, seemed to echo the essence of who he was—fierce, strong, but also thoughtful and deeply connected to his art. And in that moment, it became clear just how much of himself he poured into his music. You could tell that the stage was where he felt most free, and watching him there made your heart swell.

As the concert progressed, the crowd was fully immersed in the music, their energy feeding off Choso’s commanding presence. But every now and then, amidst the chaos, his eyes would seek you out.

Between songs, during brief moments of stillness, he'd glance over in your direction, his gaze softening when he found you in the crowd. It was his silent way of making sure you were okay, that you were enjoying the show, and it warmed your heart to know that even in the middle of performing, he was still thinking of you.

And then, you noticed the shift in the crowd.

People started glancing between the two of you—first at Choso, then at you, as if they were piecing together something they hadn’t quite understood before. They saw the way he’d search for you with his eyes, the subtle smile that would tug at his lips when he spotted you. They saw how your face lit up, your cheers louder than anyone else's, a beacon of support and pride for him to latch onto.

It was as if, in that moment, the connection between the two of you was undeniable. The bond you shared became as visible as the music that surrounded you, a harmony of its own. Choso’s fans, who had admired him for his talent and stage presence, were now witnessing a softer side of him—a side that belonged solely to you. The glances from the crowd turned from curiosity to understanding, like they finally saw the deeper layers of the person who held their admiration.

And as the music swelled and the concert reached its climax, you could feel it too: the unspoken love that bridged the gap between the stage and the audience, a love that was yours and his, seen in every stolen glance, heard in every note. In that moment, it was as if the whole room was in tune with the rhythm of your connection, an energy that transcended the music itself.

When the final song came to an end, Kamo Choso walked over to the edge of the stage, still holding his guitar, and mouthed, “I love you.”

Your heart swelled as you mouthed it back, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much. You just love him so much, and it made you the happiest person alive.

After the show, a few students from campus came up to you both, clearly still surprised but now more accepting of your relationship. One girl, who you recognized from your sociology class, shyly approached you.

“You two are actually kind of... adorable together, you know?” she admitted. “I didn’t get it at first, but seeing you both... it makes sense now.”

You smiled, giving her a nod of appreciation. “Thanks. We may seem like opposites, but we’re perfect for each other.”

As you and Choso headed home later that night, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in how you’d shown everyone that love doesn’t have to look a certain way. It doesn’t matter if you’re a pastel-wearing girly girl or a tattooed metalhead. Love is about finding someone who understands you, who balances you, and who makes your life better just by being in it.

And that’s exactly what you and Choso had—something perfectly imperfect, something that made sense in all the ways that really mattered.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

AFTER CLASSES SEPARATED YOU BOTH, YOU FINALLY CAME TOGETHER. You haven’t seen Choso since he got stuck for his violin recitals, so you were bored. It’s not like you weren’t doing anything in fashion classes, but you wanted to see him.

He was your energy boost. Just as much, he was your happy pill. And with a deadlock with your project, you needed to see him to freshen up. So, he finally had free time, he told you he’d come see you.

That’s also how you and Choso decided to go on a date, something simple yet special—just the two of you wandering through the city, hand in hand, without a care in the world. You were dressed in your usual soft pastels, a baby blue sundress fluttering around your legs as you walked, while Choso, in stark contrast, wore his typical all-black outfit. His band tee hung loosely over his broad frame, and his boots clunked with each step beside you.

As you entered the small café, people couldn’t help but glance in your direction, eyes widening at the sight of the unexpected pair. You were the picture of sweetness, like something out of a fairytale, while Choso looked like he just stepped off the stage of a rock concert. The two of you couldn’t be more different visually, yet anyone who took a closer look could see the way your fingers intertwined so naturally, how Choso’s eyes softened every time you spoke.

You found a cozy corner booth, and as you sat down, Choso immediately slid into the seat beside you rather than across from you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, and you smiled up at him, already feeling the warmth of his presence.

“What do you want, puddin’ pop?” you asked sweetly, your voice loud enough to catch the attention of the café staff nearby. The barista paused mid-order, eyes darting toward Choso, as if unsure she heard you right.

Choso, the ever-serious and brooding figure, glanced down at you with a soft chuckle, his fingers tracing light circles on your arm. “Whatever you’re getting is fine, babe.” he murmured, his tough exterior melting away completely in your presence.

The barista, clearly stunned by the interaction, couldn’t hold back her curiosity when she came to take your order. “You two… are so cute together!” she said, hesitantly at first. “I mean, I never would’ve guessed, but… it works!”

You laughed, used to the surprise reactions by now. “Thank you! Yeah, we get that a lot.”

The barista smiled, her nerves relaxing as she took your order. As she left, you turned back to Choso, your grin wide and playful. “See? Even she thinks you’re sweet, puddin’ pop.”

Choso rolled his eyes good-naturedly, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed how much he loved the nickname. “You and that nickname…” he muttered, but the smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t mind one bit.

“Well, you are my puddin’ pop, aren’t you?” you teased, leaning into his side. “You’re like pudding—soft and sweet—and a lollipop, ‘cause you’re a treat.”

Choso groaned playfully, covering his face with his free hand as if embarrassed, but the warmth in his voice gave him away. “You’re gonna make me lose all my street cred, you know that?”

You giggled, giving him a peck on the cheek. “You’ll always be the cool goth guy to everyone else, but you’re my sweet puddin’ pop.”

As the two of you enjoyed your time together, sipping on drinks and sharing pastries, people in the café couldn’t stop sneaking glances. They saw the stark differences in your appearance but couldn’t deny the undeniable connection between you.

Choso’s tough exterior was all but gone when he was with you, replaced with soft smiles and gentle touches. To them, it was unexpected, but to you, it was perfectly normal. Choso, for all his darkness and edge, was the sweetest person you’d ever met, and he showed it in every little way.

But that didn’t bother you. You and your beloved boyfriend continued to talk about things that interest the two of you. Recently, he told you about his progress in some violin concertos and you told him about your progress on your final project for the design class you were in. The world was an echo when your Choso was talking, after all.

As you left the café hand in hand, Choso gave you a loving glance. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he asked, his voice quieter now, like it was just meant for your ears.

You smiled up at him, heart fluttering. “I know. And that’s why you’ll always be my puddin’ pop.”

And as the two of you strolled through the city, the sight of the goth guy and the pastel princess, people couldn’t help but admire how well you fit together. You were a perfect, unexpected match—proof that love doesn’t have to look a certain way.

As you and Choso wandered through the city, you could feel the occasional glances from passersby, but by now, you were so used to it that you didn’t even pay them any mind. Choso, however, always kept his guard up just a little, glancing sideways at anyone who looked too long. Not out of annoyance, but more out of protectiveness. Even though he was soft with you, he still liked to make sure no one thought they could mess with his sunshine.

You led him into a little boutique that had caught your eye, one filled with pastel-colored dresses, accessories, and things that practically screamed “you.” As soon as you walked in, you heard a small group of girls gasp near the entrance. You caught a snippet of their whispered conversation:

“Oh my God, is that him? The goth guy from campus?”

“Wait, that’s his girlfriend? I didn’t know they were actually dating. They’re so... different!”

“But look how cute they are together!”

You giggled softly, squeezing Choso’s hand as he rolled his eyes, his face slightly red from the attention. He wasn’t much for the spotlight when it came to your relationship, but it was hard to avoid it when everyone seemed so fascinated by the contrast between you two.

As you browsed through the racks, you couldn’t help but pull out a pastel pink sweater with tiny hearts embroidered on it. “This is so cute!” you exclaimed, holding it up for Choso to see.

He gave it a look, raising an eyebrow. “It’s… definitely you, sweetie.” he said with a smirk, though his tone was affectionate.

“Of course it is! What do you think, puddin’ pop? Would you wear it if I bought a matching one for us?”

Choso let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, no. I’ll stick with my black, sweetie. Thank you though."

You pouted playfully, nudging him. “Come on, just once? For me?”

Choso softened, and you could see the internal battle playing out on his face. You knew he’d do anything to make you happy, even if it meant stepping way out of his comfort zone. “Alright, fine sweetie.” he relented, sighing dramatically. “But only because you’re cute.”

Your eyes lit up, and you threw your arms around him in a quick hug. “You’re the best!”

The girl at the counter couldn’t stop staring as you and Choso approached to pay. She looked completely bewildered, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “I—I love your outfits….” she stammered, scanning the pastel sweater. “You two are really… um, adorable.”

Choso, clearly flustered, mumbled a quiet “Thanks!” while you beamed and responded. “Aren’t we? He’s my sweet puddin’ pop, after all.”

The cashier blinked in surprise, probably not expecting the goth guy who looked like he belonged in a metal band to be called something so cute. But as she handed you the bag, you caught the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It was as if she’d just witnessed a secret that made perfect sense in some strange way.

After leaving the boutique, Choso let out a deep breath, clearly relieved to be out of the spotlight. “I can’t believe you convinced me to get a pink sweater.”

You giggled, taking his arm and leaning your head against it. “You’re gonna look so cute, though! I’ll take a picture of us together and keep it forever.”

Choso groaned, but there was a smile on his face as he shook his head. “Only for you. I swear, you’ve turned me into a complete softie, sweetie.”

You looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “But you’ve always been a softie. You’re just finally admitting it.”

He gave a soft, resigned laugh. “Yeah, yeah… whatever you say.”

The two of you continued your walk, eventually ending up at your favorite park. As you found a bench to sit on, the sun began to set, casting a golden glow across the trees and flowers. It was quiet and peaceful, and you felt Choso’s arm wrap around your shoulders again, pulling you close.

For a moment, everything was perfect. You didn’t care about the stares or the whispers or the way people seemed to be so fascinated by the two of you. All that mattered was how you felt when you were with him—like the world was a little brighter, a little softer.

You glanced up at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You know, no matter how many people are surprised by us, I still think we’re perfect together.”

Choso smiled down at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that only you got to see. “I know. I wouldn’t trade this for anything, sweetie.”

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence, content in your own little world where opposites didn’t just attract—they completed each other.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

YOU HAD FREE TIME, AND HE DID TOO. So, it was just right for him to come by and cuddle with you. It was a quiet evening when Kamo Choso walked into your apartment, his usual black boots clunking against the hardwood floor as he made his way to where you were curled up on the couch. You looked up from your book and smiled when you saw him, your pastel-colored socks contrasting with the dark, brooding aura he carried everywhere.

"Hey, puddin' pop." you greeted sweetly, holding your arms out for him.

Choso's lips twitched into a soft smile as he walked over to you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. He settled beside you, his arm casually draping around your shoulders as you snuggled into his side. For a moment, the two of you just sat there in comfortable silence, but you could tell there was something on his mind.

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, running his hand through his messy hair. “Hey… so, I, uh… I wrote a new song, sweetie.” he started, his deep voice a little unsure.

You sat up, instantly interested. “Really? That’s amazing! What’s it about?”

His eyes darted away for a second, the usual confidence he exuded seeming to falter as his cheeks tinted pink. “Well… it’s about you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, your heart doing a little flip at his words. “Me? You wrote a song about me?”

He nodded, clearly trying to play it cool, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, I mean… I’ve been working on it for a while. It’s for the band. I wasn’t sure if you’d be into it, though, since, you know, you’re not really big on metal.”

Your heart practically melted at his bashful tone. Choso, the brooding goth guy who looked like he could crush someone with a glance, had written a song about you? It was like every romantic dream you never knew you had was suddenly real.

“Oh my gosh, puddin’ pop!” you squealed, your hands grabbing his arm in excitement. “I want to hear it! I don’t care if it’s metal, I’ll love it just because it’s from you!”

He chuckled, a little nervous but clearly pleased with your enthusiasm. “Are you sure? It’s kinda heavy, sweetie…”

You practically jumped up from the couch, tugging him along with you. “I’m sure! Come on, I need to hear this!”

Choso laughed as you dragged him to his guitar, which he had brought over for practice. He picked it up, settling it on his lap as you sat back down, eagerly waiting for him to start. The way your eyes sparkled made his heart swell with affection. He strummed a few notes, tuning the strings before looking at you with a small smile.

“Alright, sweetie….” he said softly, his voice gentle in contrast to the deep rumble of the guitar. “Just… keep an open mind, okay?”

You nodded eagerly, clasping your hands together as if you were about to witness the performance of a lifetime. Your eyes were shining brighter than ever before. Your face was focused on him, awestruck already. It’s as if you had decided that it was already the best song in the world (which to you, it was.)

Choso took a deep breath before he started playing, the guitar riff heavy and intense, but there was a surprising tenderness woven into the melody. It was raw, powerful, but there was an undercurrent of emotion that made your chest tighten.

He began to sing, his voice low and gravelly, but the lyrics were… beautiful. They spoke of love, of safety, of someone who brought light into his dark world. Each word made your heart race faster as you realized just how deeply his love for you had inspired every note, every line.

Even though you weren’t as big into metal music as he was, you could feel the emotion behind each chord. It was him, pouring his heart into the music in a way only he could. You watched him, completely enraptured, as he sang about how you made him feel—how you were his bright spot, his calm amidst the storm.

When he finished, there was a brief silence, the air between you both charged with emotion. He glanced up at you, a little hesitant, waiting for your reaction. “So… what do you think, sweetie?” he asked quietly, his tough exterior cracking just a little as his vulnerability showed.

You didn’t even know how to put your feelings into words, so you did the only thing you could think of. You launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug. “Oh my sweet sweet puddin’ pop! That was beautiful! Oh my God, I can’t believe you wrote that for me! I love it, I love you!”

Choso’s arms wrapped around you instinctively, his deep chuckle vibrating through his chest as he held you close. “You really liked it? Even though it’s, you know… metal?”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, your smile wide and full of love. “It doesn’t matter what genre it is! You put your heart into it, and I could feel it. It was perfect.”

Choso’s smile softened, and he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’m glad. I just… wanted you to know how much you mean to me. You’re everything, you know?”

You felt your heart swell, your love for him overflowing. “You’re everything to me too, puddin’ pop. I can’t believe you wrote me a song,” you gushed, still in awe of how deeply his love for you translated into everything he did.

Choso blushed again, clearly not used to being fawned over like this. “Well… you inspire me, sweetie.” he mumbled, his voice gruff but full of affection. “Always.”

You grinned, resting your head against his shoulder as he held you close. “I’ll always be your biggest fan, no matter what. Even if I’m not the biggest metalhead.”

He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your hair. “That’s all I need.”

You stayed wrapped in Choso's arms for a while, the warmth of the moment lingering between the two of you. His heart was still pounding against your cheek, and it was clear that even for someone as stoic as him, sharing the song with you had meant the world.

"I can't believe you were nervous about showing me that, hm?" you whispered, tracing little circles on his chest. "It was so beautiful. The way you turned your love into music... you’re amazing, puddin’ pop."

Choso let out a soft, almost bashful chuckle. “Yeah, well… it’s easier to play it in front of a crowd than just for you. I wanted it to be perfect, sweetie.”

Your heart melted at his honesty, and you squeezed him a little tighter. "It was perfect. And it just makes me love you more."

Choso smiled softly, the tough-guy act completely dropped as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “Good.” he said quietly. “Because I’ll probably write a dozen more songs about you.”

You laughed, your cheeks flushed with warmth. "Promise?" you teased, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“Promise, sweetie.” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again, slow and tender.

There was something about Choso’s kisses that always made you feel like the world had stopped for just a second—like the two of you were the only ones who existed. And in moments like this, it didn’t matter if you didn’t share his love for metal music or if your pastel wardrobe clashed with his dark, edgy style.

When the kiss ended, you both settled back on the couch, with Choso resting his guitar against the wall. You nestled into his side, your fingers laced together. The silence between you was comfortable, but you could tell there was still something on his mind.

“I’m thinking about playing it at our next gig, sweetie.” he finally said, glancing down at you. “I’d want you there… if you’re up for it.”

Your eyes widened with excitement. “You want me there when you play it? Of course, I’d love to be there!”

Choso looked relieved by your enthusiasm, though there was still a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “It’ll be loud, though. Probably going to be louder than our last gig since it’s with other metal bands.”

You grinned, nudging him gently. “I’ll bring earplugs, don’t worry. But I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I want to be there when you play our song, you know?”

Choso’s gaze softened, and he squeezed your hand. “You don’t know how much that means to me, sweetie. It’ll be the first time I’ve played a song that personal.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Well, now it’s personal to me too. I’ll be there, cheering you on in my pastel outfit, and I’ll make sure everyone knows I’m the one you’re singing about."

He chuckled, imagining the sight of you in the crowd, all sweetness and sunshine, while his band rocked out on stage. “You’ll definitely stand out, sweetie.” he said with a teasing smirk.

“Good! I want everyone to know I’m your biggest fan, puddin’ pop!” you replied with a grin.

Choso kissed the top of your head, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand. “You always have been.”

The rest of the night was spent in quiet contentment. You stayed wrapped up in each other, talking about his band, the upcoming concert, and the thought of hearing your song live for the first time. Choso shared little stories from his rehearsals, his voice full of excitement whenever he mentioned the moment he’d finally reveal the song to the audience—and to you.

“I’m already planning my outfit!” you joked, imagining what you’d wear to one of his gigs. “Something cute but not too out of place.”

Choso laughed, pulling you closer. “Wear whatever you want. I’ll be proud to have you there, no matter what.”

You looked up at him, your eyes full of love. “I’ll be there in the front row, cheering for you. And afterward, we’ll celebrate with a giant lollipop, since, you know, you’re my puddin’ pop.”

Choso groaned, his cheeks turning a faint shade of red, but the smile on his face didn’t fade. “You’re never gonna let that nickname go, are you?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Never. It’s part of the deal.”

He rolled his eyes, but the fondness in his voice was undeniable. “I guess I can live with it… as long as you keep being my inspiration.”

And with that, the two of you fell into a peaceful silence again, your hearts full of love. As the night continued, you couldn’t help but think about how lucky you were. Choso might’ve been tough on the outside, but underneath all of that was the sweetest, most caring person you’d ever met. And now, knowing he’d written a song about you, you felt even closer to him than ever before.

