#the only things that have stayed is his half and half hair and his piercings

[tonycries]

Heat Waves - C.K.

Synopsis. The two things they don’t tell you about a hot emo half-curse? 1. He’s in heat. 2 He needs you badly.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, slight omégaverse, HEATS, roommates-to-Iovers, he goes FÉRAL, matíng presses, size kínk, knots, he’s huge, squírting, dúmbifícation, Choso with piercings n’ tattoos, pheromones, use of jujutsu, MARATHONS, creampíes, cúmplay, matíng marks, stopping you from running, proposals, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 7.6k

A/N. She’s BACK and she wrote this during a power cut ummm?

“Choso, are you in there?”

You’re nervously gnawing on the inside of your cheek, feet shuffling as you wait outside of your strange new roommate’s bedroom.

Summer. 

And the scorched air outside wasn’t the only thing that was sizzling, it felt like your skin was pricked with countless goosebumps at the temperature inside of your cozy lil’ apartment. Each heady wave of heat originating from his room.

Half-wondering whether you should call his pink-haired little brother for assistance, your fingers rap once more on the firmly shut mahogany door. Calling out, “I’m coming in, okay?”

There’s a noise from inside- a gasp. 

And then something that sounded like a low, guttural…moan at the very sound of your voice. The humidity only rising. Brows furrowing, warmth creeping, you just barely start turning that doorknob open—“Choso, what is-”

Oh. 

.

.

.

Seventy-four days.

Seventy-four days since Choso had started rooming with you, thanks to your associates higher up at Jujutsu High. And seventy four days since he’d wanted to tear off your tiny sleep shorts and wrench your pretty legs apart to stuff you all full of his-

Fuck. 

And just like that, he’d been hit with his annual heat cycle on the hottest day of the month. 

All part of being half a curse, he grouches. 

Maybe it was the paper-thin t-shirt you’d been wearing this morning, maybe it was just how you’d batted your lashes as you greeted him in the hallway.

Maybe it was the way all he had to do was fucking stand next to you to smell how sweet that pussy of yours was, throbbing away between your thighs. Thump! Thump! Thump! 

But here he was- one step inside of his sweltering bedroom, only a single inch that you’re toeing past the door frame, and he’s bolted out of the bed to slam against you. Heaving chest to chest, back to wall. 

Mouth crashing-

You don’t know what burns more - the push of his toned, rippling flesh radiating pure heat, crushing against you, or his lips. Choso grabs you, Adam’s apple bobbing dryly as he damn near sobs at the contact of your spit-glossed lips.

“Ch-Choooso–!” You’re squealing, kissing back in earnest. Your rationality only a faint inkling now, “What’s gotten- hah! into y- fuck!” 

Before you know it, he’s fisted his shaking, prolonged fingers into your shirt to rip the fabric down the middle-

Gasping, your knees knock together weakly once he sticks a clammy palm to the valley between your tits and tears up. Your wetly ajar maw breaking away from his own with a sultry dampened noise, followed almost instantly by a strained whine as Choso registers the feeling of his attack on your mouth dwindling. 

Just about the only thing he could be struck with right now. 

CRASH!

One of his big, beefy forearms slams on the patch of wall above you, flecks of plaster snowing down at his sheer inhuman strength. “Stay…” And his other arm greedily claws at your throat, jolting at the sound of your oh-so-cute gasp as if your voice made something deep n’ dark down inside him twitch. “-away.”

And you might not have known him the longest, but Choso Kamo never sounded so rough. So…gone.

Rugged and husky. 

He’s peering down at you through his towering height with semi-widened hazel eyes like he couldn’t dare look away and oh-

Oh, Choso looked ruined.

You’re gazing up at him for the first time now - really, really gazing up at him - in all his desperate, clammy glory. Heat sticking to him like a second skin. Mouth parted. Throat parched. 

His expression was almost dazed, still drinking in the sight of you as if he was just seeing a phantom walk into his bedroom. 

Choso’s skin was simmering with a blush that made him look feverish, the cracks between his bangs the only thing revealing his dark, half-lidded stare. He’d hounded you like a predator closing in on his prey. 

Ready to pounce. 

And you gulp, squirming at the scraping itch of his pointed nails. The pads of his fingers plant pressure on your airway as if he didn’t want you to even speak, couldn’t handle it. “Wanna stay, Cho–”

Ah, that did it.

Choso had been shivering- shuddering viscerally as he loomed above you, fawny lashes fluttering like he was holding himself painfully back. Away - only to snap the very second his nickname stumbles out of your beautiful, beautiful mouth so that he has to shut you up before you cause any more damage to his sanity.

Whimpering, the bite of his extra-honed canines makes your lips sting. “Oh- ngh, slow down-” 

“Can’t.”

His voice cracks. 

“F-fuck…” Just the sound of his lilted, crazed bass is enough for your thighs to clamp yearningly together. Chasing just the slightest friction, he sounded so sensual that it made your pussy so-

“Oh.”

This time, it’s Choso who’s breaking off the lurid kiss with a sticky mwah! The syrup of your saliva gluing to his rosy, puckered lips when he lurches his head downwards and sniffs. 

Right between your legs. 

It’s as if he could sense something you couldn’t, jaw slowly unhinging further open the wetter you became. Until your inner thighs were sheened with a splotchy puddle of your slick and Choso was drooling. 

“Oh.” He’s repeating, like a broken record. It’s just then at the air grows murky, as if your roommate had suddenly emptied out your most favorite syrupy bodyspray then and there. Body twitching, “Oh.”

And before you could blink away the haze in your eyes and say something about the glittery sprinkle of spittle travelling down the side of his mouth, Choso’s powerful knees hit the floor with a booming bang! 

If he could feel any pain then he doesn’t show it, can’t even manage to twist his expression into anything but a look of utter fucking hunger. Rabid at the mouth.

“O-oh my god are you…” You had half the mind to push his face back and ask whether he was okay- but the harrowed look in Choso’s peripheries stopped you. He needed this. And he needed this now. 

He looked just as surprised as you, almost as if he was in disbelief at the way his trembling fingers were digging into your flimsy skirt. The battle-worn calluses of his fingertips slicing through the cute satin cloth like it was butter, Choso barely even hesitates a second to breathe before he’s stuffing his face into your sopping, clothed pussy.

Nose-deep, and Choso cups the cheeks of your ass to push himself even deeper. 

Lips meeting puffy, achin’ lips. 

“H-nghhh—” Dribbles from your mouth stain your lips all dewy wet, and you can’t do anything but sift your fingers through Choso’s auburn locks and pull- 

“Don’t.”

You watch in awe when he’s surging forwards to crush the tip-top of his straight nosebridge into the slope of your pussy. Rubbing lightly against that cute lil’ bow decorating the hemline of your panties, “But you can’t even breathe like that-”

“Don’t.” Comes out his growling warning again. Before Choso’s taking a final deep inhale of your saccharine sweetness- fuck, your tight cunt just smelled so sweet that he can feel his cock jolting already. Gulping back a bucketload of ravenous spit, “Don’t.” He doesn’t have to breathe. 

Tone hitched. Tastebuds parched. It’s the last thing that he’s muttering—“Starved…”

Before Choso crushes the underside of his tongue past your sodden panties and tastes you- just a singular drop of your syrupy sweet slick, a singular ounce, and you think you may have broken him.

Because his broad back stills, dark eyes widening. And you’re just about to wrench your mouth open in question before he’s back flopping his tongue past your underwear.

Caressing your swollen pussylips with his pointed tip in a French kiss, Choso swats your stupid lil’ panties aside - why did you even need those - to drink you in. To sluuuurp up every given droplet of your dewy wet juices like he was a man starved. 

And his eyes were still widened, damn near bulging out of his poor sockets once he’s tilting his head sexily to the side n’ flicking your sloppy entrance. 

Grunting at the slight friction of your cotton panties, “Puh-pussy.” His husky utterance makes your thighs clench- something that Choso can not fucking bear because he’s pushing himself even deeper. Further. “Pussy.”

“Sh-shit–” You’d have easily collapsed onto his bedroom floor if it wasn’t for the way that one of his roughened palms was cupping your ass to hold you up. Supporting your weight like a feather. “Choso my…my panties.”

And it was true- oh, he didn’t give a fuck about those. 

Letting them skid over his jaw, Choso’s just barely blinking his glassy eyes down at the now-transparent piece of cloth covering your pussymound like he’d just realized that was still there. 

Sounding out your cute shriek, “P-panties…” Even if he wanted to, it was such torture to even think about pulling away. Still lugging his tastebuds down the glittering crevice of your slit, one of his indexes creeps forward to tease the elastic of your underwear and let it spring back with a resounding snap!

“Hey- rude-”

Barely even letting the syllables escape your mouth, Choso’s lips curl into a feral smirk whilst he nibbles down on the edge of your panties and rip-rip-riiiiips!

All with his canines.

He’s undressing you like he was unwrapping his next meal - on his knees, eyes boring up at you and- shit. Shit shit shit- it’s just then that you’re hit with the thought that you might not even make it out of this alive. 

Because within a singular bat of your lashes, Choso’s bolting up with your pliable body in tow, pushing you onto the nearby bed, throwing your legs wiiide open.

So fast you wonder whether he’d lost control of his powers and somehow teleported - you wouldn’t be surprised. 

Yelping, “Oh- what- oh my nghh- Choso!”

“Your p-pussy.” He’s keening out, dark brows scrunching with aching need whilst you’re barely done bouncing on the bed before he’s smearing your pussylips apart and taking a gooood long look at you. 

Hypnotic, the plump ends of his lips hover oh-so-close near your slippery slit. And you wonder whether he’s trying to drive you mad by trawling that horizontal shape of his nose tattoo across the top of your cunt. Panting, “My baby’s pussy.”

The fringe of Choso’s rovering tongue is so fat, stuffed thickly between your folds so that it felt like your hole was being stretched to the maximum. A low whimper breaks at the back of his throat when he’s feeling the resistance, snarling—“Inside. Need- inside.”

“B-but—” And that primal shrill of yours turns into a sob once Choso’s only keepin’ your thighs pushed further apart. The mountains of his palm bruising five straight lines of his fingers as he gropes on.

“No- no.” Striking the curve of his chin against your pussy, when Choso was in heat - he was thirsty. Nipping your outer cunt with the edges of his fangs, “Let me. Let me let me let me- oh.”

Push after push, his half-closed eyes are so blurry with lust that your cursed roommate is acting on pure, animalistic instinct. Gnawing on the left of your bloated labia like a gum before he draaaags it backwards and plunges his tongue in deeper.

Choso takes one look at the way your glistening hole was all wet n’ clamping down over nothing before he can’t help but hold your folds open whilst he fills you up stupid. “Wet…so…”

He can’t even finish his sentences - his thoughts, just that drunk on your treacly pussy.

Wailing, “Slow down, Cho–!” You’re nearly choking on the heady wave of pheromones that gust from down below just at that simple nickname. Tugging on his clammy bangs, “Y-you’re gonna–”

“Don’t care.” He’s groaning out a throaty answer, each syllable punctured with a lick of his textured tongue past your entrance like he didn’t even realize he was talking. “Don’t care. Don’t need to- breathe. Just need…”

And the next thing you hear is the wettest, rawest squeeeelch! emanating into the tense air once Choso snakes his right hand upwards to pluck a ringed finger between your lips. 

He hisses, fighting with himself for possessive reign over whose lapping up more of your sleek juices. Cheeks hollowed, he’s latching onto your clit and playfully biting as the slimy crown of his digit rovers inside. 

And the stretch- oh, the fucking stretch had your pupils whirling dizzily inside the whites of your eyes. 

“Sh-shit- w-were your hands always this ngh- big?”

Because, really, Choso’s hunched-over back only seemed to flex bigger the more he’s tasting you. His fingers longer, pearly whites sharper. Eyes gleaming–

“Big?” Choso breathes from below you, long lashes shuttering as his eyes widen. Oh, he was just realizing- and that tone did not bode well for your poor, impaling pussy. 

“B-big.” Because he shifts, he jerks his head just the slightest inch to register his sudden strength n’ size. Before grinning—“Then take-” Slurring, your roommate tugs your puffed-up folds just barely enough to the side so that he could slip in the knobbly ends of a second finger. “-take it, my baby.”

It’s like you were made to take it. 

Your elastic hole snagging on the ridges of his slender fingers, you throw your head back and moan at the sudden impact of Choso pursing his pretty pink lips and spitting on your pussy. 

“Y-you know what else the head of the Choso clan can control?” 

Just about the longest sentence his heat-filled mind has managed so far, he’s snagging the caps of his nail polish-chipped fingertips into the side of your walls and spreeading your cunt apart to let his pearly glob of saliva slither inside. 

Immediately making you feel hypnotized, making you feel as if you were sweltering.

Oh, shit. 

The realization makes your head lift off of your dampened pillows- he controls blood and…

He has the audacity to grin when the slimy ribbon of his saliva stirs in circles ‘round and ‘round your snug channel. Controlled. Filthy. 

Watching your every minute squirm with bated breath, Choso nestles that droplet against your tenderest weeping orifices. Shocked. Ready. Like a wolf stumbling upon resh blood he’s breathing—“There”

Something in him twitches. 

Something in him awakens, hips grinding against the bed. 

And then you’re watching Choso’s nosebridge tattoo deepen, you’re watching him lazily flicker his pinkish tongue over the perked nub of your clit while his fingers were ravaging you from the inside out. He wanted to ruin you. 

He was whacking his cold metallic rings against the gummy insides of your cunt and hoping that it bruised. Carving a cute lil’ ‘C’ right at the edge of your g-spot where you needed him the most, his high cheekbones flush. “Can control this. You. Her.”

Quirking the wide end of his index against your sweetest spot, Choso stuffs a third finger and lets all three rounded curves treat your g-spot like a bullseye. Probin’ so deep with their frigid designs into your every nook and cranny, Choso elbows your thighs open once the pressure makes you thrash.

You’re bucking off of the silken sheets, your slick-plastered thighs smushing each side of his handsome cheeks. “There- o-ohhh my god k-keep going-”

“Th-there.” Choso’s smiling. Something feral. “There- there- there.” Hit after hit, he’s sticking his maw against your slit and makin’ out with your sappy lips with a dopey smile. Unfocused. Throat relaxing to let the miry wads of your sweet, sweet sap flood his tastebuds.

They’re damn near sizzling as they stick to your puckering hole as if made of adhesive, slashes of his refined tongue making your cunt sing almost as much as your voice box was. “F-fuck, m’not gonna last, Cho—”

He’d noticed - that sixth, sensual sense of his cursed energy that was making him scour your walls with his curvaceous digits. That primal sense in him.

And that’s all he needed to hear.

The ringed bands of his rings spanking your g-spot like he was maddened, lips wrapped so hard as he sucks on your throbbing clit that they’re starting to ache. 

More.

More more more- he needed fucking more of you before you’re cumming all over his face. And ah- how much more would you drench his snogging mouth when you reach your high?

Choso unfastens his jaw all wiiide and lets your slobbering drags push against his chin. Pushed so nose-deep between your twitching thighs that you can barely even understand him. “Cum.”

“Please—” You’re whimpering out shrilly, fucking music in his ears that makes him spread his meaty thighs apart and push his aching erection into the mattress. “Cho— I’m gonna mmm- m’gonna-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before Choso’s finishing you off. 

With a few more vulgar, sloppy strokes that set your teeth on edge. Your roommate doesn’t care for any method, he doesn’t care for any technique because he’s lavishing his velvety mouth everywhere. 

From your pulsating clit, to the gasping circle of your entrance, to right past where three of his lengthy fingers were already filling you up because Choso just couldn’t get enough. And he’s laying his craned neck out across one of your trembling thighs, mouth burning with the cloying taste of you while you cum and cum harder than any of your toys have ever made you. 

“I-it feels so…” Words fail you, and your hands stay firmly wrapped through the valleys of his sweaty scalp for dear life. “-so- nghhh- can’t even d-do anything.”

It was devastating- your vision splotchy with white, toes curling. And the half-curse was so plowed between your pert pussylips that he couldn’t even rear himself back to moan. 

Letting out each moistened ‘fuck’ and ‘oh’ into your gushing pussy. 

Blinded, it’s the only thing he can do to let your rose-shaped insides clench around his dexterous muscle. A sweet lil’ ba-dump–! that matched in carnal synchronization with the beat of your rapid heart, and Choso’s counting about twelve before he finally feels your high bating. 

“No.” He grunts out instantly, eyes widening. Panicked. With a grope to the left side of your waist, Choso latches on a death grip and immediately pulls your restless hips back onto his mouth. Lips wobbling, “No no no no- come back.”

Yelping, “Shit m’so- hck! sensitive, Choso.” Even the slightest pinch of his coral pink lips right over your clit left you seeing stars. 

But he didn’t listen.

He didn’t care.

He’s pushin’ his tongue back between your wet slit with a growl and eyeing how it makes you shudder. “Can’t-” Laughing - laughing - Choso alternates between bumping his rounded index against your g-spot and stretching out his rubbery tongue to lap at your walls. 

Smack after smack every time he flaps his lips, all dangling with gleaming streaks of your hot orgasm. He’s trying to get you to cum once more, but he’s too impatient. 

Too needy for it that all he can do is slash his tongue across your sweetest spots and watch as it only edges you until you’re all dizzy. Sniffing your pussy like you’re his favorite scent, “Can’t fucking stop.”

“Want- ngh! want you—” You’re keening, pushing on the perspiration-sprayed surface of his forehead to no avail. Choso only manhandles your body to glue his lips to yours even further, “Want your cock.”

“H-huh?”

For the first time, your roommate lifts his head from the sinful heaven between your legs with a loud plop! It’s the most lecherous noise, and the only thing wetter than that sound was how wet Choso was.

He’s dripping with syrupy slick from the apples of his high cheekbones down to his sharp jaw, beaded drops of slick hitting your thighs with a pitter-patter. He was flushed. Pheromones burning. Slightly shivering. 

And it looked like the very second you opened your mouth - not even from the sound of your voice, just the mere notion of it - Choso’s nose scrunches and he flinches. “Wan’ your cock…”

“O-oh.”

Oh.

Oh.

You were done for. 

You were absolutely and completely done for- because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that your snug pussy walls are left empty n’ hollow. Void of when he’s dragging his fingers back, making sure to leave a rovering little caress as he pulls out with a soppy slurp!

And then he’s slouching over you, he’s bending you. 

Fully clothed and yet it’s like his heat-melted mind doesn’t even register that, Choso’s holdin’ your dangling ankles spread open while he grinds his swollen, aching cock against your core and groans. 

“Fuck- fuck-” 

He was so fucking hard, and your pussy had felt so damn tight around his tongue. 

Just once. Twice- Choso ruts between your legs like an animal before he’s fumbling for the silvery latch of his belt. Unfreezing, you’re finally helping his dazed fingers through it- whining as you tug on his off-white undershirt, “Take it- off.”

Moaning- he thinks he’s going to die if he doesn’t listen to every word you say. “Please.”

It’s like each sound of your needy voice only makes his weight cock sag further, so it’s such a relief when he’s shoving the rest of his trousers down and letting his red, bulbous tip swab his abs with a stripe of glittering pre. 

You only get a flash of Choso’s cock - rock-fucking-hard, engorged, looking so painful as his lengthy shaft hangs between his pale legs. The mushroomed tip of his cock was burnin’ red and weeping, and- was that- a shiny silver piercing right next to his orifice?

 Like a pretty pink lollipop that you wanted to reach out and-

“Later.”

And then he’s pushing in. 

Then he’s letting his ballooned-up shaft twitch primally at the noise of your sweet, sweet voice, before spreading his meaty thighs and pushing between your tight, glistening cunt. 

“I know-” He’s rasping out, two of his veiny forearms planting underneath your legs to lift them bonelessly onto his shoulders. Ankles hitting his back muscles, “I know I know I know- fuck!”

Nearly screaming at the way your cozy hole was just too small for his pierced tip, resisting the way Choso fits the very reddened point of his cock between your folds and pushes and pushes. Ruts. “O-oh my goddd- nghhh- s’sooo biggg–!”

But your adorable huffing and puffing was only making every ounce of blood pound to his aching cock and make it even bigger. 

Tightly pushing against the rubbery outer edge of your pussy, your pussylips get smeared apart sooo fucking widely by his rigid circumference. 

And no matter how much you’re thrashing and mewling, Choso only tugs apart your cunt with a thumbing of his ringed digit. Deeper, fitting just an inch. 

He gasps- he whines. Just so desperate, and you’re hypnotized by both that ecstatic look on his face to the sweetened, humid atmosphere. 

“Cho! O-oh my god s’not gonna mmm- fit-”

“No.” Choso repeats it like a mantra, and he’s begging with those hooded chestnut eyes of his. Probing your gaze with his dilated pupils, heels digging into your rickety mattress, the head of his swollen shaft squeezed where he was bullying inside. “No no no no- hafta take it. You need to, my baby.”

Long lashes shuttering, you swear you see Choso’s eyeliner run with tears when he makes your pussy gulp down a single solid few inches. 

