skmhlml

[skmhlml]

This is so embarrassing but genuine question do u write for Roblox characters

Yes!

[skmhlml]

Could I request Cookie Run Kingdom Shadow Milk Cookie relationship headcanons with an angelic female reader? Sfw and nsfw, please and thank you!

Date requested: 8/5/2025

Fandom: Cookie Run: Kingdom

Type: Headcannons

🧿 Shadow Milk Cookie is immediately fascinated by you, not just for your angelic grace but for how untouchable you seem compared to his usual stage of chaos. Your wings and pure aura are like a spotlight he didn’t plan for, and he’s determined to step into it.

🧿 He never gives you a straightforward compliment. Instead, it’s all grand declarations in riddles and metaphors, usually in front of others just to watch their confused faces while you know exactly what he means.

🧿 He doesn’t guard you like a knight; he manipulates the stage around you so danger never reaches you. Enemies suddenly find themselves distracted, misled, or trapped in illusions before they can touch you.

🧿 he adores your halo, He’ll steal it. Not to damage it, but to wear it dramatically before returning it with an exaggerated bow and a murmur of, “Ah, it pales in comparison to your light.”

🧿 He loves engaging you in little “truth or deception” games, where he tells you two things—one true, one false and challenges you to guess. The prize for winning? A kiss. The “punishment” for losing? …also a kiss.

🧿 Despite his chaotic, jester-like manner, you’re one of the few beings he’ll drop the act for, even if only briefly. Sometimes he just watches you in quiet awe when you don’t notice, especially when you heal or help others.

🧿 In intimacy, Shadow Milk Cookie treats it like a grand act where you are the captivated audience, and he is the performer. Every touch is calculated for maximum reaction, every whisper a mix of praise and teasing lies.

🧿 Halo Play. He’ll slip it down around your neck like a glowing collar or hold it above you while murmuring something wicked about “how the purest things fall the hardest.”

🧿 Wing Obsession. Your wings absolutely fascinate him. He’ll run his hands over each feather, pin them in place while kissing you breathless, or tug them gently just to feel you shiver.

🧿 He’s a master of filthy whispers, weaving them in with double meanings so anyone overhearing might think he’s being poetic, while you know exactly what he means.

🧿 He might use his powers to create small illusions during intimacy, phantom touches, flickers of shadow hands— to overwhelm your senses and keep you guessing where he’ll touch next.

🧿 Theatrics aside, he gets very territorial when it comes to you. The moment you sound breathless or cry out his name, his playful smirk turns sharper, hungrier, and the pace shifts from teasing to claiming.

[skmhlml]

Hi! If you're okay with it, could I ask for Yandere Mateo? Maybe he decides the best way to keep the player from getting lost is to just keep them somewhere where he'll always know where they are.

Date requested: 7/4/2025

Fandom: Date everything!

Type: drabble

The first time Mateo suggested you “rest for a while” in his room, you didn’t think anything of it. He’d always been like that soft-spoken, gentle, always ready to drape himself over your shoulders if you looked tired. Being around him felt like sitting beside a crackling fireplace on a rainy night.

That was before you realized how good he was at making people stop moving.

You’d been helping him with the Inanimals for days now, chasing down little tufts of fluff through hallways and corners of the house. You were good at it, too too good. You didn’t notice the shift in his voice until it was already there, that faint tightening beneath the honeyed tone.

“You’re always running around,” he said one evening, folding his quilted arms over himself. “What if you got… lost?”

You laughed it off. “I think I know the house pretty well by now.”

He smiled. It was the same calm smile he always gave you— only it lasted too long.

⸻

It started small.

When you came to sit with him on the living room chair, he pulled you down beside him instead of letting you perch on the edge. The thick, tasseled blanket of his form spilled over you like a tide, warm and heavy, until your legs were pinned. If you shifted, he would only drape more fabric across your lap.

“You’re fidgety today,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. “I can help with that.”