No matter how different you seemed on the outside, Choso’s love for you translated into everything he did—from his quiet moments with you to the powerful music he created. It was all a reflection of the way he saw you, and it made you fall even deeper in love with your sweet, tough, and tender-hearted puddin’ pop.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

IT’S BEEN A WHILE FOR BOTH OF YOU SINCE ITS FINAL WEEK. Your metalhead boyfriend Choso finally arrives at your dorm, his presence immediately filling the room with warmth. He steps in close, his strong hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you gently but firmly against him. His breath is warm on your skin as he leans down, his lips softly grazing the sensitive area around your ear.

"Want to do it, sweetie?" he murmurs, his voice husky, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his lips because he knows your answer already. “I missed you….”

“I missed you too, puddin’ pop.” You whispered back, a sly smile on your lips. Your eyes lustfully gazing back at him. “So so so much….”

“Just how much, sweetie?”

“A lot.” You whispered as your fingers trailed onto your thighs and a little bit lower. Choso was already sure what he’d find down there. He knows you too well. His little sweetie. “Help me, puddin’ pop. I need you.”

As soon as you give him the slightest confirmation, he effortlessly scoops you up, cradling you in his arms like you weigh nothing. His lips never leave your skin as he walks you towards the bedroom, each kiss a little more insistent, a little more needy. Between the kisses, he leans in close to your ear, whispering the dirtiest, most wicked things, his words making your skin tingle.

As Choso carries you, his lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of heat with every kiss. His grip tightens slightly around your waist, the tension building with each step toward the bedroom. The way he whispers into your ear, voice low and raspy, sends shivers through your entire body. His words are teasing, laced with promises that make your mind race, each one more wicked than the last.

He lays you down gently on the bed, his body hovering over yours, eyes dark with desire as he drinks in the sight of you. His hands roam your body, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment, every inch of your skin. His kisses grow deeper, his whispers more urgent, as his desire for you becomes undeniable.

"You're mine tonight, sweetie." he breathes, his voice thick with lust.

You smiled. “I always was, puddin’ pop.”

Choso’s lips crash against yours, the intensity building as his hands explore your body with purpose, claiming every inch of you. His touch is firm yet careful, as though he’s memorizing the way you react to each kiss, each graze of his fingertips. His words, laced with that rough edge, never stop.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day, sweetie.” he mutters between kisses, his breath hot against your skin as he trails his lips back down to your neck. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

He pins your wrists gently above your head, holding you in place, his eyes locking onto yours with a burning intensity. He leans down again, his lips brushing your ear as he growls softly, “I want to hear you say my name… over and over.”

His words send a rush of heat through your body as he lowers himself, every movement slow, teasing, deliberate, until the anticipation becomes almost unbearable. The room feels electric, the air between you charged with desire, as he continues to whisper the dirtiest, most enticing things.

Choso’s hands slide down your arms, his grip firm yet tender as he keeps you pinned beneath him. His breath is hot against your skin, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss before trailing back to your neck, down to your collarbone, teasing with every move. The way he takes his time with you, savoring each reaction, has you breathless.

"You're so perfect for me, sweetie." he whispers, his voice thick with lust and affection. "I love watching you like this."

His hands move lower, fingers tracing your sides, sending shivers down your spine as he leans in closer, his body pressing against yours. He kisses you deeply again, the kind of kiss that makes your head spin, before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

“I’m not stopping until you’re completely mine tonight, sweetie.” he growls softly, his words dripping with intensity. The way he says it sends a rush of anticipation through your entire body, making you ache for his touch even more.

Without breaking eye contact, he lowers himself further, his kisses moving lower, trailing heat in their wake. Every touch, every word leaves you feeling completely consumed by him, the world around you fading away until it's just you and him, tangled together in this moment that feels both endless and electrifying.

Choso’s kisses become more intense, his pace deliberate yet teasing, as if he’s relishing the control he has over every inch of your body. His hands trace slow, burning paths along your skin, each touch igniting a fire inside you. He knows exactly how to make you melt beneath him, every movement calculated yet filled with raw passion.

He leans back up, his eyes locking onto yours, dark with desire. "I love how you react to me, sweetie." he murmurs, voice dripping with a mix of dominance and affection. "The way your body responds... it drives me wild."

His fingers trail lightly across your chest before grabbing hold of your waist, pulling you even closer, his breath ragged with anticipation. His lips return to your ear, teeth gently grazing the sensitive skin as he whispers, "You're going to scream my name tonight."

The way he says it sends shockwaves through your body, the desire in his voice leaving you aching for more. His hands grip you tighter as he kisses you deeply, his passion consuming you entirely. Every whispered promise, every soft growl, every lingering touch leaves you yearning for more, completely lost in the moment, knowing he’s not letting up until you’re both completely spent.

"You’re mine, just mine." he growls, his voice low and possessive, making it clear that he’s going to fulfill every wicked promise he’s made tonight.

Choso’s lips crash against yours once more, each kiss more urgent and consuming, as if he’s claiming you entirely. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding your body beneath his, the heat between you growing unbearable. The intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch, his gaze full of need, raw desire, and something deeper — a craving that goes beyond the physical.

He presses his body closer, his breath hot against your skin as he continues to whisper the dirtiest, most intimate words in your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “You don’t know how much I need you right now, god…..” he murmurs, his words laced with desperation and control.

His touch becomes rougher, more insistent, as he moves in rhythm with the tension building between you. Every kiss, every graze of his fingertips, pulls you deeper into the moment, making you forget everything else. It’s just you and him, the weight of his body pressing down on you, the way his voice rasps your name in between breaths, each sound sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Say my name, sweetie." he growls, his voice husky, lips hovering near your ear. "I want to hear it. I want to hear how much you need me."

“Cho, cho—” You choked in pleasure as he continued to find him satiating you with pleasure over and over. “Baby, p–puddin’ pop. Please. Oh—”

You feel yourself slipping, losing control as his words become more possessive, each touch pushing you closer to the edge. The room feels smaller, the air heavy with heat and desire as Choso claims you again and again, each time more intense than the last.

And just as you think you can’t take any more, he leans down, his lips brushing your skin as he whispers, “You’re mine. Only mine. Sweetie, you know that right?” His words linger in the air, echoing through the haze of pleasure that surrounds you both, sealing the night with a promise only the two of you can understand.

“I do, I do.” You moaned out in a frenzy. “Baby, my puddin’ pop, I do. O–only, uh…only yours!”

Choso’s pace quickens, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if he’s on the verge of losing control himself. His grip tightens around your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer, the weight of his body grounding you while pushing you to the edge of sensation. His lips are everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, your lips—claiming you with every kiss, every touch.

Your breaths come in ragged gasps as the tension builds between you, the heat reaching an unbearable peak. He groans softly, his voice thick with need as he whispers, "I’m right there with you... just let go for me." His words are a command and a plea all at once, and the sound of his voice is enough to push you to the brink.

With a final, shuddering thrust, the world around you seems to fall away, the pressure inside you finally releasing in a wave of pure ecstasy. Choso’s name tumbles from your lips, over and over, exactly the way he wanted. His own breath hitches as he follows you into that climax, a deep, guttural groan escaping his throat as his body tenses against yours, the pleasure overwhelming him too.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure, holding you tightly as if he never wants to let go. His fingers gently stroke your skin now, soft and soothing in contrast to the intense passion you just shared.

For a moment, everything is quiet, just the sound of your mingled breathing filling the room, the intensity of the moment settling into a soft, shared intimacy. Choso presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a low whisper as he says, “You’re everything I need, sweetie.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. epilogue

As the intensity fades and the world starts to come back into focus, Kamo Choso gently eases himself beside you, his arms never leaving your body. His expression softens, all the hunger and fire replaced with tenderness as he looks at you, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek.

"You did so good, sweetie." he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His touch is slow, deliberate, as he strokes your hair, helping you come down from the high. He wraps the blanket around both of you, pulling you into his chest, his body warm and comforting against yours.

He reaches for a water bottle on your bedside table, offering it to you with a small smile. "Drink up, hm?" he says gently, knowing how much you need it. After you take a sip, he tenderly kisses your temple, his fingers tracing soothing circles along your back.

The atmosphere shifts into something soft and intimate, his hands carefully massaging your sore muscles, making sure you feel cared for. His voice is low, murmuring sweet reassurances, "I've got you… I’ll take care of you."

Once he's satisfied that you're comfortable, Choso shifts so you're nestled in his arms, your head resting on his chest. He stays close, his fingers gently stroking through your hair, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. There's a certain peace in the quiet moments after everything, and you feel completely safe with him, wrapped up in his warmth.

"You know I’m not going anywhere tonight, right?" he says softly, his voice laced with affection. He leans down to kiss the top of your head, his arms tightening around you protectively. "I’ll be here, all night, right next to you."

The two of you lie there, tangled in each other, as the night settles around you. The outside world doesn’t matter anymore—just the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the way he holds you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

As sleep starts to pull you in, Choso whispers, “I love you, sweetie.” his voice barely audible but filled with sincerity. And in that moment, everything feels perfect, knowing he’ll be right there when you wake up. Your beloved metalhead boyfriend.

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riality-check · 1 year

Text

Eddie needs this to go perfectly.

He’s… okay, saying he’s not an anxious person would be a lie. Eddie is very acquainted with the fight or flight instinct, with the latter of those two options being far more familiar. He’s vaguely obsessive and twitchy and, frankly, puts way too much thought and time into planning one-shots, nevermind regular campaign sessions.