His cock so fucking big that just this slightest swallowed measurement made you feel a round bruise at your throat, your mouth overflooding with heated saliva. “Need to take it inside just-”

Babbling, Choso glues his clammy palms upon either side of your birthing hips and bends you in half. 

All the way until the globes of your ass nearly weren’t touching the bed, all the way until he’s pressuring you with the weight of his muscular body and holding you still whilst you take him in deeper. 

In a mating press.

And give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. 

“Fuh-fuuuuck!” Because Choso was thrusting, not even waiting - he couldn’t. Your gooey pussy was just so soft and warm around his barreling girth that it was driving him wild. “You’re just soooo—”

“Inside. Inside.”

“What if I can’t fit-”

“I’ll make it fit.”

He’s holding onto your mounds of flesh like it would stop him from losing control, thighs shivering at his inner quads once he’s punishing your squelching cunt with half-ruts. Bucks. Humps like an animal all just to fit and fit his swollen, red cock inside. 

Eyes dazed, mouth slack. 

Choso’s already drilling into you, whacking your bubblegum insides with everything he could fit. 

From the geysering divot homed on the middle of his tip to just where one of his prominent veins was tickling your outer folds. His Prince Albert’s was so cold where he’s slimy mazing along your textured walls, “Tight-” He dares to let one of his hands caress your tummy, pushing down to feel himself. “Fucking tight.”

Struggling, and so when Choso’s finally tugging further on your dewy slick cunt to sheath in more more more- all he can do is stutter his breath to a labored hold and cum. Just by bottoming out.

Your eyes widen, “Did you just-”

“I-inside.” Choso croaks out, strained. Raw groans hatching, he presses down on your body with his toned upper strength and keeps you there as he’s pumping you full. 

It’s so much of his thick, ribbony white sap splashing ‘round that you’re wondering whether your puffy hole was flooding already. 

Not that Choso would ever let you- no, his familiar ringed thumb spanks down on your slit and makes sure that not even one ivory drop leaks out. 

Driving and driving every vein-covered inch in half-thrusts that leave your knees weak, “Inside.” He’s panting like he was feverish, brown irises murky. So hot inside of you with all his syrup, he’d just bottomed out and he was still planting his feet flat on the bedsprings to maze his glistening cock further. 

Octaves higher, cracked. He’s in disbelief when he’s sliding his globular piercing in a straight line down your cervix, “Inside.”

“Mhmmm– all inside, Choso.” You’re managing to strangle out, your twitchy fingertips reaching up to push away a few strands of his soft bangs from his sweaty forehead. “All better now?”

You’ve no idea what had gotten into him today, but anything to help your hot half-curse roommate-

“All better?”

It’s posed as a question, but Choso wasn’t looking for an answer.

He’s poring down at you with bulging eyeballs, gaze smudged with eyeliner. “All…better?” Before letting out a sudden, strained bark of laughter. 

And before you know it, Choso’s curling the tips of his fingers around your throat and grabbing you to halt in your journey to squirm away. Squealing, you let yourself be dragged down to hit his hard pelvis with a spank.

Leaning down, down, down every inch that he’s closing in the scorching distance between you two made your cum-glazed pussy let off a talkative slurp! “All better.” 

“Wh- oh!”

He doesn’t let you speak.

He doesn’t even let you breathe before ramming into you with all the vein-patterned, roaming length of his girth. “All better?” Choso echoes breathlessly, “You- think- I’m all better?”

As you whine, the headlock of his palm tugs your lolling scalp forwards to stare back up at him. Holding the deepest, most lecherous eye contact with you as he sliiiides his zig-zagging veins against the roof of your pussy. 

Spit flying, Choso crashes his maw into your open mouth. “Do I look fucking better?”

Oh.

That’s when it finally hits you- that short, hastened paragraph you’d skimmed over in your book on cursed - Choso was in heat.

“P-please!” It was almost comical the way he had you mewling all stupidly on his cock, your heart-eyed pupils swirlin’ inside of your eyes with each poke into the bottom of your pussy. His stout, frigidly pierced tip furiously thumping away, “Feels so good, Cho- can feel you all the way ngh- here.”

And he was not letting you go. 

Choso looked like he was losing his sanity when you’re mindlessly tracing a hand up the valley of your tits, touching your throat. 

“Th-there, huh?” He questions, dryly. With a final swab of his bulging length where you were most sensitive, he’s suckin’ on your quivering lower lip with a hum. “You know I ngh- respect you, right, my baby? Riiight–?”

Confused, you’re nodding—“Yes?”

“Good.”

Because Choso wasn’t going to fuck you like it.

He’s departing his hoarse breath in gusts, letting out a barely-audible little–”Flowing Red Scale: Stack.”

The jujutsu technique to increase speed. Endurance. 

Before the air around the two of you tightens with electricity, with every atom around the two of you coating with a layer of cursed energy. Something so rabid and desperate that seeps through Choso’s body like he almost wasn’t in control, coating the ends of his upright erection when he’s bucking. 

“There-” The rounded circle of his piercing is plowing you open like a searchlight, mazing your velvety walls in a lil’ zig-zag. The underside of his shaft sticks to you like a second skin, striking your g-spot dead on. “-there.”

Rovering his hand right on top of the sultry rounded bulge he was pounding away into you, “M’here.”

He was there right inside of you and he was everywhere. 

Weighing in on the splotch of your nerved walls, pushing away the creamy white layer of seed on top of your lips so that he could see himself being sucked in even deeper. “Me me me me-”

“O-oh please!” You scream out in time with the creaking racket of your aged bedcoils, it was making the most protesting noises as he bucks his hips deeper. Hands clawing across his deltoids—his chilling piercing whacks your g-spot and you can only reach for the wooden headboard with a babble. 

“No- no no come back-” Choso’s free hand creeps from your cute tummy bulge to claw at your scalp, pushing you down. Pulling you all the way down, “No running.”

No running.

Again and again and again.

Choso’s got a hold on your head, a knee trapping your thigh. Pinning you down so that he can smack his tensed core down on your front and leave your heated flesh stinging. 

“No running no running no- hah! You’re gonna be mine, my baby–” Angrily, he swats your partly-opened lips with a great dollop of spit, feeling the sultry trickle swirl it’s way circlin’ your mouth. 

The entrapping hand on your head tightens like a vice and you squeak something unintelligible, something that makes his pinkish cockhead swerve and his body heave with a great, visceral shudder. 

“What was- hah- what was that, my baby?”

“Ch-Choso–!” Comes out your shrilling calls, “More.”

And he almost stops. He almost freezes—“What?”

“More!”

“M-more?” Choso can only repeat through a harrowed gasp, letting his heavy, hard cock slide niiiice and easy between your legs. Echoing, “More.” And it’s like he’s agonizingly fucking you slow n’ steady- hard and rough. 

Alternating, it’s hard to keep himself in check.

Hard to even force himself into a constant sloppy cadence when you’re looking up at him like that.

Begging for him, your mouth unfastens open at the way Choso’s pretty hazel eyes only seem to glow…animalistically. A cursed, powerful tinge taking over his gaze, claws sharpening, body bulging with even more sexy muscles as if that was possible. 

He was almost transforming in front of your very eyes and the only thing you can do is throw your oversaturated head back and take it. 

“More.”

Choso whacks his bulbous, cold Prince Albert’s against the side of your g-spot and hopes that pretty area of your cunt remembers it. Bruising you. 

Your thighs on his shoulders, his dick shoveling into tender orifices inside of you that no one’s ever reached before. Your cute roommate’s damn near laughing himself hoarse whilst moaning away that singular syllable you’d uttered out. “More- more. What the fuck- more.”

“Fuck—” Your doughy heels dig in eagerly where his back muscles were rippling, lungs filling with all his heated scent. “M’gettin’ so ngh- sensitive, Cho.”

But it’s not like he could hear you.

Choso Kamo knew your lips were moving, but he was too deeply-stuffed inside your dripping wet cunt to even pretend to listen. All he could think as he shuffles all his fat, roaming inches inside, creaming out a generous helping of buttery pre, was that he wanted to make your gorgeous mouth fall into an oh! of pleasure.

Fuck, talking- he’s fucking you like he’s trying to make sure that you couldn’t.

Merciless thrust after thrust, the power clinging onto the air around you two was becoming stifling.

“More” Choso utters, two of his ringed fingers skimming your bulged folds open and kissin’ your clit with a sweet hello. “More.” Before pinching, harder. Sloppier. His bulbously swollen red erection stirs your insides like he’s trying to melt his body onto yours, “Tight lil’ hole can’t g-get enough of me- she wants more-”

Oh.

Oh–

You weren’t the only one caught off guard by just how ragged Choso was becoming - just how ragged his ruthless hips were becoming. Because with only one, two, three precise glides of his rotund cockhead stirrin’ your g-spot, your poor pussy is bullied into a second orgasm. 

You see white. 

Surprised. Hitting you like four semi-trucks, all you can do is gnaw your lolling maw down on the tempting curve of his shoulder and cum.

“O-oh, my baby.” Choso whispers out from above, gasping once he’s registering your high. Your bite- marking him up in a way that makes his cursed heat flare. 

Cumming.

Cumming and cumming so hard that your roommate’s feeling his heavy breeder balls drain with each sploshing wire of sap being pumped into you. 

You hear him grunt over n’ over through your popped eardrums, “My baby-” Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! goes the slap of his cum-glazed balls digging into the backs of your ass. And you swear you feel his frigid piercing draw out a loooong ‘C’ on your sponged cervix, “My baby my baby my baby- alll…”

Dazed, you’re watching when his ringed hand lets go of your head to caress your tummy bulge. Now only inflated further with his knotted wads of cum, “-here.”

Oh…

He didn’t just mean that you were his baby- he meant that he was going to fuck a baby into you.

And that’s exactly how he’s milking you through your high, letting the sparks of your bliss overtake you as his driveling cock fucks away lazily. Sensually rubbin’ the curve of his piercing over your g-spot to overstimulate you. 

“Never f-felt this good, Cho–!” Your criss-crossed eyes scrunch with a few warm tears, feeling the gooey puddle of white stagnant below you.

He reels his plump girth back just the slightest smidge and watches as a torrent of sap splashes out wetly. 

Choso only grins, “S’my first time-” Planting a lingering smooch over your gaped lips. “My first kiss. My first…”

And absolutely nothing - nothing - could’ve prepared you for the word that attaches to the tail-end of his groaned sentence. 

“-mate.”

His only mate. His one and only. 

And he was groping the underside of your ass cheeks to make sure that his loving mate wasn’t squirming away. Getting a good handhold for your pretty, pliant body to be held up and dragged backwards. 

Choso wasn’t in the right headspace to even pretend he was pushin’ you into a cute mating pressing right now.

Only melting the ridges of each chiseled ab into your front, glissading easily with the sheen of his perspiration.

Choso creeps his bruised, red lips right up to your ear. 

“And m’not letting you walk out of this hah- bed not pregnant.” As if struck by the sudden thought, he rolls his sloppy cock between your saturated pussylips once more and grunts. Dark eyes sliiiding backwards, brows scrunching with need. “A-actually- m’not letting you walk at all.”

Gasping, “Not walking- th-that means…”

It’s all you can get out before the cursed energy sticking to your bodies heightens twofold. 

And Choso gets harder. Choso’s pushing you down.

Choso cups your spilling pussy to smear apart your bloated folds, slimily weaving his rounded mushroom tip to circle back to your entrance and push—

“More.” 

Your tongue feels sticky with all the pheromones of his saccharine heat, “M-more?” 

“Gonna fuck you more.” Seemingly able to utter more than just three words now, “Fill you up more.” Shaking - both his voice and his thighs pushing you into missionary now.  “Get- get you pregnant more.”

Blood manipulation to make his prolonged, split-ended shaft harder. Reverse cursed technique to make sure you two don't break bones. 

But neither of you can stop the way his creaking bed frame shatters.

And Choso doesn’t care- his knee hikes further to keep your legs open. Fist pumping the fattened excess of his ravaged cock furiously to pump n’ pump himself to a merciless hardness. He’s hissing as his cursed energy forces every ounce of blood in his sparking mind to rush to his plummy, weeping crown. 

“I-is this even safe, Cho–?” You’re whining, trying to nudge yourself to some sort of rationality before Choso completely ruined you all over again. 

“Safe? Safe?” He’s giggling out, hissing between your parted lips. “Who knows…?”

The last thing you’re managing to hear before his slender hips snap forwards and meet your pussylips with a tender few strings of even more cum. Pouring out a thick paste that damn near covers the slope of your cunt an opaque ivory, “I don’t know- I have no idea- a-all m’gonna do s’fuck you–”

Just at that moment your pussy lets out a sappy few squelches as he shovels inside and Choso’s nodding.

“Y-yeeees, my baby.” Slobber trickles down either side of his lips and marks him all glittering, the round orb of his piercing cleaning off your pussy of seed. “All pregnant. A-all mine. All pregnant.”

Choso’s still so damn big- growing even bigger thanks to his jujutsu that every rummaging inch makes him slick your skin with cum. Creaming you. Milking himself. 

Bulging cock so layered with jujutsu that it almost zaps the inside of your silky smooth cunt like a vibrator to have him pummeling you deeply.

The more he’s pounding away like he’s crazed, the more and more he does become crazed. Rasping tone breathless, gone. “Yes- yes yes yes tha’s right-” He’s sounding out, trekking a hand down to thumb over your jiggling cum-inflated tummy bulge. “Pregnant. Pregnant pregnant- pregnant–”

“S-slow down Cho, or m’gonna—ngh! again.” You wail, hips bucking up shallowly - just about all you can manage right now, but the mere idea has Choso breathing all labored. 

Hands twisting on the lecherous nub of your clit, “Yeah- yeahhh, mama’s gotta cum.” He’s reciting off- it wasn’t just the heat, it was some second primal nature that made him want to make that drenched pussy of yours squeeze his cock to death.

And fuck, was that instinct strong. 

Because Choso’s hitting your deep cunt with gushing whacks, angling his pelvis just right to curl the left-leaning spheroid of his cockhead against your g-spot and-

“Cum- cum. Cum.”

When you do, it’s in carnal unison with him. For the nth time this night.

So hard that the two of you can only throw your heads back and moan—

Long, stringy ribbons of sap entering your filthy hole right in time with each peak of your high. You count one, two, three- four. 

“Cum—ing.” Your voice cracks, eyes rolling. Nails clawing fresh crimson marks down his pale shoulder blades, ones that the man himself smells and drools at. Yeah- all he wanted in his heated haze was for you to ruin him. “Choso- oh.” 

“S’my name- what’s this say?”

You yelp, feeling him guide his pierced cocktip to swab your most tender orifices. Grunting- “Tell me. Spell.”

That fucking animal inside of his cursed body was makin’ him tease your bruised and battered cervix with an outlined ‘C’, then an ‘H’, and then an ‘O’-‘S’ -‘O’.

C-H-O-S-O

C-H-O-S-O

C-H-O-S-O

You think you might be cumming again, you think you might be grinding your hips back down without even thinking to help him spell out his name. “Choso- Choso! Cho—!” Mindlessly whining and whining that very word whilst your orgasm hits you like a freight train. 

And Choso knew it was coming- oh, he saw. 

The lecherous part of his cursed technique growing in tune with your body enough that he’s sensing the waves of your impending bliss, and gifing your pussy with a rigid thrash against your g-spot that leaves you squirting. 

All over his dick.

“I’m— did I-” 

“You did.” He’s breathing, rough. Gone. “You did.”

Dampened, streaming gushes of sap coat Choso’s shaft, and it’s a damn miracle that he’s able to stop himself from pulling out right now just to taste the wetness of your dewy soft walls as you ride him through your high. His own orgasm nothing more than numerous dry spurts of white liquid when he’s fucking you even sloppier. 

Still fucking you when he’s muttering the incantation underneath his breath for his blood manipulation technique sugring down to his fattening girth. Overstimulated. Overworked. 

Gasping, something wet hits your shoulder and it takes you every shred of will in your body to wrench your teary lashes open and look. Only to realize that Choso Kamo was crying.

Whimpering, sucking himself dry on you. 

You didn’t know who was more drunken as he’s lazily dragging his veiny cock along your channel in a third- fourth? round. “I finally have- have you in my ngh- bed and-” Toying the flared edge of his mushroom tip right where your g-spot was, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. He makes you squeeze down on the rounded swelling at his hilt, “-you think m’letting you go that easy?”

Teeth on edge, bangs sweat-stuck, eyeliner running.

Heavy balls tightening.

Before you can even register it, Choso has you face-planted into the pillows - his hand at the base of your arched spine, cock taking you from behind, foot firmly seated on top of your head. 

And he’s collapsing his body down onto yours and pushing, pushing, pushing. 

So hard that you think you hear a faint pop!

“N-no breaking bones…” Comes out his throaty tut, followed by the cool breeze of even more reverse cursed energy bleeding into your bones. The expanse of his heated skin buzzing with electricity, he almost made you bolt to the touch.

And suddenly this mean position on all fours doesn’t feel so bad anymore-

Finishing off, “Need the f-future mother of my kids safe.” You can only drench his silky pink pillowcase with pure saliva and tears, whimpering when he dabs a finger over a dribbling wad of cum that’d started to spray from your folds. 

Delicately massaging over your overstimulated slope, Choso brings his glazed fingertip over to stick to the ring finger on your left hand and draw. A cute lil’ wedding band. 

“A…proposal?” You’re questioning, head cocked where you’re all laid out prettily on top of the cushy surface. 

And maybe it’s by the fourth round when the two of you can barely even speak, and the massage of his soaked chocolate happy trail had started irritating the cheeks of your ass. Maybe it’s by the fifth when it’s barely even fucking and more so Choso making sure that his high leaves him dry, nothing but a pearly droplet of seed escaping his strawberry divot before he’s pinning you down to the mattress. 

Maybe it’s by the sixth when he’s laying you side by side and gluing his slobbery mouth against yours while his raw, red cock lazily gyrates inside of your sensitive walls. 

Plugged up with a swollen girth homed at the base of his red shaft that you’re slowly realizing is his wide knot so that all he can do is swirl n’ fill each slick, creamy crevice. Not having the strength to thrust even with his use of reverse cursed energy. 

“You’re mine now.” It’s the last thing you hear as the two of you are on the precipice of passing out. Your bed shattered. Your apartment lights charred with the overuse of jujutsu.

Sending out a wave of cursed energy strong enough that it’s a wonder sorcerers aren’t knocking down your door - and yet, Choso still wouldn’t be able to stop his hips. 

His sharp canines sink into the sweaty crook of your neck, much like yours had on his all those hours and hours ago. Yet, something about his bite felt…animalistically permanent. 

Like his infamously venomous technique was flowing through you and marking you. Though, you barely even feel the sting with his reverse cursed technique- not out of his control.

Through a crack of your tear-dewed eyelids, you’re taking in with awe at the way that your dear half-curse roommate’s nosebridge tattoo only grows wider. Stronger. Suddenly matching with a new one that’d started to formulate at the base of his soft, mahogany happy trail - like an incubus tattoo.

He was all yours now. 

Length throbbing harder as his tastebuds sizzle with your crimson, “Forever.” Choso takes oooone good look at you with loving, heart-shaped eyes. And you wonder whether his heat was finally, finally-

Before he’s inhaling your saccharine sweet scent, and you watch in real time as Choso’s molten peripherals dilate. Wide. Panting. Cock twitching. “O-oh, my baby, think m’getting…hard again.”