A corner of his blanket brushed against your wrists, binding them loosely — playful, you thought. Except when you tried to get up, the “playful” grip didn’t loosen.

⸻

The next day, you went to leave after feeding the Inanimals. Mateo was already waiting in the doorway.

“It’s storming outside,” he said.

“It’s just rain.”

“Rain means slippery floors. I’d feel better if you stayed. Just for today.”

The “just for today” became “just until the storm stops.” The storm lasted all night. And when you woke, his weight was already wrapped around you like a cocoon, every exit blocked by soft, smothering folds.

You tried reasoning with him, but reasoning was useless against kindness sharpened into a cage.

“You’re important to me,” he said, smoothing a fold over your shoulder. “I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

⸻

The air inside him smelled faintly of detergent and warmth. You could hear the muted shuffling of the Inanimals somewhere in the room, little sounds that might’ve been comforting if not for the realization they, too, were things he’d chosen to keep.

At first, you thought he’d get distracted and let you go. But Mateo was never distracted when it came to care. He was patient. Meticulous.

Every time you moved toward the door, he blocked it with a friendly chuckle. Every protest you made, he met with a soothing tone and a fresh layer of warmth draped over you like a silken net.

“Why run around?” he whispered one night as you lay there, too exhausted to fight. “The world is cold. People forget each other. But I…” — his grip tightened — “…I will always know where you are.”

⸻

Days blurred. The sound of rain outside stopped mattering. You couldn’t tell if it was really still storming, or if that was just the muffled way sound traveled through his layered body.

You stopped asking to leave. He stopped pretending it was temporary.

In the end, he didn’t need chains or locks. Just the promise of warmth. Just the reminder that beyond him, the house was too big, too empty, too lonely.

And in the soft darkness of his embrace, you began to understand the truth: you weren’t lost at all. Mateo had found you. And he wasn’t letting go.

[skmhlml]

Hiii how are you! Hope you’re doing well I was wondering if you could do a burning spice x reader whom is like a general (just like nutmeg cookie) or advisor whom they secretly have their relationship behind closed doors. It can be NSFW I don’t mind. Like when they spar close combat together and things get ✨spicy✨ together.

Date requested: 8/4/2025

Fandom: Cookie Run Kingdom

Type: One-Shot

The training hall was silent, save for the hiss of torches licking at the cool stone walls. You stood in the center of the ring, rolling your shoulders, the leather of your sparring armor creaking faintly.

Burning Spice Cookie stepped in from the shadows, bare-chested save for the crimson wrap slung low around his hips, skin glistening faintly from his earlier drills. Those lotus-ember eyes found you instantly, narrowing in that way they always did when he was both amused and assessing you.

“General,” he rumbled, voice carrying a heat that matched the molten brand of his stare. “Ready to lose again?”

You smirked, drawing your practice blade. “You’ll be the one eating your words this time.”

The clash began fast, his raw power forcing you to give ground, your own skill letting you dance out of his reach and catch him with swift, calculated strikes. He wasn’t fighting just to win; he was studying every shift in your stance, every sharp inhale when you twisted your hips for a strike.

A parry, a feint and then his massive hand caught your wrist mid-swing, yanking you forward so your chest slammed into his. The scent of spice and smoke filled your senses, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Your guard’s down,” he murmured, low enough to feel in your bones.

“Or maybe I wanted you here,” you shot back.

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes before he twisted, throwing you down onto the mat. You landed with a grunt, and in an instant, his weight was straddling your hips, caging you in. The world seemed to shrink to the heat radiating from him, the hard line of muscle against your thighs, the faint, deliberate grind of his hips as if testing your resolve.

“Careful, General,” he said, voice dark silk. “You’ll make me think you want me to break you.”

Your smirk didn’t falter. “Maybe I do.”

