#i have no evidence to back that up but just roll with me on that ok

[dearmisshoney]

fool me once, fuck you twice

synopsis. you scam your dealer again by paying with fake bills. but theodore nott is not as stupid as you think, and not as harmless as you think. let’s just say... nott has connections and can teach you a lesson you will never forget.

pairing. dealer! theodore nott x reader x corrupt! cop! mattheo riddle

content/mdni. DUB-CON. mentions of NON-CON. fem!reader, dealer!theo, corrupt!cop!mattheo, cocky!mattheo, cocky!theo, aggressive!mattheo, condescending!theo, (kind of) slutty!reader, PUBLIC SEX. car sex (on the hood of the police car),doggy-style, deep throat/face-fucking, slight tit play, dry-humping, slight clit stimulation, spanking, rough play, power play, hair-pulling, handcuffs, slight sir kink (mattheo), teasing, praise, degradation, dirty talk, name-calling (good girl, baby, sweetheart, ma'am, but also whore, slut, fucktoy and fuckhole), objectification, very messy, (inaccurate aka idk about drugs) drug usage. raw sèx, FILTH

word count. 4.8k

a/n. OMG HONEY NO SUB/WHINY MEN? are you okay? yes, i am :)) this fic is for the third week of @acourtofchaos ’s event. let me know what you think about new approach and this new (?) au for matty! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

bright headlights flash in the rearview mirror of theodore’s car as another one slowly pull into the parking lot right behind him. his hand, latched around the mirror, slightly adjusts it to better see the plate number.

it is your car.

you, a somewhat recent customer he accepted after one of his best clients begged him to hook you up with the good stuff, have been biting more than you can chew.

not only were you dressing up like a slut every time you met with him — perky tits poking through the tight material of your tops, pussy peeking from underneath your micro-skirts — but you also half-assed your payment by sneaking in counterfeit bills.

theo always brushed to the side your skimpy outfits, not giving you any sort of discount for your promiscuous acts.

but he cannot excuse your usage of fake money.

no one cheats theodore nott.

“theo, hii!”

your exaggeratedly lively greeting hits his ears the moment he steps outside his car.

that sweet tonality of yours always made him roll his eyes back in annoyance, but right now it even angered him. your candy-like tone was definitely infused with venom and a dash of pride from the fact that you managed to trick the devilish dealer.

definitely, but not really. he would have reprimed you by now, but, alas, he had no evidence you did your almost-fake payment on purpose.

theodore is not an unreasonable man — he gives you the benefit of the doubt, hoping that maybe you didn’t know they were fake bills.

“the usual, right?” he muttered underneath his breath, more of a rhetorical question, clasping the edge of his trunk and lifting the lid to search for your order.

“awe, theo, why so gloomy tonight?”

you leaned against the opened trunk, arching your back into the created shape and pushing out your tits more. your tube top was barely sticking to your skin, gripping to your chest for dear life so as to not flash your dealer.

but if it happens, it happens — maybe that way theodore would finally give you a discount.

 “shit happened.”

it’s all he says as he closes back his trunk abruptly, without a warning. (un)fortunately, you reacted fast and your limbs were not trapped in the process. your expression did faltered for a second, your eyes popping out of your sockets and your mouth getting ready to spill curses, yet you composed yourself in time to receive the little transparent drug bag from theo.

“'m sorry, boo! can i help somehow?”

you were really adamant in seducing him, huh? leaning closer to theo, showing the peaks of your breasts to him, and seductively swaying your hips; you were serving your body on a silver platter as if it were nothing to you.

what a fucking slut.

“you having the cash to pay for this will do.”

he wasn’t going to feed into your depraved fantasies. so, shaking the bag with the greenish goods, he kindly demanded the payment from you. this evening you seem to be missing your purse, so theo’s reply was not out of line at all.

“of course, theo! you know i never disappoint.”

dipping your hand between your boobs and stretching out the tight material of your top, you pull out a fat stack of money, tied together by a red band. you shamelessly pushed the bills towards theo, flashing him a sultry grin as you intentionally let the top smack against your skin and make your chest jiggle.

what a fucking slut.

“i know.”

he groaned at the sight of your money, taken by surprise by your hiding spot. you've never had such a performance before, so to suddenly see bills emerging from between your tits… that made blood rush to his cock.

his unusual reaction was registered by you and your smile only grew bigger. theo was surely not discounting you this time, but now that you visibly made him falter… you will do your best to get that discount next time.

“pleasure doing business with you.”

you cheekily say to him as you slap the stack of money in his hand and impatiently snatch the bag from the other one. swinging the little packet in front of your hungry eyes, you admire the content for a bit before putting it away.

again, between your boobs.

what a fucking slut.

“see ya'.” it's all you say as you step away from theodore, spinning towards your car to leave the place.

“yeah, yeah.”

theodore only mumbled back at your, gripping the stash of money in his hand tightly. he carefully watches you as you start the engine, your headlights immediately hitting his standing figure as you slowly turn around and exit the parking lot.

he was planning on checking the money while you were still here, but your little stunt made him forget all about his plan, leaving him stranded alone with, most likely, suspicious bills.

“she better just be dumb.”

that was his wish: he really wanted you to just have unknowingly given fake bills to him. to just unknowingly cheat him and profit off of his business.

yet as he carefully checks each and every bill from the stack with a uv light, theodore discovered your true nature — you intentionally did it.

you dared fake your payment twice in a row, this time only using counterfeit money.

what a fucking devious slut.

“oh, she will pay for this! no one messes with me and leaves unharmed.”

he was chuckling under his breath as he gripped the money tightly, the discarded portable uv light bringing out the markings on every bill and the rage in theodore’s eyes.

they shimmer a treacherous blue, so stormy and so revengeful.

“that slut will regret it.”

with a mischievous grin on his lips, he drops the bills all over the car seat. then he reaches for his phone on the center console and, fastly typing a well-memorized phone number, he dials someone surely capable of bringing him justice.

“need your help with something.”

•••

“theodore the devil nott my ass, haha!”

stepping on the gas pedal hard as soon as you joined the main road, you upped the volume of your music in celebration. you used fake bills to fully pay for your drugs and that stupid dealer didn’t even realize.

you escape unscattered yet again.

“such a fucking loser, damn!”

and you continued your insulting monologue, replaying in your head how easy it was for you to take the package and dip. how his eyes were focused on your tits, then your money stack.

how he literally moaned when you dropped the drugs in your top at the very end.

“pussy boy for real.”

you've heard details from your friend about his sex life, but it all seems to be just a rumor. there was no way theodore nott, with his prudish reaction, fucks until daylight and makes his partners see stars.

he is an attractive bastard, yes, but he definitely hasn’t seen a pussy in his life.

“that makes it easier for me, damn.”

you were smiling like crazy when you realized your seduction game just became easier to implement. he’s been so unresponsive all this time because he was a prude. and maybe you were too bold.

“a sheer top will do for next time.”

you were already planning your future outfit, so excited to fuck up theo’s resolve to stay away from your enticing tendencies, but the red and blue lights of a police car glimmering in your rearview mirror brought you back to reality.

“no fucking way.”

all your enthusiasm dropped as you realized the police car was targeting you, signaling for you to stop on the side of the road.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.”

why were cops patrolling this route? and why were they out at this hour? you were indeed over the speed limit, so their reaction was understandable. but if they were to also body search you and find the drugs… you’re done for.

let’s hope the officer was a he. a young thirsty he who will give in to your dirty attics and let you go.

so, obeying his signals, the tires of your car halt with a loud screech. your hands fumbled to lower the volume of your music, and that’s when you registered the strong pounding of your heart.

you were anxious.

you dipped your hand in between your boobs, searching for your drug bag in hopes of removing it, yet you fastly return your hand back on the steering wheel when you saw the red and blue lights swirling so close to your car and a dark silhouette approaching the window. 

a sudden sharp knock on your window made your entire body twitch in your seat, legs shaking away from the pedals on the floor and rooting themselves as close to the edge of the seat as possible. without waiting for a second knock, you lowered the window with a gulp.

and there he was.

uniform pressed. badge gleaming under the red-blue lights. cop hat pulled over messy curls, yet barely hiding his brown eyes.

“license and registration, ma'am.” he drawls, voice gravel-like, a knowing smile plastered across his lips.

oh he was hot hot.

“o–of course, officer…?”

“officer riddle, ma'am.”

“give me one second, officer riddle.”

you could definitely try wiggle your way out of this one. officer riddle looked young and, judging by his constitution, he was definitely a desirable yet cocky man.

stroke his ego — and maybe his cock — and you’re definitely good.

so you scramble, leaning so far down towards the drawer in front of the passenger seat that your ass was on full display for officer riddle. opening up the drawer, you took longer than needed to find the necessary documents.

all that just to entice the cop.

you had no clue if your trick was working, but you knew for sure the officer got a good glimpse of your bubble butt and your naked cunt. your micro-skirt may not have come in handy with your dealer, but it will definitely affect riddle.

“was i– um– speeding, officer?”

returning to your initial position and handing him the documents, you bat your eyelashes cluelessly at him and purse your lips in confusion. you would have pushed your tits at him too, but the drugs tucked between them were burning into your skin, advising you to be cautious.

mattheo riddle takes your license and glosses over it slightly, before returning his gaze back to your face.

“twenty over. but that’s not the main issue.”

and that’s when your breath hitches, the drug bag feeling heavier against your chest.

“w–what do you mean?”

he doesn’t answer. just eyes you for a moment and, with a jerk of his chin, commands you to do exactly the thing you were most afraid of:

“step outside the vehicle, ma'am.”

your lips parted, ready to protest, but you swallowed your words and obeyed. if you make a commotion right now, it will make it worse.

so, complying to his order, you got out of the car. your heels clicked against the pavement, and you stepped into the cool air.

“bend over, hands on the hood.” he says firmly. “i will conduct a search. standard procedure.”

“search? may i know why–”

“standard procedure, ma'am.” he cuts you off in a harsh tone, one that allows no further questioning. “do not make me use force, ma’am.”

you complied.

he started his search from your wrist, skimming down your arms. it was deliberate yet professional, his fingers barely ghosting over your skin. then he hovered over your hips, pausing his hands at the swell of your ass.

“you nervous?” he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and sticky. something darker was palpable in his voice, but you couldn’t quite figure out the reason.

“ah– a little.”

“you should be.”

and that’s when his hands unprofessionally gripped at your ass over the skirt, half of his palms hitting the material of your garment, half of it — his curious fingers — hitting bare skin.

“s-sir–?”

“public nudity? that’s a serious offense, sweetheart.”

his fingers dug deeper into your flesh, leaving indents into the plush of your ass, as he spread your legs slightly to make space for his own body.

“walking around like this?” he growls against the shell of your ear as his fingers raised the hem of your skirt higher and higher. “skirt so short and fuck me– no panties?”

your cunt was now on full display, shimmering underneath the moonlight because of the glossy arousal coating your lips and thighs. and to make it worse, the rugged material of mattheo’s pants were nicely pressing against it, making you buckle your hips back into him.

your stomach flips at his words, a mixture of desire and fear. you tried to beg for mercy, but only a small whine left your throat.

“not only you’re breaking the law…” he continued ruthlessly, raising one of his hands from your ass only to let it slap back against your skin. “you’re doing it like a desperate little whore.”

“p–please, officer, i–”

another slap.

“save it for the chief.”

before you can beg again, he roughly gripped your wrists and, binding them closer behind your back, he swiftly handcuffed you. now, with your hands tied behind you, the cold and hard metal of the cuffs digging into your skin, you had no chance of escaping.

you were fucked.

“c'mon, let’s go.”

he removed himself from behind you like nothing happened, pushing back down your skirt and even yanking your body from the hood.

“what are we–”

“we’re going to the police station. you’re under arrest, sweetheart.”

and with that brief explanation, he nudged you to move towards his car. his police car, with the red-blue lights still menacingly spinning.

it was bad.

if he takes you to the police station, they will surely find the drugs. shit, shit shit, you have to stop him right now. but how? what should you do to make him change his mind?

“wait– wait! officer riddle…” you breathed out courageously, heels skidding against the pavement as you dig them in.

resisting his pushing.

but he doesn’t stop at all, hand stiff against your lower back.

“don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“i will do anything–” you blurt out. “j–just– don’t take me there, please.”

that stops him.

his hand on you falters just enough to give you hope. you could see from the corner of your eyes how his own chocolate orbs flicker down your body — unreadable themselves, yet the mere action speaks volume.

“anything?” he repeats, low and dangerous.

“y–yeah!” you nod, heart pounding right next to your drug pouch. “p–public indecency should be punished privately, d–don’t you agree?”

for a moment, there’s only the whirling of the police lights and the thudding in your chest. then, with a devilish smile, mattheo drags you closer, your body falling into his.

“you think i am that easy, sweetheart?”

fuck it, go big or go home.

“i think you want to see if i am that easy, officer.”

that was enough. you didn’t even need to push your hips back into his crotch like you were planning to.

your body was instantly guided to the hood of the police car, shoved chest first against the cold metal. your legs parted instinctively, giving officer mattheo riddle the chance to position himself between them and yank your skirt back up.

“what a fucking slut.” he mutters as he slowly thumbs at your pussy, fingers cruising against your folds and collecting your arousal. “showing me this dirty cunt to fuck.”

he continues to mutter profanities under his breath as he undoes his belt with one hand. the other tightly clutches the handcuffs on your wrists, keeping them in place at the base of your back.

“bending over like a common whore to dodge a charge.”

you moan when he grinds against you, this time sloshing the head of his hard cock between your sticky folds. his fat tip presses deliciously against your pulsing entrance, offering enough pressure to make your eyes roll back.

“gonna fuck you raw, sweetheart.” he groaned in your ear as he carefully pushed in, cock splitting your pussy open inch by inch. “you need justice deep inside you.”

“oh my god–”

mattheo's hips snap forward, shoving his cock deep inside you with a brutal thrust, knocking the wind out of your lungs. the cold of the metal hood mixes with the boiling heat between your thighs, your breath fogging up the base of the windshield in front of you.

“is this what you wanted, huh?” he sets a brutal pace from the start, disregarding your comfort for good. “is this why you’re walking with your bare pussy out?”

his belt clinks faintly with every movement, still hanging loose around his hips, evidence of how quickly he turned from arrest to sex. his free hand comes down against you ass again and again and again, spanking your buttcheeks with force.

until red imprints of his hand remained on your skin.

“fuckin' tight–” he hisses, one hand still gripping your cuffed wrists, the other planted on your ass, pressing harder against it and exposing your hungry cunt sucking him in.

“and this wet for a cop? you’re so disgusting, sweetheart.”

you only moan, body trembling from his aggressive thrusts, metal handcuffs biting into your skin as he keeps a constant pace — fast and heavy. perfect rhythm to make you feel every inch drag along your inner walls while also bullying your cervix.

“fucking your way out of jail time… you always do that, hm?” he growls, each word punctuated by the slap of his hips against yours.

he was so mean, his mouth constantly running on and degrading you with every word. but you couldn’t even retort back, you lips only able to allow drool to pool on the hood of the police car.

he was hitting the right spots with every jut of his hips, and his heavy balls were perfectly hitting your puffy clit.

“aaah– n–noo–” another sharp thrust shuts you up again.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, nails scrapping the scalp, and pulls your head back just enough to make your back arch harder. the shiny handcuffs were gleaming beautifully against your newly-found arch, and, no matter how much you tugged at them to release your hands to support your body, you could only cry loud from the harsh pressure at your roots.