A/N. Mwahaha summer is coming up so I simply had to.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[missmookie]

introducing.. police officer!rafe

basics

height: 6'4-6'5, he takes pride in how tall he is and has a habit of laughing under his breath when he sees suspects or criminals shrink under his towering build

body/build: 275lbs of pure muscle, a few scars scattered around his body and biceps big enough to juice a grapefruit😜

age: late 20s-mid 30s

looks

piercings: has had both of his ears pierced since he was a baby, a gold nose stud on the left side of his nose that he never takes out (he says it's bc he's afraid it might close, but you know it's bc he's just lazy so you still force him to take it out to clean it)

tattoos: half a sleeve on his right arm, a full sleeve on his left, little doodles on his back from your kids, dates he cherishes under his heart (anniversary, you and your kids' names + birthdays)

style: always makes sure to keep his buzz fresh, always wearing some sort of shirt that shows off arms. when on duty he keeps his wedding band on a chain around his neck or in a little baggie in the glove box of his cruiser to keep it safe

personality

on duty: assertive on duty, some of his coworkers may call him "cocky", but he thinks of it as having confidence (with a lil bit of arrogance sprinkled in)

off duty: he's such a big softie when he's at home, always makes sure yall have a family fun day at least twice a month 😽

protective: tries to keep his job as far away from his family as possible, he's heard of perps hurting officer's families as a sick act of revenge and he never wants that to happen to you (and his babies)

likes

when you cook for him. he loves getting little notes or pictures of you or the kids included in his lunch bag, and it always makes his day better

spending time with you and the kids. family bbqs, water balloon fights, movie nights, you name it, he's doing it

going your daughter's ballet recitals and your son's football games. he hates letting down his kids when he has to miss some of them due to work, so he tries to make it to every single one; even if he's late

the gym. he likes his body and wants to keep it fit. goes to the gym at least 3 days a week if he has time, and if not he fixes little things around the house, goes on little walks with your daughter, and runs suicides with your son

seeing you wear one of his old academy t-shirts with nothing underneath but a little thin pair of panties. makes him appreciate life even more when he soaks the view of you in, thanking god for the life he was blessed with

dislikes

arrogance. (🌚) new transfer thinks he's a hotshot? he's humbling him quick

laziness. his son not doing his chores? 30 pushups. rookie thinks everything is a game? he's bringing him back to earth immediately, he hates lazy people, especially in his work force.

officers that think it's funny or okay to cheat on their wives. he sees it all the time and it never ceases to digust him. what's the point of being married if you're just gonn cheat? might as well stay single

family hcs

you: as cliche as it sounds you actually met rafe when you got pulled over by his partner for the dumbest reason. you were pretty spooked so he decided to ask you out to make up for his partner's stupid actions

౨ৎ- his petnames for you: wifey, dollface, sweetcheeks, gorgeous, baby, sweetheart

౨ৎ- your petnames for him: rafey, ray, handsome, sexy pants (teasing), officer cameron (teasing)

son: he's 13, so he's a bit tougher on him. very no nonsense, has high expectations of him, doesn't tolerate any disrespect, (especially if it's aimed toward you)

౨ৎ- does football drills with him in the backyard, rough-houses and wrestles with him from time to time, and always makes sure to tell him how proud he is

౨ৎ- nicknames: tough guy, son, boy (when he's in trouble)

daughter: she's only 5, so he carries and treats her like she's made of porcelain. she's your twin, and is the definition of a daddy's girl

౨ৎ- forces rafe to sit down in her tiny chairs to have tea parties, loves doing her hair in little princess hairstyles

౨ৎ- nicknames: princess, little lady, missy, honey bun

© missmookie est. 2025

a/n: this was inspired by @cameronsbabydoll 's military!rafe and @rafeslvbug 's nfl!rafe so props so them 😽 !

send in blurb reqs !

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, incest, abuse of power, sex-slave reader, gangbang

♡ FEM reader

Nasty emperor who’s gone to the pleasure house every day since coming of age. Now middle-aged and a seasoned dictator, fucking his own litter of bastards because they all have his family’s long line of royal hair and eyes—and it gives him some sick sense of pleasure to have made you all—bred to be his own personal harem of half-blood princes and princesses.

Most of you hate him, of course—but none of you can do anything about it. Kept prisoners in pillow rooms, hidden away in the castle. The Kingsguard stands watch, ensuring you all stay put—always on hand for the King’s visit.

You all have your tongues, nipples, clits, and dicks pierced with rings—and yes, he uses a leash on them all to remind you of your place.

He'll wear an open robe—and only that—walking in stride with his cock in hang. And you’ll all kneel for him, in row upon row, as he makes his pick for the evening. Sometimes pointing out a group of three or more for an orgie—other times, singling out just one of you. 

“I created this little pussy—it belonged to me before you ever even came into the world,” he’ll grunt. Fucking your cunt deeply from behind, cockhead cuddling your womb, soon to fill it with his big load—ringed hand pulling that pretty hair you inherited from him, grinning by your ear in huffs and puffs and gross vows, “Gonna breed you, my girl—make you big and round with a pretty sister-daughter or brother-son.”

You cry in disgust, but you don’t dare fight back. It wouldn’t do you any good. Forcing you all to be his little subservient harem of whores is the least of the cruel things he puts you through if you upset him. 

“I’m not just your King—I’m the God that gave you life. You worship me,” he’ll say. “Disobey me, and you’ll face my divine judgment.”

Devine judgment—meaning rope burns, tied up tight and unmoving, allowed no food until you’ve proven your loyalty by making all your fellow half-bloods cum.

Your sisters, in the dozens, will ride your face—while your brothers, two at a time, make full use of both your holes.

And he’ll sit on a throne of blankets and pillows and watch as they all take you—some scared to disobey him and be put in the same position—others equally depraved as him, making a meal of it—each giving you a good slap for not being good children like them.

And that’s how it goes, for hours, until all of them are spent and you—reminded of your place.

♡ BNHA – Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Kenjaku, Sukuna ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma, Muzan ♡ HxH – Chrollo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[bettystonewell]

Whatever This Is

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

You’ve been sleeping with Dean for weeks. You never established what you were doing, just going with the flow, until a vulnerable moment makes for an awkward tangent to ask and find out 2.3k words

Tags/Warnings: fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, miscommunication, menstruation, cramping, embarrassing moment for reader, lil bit of humour, Dean is unfazed and an absolute sweetheart, set somewhere in Season 3

Four AM and you’re freezing your tits off. Miserable. Cramping. You give Dean a petulant pout as he waits patiently on the sidewalk for you. Instant regret when you remember he’s currently the sweetest man on earth, navigating through your wrath in his stride, and doesn’t deserve whatever this is.

It’s not his fault your ovaries are punishing you for another successful thwart at reproduction. Not his fault your body is replicating a thousand knives, stabbing you at once in the same spot, even though you’ve had a dose of tylenol. 

Except it is.

He’s half to blame because he wanted the sex, too. There’s an IUD shoved up in there because you decided long ago that taking the pill was far too risky in this business, and he gets to go in without suiting up thanks to past you. 

You cannot have a kid right now. Not only are you both too young and this is far, far too new, but there’s the little detail about him being sentenced to hell to top things off. And you, stopping at nothing to stop it, when you’re not a whimpering puddle of hormones. 

You’re quite the pair.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He pries your bundle of soiled clothes from your tight grip and offers out his other hand.

“I can manage from here,” you say, but he shakes his head. Pulls you out Baby’s door and through the one belonging to the laundromat, setting you down on the row of chairs in the middle without another word.

He drapes his leather jacket over your shoulders, wrapping you in warmth and whiskey. Sweats, also his, that had hung off your hips, now balloon at your sides.

He’s wearing what he went to sleep in. His hair, still road worn at the back as he feeds your laundry into the machine.  

Your cheeks are warmer. You were all for throwing a tonne of salt on your pjs and lighting them up, but his superhuman powers of simply existing had him rapping on the bathroom door before you’d so much as rinsed the evidence away under the faucet. 

He saunters back over to you and sits down with a groan. Makes a spectacle when he throws his arm over yours and kisses your temple. “You good?” he says, and all you can do is nod. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. S’only natural.”

You lean into him. Let his body further warm yours and your nostrils with the added fruity smell of Tide. “You didn’t bleed all over the place.” 

“Not this time.” He shrugs.

But you’re still not convinced. The blood on the motel sheets didn’t come from your arm or your leg. It came from your hoo-ha, and while he’s right, it’s nothing to be ashamed of because it is perfectly natural. It happened in the same motel room you were sharing with Sam. In the bed you were sharing with Dean. And it happened even though you’d been prepared.

Worst of all, he’d put his hand in it, and while he insisted it wasn’t an issue, you’ve only been sleeping with him for three weeks. Came about after a drunken confession that he was scared shitless ‘bout going to hell, and it kind of stuck. You don’t even know if he is that to you, which makes this ten times worse. 

“Hey.” He nudges you with his hip, squeezes his arm tighter. “We’re busting out of this place today. It’s not like they’ll even remember you if we stay here again.” He tries like that’s the problem.

You know it’s to make you smile, and you appreciate it, you do, but, “That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. 

“Then what is?” 

He releases his hold on you. Leans forward and back at the same time. Finds the angle that works for him and narrows his gaze at you.

Green eyes pierce your mortified ones, because now you have to tell him, ask him, and you’re licking over your lips, trying to moisten them so the words have something to slip on.

You’re an adult. You got this. Asking what you are to him should be the easiest thing in the world, but there’s that stigma that you’re not worthy. Just a little girl who messes up her bed. Drags her guy friend out in the middle of the night to clean up said mess and watches on as he cleans it up. 

“This.” You splay your arm out in front of you. Wave it around the general expanse of the room you’re in. 

“What? The laundromat?”

“No.” It’s not the place you’re pointing out. Not the wall of washing machines ahead, thirteen of them empty, bar that one, top centre, tumbling your clothes through its big barrel. Not the driers on the other wall, just as big. 

It’s the being here with him. Him sitting here with you waiting. Him acting like boyfriend material, when you don’t know where you stand.

“This,” you say. “Us.”

“Me and you?” His brow furrows. Voice normal, because he still doesn’t get it. 

“Yeah. Us.” You exemplify the you-and-him part with your still flailing arm. 

“Me helping you with your clothes is the problem?” He sits up, though you still feel his eyes on you. 

“Yes.” 

Thank god he gets it now. Only, “How?” he’s asking next, and you could shake him. Why do guys have to be so dumb?

Your hand is moving back and forth between you. You’re stretching to sit up and match him, but it’s cramping your cramping and you’re trying desperately to calm yourself down before saying, “We’re just fooling around. But you’re helping me with my period? It’s a little—”

“You think I’m fooling around?” Dean stands, and though he doesn’t turn around, you don’t need to see his face to know he’s angry. His bowed legs are twitching like they do when he gets mad. 

“It’s not like you’ve asked me out,” you say, defensive. His hot-temper and the pain are a little too much to handle together, but it’s also a little too late to back off now. “We haven’t sat down and talked about this.”

“About us?” He turns, jaw cutting the air. Sharp lines cross his whole face, actually. His brows, the crease between them, his lips, and god those are perfect, and you’re about to lose whatever this was that allowed you to touch them. Taste them, and all you can do is nod.

“What were you expecting me to do? Take you out to some fancy five-star restaurant and buy you lobster?”

Your head rocks to the side. Cheeks rising to squish your lashes as you stare back at him and blink through it. If they were warm before, they’re as hot as the heat pack you’d used earlier during the night before all this occurred. 

“Why—”

“Saw it in a movie once,” he says, words coming out the quickest you’ve heard him speak. The usual gruffness dissipated like he’s de-aged a couple of years by simply standing there. “Snails look gross.” 

“Another movie?”

He nods. 

You wanna ask what the hell he’s been watching, but you’re more concerned by his unusual demeanor. His hands are fidgeting, smoothing his sides. His eyes have dropped to the floor and there’s the whole eating shell…fish thing?

“Look at me,” he says next, but you are. 

You’re seeing his tentative step forward. His arms splayed out like he’s showing you something more than what’s there, and that’s when you realise you’re the one that’s dumb. You’re the one that’s not getting it. 

He didn’t fuss once. Didn’t screw up his nose at you when he realised you weren’t hurt from the hunt like he originally thought. And you’re not saying all the men that have ever been in your life have been grossed out by periods and bodily functions, but Dean exceeded whatever expectation and stereotype you had. 

He’d insisted you stay at the motel while he came here for you, but you were too embarrassed to allow that. Too prudish to let the guy who’s seen all of you up close and personal do something even more intimate than even you’d prefer and now he’s standing there suggesting he’s not good enough? 

“I am looking at you,” you say. “Guess I wasn’t before, but I am now.” 

And even though it still cramps your cramps, you’re standing up and walking over to him. Feeling his jacket clip your sides where his sweats have fallen. You’re clinging to his shirt and pulling him in close so you can kiss those lips of his and taste. 

You’d put your all into it, but his hands are hovering at your waist and you know his eyes are wide open, watching. So you lean back, chew on your cheek, smooth the fabric of his shirt back from where your grip scrunched it up, and, “Sorry,” you whisper. You’re not sure what else to do, but what you’re apologising for is lost on you, too.

It’s not like it’s the first time. He’s kissed you plenty, and not just the peck on your forehead minutes earlier. His mouth has touched every inch of your body, and every inch of him has touched yours, so why is this so damn hard now?

Your chin drops like a scolded child. May as well have with the silence between you. Can’t say the same for the room, but the tumbling of the drum is only making things worse because the clicking of your clothes is acting like a countdown for the timer on the machine and whatever he’s going to do next.

Do you say something? Do you wait for him? Your cheek is going to have a hole in it soon if someone doesn’t say something and thank god, or not, his mouth opens to, but, “Forget I said anything,” you cut in. Shake your head and step away from his space. “I should’ve—”

“Would you just shut up?” His voice booms, and great, there’s that gruffness you were missing. 

Your nose tingles from his stare, and you’re opening your mouth again, but the look he gives you? Eyebrows to the heavens, green eyes looking more amber, like they’ve been lit by a flame? Yeah. You close it, chest heaving as you wait and listen.

“I just,” he says, and it’s quieter. “I thought we were on the same page.”

His fingers reach for yours and he pulls you back. If you were on a boat, you’d be dealing with motion sickness right about now, and truly, it’s how your stomach’s fairing. Just adding more to the discomfort of your middle, and why not? You’ve already given Dean a conniption. What’s one more grievance between the two of you?

“I’m no good, sweetheart. I’m going to hell.”

You want to interject with why that is. That it was a selfless act, but his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand, teed with the softness in his voice and the continual ‘I’m talking here’ glare keeps your lips tight. 

“Can’t say I’d be happy if I saw you picking up some other douchebag at the bar. Like to think I’m the only guy that gets to do your laundry. Least until,” he shrugs. Gives you a rueful smile, “y’know?”  

And you do know. You’re swallowing the ache in your throat, waiting just a little longer to make sure he’s finished before you try again. 

You nod, and it’s solemn, slow. You don’t want to think about it, but the truth is there, hanging over both your heads. An elephant in the room who’s laughing at you and your complaints. Where Dean’s going, he’s going to be feeling a lot more than any tylenol could alleviate, and it really puts things in perspective. 

So, “Yeah,” you say, and though you want to add you don’t want to pick up anyone else but him, ever, it’s a little too real, too involved than whatever this thing is now. You’d rather be trying that kiss again, but first you add, “As long as you’re not doing the same.”

“Cross my heart.” His mouth opens wide as he tugs your arm. Pulls you in and plants his mouth over yours.

It steals your breath away. The way he holds you. Wrapping his arms around your torso and squeezing, gentle enough to not cause you anymore discomfort, but present enough to soak in his warmth and solid form.

His tongue clips your teeth, spreads his morning breath and a taste that you know only from him over your lips. 

Your gut calms. The cramps overpowered by the tingles from his nose, his fingers, chin and arms surrounding you, touching you, and you don’t want it to end. 

But Dean lets go, only by a little. His face stays hovering inches from yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“So have I made myself clear?” he asks. Chuckles when you rap his shoulder. His hand lets go and swipes at a strand of hair that’s probably been sticking out since you woke. Tucks it behind your ear.

You’re a bigger mess than you’ve been letting on, but the gesture returns his grin. 

“Not fooling around?” you say, and he repeats it. Places a kiss on your forehead again, and drags you back to the seats. 

His arm wraps around your shoulders once more and your head leans into his. 

Four AM, and you’re no longer freezing your tits off. Cramping? A little, but the pouts, no longer there. There’s a warmth in your cheeks and one in your heart, though, and you’re sitting with the sweetest guy in the world.

You won’t label it. There’s no need. You know he’s hanging around, at least as long as he can. You just gotta find that loophole. Keep him here with you and Sam, and then who knows? 

Maybe one day you’ll leave this life of visiting laundromats at odd hours because you’ll have a place of your own. 

And then, the only red you’ll see will be the one you’re dealing with now, and the shade that crosses Dean’s nose when he says something real and important.

This started out as another idea for Couple Things involving Dean and his red gym teacher shorts, also at the laundromat, but it developed into what it is now. I’ll probably still write the other version as a part two to this eventually.

Dean Taglist #1

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

@redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles @kimxwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @impala67rollingthroughtown

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[sleep-0-deprived]

Yan Cod men x barracks bunny male reader NSFW thoughts~! ૮꒰ ྀི ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ ྀི꒱ა

WC:. 1.8K

Taglist: @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts @gayaristocrat @whatupbishs @dearestlitteleaf @nightshadelover12 @galiadeeznuts @piercing-gaze <33

A/N: these are some personal depraved thoughts of M’ own >:3

Simon ‘ghost’ Riley

Jus thinkin bout Simon usin you like a personal fleshlight tha first time he has ya, his hand grippin your head hard N’ shovin it down into the rough cramped cot of A’ bed. His hips are brutal- fuckin your hole so hard hittin your deepest parts makin ya roll your eyes into the back of your skull. Ya nearly choke on your own tongue when he grounds himself deep into you with his mask pulled up just enough for him T’ shove his face into your neck a leave wet bite marks.

Jus thinkin bout Simon gruntin into your ear all lewd, things so gross N’ vile you’d shiver- tellin you “fuckin good for nothin but a hole T’o use S’ what you are” his accent peakin through. He reaches a rough hand back to hold your chin upwards til your neck hurts N’ you’re all teary eyed. He’s a man so deprived a feral he needs T’ leave you so fucked out that ya full unfulfilled without his cock inside you.

Just thinkin bout Simon who is utterly cruel to your body cause he thinks “you can take it, all ya do is take cock so ya atleast gotta be good at that right?” This man will mock ya. He will pull his cock out once he finishes an leaves ya without cummin simply because your job S’ to get him off. But he won’t let ya leave- nuh-uh. You’re gonna stay a let him hold ya through the night, layin collapsed on top of ya like a big O’l grizzly, his body crushes your but he won’t let ya escape him.

John ‘soap’ Mctavish

Jus thinkin bout soap bein tha most wild of tha men, fuckin ya in the weirdest positions- spread eagle N’ all. Sex with him feels like one real long porno that ya find on some dark sight. He bites ya hard. Not just your neck but your thighs N’ chest too. You’ll have big red marks around both perky nipples from him an tha whole task force knows it was that crazy bastard that left those marks on ya.

Jus thinkin bout soap havin ya bent in half, makin ya hold your knees bent up an spread wide so he can devour ya- he’ll do it in an open space like an old couch in tha base, his hair messy his chin covered in drool. One hand on your cock squeezing it so hard an orgasm can’t leave your swollen tip. You’re a mess- ya hole S’ loose from tha continuous fuckin it takes from tha bulky team, when he does let ya cum he milks em out of ya, load after load hitting yer tummy til you’re coated in your own seed. Your hole sopping like a wet cunt from his tongue while he gives ya back handed compliments. “Look at this pretty cunt, always eager ain’t it?” Or “damn such A’ pretty sight seein ya coated in all these fluids”

Jus thinkin bout havin your face shoved into his armpits— I mean he jus got done from trainin an every time after he’s done with ya, you seem T’ love burying your face in his chest so ya must love his scent right? This S’ his reward for ya- for doin so good In yer new position as Barack’s bunny- now you’re takin in his musk. Revelin around in his scent like some whore an he loves it all. He loves how you crave his smell- how ya like tha scent of him alone- I mean at the end of tha day you only need him- he’ll make sure T’ give ya enough

John Price

Jus thinkin bout John makin ya blow him under his desk after a’ long day- he was goin through hell from dealing with soap N’ ghost am now he jus wanted to unwind, his head tilted back givin tha occasional grunt N’ groan letting the palm of his hand rest on yer head. “Doin so good, you improved since the first time baby” those words egg ya on T’ do better, your tongue lickin under tha head of his heavy cock- right where it was most tender. You were like his fuckin therapy- he was a changed man after a night spent with you.

Jus thinkin bout John makin ya cock warm him while he does paperwork- you ain’t allowed T’ move those perfect hips until he’s done, if ya are good he’ll fuck ya spread open on his desk like A good boy deserves. If ya start gettin all bratty on him an purposefully tease him, clenchin yer hole around his base or buckin yer ass down on him then he’ll wear a condom. He won’t let us feel tha warmth of his seed inside ya- if he’s feelin nice he may let ya beg for him T’ take it off an he just may listen. Oh how he does just love stuffin yer insides plump with his baby batter.

Jus thinkin bout John havin tha nicest aftercare, he’s all sweet N’ tender with yer used up body- he’ll clean ya up N’ chat with ya like he didn’t just ruin you for tha next task force member. He chats on about plans against graves while ya jus lay fucked out N’ still in your own lil daze. Yer rim twitching full of seed with his hairy chest pressed T’ yer back makin sure yer warm under his blankets. He presses sloppy kisses T’ faded bite marks left by tha other men, cooing out in yer ear bout how “they shouldn’t be so rough with ya like that, boy” he speaks like he doesn’t get feral with ya himself !

König

Jus thinkin bout König bein a total perv towards you! It’s always tha quiet ones they say. He’ll steel yer army provided briefs. He’ll fist his cock with em if yer to busy to take him. By far the gentlest of tha men if nothing but cause he fears literally breakin ya. His hips jut forwards fuckin yer boxers til a creamy load stains tha fabric, he imagine your ass or mouth takin tha load. He loves seein his cum on ya, doesn’t really care where jus as long as yer painted in his seed.

Jus thinkin bout König makin ya ride his cock, he’s afraid of actually hurting ya. His cock alone is tha biggest of tha whole bases- everytime ya take it yer tummy bulges all bloated a swollen like yer in tha early stages of pregnancy..he’d like that- he wishes he could knock ya up- make ya his fully..he’d babytrap ya to him if only it was possible. For now his hands rest one on yer hip and tha other on your stomach, pressin down on the bulge inside ya with satisfaction when he sees you cum all over yourself hands free from tha pressure build up of your insides bein caressed by his large member.