Majority of the time, he likes to have control of a situation. There are reasons for that, plenty of which he knows, some of which he’s gone to therapy for, and more that are on the bedroom and currently irrelevant side of things.

The relevant side of things is the guy in front of him who doesn’t have any sort of ear protection on.

Eddie should mind his business. He really should. Corroded Coffin isn’t even headlining. They’re the openers for the tour of a much bigger band that noticed them and asked if they wanted to tour with them and Archie fangirled so hard he passed out. It was a whole thing.

Still, it’s their first real tour, and Eddie is a control freak, and he needs it to be perfect, which means no one gets hurt. This random guy - probably a roadie of some sort from how he’s plugging cables into something Eddie doesn’t know the name of - not having any sort of ear protection counts as someone maybe getting hurt.

Eddie doesn’t even know him, but he can’t have that happen.

Hell, this guy’s friend has her earplugs looped around her neck on a string like Eddie does. But Hottie - yeah, he’s hot and Eddie’s queer with a healthy sex drive, get over it - has none in sight.

That’s a problem. Eddie can’t have problems, not tonight, not before the first show.

“Hey!” he calls, walking over to Hottie and his friend, who are setting up equipment away from the stage. “You gotta have something for your ears, dude!”

Hottie and his friend exchange a look that Eddie can’t make heads or tails of.

“Thanks man,” Hottie says, and that nickname applies to his voice, too. “But I’m good.”

Eddie frowns. “You need to protect your hearing.”

“Trust me,” Hottie says. “I’ve worked a lot of gigs. Never wore anything then, won’t wear anything now, probably won’t wear anything at the next one.”

Okay. It’s fine. Eddie should walk away now. He’s totally capable of walking away. It is, quite obviously, the better alternative to this circular conversation.

But Hottie is gonna hurt himself this way. Potentially really badly if it’s not a one time thing. This is a metal show, for G-d’s sake. He’ll do some serious damage over time.

Eddie needs this to go perfectly, and for things to go perfectly, he can’t be responsible for that.

“I don’t think you get it,” he says. “You’re gonna destroy your ears that way, especially if you do this for a long time. This show is gonna be really intense, hell, the whole tour is! You can get cheap shit at the hardware store, it’s better than nothing-”

At the beginning of his rant, lecture, whatever, Hottie stares right at him. He has a really intense stare. Pretty brown eyes set in a prettier face with even prettier hair on top of his head. Eddie gets distracted by all that pretty and by trying to make his point.

And he doesn’t notice until halfway through that Hottie isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking at his friend.

Eddie looks at her, too. Looks at her confused and focused expression. Looks at her hands moving rapidly.

Oh. G-d.

Hottie’s deaf, isn’t he?

“Trying my best but I’m not fluent, Steve,” she says. Her hands pause, and she looks down at them, confused.

Hottie - Steve - shrugs, and his hands move as he talks. “I’m not either. You were doing pretty good, though. I think. Or our mistakes just line up that well.”

“What’s the sign for reverb? It’s the last word he said.”

“No clue. You can just fingerspell it.”

“I can’t remember R.”

“How do you forget R? It’s in your name, Robin!”

The friend - Robin - throws her hands up. “You know I get it mixed up with X!”

Eddie wants to die. This is it. He’s going to melt into a puddle due to sheer embarrassment, fifteen minutes before the doors open to let in the biggest crowd Corroded Coffin has ever played for.

What a shitty way to go.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t-”

Steve cuts him off. “Normally, I can lip read enough to get the gist. But you speak too fast and trip over your words.”

Ouch. Okay.

“I do lights,” he continues. “Robin does sound. We know what we’re doing, and we don’t need you to tell us how to do our jobs, even if you mean well.”

Seriously?

Eddie should have minded his business. He knows that. But G-ddamn, that’s blunt.

He’s saved, thankfully, from digging himself into a bigger hole.

“Eddie!” Jeff hollers from the stage. “Get your ass over here!”

He turns to walk away, then turns back to Steve and Robin. “Sorry,” he says again.

He turns back around before he can see their reactions and runs back toward the stage. Intimately familiar with flight, and all that.

Shit. First night of tour, and he’s already made an enemy of the light and sound people.

And the light guy is hot.

Really hot.

And he hates Eddie.

This is gonna be a long few weeks.

Now with a continuation and a part 3!

ao3

#ria writes #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #corroded coffin #hoh steve harrington #jewish eddie munson #(he snuck his way in here)#rockstar eddie munson #stranger things #st #steanger things #stranger things ficlet #st ficlet #gi;pe au

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foldingfittedsheets · 2 months

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Hey! If you don't mind sharing, I'd be interested to hear more about your chronic illness diagnosis journey (I also get that it can be a private thing!).

I've been struggling for the last 5 or so years with chronic fatigue, muscle weakness, muscle pain and brain fog, and my doctors have checked a bunch of different things. EBV, thyroid, vitamin D, "are you sure you're not just depressed" and they've now gone for ME/CFS. A part of that just doesn't feel right to me because I feel like they should have done more tests or walked me through alternatives before settling! Especially because it fluctuates so much. Sometimes I can't leave the house, sometimes I have to borrow a wheelchair if I'm in a shop, sometimes I can walk 5000 steps??

Love and support for you and your gluten free adventure - potatoes, rice and polenta tend to be pretty good for me when I want something bready! (Doesn't quite hit the spot as well as buttered toast does though...)

My decline was really painfully gradual. I didn’t realize why things were getting so much harder. It manifested first with friction between my beloved because they were frustrated I was always too tired to run little errands myself. I went to the doctor and talked about my fatigue but was assured I was fine. I went on Chinese herbs and they buoyed up my reserves so I could keep functioning.

That went on for months, just getting more and more tired. I’d wake up sobbing because I wasn’t any more rested than I’d gone to bed. I went to a new doctor at that point. I got diagnosed with anemia until my blood work came back normal and then I was told I was fine.

Then I started fainting. My hair was falling out. I went to a different doctor. She ran my blood. I got told I was fine, but that maybe I had a food allergy. She slapped me with a full elimination diet that broke my spirit. I did feel some minor improvement but I wasn’t healthy by any means.

Finally, my good friend who is a doctor said that’s enough. She was in a different state but she was furious that I wasn’t getting any help. She ran my blood on a bunch of different ailment tests that were less well known. She tested for antibodies to EBV. If you have over 20 they consider you to have an active infection.

I had over 700 which is when they stop bothering to count.

I was so chock full of virus I was pound for pound virus by that point.

Then came the hard part. Knowing you’re bursting at the seams with a virus doesn’t make it easy to treat. The virus was living in me, in my cells. Too much of the medication and my body would start siccing it’s defenses against its own tissue.

I went on a bonanza of supplements. There was syrups to boost energy, pills to increase my immune system, antivirals, iron and vitamin D because those were kinda low. It was a three times a day regime of medicines.

My initial dose of antiviral was too high. I experienced a pain unlike what any mortal should bear as a result, dropping to the ground to writhe in agony when it hit. My dosage got lowered and my progress crept along.

I started school sometime in there and barely kept my head afloat above coursework. My stress load from school correlated to how much energy I had and I longed to finish my degree and just prioritize feeling better.

Then things got worse. My original doctor friend let her prescription rights for my state lapse, it didn’t make financial sense to keep them. A different friend from yet another state wrote my antivirals for a while but eventually I needed a new doctor.

I found another, this time a naturopathic doctor like my friends, hoping I’d keep receiving good care in that scope of practice. I didn’t. I had the most painful blood draw of my life in her office, writhing in agony, then didn’t hear back from her. I got ghosted by my doctor. When I pestered her for results she wrote me a script for antivirals but that was all.

I’d find out about eight months later when my health was declining and my friends demanded to see my blood work that my iron had been dangerously low but she hadn’t bothered to tell me. I got on iron supplements and staggered along.

Through precision time management I could budget my functional time into schoolwork then collapse to recuperate. It was working, but barely.

When my scrip on antivirals ran out I hunted once again for a doctor. This time I’d realized that any good care I’d gotten was when I’d made a personal connection with the doctor, a rare privilege not many people got. So I sought out a friend of a friend, someone I’d seen on occasion in the doctory social circle.

I have never been more happy with a doctor. She tested my viral numbers and pronounced herself satisfied that it was in check but was suspicious that although my thyroid numbers always looked normal that something was going on there. She ran more tests and lo. A thyroid imbalance.

Around that time I’d sunk into needing the chair. I stopped functioning, it was almost as bad as my first collapse. And yet again the fun part of getting my thyroid in balance was a delicate balance of making sure I wasn’t taking too much and hurting myself.

That balancing act took about a year to stabilize. I was still so weak from years of fatigue and inactivity. An able bodied person cannot imagine how hard it is to build up from ground zero on all your muscles. And the worst part was any time I felt tired I was terrified I was going to slip back down into the depths of exhaustion.

Then my beloved and I got Wyvern the puppy. And before we realized we had both somehow developed allergies to dogs and had to break our hearts giving him up, he saved me the last time.

Potty training meant I had to get up every two hours to take him out. I didn’t have to walk far but I had to do it consistently. Every single day I’d go to bed aching in every muscle, terrified to wake up. But every day I woke up with energy and was able to do it again.