“lying, stealing, flashing your fuckholes at anyone who looks twice. i think one fuck is not enough.”

his pace increased, cock driving into you with enough force to rock the entire vehicle. the lewd, wet slap of skin on skin fills the night air, and the windows fog more and more.

“what do you think, theo?”

“t– theo?”

and that’s when you see him: theodore nott, your dealer, smirking like a demon from behind the windshield of the police car. he seems to have been here from the start, as he was seated nicely in the passenger seat, carefully eyeing you and pumping something you couldn’t see yet.

“yes, whore, theo. theodore nott.”

mattheo doesn’t let up, his pace violent, hands loosening against your hair and making you drop back onto the hood. the impact made you gasp in pain and pleasure, all his restless abuse somehow making you needier for more.

“you see what happens…” theo drawls, voice thick with arousal, now booming from right next to your exhausted body. “when you try to fuck me over, baby?”

turning your face sideways, you finally see him clearly. you see the way his eyes were dark with amusement, one hand lazily stroking his hard cock as he takes in the sight of you bent over the hood of his friend’s car.

“you get fucked twice as hard.”

it was definitely a bad situation for you, yet all you could do is gush more around mattheo’s dick, sucking him in like a vice and milking him dry. all you could do was eye theo’s own cock, all hard and weeping with precum, wishing it was in your mouth.

“she’s learnin' her lesson realllll well,” he grunts, hand stricking your ass again. “ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

you whimper weakly, nodding as best you can against the hood. “y-yes, sir…”

theo only smirks, cockily examining how obedient and pliant mattheo made you. “good fucking girl,” he praises you mockingly, thumbing your bottom lip before slapping the head of his cock on it.

“now open that pretty mouth and apologize to me too.”

you part your lips willingly, tongue flicking out to taste the salty precum on his tip. then you took him deeper, eyes fluttering closed as theo inserted his cock inch by inch. his groans, low in his throat, were music to your ears, now joining together mattheo’s raspy moans and creating the finest tune.

“that’s it.” he hissed, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down his shaft.

“apologize with your mouth full.” he taunts, hips twitching forward as your warm mouth almost engulfed his entire length. “gag on it. make it sloppy, baby.”

and you did, as his hands didn’t allow you another choice, pushing your head all the way down to his navel. your throat was forced open by his cock, constricting around it from the sheer size of him and making you choke strongly.

mattheo groaned at the sight, cock twitching inside you.

what a fucking slut.

“fuck, she’s so dirty.” he growls, slamming into you harder and harder. “mouth full of cock while i wreck her cunt.”

your nails scrape at the hood of the car, knees shaking, orgasm bubbling in your stomach as the two men use you without mercy — like you’re nothing more than a slutty little debt to be collected.

“you like that, baby? you like being passed around like a toy?”

your muffled moans are enough of an answer, spit and precum seeping from the corners of your mouth as theo fucks your face deeper. he too was as turned on by your depravity as mattheo, his head tipped backwards with satisfaction, hands strongly caging your head.

“i should’ve known you were this desperate.” theo mutters, his voice rougher now, eyes looking from underneath his lashes at the way your lips stretch deliciously around him.

“all that fake money, all that attitude — when all you wanted was to be used.”

suddenly pulling you off his cock, face all wet and sticky, he gripped both of your cheeks with one hand, pursing your lips close to one another in a painful lock.

“where are the drugs, slut?” theo growled into your face, remembering what started all this. “still between those naughty tits of yours?”

he might have emptied your mouth to be able to answer him, but the way he was pushing at your cheeks did not help at all. so you only nod, excessively so, hoping theo will get the message.

“good.”

it's all he says before his fingers catch the edge of your top, tugging it down until your tits spill free, bouncing slightly with the motion. the bag also drops on the hood, hitting it with a small thud.

you hoped he would grope your breasts, tweak your hard perky nipples and give you the much needed chest stimulation. sadly, he completely ignores your tits, his hand sneaking across the hood and snatching the drugs.

“you don’t deserve them, you slut!”

not only did he took them back, he also opened the package right in front of you.

your lips part in protest, but no sound comes out. theo doesn’t give you a chance to process what he was doing, pushing his hand against your head and forcing you to stay flat on the hood.

“you better stay still.”

with one final threat, he dumped the greens all over your back. then, reaching into his back pocket for papers, theodore rolls the joint right there on your skin.

like your body is just another table for him to use.

you watch his fingers work through the sheer reflection on the windshield — deft, practiced — as he forms the joint with precision in seconds. lastly, with no hesitation, he lights the joint and, placing it between his lips, takes a long drag of his own products.

“want some, mattheo?”

“you know it.”

it’s all mattheo says before taking the joint from theo, slowing down his thrust to take a long drag, only to return to his torturous pace right after.

“you’re so dumb, sweetheart.” mattheo chuckled darkly as he slapped your ass. “trying to fool theo, seriously?”

his hand rains down your skin again, his red markings stinging all over. then, gripping the meatiest parts of your ass, he spread you open again, showing off to theo how good you are taking him.

“at least you’re a phenomenal fuckhole.”  

and mattheo was right. theo could clearly see the tight grip your cunt had on mattheo’s cock, how drenched you were from the two of them punishing you for your wrongdoings.

he might need to have a go at your pussy too.

“her mouth is also amazing.” theo added, returning to his previous place, next to your wet face. the joint was hanging from between his lips, the fumes reaching even down to you.

your beautiful puppy eyes immediately latched onto the drugs, begging theodore to share a drag with you too.

“awe, baby wants a taste?”

he mockingly asked you, pouting his lips in an attempt to imitate your desperate facial expressions. his fingers gripped the joint and removed it from his lips, lowering it closer to yours.

“you want a hit?”

you nodded frantically at him, face dragging across the metallic hood closer to his hand. your tongue poked out, your lips puckered, somehow hoping such gestures would attract the drugs closer to you.

what a fucking slut.

“nah–ah. your mouth has another purpose.” and so, he drags the joint away, taking a drag himself and blowing all the smoke right in your face.

“cock. your mouth was made to suck cock, baby!”

his tip was already slapping back against your lips and, without further reasoning, theodore pushed back into your mouth, resuming his face-fucking from before.

“you’re just a cock-hungry whore.”

mattheo added, rutting his hips harsher into you, pushing you further down theo’s dick and making you bury your nose into his happy trail.

theo’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as he fucked your mouth with cruelty. you gagged more around him, drool staining his pants and the police car. mattheo’s hips too slammed harder against your dripping cunt, the heat building impossibly fast.

“show us how good you are.” he growled, his voice rough against your ear. his wandering hands finally grabbed at your bare tits, kneading roughly, fingers pinching your nipple just like you wanted.

your body trembled under the assault of the two men. theo’s cock pulsed in your mouth, while mattheo’s dick twitched against your velvety walls. his grip on your hips tightened, keeping you still as his cock pounded faster, harder.

“cum on my dick. c'mon, whore.”

“be a good girl, baby! cream on his cock and i will give you a nice tasty load too.”

the joint, brought into the scene just to taunt you, fell forgotten somewhere on the pavement, their entire focus being now on you — their dirty, broken girl.

your body betrayed you, folding under the overwhelming pleasure. your pussy clenched so tight around mattheo it was almost painful, the slick heat of your walls burning hot and deep and pushing officer riddle over the edge.

“so tight and warm, shit.” mattheo cursed one last time, chasing his release with wild, sloppy thrusts.

theo too groaned low, his grip on your hair becoming increasingly painful. his own release was sudden, spilling hot and thick down your throat, making you choke one last time as he came hard.

mattheo roared above you at the same time as theo, his cock stilling deep inside as he fully painted your hungry cunt with his cum.

finally, after the restless pounding of both of your holes, you were allowed a break as the two men pulled out. you were a mess, full of cum inside and outside. the drugs on your back were mixed with sweat, but neither party seems to care about the waste.

“awe, baby, you’re tired?”

theo's venomous voice resonated in your ears like a distant echo. a small yeah was the only answer you could give, too exhausted to form full sentences.

“too bad, we’re not done.”

“i wanna feel your throat just break around me, sweetheart–”

“and i want to shoot my load deep in that dirty cunt of yours.”

“b–but–”

“do not pass out on us, baby.”

“not that that will stop us from fucking you, haha.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove, @nottsangel

[babydoll372]

Mommy!Wanda Drabble

Your breath was heavy as you cried into Wanda’s shoulder, your arms tightly around her as you grasped onto any piece of her you could reach. She shushed you softly, rubbing your back and scratching your scalp. She eased your body back and forth, creating a rocking motion one would use on a baby; because that’s what you were to her. Her sweet little baby, pure with all innocence, deserving of not the cruel world you were sobbing over but instead the peaceful one she offered.

“It’s okay, baby…Mommy’s here. Shh, it’s only me, let it all out.” You nodded into her shoulder, choking on your cries but desperately trying to release them all. Your throat was tight in contraction, your legs weak and your mind empty of all but her.

“I- I just-“

“You don’t need to explain, I know exactly what you’re feeling. Oh, you poor thing…” She kissed the side of your head, letting out a soft exhale at the smell of your shampoo. Wanda moved her hands down to your butt, picking you up so that your legs wrapped around her waist. She cooed her praise, guiding you to the bedroom and gently laying you down on the bed alongside her. You latched onto her side, but she held you back for a short moment and you looked up at her in confusion, in sadness and worry that you were crossing a line, bothering her with your clinginess. But once she removed her shirt and led your head back, you let a small smile cross your lips. She grinned in response, lifting your chin and caressing your cheek as she looked down at you.

“You want to suck on Mommy’s breasts, baby girl? Yeah? Yeah you do, oh, such a good girl you are.” You nodded your head eagerly once her first sentence came out, and you bit your lip in urge and waited for her to lead you, which she did. She knew you needed guidance on even the simplest of actions, and she’d gladly give it to you without question.

“Say ‘ahh’,” Your quiet voice came out, repeating her words as your mouth hung open. You were brought to her chest, your lips wrapping around her plump nipples as your eyes fell shut. You hummed, your hand hesitantly coming up to rest upon her breast, the slight squeeze causing a drop of milk to begin supplying your mouth. You smiled around her, taking in every ounce given with pleasure. You were too into the moment that you didn’t see Wanda’s hand in her pants, her fingers caressing her clit and her head thrown back.

“Mm, you’re such a good fucking girl- that’s it, drink all of Mommy’s milk, mhm!” She observed you carefully, your blown-out face causing her to admire. She circled her clit carefully before adding the finger to her tight hole, shuddering at the feeling. A tiny bit of milk dribbled around your lip, some of it leaking out and trailing down your chin. She whimpered louder, nodding quickly. She used her thumb to collect it, pulling your face back for only a moment to allow you to suck on her digit.

“Yeah, you like how my milk tastes? You’re Mommy’s baby, aren’t you, huh? Just my innocent little girl, no clue in the fucking world.” She pulled back, instantly pushing your mouth to return. There was a little bit of force, she was desperate to have you drink her milk again. Your leg habitually fell on top of her knees, your hazy state deepening as you moaned quietly around her. You looked up at her through hooded eyes, the shyness evident in your gaze, and she only cooed softly. Her free hand unoccupied with bringing forth her release fell to your stomach, caressing the skin softly.

“This sweet tummy is so full, practically bulging…” She hummed, eyes rolling to the back of her head as you glanced up at her curiously when feeling her thrusting hips. She came with a sweet moan, and your droopy eyes were able to stay open to watch the vein in her neck bulge. She eased her fingers out of her hole carefully, quickly adjusting your body so that you were now entirely on top of her. You released her nipple with a pop, wordlessly asking if you could go to the next, and her quick nod was all the permission you needed. You whimpered around her when you felt her wet fingers rubbing your clit enthusiastically, as if she was not willing to take her time.

“Mommy-“

“Shh, just keep sucking, Princess, Mommy just wants to play for a little bit, okay?” You squeezed your eyes shut in slight pain as she stretched out your tight entrance, quickly returning your mouth to where it belonged.

“That’s my girl, always listens so well. You deserve a little treat, don’t you?”

[shockercoco]

Alone At Last

Void Bob Reynolds x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, fingering, orgasms, squirting, cursing, kissing, void is technically a warning lol

Word count - 2773

a/n - this was just supposed to be a quick little imagine because I wasn’t completely sure where to go with this, but then it just kept going, and I wrote the majority of this in one sitting💀 I'm also a little behind on posts so I shouldn't have even written this lmfao. It's also been a while since I've written smut. Thanks for ready and I hope you enjoy :) (not fully edited so minor things may change)

Summary: Just when you think you can have a relaxing evening in the tower with Bob all to yourself, his other half decides that he deserves to come out and play.

You’re sitting on the couch next to Bob when the team announces that they’re leaving. The two of you were doing a marathon of classic movies since they seemed to comfort Bob, and you just happened to also enjoy them.

You and Bob wave and say your goodbyes to everyone as they leave, but you don’t notice the way Bob’s arm smoothly goes to rest on the couch behind you. Once the last person is out the door, the energy in the room seems to shift. 

You look over at Bob to see his face void of emotion as he looks at the front door, but when he feels your eyes on him, he turns to look at you. No. 

Void turns to look at you.

You roll your eyes at him, before asking, “Mind telling me why you’re here and Bob isn’t?”

Void smirks. “Oh, come on, you’re telling me you want to continue watching these boring ass movies with him? He’s seen these plenty of times.”

“That doesn’t matter. Bob likes them, and quite frankly so do I,” you say before turning your attention back to the tv.

Then you feel Void’s arm move from its place on the couch behind you to wrap around your shoulders, bringing the two of you closer. 

Your breath hitches as you feel Void’s on your neck. He nuzzles his nose into your neck breathing you in, before placing a few light kisses on the skin. He places one right below your ear making you shiver, before he brings his lips to your ear.

“So you’re telling me, you don’t want to do something else? Have a bit of fun? The team will be gone for hours, and I say we take advantage of it,” Void suggests.

“And what would Bob say about this?” you ask as you feel his other hand teasingly trail up your leg, getting closer and closer to the bottom of your pajama shorts.

You hate the way your body reacts under his touch. Goosebumps appear on your skin behind his active hand, giving you away. Void smiles at this. You try to move out of his grasp, but his firm hold causes you to fail.

You swallow. 

“What makes you think he doesn’t want this?” Void scoffs and pulls his face away from your neck to look at your face. “Bob and I are the same. I’m just the other half with more confidence, more nerve. This is what Bob wants, and I’m just making sure it happens. Is that so…wrong?”

You feel Void’s travel higher until it reaches your core over your pajama shorts. Your thighs part just a smidge to make room for his hand. 

Your breathing stops for a moment and your eyes flutter as he lightly begins to tease you through the fabric. Your panties begin to dampen with your arousal at Void’s movements.

You try to keep your eyes on the tv screen in front of you, but Void’s presence is making it hard to concentrate. The room suddenly feels warmer and the voices coming from the movie sound muffled.

Trying to collect yourself and seem unaffected, you breathe out a small laugh. “And what makes you think that this is what I want? Don’t tell me you’re getting turned on by Casablanca,” you joke.

“So you’re telling me that if I reached inside these tiny little shorts of yours that I won’t find not even the slightest trace of your wetness?” Void raises an eyebrow.

He doesn’t wait for a response, though, instead quickly dipping his hand inside your shorts and cupping your through your panties. The dampness is evident.