Jus thinkin bout König bein a pleasure dom- all he wants as’ to please you a make ya feel so good. He likes cummin but you always come first, literally. He won’t allow his orgasm until he’s made you cum atleast twice. He needs T’ know you got all ya can take before he sends yer body into overdrive from his own pleasure, he’s an awkward man after sex, he wants T’ make sure your ok but he doesn’t like speakin much an tha mask always stays on until he’s been with ya enough times T’ feel fully ok with showin himself T’ you and when he does. That is tha most intimate moment ya have ever had with him. Tha sex that night was more of an act of lovemaking than fucking.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

Jus thinkin bout Gaz bein tha most vanilla with sex, he’s not too rough or too gentle, he’s kind but not sweet- he knows how T’ work yer body an tha sex isn’t borin it’s just tame, he knows what he’s doin am he fucks ya tha most from tha front with one hand on your cock, stroking it in rhythm to his movements

Jus thinkin bout Gaz havin an obsession with yer chest. Oh how he loved T’ jus bury his face in your pecks after a long mission a just lick at tha buds til they were all tender N’ sore to tha touch. He’d suck at em with his hands gripping yer chest. Groping you like his life depended on it- grinding his bulge up against the cleft of your ass “fuck you taste so damn good- mh” he’d groan into the nipple he was nibbling at while his eyes looked at you in a daze.

Jus thinking bout bein in reverse cowgirl on his cock, liftin your ass up and down while he moans behind you nearly out of it from tha pleasure ya were puttin him in- his balls heavy jus ready T’ cum. When he does cum he loves cummin on that pretty lil arch in her back. He loves how his cum runs down the arch an all over yer perfect cheeks. Tha sight is heavenly..it makes his job all tha worth it if it meant he’d get to have time with you.

All of the men together

Jus thinkin bout tha rare occasion, the task force will fuck ya together- takin turns with ya when they all want ya so bad. Pent up from a mission in need of their bunny. You’ll be on your back- cocks surroundin ya to perfectly- price an Ghost between your thighs makin yer hole stretch wide an greedily swallow up the lengths with a bump in yer stomach from each movement, the outline of two cocks are visible but you can’t see- you have Soaps cock in yer mouth makin yer cheeks puff and yer lips wrap around him. Your lashes are coated in sticky cum from Gaz-

Jus thinkin bout both of yer hands used T’ stroke Gaz and König off, their loads shootin all over your chest and even face whenever König pulls his cock from her hand, givin himself a few thrusts an’ aimin at your face as a mark of ownership that made soap growl in anger with his cock down yer throat fuckin it harder until his load floods yer throat, makin ya swallow all tha thick release while he says “he took m’ load inside him first” only edging price and Simon between your thighs fuckin ya so hard your body gets fucked forwards- hand weakly clenching at Gaz’s cock while you pout.

Jus thinkin bout being utterly gone by the time they switch places, yer body coated in copious amounts of cum- it’s all mixed N’ messy an ya can’t tell who’s load was who’s anymore- yer cock weeps between your thighs an yer face S’ coated in your own tears an drool. “C’mon baby- stay with us- give us another” price would say T’ ya while he starts fuckin yer face with ghost in yer hand and soap fuckin between your thighs like a feral dog in rut. Followed by tha slow fucking of König. You could barely move an ya knew they were a long ways from done- they were gone on mission for a’ week! They had a week’s worth of orgasms T’ make up for.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

ANGST!!! pogue gf probably has family issues too, so this is HER chance to give her baby the life she wished she had, but in some ways she’s very wary of rafe actually loving her and thinks that he’s only with her for the baby

༄｡° trust issues - rafe cameron

series masterlist

You’d grown up with nothing but hand-me-downs and hollow promises—parents who fought more than they loved, a mom who left when you were twelve, and a dad who drowned his guilt in cheap beer. The trailer you called home was a rusted cage, walls thin enough to hear every slur and crash of glass from the next room over. You swore you’d never let your kid feel that—never let them know the ache of being unwanted, the sting of a slammed door. Being pregnant with Rafe Cameron’s baby was your shot, your one-way ticket to build something better, something stable. But it came with a catch: Rafe. A Kook prince with a temper and a reputation, who looked at you with those piercing blue eyes and said all the right things. You wanted to believe him—God, you did—but every fiber of you screamed he was only here for the baby, not you. How could he love a Pogue like you, scraped raw from a life he’d never understand?

You sat on the edge of your lumpy mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling of your bedroom, one hand resting on your swollen belly—eight months now, the kicks a constant reminder of what was at stake. The trailer was quiet for once, your dad passed out on the couch with a bottle still clutched in his hand. You’d just gotten off a shift at the Wreck, feet throbbing, back screaming, but you’d tucked another $15 into that mason jar under your bed. “For baby,” you whispered to yourself, like a prayer. It was all for them—the crib you’d seen at the thrift store, the soft blankets you couldn’t afford yet. You’d give this kid everything you never had: a home that didn’t reek of regret, a parent who stayed.

The screen door squeaked, and you tensed. Rafe stepped in, his boots heavy on the warped floorboards, a plastic bag of takeout dangling from his hand. He’d been doing this lately—showing up unannounced, bringing food or random baby stuff like pacifiers you hadn’t asked for. “Hey,” he said, voice low as he glanced at your dad’s snoring form. “You eat yet?”

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes as you stood, wincing at the ache in your hips. “Wasn’t hungry.” A lie. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast—half a granola bar you’d found in your bag—but you hated how he noticed, how he kept trying to take care of you. It felt like a trap, like he was building a case to prove you needed him.

He set the bag on the rickety kitchen table, pulling out a burger and fries, the smell making your stomach growl despite yourself. “Bullshit,” he muttered, pushing it toward you. “You’re eating. You’re carrying my kid, and you look like you’re about to collapse.”

Your jaw tightened, pride flaring. “I’m fine, Rafe. I’ve been handling myself a long time before you showed up.” You didn’t move for the food, even though you wanted to. It was the principle—every bite felt like admitting you couldn’t do this alone, like letting him in deeper than you could afford.

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration etching his face. “Why do you keep doing this? Acting like I’m the enemy? I’m here, alright? I’m trying to—” He cut himself off, exhaling hard. “I see you killing yourself for that jar under your bed, and it pisses me off. You don’t have to.”

You flinched, heat rising in your chest. He’d seen it—course he had, he noticed everything. “That’s for my baby,” you snapped, voice shaking. “Not yours to fix. I’m not some project, Rafe. I’m not gonna let you play house with me just ‘cause I got pregnant.”

His eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, voice dropping low and firm. “You think that’s what this is? Me playing house? That’s my kid too, and you’re—” He stopped, jaw clenching as he looked at you, really looked. “You’re falling apart, and you won’t let me near you. Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you” The words ripped out of you, raw and jagged, tears burning your eyes. “You’re a Cameron. You’ve got money, a big house, a whole life I don’t fit into. I’m just the Pogue chick who got knocked up—why the hell would you want me? You’re here for the baby, and that’s fine, but don’t pretend it’s more than that. I can’t—” Your voice cracked, and you turned away, wiping at your face. “I can’t let myself think you love me. Not when I know how this ends.”

The room went silent, thick with the weight of it. You heard him breathe, slow and heavy, before his hand caught your arm, turning you back to face him. His grip was firm but not rough, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. “You’re wrong,” he said, voice low, almost broken. “I’m not here just for the kid. I’m here for you—have been since that first night we hooked up and you looked at me like I was more than some Kook asshole. You think I don’t love you? I’m a mess over you, and you won’t even see it.”

You shook your head, tears spilling now. “You don’t get it, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stay. My mom left, my dad’s a ghost even when he’s here. I’m giving this baby everything I didn’t have, and I can’t—I can’t let myself need you, because when you go, it’ll break me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pulling you closer, his hands framing your face. “You hear me? I’m not your mom, not your dad. I’m not leaving you or that kid. Yeah, I want our baby to have a good life—better than this shit—” he gestured at the trailer “—but I want you too. I’m pissed because you’re carrying my world in you, and you’re treating yourself like you don’t matter.”

You sobbed, the dam breaking, and he pulled you into his chest, arms tight around you as you shook. “I’m scared,” you whispered against him, the truth spilling out. “I’m so fucking scared.”

“I know,” he murmured, lips pressing into your hair. “But you’re not alone in this. I swear you’re not.” He held you there, the takeout forgotten, your dad’s snores fading into the background, until your breathing slowed and the fear loosened its grip—just a little.

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ⋆˙⟡ est. 2025

[rafeslvbug]

introducing…. nfl!rafe

back to basics!! (physical)

height: 6”3/6”4, type of man to be considerably taller than you and use it to his advantage

build: 220lbs, biceps the size of your head, inverted triangle, lean yet muscular, elbows and knees always scarred despite wearing pads.

age: mid to late 20s, in the prime of his career (quarterback)

looks!! (specific)

tattoos/piercings: one ear pierced on a drunken night out after winning his first superbowl, tattoos scattered up his arms, important dates (your birthday, marriage, children, first and second superbowl)

signatures: always has his team’s cap, wearing it whichever way, it’s a must. doesn’t like jumpers, hates restriction on his arms, tanks and t-shirts are his go to - even in winter. might see him wearing a quarter zip, but the man’s a walking furnace. doesn’t wear his superbowl ring, has it on a chain around his neck instead.

personality

playful: very unserious with you, his son, his family - on the offseason only. the brief months of relaxation is the softest version of him. building forts. food fights. ball in the backyard.

strategic: does this for a living. how to visit each family member without them getting mad/jealous because he went to someone else first. how to get your son to be as good at football as him. how to get your daughter into sports. what order to do chores for the best outcomes - you don’t even understand half of it. watching tv? game of thrones? best believe he’s plotting how to get the iron throne.

protective: his life is in the spotlight, he’s faced stalkers, and paparazzi, hate crimes and people who would want to hurt his family. he’s always on high alert. he’s a designated full body shield when you guys go out, clutching his son’s hand and arm around you while you shield your daughter’s face from the flashes. even at home, away from anyone, he’s protective. no one says a bad word about you, no one hurts his kids at school, it’s the type of thing that makes his heart rate spike through the roof.

competitive: he won’t stand for sluggish behaviour from his teammates, he needs to win, needs to be the best. sports day hates to see him coming - his son does too. pressure on his son to be good at sports which you have to remind him isn’t everything so he eases back.

active: always training. always working. he can be jokey while on his offseason but that doesn’t mean his physique can lose itself. he’s in his prime, he’ll stay that way. if he’s done his exercise? he’ll fix stuff around the house, clean up, do basic chores and turn it into a sprint race, trying to tick them off the list as fast as he can (competitiveness) and then getting restless again. he’ll even make you go for a walk with him, or swing your daughter around in the backyard, maybe play ball with your son.

likes

energy drinks and protein bars. they’re his staple diet inbetween breaks and he can’t fault them, even if he crashes later on - at least it’ll be after the match.

when you cook for him. packed lunches with little sticky notes that he collects while he’s touring. hearty meals at home, daughter picking out all the carrots and giving it to him and son trying to match his eating pace.

reading bedtime stories to your daughter, and telling your son inspiring stories from his career. mundane stuff normal dads do. he likes feeling normal.

seeing you in the family box. respectful fans who love you as much as they love him. the way you run down to the pitch after a big match or even a loss, supporting him no matter what.

when you wear his jersey as pyjamas, lacy underwear underneath and hair all done like you’re going somewhere important. but you’re really only going into his arms.

dislikes

laziness. men on the pitch who give up because they think they’ve lost. they don’t lose until full time.

you receiving any ounce of disrespect from the media, family or kids. you’ve prioritised his career from the very start, supported him throughout, it’s his turn to prioritise you now.

players who cheat on their wives. it happens all the time, and it disgusts him. loyalty is everything.

family & people-specific hcs

you: met in high school, he didn’t go college to fulfil his dream and you went to uni, but graduated and didn’t work, starting a family with him.

– always tells you to work, encourages you to do what you want but you find it too difficult to do so with kids

– pet names for you: sweetheart/cheeks, gorgeous (flirty) baby, wifey & luck (when he’s got a big game)

– pet names for him: big guy (teasing manner), baby, handsome, ray

son: is a little tough on him, expectations to take care of his sister and respect his momma, but if his son knew how much rafe cried when he was first born.

– plays ball with him in the backyard, nurtured him into sports early on and is ever so proud of him.

– names: little man, son (instead of his name), football (because he carries him like one)

daughter: looks like you and he adores her. he might carry his son like a football and rough handle him, but he carries her like she’s gonna break. she’s three years younger than he brother, two years old.

– plays shop or dress up with her. will always attend her tea parties. takes photos of you and her while you’re baking or the first time she attends a match.

– names: little lady (matching her brother), sweet girl, sweetie

[heliosunny]

Hi, can i request for a Yan Mydei with a vampire readerr?? Like how you do with Phainon, but instead the reader is th one who willingly tried to drain all the blood from him not knowing his noble (?) identity

i hav an idea about him, a human, being half dead in near the vampire's house, so they took him in and tend his wounds only for him to find out that theyre keeping him as a food(?) but soon his men will lookout for him and rescue him only for him to come back to reader?? pleasee, i'm craving more mydei x reader from u

Yandere!Prince Mydei x Vampire!Reader

You hadn't fed in days. The moment the aroma reached you, you moved instinctively, the forest around your manor blurring as you followed the trail.

A man lay slumped against a mossy boulder, his cloak soaked crimson. A sword wound tore through his side, and arrows pierced his thigh and shoulder. Yet even on death’s edge, he clutched a bloodied dagger.

He didn’t even flinch when you knelt beside him.

“…Are you Death?”

You didn’t answer.

His blood smelled divine, so you brought him home.

You licked the blood from his skin to close his wounds, fed sparingly to preserve his strength. But you didn’t know who he was.

If you know anything about the royal family, you’ve heard of Prince Mydei—the second-born son, abandoned and cast aside by his own kin. His elder brother, consumed by envy, could not bear the way the nobles whispered of Mydei’s talents, his striking looks, or the loyalty he inspired. So, in the shadows, the crown prince sent assassins to silence him forever. And you—you wouldn’t be foolish enough to save him.

He survived.

Now, he’s recovering in your manor, watched over by you, his mysterious savior. You think he’s a lost traveler.

But every time you bring him food, every time you touch his skin to check his healing wounds, his eyes follow you with such intensity.

“You saved me... Why?”

“Didn’t want the blood to go to waste.” you said flatly. “You’re a walking feast.”

You started walking toward him, your steps silent on the wooden floor. “I figured I’d patch you up. Let you ripen a little.”

“…Meal?” His brows knit faintly.

You reached the edge of the bed and tilted your head.

His eyes widened. He tensed as your legs straddled his hips, your body sliding over his. “I’m a vampire” you whispered, your breath brushing his throat. “You didn’t figure it out from the whole ‘blood licking’ thing?”

“You—” His voice faltered as your fingers brushed back his hair.

“Don’t worry” you said, “I won’t take too much.”

Then your lips pressed to his neck, and your fangs sank in.

His body jolted beneath you, fingers clutching the sheets. A hundred years of hunger wouldn’t have prepared you for the taste of him.

He tried to speak—maybe to resist, maybe to beg—but his strength was fading fast.

Moments later, he slumped beneath you.

You pulled back, licking the blood from your lips. “Tch… You’re weak” you muttered, brushing his hair away from his dazed face. “That’s no fun.”

You slid off him and leaned back lazily against the pillows, watching his chest rise and fall.

When he woke up, the room was quiet.

He looked around—but you weren’t there.

Only a neatly folded note sat on the table nearby, beside a tray of food.

"Eat. Don’t bleed out again."

That was all.

The days passed in fragments.

You were never home when he awoke. Just more notes. More food. Sometimes an extra bandage, a cloth soaked in herbs. Sometimes silence.

By night, he’d wait for the sound of the door—only to find you passing through like a shadow. You’d glance at him, then head to another room as if he didn’t exist.

He started trying to stay awake longer. He sat on the bed, waiting. But every time, you’d return late, and sleep always claimed him before you came close.

And so, it continued.

Until one evening.

You opened the door to his room just before sunset. He was pretending to be asleep again.

But this time… you stayed to check.

He was healing well. The color had returned to his face.

You turned to leave, but his eyes fluttered open. He didn’t say anything—but there was something burning in them.

The next day, for once, you didn’t disappear.

You stood by the wall, arms folded, watching as he quietly ate the food you left him.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth slowly, then looked up.

“…You’re leaving again?”

“I have things to do.”

His fingers brushed your sleeve, “Wait.”

You stopped.

Glanced back over your shoulder.

“Don’t be too kind” you warned, stepping back toward him with a gleam in your eyes. “People might take advantage of that.”

But he didn’t move when you leaned in.

Didn’t flinch when your hand brushed his neck.

Didn’t even blink when you straddled him again, your fingers tilting his chin up.

“Like me.”

Your fangs sank in without hesitation.

He gasped, but… there was no struggle. His hands gripped your arms. He held you closer.

-----

You smelled the fever before you even stepped into his room. His blood was boiling in his veins, you cursed under your breath.

“That’s what happens when you feed a vampire and let them treat you like a wineskin.”

You soaked a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, fingers brushing his cheek.

“…You better not die on me now.”

Still, even in his fevered sleep, he leaned into your hand.

You left before sunrise, locking the door behind you.

He wouldn’t wake for hours anyway.

You needed medicine, food… and answers.

Because last night, in town, you overheard the whispers.

A prince gone missing. Not just any prince—the second one. The one the crown prince had always seen as a threat. Rumors swirled that it was a staged accident… or an ambush.

That night, under the veil of darkness, you paid the palace a visit.

Not through the front gate, of course.

The crown prince slept alone, golden rings on his fingers, a goblet still full on the bedside table.

He woke to the press of cold fingers on his throat.

And before he could scream—

Later, you pulled back with a disgusted snarl and spat into his sheets.

“Yuck.”

He was unconscious before he even realized what you were.

By the time you returned, it was nearly dawn again.

You opened the door silently, the faint light of your lantern casting golden warmth across the room. Mydei was still resting—sweating less, breathing evenly, his fever finally passed.

You sat beside him and rested the basket of supplies on the floor.

That prince’s blood left a foul taste in your mouth. You needed something real to wash it out.

You climbed back on top of Mydei, easing your weight onto him like you had before.

“…You came back…”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Had to rinse the taste of garbage from my mouth.”

He didn’t understand what that meant.

But he let you drink.

Even now, just barely recovered—he offered himself to you willingly.

And you took it.

--------

You swore humans were something else.

Even after all the times you'd sunk your fangs into him, draining his strength and leaving him dizzy with fever, he still flinched and blushed like some sheltered maiden every time you barged in.

Like this morning.

You pushed open the door without a word—just to check on him—and there he was, mid-change, shirt halfway over his head.

You stared.

He turned crimson.

You rolled your eyes.

“Relax,” you muttered. “Not like I haven’t seen more than that while drinking you dry.”

He didn’t respond. Just yanked his shirt down and sat at the edge of the bed, trying to hide the fact he couldn’t meet your eyes.

That should’ve made your appetite wane, but—if anything—it deepened the hunger.

You tilted your head, watching him. His heartbeat was steady again. But your instincts warned you: he was still recovering. Your “walking blood supply” wasn’t ready for another feast just yet.

Ugh.

But you couldn’t have him dropping dead. Not yet. Not when he’d just started tasting good again.

So you spent the afternoon rummaging through your old tomes—dusty, brittle, half-forgotten until now.

And finally, you found one.

A rare herb. Said to regenerate blood thrice as fast. Strengthen the body. Even make the blood sweeter over time.

Perfect

Without delay, you threw on your cloak and grabbed your satchel.

But just as you stepped toward the door, Mydei called out behind you, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re leaving?”

You paused.

“…Yeah.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere far. I’ll be back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You smirked, tugging your cloak tighter. “You’ll slow me down. Besides, I’ve got others to feed on if needed.”

That shut him up.

As the door shut behind you, the air in the house turned heavy.

And Mydei sat back on the bed, “…Others, huh…”

He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t.

But still… Why did it hurt so much to hear?

The journey was brutal.

The herb grew deep within a cursed forest, guarded by illusions and creatures that hated anything living—or undead. You battled through fog that whispered in your ears, creatures that clawed at your cloak, mud that swallowed your boots, and shadows that tried to rip your senses apart.

But you made it.

You clutched the herb in your hand like a trophy.

It was worth it.

You knew what this herb meant: he would recover faster, grow stronger, become yours for longer. And maybe, just maybe… you wouldn’t have to hold back next time you fed.

The thought made your blood stir.

The second you stepped inside your house, the door slammed behind you with a loud click.

Mydei stood there.

You noticed the fine magic thread strung across the floor. The faint shimmer of runes etched on the walls. The scent of crushed herbs—some of yours—burned into a faint ward.

Your brows rose.

“…You little snake.”

“You were gone for three days”

You raised the herb lazily. “Brought you a gift, didn’t I?”

He didn’t even glance at it.

“You lied,” he muttered, “You said you had others to feed on.”

“Jealous, are we?”

“I’m not,” he said. “I just thought I owed you a proper welcome.”

Your grin grew sharp.

“Well,” you said, shrugging off your cloak. “You’ve got my attention now.”