It was like puppy boot camp, and I was able to go longer and farther every walk. By the time we realized we couldn’t keep him I was mobile again, I hadn’t needed my chair at all. When we said goodbye to him I promised I wouldn’t lose the progress he helped me make.

Now I finally, for the first time in six years, feel healthy again. I can go on long walks, I can run little errands for my beloved, I can fill my days with activity and wake up to do it again the next day. It’s the most amazing thing.

I hope you can stumble upon a doctor who can listen to you and help you. I know how hard things can get, but sometimes they can get better.

#ask ffs

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 7 days

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To clarify,I don't believe in porn makes you evil and I don't believe in like fantasies are evil. I'm pulling this quote off Scarleteen "“If we aren’t both careful and creative we can get stuck in fantasies that don’t mature and politicize with us."" I'm also new to being about to vote, so I'm trying to be careful about what I consume and what stereotypes media perpetuate. Like I'm not moralizing about kink or anything, and my ask was how can I get aroused with media wo my kinks or wo media

hi anon, welcome back! I'm genuinely very glad to hear some follow up.

for anybody who doesn't stay vigorously up to date with all of my anons, this ask is a continuation of this one.

so I went and checked out the Scarleteen articles you mentioned in your first message, or at least I tried to. How to Approach Sexual Fantasies and Desire on Your Own Terms is here, and while I couldn't find anything with the exact title 50 Shades of Abuse, we do have 50 Shades of BS - How to Tell the Difference Between Kink and Abuse as well as 50 Shades Crappier: On Selling Abuse for Valentine's Day, both of which cover how the 50 Shades series isn't a great model of real, responsibly-practiced BDSM.

now, here's what I didn't see in any of these articles: an assertion that anybody needs to, as you've decided to do, avoid any work that depicts anything less than perfectly healthy sexual practices.

the closest we get to that is the quote by adrienne maree brown from How to Approach Sexual Fantasies, which you mention above. now, here's the thing: first of all, I actually disagree pretty substantially with brown's assertions that one's sexual fantasies need to "politicize." I know what my politics are; the fiction that I enjoy can't change that, because I don't have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair. I actually just talked about that earlier today in another ask.

(also, and this may be an unpopular opinion, but adrienne maree brown is kind of a dork who doesn't really say much of anything in Pleasure Activism that Audre Lorde didn't already say better and more succinctly, and I personally lost interest in Pleasure Activism pretty much the moment she casually dropped that she practices reiki healing because that's a pseudoscientific alternative medicine that doesn't do shit or fuck. but I digress.)

listen, I'm not trying to peer pressure or bully you into watching anything you don't want to watch. your porn consumption is up to you. but what you're doing here is absolutely moralizing, I think maybe because of an underlying assumption that media that involves sex is just, like, innately different than any other type of media, which is in itself an idea that stems from sex negativity!

I don't know, let's just try to play out a little thought exercise here. like, would you consider it reasonable if somebody told you that they've decided not to read or watch anything that depicts problematic behavior because they don't want to normalize it. like, first of all, they're never watching anything but Bluey again. except actually not even Bluey because I just remembered about Bluey in the genocide, which actually makes for a great illustration of how nonsensical and impossible it is to try to only engage with media that is 100% ideologically pure.

and again: that's fine! that's literally fine! it is 100% okay to watch or read or play things with morals that don't totally 100% align with yours. it's okay to enjoy them, even. it's a lot healthier than trying to avoid upsetting or incongruous things entirely, because that gives you the chance to actually think about it rather than trying to shut it out entirely! that article actually provides an entire list of questions you can run through with yourself to critically analyze the things you watch if you feel so inclined! that's a much better skill to practice than avoidance!

I get that when you're new to sex, as you said in the previous ask, this might seem daunting, but your brain isn't just a sponge that will uncritically soak up and adopt anything you expose it to. you very clearly have the ability to research, differentiate between fiction and real life, and form your own opinions! and it is absolutely fine if you want to just watch porn with your kinks!

like, listen, I see what the question is, and the easiest answer is just. do whatever gets you off.

#sex edventures 2024

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deesblanketfort · 7 months

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Sick and regressed ☆´ˎ˗ ︶︶︶

Well, while I'm writting this I'm bedridden (likely with covid), and for some reason I really want to spend my sick days regressed and take something good out of it at least.

Getting comfy!

🧦: Pajamas time! Is there anything more regressor-coded than cozy printed pajamas, an animal kigurumi or onesie? I'd say no. And since I'm staying on bed, I'm surely wearing those all day long.

🛏️: Bed setup! When you're bedridden, a bed table ends up being really useful in case you want to do stuff that requires a flat surface. If you have one of those, lucky you! I, however had to improvise with a smooth wooden board standing on my lap, therefore any kind of long, resilient and flat surface can do the job just fine.

🧦: Blanket fort! Alternatively, if you're able to roam around your house or have someone to help, you can build a blanket fort over your bed or a comfy surface to stay in!

🛏️: Sick gear! Runny nose? Bring tissues. Got a fever? Make a cold damp towel for your forehead. Tummy aches or localized pain? Make a hot water compress. And make sure to keep track of the meds you're taking, of course.

🧦: Get your plushies! Since what I got is very contagious close contact with anyone is out of the table, but my stuffies are completely immune to sickness and ready to cuddle! (I'll have to wash them afterwards to disinfect them though)

Games and activities!

🎮: Viddy games! Either on computer, phone or a console (handheld preferred), videogames are perfectly stationary and don't require much movement from your part.

🖍️: Table games! Table games are also stationary and can be played right from your bed if you have a bed table, although most games need other people to play with you, your plushies can serve this purpose.

🎮: Play pretend! Playing pretend can be limited when you're bedridden, but there are some scenarios you're perfectly able to do! Such as pretending you're a shop owner and your stuffies are the clients, pretending your stuffies are your doctors/nurses taking care of you, or vice versa. Things like tea parties and pretend schools are still on the table!

🖍️: Arts and crafts! Being sick won't stop me from wanting to draw and color, since I can do it from my bed anyways! Aside from drawing and coloring, I might as well do some collage and paper craft, just might need help to clean up afterwards.

🎮: Cartoon time! No better opportunity to (re)watch your favorite cartoons than when you're sick, bedridden and bored, right? And since this brings me comfort, here are some cartoon episodes that center on being sick: Bumpy and the Wise Old Wolfhound (Bluey), Steve Gets The Sniffles (Blues Clues), Bear Flu (We Bare Bears), Doctor Daisy M.D (Mickey Mouse Clubhouse), Arthur's Chicken Pox (Arthur)

Snack time!

🍼: Hot drinks! Specially if you're with a cold or a sore throat in general, hot drinks such as hot cocoa and tea are perfect for warming up an icky throat.

🧁: Spices for a sore throat! Like mint, honey, ginger and lemon. I'm sure there's plentiful of drinks you can make using these!

🍼: Give preference to healthy snacks and meals! Like fruits and veggies, yogurt, noodles, soup or sandwiches. Bonus points if they're arranged in a fun shape (animal, plant, star, etc)!

🧁: Keep your appetite in check! It's pretty common to lose your appetite when sick, therefore I'd say it's ideal to keep your meals smaller (and sometimes eat more often) than usual.

Taking care of yourself!

🧸: Stay hydrated! Water is always good, and if you're sick you likely need it more than usual, drinking from sippy cups, baby bottles, straw cups or any kind of fun themed cup is usually more fun and encouraging than boring adult cups.

🧶: Keep your temperature in check as well! Besides from checking if you have a fever ever so often, it's also good to keep yourself warm with blankets and heating if your body feels cold, or alternatively, turning on fans and using lighter sheets instead of blankets if you're too hot.

🧸: Beware the germs! If you got a contagious disease (like me), make sure to properly wash and disinfect anything you bring to your mouth such as pacis, teethers, bottles and cutlery before and after using them. Plus, it's important to wear a mask or ask others to wear a mask when near you as well.

🧶: Resting is key! Some of these days I'm too tired to do anything above, and I'd rather just nap the whole day, and that's okay! Sometimes being sick means not being able to do anything at all and it's important to have your extended napping time to get better.

#agere sfw #sfw agere #agere #agere blog #sfw agere blog #age regression #age regressor #sfw regression #sfw regressor #safe agere #noncom agere #agere advice #agere tips #agere ideas #agere activities #blankiefort ★´ˎ˗#kitty rambles ★´ˎ˗

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envy-of-the-apple · 6 months

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Do you or your followers have any recommendations for some good SatoSugu x Reader fics here on tumblr or ao3? It feels like I've read all the good ones out there (yours included, which are all amazing btw 💕) but maybe there are a few that have slipped under my radar and escaped my notice. lol

idk that many either! ik i rave about satosugu poly fics buuuut i don't read that many! its mainly cuz there's not a long which is a little surprising!

but here are my favs! (if anyone else wants to add on pls pls do so!)

Like Hoarded Gold (Dark) - @inorganicone2230

Dark! Satosugu, where they manipulate the MC and isolate the MC into basically relying on them for everything. It's hilarious because the satosugu have healthy boundaries with each other but they are totally fine with manipulating and gaslighting the mc into staying with them. It's super dark, creepy, and just overall amazing!!!