You quickly stifle the gasp that tries to escape your throat as he grabs you in his large hand.

A sinister smile grows on Void’s lips as he finds exactly what he expected. “See, I was right. Would you look at that?”

Void’s presses into you and begins to rub meaningful circles into your clit. One of your hands instinctively goes to wrap around his wrist. This time you’re not able to prevent yourself from making any noises as a soft whine leaves your lips, your hole clenching around nothing.

“You mean to tell me that all this sweetness is for little ol’ Bob? C’mom sweetheart, admit that you want this, and I’ll give you what you want,” Void tells you, his tone condescending as he watches your reactions to his fingers.

You clench your jaw and give him a glare.

“No need to be stubborn, it’s just you and me,” Void smirks.

When he notices that you’re not budging, he dips his hand into your panties. Your mouth falls open and your eyes flutter as he trails his up and down your soaked slit gathering your slick. He teases your entrance, before going up to your clit with the newly found wetness and stimulating it. 

Your hips buck into his hand, wanting him to add more pressure, wanting him to do more.

You regret looking down at the sight of Void’s hand inside your shorts because the lewd sight alone causes another flow of arousal to leave you. 

You feel yourself begin to grow more desperate. You’re not going to be able to resist much longer. 

“The choice is yours. I have to say, though, I would just hate for the team to come back and you don’t end up getting what you want,” Void adds. “I mean, what kind of man would I be to leave you hanging.”

His tone sounds sincere, but there’s a fake pout on his face that you just want to smack off.

Void leans in, his lips almost connecting with yours as turns your face for you to look at him. The close proximity makes your mind reel.

“Just say the words and I’ll make everything feel better. Tell me that you want my help.”

Suddenly, you feel his movements on your clit stop, but he doesn’t remove his hand from inside of your shorts.

Fuck.

“Fine,” you mutter.

Void playfully tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. “Fine…what?”

You give him a look, and Void just innocently shrugs in response. 

“God, fine,” you sigh, “I want your help.”

“God? How wonderful of you to finally notice me for who I really am,”Void smiles.

This smug son of a- oh.

You’re caught off guard when Void moves forward to close the between you two. The kiss starts like any other kiss with Bob, but then it becomes rough, more demanding—both are characteristics of his darker half.

Void hums into your mouth as you lean into his touch and kiss him back. 

Without notice, Void stuffs a long finger into your leaking entrance before quickly pulling it back out. Void pulls away when your mouth parts at the unexpected intrusion.

“Fuck, you’re dripping. Bob doesn’t deserve all of this, he doesn’t deserve you,” Void comments, bringing his hand out of your panties to hold it up in front of both of your faces. 

You watch the way your slick coats his finger and threatens to drip down. You don’t know whether to feel ashamed or more aroused. 

Void is trying to contain his emotions and stay on track, but the way his cock continues to harden and leak precum inside the confines of his underwear threatens to get to his head.

Suddenly, Void sticks the contaminated finger into his mouth and hums in approval at the taste. His jaw clenches and holds back his own moan as he feels his cock twitch.

Your throat goes dry at the sight. 

“Take off the shorts,” Void instructs with a nod of his head.

You hate how you don’t hesitate.

You lift your hips to shuffle your pajama shorts down your legs and then move to take off your panties, but Void stops you.

“Leave them on, I wanna see them stretch around my hand.”

Oh.

Void’s mouth almost waters at the beautiful sight of the damp, dark patch on the crotch of your panties. 

Another wave of warmth flows through your core. At this rate your panties are going to become translucent and disintegrate in no time. 

Void wastes no time in attaching his fingers back to your core, gathering more slick and plunging his middle and ring finger into your awaiting hole and thrusting them inside of you. 

You gasp at the suddenness, but your wetness easily allows for his fingers to move in and out of you. Your mouth is left ajar as you allow your head to tilt back and your eyelids to lower.

Any other time, the band of your panties digging into your skin would annoy you, but at this moment the feeling just adds to the experience.

Void groans at the way your warm walls flutter around him. 

“This is kind of a snug fit, isn’t it? Bob’s not taking care of you like he should. He has no initiative…he has no idea how to take care of someone such as yourself,” Void rasps.

Void leans back a little to inspect how your face contorts when he moves his fingers a certain way.

It takes you a moment to ignore the squelching sound coming from your pussy and gather yourself enough to speak.

“But aren’t…you…technically still Bob?” you stammer.

“Don’t compare me to him,” Void says. A look of disgust flashes across his face. 

“It’s not really a comparison, just fact,” you tell him. When he doesn’t respond, you add, “Do you…feel threatened by Bob?”

The way his fingers falter inside of you almost goes unnoticed by you, but as your eyes look up at Void, you can tell by the expression on his face—or lack there of—that he’s displeased with the accusation.

Void quickly contemplates on whether to respond or not, and then decides to speak, “How dare you.”

Hearing his voice get lower and his tone deepen along with the feeling of his breath tickling your neck is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Void wipes away the little smile you had forming on your lips by digging deeper and curling his fingers in a way that causes a loud moan from you. He uses his thumb to gently swipe at your sensitive clit every once in a while, making you clench around his fingers.

Your eyes roll closed as your back arches away from the back of the couch and your legs twitch but they still spread even more. 

You can feel your slick slipping out of you and pooling into your panties. There’s no doubt that everything isn’t going to leak through the fabric and onto the couch, that is, if it hasn’t already. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out. 

The arm he has around your shoulders tightens in response to your squirming body, caging you in and making sure that you don’t get away. He smirks as you whimper and twitch in his hold.

“Is that your spot? Yeah?” Void whispers to you in that condescending tone.

He chuckles as you mewl in response. 

“You talk too much, did y’know that? I’m surprised your mouth doesn’t get you in more trouble.” 

You blindly reach out for something to hold on to, not being able to decide whether you should hold on to Bob’s

Void’s shirt or the throw pillow on the couch beside you.

“I think you can handle another finger. What do you say?” Void asks, this time waiting for your answer.

Bob usually only uses two fingers on you, but the thought of a third sounds perfect right now.

You nod, but that isn’t enough for Void.

“No, use your words. You got it.”

“Yes, yes, just do it!”

And that’s all it takes for Void to quickly pull his fingers out, throw your left leg over his lap to spread you open wider, and slip that third finger inside your dripping hole alongside the others.

“Oh, my god,” you pant. 

Your face pinches at the stretch from the new addition, but your expression quickly changes back into pleasure as Void continues to steadily pump into you, using his palm to attend to your sensitive clit.

Your jaw slacks as you feel your orgasm building deep in your core. Your body feels like it’s on fire as your senses are being consumed by him. Your skin grows hotter and you can feel the backs of your legs sticking to the couch.

When Void notices your thighs beginning to close around his hand, he speaks up. “No, no, no. Keep your legs open, you said you could handle this remember? Don’t be rude.”

You whimper in protest, but still spread back open. 

Void begins trailing kisses on your neck, and when he hears a noise leave you when he reaches your sweet spot, he focuses his attention on that area.

It’s all too much.

“Fuck, Bobby, please,” you cry out.

“I’m not Bob,” Void reestablishes.

Whatever. 

You feel yourself ready to tumble over the edge, your squirming and wriggling becoming more frequent as you climb higher and higher. One of your hands fist Bob’s Void’s shirt to help ground you.

“You’re squeezing the hell out of me. You’re ready to let go, huh,” Void speaks into your neck. “Well, go ahead, sweetheart. I’m not stopping you.”

His words were the last thing you needed to help you finally come. 

Your eyes roll towards the back of your head as you feel the damn break inside of you, your walls clenching repeatedly around Void’s fingers. Your body tenses up and your toes curl while Void continues to thrust his fingers in and out of you, helping you ride out your orgasm with a long, high-pitched moan. 

Void slows down the pace of your fingers as your high begins to subside and your noises start to reduce, and right when you think he’s about to pull out, he suddenly picks up speed again.

“W-what are you doing?” you gasp out, reaching down to grab his wrist again.

“I know you have another one in you. If you can do it for Bob, you can do it for me,” Void explains, his tone leaving no room for discussion. He smirks at your expression.

“But-,” you start to say, but Void just shushes you. 

“You got this, I know you do. Relax for me,” Void coos.

You can’t help the way your body tries to wiggle its way out of Void’s hold, but it’s no use. Even when your thighs close around his wrist, Void still carries on with getting you to your next climax.

You feel it almost instantly, your orgasm swelling deep in your core. You can tell that this one is going to be stronger, but something feels different. With your mind nearly empty and the only thing floating around in your head is him, it takes you a moment to figure it out.

But then it hits you.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

“Wait, wait…!” you squeak, but Void doesn’t care.

Void’s voice is hushed and low as he says. “Go ahead, make a mess for me. The couch can be cleaned later, your needs are more important right now, don’t y’think? Now cum.”

You’re trembling as you feel yourself gush, the liquid absolutely drenching your underwear as it escapes you. With Void still fucking his fingers into you, your squirt splashes onto his palm and back onto you. 

Your body feels like it’s locked up as Void forces the rest of your mess out of you. Your eyes squeeze shut while you let out scream when he finally pulls his fingers out and goes to frantically rub at your ruined bud.

Void chuckles as he pulls his hand out of your panties, but keeps his arm around your shoulders. A shiver runs through you as you finally close your legs.

A shiver runs through your spine as Void pulls his hand out your panties but keeps his arm around your shoulders. He chuckles at your dazed out expression, watching as you try to bring yourself back down to earth. 

Voice has to clench his jaw when he takes a look at the couch below you, seeing the remnants of your orgasm splattered around the area. 

He can feel himself throbbing inside of his pants, ready to be released. Maybe he’ll just leave that for Bob to handle.

“Who’s cleaning this up,” you breathe out, “because it won’t be me.”

Void hums as is if he’s thinking it over, before glancing at the clock on the wall.

There’s still more time. His face shifts.

Maybe he won’t leave his little problem for Bob to deal with.

Like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[limerlove]

romantic devil.

eighteen+ plus, minors dni. content warning: wc 1.6k, a silly trope my brain loves right now — hockeyplayer!vi x tennisplayer!reader. light teasing, smut, enemies to lovers trope, competitive athletes, slight degradation, dubcon (both reader nd vi are slightly drunk), thigh-riding, oral, fingering, praise kink.

hi my violet lovin gays! i am back on the arcane grind. a (maybe) series and the first part is linked below. honestly, this can be read on its own. but this is progress in my eyes and i hope you enjoy. been struggling with completion but we fuckin’ did it. hell the fuck yeah. plus, our fav hockeybutch ♡

hockeyplayer!vi can’t let you live down the undeniable squirting in the locker room in-between your training matches. it���s not like it’s all she can think about. no — it could never be the reason she can’t focus in her own practice. you’re the bane of her existence, the competition for the hottest headlines, and she would love nothing more than to squash like a bug. but for reasons she won’t admit, vi can’t.

even if it’s your off-season, your name sells enough and she sees you everywhere.

it’s not a secret how much you’re adored by the media, the public, and even by everyone vying for a single ounce of your attention. seen and always heard. vi can’t stand it and you do nothing to hide your pure-shot of joy running rancid in your pearly-white grin.

it’s surprising, how much vi lets it dig underneath her skin. the most shocking things of all if vi’s being honest with herself. a pesky thought lingers, one warning caution, especially when vi was fucking someone else but thinking of you.

when the blade of skates glide across the ice, another body checks her into the glass, a lot easier than she should have allowed. her concentration can’t help but fade away into the sunshine of your brightest smile.

she needs to do something about it.

hockeyplayer!vi sneaks up on you when she spots you in the library. alone. in one of your short tennis skirt and vi wonders if it’s your own to torture her. nose buried in your book, headphones over your head, and you’re so lost in your work you don’t even notice her sneak up on you.

“don’t you have somewhere to be?” violet churns out, the instigation prophecy she hopes to fulfill is more than evident. “you always practice on wednesdays.”

the smirk you wear is evil, some would even say malicious. “some would say keeping tabs on me would be stalker-like. oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“you’re being ridiculous.” vi knows she’s been caught but she won’t be handcuffed into your narrative — however true it may ring she won’t give you the satisfaction of hiding the key. burying her pride along with it.

“it’s nothing — but i’ve just been…hearing some things.”

“so, you’ve actually been listening to something other than the sound of your own voice?”

an immediate eye roll is granted as you slam your book shut, eyes squinting tightly and you’ve got this smile. a dead-ringer for the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. it’s dangerous and even scathing to be around let alone witness.

“yeah, i have.”

she hates this. when you have the upper hand and there’s little to nothing she can do about it. even if vi knows how you taste, or the face you make when you’re brought over the edge, you have a godly control over her as if you’re the messiah she needs forgiveness from.

vi feels the need to repent when you’re stroking the inside of her exposed thigh, the shorts not doing much to conceal her skin. you’ve cornered her with a faulting need to have your greedy split her open like she’s the pomegranate — a beady and bloody vessel you desperately need to rip apart.

the idea of your affection truly aimed at her is nauseating. something you would never allow to be true.

plausible deniability, it’s what every atom in your body is made of.

“stephanie is quite the jealous woman. seems she wasn’t a fan of hearing me scream your name.”

“yeah princess, i know you’re just really torn up about it. it’s not like you’ve been wanting to stick it to her since freshman year.” like the fuckgirl she is, the vying-violet leans forward with your fingers sliding further into your shorts, daring you to inch forward.

“see! this is why we would never work. you’re so goddamn—”

“so, you have been thinking about us.” vi’s cocky grin will haunt you for the next week, letting her have a small fraction of satisfaction.

hockeyplayer!vi who does her best not to sweat it when you show up to one of her games with your best friend. it’s the best game she’s played all season. your presence warrants nothing but success. there’s not a moment she allowed herself to be off. you’ll give her absolute shit for it. especially after all the game she’s fucking talked to you all week.

you leave by the time she’s showered and walking through the arena and back to her car. to her surprise, she receives a dm through her instagram.

10:39 pm. ace_princess: nice game, violet.

simple. barely even noticeable to the naked eye, but that’s as nice a compliment vi would receive from you. violet tries not to smile too wide but the muscles in her cheeks have other plans.

10:43 pm. violet_vanderson: did you actually just compliment me?

vi thinks to herself — she’ll just leave me on read.

10:55 pm. ace_princess: don’t get used to it.

hockeyplayer!vi happens to be at a party with you, how convenient. the first thing she notices is how different you are tonight. you’re usually so disciplined, so perfectly-polished, the perfect picture princess — the one your father created. molding a star takes more work than one would think but if anyone understands, it’s vi. laying before her is nothing you’ve achieved to be. actually, you’re the embodiment of quite the opposite.

cheap red solo cups, the wave of cannabis infiltrating your system, and in the most pompous brit of them all, caitlyn kiramman. ideally, this wouldn’t have been your night. before your father had berated you, telling you to ice her out.

mija, no distractions. this is your chance, what you’ve been working for your entire life.

not the words you’ve been wanting to hear. no, not at all.

you couldn’t tell violet anything, because if you did, it would somehow make it true. you’d have to look her in the eyes again, knowing you’d have to deny her of whatever wishes she tried to press.

hockeyplayer!vi who can practically sniff the fear off of you. like a bloodhound, she sought you out when she pressed forward into her ex-girlfriend’s home. some might say tasteless but you forced her to be an opportunist. violet refused to leave your side, until half of the party had been abandoned and it was just the two of you in the basement — the both of you tremendously tipsy.

maroon-hued silk, a fabric tailored so short it could hardly be called a dress kisses your thighs as violet threatens to push the material upwards. pointed canines nibble on the skin of your neck, lacing the most refined poetry as she etches each letter with a richly-velvet tongue.