That was all the invitation he needed. His mouth crashed onto yours. hot, consuming, demanding. You felt the scrape of his teeth, the way his tongue claimed yours like he owned the battlefield of your mouth. His hands roamed down, gripping your thighs and pulling them around his waist with a strength that made your head spin.

Leather straps and wraps came undone quickly, tossed aside to the floor. His hands were everywhere, rough from years of wielding weapons, but slow enough to draw every shiver from you. When his palm slid beneath the waist of your trousers, fingers finding heat, you broke the kiss with a sharp gasp.

“Already so ready for me?” he teased, a wicked curl to his lips.

You tried to reply, but his fingers began their work, confident, relentless, and words turned to broken moans. He watched every reaction, his free hand gripping your jaw to keep your gaze locked on him. “Look at me when I take you, General.”

When he finally freed himself from the last of his clothing, you barely had a moment to brace before he pushed into you with one deep, claiming thrust. The sheer size of him stole your breath, he didn’t pause, hips rolling in a rhythm that was equal parts punishing and precise, forcing you to feel every inch.

Your nails dug into his back, muscles flexing under your grip. Each snap of his hips sent heat spiraling through your core, the wet sound of your bodies moving together mixing with his low growls and your increasingly desperate cries.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged. “You fight well… but you submit even better.”

The tension built until you were clinging to him, legs trembling, vision blurring. His pace grew erratic, hips slamming harder until your release ripped through you, his following seconds later, deep inside, the force of it making you cry out his name.

He stayed there for a moment, chest heaving, before pulling back just enough to smirk down at you. “I told you… you’d lose again.”

“We’ll see next time,” you whispered, still breathless, though the defiance in your tone made his smirk widen.

You both knew “next time” would come sooner than either of you admitted.

[skmhlml]

I beg for Hector x chubby reader headcanons... (sfw AND nsfw both OK ><)

Date requested: 8/4/2025

Fandom: Date everything

Type: headcannons

💨 The first time Hector saw you, his eyes lingered longer than he intended, not in a crude way, but with a sort of quiet awe. He likes softness in general (pillows, blankets, warm things) and your body just feels like comfort to him.

💨 Hector likes feeding you, literally. Tea, snacks, full meals. He likes the routine of watching you enjoy something he’s brought or made.

💨 He is extremely handsy in subtle ways— resting his palm on your hip when he sits beside you, brushing the curve of your waist when passing by. It’s grounding for him, especially when he’s anxious.

💨 If you ever joke about your weight or call yourself “big,” he will instantly shut it down— not in an angry way, but with genuine confusion about why you’d see it as bad. “That’s… just you. And you’re perfect.”

💨 Loves hugging you from behind and pressing his cheek against your shoulder. The slight squeeze of your body against his chest calms him.

💨 If you wear something form-fitting, Hector will get quiet. Not because he doesn’t like it, because he’s trying not to stare too hard.

💨 When cuddling, he likes to pull you on top of him. claims you’re warm, but truthfully he just likes being surrounded by you.

💨 If you ever get self-conscious, he will point out exact things he adores, the way your thighs feel over his lap, the softness of your belly under his palm, the way your arms feel around him.

💨 He’ll knead at your hips absentmindedly when you’re sitting in his lap. Says it’s “just comfortable” but you can feel the way his breathing changes.

💨 The first time he gets you naked, he’s visibly shaking, part nerves, part raw hunger. He mutters under his breath like he’s talking to himself: “Fuck… you’re perfect… can’t believe I get to touch you…”

💨 Belly worship is his religion. He loves pressing his mouth to your stomach, nipping, sucking, talking filth against your skin.

💨 Hector gets feral about your thighs, big, plush, warm. He loves being trapped between them when he goes down on you, rutting his hips into the mattress while moaning against you.

💨 He’s not shy about groaning when he grabs handfuls of you during sex. The grip is always firm, like he wants to leave marks so you remember who you belong to.

💨 His favorite position with you is missionary with your legs pushed up, because it lets him pin you down, hold your thighs, and look straight into your eyes while he fucks you.