You took a single step forward—

And the trap flared beneath your feet.

Your knees buckled slightly as the energy locked your limbs.

“Sit”

You had to obey.

He stood tall in front of you, finally holding the upper hand—or so he thought.

“I’ll give you what you want” Mydei said, “My blood. But from now on, only under my conditions.”

You watched him. His pride warring with the way his pulse sped up just standing this close to you. You could smell the heat in his blood.

It made your mouth water.

“And what conditions,” you drawled, “does my little hostage offer?”

“No biting unless I allow it,” he said firmly. “No sneaking into my room.”

You snorted. “You think you get to own me now?”

He stepped closer. “I want to. If you’ll let me.”

So you waited until he was close enough.

You leaned in.

He thought you were accepting his terms.

You smirked faintly, the crushed herb still between your cheek and tongue. You whispered against his lips:

“Too slow.”

And kissed him. He gasped.

And you took that moment to shove the bitter herb down his throat with your tongue.

His eyes widened as he instinctively swallowed, choking slightly at the sharp, earthy taste.

You grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm upward—mouth pressing into the soft skin just above his inner elbow. The vein there thrummed like music beneath your lips.

You bit.

Harder than usual.

“You—cheated—” he managed to whisper.

You sucked deep, your hand gripping his waist to keep him from falling.

Then finally, when his legs wobbled and his breathing hitched—you pulled away.

“You’ll thank me,” you said coolly. “That herb’s going to make you stronger than ever. You’ll be able to handle so much more of me.”

“...You're insane” he whispered, half in awe, half in breathless disbelief.

You smiled.

“Maybe.”

Then you pushed him onto the floor.

“I hope you recover fast. Because next time, I’m not going to stop until I’ve had all of you.”

----

You expected that herb to make him recover quicker—he should’ve been bouncing back, your little blood bag practically glowing with vitality by now.

But the bite on his arm was still healing.

The skin was bruised. No signs of the usual quick regeneration. It had been days.

You squinted at it when he wasn’t looking.

Something wasn’t adding up.

“…Can you reach the top shelf?” you asked lazily.

Mydei, ever eager to be helpful, nodded and moved to stand on his toes—stretching upward, fingers brushing the jars of dried herbs.

His back was to you.

A perfect moment.

Quietly, you slipped behind him, eyes locking on the side of his neck.

No.

Too obvious.

Your gaze dropped lower—to the soft skin between his shoulder blades. Covered just barely by the loose hem of his shirt. An untouched spot.

Your lips parted.

And you bit.

“Ah—!” he jolted, hands smacking into the shelf as jars clinked loudly. “W-What the hell?!”

You hummed around the flesh, holding him in place with your grip on his hips. It was a small bite, shallow. You drank just a little. Enough to taste the faint herbal sweetness still lingering in his blood.

“Y-You can’t just bite me out of nowhere—!”

“Shh”. You pressed two fingers to the bite, watching intently.

The skin was already sealing.

Interesting.

“So it’s not the herb…”

“H-Huh?”

You leaned back against the wall, licking your thumb as your mind turned.

“It’s the spot,” you said aloud, more to yourself than to him. “Or maybe the duration.”

He blinked at you, shirt half-fallen down his shoulder, flustered and confused. “What are you—?”

“The longer I suck from the same place…” You stepped forward again, “The more damage it takes. The slower it heals.”

He backed up against the shelf.

“That’s why your arm still looks like a bruised peach.”

“You could’ve just asked me to—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you murmured, dragging your finger across the newly bitten spot. “But this… this opens up options.”

You leaned closer, lips brushing his ear.

“I’ll just have to find fresh spots each time.”

-----

It wasn’t just you who changed.

At first, Mydei had flinched. Shied away. Hid the marks under layers of cloth and half-hearted glares.

But lately…

You noticed the shift.

He no longer yelped when you leaned in. He stopped trying to cover the bites. And sometimes—just sometimes—when your teeth sank into his skin, he’d lean in ever so slightly.

He wanted more of that.

So when you were away one night, he found the old alchemy book tucked behind your things. Inside were potions, ingredients, little scrawled notes in the margins.

And one page caught his eye.

Bloodlust Enhancer.

A simple potion. Nothing too suspicious—just enough to heighten a vampire’s thirst.

He read it again.

And again.

You’d scribbled “dangerous if used frequently” beside it.

He smiled.

And started brewing.

The next evening, you returned to your cozy hideaway.

He greeted you with a smile, already in the kitchen. “You look like hell” he said gently, offering you a mug of warm tea.

You took it with a scoff. “I am hell.”

You sipped.

Bitter.

Spiced.

Sweet.

Your brows twitched, but you brushed it off. A taste like honey and heat hit your tongue, warming your throat as it slid down.

He watched you closely.

And, deliberately, he adjusted his shirt.

It slid lower across his collarbone.

And when he reached for a book, the hem of it rose, revealing the pale skin of his side.

You didn’t even notice you’d stepped closer.

Didn’t realize how badly your body wanted it until your fingers curled in his shirt and you pressed your lips to his skin, just above his ribs.

He gasped, already bracing for the bite.

You didn’t even warn him.

Your eyes rolled shut as a growl built in your throat.

His knees buckled.

He gripped the shelf behind him. His own breath stuttered from the pleasure of it.

He trembled beneath you, fingers twitching against your back.

“…What the hell was that?” You said after regaining your consciousness.

You didn’t see the empty vial hidden beneath the shelf behind him.

-----

It happened one night, after a particularly long feed.

“Make me a vampire.”

You blinked at him, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. “What?”

“I want to be like you.”

You sat back, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re delirious.” You stood, brushing your hair out of your face. “You wouldn’t survive the transition. And even if you did, I’m not interested in making a mini-me.”

He sat up, “Then what am I to you?”

You glanced back at him with a flat stare. “My walking blood supply. You’re cute when you blush, and I like the taste of your blood. That’s all.”

You didn’t stay to see how his expression cracked.

He waited until you left again. For herbs, or ingredients—some errand that gave him just enough time to sneak away.

He didn’t take much. Just his coat and a hidden pendant he’d stuffed away in a drawer weeks ago.

It didn’t take long to find his men. They were still searching the outskirts.

“Your Highness!” one of them gasped, “You’re alive—! The crown prince said—”

“Don’t mention him” Mydei said coolly. “I have no intention of returning to that snake’s court.”

“But—”

“I found someone.” He looked off into the woods, where the path to your hideout lay shrouded in shadows. “Someone I’m staying for.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances.

“I need you to… hurt them.”

“Not kill, of course. And they’ll come to me.”

Silence followed.

------

The world spun.

Branches clawed at your clothes as you stumbled through the forest, your vision blurring.

Blood seeped down your side.

They came out of nowhere. You didn’t have the strength to fight all of them, not in your current state. You barely escaped with your life.

By the time you reached your door, your knees buckled. You nearly collapsed against the frame—but you dragged yourself inside.

“Mydei—”

He was already running out from the back room.

You didn’t even speak.

You just grabbed him.

Pushed him back, pinning him to the nearest surface. Your hands shook as you shoved his shirt up.

And your fangs sank into the skin just above his hip.

Your nails dug into his sides as your lips sealed over the bite, drawing blood like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

And he felt it.

Something was different this time.

Your fangs hit deeper, and something in him responded.

By the time you finally pulled away, he was pale and shaking, his hands gripping onto your shoulders to stay upright.

“You…” you panted, still leaning into him. “Your blood… feels different.”

“So do you.”

You stared at each other for a moment.

----

You were resting for once—deep in sleep, finally letting your body heal.

Mydei sat nearby, a book open on his lap though his eyes never moved along the lines. His senses were buzzing.

Every crackle of the fire. Every heartbeat from the forest outside.

He could still feel the echo of your fangs in his body, the lingering euphoria bleeding into something else.

He heard it then.

Crunch.

A twig snapped outside.

His head snapped up.

Footsteps—three, maybe four.

He was on his feet before he realized it.

The knock came a second later.

“Your highness?” a voice called. “We heard word from the village—someone saw you. We’re here to bring you back.”

They were here to take him.

He opened the door slowly. The men looked relieved at first, two stepping forward.

“Your highness, we feared the worst—”

He grabbed the first one by the throat.

The second man barely had time to draw his blade before Mydei was on him, sucked his blood dry.

Their blood filled his mouth— but it tastes like nothing.

The third man turned to run. Mydei caught him before he made it ten feet from the door.

It was over within minutes.

He stood alone outside your home, blood staining his hands, the corpses of loyal men crumpled around him.

He wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, and when he stepped back inside, closing the door quietly, he looked toward your sleeping form.

No one could ever take him from you—not when he’d rather die than leave your side.

[finsplurtz]

i want to touch puppet scara so bad pls waiter

puppet scara & sex

“I’m not capable of feeling those…. disgusting desires you people get.” Scara, once again, shut down your ideas of wanting to make him feel good.

he was a puppet. and fully convinced he wouldn’t feel any type of pleasure from any kind of sexual act. 

Having fingers shoved up his ass was not how he expected things to turn out. There was a small argument in which you probably won after saying “you’re scared I’ll make you feel heavenly.”

He hates being wrong.

Just to prove to you that he wasn’t easy, here he was on your guys shared bed, legs propped open as he watching you finger him. Sure it stung a little but, it was definitely not the feeling you were striving for.

He’d let out dramatic sighs of boredom as you stretched him out, poking his walls here and there. There were small occasions where he’d flinch when you hit a certain spot, you’d try to keep stimulating it but he’d kick you and say it hurt. 

He had a look of pure disgust looking at your aching cock, dying to be inside him. This was all just to prove a point. “I’ll turn around, that way I don’t have to see your ugly face.” You just shrugged in response as he got in his doggy position. 

Slowly pushing your tip into his tight entrance, he gripped the sheets at the pain of being stretched even more. How could this ever feel good to anyone?? All he’s felt is crazy stinging from being opened like this. You gave him some time to adjust, you were a little more than half way in, maybe you’ll hold off going in all the way for today…

You begin to thrust in and out of the smaller, your bigger hands easily dragging his hips on your cock. The feeling of feeling so full really itched the puppet’s brain. His mouth fell open when your cock hit that certain spot, once again. He rested his head on the pillow in front of him, arching his back some more.

You thrusted quicker and rougher, paying close attention to the guy underneath you who was biting his lip to stifle any noises. His face getting a bit pink the more you stared at him. You brought your hand down to grip his jaw. “Careful, you’ll pierce yourself if you keep biting yourself like that. Don’t be ashamed~” You tease grinning, his eyebrows furrowed, you were really pissing him off. 

“Fucking.. get on with iT—“ He had pushed himself back on you, fulling taking your cock which was nicely presses against his prostate. A pathetic moan left his mouth, his eyes widening. 

“Oh shit- you good?” You check up, too scared to move in or out, staying right there but the tightness was making your cock twitch inside him, driving him all the more insane. 

His arms gave out on him quickly, he didn’t say anything. “…..can I … move…” You ask hesitantly. He only made a humming noise in response, staring at the wall in a daze. You slowly pull out and go back in, this time all the way in. Scara couldn’t help but roll his eyes back, a knot forming in his stomach, you went back to your quick pace noticing no noises being heard underneath you. Was he biting himself again? 

You pulled out and scoffed, flipping him on his back, you paused at the sight of blood dripping out of his mouth, a small amount of tears leaving him. He gave you an annoyed look. You huffed out a laugh before roughly kissing, licking up the blood he drew from himself. You re entered him, grabbing his smaller cock and stroking as you fucked into him. 

He moaned into the kiss like a whore, his sharp teeth biting on your tongue occasionally. Your huge cock kept grinding against it, the pleasure flowing through his whole body, it had his back arching off the bed, hands gripping your hair. You pulled back to see his face, it looked like porn and it turned you on so bad..

“Look at you…. gonna make you go cock drunk.” He whines in annoyance at your dirty talk, you have his eyes rolling back, he’s drooling and moaning without a care in the world. After long enough, he starts to beg for more, beg for your cock to keep drilling inside him. He’s cum so much, the sheets are nasty but he just can’t get enough. Put your big cock to use and stuff his tummy just how this puppet likes it.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

STAY WITH US

this oneshot can be read as a standalone.

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME (PT. 2 HELAENA'S TURN)

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader x helaena targaryen

word count: ~2.7k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of death of a child, mentions of blood, light cursing

a/n: so i lied, so sorry, my apologies, remember how i said i wanted this part to be smut? well it didn't happen. in the end it didn't seem right because these oneshots originated form a place of care and comfort [not horniness like usual]

that being said i am open to doing a series of small oneshots based on their relationship that are more spicy because regardless it lives rent free on my brain and i'd love to share the pervertedness they'd get up to. also i've never written a threesome and that seems like a good writing exercise.

hope you like this oneshot. it's really sweet and when i was thinking of what else to do with them it simply clicked. my only wish is for it to have the same comfort provoking feeling as the other two. while this little series was written as a way for me to feel better about these characters it makes me happy to know it served the same purpose for a lot of you guys. also this was my first time writing for HoTD and you're all so nice ;) THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE.

enjoy!

Without Jaehaerys by her side, his twin sister Jaehaera must adjust to being alone. Her lifelong playmate is gone, and now she ought to find her place as an only child.

The silver-haired girl restlessly jumps through different activities, searching for the one that will entertain her long enough without company. It is difficult because each time she successfully gets distracted, she turns to catch her brother's attention, only to find he's no longer there.

Queen Helaena watches her as she stitches together a new embroidery piece for a dress. The Queen spent her days with both her children, but now that one of them is gone, she spends nearly every waking moment with her daughter. Observing. Protecting. Alert.

"The three-headed dragon shall rise once more," Helaena mumbles under her breath. The maids ignore her mumblings. The Queen's words don't make sense half the time.

A squeal of delight from her daughter prompts the needle to pierce Helaena's finger and a bead of blood forms at the pad of it. Looking up, she finds you picking up Jaehaera and kissing her chubby cheeks. The girl is enamored by her cousin and the attention you provide.

"Good morrow, 'Laena," you brightly greet her, setting down Jaehaera and sitting by her on the floor. "Have you broken fast yet?"

Helaena places a hand in yours as a greeting and nods kindly, assuring you she's been eating all her meals. At times, her appetite turns into nausea as glimpses of her dead son invade her senses, but she tries fighting through it.

She closes her eyes and thinks of anything else—primarily you. You who distract her and treat her with such care without judgment of her eccentricities. It's odd how she's caught herself multiple times seeking your approval.

As Helaena returns to her stitching, Jaehaera bounces over and falls into your arms. "I wish for my hair to be like yours."

"Allow me, Princess," Jaehaera's nursemaid intervenes. She does not wish to be seen as lazy and incapable of her job to care for the children.

The small Princess holds tightly onto you, hiding her face on your chest as she settles on your lap. "No, I want my cousin to do it. She's a Princess, and I want Princess's hair."

You giggle at her words and gesture to the nursemaid that it's alright. "Come on, sweet girl, sit," you coo, positioning her in front of you.

One of the maids hands you a hairbrush, and you begin your work. As a Princess, your hair is mostly styled by your maids, but every lady should know how to style it appropriately.

"You're such a pretty girl, Jaehaera. Did you know that?" You talk to distract her from squirming too much. She's an impatient little thing, like her father.

Jaehaera giggles sound throughout the room. She hasn't laughed like that since her brother died. It brings a sad smile to Helaena's lips.

"You're prettier," Jaehaera whispers bashfully, her cheeks a healthy hue of pink.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You're much more beautiful. Do you know why?"

Jaehaera shakes her head, causing you to hold tightly onto the intricate plaits you're weaving in her hair. You inadvertently smile at her benightedness.

"Because you look just like your mummy, and she's very beautiful, and she's a Queen," you gasp lightly, creating a tone of excitement in your voice.

Although she's kept her nose down while stitching, Helaena's cheeks burn just as brightly as her daughters. Your words continue to flatter her. You have a way with words that can make even the most ordinary of townsfolk feel special.

With a small, excited gasp, Jaehaera asks, "Will I be Queen one day?"

"There's always a possibility," you hum, pining the remaining plait into her hair. It is hard to explain the complexities of succession and legacy to a child when there is a current war debating that same subject. "All done, go over to the mirror."

"She adores you," Helaena sighs as she watches her daughter fawn over her new hairstyle.

"And I, her. She's the sweetest girl ever."

Helaena turns to look at you and sees the soft smile gracing your lips. Your eyes then catch hers, and your smile broadens. It makes her wonder what her life would be like if you were not around. How would she have dealt with her emotions?

"I must go, but can you come to my bedchambers tonight? There is a matter I must discuss with you," Helaena says timidly, casting aside her embroidery.

"As you wish, my Queen." You can't fault her for preferring to speak in the depth of the night when the castle sleeps, and there are no wandering eyes to pass judgment.

It gives Helaena whiplash when you effortlessly switch from calling her name to calling her 'my Queen.' She rather enjoys both terms, especially when you call her yours.

Helaena bids you farewell with a kiss on the cheek, blissfully unaware of its effect on you. Such displays of affection are not rare in court, but lately, their significance has changed for you, as Helaena has never been one to indulge in court etiquette when it involves physical touch.

When the sun has disappeared over the horizon, and the castle has quieted down, you make your way to the Queen's bed chambers.

You have always been inclined to stay in the shadows, where it's safe. You are a sheep amongst a den of wolves, and if you draw too much attention to yourself, danger will follow.

You have failed so far, considering you enjoy the company of the King and Queen. Grief unexpectedly brought you together and made your bond steadfast, but wherever Aegon and Helaena go, watchful gazes follow, thus making you part of the spectacle as well.

Otto and Alicent Hightower are taking the reins of this unnecessary war, but you feel safe under Aegon's and Helaena's careful watch. You believe they will protect you from any danger coming from within the castle walls, at the very least.

You're doing your mother a great disservice as you strengthen the bond of the King and Queen. The ache of losing a child will forever remain in their hearts, and waves of pain continue to crash, but that thick fog of grief that was cast upon them has slowly started to lift, thanks to you.

Pushing open the door to Helaena's bedchambers, you step into the room. It's well into the night, and the candlelight illuminates the room. You stumble over your steps when you notice Aegon and Helaena standing close together as if they were about to kiss.

"My apologies, your graces. I believed the Queen to be alone," you bow your head, red painting your cheeks. It's a gesture that originates from embarrassment rather than submissiveness.

"Do not apologize. We wished to speak to you," Aegon speaks, beckoning you deeper into the room.

He offers you a goblet of wine, which you accept gracefully to alleviate the dizzying wave of nerves you're feeling. You've never been alone with Aegon and Helaena. People have always been around, and up to a fortnight ago, they barely spoke to one another.

The ruling couple sought your counsel regarding their marriage, recognizing you as an intermediary. You offered your advice to the best of your abilities, considering you have yet to marry.

With time and encouragement, they reached out to each other for comfort. Piece by piece, they were able to speak and share the emotions that troubled them. Nonetheless, they kept you closer than ever.

You're the calm amidst the storm.

You take a drink of the sweet wine to busy yourself. Helaena and Aegon stand side by side, his hand on the small of her back as Helaena plays with her fingers. They're backlit by the fire burning by the fireplace. It casts a warm glow over their figures, making the situation seem much more intimate. You're certainly intruding.

"We wish to thank you for everything you've done for us recently," Helaena breaks the creeping silence. She's just as nervous as you are, if not more.

"Helaena and I have been thinking about how to repay you for your generosity," Aegon continues, staring intently back at you to gauge your reaction to his words. He's afraid of reading you wrong and fucking things up—like he usually does.

You instantly shake your head, "As I said before, there is no need-"

Helaena's following words cause silence to befall as you stare back at them in surprise. A sort of surprise they cannot read. "We wish to wed you," Helaena blurts nervously, her fingers twisting together.

This is not a moment to speak in riddles. Helaena is fully aware of the situation before her and wishes nothing more than for you to stay by their side, no matter the cost.

For once in her life, she hasn't felt lonely in the castle. She has an ally she can trust and confide in.

You've been the subject of Aegon and Helaena's conversations for numerous nights. At first, it was difficult to understand that they both held deep affection towards you while caring for each other. They debated for a long time about what to do about it and they agreed on one thing wholeheartedly—you only deserved the best.

Then, it came to Aegon.

He's named after Aegon' The Conqueror' Targaryen. The King took over the seven kingdoms with his sister wives by his side.

A simple Valyrian tradition would solve their dilemma while strengthening his claim to the throne. It's poetic, a part of history being re-enacted.

"Pardon?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. You stare back at them with wide eyes as they jump from Aegon to Helaena and back to Aegon.

The goblet in your hand lightly shakes along with your hand. You place it on a nearby table, afraid of spilling it. Surely, you misheard.

"Our affection grows greater day by day. More than we ever thought possible," Helaena confesses, desperately reaching for your hand.

Your gaze falls on Aegon to seek his opinion, and he nods in agreement. There is not much to say. You have proved yourself valuable to them in a way that is much too important. You serve to keep them sane and emotionally stable. A feat no one has cared to accomplish before.

You do not use Aegon as a puppet or manipulate him to achieve sinister goals on behalf of his name, much like the rest of the court does. Those people only care for power, even if they break Aegon piece by piece. They destroy him while you take the time to pick up the pieces and put him back together.