“this— violet…” it’s supposed to be solidified, a warning to heed her aggression, but it only gives her lips more incentive to explore new terrain.

“you can ride my thigh, princess. i know you’re dying for something.” violet’s hot breath is torture; practically branding you with unequivocal remorse.

someone who wasn’t inebriated would force her to at least take you back to her place or kick someone up stairs. not in a temporarily vacant basement where anyone could descend at any moment.

her python fingers might as well have pierced you, fingers gliding over a thin layer of lace but she wastes no time, not like before. this is different.

“take them off.” not before violet makes you whimper, pressing your slick against the fabric. the torture seems to be never ending, making an absolute mess of you, fingers rooted in her devilishly-pink roots.

sliding the panties off, you shove them in her back pocket, “this is the last time you’ll be getting them.”

“we’ll see about that.”

hockeyplayer!vi can't seem to be done with you. first, it was letting you get off on her thigh, bare fucking pussy exposed as glid against her exposed skin. your swollen lips puff even more for her. spreading your cum on twitching, sun-kissed thighs.

the second time, all it takes is your ass up high, your body bent over the couch, hem scrunched up at your stomach. it’s inhumane how you don’t have control when it comes to vi and her hypnotic tongue.

every bit of this is so unlike you. you don’t do this. and you tell yourself this has nothing to do with violet vanderson. it doesn’t mean anything how jealous her little groupies were earlier in the night when she ushered you to take a seat in her lap.

“pretty girl, fuck you can take it so well baby.” violet slurps every drop and if anyone asks — she swears you taste of sweet, homegrown-raspberries kissed by the most golden-hued honey. “can’t stop thinking about taking you to my bed and fucking you either my strap.”

in truthfully pathetic fashion, you cum the moment she says it. the tease of her tongue and the power of her brutally curved fingers sends you over the edge for the second time tonight. while you don’t squirt like the first night, there’s a thorough soak to her black-polished fingers.

“vi, baby—”

the pet name causes vi’s clit to throb viciously. “i know, princess. you did such a good job for me tonight. my perfect girl.”

you moan. the people’s princess moans as you push yourself against her fingers that are keeping a slow rhythm, her sensitivity be damned. god did you fucking love it.

“mhm, did you like that? like when i tell you how precious and good you are for me. letting me take care of this pretty pussy for you.”

“vi, fuck, keep going—” the arc to your back is downright sinful and violet wants to push your limit. just a hair.

gripping onto your luscious curls, she pulls, bending you to her will, her skilled fingers stretching you to the best of her abilities. vi wonders if it’s the alcohol or if she’s finally cracked you, but she decides whatever the reason is — violet’s not letting go of you anytime soon.

[samsblades]

✶ spring, honey, forest, etc. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, sappy!reader, fluff, just tooth rotting fluff and a happy sam, unedited, 1K words. for liane's 500 followers event ! inspired by this moodboard <333 @chevroletdean congrats !!

summary : you can't help but compare sam to sweet and beautiful things like spring, honey, and forests.

"sam?" his name leaves your lips like a spring breeze, soft and warm and most definitely in love.

"yeah, honey?"

sweet like honey, thick like honey, golden like honey. his lips don't really taste like honey, but sometimes you think that they do. there's honey in his eyes too, when the sun hits them right. and from this close, you can see all the details. that honey gold, sunflower yellow, woody hazel, and greens that can’t decide whether they're mossy or blue-ish like the sea. right now, as your own eyes soak his up in a morning so blissful that it's almost ridiculous, you decide for them. mossy green it is.

you honestly just said his name because you like the way it feels when it rolls over your tongue and slips out between barely parted lips. but now you actually have something to say to him, voice hushed to match the quiet of the early morning.

"your eyes are like springtime," you tell him, lips curled up into a smile that makes him grin back without even noticing. then you hum and shake your head, cotton pillow case rubbing against your cheek, "mm… wait, no. no, they're like a forest. like trees and moss and pretty rocks."

his eyebrows raise but his smile stays bright. "pretty rocks?" he parrots, trying to tease but only sounding like he could properly swoon.

"yeah. or crystals, i guess. green crystals. sunny yellow ones too," you amend. then you ramble on. "but i like when your eyes look more brown, too. or blue. or anything at all, cuz they're yours and that means i'll always love them." he looks like he has no idea at all what to say to that. your voice quiets, "am i being too sappy?"

"no," he murmurs, his response immediate and sure. "no, i just… just have never had anyone that talks to me the way you do. but i love you. love the way you talk, too."

"good," you settle easily, wondering if your eyes resemble honey in any way just for how sweetly they look at him.

"i love your eyes too," he says, almost surprising you when you think silence is falling back over you like another silky sheet atop the first.

"yeah?" you ask, voice whispery and alight with a sweet hope that's a little silly because there's no need for it. of course he loves your eyes. he loves your all.

"of course," he affirms, "they're so pretty. and… and i feel better when i see them. safer."

and then it feels like nothing bad could ever happen, or at least like nothing in the world would ever dare interrupt something so tender. safer. if something as simple as the sight of your eyes makes him feel safer, you're sure that you've achieved the best thing in life that you ever could. you've done your job, made it to where you want to be, just knowing that. it's like he's telling you that no one could claim that you don't love him without being a complete liar.

it's like he's saying 'i know you love me. i don't doubt it, not anymore. your eyes are my safe place. your love is my safe place.' and that's all you could ever ask for.

"that makes me really happy," you tell him.

"you make me really happy," he says, no need to search for the right words to say. he knows that one without having to think for a moment. and you're blessed to know it too. there's evidence in the curve of his lips and glimpse of his teeth and pretty wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. even in those swirling irises, brighter with the gift of joy that you've given him. you see yourself in them, reflected in those deep pupils and shining just as bright.

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 2

୨♡୧ part one / part two ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3.9k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: um hello my fyp is all kai and soobin kissing (ง ื▿ ื)ว heehuehueh. i was struggling a lot with continuing this one. i kept writing stuff, but it didn't do anything for the actual story line so i had to delete everything again and start over :c but here we are >:) taglist: always open! | @georgeweasleys-gf | @saccharinezennie

the evening air was cool against your flushed cheeks as you stepped out of the cafe, soobin holding the door open behind you, his tall frame casting a shadow across the pavement. somewhere in the past hour, the nervous knot in your stomach had unraveled—replaced by something lighter, calmer.

"you're sure about the bookstore story?" you asked, turning to face him under the glow of the streetlamp.

soobin tilted his head, the light catching the subtle curve of his smile, the way his dimple creased just slightly. "unless you'd prefer we met in a more dramatic way, a near-death experience, perhaps. you saved me from a runaway trolley."

you chuckled. "trolleys don't run in seoul."

"fine," he concluded, eyes gleaming with amusement. "a rogue electric scooter, then."

laughter bubbled unexpectedly, and you pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle it, shoulders shaking slightly. soobin's eyes crinkled at the corners, his satisfaction evident in the way he leaned just a fraction closer, pleased with himself.

"you're ridiculous," you said, shaking your head, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"and yet, you're hiring me." he pulled his jacket tighter against the evening chill. "speaking of—should we practice before the dinner?"

you blinked. "practice?"

"couple things." he counted off on his fingers. "pet names. how we hold hands. whether you're the type to steal fries off my plate."

"i—i don't think that's necessary."

soobin raised an eyebrow. "so when i put my arm around you in front of your ex, you won't stiffen up like a startled cat?"

you opened your mouth, then closed it. he had you there.

"...okay. maybe one practice session."

your phone buzzed as you stepped into your apartment.

yeonjun: how'd it go?

you sank onto the couch, exhaustion and something else—anticipation? maybe.

you: better than expected. he's easy to talk to.

yeonjun: good. that's what you're paying him for.

you chewed your lip, then added:

you: we're doing a trial run before the dinner. to make it look real.

yeonjun: smart. text me if you need back up. and have fun while you're at it ;)

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of your sweater for the fifth time.

it's just practice. a trial run. nothing to freak out about.

except, you were freaking out. because today, you and soobin were going to reenact your fake first meet—cute in a bookstore, like some kind of rom-com side plot. the absurdity of it made your stomach twist.

your phone buzzed.

soobin: running 5 mins late. save the last copy of 'the giving tree' for me.

you groaned.

you: that's the book we're supposedly fighting over? really?

soobin: it's poetic. tragic. romantic.

you: it's cliche.

soobin: exactly. no one questions cliche. they just sigh and say "aww."

you rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the twitch of your lips. annoyingly, he had a point.

the bookstore was quiet. soft, golden light spilled from the iron lamps, casting a warm glow over the wooden shelves that stretched toward the ceiling. the air thick with the scent of aged paper and ink wrapping around you as you browsed the fiction section. you'd already located the giving tree—just one copy left, exactly as soobin had planned—and now you were psyching yourself up to pretend to reach for it when he arrived, rehearsing the script in your head like a bad actor preparing for an audition.

god, this is stupid.

a hand—warm and deliberate—brushed against yours just as your fingers grazed the book's spine.

"oh—sorry," came a familiar voice, warm and amused. "looks like we had the same idea."

you turned, and there he was.

soobin looking unfairly effortless, bathed in the soft glow of the bookstore lights his cream-colored sweater loosely hugging his frame. the fabric slightly rumpled in that perfect careless way, as if he'd just thrown it on without a second thought. his dark hair was tousled, falling slightly over his forehead, and his fingers lingered near yours on the book. his expression was the perfect mix of surprise and interest, like this wasn't a meticulously staged moment.

you, on the other hand, froze. completely. like a deer in headlights.

"uh," you said intelligently.

soobin's lips twitched. "you're supposed to flirt back," he murmured under his breath.

right.

you cleared your throat. "i—guess great minds think alike." you offered weakly.

great minds think alike? you wanted to kick yourself.

soobin, thankfully, didn't laugh at you. instead, he tilted his head, studying you with exaggerated curiosity as if you were the most fascinating person in the room.

"you know, i've been looking for this edition forever. but..." a pause, deliberate. his thumb brushed lightly against the edge of the book, his fingers still so close to yours. "i'd hate to take it from someone who appreciates it as much as i do."

his voice was smooth, so earnest. his smile was easy—like he actually believed this ridiculous scenario.

meanwhile, you were pretty sure your face was flashing sheer panic.

"i—uh. we could share?"

the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

but soobin's eyes lit up, bright with joy. "i'd like that." he said, soft and sure, as if the idea had never occurred to him before this moment.

and just like that—with a shared glance, a staged touch, a scripted lines—the scene was set. your fake first meeting, now "officially" established.

the moment you were out of earshot of other customers, you exhaled sharply through your nose, the tension in your shoulders finally releasing. "that was terrible," you groaned, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes as if you could physically erase the memory of your stilted performance.

soobin grinned, flipping idly through the book he'd just bought—for authenticity—his expression far too pleased with himself. "you were adorable."

"i was awkward." you corrected, shooting him a wilting look.

he shrugged, unfazed. "same thing."

you shot him a glare, but he just chuckled, the sound low and warm, like he found your frustration endearing rather than irritating.

"look," he said, lowering his voice as he steered you toward the cafe section of the store. the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and warm pastries wrapped around you. "the whole point of practicing is so you don't panic at the dinner. right now, you're overthinking."

"because this is weird," you hissed under your breath. "we're strangers pretending to be in love. that's not something you just rehearse."

soobin shrugged. "sure it is. actors do it all the time."

"we're not actors."

"aren't we?" he tilted his head, studying you with a look that was far too perceptive. then, leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "you're playing a part of someone who's moved on. i'm playing the guy who helped you do it. the only difference is, we're writing our own script."

you frowned, crossing your arms. "you're way too good at this."

"i told you—it's my job." he took a sip of the iced coffee he'd just bought, watching you over the rim with an infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. "but if it makes you feel better, most of my clients don't argue with me this much."

"i'm not arguing. i'm adjusting."

"mhm. sure." the smirk playing at his lips told you he didn't believe you for a second.

you scowled, but there was no real fury behind it. annoyingly, he was right—you were overthinking. but that didn't make it easier to act natural when every touch, every glance, felt like a performance.

"okay," soobin said, setting his cup down. "next step."

"there's a next step?"

"couple habits. the little things that sell the act." he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before you could react. "like that." his touch was feather-light before dropping away.

you stiffened. "what was that?"

"something boyfriends do." his fingers lingering near your cheek for half a second too long before dropping away. "too much?"

yes. "no," you lied. "just... warn me next time."

"warnings aren't realistic."

"this isn't realistic," you muttered.

soobin sighed. "you're resisting on purpose."

"i'm not—" you cut yourself off, frustrated. "fine. what else?"

he studied you for a moment, then nodded toward your hands. "hand-holding."

you hesitated, your fingers twitching at your sides before you reluctantly offering your hand. his palm met yours, warm and steady, his fingers sliding between yours with an ease that felt practiced—natural, even.

his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, a small, absent-minded gesture that sent an unexpected shiver up your spine.

"see? not so bad," he said.

"right." you muttered.

the cafe table between you and soobin suddenly felt too small as he leaned forward. the warm glow of the overhead light cast shap shadows across his face, highlighting the careful calmness in his expression. his voice low and professional.

"we should talk about physical boundaries," he said, fingers laced together on the table. his thumb tapped once, twice against his knuckle.

you stiffened. "what do you mean?"

"the contract allows kissing if necessary. with consensual consent, of course." his tone was clinical, like he was discussing a business strategy rather than kissing you. "but we should establish what your comfortable with before the dinner. no surprises."

your fingers tightened around your coffee cup, the coldness of the cup lingering onto your palms. "i don't think that'll be necessary." you said, a little too quickly.

soobin raised an eyebrow. "your ex is going to be watching us all night. if he's as much of a jerk as you say, he'll be looking for cracks in the act." he pointed out.

"we can sell it without that." you insisted, but your voice wavered on the last word.

"maybe." he shrugged, leaning back slightly. the leather booth creaked under his weight. "but if he corners you alone and asks why your boyfriend hasn't kissed you all night, what's your answer?"

you opened your mouth—then snapped it shut. damn it, he had a point.

"fine," you muttered, staring resolutely at the condensation forming on your iced coffee. "but only if it's absolutely necessary."

"agreed." the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something close to amusement. "i don't exactly go around kissing clients for fun."

"good to know," you deadpanned, finally meeting his eyes again.

"now, pet names," soobin continued, flipping open his notebook, like this was some kind of tactical meeting. the afternoon sunlight streaming through the store.

you groaned. "do we have to?"

"yes." his tone left no room for argument. "couples use them. especially in public." he scanned the list. "i was thinking 'babe' or 'love'. nothing too cringey, but enough to sound natural."

you shifted in your seat, the fabric of your jeans suddenly too rough against your skin. the idea of him calling you anything intimate made your skin prickle—not in a good way. it wasn't because of him.

and then there was the other thing.

the last person who'd called you babe had been him—your ex—his voice dripping with that same casual sweetness right up until the moment it wasn't sweet at all. the memory still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"let's just stick with our actual names," you said tightly.

soobin studied you for a second, then sighed. "look, i get it. this feels forced. but the whole point is to make this believable. if i call you by your name all night while every other couple is using nicknames, it's going to stand out."

you gritted your teeth. "fine. but not 'love'. that's too much."

"deal. 'babe' it is." he smirked. "ready to test it?"