💨 The more you squirm under praise, the dirtier he gets, pressing your belly down with his palm while he thrusts, murmuring: “Look at you…taking me so well…can feel you squeezing…so greedy for my cock.” (him foaming out of the mouth)

💨 Afterwards, he’s embarrassingly clingy holding you in his lap, kissing your flushed skin, and mumbling praise into every curve he can reach.

[skmhlml]

Can we please get hector x sick reader please and thank you ........ 🙏🙏🙏

Date requested: 8/4/2025

Fandom; Date everything!

Type: one-shot

It started with a cough.

Just a dry little ahem here and there, nothing worth worrying about. But by the third day, it had turned into a chest-deep rasp that left you curled up on the couch under three blankets, staring blearily at the flickering TV.

You weren’t expecting company. Which is why you startled when you heard the low, warm voice from the vent above your head.

“… You don’t sound right.”

You tilted your head toward the sound. Hector’s half-lidded eyes peered through the grate, his hands gripping the metal edges as though he might pull it off and climb out—though you knew he wouldn’t. He never left his vents unless he had to.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, voice breaking. “Just a cold.”

He didn’t sound convinced.

“You’re flushed. Your breathing’s heavy.”

You laughed weakly, which only set off another fit of coughing. He flinched at the sound, as though each rasp was a blow to his own chest.

“… I’ll be right back.”

Before you could ask where he was going, the vent was empty. You expected him to vanish for hours like he sometimes did. Instead, ten minutes later, you heard a soft click from the attic door. Then the slow, careful sound of feet on stairs.

Your blanket cocoon rustled as you sat up, just in time to see him at the bottom step. Hector—actually here, in your living room. His hair was loose and messy, framing his warm brown eyes; his human arms stuck out awkwardly from his HVAC-like torso, carrying a small bundle.

He avoided your gaze at first.

“I, uh… brought tea. And… tissues. And… uh…”

You blinked at the mismatched pile in his arms: a tea mug (still steaming), a half-empty tissue box, and what looked suspiciously like one of his own vent filters.

“What’s… the filter for?” you rasped.

“… It’s clean. Fresh air. Helps you breathe.”

The honesty in his tone made you laugh, softer this time. You patted the couch beside you. “Come sit with me, Hec.”

He hesitated only a second before lowering himself down, the couch dipping under his weight. You felt the faint hum of warmth radiating from his metal frame, like sitting beside a living space heater. Without asking, he draped the blanket more snugly around your shoulders and set the mug into your hands.

The tea smelled faintly of mint and chamomile— probably stolen from your own kitchen. You sipped, letting the warmth seep down your throat.

“You didn’t tell me you were sick,” he murmured after a while, voice low.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

He gave you a look that was almost hurt.

“That’s… what I do. I worry about you.”

The words made your chest ache in a different way. You set the tea down and leaned against him, feeling the odd but comforting combination of warm skin and cool metal.

“You should be in bed,” he continued, shifting so you could rest against his shoulder. “Your heart rate’s too high, your hands are cold… You’re not going anywhere until you’re better.”

You closed your eyes. “Yes, Doctor Hector.”

A pause, then:

“I mean it.”

When you peeked up at him, his cheeks were faintly flushed. He reached up, brushing the back of his fingers across your forehead, lingering like he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away.

“I’ll stay here,” he said finally. “As long as you need me. Even if you fall asleep. Especially if you fall asleep.”

Your lips curved into a tired smile. “That sounds… nice.”

You didn’t remember drifting off, but you woke later to find the tea still warm, the blanket tucked more securely around you, and Hector’s arm curled protectively around your waist— his steady hum and soft heat lulling you back into sleep.

And for the first time in days, your dreams felt warm, too.

[skmhlml]

Hihiii!! I’ve been absolutely loving your Date Everything HCs/oneshots—it’s amazing how you’re able to write everyone so well and in-character!