"Such drastic actions must not be taken. I merely offered you comfort when you needed it because I care for you both," you stutter, pressing a hand to your forehead. All of a sudden, the room is warm, and a layer of perspiration forms on the back of your neck.

Aegon grunts and approaches you, cupping your face in his palms, "That is precisely why we wish to do this. You have cared for us like no one has before, including ourselves. You planted yourself in our souls, and now we cannot let you go lest we go insane. If you do not feel the same, say it, but do not lie to us."

His tone is firm, yet he cannot disguise the pleading behind it. He's never wanted something as much as he wants you.

"I-" Your palms ghost over the top of his.

It is all too much. The prospect of being wed looms over your head like a threat. Otto Hightower will have no qualms about using your lack of a husband as a war strategy. It should not be his decision in the first place, but it is out of your hands as you're considered a prisoner to him.

You would be a liar if you said you did not reciprocate their feelings. They've been present for a while now, it is why comforting them comes so easily to you. Seeing them hurt only pains you.

With this new opportunity, you will no longer be used. You will not be sold to some old lord in the countryside for the gain of a few hundred men. You would be protected.

Most importantly, you will marry a man and a woman who love you. Yes, they are broken, but with you by their side, they will thrive and rise to the occasion.

Aegon's lilac eyes beg you to accept their proposal. "I feel emotions I thought impossible. They are confusing and overwhelming, but they are real," you admit.

Relief floods over Aegon, and he can't help but release a sigh of relief. He presses his forehead against yours, whispering a silent thank you to the old gods and the new.

"Will you become our wife? Our lifelong companion?" Helaena asks, coming up behind you. You feel her breath on your neck as she leans her head on your shoulder.

One word is enough to respond. One simple word will change your life. For good or bad is to be determined.

"Yes," you breathe, reaching for her hand. The smile on Aegon's lips and Helaena's giggles in your ear make it all worth it.

Aegon needed to do things right so no one could argue against your union. He contacted the Septon himself, and only a day later, after his proposal, the Valyrian ceremony took place.

He clearly instructed his guard and the Septon that they must not tell anyone, or there would be consequences.

The ceremony is quick and private amongst the gardens of the Red Keep. You wear the traditional red and gold robes and headpieces that match Aegon's.

A red dragon decorates the front of your garb, matching Helaena's golden one on her dress. She stands to the side with a faint smile, Jaehaera clinging to her dress.

Aegon carefully cuts your lip with the dragon glass. As blood surges to the surface, he presses his thumb to the cut and later spreads it across your skin. You repeat the same on his lips, staring apologetically back at him, yet the burning pain does not compare to the pain he's felt before. It's almost pleasurable as he takes in the symbolism of the gesture.

Cutting your palms, you let the blood that will bind you together for eternity fall onto the goblet. You lock eyes with Aegon as you take a drink from it, passing it to him a moment later.

He was not raised surrounded by Targaryen customs, but he has a new deep appreciation for them. The ceremony is deeply intimate as they share the blood that will mark them as one.

With a couple of final words, the Septon concludes the ceremony and with the knowledge that you are entirely theirs, Aegon crashes his lips against yours.

Aegon stayed firm in his words. He did not wish to sully your name, so he waited until the moment was right. The reward is much too sweet.

It is the first time you've shared a kiss with Aegon, and it is unlike anything you've felt before. In the past, you've snuck kisses in dark corners of the Red Keep, but none have ever kissed you with the intensity Aegon has to offer.

Helaena approaches your tangled embrace, and as you resurface for a breath, she presses her much more delicate lips on yours. The kiss is so different yet the same simultaneously. The intent behind it is identical while the pace is slower and sultrier.

Yours and Aegon’s blood coats her lips and it’s as if she also partook on the ceremony. Your heart beats intensely inside your chest but you’re happy.

Finally, you three are bonded, destined to stay together for eternity.

Jaehaerys will forever be missed. His life has become a mystery; Aegon and Helaena will never see it fulfilled. But in this tragedy, the gods were kind to Aegon and Helaena and provided a new person to love, cherish, and join their family.

were you expecting a good old throuple situation? eh, eh (pretend i'm wiggling my eyebrows and nudging your side with my elbow). im just saying she's perfect for their little dysfunctional family and the drama it will create with the Hightowers and Targaryens? immaculate.

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and gushing about hel and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

[spatialwave]

high, high, i'm so high.

➸ pairing: thanos/choi su-bong x fem!reader ➸ ask: "aaaaa since you're taking requests then could you please write a thanos x reader including a reader who's just as flashy as him in terms of looks? (i mean something like dyed hair or piercings but anything else can go too!!) thank you!!" ➸ word count: 2k words ➸ tags: semi-nsfw, drug use, kissing, mostly dialogue, thanos wants reader so bad, lol. ➸ notes: tysm for asking! will likely expand this into another nsfw chapter, hehe. title from "High High" by GD&TOP.

part 2 ->

The games were bullshit. You weren’t sure why you ever made that call to join. The feeling of dried blood on your face was one that you could happily go without feeling ever again. Still, you voted to stay because the money poured into that hanging glass pig was far too enticing to ignore. To take home 45.6 billion won would be a dream—you could move like you always wanted. Pay off your and your mother’s debts, travel the world, and never look back at your old life.

Though you weren’t the only person with the same dreams, about half of the current players were just as hungry for the money as you. It would be tough, but you knew were certain you could make it—the first game was child’s play.

You sat on the edge of your bunk, the lowest in the row, and you toyed at your tongue piercing with your teeth and staring amongst the masses. You were attempting to ignore the gaze of the Choi Su-bong, known as the self-proclaimed Thanos, and it was growing more difficult.

He’d already tried hitting on you during the first game, blowing you a kiss that you turned your head from, and he didn’t seem like he was going to stop fighting for your attention. You were an eyesore to most, but your looks seemed to intrigue him more than you’d liked.

A wild mess of bright red hair, tattoos littering your skin and a tongue piercing—a disappointment to your grandparents, but you were a tattoo artist. You hardly stood out back home, but here? It was hard to blend in.

You remembered the looks from others when the games started, most of the players keeping their distance. Unlike the other wild card in the game, you didn’t share the same charisma or extroversion, meaning finding a group to blend in with was difficult. You weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, figuring that at some point down the line, having friends would only make the games difficult—only one could win, right?

And you were more than certain that even if everyone who voted ‘no’ died, the games would continue, and no one would vote to go home. Everyone was greedy.

“Senorita,” a voice cooed to your left, and you flickered your gaze over to the one person who’d heard speaking english during the games. Even with a quick glance, you could see the way his pupils were blown out.

“Not interested,” you quipped, though your voice carried a hint of amusement. 

Thanos leaned against your bunk as the other players began gathering before the next vote began, his hand wrapping around the post. Wide eyes watched you, jaw clenching out of necessity as he looked you up and down. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” He murmured confidently, a charming smile gracing his lips, and you hated that it actually made you smirk. A bit of attention wasn’t so bad.

“Mm,” you hummed, tapping a finger to your chin as you pretended to think, “Some rapper who got scammed by that guy over there, right?” Your finger then pointed to Player 333, sitting a few bunks down as everyone began to grow impatient for the vote.

He scolded you with a smack of his lips, scrunching his nose as he flickered his gaze to Myung-gi, half of his face bruised. Blown-out eyes settled back at you, not losing that look of persistence. They focused on your hair, then down to your hands, which were covered in tattoos that poked out from your sleeves.

“He deserved it,” he said, sitting down on the edge of your bunk and invading your space, “Join my team.” He spoke with a thick accent over the English words.

Your head tilted to the side, your eyes narrowing slightly as you looked him up and down. His knees pressed into your thigh, the slight pressure building heat in your stomach that you’d been avoiding well for the past few days. You looked to your left, eyes landing on Player 124, who had been watching you too not-so-secretly, along with another boy who looked out of place next to him.

“Only if you give me some of this,” you said, reaching forward and curling a finger into the necklace that you tugged out from the confines of his sweater. Your fingers brushed against his skin, sending a shiver up his spine. He knew then he wasn’t going to stop now. You’ll share with him, but not the pretty girl?”

Thanos grabbed your wrist, smirking as he pulled your hand away, “Pretty girls shouldn’t do things like that. You won’t be able to handle it.”

“Oh, come on.” You leaned closer, offering him a toothy grin, “I’ve done worse. Don’t I look the type?”

Interest glimmered in his eyes, but the idea of sharing with too many people concerned him. He needed enough to get him to the end; he could always cut off Nam-su. 

“Troublesome,” he muttered, pursing his lips. It was a quick exchange; the colourful pills hidden in the cross were quickly tucked away after he kept one hidden in his hands, “Open.”

You widened your eyes for a moment, locking his gaze as he withheld the pill from you until you obeyed. Rolling your eyes, you moved with him as he turned away from the rest of the players, making sure you were facing toward the wall as you opened your mouth—sticking your tongue out.

Su-bong wore a small smile when you revealed your piercing, excitement burning through him as he lifted the blue tablet and pressed it to your tongue. You curled your tongue back into your mouth, holding the drug beneath your tongue as you felt it begin to dissolve. Just as you were about to thank him, he lifted a hand to rest on your chin.

“Enjoy,” he said in english, his thumb grazing along your bottom lip and slightly tugging it down until it snapped back into place, a big smile forming on his lips, “Vote circle. Then you can team up with us so we win until we’re rich.”

The drug left a sweet taste under your tongue, and its effects were already easing the shakiness you’d felt during the games. A treat that you needed to escape the grim reality—the idea of being high as hell during the games seemed better than not. Even if you died, at least you’d be having fun.

“Okay,” you spoke, the english word rolling off your tongue easily. 

There was an electrified moment between you two, and you knew he was going to become a problem, but not in the way you had expected. You certainly didn’t have time for feelings—not here.

When the lights went out a few hours later, the high left you restless but euphoric. You tossed and turned in the bed, your sweater removed from your body as the drugs left you warm, a leg sticking out from the blanket that barely covered you. Just as sleep felt like it might approach you, there was movement in the corner of your eye, and you snapped your gaze to the side. 

“What are you–” you tried to speak, but Su-bong’s hand clasped over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he whispered, glancing around and listening to the sounds of others around you snoring and making sure no one had heard or peaked towards you.

It was dark enough that the two of you being seen would be unlikely, but it wouldn’t be ideal to alert anyone—especially not when he’d approached you with the intent to slip under the covers with you.

He removed his hands from your lips, and you could barely see the smile on his lips as he moved onto your bed and slid onto the mattress beside you. So easily, he rested his head on your pillow, noses practically brushing together.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, voice hushed. If the lights were bright, he might’ve been able to see your dilated pupils. However, he could feel the way you were fidgeting, and that was enough to show that the drugs were working well for you.

“Can’t sleep,” you murmured, “too restless.”

“I told you that you couldn’t handle it.” He grinned, his warm breath tickling your face.

“So condescending,” you whined, blinking as you watched him. “Why are you here? Trying to get in my pants now that I’m high?”

Su-bong’s eyes softened, “I couldn’t get you off my mind, so I wanted to say hi.” He admitted cheekily, and you rolled your eyes, but the butterflies in your stomach went wild. 

You chuckled, smiling, “You like me that much, huh? Who knew Thanos had a big heart? How cute.” You teased, reaching up and patting his cheek with your hand, letting it rest for a few moments with your thumb brushing his skin. “When we get out of here, take me for some drinks, and we can have a good night together. Okay?”

He hummed deep in his throat, your touch accentuated by the drugs in his system, “We can’t have a good night now?” He murmured, leaning closer until his lips brushed with yours—fuck. Fingers lifted up into your wild hair that rivalled his, then down your ears where they ran over the abundance of piercings, a mix of studs and hoops that decorated each one.

“Why do you think I came over?” Su-bong breathed, the hand that had been fiddling with your piercings now dropping to your bare arm. His eyes followed, having adjusted to the dark and able to see the patterns of the tattoos on your body.

“I thought you couldn’t get me off your mind and wanted to say hi,” you whispered, eyes fluttering at the gentle touches of his hand. The drugs in your system elevated every touch, sending electric shocks of pleasure through your body. You hated it, how you couldn’t be loud right now—how Thanos managed to win you over.

“A man can’t want more than one thing?” He murmured, painted nails raking along your skin.

As much as you wanted to indulge in him, to pull him over top of you and kiss him until your lips were bruised, you knew it was too risky.

“Get me out of here, and I’ll think about giving you more.” You smiled, closing the distance and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You indulged further for just a brief moment, your tongue pushing past his lips as the ball of your piercing clicked against his teeth—then your hand pressed to his chest, and you pushed him away. He toppled back at the sudden shove, slipping off of the mattress and landing on metal stairs next to the bunk. He landed on it with a loud thud, and a groan reverberated from his chest, loud enough that it startled a few of the nearby players, all sitting up in their beds and looking at the source of the noise.

You had to put a hand over your mouth, snickering into it as you watched Thanos sit up, glaring at you as his sore body ached. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his eyes screaming that he wasn’t done with you yet. 

“Go back to sleep. Nosy fucks.” Thanos hissed under his breath at the onlookers, rising to his feet and begrudgingly returning to his bunk a couple rows away from you in his frazzled state. You were sitting up now, watching as his figure blended into the darkness, a small smile on your lips as your heart slammed against your chest.

As Su-bong laid in his bunk, ignoring the whispers coming from Nam-gyu, asking about his luck with you, he pressed a finger to his lips. Your kiss left a lingering vibration, his lips tingling as he imagined what could’ve been—and what would come to be.

You were right; he wasn’t close to being done with you. Not when you gave him a taste.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Work Rivals with Office Siren!Suguru Getou

Getou Suguru is the worst.

The absolute worst. He makes your life a living hell, your job a warzone, and worst of all, he’s the most maddeningly attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You hadn’t always been mortal enemies. In fact, your first impression of him was something out of a cheesy rom-com.

On your first day as a junior accountant, you stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a medium, hot, cream, no sugar. The moment your order was called, both you and a sharply dressed man stepped up to the counter.

The first thing you noticed was his height—towering enough to make you tilt your head back. On the way up, you took in his impeccably tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, and slim black tie. His sleeves were neatly cuffed at the wrists, revealing a deep bronze complexion adorned with a flashy silver Rolex and a few understated rings.

When your gaze finally reached his face, your breath hitched. He was striking. Long black hair tied back in a half-up style, sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Black gauges and a gleaming silver eyebrow piercing accentuated his features, and a pair of rectangular glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. He eyed you with an air of irritation, violet eyes glinting behind the glare of the café lights.

“Is this yours?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee being held out by an increasingly impatient barista.

You had a perfectly charming response prepared in your head. But as luck would have it, your brain short-circuited, and what came out instead was less… ideal.

“Why else would I be here? Course it’s mine. It’s my first day, and you’re holding me up.”

The sharpness in your tone made you wince internally, but you couldn’t backtrack now. Crossing your arms, you tilted your head, doubling down.

His brows knit together as he huffed. “Could’ve done without the attitude. Just take it and go.”

You grabbed the coffee with a muttered, “Whatever,” and turned on your heel, heading for the door. But before it swung shut, you glanced over your shoulder at the disgruntled stranger. At least you’d never have to see him again, right?

Wrong.

When you arrived at work and sat through the orientation, you focused on staying out of trouble. That plan went out the window when you were led to your cubicle—right across from a familiar face.

Your guide tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and when his eyes met yours, surprise flickered for the briefest moment before being replaced by irritation.

“—and this is Getou Suguru, your cubicle neighbor. It’s also his first day as a junior accountant, so don’t be shy. This job can get pretty isolating, so building relationships is important,” your senior said cheerfully.

Forcing a polite smile, you extended your hand, hoping he’d let your earlier encounter slide. His handshake was firm, his larger hand warm against yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

Your senior walked off, satisfied. But as soon as he was out of earshot, Getou grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer, pumping an aggressive amount into his palm.

“Enjoy sharing the same title,” he said coolly. “Soon, I’ll be your superior, coffee-girl.”

He spun his chair around, strands of sleek black hair whipping over his shoulder.

That was six years ago.

Time had not softened the animosity between you two. If anything, it had calcified into a rivalry so intense it pushed both of you to climb the ranks faster than anyone expected. You were both promoted to Corporate Controller—a position that typically took eight years to reach—on the same day.

It was supposed to be a single-person role, but after the CFO reviewed your identical performance stats, he decided to make an exception. Now, you and Getou are seated on the 36th floor of the company’s sleek high-rise, with matching titles engraved on silver plaques outside your offices.

The only thing separating you is a glass wall, through which you exchange daily glares.

Competition fuels everything. From routine tasks to major projects, you turn every assignment into a wager. The CFO, Nanami Kento, has become your unofficial referee. At first, he admired your drive. Over time, though, even his legendary patience has begun to fray.

“Getou’s management style is 2% less efficient than mine,” you declare during a performance review, presenting your meticulously crafted charts.

“Her sales plan took a 0.5% dip last quarter,” Getou counters with his own spreadsheet. “In hindsight, my proposal conserved more resources.”

“His data compression wastes company time!”

“Her budget oversight missed the social media revenue I proposed—”

“You stole that idea from me!”

“SHUT. UP.”

Nanami’s voice, usually calm and measured, reverberates through the room. He stands abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I cannot take another second of your childish bickering,” he snaps, slamming a hand onto his desk. “You’re both brilliant, hardworking, and utterly insufferable. You’ve turned this office into a battlefield, and frankly, I’m this close to quitting just to escape you.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

If Nanami’s outburst isn’t enough to make it clear something has to change, the rest of the accounting branch soon makes it crystal. Your colleagues have begun avoiding you and Getou like the plague, steering clear of the drama that follows wherever you go.

Well, everyone in the accounting branch has turned against you and Getou—except for one person: your one and only work friend, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo, the accounting manager, ranks just below you. He is a walking billboard for excess, always dressed to the nines in custom Dolce & Gabbana baby-blue suits that match his piercing cerulean eyes. Every month, he carries a new designer briefcase, each more luxurious than the last, and you have yet to see him repeat one.

He wasn’t just anyone. Gojo is—or was—the heir to a global media empire. His great-grandfather had founded the conglomerate, which owned everything from cable networks to film studios and streaming platforms. But seven years ago, the Gojo family had severed ties with their infamous black sheep.

Gojo had always been a loose cannon, his antics splashed across tabloids with alarming regularity. When he was finally caught in a particularly compromising situation—a sleazy nightclub rendezvous involving a rival conglomerate’s heir and a bottle girl—his family decided they’d had enough. The Gojo media machine couldn’t suppress the scandal, and rather than shell out another fortune trying to salvage their name, they cut him off.

He went from riches to rags—or as close to “rags” as someone with Gojo’s charisma and wits could get. He clawed his way up the ladder at your company, and while his charm earned him plenty of allies, his ego alienated just as many. That left you as the only one who could truly tolerate him. Perhaps it was your shared arrogance, though yours stemmed from your relentless rivalry with Getou, while his was… well, Gojo was just Gojo.

Which is why you’re currently in a supply closet, your back pressed against the metallic shelving as Gojo shakes your shoulders like a madman, his usually smug face looking uncharacteristically panicked.

“You have got to end this feud with Getou,” he hisses, his bright blue eyes practically glowing in the dim lighting. “It’s spiraling out of control. The whole department’s gone to hell. Nanami’s snappy, everyone’s overworked, and the accountants are making more mistakes than ever because they’re so stressed.”

He runs a hand through his shock of white hair, sighing dramatically before adding, “You two have the worst reputation I’ve ever seen. And coming from me—someone who’s made global headlines for my bad behavior—that’s saying a lot.”

You open your mouth, ready to defend yourself, but Gojo raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Don’t even start with the whole ‘but our numbers are the best’ speech,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Because while your stats are impressive, they’re not enough to make up for the chaos you two create. And,” he leans in closer, a devious smirk curling his lips, “don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”

You freeze, your heart pounding as if he’d just exposed your darkest secret.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Gojo teases, his tone sing-song. “You’re practically undressing him with your eyes half the time. It’s honestly disgusting. If this is your idea of flirting, you might be a masochist. Or a sadist. Or both. Either way, the rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer through this painfully obvious sexual tension.”

Your cheeks burn, and for once, you’re speechless.

Gojo straightens his lapels, his smirk widening. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m going to fix it, one way or another. Consider this your warning.”

Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him. 

You stand there for a moment, your mind racing.

“What can he even do?” you mutter to yourself, laughing nervously. “He’s just an accounting manager.”

But you’d underestimated Gojo.

By the time you return to your office, he’s already marched into Nanami’s and laid out his nefarious plan. Meanwhile, you find yourself staring blankly at the income statement on your screen, utterly distracted.

Your gaze drifts to the glass wall of your office, where you can see Getou seated at his desk. He’s wearing a fitted chestnut vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His black hair is tied in a loose bun, a ballpoint pen shoved haphazardly through it.

As you watch, he reaches up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger, his violet eyes scanning a thick packet of papers. When he suddenly glances up and catches you staring, your breath hitches.

His piercing gaze darkens, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He arches an eyebrow, his expression equal parts smug and devastatingly attractive. Then, as if to torment you further, he returns to his work, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips.