"no."

"too bad." he reached across the table, his hand slid across the table, his fingers brushing yours before his thumb grazed over your knuckles. "so, babe, what do you want to order?"

the word rolled off his tongue so easily, like he'd said it a thousand times. meanwhile, your brain shut down. it wasn't bad—that was the worst part. it was just... strange. a stranger's voice wrapping around a word used to mean something.

you pulled your hand away. "that was awful."

"you flinched."

"because it was awkward."

"it won't be by the time we're done practicing." he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "again."

you glared at him. "you're enjoying this."

"i'm professional," he corrected, but the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

by the fourth attempt, you'd stopped cringing when he said it. by the sixth, you even managed to fire back with a dry, "sure thing, babe," just to see him falter for once.

he did. victory.

a small hitch in his breath, the slightest widening of his eyes before he recovered.

but then soobin took it up a notch.

his arm slid around your shoulders as you stood in line for another drink, his touch casual but deliberate, his palm warm through the fabric of your shirt. his voice dropping near your ear. "you're doing good, darling."

your spine went rigid. "we didn't agree to this."

"we didn't not agree to it." his breath tickled your temple, warm and teasing. his fingers face your shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. "relax. i'm not going to bite."

you elbowed him lightly—just firm enough to make him exhale sharply through his noce. "i might."

he laughed—a real, unfiltered sound, rich and bright, the kind that turned heads. the barista glanced over with a smile. like the two of you were just another cute couple in caught up in your own little world.

the realization made your stomach twist.

it's working too well.

the evening air had deepened into a soft indigo by the time you and soobin stepped out of the bookstore, the city lights flickering to life. he walked beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, close enough that his sleeve occasionally brushed your arm—just once, twice—each graze sending an unwelcome spark of awareness through you.

too close.

"so," he said, nodding toward a place down the street—a cozy restaurant with warm light spilling from its windows. "next phase of rehearsal."

"ugh." you groaned. "there's more?"

"of course." he shot you a side long glance. "how do you think couples sit? side by side? across from each other?"

you hesitated. "...side by side?"

"depends on the couple." he slowed his steps, turning to face you. "but for our purpose? you'll want to be close enough so that i can—" his hand hovered near your back, not quite touching. "—guide you to your seat. maybe steal a bite of your food. all very normal boyfriend things."

you narrowed your eyes. "you're really committed to this method acting."

"i'm thorough." he corrected, reaching out to tug gently at the sleeve of your sweater. "come on. time to prove you won't get flustered if i hold your hand in public.

you swatted at him, but he dodged, already stepping backwards toward the restaurant, grinning.

the restaurant was dimly lit, amber lighting that made everything feel just a little more intimate. the hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the space between you and soobin as you picked at your pasta. surprisingly, the conversation had been... easy. no awkward silences, no stilted exchanges—just normal, almost comfortable small talk.

progress.

"so," soobin said, swirling his wine glass. "what's your favorite movie?"

you narrowed your eyes. "why?"

"because if someone asks me what my girlfriend likes, i should know." he smirked, leaning back in his chair. the candlelight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "unless you want me to make something up."

you sighed. "fast and furious."

"really?" he tilted his head. "i totally called you as a rom-com person."

"why? because i'm a girl?" you shot back, voice dry.

"no, because you're clearly a masochist who enjoys emotional suffering." he gestured to himself. "case in point: you hired me."

you snorted despite yourself. "wow. self-burn."

"i'm self-aware." he took a sip of wine. "your turn. ask me something." he added, setting the glass down.

you hesitated, swirling your fork in the pasta absentmindedly. "why do you do this? the whole... fake boyfriend thing."

soobin's fingers stilled on his glass. for a second, you thought he wouldn't answer. then he shrugged. "money's good. hours are flexible."

"that's it?"

"what else is there?" his tone was light, almost teasing, but there was something guarded in his expression.

you studied him. "most people don't fall into jobs like this."

"and most people don't hire fake boyfriends to spite their exes." he arched a brow. "yet here we are."

the waiter came by to refill your water, and soobin took the opportunity to slide his hand over yours on the table—casual, effortless. like he'd done it a hundred times before.

you tensed.

"relax," he murmured, thumb brushing your knuckles. "we're supposed to look like a couple remember?"

"i am relaxed."

"you're gripping that fork like you're about to stab me." he observed, nodding toward your white knuckled hold on the utensil.

you loosened your fingers with a huff. "this is weird for me, okay? i'm not used to—" you gestured vaguely at your joined hands. "—this."

"i noticed." he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "you're my most difficult client yet."

"sorry to ruin your perfect track record," you muttered, resisting the urge to yank your hand away.

soobin chuckled. "don't be. it's kind of refreshing."

you blinked. "what?"

"most clients are too eager. they forget this is pretend." his gaze flicked over to your face. "you? you don't even want to like me."

a flush crept up your neck. "that's not—"

"it's fine." he squeezed your hand once before letting go. "makes my job easier."

by dessert, you'd almost—almost—gotten used to the way soobin's arm draped over the back of your chair, his fingertips occasionally brushing your shoulder.

"okay, next test," he said, nudging your foot under the table with the toe of his shoe. "what's my favorite color?"

you frowned stabbing your fork into your cake. "how am i supposed to know that?"

"you've been dating me for two months," he said, stealing a bite of your dessert. "you should know these things."

"ugh. fine." you eyed him. "blue."

"wrong."

"green?"

"nope."

you groaned. "just tell me."

soobin grinned, licking a smear of chocolate frosting from his thumb. "i don't have one."

"that's not a real answer."

"sure it is. some people don't have favorites." he stole another bite, unfazed by your glare. "but now you know."

you swatted his hand away. "you're impossible."

"and you're stubborn." he leaned back. "but we're making it work."

the night air had turned crisp, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement as you as soobin stepped out of the restaurant. the dinner had gone surprisingly well—no major slip-ups, no awkward silences, just two people who were almost starting to feel like friends.

but now, as the reality of the evening settled in, you hesitated at the curb, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself.

"i'll just call a cab," you said, already pulling out your phone, the screen's harsh glow illuminating your face in the dark.

soobin frowned, glancing at the time on his watch. "it's almost midnight."

"and?"

"and i'm not letting you take a cab alone this late." he dug out his keys out of his pocket, nodding toward the parking lot. "i'll drive you."

you stiffened. "that wasn't part of the plan."

"neither was you nearly choking when i called you babe in front of the waiter, but we adapted." he raised an eyebrow, the streetlight catching the amusement in his eyes. "come on. it's just a ride."

you opened your mouth to argue—then stopped. he was right. it was just a ride. and yet, the idea of being alone with him in the close confines of a car, the quiet intimacy of the shared space, made your pulse skip in a way you didn't want to examine.

"fine," you muttered. "but only because cabs are expensive."

soobin grinned. "whatever you say."

the moment you slid into the passenger seat, you were hit with the quiet intimacy of his space. the interior was clean but undeniably lived-in—a faint scent of coffee lingering in the air, a half-empty pack of gum in the cupholder, its wrapper slightly crumpled from frequent use. the stereo screen glowed softly, displaying a playlist with familiar-sounding titles, the kind of music that had clearly been played enough times to become a habit.

it felt strangely personal, like stepping into a part of his life he hadn't rehearsed for you.

you buckled your seatbelt, hyper-aware of the way the leather cracked under your weight.

"address?" he asked, tapping the gps screen.

you hesitated, curling your fingers into the edge of your seat. "you don't have to do this."

"i know." he glanced at you, fingers hovering over the screen. "but i'm going to. so."

you sighed and rattled off your address, watching as he typed it in with quick, efficient movements. the gps chirped to life, calculating the route, and then the engine rumbled beneath you as he pulled out onto the road.

silence settled in between you, the kind that was neither comfortable nor tense—just there, filling the space like a third passenger.

you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve. "thanks. for the ride, i mean."

soobin kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting loosely on the wheel. "don't mention it."

another silence. the city lights streaked past the windows, painting his profile in flashes of gold and shadow—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lower lip, the way his lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes.

"you're quiet," he said finally.

"i'm tired."

"liar." he smirked. "you're overthinking."

you shot him a look. "you don't know that."

"i do." he mimicked an exaggerated thinking face, wrinkling his brow until you snorted despite yourself. "you get this little crease between your eyebrows."

"okay, fine. maybe i'm overthinking." you slumped back in your seat. "this whole thing just feels... surreal."

"which part?"

"all of it." you gestured vaguely. "the fake dating. the practice dinner. the fact that i'm in your car like some weird, reverse first date."

soobin chuckled. "it is a little backwards, isn't it?"

"a little?"

he shrugged. "most people get to know each other before they start pretending to be in love."

"yeah, well. most people don't hire professionals to make their exes jealous."

"true." he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "but for what it's worth, you're not the worst fake girlfriend i've ever had."

you rolled your eyes. "wow. high praise."

"take the compliment."

the gps chimed, announcing a turn, and soobin smoothly switched lanes, the car gliding through the night. you watched his hands on the wheel—long fingers, relaxed grip—and wondered, absurdly, how many clients he'd driven home like this.

"you're staring," he said without looking at you.

you quickly averted your gaze. "i was zoning out."

"sure."

another silence, this one heavier.

"so," you said, desperate to fill it, "how many of these fake relationships have you done?"

soobin exhaled through his nose, amused. "that's a very personal question."

"you know everything about me at this point," you pointed out. "it's only fair."

he considered that, then shrugged. "enough to know what i'm doing."

"that's not an answer."

"it's the only one you're getting."

you huffed. "you're annoying."

"and you're nosy." he shot you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "but i'll tell you this much—you're the most persistent client i know."

"is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"haven't decided yet."

the car rolled to a stop outside your apartment building, the engine humming softly beneath the hood as it idled. for a moment, neither of you moved.

"well," you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. "thanks again."

soobin nodded, his fingers still resting lightly on the steering wheel. "don't forget—we've got one more practice session before the dinner."

you groaned, tipping your head back against the seat. "another one? do we have to?"

"yes." his tone left no room for argument. "we're not risking all this effort because you get flustered when i hold your hand."

"i don't get flustered—"

"you absolutely do."

you shot him a half-hearted scowl, though the effect was ruined by the way your lips twitched, fighting a smile. "fine. just one more."

"good." he smirked—infuriatingly smug. "i'll text you."

you hesitated, hand on the door handle. something about the moment felt... unfinished. like there was more to say, but you didn't know what.

in the end, you just nodded. "night, soobin."

"night, babe."

you shot him a glare, but he was already grinning. the streetlights catching the mischief in his eyes, the curve of his mouth.

shaking your head, you pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of his laughter lingering behind you like an echo.

୨♡୧ part one / part two ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[love-toxin]

"he'll even tell you how to jerk o-" will he answer the call from my shitty boss while he fucks me into the mattress tho, huh????

hehe....i like your thinking, anon! <33

(cws: gn!darling, doggy style, very mild exhibitionism, dominance, established relationship, unprotected sex, ken gets a little angry <33)

"You're almost there," Ken crooned into your ear. He was almost evil when he was this close, and so deep he was practically part of you by now. He loved to tease you when he had you in the spot he liked the most; his hand in your hair, your face in the sheets, and a firm grip on your waist to yank you back as he fucked you like you owed him something. It was the opposite, in fact, because he owed you the attention you'd missed since he'd been working doubles and night shifts for the last two weeks...hence why he had you in a downward dog position to absolutely violate the holes that had tightened up so much in his absence.

The hospital drained so much out of him, and most days he came home you wouldn't even see him until he was in and out of the shower. Haggard, barely holding up, but he smiled when you fussed over him. It was all worth it to pay for the house you lived in and the food you ate. It would be worth it a thousand times over just to have your warm, wet flesh wrapped around him, squeezing him like it doesn't want to ever let him go, like you need him just to feel anything at all-

Bzzz-bzzz!

Ken slammed a hand down right by your head, but nowhere near striking you. You've got to be fucking kidding me. This time it wasn't his phone, but yours--he snatched it off the nightstand with a grunt and growled under his breath at the sight of the caller ID.

"J-Just hang up," You croaked out boldly, but Ken's snarl was evident just by the strangled breaths between his clenched teeth.

"It's your boss." The hand in your hair loosened, but the pumping of his hips just slowed down, never stopping. It was hard to wrench Ken off of you on the best days, much less when this was the first time you'd had the chance to get your hands on each other in weeks. His breathing hitched when your phone finally quieted in his hand, perhaps in a sigh of relief.

But in seconds your ringtone started playing again, and you were shocked that Ken didn't just fling it across the room and break it against the wall.

"..I'm going to answer it."

"Don't answer it!" Your squeaks of protest died down as his fingers grazed the nape of your neck; you were a bit like a kitten to him, all it took was a firm grip and you would just melt. Your boyfriend massaged you, gentle and careful as he usually was, before the soft click of the line picking up halted your breath in your throat.

"What?" Ken uttered sternly, a quiet huff escaping him as he slowly, shallowly started to thrust back into you. Just couldn't help himself, it seemed. "They're busy." He rolled out his shoulders, unbothered even by the incessant yapping of your boss' voice on the other end. "Why is that any of your business?"

You shot him a pleading look over your shoulder, but he just pinched your cheek and silently hushed you while his hips pressed flush with yours. It was uncanny how deep he could get, and when he swirled his hips to make you feel it all you could do was clap a trembling hand over your mouth.

"The husband." He answered your squirrely manager's query with a sound glare and a tic of his jaw. "That's what I am, for your information."

It was news to you considering Ken had never proposed, but the resolution in his voice as he declared it was....oh, it made you even tighter, and Ken could definitely feel it. You knew what was coming the moment he brought his hand up, but even when he did lay a hefty smack to your behind, the sound cracking out in your stuffy bedroom still made your heart race.

"No. It's their day off." He held the phone away from his ear for a beat, and looked down on you from up high like...a god, really. The rays of light peeking in through the curtains as the sun set cast an ethereal, almost heavenly glow about your lover, whose chest had soaked with sweat and his hair cascaded down his back like waves of pure, scarlet silk. "Do you even want this job, my love?"

No. You never wanted to say it out loud, but that was your answer. No, I don't. The last thing you ever wanted to do was leech off of your successful, kind, and wonderfully accommodating boyfriend, but more days than not you could not stand working your soul-sucking, dream-crushing nightmare of a job. Aside from your manager being an absolute corporate parasite, the work itself was tedious and difficult and the money wasn't even worth enough for you to spare so much of your energy for it. But what would you do otherwise? Just stay home and wait for your boyfriend to pay your way through life? That just wasn't-

"In fact, this is the last time you'll ever contact us. They're quitting. Goodbye." With that, he tossed your phone back on the nightstand with the biggest, smarmiest grin on his face you'd ever seen. But on the contrary, you were mortified.

"Ken!" Your cries were answered by a smothering kiss and his grip reaffirming itself around your waist, his cock pulsing within you as it twitched at your whiny mewl of his name. "Wh-Why would you do that?! I can't afford to-"

The deep squelch of his next thrust pierced through your body and shoved the thoughts right out of your head, leaving you panting for air and squirming as you tried to reorient yourself. But he wouldn't give you the chance--his hips plapped wetly against yours as he let his head tilt back, thoroughly pleased by the submissive gurgles and moaning he could pull from you when he really gave it his all.

"Just rely on me," He breathed out into a smattering of kisses down your spine. "What's mine is yours. I can pay for anything you need."