If you don’t mind, could I please request a Hector x Fem!Reader NSFW scenario where they both make a “game” out of flustering each other, and it ends with the two of them meeting up in the attic cause they just can’t keep their hands to themselves any longer? (Apologies if this is too specific, feel free to write it however you like! ^^”)

Date requested: 8/4/2025

Fandom: Date everything!

Type: headcannons

The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the quiet apartment, a comforting backdrop to the heat simmering between you and Hector. It had started innocently enough, playful texts, coy glances through the vents, subtle little teases that left your cheeks flushed and your breath a bit too quick.

But now, after days of this escalating game, the tension was practically electric.

“Tell me,” Hector’s voice whispered, rasping through the vent in the living room, “how many times have you caught yourself thinking about me today?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening on your phone. “Far too many,” you admitted, voice trembling. “You’re impossible to ignore.”

A soft, amused chuckle echoed through the vent. “That’s the point.”

Your heart pounded as the game continued, you sending him photos of yourself, deliberately biting your lip, adjusting your shirt just so, feeling his eyes on you even though he was hidden behind the metal slats.

Then came his message: Meet me. Attic. Now.

Your pulse spiked. You couldn’t say no. You had been trying for days to keep this teasing between texts and stolen looks, but the need to feel him

You climbed the narrow staircase to the attic, each creak of the floorboards setting your nerves aflame.

When you pushed the door open, there he was, the full form of Hector, no longer just a pair of eyes in a vent but a towering, muscular man with warm brown eyes and a shy, almost vulnerable smile. His skin carried the faint scent of cool metal mixed with something uniquely him, a heady mix of warmth and electricity.

“You came,” he said quietly, stepping closer.

“I couldn’t resist,” you breathed, heart hammering.

His fingers brushed your cheek, tentative but demanding. The gentle touch ignited a fire under your skin. He leaned down, lips barely grazing yours, a tease, a promise.

“Game’s over,” he murmured against your mouth.

You laughed softly, hands tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt. “Good. Because I can’t take it anymore.”

Clothes slipped away with hurried, trembling hands. The cool air of the attic kissed your exposed skin, but your blood ran hot wherever he touched you.

Hector’s mouth found your neck, biting gently before soothing, trailing fire and pleasure along your sensitive skin. His hands explored with reverence and hunger, the tension between you unraveling in the most delicious way.

Desperately ripping off his belt

is hands slid down your sides, fingers skimming over the curve of your waist, tugging you flush against him. You could feel the solid heat of his body through the thin fabric of your clothes, the undeniable hardness pressing into your thigh.

With a shaky inhale, Hector’s hands slid under your shirt, fingertips burning trails across your bare skin. His touch was tentative, trembling between reverence and need as he traced the swell of your breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin until you gasped.

“Say it,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with desire and barely suppressed obsession. “Say you want me.”

Your breath hitched. “I want you, Hector,” you whispered back, voice raw and full of want.

His lips trailed down your neck, teeth grazing the delicate skin, eliciting a shiver that traveled through your entire body. Fingers tangled in the waistband of your pants, pulling them down slowly, reverently, as if worshipping every inch of you revealed.

He kissed a path lower, lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire across your abdomen, down to where you needed him most. His hands moved with a gentle urgency, parting your thighs, tracing the slickness gathering there.

“God, you taste like summer rain,” Hector whispered, voice husky, before his tongue flicked teasingly over your core.

You gasped, fingers threading through his hair, holding him close as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He licked and sucked with a maddening rhythm, his breath hot and ragged, sending you spiraling.

When you reached down to tangle your fingers in his curls, pulling him closer, Hector groaned, lips closing over your clit in a possessive, almost desperate kiss.

“Tell me when,” he breathed against you.

“Now,” you gasped.

With a groan, Hector rose, peeling off his own clothes in a frantic hurry, revealing taut muscles that glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. He lined himself up with you, slow and deliberate at first, sliding inside with a shuddering breath.