Obsessed (Dark) - @kkatsukiswife

okay fine not technically satosugu buuuut it's so so good so pls read!!! it's fem!gojo dark sapphic fic so you know its amazing. basically the mc is fem!suguru's ex and satoru gets jealous cuz of how perfect the mc is but then ends up obsessing over the mc too. so ig it kinda counts as satosugu cuz suguru and the mc used to date!

Welcome Home - NovaRising

satosugu +sukuna but still counts imo. mc grandfather passes away so they go back to Japan only to realize three strangers are living in their grandfathers house. Super super good! I know it's technically not completed buuuut imo the story is perfect as it is!

Surprise! - @thee-horny-thicky

amazing!!!! i love it so so much!!! mc is suguru's gf but they both go back to visit satoru in japan and things escalate from there. And the author did mention that more satosugu threesome fics were being planned so lets cross our fingers!!!!!

Nurture(Dark) - @yandere-daydreams

There is a first part, but its satoru-centric. The story is told in alternating flashbacks where suguru is the mc's past and satoru is the mc's present (for now). I especially love it cuz the mc is older (like mid-thirties). it's so refreshing cuz typically the mc is always like late teens and early twenties. This fic actually inspired Monsoon! I totally forgot to add that in the a/n

honorable mentions

Stuck in Jogo's body - 2BeorNot2Be

once again not a satosugu fic but this is so underrated despite the amazing idea??? its exactly what it sounds, reader swaps bodies with jogo and has to pair up with gojo to figure out how to undo the swap. it's so amazing pls go read I'm begging you!!!!!

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #fic recs

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stardewsnail · 2 years

Note

Can you write head cannons of how the bachelors would react when jealous? Perhaps they heard their farmer was giving gifts to other bachelors. Can be NSFW. K love you byeee

This is a bit inconsistent because of how familiar I am with them/how interesting I thought their reactions would be–some of these are head canons and some of them are drabbles. Somewhere along the way I realized I switched from they/them pronouns to she/her so I guess this is about a fem farmer now lol–hope you enjoy!

Bachelors get jealous

MINORS DNI; cw: sexual activity, jealousy, sad boi hours

Shane

- very different if he’s with the farmer or not bc I feel like he’s used to being envious of others

- When he sees the farmer bringing Elliot a bottle of wine or Sam a cactus fruit he feels like he has no valid reason to be jealous. He’s just embarrassed and ashamed of his own feelings.

- Like, obviously the pretty, successful, kind farmer isn’t going to be interested in him? He’s working at the Joja mart and drinking away his money—he’s barely keeping it together and he comes with a kid. Not exactly the biggest catch

- After the cliffs he had come to terms with his crush and is just sort of leaving it because he cannot imagine her reciprocating his growing feelings. That’s fine, he loves having her in his life regardless. He doesn’t have the expectation that they’ll ever return his feelings and that’s okay. He gets a therapist and focuses on getting better for himself and the others in his life

But if they’re together it’s different

- He retreats into himself and has a bit of a mental spiral (ranging from “it was bound to happen eventually” to “oh god our chickens are going to come from a broken home”)

- Fortunately he has a therapist to work through things with so he’s able to actually express himself to the farmer in a healthy way and receive the emotional validation that the farmer does in fact love them and their chickens will grow up with parents who love each other

- He’ll pull her onto his lap or against his chest and if the vibe is right the cuddling might turn into a make out session which might get handsy—Shane is extra needy after all this, lingering through the motions. After sex he stays inside her for a minute, just sharing breath and being as close as possible

- Shane alternates being big and little spoon don’t @ me

I feel like Shane having a therapist pulls a lot of the “drama” out of him being jealous because he’s so focused on developing healthier coping strategies so him talking about his feelings directly is a big step!

...

Sebastian

Pre relationship

“Motherfucker-!” Sebastian snarled, watching his avatar die yet again. In his headset Sam groaned, quickly meeting a similar fate. Abigail, now left alone, didn’t fare much better.

“Okay, it’s 4, I’m calling…” A yawn cut through Sam’s words, “….it.”

Sebastian winced, glancing at the clock, “Damn—yeah. Night, guys.” It was stupid late. He was going to regret this tomorrow. No, actually, he was already regretting it. Now he was just pissed at the game and at—he shoved that thought down, feeling heat rise to his face. He dropped heavily onto the bed, arm thrown over his eyes. His head hurt.

And he really didn’t want to deal with the bolt of anger that shocked him when he saw Alex throw his arm around the farmer. Her face was lit up with laughter as they shared some joke—the jock had only touched her for a moment and sure, it might not actually mean anything—but he was jealous. And even a solid nine hours of league had done nothing to subdue the feeling that boiled in his chest. It wasn’t even like the farmer didn’t talk to him either—and while she brought everyone little gifts, he’d had the thought that maybe his were special. A foolish, hopeful thought. Alex was outgoing, athletic, and only still lived at home to care for his grandparents. Sebastian was a twenty-four year old college dropout living in his mom’s basement filling his time with gaming. God, he really was a loser. Fortunately he was unconscious before he really had to deal with that.

…

Knock, knock, knock

Sebastian groaned, burrowing farther under his pillow. His mom always woke him up when she made breakfast even if he wasn’t actually required to get up. Maybe later he could ask her what she knew about the farmer. He was pretty sure she was still working on upgrading their coop anyway. It wouldn’t be an odd question. He rolled over, trying to relax back down into sleep.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the second knock sounded. If he ignored it, chances are his mom would leave him be. But then she knocked again, a little harder this time. He swore under his breath as he hauled himself out of bed, not bothering to hit the lights before throwing open the door with more force than strictly necessary.

The farmer’s hand was still raised to knock and she froze, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

Sebastian’s entire brain blue-screened. It crashed. It attempted to restart. It failed. It tried again but all that came up was how he must look—an old band t-shirt, unbrushed hair, stubbled chin, frog-print boxers—holy shit he wasn’t even wearing pants.

“Good morning!” She said, cheeks pink. It certainly wasn’t morning, that much he knew. Sebastian wished the floor would swallow him right then and there. “Sam said you guys were up late playing games so I brought you this,” she held up the coffee in her other hand, “Robin said I was fine to come down, I didn’t think you’d be asleep, sorry—“

“I needed to get up anyway,” he said, a bit too fast. He ran his hand over his hair, trying to judge its state and was quickly dismayed. Fuck, she was pretty. Great impression Sebastian. Great job.

“Thank you,” he added, finally accepting the warm paper cup.

“I started growing coffee beans a while ago,” she continued, fidgeting and definitely noticing his lack of pants, “This is the first of it. Let me know how it is, I’m still experimenting with roasting.”

“Oh wow,” he took a sip realizing not only was the coffee delightful, she’d also added cream and just a touch of sugar–exactly how he took it, “This is really good. Thank you.”

She lit up, “Oh good! I was hoping you’d like it.” She was hoping he’d like it? Him specifically? The caffeine hadn’t hit him yet, but the taste of coffee still got his brain moving. He noticed the fishing pole sticking out of her pack.

“Are you headed to the lake?” he asked, before he could really think it through.

“Yeah–I wanted to do some fishing,” she rocked on her feet, “I’ll let you get back to it–”

Shit, that hadn’t been his intent.

“D’you want company?” he cut her off, flushing when she just looked up at him with a smile.

“That would be really nice–you can tell me about your game. It sounded fun but I didn’t quite understand when Sam was talking about it.”

“Great,” he said, “I’ll uh…meet you out there?” He still wasn’t wearing pants.

Dating

Sebastian trusted his girlfriend. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that seeing her smile and shyly give Elliot a bottle of her mead had shaken the dust off his old companion, jealousy, and now he didn’t know what to do with the itch in his skin.

He’d spent the day working on his bike, music blasting, a scowl etched on his face. At some point Demetrius had come out to say something, but a glance at Sebastian’s face had him simply turning tail back to the house.

It was better he got it all out of his system before he met up with the farmer at the saloon.

Some time and a hot shower later he was entering the saloon, wondering if she had beat him there–and she had.

And Elliot was there, fawning over the farmer who had a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles as the writer told some dramatic story, talking with animated hands.

He was across the bar in a second, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. The lazy grin he gave Elliot was more a challenge than anything–he didn’t know where this sudden boldness was coming from–Elliot didn’t seem like the type to pull something but there was a primal need to mark his territory. The farmer was his.

She flashed him a grin, her hand coming to rest in his back pocket, and finished what she was saying.

“Hey, babe,” she said, pushing to her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips, “I got here early–want to get in some practice before Sam and Abby show up?”

“Need a warm up?” he teased, “Think that will help you beat me?”

“One of these days,” she bumped his hip with her own, “I’m gonna win. Talk to you later, Elliot!” she added. Elliot said something in response before slinking back to where Leah was sitting, watching as if this was her very own reality TV show.

...

Harvey

Harvey wasn’t jealous. The farmer was just a friend–she was kind and generous and liked giving gifts! Most mornings she popped by the clinic to bring him a coffee and chat for a few minutes between appointments.

It was only natural for her to prefer someone less devoted to their work, younger and more aligned with the pop culture she was familiar with. Sam was a ray of sunshine, and seeing him light up when the farmer had offered him a cactus fruit had sent a spike of something that was not jealousy through his chest.