"But-" You choked out, only to be silenced by another fierce swat to your ass, which drew a groan out of your boyfriend as he watched it ripple with his thrusts.

"It's my own fault." He moaned, gripping a handful in his palm to get an even better handle on your sweet, malleable body. "I should have asked you to quit from the beginning. You should never have to work a day in your life."

"K-Ken-"

"This is what you deserve." The weaker you got, the harder it was for him not to break you in half as he chased his peak--you would be bruised and your insides would be massacred when he finished, but the closer he got, the tighter you clamped down on him just like he liked. Ken's soothing voice turned gritty and low once he finally tensed up, and his sharp incisors bit hard into the back of your neck with the release of his hot, thick ropes spurting into you to paint you like a most beautiful canvas. He collapsed, breathless and hot to the touch on top of you, and the buzzing of your phone on the nighstand went completely ignored. Even if you did reach for it, he would've just pinned your arms down.

"Your only job from now on," He panted into your ear, his smile curving up against your skin with a kiss pressed just below it. "-Is welcoming me home, just like this. We don't need the money. I just need you."

"But..." You swallowed the lump in your throat, only somewhat soothed by the warmth of your lover's body slotted up against your own. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You've never been a burden in your life," He laughed softly into your neck. The idea itself seemed impossible to him, like that possibility in itself was a fantasy. "You've put up with so much from me. This way, we can spend more time together.." The way he played with your hair made you want to melt into putty, even if you still had your reservations about this whole arrangement. "Now, give me a kiss, and let's go take a shower."

On the inside, you wanted to pout and put up a fuss. It made no sense to you why Ken would ever want to put himself out in such a way, why he would be fine with you staying in his home and lazing about while he slaved away to make a living for both of you. It boggled the mind to think that you would be so lucky, but...putting those anxieties aside for the moment, you served him his kiss and let him pull you up to your feet to get into the bathroom. And while he flipped on the water and tested it to see that it was warm enough, the steam that started filling the air put your nerves at ease. Waiting for Ken to get home, helping him wash up after work, cooking him homemade meals and packing his lunches...the more you thought about it, the more it felt like that really could be the life you've always dreamed of.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Ginger Ale - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x reader Rating: Sigh - fluff again. Word Count: 2932 a/n: I started working on this one weeks ago and kept picking it back up and putting it back down until the last of it finally worked its way out of my head this week, just in time for our collective mental breakdown. :)

You're not sure who else to call, not when you'd only arrived in Texas a few months ago and know maybe a handful of people in the entire state, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Not that it slows the beating of your heart when you hit the call button.

You'd met Joel and Sarah the day you moved in, when you'd been struggling to get your bed frame through the front door. The younger Miller had appeared to offer her help, and between the two of you the frame was quickly set in place. Joel found his way over soon after in search of his daughter, and in the weeks that followed, you'd both begun to toe a line that neither of you seemed ready to cross, not fully at least. Chance encounters at your mailboxes, your offer to help Sarah with homework, his to fix up the fence in your yard. Stuck in a delicate balance that has you ridden with anxiety at the mere thought of hearing his voice. Thankfully, when the other end of the line clicks on, it's Sarah that answers.

"Hey Sarah," you start, but you're only able to get two words out before a cough consumes your entire body. It overtakes you completely for a moment as you struggle to let yourself breathe.

Sarah responds before you catch your breath. "You're sick."

"You guessed it," you laugh, careful not to trigger another fit of coughing. "I've been down for the count all day, but do you think you could do me a favor?"

"Of course!" Sarah eagerly replies, and you can't help but smile. It's been evident in the short amount of time you've known her that the teenager is eager to prove herself, and you have a sneaking suspicion that your arrival in their lives also provided an opportunity for her to be helpful to someone other than her father and uncle. "What do you need? Kleenex? Soup? Crackers? When I get sick usually my dad gives me ginger ale and..."

"Soup would be lovely," you reply gently, unwilling to tell her that you already have a cabinet full of canned chicken noodle and that the purpose of your call is to ask her father for something. "Is your dad still at work?"

Her response comes with a slight side of attitude, one that you know has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that Joel works incredibly hard to support them both. You catch his truck rolling into the driveway late most nights, and while you're aware that Sarah understands, and that Joel loves her more than anything, you also know that it doesn't make it any easier for either of them. "Yeah. He promised he'd be home by eight."

"Do you think you could give him a call and see if he'd grab me some cold medicine?" you ask, anxiety suddenly spiking. It's a perfectly normal request, and you're in no state to drive, already dizzy just from standing to make the phone call, but it still feels like a step too far. "It's alright if he can't though," you add at the last second.

"I'll call him and check. He probably will though because it's for you."

Sarah's comment catches you off guard, but she doesn't give you time to contemplate, already onto asking you what kind of soup you'd prefer before promising to be back soon with everything you need.

By the time you make it back to the couch, your head is spinning, both from the sickness and the suggestion that while Joel wouldn't do this for just anyone, he would do it for you. Sarah's words echo in your mind until she appears on your doorstep, an overflowing shopping bag in hand. She launches into an explanation of everything she got you before she's even through the door - tissues and cough drops, multiple flavors because she wasn't sure which you'd like best, and snacks galore. "To make you feel better," she insists when she pulls the cookies out last, the grin on her face doing more than the sweets ever would to make you feel better.

After insisting that you drink the ginger ale that she brought like it's some kind of miracle cure, you shoo her out, intent on preventing her from catching whatever it is you have. Reluctantly, she heads home, but not without the assurance that she'd call in a couple of hours and that her dad would drop by with the medicine on his way home, just as she figured he would.

Once the door is closed behind her, the remainder of your evening passes in a hazy blur. Sarah does call to check on you, but then you're passed out on the couch, your body suddenly too weary to do anything else.

It's a heavy knock at the door that jolts you back awake.

It takes you a moment, long enough that he knocks twice more, before you make it to your front entry, unlocking and swinging the door open with the last bit of energy you seem to have left. "Hey Joel," you sniffle, willing yourself not to cough.

"You look like shit."

"Straight to the chase, Miller," you frown, rolling your eyes before they land on the bag in his hand. "Is that my medicine?"

Joel looks down as though he's completely forgotten what he's here for, grumbling a bit as he holds it out to you, "per the doctor's order."

You take it gratefully, turning on your heel to head to the kitchen, but the action causes your head to spin and you stumble, barely catching yourself with a hand against the wall.

"Hey, slow down," Joel warns immediately, his voice dripping with concern as he steadies you with firm hands on your waist. "You okay?"

Nausea spikes in your stomach, just a symptom of the way the world is spinning more than anything else, and for a moment you wonder if you're about to throw up on him. "Yeah, I'm fine...just a bit dizzy."

Your vision continues to turn about as he guides you back toward the couch, settling you down before taking the bag back from you. "I'm gonna get you some water, alright?"

You nod again, dropping your head into your hands as you ward off the black at the edge of your vision. You can hear him rummaging through your kitchen cabinets as you sit, and the next thing you know he's back at your side, ripping open a package of the medicine so he can hand it to you with the glass of water.

"Thank you," you whisper, trying to ignore the way your fingers brush against his. "And uh...thanks for doing this. For getting the medicine, that is," you continue awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as you swallow the pills. "Let me know what I owe you for what Sarah got me earlier, too."

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. Thank you for letting her help. You could've just had me pick everything up but you didn't."

"She's a good kid, Joel," you remind him with a soft smile, the authenticity of your statement requiring you to finally meet his gaze because you know that just as much as Sarah wants to feel helpful and independent, he needs the occasional reminder that he's doing a good job as her dad.

There's a beat of silence, the two of you sitting quietly on your couch, before he clears his throat. "You gonna be alright?"

"I've survived this long," you tease him, even if at the next moment the world begins to sway again. He watches carefully, worry still evident. "I'll be fine," you reassure him again.

He doesn't look convinced, staring at you with an unreadable expression until he sucks in a breath. "I'm gonna go over and let Sarah know I'm gonna keep an eye on..."

You're suddenly short of breath as you're left to stare at him like a deer in the headlights. "You don't have to..."

"I want to," he cuts you off, tone firm, and it's enough for you to reluctantly agree. He leaves a moment later, promising that he'll check in on Sarah and be back soon, only departing after giving you clear instructions to stay put on the couch. You follow them easily, wrapping yourself in a blanket as you hit play on You've Got Mail for the third time today.

The movie is barely a half hour in by the time he's back through the door.

"Sarah okay?" you ask instantly, guilt creeping in that instead of spending his night with his daughter, he's about to spend it with you.

Joel nods, hands on his hips. "She's fine. Worried about you more than anything else, I think." You hum a response, too weary to do much else, but then the tension begins to fill the room again. You focus on the screen as he continues to stand in the doorway, like neither of you are quite sure what move to make next.

"I could get you some soup, if you'd like," he offers, toeing off his boots and turning toward the kitchen before you can even respond.

"Soup would be nice," you call out, "and maybe one of those ginger ales that Sarah brought earlier?"

His head pops back up the doorway, laughing. "She brought you some of that? I used to pretend it was real medicine that she'd have to take after the actual stuff just to stop her grumbling."

"Did it work?" you ask as you watch him move back into your kitchen like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Like a charm," he shouts back before reappearing a moment later to place a can of the soda on the table in front of you. If he notices the flush that rises to your cheeks, you're hopeful that you can pass it off as a fever, but he doesn't linger long enough to say anything, returning to the kitchen with the intent of getting something of substance into you.

The movie plays on as he brings you both food, dropping to the couch next to you despite your protests that he'll catch your cold. He does maintain a respectable distance between you, but he looks comfortable, and you curse the universe for making this the situation in which Joel Miller is sitting across from you. It could've been any other circumstance, but instead you look and feel like death and he's next to you eating soup.

It's almost domestic, the way he takes your dishes back to the kitchen when you're done, washing them like he's done it a hundred times before. You're half asleep by the time he gets back, but he maintains the distance, saying nothing as your eyes flicker closed and he hits play on the move again.

When you wake it's to the repeated sound of the main title screen. The living room has grown dark, and for the first time all day you realize that you're comfortable. The pressure on your chest has eased, your nose seems clearer, and you're no longer freezing.

In fact, you're warm.

It's only when you become conscious of the arm slung around your waist and the legs tangled with your own that you realize why.

Joel Miller is no longer just on your couch. You're sprawled out on top of him.

Your head is settled softly on his chest, and under any other circumstance its slow rise and fall would likely be soothing enough to lull you back to sleep. Instead, you panic, immediately attempting to extract yourself from his grip.

"Go back to sleep," he mumbles, roused by your movement, and it's unclear if the way his arm tightens around you is something he's conscious of.

With hands positioned on either side of his head, you push yourself up. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Joel. I didn't mean to..."

"Will you cut it out?" he assures you with a deep laugh, his eyes finally opening to meet yours as he runs a hand up and down your back, the motion causing you to freeze.

"But I fell asleep on you and you should've been home hours ago and I'm so sorry and..."

"Stop. Apologizing," he urges you again. You open your mouth to continue your protesting, but he cuts you off once more, "it was the only way I could get you to stop coughing in your sleep."

"Oh," you reply simply, and then you're letting him slowly pull your body back against his. You say nothing more as you settle your head against his chest, although your breathing remains erratic as you try to count just how many lines have been crossed tonight. When you'd called Sarah that afternoon it was just for a favor, and now you've gone from nervously asking your neighbor to buy you medicine to passing out on top of him.

Now, it feels like everything that's been lingering between you for months is finally coming to a head.

Joel continues to run his fingers up and down along your spine in some sort of lazy pattern, his other hand carefully tucking the blanket back around you both. The couch isn't really big enough for both of you, but with your body settled between his legs and his arms keeping you securely on top of him, he makes it work.

"You stayed," you whisper when the quiet becomes too much, your heart still pounding hard enough that you wonder if he can feel it too.

"I told you I wanted to," he replies just before you swear he presses his lips to the crown of your head.

"What about Sarah?" you question further. "Don't you need to get home? It's..." you glance at the clock on the wall, "fuck, Joel, it's nearly two in the morning."

"And? I told you I was going to stay and I did. Plus, I wasn't about to leave you here dying."

You frown. "It's just a cold," you point out, because it's not like you're actually in any imminent danger, especially not after the medicine has calmed some of your symptoms. Well, either that or the nap you just took against him or perhaps the ginger ale Sarah swears by. "You should get home."

There's silence again, but his movement doesn't cease, hand still trailing across your back. "I should, shouldn't I?" he agrees eventually, even though there's nothing about his voice that's convincing.

"Yeah," you repeat, even though you were the one to suggest it and you also haven't done anything to move from where you're draped across his chest. In a way, it seems almost easier to stay secure in his embrace than to confront the realities that will crash over both of you when you part. The questioning of what he's really doing here, on your couch, and why he was so intent on staying. Why Sarah had said earlier that he'd do it just for you.

Never mind the ease you feel now that he's here.

You can hear the seconds tick by on his watch, but neither of you move. Your breathing evens out to the point where you start to feel the heavy tug of your eyelids, and just before you will yourself to move, you press yourself just a bit closer. Your cheek flush against his chest like you're certain you'll never have this feeling again and you want to cling to it for just a moment longer.

He doesn't say anything when you do pull back, and he remains quiet as you untangle yourself from him to stand. The cough returns almost instantly, lungs wheezing when you double over, and you don't flinch when his hand rubs between your shoulder blades to ease your breathing.

When it calms, you step away, Joel's hand falling back. He mimics you, standing and hesitating before grabbing the blanket from the couch to wrap around your frame. There's something in his expression that you try not to read into, but the hope that blossoms in your chest betrays you anyway.

Not that there's anything you can do about it. Nothing you can say, nothing to do other than to continue treading the fine line.

"Thank you again," you say softly as he tugs his boots back on by the door, "for the medicine and for staying."

"Don't worry about it. Thanks for letting Sarah help, too," he responds, his words echoing earlier statements.

"She's welcome over here any time," you reply immediately, only to fail at containing the next words that spill from your lips, "you both are."

Joel smiles, warmth radiating from him as he slowly reaches to tug the blanket around your shoulders a little tighter, the silence settling as you both seem to push off the inevitable. Eventually, though, he shifts, fingers reaching for the doorknob, the door swinging open, his boots hitting the porch outside. It happens quickly, and you simultaneously feel like something has ended as something else begins.

This evening, the unspoken words, the way he'd held you so carefully, paving the path for the potential of something. Nights in his arms, Sarah at your kitchen table, ginger ale when one of you is sick. All of it suddenly on the horizon in a way you'd only let yourself fantasize about before.

He's halfway down your walk before you stop him. "Joel?"

"Yeah?" he pauses, turning back with an expression seemingly just as hopeful as your own.

"Tell Sarah the ginger ale helped."

[klutzyroses]

IkeVamp HCs: Getting scratched by S/o pt.2

Bringing back this hc from long ago!

How would they react to their s/o leaving scratches on him after a night of...activities?

Suitors: Vlad, Faust, Charles, Galileo, Drake

Warnings: Slight NSFW

Vlad

Hehe, how cute.

He had been...somewhat mentally present when she started clawing him, though he couldn't say he fully registered when she was doing it.

Hence the slight surprise when he notices how his arms and shoulders look the next morning. Oh. When did that happen?

He takes no issue with them however. He may not even mention them to begin with. He, who has a massive scar slapped over his heart, is not going to fuss over little nail marks. He likes them, to be honest.

He simply shrugs his shirt back on, leaving it open as he fondly caresses one of the scratches over the fabric. He knows exactly what they mean, how can he not love them?