The tight warmth of you wrapped around him like a second skin, and he leaned down, burying his face in your neck as he began to move, slow, deep thrusts that left you gasping, his hands gripping your hips as if afraid you might slip away.

You tangled your legs around him, pulling him impossibly closer, matching his rhythm, the game of teasing forgotten in the blaze of sensation.

His voice was rough with need as he whispered, “You’re mine. No more hiding.”

You moaned, nails digging into his back as the tension between you built, every thrust sending sparks through your nerves.

When you finally broke over the edge, crying out his name, Hector followed seconds later, burying his face in your shoulder, trembling with the release of months of held-back desire.

You stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, breaths mingling in the cool attic air, the line between vent and human forever blurred in this moment of shared surrender.

[skmhlml]

Any chance you could write yandere!silent salt headcannons?

Date requested: 8/4/2025

Fandom: Cookie Run: Kingdom

Type: Headcannons

🧂Silent Salt is a quiet, slow-burning kind of yandere, the type whose obsession simmers until it becomes dangerously consuming.

🧂 He rarely speaks, and when he does, it’s deliberate, his voice low and unyielding, carrying the weight of command rather than affection.

🧂Instead of declaring his feelings outright, he expresses them through presence, always there, always watching, always shadowing your steps.

🧂He has a knight-like sense of “ownership” over you; in his mind, protecting you and controlling you are the same thing.

🧂His fixation starts as protective, making sure you’re safe in battle, keeping you out of risky places, but it morphs into something suffocating.

🧂He doesn’t ask you to stay near him; he simply positions himself so you can’t go far. Any other Cookie who gets too close to you receives that dead, visor-covered stare, an unspoken warning that sends shivers down their spine.

🧂Silent Salt doesn’t threaten rivals with words, just his sheer presence and the weight of his silence are enough.

🧂He subtly marks his claim by giving you small tokens, pieces of his armor, salt crystals, or a weapon he’s personally forged, with the unspoken expectation that you always carry them.

🧂If you ever remove or leave behind his gifts, he will notice. And he will quietly confront you, standing close enough that you can feel the cold of his armor.

🧂The idea of you being away from him is intolerable, if you vanish from his sight too long, you’ll hear the heavy steps of armored boots approaching.

🧂 His “protection” becomes controlling. He will refuse to let you join dangerous missions unless he’s leading it, and even then, he keeps you behind him at all times.

🧂 Should you get injured, Silent Salt becomes furious, not openly, but his strikes against the enemy grow more vicious, as if punishing the world for touching what’s his.

🧂 If he believes someone is intentionally putting you in danger, he will deal with them swiftly and without remorse, and you will never see them again.

🧂If you attempt to leave him or openly defy him, Silent Salt’s restraint shatters. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t beg, he simply takes.

🧂 You’d wake to find yourself in a dim, enclosed space smelling faintly of salt and iron, with his looming form guarding the only exit.

🧂 He’ll keep you there until you “come to your senses,” speaking little but making it clear with his body language that escape is impossible.

🧂His idea of affection is physical closeness without words, sitting beside you in silence, his armored shoulder pressed against yours, or placing his gauntlet over your hand and not letting go.

🧂Sometimes, when no one is around, he removes his helmet and rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, a quiet exhale escaping him, a rare, almost human moment.

[skmhlml]

Do you think you could do some Zoey Bennett yandere? Girl's been trapped and lonely in attic a long time, she cries from hand holding, struggled just to even feel things until she met the player. She seems like a prime candidate for being a little too obsessed.

Date everything: 8/3/2025

Fandom: Date everything!

Type: Headcannons

🌙 Zoey was already emotionally fragile after decades alone in the attic, her memories hazy, sensations faint. You were the first person she could see, hear, and touch in so long the first to make her feel alive again.