He spends all his free time for the next few days pouring over his model planes, completing two kits in record time. Between that and the kids in town catching something nasty and viral, he hadn’t even seen her in a week. Which was fine.

He hadn’t anticipated her to be waiting right outside the door of the clinic, swinging it open as soon as the lock turned. If he had been any slower, she probably would have hit him with it. Her eyes were piercing as she held out the coffee, a small frown on her face.

“Have you been avoiding me?” her words were blunt and heat rose to his face, hands raised as if that would be enough to convince her of his words.

“No–no, I just–well–” he swallowed, looking anywhere but her face, “You just seemed busy and like you were spending time with Sam and–” She was giving him this small smile that had his stomach turn to jelly, and now he didn’t know what to do with his hands. She held out the coffee.

“Want to meet up at the saloon later?”

“Yes!” His reply might have been a bit eager, but he didn’t care because her face simply lit up.

“Great, it’s a date.” and then she turned out the door, going on her merry way before he could even process her words.

...

Alex

- to be honest before they’re dating I think he would just AGGRESSIVELY do push ups where the farmer could see

- or he’ll make a comment about how hot Haley is looking to the farmer

- Either way he tells Haley about “how well he handled it” and she is so, so tired.

Alex doesn’t care that the farmer went all the way into the mines to find that special rock for Sebastian. It wasn’t even Sebastian’s birthday or anything, she was just nice and he was not bothered.

He wasn’t bothered when he was doing push-ups.

He wasn’t bothered when he was squating.

He wasn’t even bothered while doing his deadlifts.

And while he showered, he totally wasn’t thinking about how she looked so pleased when she showed him the gem, mentioning that it was Sebastian’s favorite.

Now they were sitting on her bed, watching some movie that he couldn’t quite parse over his churning thoughts. He’d been inching closer and closer without realizing, and now he shifted to rest his head in her lap watching her instead of the movie.

Immediately her hands found their way to stroke through his hair. She smoothed his brow, and he realized he’d been frowning.

“What’s up?” she asked, ever perceptive.

“Nothing,” he replied reflexively, and she paused the movie, waiting for him to continue.

“You…like me, right?” His voice was quiet, and if it wasn’t her he would be too embarrassed to ask such a vulnerable question.

“I love you, actually.” She said it so casually he took a second to process the confession. Her smile was soft.

Never one for words over actions, he sat up, closing the distance between them with a kiss.

...

Sam

- I feel like Sam would try to cover any jealousy with a smile and positive attitude but something about the farmer “doting” on Alex and making him baked salmon really bothered him

- He asks Shane for advice because that’s his work dad/adult and Shane just looks up at the security camera like it’s the office but does try to give advice because he’s fond of the kid

- His advice is literally just for Sam to make a move because so help him god if he has to head about the farmers eyes one more time

...

Elliot

- He’s in denial that he’s jealous

- I feel like Elliot’s solution to every emotional problem is writing

- He would probably end up projecting it onto his characters writing a scene where somebody is jealous (because he’s not jealous nope. He’s not jealous at all)

- He’s a little moodier, a little more sardonic and eventually the farmer asks what’s bugging him–he assures her that it’s just difficulty with his novel

- He doesn’t say he’s jealous nope

- He's just gonna go full Gomez Addams and make love to them in a bit of a frenzy—I’m talking a trail of clothes, fucking her right on his desk.

- He’s leaving hickies, the farmer is being claimed

- The farmer is being RAVISHED

- He probably won’t bring it up bc he does trust the farmer completely and knows it’s his own anxiety and the farmer more than reassured him on the reg and he can trust that

...

I’m hiding my dumbass notes waaaaaaay down here

I wrote this while zoinked and made up a whole ass bachelor named Mike and sat there for a good min wondering why I could remember anything about Mike, who the FUCK is Mike????

Am I writing Elliot ravishing the farmer on the desk? Yes, but this reply was getting a little long so it’s coming later

I’ve been a little slow on requests lately, but my spouse is going to be out of town for the next month so I should have a lot more time to working on these :) it brings me such joy every time I get that lil notification, thanks y’all <3

#Stardew valley #stardew valley bachelors #sdv harvey #sdv shane #sdv alex #sdv sam #sdv elliot #sdv sebastian #sdv fanfic #sdv fic request #snailwrites #sdv smut #jealous sdv bachelors

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pangolin-404 · 8 months

Text

non-exhaustive list of masked headcanons:

A group of Masked is called a "masquerade".

The process of possession kills the host, and the mask immediately begins to take root in the host's skull and eat away at the body. It can take weeks for the mask's root system to fully take hold, and a healthy root system allows for finer control of the host body, slowed rates of decomposition, and better long-term nutrient intake.

A Masked is not its host, despite Masked appearing to retain some of the host's instinct and reflex. Very fresh Masked may respond to their host's name, become extremely distressed when fled or fought, or attempt to vocalize spoken language, but they are still an active threat. They are not your friend.

In the immediate aftermath of converting an employee to a fellow Masked while more are in the immediate vicinity, both individuals will be distracted (when unprovoked) for up to one minute before resuming a hunt. Use this time wisely.

To a Masked, its blood is its sole defense, chemically altered to boil under excitement or duress.

Bracken mistakenly hunt Masked, but abandon them once realizing what they are, as Brackens only feed on fresh meat. The Masked will expend energy mending the damaged nerves, un-snap its neck, and get up just fine eventually.

When outdoors, Forest Keepers are the top predator of Masked, because Masked are bad at registering things as threats.

Snare fleas are an exception, as potential damage to the mask will make the Masked break into a panicked state of running aimlessly, vocalizing, and regurgitation until the flea inevitably dies.

Jesters will follow Masked around, and rarely wind. If a Jester starts winding, it will eventually stop without popping.

Thumpers will attack Masked, and will eat the mask.

Masked occasionally pick up and hold scrap. Some still carry a long-dead flashlight or walkie-talkie.

They have excellent night vision.

Masked appear to have an appreciation for music. Attempts at dancing around winding Jesters have been observed.

Masked are known to sleep standing up. They alternate between sleeping and standing stationary to reserve energy and make potentially nearby employees approach. Company employees are advised to assume any standing Masked is an awake and hunting Masked.

Masked that are more decomposed will sit to rest and sleep more, but struggle getting up again.

Masked are more docile in groups, and will go out searching for employees far less when they already have company. Most masquerades are three to five Masked strong, but the largest infestation recorded had over two dozen members.

Masked are very affectionate with one another and will often vocalize together, hug, hold hands, and "kiss" (clacking their masks together) for enjoyment. A fight between Masked has never been recorded.

If a Masked is injured, its masquerade will take care of it and defend it. If the host is unsalvageable, the mask is either abandoned or carried for a small period of time before being apparently forgotten. In larger masquerades, a mask with a dead host is more quickly abandoned than in smaller masquerades.

It is unclear if a Masked recognizes a host-less mask as one of its own.

It is unclear if masquerading behavior affects a Masked's sense of individuality.

Masked in masquerades will mimic each other's behavior until they act in unison. The Company is unsure if they form true hiveminds.

Tragedy Masked exist, though are rare. It is unclear why Masked have this apparently random variation. They behave the same as the more common comedy Masked, but cry instead of laugh. Some comedy Masked appear distressed when recent tragedy additions to the masquerade cry and smother it in affection until an understanding is reached.

Tragedy Masked will pretend to be an employee in distress, crying to lure employees in. If part of a masquerade, the other Masked will hide and strike when any prey comes too close.

Sometimes this backfires when pretending to be injured or frightened distresses the Masked around it, which come out of hiding to comfort the tragedy, much to its confusion.

Tragedies cannot laugh, and comedies cannot cry. However, all Masked can perform other vocalizations, such as hissing and growling when attacked.

The common observance of the mask rattling on the host's head is believed to be out of excitement, and is only seen when actively hunting or when around other Masked.

Masked require very little to sustain themselves, but it is believed they are opportunistic hyper-carnivores who occasionally hunt hoarding bugs, snare fleas, or hatchling thumpers to supplement the nutrients leeched from the host body. Masked readily share kills with any Masked nearby, but do not tend to hunt in parties larger than two or three.

Due to the state of the host's face and jaw post-possession, Masked cannot chew. To eat, they regurgitate activated (boiling) blood onto a desired food and drink the resulting slurry.

It is unknown where Masked originated. It is under heavy debate whether they have crustacean ancestry or are highly specialized fungi. Rumors that they are artificial life created for war are, in fact, just rumors.

When a Masked's host rots away until it cannot move, the mask will enter a dormant state. Eventually, the host body is picked apart by scavengers such as baboon hawks, hoarding bugs, and snare fleas. The mask, inedible to most, is typically discarded or added to a hoarding bug nest.

While environmental conditions adjust its durability, a Masked host is usable for four to five months on average. Heat, injury, repeated hunts (exerted energy) regardless of success or failure, and anemia drastically shorten a host's usability. The mask itself, if not shattered or eaten, is functionally immortal.

#thoughts #lethal company #masked #lethal company posting #you could probably pick some buddy lore out of this so #oc: buddy

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barleyo · 1 year

Text

Hybrid.

Recom! Miles Quaritch X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Hey, guys! I'm back from hiatus, sorry, I've been gone for so long. I got this idea while listening to one of my favorite nsfw asmr creators (feelgoodfilth, please go check him out y’all). Love you all, thanks for reading!