He will quietly allow her to apologize, an affectionate smile spread across his perfect face. When she finally lets up, he is straight forward.

"I don't mind in the slightest, my love. They're proof of the pleasure I drowned you in...so scratch me all you want."

Faust

Hm. Interesting.

Who knew his guinea pig could be so fierce? So wanton? Well, he has no objections to it, not when he himself permitted it. He had been fully aware of her nails digging into him last night, so he isn't too surprised it left marks.

When he sees the scratches on his chest, he is more intrigued than irritated. He is amused, as a matter of fact.

How primal it seems, how wild. She must have truly enjoyed herself to leave her mark on him so prominently.

He'd spend a few moments examining them, matching each one to the moment they were made with ease.

She wouldn't even have finished uttering 'sorry' before he cuts her off with an devious smirk as he curls his fingers under her chin, green eyes piercing into her with desire.

"You can make amends by allowing me to leave you with more marks the next time. Sounds like fair compensation, doesn't it, guinea pig of mine?"

Charles

Oh, the euphoria he would feel.

He noticed when she was digging her nails into his shoulders, though he was so lost in their passion that he didn't pay too much attention but he hadn't anticipated the marks he found the following morning.

He absolutely adores them. To him, they're evidence of how well and how thoroughly he had loved her last night.

Considering her neck and chest is littered in bite marks, he isn't sure why him being scratched up was a problem to her.

Honestly, if he had the choice, he'd walk around shirtless just so the world can see the scratches his belle put on him. She would have to restrain him, or he will do it.

He instantly rebuffs any attempts at an apology for the scratches, insisting that he loves them with this puppy dog look, leaning so far into her bubble she ends of falling on her back as he hovers over her.

"No, I actually wish you would scratch me more. Next time, don't hold back, pretty pleaseeee?"

Galileo

That's to be expected.

He isn't surprised, really. Naturally, when she started clawing his back he noticed. He noticed everything about her that night, what she was doing, how she was responding, right down to her eyes rolling back.

Therefore the scratches don't surprise him. What does surprise him a little is the small flicker of pride that comes with them.

He is not one to gloat or boast his achievements, but he is glad mostly because this is all the evidence he needs to know he had pleasured her well.

He doesn't mind them in the slightest, to him, they are just a natural reaction to an action. And they don't hurt, not really.

He will let her apologize, the faintest of smiles on his lips, amethyst eyes softening that would be imperceptible to all but her, his beloved.

"It's fine, they will fade. They don't bother me."

Drake

Oho...would you look at that.

To be honest, he was aware when she was digging her nails into his back, in fact he was cooing lewd encouragements in her ear while he was digging something else into her.

When he later sees the scratches, he, much like with everything, takes it in stride, the most unabashed smirk on his face.

It's sweet, really, so he has every intention of encouraging it...mainly through teasing. Plus he'd left his own marks on her, with his teeth and tongue.

Not to mention the triumph in knowing that he pleasured his fawn so much. If he has scratches, it means he did good.

He won't have her apologies. He'd only be able to laugh at how flustered she is, before cutting her off by pulling her close until his lips brush her skin, his voice a lascivious purr in her ear.

"Oh hush, I never said I didn't like them, did I? Did you enjoy yourself, my little fawn?

🌸

[rosescarletful]

A Kiss for the Moment

A short drabble for @amarynthian-chronicles's fic Tip the Scales

Enjoy!

Metal hands with wicked claws slide slowly up your shirt. Gentle and tender, in worship of your skin. He is oh so careful to mind his claws, face plate bent towards you. 

You stare back at him, nonplussed. "We have hardly a few minutes, Judge." Despite this, goosebumps trail after his fingertips where they press your spine.

"They can wait." His voice is low, soft. "I hardly get to spend even a moment with my darling." He presses closer, rays sinking in so he can kiss your neck gently. You take a sharp breath, clutching onto his shoulders in reflex. 

"The stars do not compare to the shine in your eyes," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck. "Your voice outshines any song bird, sharp as a whip crack. How I long to feel its burn." You bite your lip while your shirt is gently pulled aside. He lavishes attention on your collarbones, kissing and biting. 

He reaches down and eases your legs apart, the desire to be closer evident in the uptick of his fans. He'd crawl into your skin if he could, but he settles on pulling your body into the cradle of his arms. 

"Judge Eclipse, the recess is over," a bailiff calls out. You delight in the way he clicks his tongue in distaste, like a child that was just told to share. You lean back and stare at him pointedly, eyebrow raised. Sure, you could just push his arms away, but its more fun watching him wrestle with his desire to hold you and maintaining order in the court. 

The pause is long enough that the bailiff leaves. This isn't exactly an uncommon occurrence. 

"Sun and Moon are going to bang down the door if we don't go back." As much as these doors are antiques, it would be pretty funny, so you keep your hold on Eclipse. He flat out ignores you in favor of running a hand down your thighs.

"They can have you later," he grouses. He has a hard time sharing, and covers you with marks on the way to see them. Watching the brother's pupils dilate when they realize who exactly covered you in hickeys never fails to excite you. 

"Alright then, judge." You reach up and grab his face plate, grinning when he sinks his rays in for you. He stares at you in rapt attention, the center of his vision. "Kiss me. Do it well, and you may just see me later, darling." Hearts form in his optics, and that's all the warning you get before he's flattened you to the table to kiss you senseless. You wrap your arms behind his neck and hold on for dear life, gasping in between each demanding kiss. 

He kisses you like he needs it to breathe, despite being a robot that does not need air. It's exhilarating, making you tilt your head to deepen the kiss to something more long and sensual. 

The door bangs open moments later, unheeded in Eclipse's desire to claim your mouth. You slap at his back and bang your heel into his spine to get him off, Eclipse finally separating from you to glare at the interruption. 

"Recess has been over for twenty minutes!" Sun crosses his arms, staring disapprovingly at you both. Moon only has eyes for you, currently half buried in Eclipse's arms. You roll your eyes and shimmy out from underneath him, popping up to placate the irate prosecutors. 

"It was only twenty minutes. Surely you needed that extra time to practice your rebuttals?" An evil grin spreads up your face, and with that, you take your leave. Arguing ensues behind your back. 

Ah, it's hard having three boyfriends.

[lokisprettygirl]

Fix You Fix me (Bill Skarsgård! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Au)

Read chapter 5 here / Series Masterlist

Chapter 6

Summary : Both of you struggle with the secrets you both had been keeping about each other..

Warning: Fat shaming, body shaming, manipulation, cheating, reader lacks bit of a spine, emotional abuse, reader's weight will be mentioned because the fic demands it

Around 9 at night the next day, Eric was walking back home after closing the gym when he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.

It was your boyfriend again. Arm in arm with a woman that wasn't you.

They weren’t just walking close..they were laughing, leaning into each other like they'd done it a hundred times before. Her hand grazed his chest as he whispered something in her ear, and she giggled, tipping her head back flirtatiously.

He slowed down his pace and watched them as Jake opened the passenger door for her, as soon as they were both inside he leaned in to kiss her before turning on the ignition and driving away.

Eric didn't know what to think of it or what to do. What was he supposed to do anyway? He was your personal trainer, not your friend.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, pulled his hood up and kept walking. Maybe he should just forget about it. Pretend it was none of his business. You were a client. You paid him to lose weight, this wasn't supposed to be his problem. Then why did it bother him so much?

He passed by your building and stared at it for a second before he continued to walk towards his own. When he reached he pulled out his keys and entered. He told himself he’d sleep it off, that in the morning it would feel less real.

But as he laid in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, he realized something.

He did care, even if he wanted to deny it. He did care. He has always cared.

And not just in a trainer-to-client kind of way.

He cared in the I don’t want you to cry over him kind of way.

As the anxiety rose he picked up his phone and dialled a number.

“Hey sweet bug” the woman on the other side answered, making him smile, but when he didn't answer she spoke again.

“What is bothering you tonight?” She asked him so he sighed.

“Nothing..just wanted to hear from you. Did you have dinner? Took your meds?” He asked to confirm. Worry evident in his voice

“You don't have to worry about me. Stella is here, you know how good she's with me. You didn't answer my question” she said, her voice warm but yet firm.

“it's nothing..just saw something i shouldn't have..its none of my business” he murmured as he thought about your boyfriend again. After witnessing how he spoke of you, how he ditched you in pain and now this, he was really conflicted, were you always being hurt like this and didn't even realise it?

“You know you don't stress over it when it's not your business..is it her?” She asked him, he sighed, nothing about his life was hidden from her.

“It's not like that.. she's a client now, I don't see her that way” he answered her, even though his voice betrayed his words.

“You'd wouldn't be like this if it wasn't”

“It's not..i already have someone”

He could almost picture her rolling her eyes, she didn't really like Regina he could tell.

Realising that he couldn't back out from this he told her everything that had happened in the past two days. She listened patiently, never interrupted him, never offered any advice until he was done speaking. She knew how much he kept to himself and how she was the only person he opened up to like this.

“It's just..you know I..how he speaks of her behind her back..it made me think of someone” his jaw clenched at the memory, her eyes also got teary.

“I know bug, I know” she sighed and paused before she spoke again.

“You'll find a way ..you always do,” he chuckled as she said that.

“You believe too much in me”

“I believe just enough,” she said softly, and he could hear the smile in her voice, the kind that had soothed every storm in his life since the day she took him in. “You’ve always had a good heart, even when you try your hardest to hide it.”

He didn’t respond right away. There was a lump forming in his throat, the kind he didn’t know how to swallow down. Not tonight.

“It's late, beautiful..you get your sleep now okay? I'll call tomorrow” he said to her and she barely hummed in response

“Goodnight sweet bug, I'm always here..never forget”

And he smiled. The kind of smiled he never showed anyone. Not even Regina.

********

Next morning when you stepped out to head for the gym, you saw Eric walking past your building, his duffle bag slinging around his shoulder, his eyes on the phone.

You were still reeling with the knowledge of him being the one who might have left the pills for you.

But how did he even know? How did he know you wanted ibuprofen specifically? Sure it was a common brand but why did he just assume you didn't have it already? Also, Why didn't he tell you he was dropping off the pills?

After returning home last night you had called Jake to ask who had dropped the pills or if he had asked someone to do it for him, he told you he asked Shane to do it probably, or might have mentioned it to him, he couldn't really give you a clear answer before he hung up. That only made it more obvious.

“Eric?” You called out his name so he turned his head to look at you, pausing in his steps.

It was 5:45 am.

As you neared him he resumed his steps

“Good morning” he said to you, you smiled.

“Morning.. weather seems nice today” you said to him so he hummed in response. He was staring at you when you looked away, you could feel it from the peripheral vision. You didn't want the things to get awkward between you two, especially knowing how patient and how good he was as a trainer but this thing coupled with how you had caught Regina cheating on him was starting to pile up.

The rest of the walk was silent, not really awkward yet, just silent. When you both reached The Crow he opened up quickly and turned on the lights.

“Make three rounds..I'll be right back” he said to you so you nodded in response.

“Uhhh wait, can you get on the scale quickly?” he asked. It's been two weeks, he wanted to record the changes.

“Sure”

You weren't really expecting much when you stepped onto the scale but your eyes widened as you saw 146 lbs staring back at you.

You looked at him as he noted it down in your file.

“You can get excited about it” he said to you so you finally let out a squeal you had been stifling.

Jake's comment that night had discouraged you a little so this was exactly the pump up you needed.

“Though it's just water weight, it's a start, your body is no longer storing excess fluid now that you're taking care of yourself “ he said to you as he placed the file down on the desk.

“Thank you so much Eric.. I don't think I could have done this without you” you mumbled sincerely, clearly excited by the progress.

Eric looked at you, your excitement was slightly contagious but he remained composed.

“You’re doing it” he said, tapping a pen against the desk. “I’m just here to make sure you don't stop”

You laughed breathlessly, the kind that bubbled out when you were both proud and a little surprised by yourself.

“Still… thank you.” you quickly punched his bicep lightly with your fist so he looked down at his bicep and then you.

“Now go celebrate by running three laps like I said.”

You groaned dramatically but turned around to start your warmup, almost skipping on your step, your tangled thoughts were slightly clear now that you had seen 146 on the scale as opposed to 150.

After three rounds, between sweat and heavy breaths, you pulled out your phone and texted Jake immediately.

You: Went from 150 to 146 lbs..yayyyyy

You texted him and he immediately responded. Your smile completely faded as you read his response.

Eric approached you to start the workout, that's when he saw your expressions shifting, the excitement and happiness you had shown just now was replaced with a frown.

“What happened?” He asked you so you quickly put the phone on one of the benches.

“Nothing..let's do it” you gave him a smile that couldn't have been more disingenuous.

He reached the bench to pick up your phone as he needed to put the bench in an upright position for seated shoulder presses, your screen was still on, his eyes glanced quickly before you snatched the phone away from him.

“I'll keep it in the locker and come back” you chuckled as you walked away from him. His jaw clenched at what he had read just now.

Jake : It's how much I lose when I don't eat for two days. It's just water weight..don't get too excited about it, or you'll get lazy again like you always do

Eric didn’t need to see the message to know someone had stolen your joy, and it was that jerk you were in love with. He could see it, the way you suddenly became so timid, how you suddenly didn't feel good about yourself, how he had taken away that small victory and turned it into something miniscule as if it didn't matter.

When you returned, he could see your eyes had moistened, your cheeks seemed flushed as if you had cried. And you were trying to hide it away as if it wasn't a big deal. Were you used to being treated this way by him?

He didn't say anything though, he just put you through a heavy workout, perhaps a dose of endorphins would make you feel better. By the end of it your cheeks were still flushed but for different reasons.

“Lie down,” he said, his voice softer now. “We need to do some passive stretches.”

You obeyed, lying back on the mat as he crouched beside you. He lifted your leg gently, pressing it toward your chest. His hands were steady, firm but careful, and he hovered closer than he ever had before.

“Tell me if it gets uncomfortable or painful,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on yours. Bold of him to assume it already was not. Your eyes squeezed as he pressed your leg farther and farther in your chest.

The room was quiet, no music, just the distant hum of the air conditioner and the sound of your breath.

His grip shifted slightly, his palm bracing your thigh as he leaned in to deepen the stretch. He was so close now. Too close. You could smell the scent of his cologne..

“Relax your hip..you're tensing up”

You relax your hip mister. The snark was on the tip of your tongue but you remained quiet.

He suddenly bit on his lips as he focused on deepening the stretch.

Wait

Hang on

Was he like..sexy?

You quickly chucked the thought away.

No he wasn't. You closed your eyes, thinking about Jake, he was hot, especially when he focused on something. You had watched him perform a surgery once, hot af.

When you opened your eyes he was looking right at you.

His eyes were so big. So green. So deep.. Like an ocean.

His fingers relaxed slightly against your leg. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but nothing came.

And then, just as slowly, he pulled back. Carefully. Respectfully. Gently.

“Other leg,” he said, voice lower now. A bit huskier. Still professional.

You heard your bones popping and cracking, Jake's subtle jab was now forgotten, replaced by this conflicting feelings you have had this past few weeks, your thoughts surrounding around his girlfriend cheating on him and him dropping off the medicine on your door.

Once he was done he stepped away from you and reached for his water bottle.

“Good to go” he said before he took a sip.

“Thank you..that felt nice”

He nodded before he headed for the reception area as someone entered. There was a girl looking to join the gym.