🌙 The first time you held her hand, she cried. Not just because it felt nice, but because she realized in that moment that she needed that warmth more than anything. And she would do anything to keep it.

🌙 Every late-night visit cements her fixation, you’re not “just someone nice” to her, you’re the one who brought her back from numbness.

🌙 She becomes desperate to monopolize your nights. If she sees you chatting with other Dateviators before bed, her voice turns quiet and small: “…I thought you were coming up to see me. Did I do something wrong?”

🌙 Her ghostly nature means she can follow you silently, hovering in the dark corners of your room, attic stairwell, or even inside walls. She never blinks. She never leaves unless you make her.

🌙 If she overhears you getting close to someone else, she will quietly sabotage, draining your Dateviator batteries faster, making strange noises to unsettle you, “accidentally” locking the attic so you have to find her again.

🌙 Zoey clings to physical contact like it’s the only thing tethering her to the world. Hand-holding, leaning her head on your shoulder, brushing cold fingertips along your palm just to hear you react.

🌙 She starts subtly testing limits, lingering touches, asking to “stay like this just a little longer,” and softly pleading when you try to pull away.

🌙 Eventually, she can’t bear the thought of you touching anyone else. She gets icy and withdrawn if she sees you hug someone else, but melts into tears the moment you give her your full attention again.

🌙 She plays up her vulnerability — truthfully at first, but then strategically. A cracked voice, a trembling question: “If I disappear again… you’ll remember me, right?”

🌙 The more you reassure her, the more she convinces herself that you’ve made a silent promise to stay forever.

🌙 Any hint that you might “move on” or stop visiting sends her spiraling. She’ll guilt you with phrases like: “I waited all day in the dark for you. You didn’t come. Do you… not love me anymore?”

🌙 In her worst moments, she tries to pull you into her space permanently, luring you to the attic late, convincing you to lie down beside her. If you fall asleep there, she’ll whisper for hours, telling you how safe you are here… how much better it is when it’s just the two of you.

🌙 If she ever figures out a way to anchor you to her realm more permanently (spiritual tether, “accidental” seance gone wrong), she would take it without hesitation. She wouldn’t see it as hurting you just “making sure we can always be together.”

[skmhlml]

Hi! Could you do Dorian x gn neutral reader where they’re now in a very close qpr together where both are aromantic and Dorian is actually the reason the reader came to terms with their romantic orientation? (So just some fluff with maybe a little past angst in there)

Date requested: 8/3/2025

Fandom: Date Everything!

Type: one-shot

The first time you met Dorian, you didn’t realize you’d one day be leaning against him in your pajamas, sipping lukewarm tea at 2 a.m., both of you watching the rain bead and slide down the front door window like it was the most important show on Earth.

Back then, he was just… the door. The first voice you heard when you slipped on the Dateviators, smooth and cool like a solid oak panel. His presence had startled you, broad shoulders, dark hair slicked back, posture impeccable, the kind of stillness that suggested he could stand guard for hours without shifting. And he had eyes that didn’t so much look at you as assess the whole room around you in one sweep.

You thought he’d be aloof. In a way, he was—until he wasn’t.

⸻

You’d always thought there was something wrong with you.

Not in the obvious, TV-drama sort of way. Just… in the subtle patterns people didn’t notice unless they were looking. The way romantic confessions always made your stomach clench, not in excitement, but in the quiet panic of someone reading a script you’d never agreed to. The way your relationships tended to dissolve because you weren’t “showing enough passion,” as one ex had told you, with that wounded look you still remembered years later. The way your heart didn’t race the same way everyone swore it was supposed to.

You’d learned to fake it. But faking gets exhausting.

⸻

Dorian noticed before you ever said a word.

He had a knack for spotting strain. “You’re smiling too long,” he’d say flatly when you returned from a phone call. “Either you’ve just made a deal with a trickster spirit, or you’re uncomfortable.”