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, heat pooling in your cheeks. If your hatred of Getou is a defense mechanism, it isn’t working—if anything, it only heightens your attraction to him.

But you resolve to keep your distance, for the sake of professionalism.

That resolve lasts precisely one day.

The next morning, Nanami summons you to his office. Confident in your newfound clarity, you stride in—only to feel your confidence waver when you see Gojo lounging against the window like a model in a photoshoot, the sunlight framing him perfectly.

Then the door opens behind you, and in walks Getou.

He takes the seat next to you, his legs spread obnoxiously wide, oozing dominance.

Nanami wastes no time. “I’ve reached my limit with your behavior. The entire branch is suffering because of you two. So, effective immediately, you’ll both be attending the annual financial policy conference together as a team-building exercise.”

You groan. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think—”

“This is non-negotiable,” Nanami interrupts, holding up two plane tickets. “And to ensure you take this seriously, know that if this doesn’t work, I will demote both of you and give your positions to Gojo.”

Gojo grins triumphantly.

Nanami adds, “And don’t think I won’t be monitoring your behavior. The conference is hosted at one of our company hotels, so we’ll have access to surveillance.”

As you leave his office, the weight of the tickets in your hand feels suffocating. Later that evening, you seek refuge straight off of your shift, at the nearest bar, ordering a drink to drown your sorrows.

Slouching on the barstool, the straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, but you don’t bother fixing them. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. Nursing your drink quickly turns into downing shots, thanks to the kindness—or opportunism—of nearby patrons. Some, sensing your frazzled state, buy you a drink out of pity. Others, mostly men, let their eyes linger on your neckline before waving down the bartender to pour you another on their tab.

You lean your cheek against your arm, swirling the straw in your glass absentmindedly. The din of the bar becomes white noise as your thoughts spiral. Then, you sense a presence settling on the stool next to you.

“Rough day?”

The voice is low, amused, and far too familiar. You stiffen before letting out a slow, tired huff.

“Fuck off, Getou.”

You aim for venom, but your tone lands somewhere closer to exhausted. His chuckle vibrates through the space between you, and then you feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles.

“Aw, don’t tell me I’ve finally worn you down,” he drawls, his voice dipping with mock concern. His hand moves, catching the strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a languid tug. “Resorting to alcohol already? Never thought I’d see the day.”

You snap your head toward him, gathering the last scraps of defiance you have left. He’s leaning casually against the bar, his beige sweater hugging his frame a little too perfectly, the knit fabric stretching taut over his arms. His expression is maddeningly amused, dark eyes glinting with the kind of satisfaction that makes your blood simmer.

“Pretty cocky, aren’t you? Need some liquid courage for our trip, I assume?”

Instead of answering, he reaches forward and swipes your drink. He takes a long sip, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His teeth click against the glass when he sets it down.

“Strong,” he remarks before leaning closer, his voice dropping. “And speaking of the trip, I assume we’ll put on quite the show, hmm? Don’t get me wrong—I hate you. But I hate the idea of Gojo taking either of our jobs even more.”

He nudges your foot with his own, a silent challenge in his raised brow. You hesitate only for a second before extending a hand, your manicured nails catching the dim light.

“Finally, something we can agree on. Look, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep our positions. Yeah, maybe we go overboard sometimes, but we get results. We’re the best.”

“Damn right,” he replies, his smirk sharp and self-assured. His fingers brush yours as he takes your hand, and then he raises it to signal the bartender for another round.

You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “It’s just a weekend. We can fake being civil for two days. We’ve never failed to perform before, and we’re not about to start now.”

His hand lands on your shoulder again, his touch oddly grounding. “We always exceed expectations. You always go above; I always go beyond.” He emphasizes the last word with a teasing smirk that makes your jaw tighten.

“Oh yeah? Always?” You lean in, narrowing your eyes. “Bet I can out-drink you. Hell, I already have. I’ve practically forgotten why I was even upset in the first place.”

“Big talk for someone who’s clearly lying.” His grin spreads wider, white teeth gleaming. “But hey, I’m all for proving you wrong. Again.”

The conversation dissolves into a blurry competition. Before you know it, the counter between you is littered with empty glasses. The room spins around you, your skin hot, your head light. 

Somehow, in the midst of it all, your legs have tangled beneath the bar, Getou’s foot hooked possessively around your ankle.

When you glance at him, his bronzed skin is flushed, a pretty pink spreading across his high cheekbones. His hair is loose now, cascading over his broad shoulders in soft, inky waves. His glasses hang from the collar of his sweater, and he reaches out, his finger brushing against your chin.

“You’re spilling,” he murmurs, dragging his finger along your skin to catch a stray drop of liquor. He pulls it back and raises it to his lips, licking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Playing dirty, huh?” you mutter, your voice thick.

Getou takes the last sip of his drink, his cheeks puffing slightly as he holds the liquid idle in his mouth, and shrugs. The casual gesture makes something snap inside you. Desperate to turn the tables, you grab the collar of his sweater and yank him toward you.

His lips crash into yours, soft yet insistent, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks to the warmth of his mouth and the faint bitterness of alcohol lingering on his breath. Your tongue grazes his bottom lip, and he parts for you, letting the sharp tang of liquor transfer between you. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his hands tighten around your waist.

You swallow, leaning into the kiss, your fingers clutching at him as his hand slides up, tangling in your hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss, and a moan escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

His other hand moves lower, pulling you closer until you’re perched halfway on his lap, the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“You might’ve had more to drink than me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice teasing yet dark with intent. “But I bet I can have you begging for me off a kiss.”

His thigh presses between your legs, and your dress rides up higher than you’d like to admit. You’re soaked, the flimsy fabric of your underwear doing little to shield your dignity—or his slacks—from your arousal.

“Think you’ll have me begging?” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. 

“You’re the one falling apart, sweetheart.”

Before you can retort, your phone buzzes on the counter, the vibration cutting through the haze. 

A message lights up the screen.

Gojo Satoru: I just KNOW the hate sex is gonna go hard. Don’t thank me all at once, sweetie ;)

beautiful ass fanart by: _viziiro_ on twt/X

[freshllamapeace]

Till the sun burns out

Remmick x reader

I posted the snippet earlier this week this is the finished product!

Warning - Dead dove do not eat, Gore, Noncon/smut, this is a rough read so you have been warned, probably not my best written smut if I'm honest

Stupid, pathetic, maybe even… desperate. The words described you well enough, wouldn’t you say? A lonely girl with nothing better to do than throw her life away. You do this because you think you're special, you think you're destined for greatness, You think one day you're gonna wake up and be the main character but you aren't. I mean how could you when you’re not even the main character of your own story. You aren't special, you aren’t destined for greatness. The only thing you're truly destined for is to die in this forest. Body broken and mangled while he loomed over you. 

It was clear you were going to die here. No way you get out of this, worst yet you could see the white walls of the house where you grew up in, the soft porch light admitting a warm welcoming glow. If you could have run a few more feet you'd be home safe. But you were just shy of that and he revelled in that. Walking circles around you like a wolf who had just cornered his prey. You hadn't even known what you'd done wrong. What made you deserving of this treatment but it didn’t matter, not anymore. 

Your leg was broken, the bone splintered in half, a jagged end poking out through the skin where your knee was meant to be. Blood leaking down the wound onto the forest floor. Your left arm was gone, ripped apart. The only evidence of it ever being there being the blood and tendons that leaked out of your bicep. The pain was unbearable, indescribable it ached everywhere. You could do nothing but cry and scream. Even your stomach suffered some blows, a large laceration planted diagonally through your chest, your internal organs threatening to spill out. The palm of your right hand was degloved, a sea of red covering the skin that was once there, tendons and muscle clearly on display for you to see. If you’d looked long enough you’d even be able to see the muscles moving, slow and concise. 

Grabbing you by your hair you were lifted from the ground and pressed into the cruel bark of a tree. A screech moved past your lips as broken body parts started to move and bend. “I told you, didn't I? That we’d make sweet sweet music together.” He pressed his mouth against your ear, hot breath assaulting your skin. “I ain’t say how but you were so eager… I ain’t wanna spoil the surprise for ya.” Using his body to keep you stationed against the tree Remmick started to fiddle with his belt. Taking his time to remove it, his eyes stayed stationed on you. Red like an amber sea and teeth glistening in the moonlight, it had been ages since Remmick had played with his food to this degree. Kissing your neck, Remmick allowed his pants to fall to his ankles, his cock in hand. 

“Please, you don't have to do this.” You cried, the cherry colored fluids dripping from your lips onto his chest. Remmick smiled, a smile he often did. It was mocking, cruel and yet the smile looked almost kind… almost. “I know little dove. ” Remmick wasted no time lining himself with your cunt. Pressing his body further onto you, you heard the sound of something stabbing into fresh. It was your bone piercing into his stomach. “Fuck.” He moaned. “You get me all hot and bothered looking like this.” Your gored body turning him on. He was disgusting, a freak of nature. Slamming himself inside you, Remmick gave you no time to prepare before setting the tempo, thrusting at a rough and savage pace. Remmick paid no attention to the bone that pierced his flesh with every thrust. Blood leaking down the wound he had created. Moving his hand down your body Remmick started to play with your clit. The rough circular motions pressed into your skin. You were in pain, your body was aching, the wounds burned and yet your body still reacted to the orgasm forced onto you by him. Your nails digging into his shoulder as you held onto him . You were trembling beneath him, breathing heavy, eyes half lidded. The blood loss was going to catch up with you, soon rather than later. “Fuck.” He groaned, his breathing uneven and his thrust getting impossibly quicker. “Don’t die yet darlin’ I'm almost there.” He whispered in your ear. “There ain’t no God above but if there was he made you just for me.” Soon his thrust started to stutter and slow, his nails began to dig into your skin creating new wounds on your broken body. A groan leaves his lips as he releases all his love and affection into you, the white liquid carrying a red tint to it. Not quite ready to pull himself out of you Remmick thrusted a couple more times making sure that you were filled with every last drop of his cum. 

“I'm going to break you over and over again.” Far too tired and dying from the blood loss the words didn’t register in your mind as anything other than gibberish. But what did register was the sharp pain you felt in your neck and the way he licked at the wound lapping up the blood. When he was done he allowed your body to crumple in on itself, you dropped to the floor. The world went black.

[darylbrainrot]

KISSING IN CARS

WHERE you go on a terrible date, so hamzah makes you feel better (4.8k words) ⤷ hamzah x f!reader, friends to lovers (kinda), yearning, and fluff

As we wake up in your room, your face is the first thing I see. The first time I’ve seen love and the last I’ll ever need.

— kissing in cars (bonus track), pierce the veil

You and Hamzah have been friends for years, meeting through a mutual friend. You met him during the start of 4freakshow, and you were close. You called and texted practically daily and told each other everything even though you lived miles apart. When you finished high school, you moved into an apartment in Toronto, Canada, to give yourself the independence you craved.

So when Hamzah asked a huge favor, in which he asked if he would be able to move in with you until he got on his feet after moving into Canada in 2021, you of course said yes. It was your best friend after all, so having the opportunity to see him every day after only seeing him behind a screen was a huge blessing. So you told him yes and that he would be welcomed in for however long needed.

And before you knew it, he lived with you. Living in your homey apartment together with shared responsibilities. It was something you loved, something you both loved. The number of times you’d be able to hang out with him, the silly little “girls” nights out you and him would go on in which he always insisted on paying, or the number of times you both would stay home and cozy up on the couch and binge movies were some of the things you loved about living with your best friend.

But in the years of living with each other, you developed feelings for him. It was tricky managing these feelings. You saw him every day, saw him in the mornings to nights. You saw how he looked in the mornings, his curly hair all ruffled with his movements in his sleep, the way his voice would be raspy when he told you good morning, and the way his eyes were half-lidded from waking from his slumber. It felt like a dream seeing him in such an intimate light, only for you to realize you can only look and not touch because he wasn’t yours.

That was one of the most painful pills you had to swallow, that was the only con with him living with you.

So, you tried getting over this silly little crush you had on him. It felt impossible, but to be totally honest, it never left. You only pushed it down further and further till you made yourself believe you didn’t like him anymore.

You went on dates, texted guys, hooked up with some here and there, but deep down you knew that it would never be what you wanted— all because it wasn’t him, it was never hamzah that you saw in these romantic moments.

—

Today you had another date, it was with this guy named Daniel. You and him have been texting for a couple of weeks, debating on when and where would be the best time to go on a date for the both of you. But your schedules lined up and today worked the best.

He wasn’t ugly, he was attractive. He had nice big eyes, wavy hair, and a nice muscular build. You didn’t realize it, well maybe you did, but, you had looked for a version of hamzah in him. Daniel had features he shared with Hamzah. You were trying to look for hamzah in Daniel. Guessing that if you couldn’t have hamzah, you’d go for something as close to the original.

Yet, even though you felt anxious, you got ready. Hours spent doing your hair, makeup, and outfit to see Daniel. You felt pretty, those countless hours you put in your appearance for some guy who didn’t know who you truly were.

Hamzah was out today, filming a vlog with Martin for new content for their channel slushy noobz. So you had the whole apartment to yourself while getting ready.

Finally, the clock struck 3:30 which was a sign for you to leave the apartment and start driving your way to this cute little diner. It wasn’t that far away, only a 20 minute drive.

You arrived at the diner, finding a spot to park, and you headed inside. It was a retro diner, with hues of blues, pinks, silvers, and white adorning the walls giving it a bright atmosphere. It was cute, even though the colors could be an eyesore, you enjoyed this place.

Sitting down in a booth by the window, the baby blue vinyl of the booth chair sticking to your legs as you scooted closer to the window. You took a look at your phone, sending Daniel a quick text that you arrived at the diner. Unconsciously checking if you have received a text from Hamzah, you started to scroll mindlessly on Instagram looking for something to pass the time till your date arrived.

A few minutes later, a server came up to your table.

“Hello miss, I will be your server today. Are you ready to order?” Her notepad was ready out in her hand, a pen accompanying it.

“Oh, not right now, I’m waiting for someone. Thank you.” You sent her a kind-hearted smile as she nodded in approval. Sending you a smile, you saw her walk up to another booth.

You sighed, checking your phone once again for any messages only to see that Hamzah texted you.

hamzah: hey hamzah: where r u? hamzah: I just got back home from filming with Martin and saw u weren’t here, I brought u some food you: sorry!! I forgot to tell you I went out, I’ll be back in a couple of hours I think you: save me that food tho, don’t eat it pls hamzah: okay I’ll leave it in the fridge hamzah: if it’s gone don’t blame it on me, it was the cats.

You smiled at his texts, he always managed to put a smile on your face even through small actions.

you: how’d filming go? What did u guys do hamzah: it went good!! We and Martin just went around a mall and ended up doing another mukbang lol you: so is the food you got me the left overs? hamzah: no never, i got u ur own order that I thought ud like

Reading his text, you went to message Daniel a quick text.

You: hey, just got here at the diner - you: hey Daniel, u running late?

No response. Maybe he just is running late, I mean it has only been 10 minutes since you got here. You’ll give him another 10 just incase he really is running late. Sighing, you opened back hamzahs texts. You were both chatting about whatever, talking about funny things hamzah saw with Martin during their filming today.

You always replied with full enthusiasm that hamzah always had when talking about things he enjoyed. Giving him your full attention even though you were only texting. You always gave him your full attention, even if he wasn’t talking to you, you would always gravitate towards him. Whether it was giving him small glances you hoped he wouldn’t notice, or just being around his general vicinity. Knowing he was there near you was comfort enough.

Before you knew it, another 15 minutes passed. You’ve been sitting here for a total of 25 minutes probably looking like a buffoon to the workers here and those who are eating here. Even though realistically, you didn’t really care about this date, it felt humiliating to be stood up. You felt like you had a big giant poster taped to your head with bright bold letters saying “I GOT STOOD UP!”.

It was whatever— truly. It’s not like you even cared. It’s not like you felt that you would never get or enjoy a successful relationship because you were still stuck on hamzah. Hamzah was perfect, everything you could ever want but you knew he didn’t want you.

Well, you didn’t have solid proof that he didn’t want you. It was more of an educated guess that he didn’t want you. Maybe it was you just being biased and being self-conscious. Self-deprecating thoughts were the only thoughts you knew— as toxic as they were, it was the only comfort that you knew.

So of course you never wondered too hard if Hamzah actually wanted you in the way you wanted him. You wanted him in a way that was not platonic, you wanted to hold him, and soothe away his worries with kisses and pecks that you knew he deserved and longed for.

Sighing, you got up and left. Starting your drive back home form another unsuccessful date. Another con of being stood up was the waste of time you spent on makeup, hair, and a cute outfit.

Finding parking in your apartment lot, you checked the time and it was now 4:40. Sighing and locking your car, you made it up to your apartment room and opened the door.

You hung up your keys and found Hamzah laying half asleep on the couch with red and blue laying at his side with some crappy tv show put on as a sort of white noise for him.

Hamzah hearing the front door open, he turned around to look at you with those half-lidded eyes that you always loved and that messy head of curls that sat oh so perfectly even in their ruffled condition. It was ethereal how beautiful he was when he didn’t even try.

He shot you a confused look, he took note of your bad posture, heavy eyes matching the heavy look of your shoulders, and the slight frown you had that matched the furrow of your brows. A small prominent wrinkle formed between your brows, the one that he always found cute but never spoke out about it.

“You go on a date?” He asked, confused as he took account of your appearance. Your hair done the way he always found complemented you best, the outfit he always loved seeing you in, and your makeup done to perfection— accentuating the apples of your cheek and every divot and curve of your perfect face. The face he could stare at for hours without shame.

Oh, how he yearned to be those men you would with on dates. He knew how they were based on how you described how the dates were after you got home. They either went well but ghosted you after one more week of talking or they completely stood you up. God, he wanted to be that man taking you on a date and show you he wasn’t like them. To show you he could appreciate every single little detail about you.

To show you he loved every single flaw and imperfection you thought you had because, to him, they were never imperfections, they were little details that made you perfect. Even though you got agitated easily, he found that endearing, even though you mentioned how your face was asymmetrical, he never noticed that but only noticed the pure and raw beauty behind that supposed asymmetry. Because asymmetry is always more dynamic and interesting in art, and you were the most beautiful piece of art ever. As if you were hand-painted by Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Rembrandt, Vincent van Gogh, and Pablo Picasso, themselves.

He would treat you right. He knew that. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement that he knew was 100% correct.

You nodded to his question, throwing your sweater on the backrest of the sofa where Hamzah's head didn’t occupy.

“How’d it go?”

“Got stood up, this is like the millionth time now. I think it’s a sign from heaven.” You chuckled a dry laugh.

Hamzah was upset, not at you but at that douchebag who stood you up. What could he not see in you? You were perfect in every way.

As you sat down by Hamzah's feet, red and blue crawled towards you asking for some cuddles. Hamzah cut your thoughts short.

“Get up, we’re going out and I’m driving.”

“What?” You asked, confusion lacing your face. Those wrinkles that Hamzah loved forming between your brows again.

“You heard me, I’m taking you out. We can’t let this day go to waste— wait first, let me put something decent looking on.” He said, as he ran to his room to look for something nice to wear. He had settled on wearing some nice jeans, a plain colored sweatshirt, and some boots.

He didn’t want to go all out because he wanted you to be the main center of attention. He wanted people to turn their necks and look at you rather than look at him.

But you were still confused about what Hamzah was planning.

He came back to the living room to see you sitting down on the couch with red and blue on your lap. You turned around to see him, noticing his attire and complimenting him.

“You look nice, hamzah, but um- what are you doing”

“Well since that dude stood you up, I’m taking you on a date.” He said as he grabbed his keys from where he left them on the coffee table in the living room.

“You know you don’t have to do that, it’s not that big of a deal.” You sighed, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. You admired what Hamzah was doing for you.

“Well, I’m not doing it because I have to, I’m doing it cause I wanna. So get up and let’s get going.” He smiled at you, reaching his hand to the couch so you could take his hand.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you debated if you should go. Going on a date with a guy you secretly liked for a year and more seemed like fun, but it could also cause you harm. Deciding to fuck it, you grabbed his hand and he pulled you up.

Both of you bid farewells to your cats, you made your way out of the apartment to hamzahs car. Still, hand in hand, something you wished for for god knows how long.

Finally reaching his car, you went to open the passenger seat until Hamzah beat you to it, opening the door wide for you. Giggling at his chivalrous act, you sat down and thanked him.

He made his way towards the driver's seat and started the heater.

“Connect to the car and play whatever playlist, I have an idea of where to take you.”

Nodding, connecting with Bluetooth, you started to play the playlist you and Hamzah had made together a while back when you both were in school. It had some of your old favorite songs, both of your music tastes blending together almost seamlessly.

Nodding along with the lyrics and melody of the song, you asked Hamzah a question.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there. I saw this place a while back when I was driving back home after going over Martin’s place and it reminded me of you.” He looked at you as he started to drive off from the parking space, giving you glances as he went to the road.

“Can you at least give me a hint so I can guess?” You said, looking out the passenger window to try to look for hints at where you were going.

“Hmm, you’ve mentioned you wanted to go here before, like 5 months back or around there.” He said, turning to you as he kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his leg.