Tags: breeding kink, medical fetish, p in v, handjobs, fingering, unprotected sex, creampies

Wordcount: 1.7K

“Colonel Quaritch?”

“Hm, yeah?”

The woman walked into the small waiting room, taking only a few steps while clutching a clipboard to her chest.

“I’m ready to run your tests. Would you follow me to the back office?” Her lips pressed into an awkward line, the pissed look on Quaritch’s face telling her that he wasn’t in the mood for a smile.

He stood up, head leaning down uncomfortably in the room. The ceilings got a bit higher when they turned the corner to her office, allowing him to reach closer to his full height. An examining table sat in the middle of the office, and an overhead light stood above it.

“Do I–?” Miles’ hand loosely pointed over to the table.

“Oh, yes, please. Careful of the light, Colonel.” The woman took her seat on a spinning chair, scooting it toward the table with her wheels. “Careful– careful now,” she said, holding her arms out as he roughly sat on the table, trying to protect his large body, as if catching him would have done any good.

He snorted, lip pulling into a bored, fixed snarl. “Yeah, so sorry, miss,” he said, voice anything but apologetic.

She gave a small nod, eyeing her papers clipped to her board, scanning over them quickly.

“Ah– no matter. So, Colonel Quaritch, I have to run a few simple tests and check-ups before we start the extraction process. Please, hold still.”

Extraction.

“Lord, this damn thing couldn’t take any longer, could it? Fucking Christ,” he snapped, patience thinning by the minute.

The RDA just wanted to piss him off at this point, he thought. The whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth, from start to finish. Creating recoms with lab grown Na’vi bodies was getting too expensive, so this was the alternative. Why make them from the government and taxpayers’ money when they had all they really needed: a few female recoms, a few male recoms and a way for them to mix.

“I know, I’m sorry– I know this can’t be pleasant for you,” she said. She was trying to be as sympathetic as possible, but it wasn’t a great process for her to deal with either, especially when the medical wing was understaffed.

“You have no idea, girl.” Miles groaned impatiently and spread his legs out, trying to work out the stress and kinks from his joints. “Can we just get this over with?”

The nurse nodded and scrambled over to her desk, pulling out an otoscope. She ushered him to lower his head to her level, having already pumped her chair up to its maximum height. “Hey, hey, hold still,” she inserted the tool, holding his blue ear to stop it from flicking as she looked through the lens. “Okay, all good.”

“What’s even the point of this? Can’t I just jizz in a fucking cup and leave?” He took a deep breath and his nose twitched in irritation.

“That– that comes later,” she said, face warm at his vulgar language, “just a few more tests, I promise. Now,” she pointed at her mouth, “open up, I need to take a look at your teeth.”

“What? Why?” Miles drew his eyebrows together, looking her up and down.

“I’ve got to make sure your teeth are healthy, and strong before we pass your DNA down to our other soldiers,” she said while still pointing her fingers at her mouth. “C’mon, show me that handsome smile, eh, Colonel?”

A sigh escaped his muscled chest, stripes seemingly shaking as he breathed.

“Fine.”

She brought a small light to his mouth, lifting her head up high to see all of his teeth. They were sharp and barred at her, shining in the reflection of her light.

A few other meaningless tests were performed, each draining Quaritch of his patience more and more. If he had to do one more fucking thing, he was going to—!

“Here you are. Now just take this and, uhm, you know,” she said, passing him a sterile cup to fill. “Fill it to the top, if you can.”

She looked away and started to turn to her desk before she heard a zipper. Her head snapped over to the table to see Miles removing his heavy cock from his cargos, giving it lazy pumps.

“No, there’s– there’s a bathroom for that…!”

“It’ll take like two seconds,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “not leaving just to blow a load.”

She barely heard his response as she watched. She was too busy feeling her grip on the corner of her chair tighten, eyes hooked on the sight of his pretty, blue cock growing in his fist.

“I, uhm, I think,” she paused, still watching as her voice trailed off.

“Huh? You think what?” He looked at her, smirking at her knuckles going white as she held onto the chair. “I think, little miss, that you want to come help me with this. Am I right?”

“That’s not professional,” she coughed out, turning her head away from him, arms going up to cover her chest.

“Oh, come on. Don’t you want to help a patient in need? Don’t leave me here to suffer,” Quaritch teased, feeling his impatience being replaced by smugness.

She bit her lip, eyes squinting as she thought.

“Oh, nurse,” he called, voice smothered with satisfaction, “I need your help.” He let go of his dick, feeling it spring back to hit his clothed abdomen. A string of precum stuck to his shirt as his cock twitched.

She walked over to him, pushing the wheeled chair to the corner of the room and out of her way. Taking his cock into her hand, she looked up to meet his blown, amber eyes. “Just to help? T-to hurry the process, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, “but, I wouldn’t mind if you took your time.”

Giving a few, testing strokes, she held as much of his cock that she could manage in her small fist. She went slow, from tip to base. Miles shuttered a bit, hips threatening to snap up into her hand.

“You’re a little fuckin’ tease, aren’t you? Gonna– fuck,” he clenched his jaw, “gonna actually take your time, huh? Ain’t know you’d listen t’me.”

Taking her other hand, she takes her fingers and traces around his tip, collecting the slick and rubbing it in. She felt it kick in her hands, and gave it a sharp squeeze.

“God, just– let go, c’mon.”

She let go quickly. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to!”

Quaritch took a breath through his nose and patted his lap. “Come here, come on. That’s right.”

She sat, facing him. Her blue scrubs made euphoric friction against his cock, gliding across the length as she got comfortable.

“I’ve gotten a taste of you, darlin’,” he started, “I won’t be able to hold back. Can’t cum inside that fuckin’ cup.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, mouth parting slightly as she felt his hands reach under her shirt. “Colonel?”

“Ain’t no point in growing another recom in a lab with my DNA,” he started, leaning to her neck, letting the warmth of his breath hit the exposed skin, “when I could put my DNA inside of you. Gonna let me breed you? Huh?”

He held onto the swell of her breast under the shirt, running a thumb over her hard nipple.

“Gonna let me fuck a hybrid into you?”

Her mouth hung open for a second, unanswering. “Colonel….”

“Answer me, missy. Gonna do it? Let me fill you up with a fuckin’ alien baby.”

A slow nod was all he needed to see. In a swift movement, she felt her body turned and pushed, her back on the table.

“Careful, please,” she mumbled, lips raw from her chewing them nervously.

“No time for ‘careful,’ honey, I gotta take you nice and rough.” Quaritch pulled her pants and panties down, balling the fabric up and tossing them into a corner in the office. He brought his fingers to her cunt, collecting the slick leaking from her hole. “Worked up, huh?”

He placed one hand over her thigh, pulling her legs apart. She instinctively tried to close them back, unsuccessfully.

“Keep ‘em open, I need to get you prepped for me.” He took one finger and rocked it into her, reaching to the far back of her walls. “All this talk got you wet already,” he said, feeling his finger slip in and out with ease.

“Wait, I’m close, really close,” she said, legs starting to shake.

A dry chuckle left Quaritch’s mouth. “Yeah? I won’t stop you. Cum.” His fingers curled into the gummy spot in her, abusing the sensitive area. A soft clenching trapped the digit, tightening over him for a few moments. “There, there you go.”

“Thank you, yes– fuck!”

“One load ain’t enough for you, huh?” His eyes were completely blown and lust-filled. “God– your greedy little cunt, milkin’ me dry.”

“Please, one more time– one more. Want your babies so bad!” she moaned, voice completely punched out. Her whines were breathless, and broken.

Quaritch gave a soft hum as he continued at the same pace, slotting his hips between hers roughly. The squelches of her messy, wet cunt filled his ears and egged him on further. Dribbles of his cum from earlier dripped out of her with each of his thrusts.

“I’m just gonna seed you, girl. Spill my fuckin’ cum all in you for second time so it takes.”

Her walls clenched around his cock at his words, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“You like that, yeah?”

“Yes, yes—”

“Keep clenching on me, keep me nice and hard,” he growled into her ear gently licking the shell of it after he finished talking, “God– you got me right on the edge.”

“Don’t make me wait,” she sobbed, feeling herself go blind from pleasure.

“So greedy, so– so impatient.” Quaritch held onto her hips, using her hips for further leverage as he fucked her into the table.

“Cum– cum in me, please, Colonel, one more time.”

Her begging threw him over the edge, and he spilled his second load into her, his cock kicking as he did.

“Fuck, sweet girl, there you go. Not even gonna pull out of you, gotta keep you plugged up.” He sat up, pulling her on his lap, dick still inside.

“Do you think I’ll actually, uhm, you know?” she sighed, looking a bit concerned.

“Get pregnant? I don’t know, girl. Maybe not. Or maybe you will, and you’ll get full with some little recom soldier babies.” He ran his hand over her cheek before speaking again, “Maybe I should fill you up again. Third time’s a charm.”

#barleyxnighteye #fanfiction #smutfic #smut #avatar way of water #avatar 2 #recom quaritch #recombinant #james cameron avatar #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #atwow quaritch #colonel quaritch #avatar twow #miles quaritch x y/n #avatar x reader

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