You reached for the locker room and grabbed your stuff before heading out of the gym area. You had to log the exit time so you stopped at the front desk.

“Monthly it's hundred dollars for the membership” he said to the girl so she nodded before she twirled her hair between her fingers.

“What about the personal training?” She asked him.

“It's 250 per session..12 a month.. no empty slot though for now. When something opens up I'll let you know” he told her, you looked at him but as his eyes met with yours you looked down again.

If it was 250 why was he charging 100 dollars per session with you?

“OMG cool..by the way i have seen you on Instagram..you're like hotter in person.. I'm so excited to workout here” she winked at him, your ears picked up as the girl spoke, she seemed young, like she was in her twenties.

You could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as he heard that.

“Get out” your eyes widened as he snatched the registration form and ripped it away.

“Wait what?” she gasped

“This is a gym..not love island..you want to gawk at men go lounge at the Santa Monica beach”

She blinked at him like he had spoken in another language. Her mouth opened and closed, baffled, clearly not expecting rejection, especially not in such a blunt manner. Rude even.

“Jeez, relax, It was a compliment—” she started, her tone dipping into that whiny mix of entitlement and disbelief so he cut her off

“I’m not a piece of meat, and this isn’t a goddamn dating app. Now leave” he told her sternly.

The girl scoffed, flipping her hair as she turned on her heel.

“Whatever. Fuck you. You’re not even that hot..i was just being nice, your face looks like a serial killer by the way..i hope this place closes down soon”.

You stood frozen by the desk as she made her way out, your hand hovering above the register, unsure whether to be embarassed or wildly entertained.

Eric let out a tight exhale, rubbing the back of his neck as he dumped the now ripped form in the trash can.

“That was…ummmm intense.” you finally spoke.

“She wasn’t serious about training,” he muttered. “Some people walk in here with the wrong idea”

“I get that… but she was just being—”

“Disrespectful. Looking for two minutes of instagram clout or some sort of discount” he finished for you, his gaze catching yours again. “And I don’t tolerate that. Not in my space”

“Or maybe she just thought you were hot”

You couldn't help but wonder how he had met Regina, she was everything he despised apparently.

“Maybe but there's a place and time for everything”

You nodded as he said that. Clutching onto the strap of your duffel bag you reached for the door but then you paused and turned.

“Ummm your face doesn't look like a serial killer. She was just frustrated. You have a really nice face ..i know you don't care about this stuff but..just don't let it bother you” you said to him, you could tell he wasn't expecting that. You hoped you hadn't said anything inappropriate, you had read comments on his photos, mostly targeting his face so you just wanted to make sure he didn't feel disheartened by them.

“Thanks..you do too” you smiled as he said that.

As you stepped out finally, you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding in.

A lot has changed in three weeks, if a month ago someone had told you that you'd be having casual conversations with the broody guy from the block, not just that but have him as your personal trainer you'd have smacked them in the heads.

You remembered how he used to sit in the corner of the library, absorbed in something fictional like the Catcher in the rye or The picture of Dorian gray, once every other day he'd rent a book and then he'd come back to return it. You would smile, he would not smile but give a slight nod.. not a single word was ever exchanged between you two except a random greeting here and there. And then he stopped coming in suddenly, probably got busy as the gym picked up..did he still read though? You couldn't help but wonder..

At the gym, one of your coworkers Mandy was shocked when you told her that you had been training under him. Apparently she had gotten the same treatment as the girl from this morning. She tried to flirt with him and got kicked out because of it.

The next evening after your session, you were changing the workout shoes when Regina walked in. She walked past you and didn't spare a second glance.

“I guess she's above the whole sign in and sign out thing huh” you joked as you opened the register.

Chance was staring a hole in her back until she disappeared from his sight.

“Entitled Princess behaviour” you couldn't help but smile as he said that.

“You do not mince your words..do you?” you said to him, making him chuckled

“Learned from Eric”

You nodded as he said that..

“So what's their story ..how did they meet?” you asked, keeping your voice disinterested and nonchalant.

“At some event..then she pursued him relentlessly until he gave in” your eyes widened as he said that. She was the one to pursue him? It kind of made sense, he didn't seem the type to ask anyone out. You had never seen a man who was as focused on his life as he was. “You know she doesn't even pay for the membership?”

“Girlfriend privilege right?” you said to him so he chuckled.

“She's a free loader and he ignores it..or more like he doesn't care enough about it”

How would he feel when he finds out Regina was also cheating on his friend. You wanted to tell him but it didn't seem right at the moment. You knew the person who deserved to hear it first was Eric.

Later that night as you reached home, the ibuprofen thing was still bothering you.

You didn't have the guts to ask him in person so you hid behind the protection of your cellphone..

“Okay let's do this” you mumbled to yourself as you typed the message.

You : Hi. I had been meaning to ask this but umm Did you drop the pain medication at my building the other day?

Before you'd change your mind you pressed the send icon.

Then you threw the phone into the corner of the mattress, not wanting to look at it, biting on your nails as you paced back and forth, fearing the worst

What if he throws you out of the gym like he did with the girl?

Oh god what had you done?

You waited and waited with bated breaths until you heard the familiar buzz.

After contemplating for a moment you finally leaped for your phone.

Eric : I did

That's it? That's it?

That's all he was going to say as if it was no big deal?

You : Why didn't you tell me?

You asked him. This time he responded immediately .

Eric : Didn't think it was a big deal. You said you had cramps ..I figured you'd need it

You were still not satisfied by the answer so you asked another question.

You : Okay but why ibuprofen?

Eric : It's a painkiller?”

You : Yeah but..why that specifically?

Eric : Your boyfriend was at the Pharmacy at the same time as I was, he was on a call with someone when he mentioned it, then he left without getting some so..that's how I knew

On the other side Eric stared at his phone, he was in the kitchen making a protein salad, he wanted to make up another lie but apart of him didn't want to lie to you.

You blinked and stared at the message with disbelief, not sure what to make of it.

Why did Jake lie to you about it? Why would he do that?

You : Ohhhh..umm thank you ..i really appreciate it

Eric : It's alright. Not a big deal

He responded again.

You sent him a good night message and put the phone away, you did get some answers but the overall conversation had left you feeling even more confused than before.

And that's when another thing began to bother you.

How come Eric knew Jake was your boyfriend? They have never met each other.

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Taglist @loushaw131460 @wiseyouthinfluencer @purplerainx1 @bloodykisserr @muchwita @mariaenchanted @a-differentbrandof-beans @kikibit

[gh0stvi0lets]

𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘛𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯,

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺. Rivals by day. Something else by night.

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨. Sam Winchester x male reader

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. Stanford era. Strong language, academic hazing, suggestive tension, some angst

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵. 754

𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴. It's my first fic and I'm a bit new to writting so it's clearly not perfect mb; plus English's not my first language either

─────── ⋆⋅ ♰⋅⋆ ─────────────────

You hate Sam Winchester

No—scratch that. You loathe him. The kind of hatred that requires sustained energy. The kind that simmers beneath the surface and keeps you up at night, replaying every smug retort he’s lobbed at you in class like he's rehearsed them.

Which he definitely has.

Every time Professor Billings calls on him in Contracts, he answers like he's delivering an opening statement at the Supreme Court. Perfect posture. Hair tied back. Voice smooth and deep and fucking reasonable. You’d call him insufferable, but that would imply he isn't already living in your head rent-free.

And the worst part?

He’s good.

Actually good. Not just the kind of kid who coasted into Stanford because of a legacy or a trust fund. No, Sam Winchester is the kind of terrifying genius who actually reads the case law. Who annotates. Who probably color-codes his goddamn tabs.

“Y’know,” you say one afternoon in the law library, voice low and pointed as you slam your laptop shut, “you could give the rest of us a fighting chance instead of blowing the curve every time.”

Sam glances up from his book with that maddening calm. “And you could stop trying to argue every point like it’s a courtroom drama.”

You scowl. “It’s called having a spine.”

“It’s called showing off.”

“I thought lawyers were supposed to be competitive.”

Sam closes his book with a soft thud. “This is law school. Not a boxing ring.”

“Shame,” you shoot back. “I think you’d look great with a black eye.”

Something flashes behind his eyes—amusement? Challenge? Lust? No. No, don’t be an idiot. But then again, his smirk looks a little too satisfied.

“I’m not the one losing sleep over this,” he murmurs, not looking away.

You want to bite back. To say something scathing. Instead, you feel your throat dry up and hate him even more for it.

You become study partners by accident.

Billings pairs you up for a mock arbitration. Everyone groans at their pairings—except you and Sam, who lock eyes like it’s a fucking duel.

He’s opposing counsel. Of course he is.

The first meeting is a disaster. You argue over everything—case theory, evidence strategy, who gets to open. You swear he picks the opposite position on purpose just to piss you off.

“You’re not actually suggesting we lead with a procedural challenge—”

“I am, because the timeline’s murky and the judge will eat that up.”

“And you just happen to have precedent lined up already, huh?”

He shrugs, not even bothering to hide his grin. “I come prepared.”

You’re going to punch him. Or kiss him. Or both.

One night, things shift.

You’re in the library again—third floor, after hours, the place where the serious sadists study. Sam’s at the far end of the table, tapping his pen against his notebook like he’s calculating something much worse than tort damages.

You glance at him. He’s tired. The loose strands of hair falling out of his tie. His sleeves rolled up. His tie long gone. He looks... human.

He catches you staring.

“What?” he asks, voice soft.

You shake your head. “Just wondering when you sleep. Or eat. Or blink.”

He chuckles. “You’re one to talk.”

You lean back in your chair. “So what’s your deal, Winchester? You planning to save the world with a J.D.?”

A pause.

His voice is quieter when he replies. “Something like that.”

You nod. “Same.”

Silence stretches between you, no longer hostile. It’s weighted, but not sharp. Almost... warm.

“You’re not as much of an asshole when you’re not trying to one-up me,” Sam says suddenly.

You grin. “You bring it out in me.”

“Or maybe I’m the only one who can keep up.”

Your pulse skips.

And you both know that the silence that follows isn’t academic anymore.

The kiss happens after you win the mock arbitration.

You’re both flushed from adrenaline, hearts pounding, standing too close in the empty hallway outside the lecture room. The hallway echoes, silent save for your breathing.

“You still talk too much,” he says.

“You still look like you know everything.”

A smirk. “I do know everything.”

You grab his tie and pull him in.

And he lets you.

The kiss is sharp. Fast. Like every argument you’ve had, pressed together and burning. It tastes like coffee and repressed rage and something frighteningly close to desire.

When you break apart, he’s breathless.

“So,” he says, “are we still rivals?”

You smile, slow and dangerous.

“Only in public.”

[spellewrites]

CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND!RAFE X READER - THE PACT

IN WHICH . . . rafe makes a pact with his childhood best friend

a/n - hi! tysm for 100 followers! i've been sick and also i'm a bit of an inconsistent writer in general, i go where the motivation and inspo take me when they take me lol. but this is my first childhood best friend!rafe drabble! ik i have a few reqs already and just wanted to say they make take me a bit because i want them to be good, so i don't want to rush it and write something bad. and thank you for all of the love on my original post for this pairing! <3

ty @zyafics for reading it first!

wc - 565

the soft, pale blue comforter was familiar, evidence of the amount of times he had been in your room, sat on your bed like it was his own. rafe lay on his back, staring up at your ceiling while he waited for you to try on your dresss for midsummers. you were going together, of course. you had been for the last ten years. it was just easier that way.

you were especially excited about your dress this year. you hadn’t let rafe see it yet, only sent him a closeup of the fabric so he could match you. it was the first time you had gone dress shopping without him, and he couldn’t help but feel a little hurt by it.

he wouldn’t admit this, not even with a gun pointed at his temple, but he liked following you around the store, arms weighted down by every dress you handed him. he liked being the first one to see your dress, the way your eyes would light up when you looked in the mirror outside the dressing room and knew you found the one.

so, yeah, he was a little upset you chose to go shopping with your girl friends instead of him.

fading remnants of the glow-in-the-dark stars he had helped you put up all those years ago stared back at him. he hears the door to your en suite bathroom creak open and immediately shoots up. his eyes grow wide and he’s pretty sure his mouth drops open when he sees you.

he stares for a few moments, blinking before a soft, “wow,” escapes his lips. “you look…”

you giggle and do a slow spin, causing the skirt of the dress to flare out around your legs. “did i just cause rafe cameron to be at a loss for words?” you tease.

you swear his ears go a little pink. “shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind the words.

his eyes scan your form again and he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head, “all the guys on kildare and i’m the lucky bastard that gets to go with you,” he says, almost like he can’t believe it.

“no one else asked me,” you say, and there’s a hint of bitterness in your tone. no one asks you because they’re too afraid of what rafe will do.

“their loss is my gain,” he says with his signature smirk. the one that makes him look care free. the one that twists the knife deeper every time because his only gain is not having some clingy girl wanting to be the new kook princess following him around all night.

you flop back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling and the fading stars. “i don’t know if anyone will ever ask me out,” you admit quietly, a hint of sadness in your voice.

“then they’re idiots,” he says firmly, laying back so his head is beside yours.

you fall into silence.

“if we’re both single at forty, we should marry each other,” you blurt, unsure where the idea came from.

you expect him to laugh at you, to tell you he won’t need to marry you because he’d already have a wife and 2.5 kids, but instead he says, “thirty.”

your eyes widen slightly. “thirty-five.”

he grins and rolls onto his side to hold out a hand to you. “you’ve got yourself a deal, princess.”

[todayisafridaynight]

i’m pretty surprised that you can be in a fandom without really checking the tags regularly for new content or discussions that’s pretty impressive

ive got twitter for that and twitter has shown me enough as is

[tonycries]

Madam Kamo - C.K.

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

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

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

Word count. 9.3k

A/N. CLAN LEADER CHOSO CLAN LEADER CHOSO

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

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

He left no evidence, he left no remorse. 

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

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

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

And…your new husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something about it just made you feel hot. 

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

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

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

“-yes yes, to have an heir-”

Oh.

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

Like he was yearning for it.

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

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

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

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

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

Because now Choso’s getting…greedy.

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

Subtly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, whatever his wife wanted - you got. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shivering, “S-sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has you going insane.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it- good girl.”

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

This was far from over. You were fucked. 

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

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

With you.

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

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

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

Then putting it off for next week. Two weeks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Footsteps. 

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

“Baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

THUD!

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

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

Like a broken little mantra. 

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

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

And you could tell.

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

All with his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, he was pussydrunk. 

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thrust after thrust. 

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hot. Sappy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you were fucked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be careful!”

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

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

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

CRASH!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mama. 

Mama. 

You freeze. Choso freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very, very alone. 

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

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

And misses. For the first time in years.

“Fuck.”

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

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

Except more…urgent. 

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

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

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

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

So that was what it was. 

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

SLAM!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d take care of it for you.

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

And Choso is feral like never before. 

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

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

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

How ready.

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

Twice. Thrice. 

Dipping back down for more and more and more-

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

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

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

Because he’s never been harder. 

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

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

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

And he was barely even pushing past the tip. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Biiig-”

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

Before stuffing you full all the way in-

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

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t your husband right now. 

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

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

“Tha’s not enough to take.”

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

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

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

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

Gurgling out a stupid. “Ch-Cho–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t say anything else.

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

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

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

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

It was maddening. 

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

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

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

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

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

You think you might just have broken Choso Kamo.

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

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

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

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

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

Only one.

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

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

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

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

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

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.