You were trying to recall from the countless conversations you've had with him on places you've mentioned that you wanted to go. Biting the inside of your cheek, brows furrowed, you were in deep thought. And before you knew it, you arrived at the place that Hamzah wanted to take you.

"We're here," Hamzah said, as he parked his car and turned to look at you to wait for your reaction. Nothing but admiration and sweetness behind those big eyes you loved.

You looked out the front windshield, reading the name and seeing how it was a record store. You remembered that you mentioned wanting to go to a record shop for new records because you wanted to expand your collection, wanting to have more records to play on your record player.

You turned to Hamzah, a big grin on your face. A look of pure appreciation on your face.

"You actually remembered I wanted to go to a record shop?" That smile on your face never leaves.

"Of course I did," he said as he took off his seatbelt and got out, quickly hurrying his way towards the passenger door and opening it for you.

"Thank you so much, sir." You laughed, nearly forgetting about the fact that you got stood up.

You guys entered the record shop, it was nice, It was filled with warmth and had a crazy variety of records from your favorite bands and singers. The aesthetics of this record shop kind of matched yours, which made you wonder if that's why Hamzah said it reminded him of you.

You started looking around on their organized shelves, hamzah trailing behind you as he watched you. He had this look of pure care and longing behind his eyes as if all he truly needed in his life was you by his side. He thought you looked most beautiful in this state, a strand of hair tucked behind your ear with more hair flowing over your shoulder like a waterfall, the concentration in your eyes while you look for your favorite albums, and the slight upturn on the corner of your lips. The lips he had dreamt about meeting his own lips.

"Are you going to buy any, Hamzah?" You said, while moving the variety of records around looking for the one you've been wanting for a long time.

"Maybe, ill probably look for that Kendrick album I've been listening to non stop." He said, taking a look around at the selection in front of him.

"GNX? I always hear you blasting it whenever your in your room or showering," taking a quick glance at his direction, you see him shuffling through the R&B genre, looking for that specific album.

"Is it seriously that loud?" He laughed, never noticing how loud he was playing his music.

"Yeah, I'm surprised we haven't gotten noise complaints from our neighbors." Smiling as you looked though the pop-punk genre and pulling out Bleed American by Jimmy Eat World, one of your top albums that you were looking for.

Continuing to look through this genre, Hamzah made his way towards you after finally finding GNX.

"Which other records are you looking for?"

"uh- im looking for Take This to Your Grave by Fall Out Boy, Riot! by Paramore, Move Along by The All-American Rejects, and This Is Forever by She Wants Revenge. I don't know if I should buy them all or pick certain ones, I have a bit extra money I've been saving for myself because I was planning to buy them but you beat me to it today and brought me to a record shop," counting the records you wanted on your fingers trying to pick between buying them all or only buying a couple or so.

"What are you thinking to do?" Hamzah asked, creating a plan in his mind if you only decided to buy some.

"I think ima buy the Paramore and She Wants Revenge albums, ill probably buy the others when it won't break my bank account." You said as you found the two albums you were talking about.

Hamzah nodded along, already looking for the other albums you mentioned to buy you them. He was going to pay for today after all, he wasn't going to let you pay let alone only walk out with two out of the four records you've been wanting for so long.

He found the other two you wanted and hid them behind his GNX vinyl, following you as you just looked around the cozy shop, admiring the decore and the variety of colors the records gave the shop, while Hamzah was only admiring you.

You two had spent roughly an hour and a half at this shop, noting that the time read 6:48 pm now.

"Wanna go out to eat real quick then we head home?" Hamzah asked, noting the time as well as he felt his hunger rise.

"Yeah, how about fast food? We haven't had that in a while."

He nodded as you both made your way towards the checkout, the worker behind noting you both and sending you both a nod.

Placing all 5 types of vinyl on the table, you somehow still didnt notice the extra two that Hamzah snuck on the checkout, and as you go reach for your wallet in your jacket pocket, you realize that Hamzah beat you to it. His card was out already as he passed it to the worker as the cash register display read a total of 170 dollars.

You, confused, look at Hamzah with a type of stare full of confusion and hesitation.

As the worker passes Hamzah a bag with all the records, you both start heading out of the shop.

"Why did you do that? Buying 3 records would not cost that much, too, did you put other ones in there?" You asked him, still confused over that whole interaction.

"Because I wanted to and those other records are for you, I know how much you've wanted them so I bought them for you." He states matter of factly.

Still confused, you both made your way towards his car, sitting in there quickly. You were still on about how he casually dropped nearly 170 dollars on you just because you had a bad date.

"How do you casually just spend that much money on me just because I had a bad date? Like I do appreciate it a lot, don't get wrong, but that's like an insane amount. Are you sure you don't want to go back in the shop and return at least a couple back? Like that seemed way-"

Hamzah says your name, trying to calm your rambling, but you still continue. You didn't ignore him, you were just stuck in your own thoughts and overthinking.

"-too much to spend on me for no reason. Like I'm being so serious right now, that was needed. You taking me out here just because of something I mentioned a while ago made my day basically, so this wasn't needed honestly," you were rambling now, moving your hands around to make a point towards Hamzah, trying to get your point across.

He said your name again, putting a hand on your knee for you to shut up, respectfully of course.

"Hey, I don't care that it was too much. I know you've been wanting these albums so that's why I bought it for you. I wanted to take you out so you can enjoy yourself, I already had it planned to buy you whatever you wanted from the beginning." He said, holding eye contact with you, not a single lie behind his words.

Your mind was running faster than it had ever run before, words were practically flowing out of your mouth and you couldn't stop it.

"But like why? Like- we're best friends and I don't think it's that casual for best friends to drop that much money on each other, right?" You were grasping at straws now, looking for a reasonable reason for why he spent that much money on you. It wasn't just about the money if you were being honest.

It was the feelings behind it. He brought you all this way to buy you something he knew you'd been wanting for god knows how long and it scared you. It scared you because you were noticing how hard it was to hide these feelings that you had for him. It wasn't just some simple crush—it was more than you "liking" some guy because if you were being totally honest with yourself, you loved him.

And that is insane to admit because you have spent years pushing these very feelings down and down till you couldn't anymore— and now it felt like you couldn't push it much further down before you explode and have to confess to save yourself from some pain.

It felt as if you were the moon chasing the sun, so close but so far. Only able to admire from afar, but never reach. He was always your sun. Always managing you bring your spirit up on a hard day, always being able to make you laugh on those gloomy days, and always sticking to your hip when things get rough. That's why you had such deep-rooted feelings for him. He was everything you could have wanted.

"You still don't know?" Hamzah asked, his face full of emotion yet you couldn't place your finger on what he was feeling.

"Still don't know what?" You asked, biting at your lip. Anxious that you missed some type of memo.

Hamzah's brain was filled with millions of thoughts coming at the speed of light, he didn't know if he should say it. Didnt know if it was the right time or if you would even feel the same. But, he can't keep this a secret for much longer. Your face, your smile, your everything was engraved into his brain and you were the only thing he would ever want to see. He knew he needed to be truthful right now, when would he have another chance to tell you how he truly feels about you?

"I-" He clears his throat before continuing.

"I don't see you just as a friend," he takes a breath before saying your name in that same sultry voice of his you loved, "You've always been on my mind and not in a friend type of way. I don't know any other way to say this other than being straight forward but— I honestly think I'm in love with you. Actually, scratch that, I know that I'm in love with you," you released a breath you didn't even know you were holding. A breath full of anticipation and nerves.

"I have been for such a long time that I thought you knew and you were just avoiding the topic- you're everything I want and I'm sorry if this is a bad time to mention it- and I feel like I'm rambling right now but Im like super anxious right now if I'm being totally honest... and if you don't feel the same I totally understand but I just need a straight answer if you do or don't because I feel like I'm going crazy every day-"

And before he can finish his sentence, you leaned over the center console and kissed him. You were nervous to act so bold, you were nervous that he was going to reject you somehow even though he just professed his love for you. But your overgrowing self-conscious thoughts stopped as soon as he kissed back.

Both of you put the same passion and emotion behind the kiss as the other, a very obvious emotionally charged kiss. Both of you spent years wanting this, dreaming of this happening but now you didn't have to dream or imagine it happening because it was now your reality.

Noise left both of your lips as the kiss grew to be something more heated. You slowly moved back, taking in air that now has turned hot. Looking at him with flushed cheeks and plumper lips. He stared at you with the same look he always gave you, one of pure affection and love.

You giggle, him giggling with you as well. That slowly turned into a full-blown laughing fit.

"Dude, we're actually so dumb, how did it take us this long to realize we felt the same about each other." You laugh, taking deep breaths in after feeling like you had the air knocked out of you from laughing so hard.

"I don't know, I thought I dropped enough hints for you to realize." He smiled at you, his lips slightly swollen.

Your smile on your lips grows bigger when you realize Hamzah has some of your lipstick on his lips, "you have my lipstick on your lips."

"Now I'm a pretty little princess so I don't mind."

Smiling, you give him a small peck on his lips before he finally starts his car and drives off to your shared apartment.

"How about we skip the fast food and we share those left overs? I just want to lay down after all this" You say, still shocked over everything that happened.

Hamzah nods, agreeing with your plan because all he wants to do now is lay down with you on the couch with both of your cats.

"Oh, and the next date we go on I'll pay." You stated, leaving no room for questions.

a/n: sorry if this is a bit cringy LOL, also new chapter will be out by late today so like around 11pm cst I think.. :p

[nutmegtales]

Alive again - Part 8

Jason finished serving up tow bowls of dinner, setting them out to cool as he gets the dishes done. The Safehouse he’d chosen to bring them too was decently sized, but not so much that dishes piling up wouldn’t start to bother quickly.

He steals a glance at the boy slumped on his couch - the boy who had asked to be called Danny, the boy who was a king of the infinite realms with powers like a god, the boy who could sooth his rage - and frowns. After Constantine and Danny had sorted out all the magic bullshit, Jason had watched as the King transformed, shedding his power like a coat, and becoming much more human. His hair had settled as if just remembering what gravity was, and a deep black color had bled through the white until there was nothing of the shimmering snowy color left. The glow that had clung to him dimmed, and the shining green eyes had faded to a piercing blue. He’d almost looked like he could have been part of the family.

It was kind of like looking at a totally different person, and for a moment Jason had panicked that the King might have lost his strange ability to soothe Jason's rage with the transformation. Thankfully that fear was quickly abated as the pits seemed to be muffled more and more as he spent time in Danny’s presence.

Most of the heroes gathered had seemed relieved, not only at the kings transformation into something with a less intense presence, but at a decent deal being struck, and at Red Hood being the sacrifice so to speak.

B hadn’t looked relieved of course, and the pits whispered to Jason all sorts of things about how the Bat would be jealous of Hoods new position of power, how he would be angry Hood had stolen His opportunity, how he would be glad to be rid of Jason if this all went south, how the old man wished it was him dying again instead of his other… instead of his real sons.

Maybe B didn’t look relieved because he… because Jason was… because…

His mind wouldn’t form the thought, muffled by the pits before it could be realised, his longing for his father drowned out by rage and indignation and pride.

Whatever.

Jason brought the bowls over to the small table and set out some cutlery. Danny was still sprawled on the couch where he had been since they arrived. Jason had taken off his mask sometime after they got here, figuring he was freaking soul bound to the guy, there probably wasn’t much point in trying to stay masked around him. So, it was his unmodulated voice that spoke up as he said “Hey, I don’t know if you like, eat food or whatever, but there’s a bowl for you if you’re hungry”.

Danny let out a long groaning MMmmmmmmmmmm in response and for a little while Jason thought that was all he was gonna get, but when he sat down to tuck into his own meal he watched Danny half tumble half slide off of the couch and onto the floor. He groaned again longer this time before pushing himself up enough to sit, resting his back against the couch, his head tilted up on the cushions staring at the ceiling “ugghhhhhhhh, physical bodies Fucking Suuuuuuck”.

Jason had to agree with that, bodies surely did fucking suck, but he assumed having a real physical body probably did mean it needed to be fed. “C’mon, you’ll probably feel better once you get some food in you, what’s the last thing you ate?”

Danny stared at the ceiling for a long moment, and Jason felt a complicated wash of emotions from the other boy, a sensation that both thrilled and terrified him. Damn he’d need to figure out what’s up with that soon and learn to control it otherwise that’s going to catch him at the wrong time at some point.

“a Nasty Burger about 50 years ago I think” It had been with Tucker, their last meal shared before he’d taken a turn for the worst.

“… a fucking What??” Jason wasn’t sure if he’d misunderstood, but the mental image a Nasty Burger conjured was decidedly unpleasant “get your arse over here, this will be Much better than whatever the fuck a Damn Nasty Burger is”. He’d had limited supplies in this safe house, but he was still confident it would be good enough.

As Danny stood though Jason watched concerned as the boy swayed on his feet and had to steady himself on the wall. Jason was by his side in a second “Hey, whoa, what’s wrong?” It came out harsh and accusing and Jason winced knowing how it would come across.

Danny just shook his head and took a few deep breaths “just not used to being human is all. Forgot I had to use my lungs in this form…. Food sounds good”. He gave a brief reassuring smile, the kind Jason had seen on Tim sometimes when he was trying to dismiss how many days he’d been awake. It was cute, it was worrying.

Jason had planned to interrogate Danny for every scrap of information he could, but… maybe that could all wait till the guy was able to stand on his own again. They settled down at the table, and Jason was relieved to see Danny actually had an appetite.

----

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[aemnd]

──𝑎.𝑡. ┆ ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡-𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑑. ♡

𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒. hi angels ♡ i hope y'all enjoy this lil modern au abt pregnant!reader as much i do .. ꫂৎ

…the night is quiet.

there's a low hum of the city beyond your windows, the occasional rush of a car down the street, but here—in your dim chambers, with the curtains drawn and the bedside lamp casting a soft golden glow—everything feels still, sacred.

you're half-sprawled on the bed, heavy with exhaustion and weight, your back propped against a fortress of pillows aemond insisted on arranging just for you. you didn't even have to ask. you never do.

he stands at the foot of the bed, shirtless, pale skin glowing in the soft light, silver hair cascading around his broad shoulders.

his gaze is fixed on you like a man starved. you watch his throat bob as he swallows—once, hard—his dilated eye dragging over every inch of you, lingering on the swell of your swollen belly, the softness of your thighs, the way his sweatshirt rides high, exposing your skin.

"you have no idea what you do to me," he says, voice low, rough, reverent.

your heart stutters, feeling suddenly shy under his piercing gaze.

he crawls toward you on the bed, slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking something precious. and when he reaches you, he doesn't go for your mouth—not right away. he places one hand on your stomach, palm warm and sure, and then the other on your thigh, just above your knee.

"you're so fucking beautiful like this, baby," he breathes. "so full. so perfect… so mine."

your breath catches as he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. then another. then lower, just under the curve where your skin tightens, stretched taut by the life growing inside you. his kisses are slow, reverent, claiming. he worships you like a man who can't believe he's been blessed with something holy.

you gasp when his mouth grazes the inside of your thigh. his touch isn't rushed—no, he's savoring this. every little sound you make, every twitch of your hips, every breathless moan when he finally pushes your thighs apart.

"let me take care of you, sweet girl," he murmurs, voice like a prayer. "let me love you, little wife."

you nod, already dazed, already aching for him.

and he does.

gods, he does.

his tongue is slow and thorough, lips soft, hands firm and possessive as they hold you open so he can feast, devouring you. it's overwhelming—being this vulnerable, this full, and still feeling desired, still being cherished like you're the most exquisite thing he's ever tasted. he moans into your sweet cunt like he's drunk on it, like your pleasure is the only thing that exists to him.

you writhe, overwhelmed, dainty fingers tangled in his silky hair, hips arching up into his eager mouth—and he growls, low and desperate and primal.

"stay still, sweet girl," he murmurs, dragging his mouth up your body, kissing the underside of your belly again. "i'll give you everything. always."

you're breathless when he finally pulls off your sweatshirt, carefully, reverently, like unwrapping something sacred. his gaze softens as he takes you in, bare and swollen and flushed so beautifully. he palms your tender breasts that are heavy with milk, thumbs grazing over your puffy nipples, and your back arches as the sensation ripples through you, feeling too sensitive.

"you were made for me," he whispers, kissing the top of your breast, your collarbone, your delicate throat. "look at you. you're glowing, and it's all because of me." there's pride in his voice. possessiveness. that raw, obsessive adoration that never really leaves his gaze whenever he looks at you.

when he finally sinks into you, it's slow. careful. but it doesn't matter how many times he's had you—this is different. deeper. you can feel the reverence in every movement, the way he holds your hips just so, the way he keeps one hand resting protectively over your belly even as he thrusts into you.

"you feel so good like this," he growls against your neck. "so tight around me. gods, baby... you're fucking heaven on earth."

he buries his face against your shoulder, groaning as he rocks into you—slow, deep, possessive strokes that leave you trembling and whining so sweetly for more, more, more. you mewl his name and he shudders, holding you tighter.

"you're mine," he says again, over and over, like a chant. "mine. my wife. my baby. my everything."

and you are.

you're trembling when you fall apart beneath him, gasping his name, clinging to him like he's the only solid thing in your world. he follows with a low growl, hips stuttering, spilling into you with a reverent moan and a shiver that shakes him all the way through.

after, he doesn't move for a long while. he just holds you—still buried deeply inside you, still wrapped around you, one hand cradling your protruding belly like it's the most precious thing in existence.

"you're everything i've ever wanted," he whispers against your damp skin. "you and our child. i'll never stop loving you like this."

and you believe him. you always have.

your skin is still flushed, glowing with the aftershocks of pleasure, and aemond is touching you like you might break.

his fingers trail softly across your belly, your plushy thighs, the curve of your waist—places he's touched a thousand times, but now with reverence like he's seeing them for the first time.

"i can feel her moving," he whispers, eye wide with wonder as your daughter kicks beneath his hand. his large palm spreads protectively across the swell of your womb, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over your skin. "she likes when you come, doesn't she?"

you make a soft, breathless sound—half giggle, half gasp.

"you're obsessed."

aemond lifts his head, his silver hair falling forward as he smirks softly, but there's no teasing in his voice when he replies.

"of course i am, baby. look at you, you're divine."

his fingers slide down, possessive and warm, and you shiver even though you're sweating. you expect him to stop—to let you rest—but you should know better by now.

because aemond is far from done with you.

he shifts beside you, effortlessly pulling you into his lap, guiding you slowly, carefully, until you're straddling him. he holds you close, his hands splayed across your back and the round curve of your ass, keeping you steady.

meekly, you try to protest, "aemond, i just−" but he's already kissing you, loving you.

it's not frantic. it's slow and deep and consuming, like he's trying to memorize your taste. he swallows every sweet sound you make, cradling your face in his hands like you're something sacred.

"ride me," he murmurs against your lips. "let me watch you, sweetling."

your breath catches. you hesitate, heavy and sore, and he senses it immediately, because of course he does.

"i'll help you," he promises, already adjusting the pillows behind you. "you don't have to do anything, baby. just let me see you, let me see my sweet girl."

and gods, you do.

you sink down onto him slowly, carefully, and his head falls back with a deep, guttural groan of pure pleasure, his eye fluttering shut as your warmth surrounds him again.

"fuck," he growls. "just like that. that's it… you take me so well, angel. look at you..."

you're a vision—soft, flushed, swollen with his child, and spread open for him like a gift. he grips your hips, guiding your rhythm, controlling the pace so you don't have to do anything but feel. and you feel everything.

the stretch, the heat, the way he fills you so deeply you swear you can't breathe. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him take control, rocking you in slow, possessive strokes while he kisses your aching breasts, your neck, the underside of your jaw.

"you were made for this, my love," he rasps, nuzzling your heavy breasts. "for me. to carry my child. to take my cock like this. you're perfect."

you sob his name, overwhelmed, and his grip tightens just enough to anchor you.

"that's it, sweet girl," he groans. "let go. you're safe. i've got you."

he always has you. every time.

your orgasm crashes over you like a wave—sudden and all-consuming. your thighs tremble, your manicured nails dig into his shoulders, and he holds you through it, watching your face like he's never seen anything more beautiful while you squirt your release all over his cock.

aemond thrusts up into you once, twice, then buries himself deep as he follows you over the edge, his release hot and heavy, his arms locking around your waist like he's afraid you'll disappear.

afterward, you're boneless against him, your forehead resting on his shoulder, your breathing shallow and uneven.

he rubs your back in soothing circles, his lips brushing against your damp hairline.

"mine," he whispers again. "always."

you hum, too tired to speak, and he shifts just enough to lay you down again, arranging the pillows, pulling a soft blanket over your bare, sensitive skin.

he doesn't leave—not even for a moment.

aemond lies beside you, one arm around your shoulders, the other resting protectively over the swell of your belly. his touch never leaves you. not while you fall asleep. not even when your breathing evens out and your body finally relaxes as you drift off into deep, blissful dreams.

because you're everything to him—his obsession, his devotion, his home. and he'll never stop worshipping you, he vows into the night.

not now, not ever.

© 𝑎𝑒𝑚𝑛𝑑. est, 2025.