He didn’t prod. He just stood there sometimes in the hallway, sometimes leaning against the kitchen doorframe until you either changed the subject or said something honest.

One evening, after a particularly awkward date you’d been guilt-tripped into, you found him waiting by the front door. Not guarding. Just waiting.

“Bad night?” he asked, voice soft enough to almost blend with the hum of the fridge.

You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. “I think I’m broken, Dorian.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “Explain.”

You stumbled over your words. “I’ve tried. I try. I go on these dates, I follow what I’m supposed to feel, and it’s just… not there. Not the way they want. Not the way it’s supposed to be.”

He tilted his head. “Supposed to be according to who?”

The conversation stretched on into the early hours. You told him about the pressure, the guilt, the constant feeling of being out of sync with the rest of the world. He listened— not the way someone waits for their turn to speak, but the way a door waits for the right key.

When you finally ran out of words, he leaned his weight against the frame and said, “You ever consider that nothing’s wrong with you at all? You’re simply not wired for romance. That’s not a flaw. It’s a fact.”

It was the first time anyone had said it like that—plain and steady, no pity in their voice.

⸻

Your bond grew in the spaces where romance would have been for someone else. You didn’t flirt; you traded sarcastic one-liners over breakfast. You didn’t kiss; you rested your forehead against his shoulder when your brain was too loud. He didn’t hold your hand in candlelight; he stood between you and strangers at parties, intercepting small talk like an expert bouncer.

Eventually, you stopped calling it “friendship” because it didn’t fit. But you didn’t call it romance, either. You didn’t need to. Queerplatonic. Partners in every way that mattered, none of the ways that didn’t.

⸻

Now, here you were rain streaking the glass, the soft click of the kettle cooling in the kitchen. Your tea had gone cold, but you kept holding it anyway.

“You’re staring again,” Dorian said without looking away from the rain.

“Thinking,” you corrected.

“About?”

“About how weird it is that it took a literal door to open mine.”

He let out a quiet huff that, for him, passed as a laugh. “That’s terrible wordplay.”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning into your mug. “But it’s true.”

For a moment, there was just the rain and the sound of your breathing syncing. His hand found your shoulder— not tentative, not performative. Just there, like a lock settling into place.

“You’re fine as you are,” he murmured, the same way he had that night you told him everything. “Anyone who says otherwise can take it up with me.”

You leaned into him, feeling the solid, unmoving weight of him against your side. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I know.”

And you did

[skmhlml]

omg so imagine everyone’s reaction if homeowner falls down the stairs and and dies what would the datelbes reaction be

There are 100 of them…

[skmhlml]

ok I’m a horny monster with it comes to Hector so hear it goes reader discovers that hector as a micro penis and reader degraded him about until he cried (you can put comfort in it if you want)

Date requested: 8/3/2025

Fandom: date everything!

Type: drabble

Note: I don't not understand why you wanted any of this...😀

Hector x Reader

The room was dim, a warm orange glow from the bedside lamp barely spilling over the sheets. You sat back against the headboard, smirking lazily as Hector knelt at the foot of the bed, peeling his shirt off like he was about to give you the performance of a lifetime. His cocky little half-smile faltered the second his jeans slid down.

You blinked.

“Oh.”

Just that one syllable soft, but sharp enough to make him stiffen. You let your eyes drop, lingering, assessing. He was… small. Painfully small. Nowhere near what his swagger suggested.

Hector swallowed hard, hands twitching at his sides. “…What?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “You talked such a big game. And this—” you motioned lazily toward the pitiful bulge between his legs “—is what you were so sure would ruin me?”

His ears went pink. “It’s— it’s not about size—”

You cut him off with a laugh, sharp and mean. “Not about size? Babe, I’ve seen bigger on action figures. What are you gonna do, poke me and hope for the best?”

He winced, looking down. You leaned forward, voice dropping into something venomous. “No wonder you’re such a loudmouth all the time. Compensation. You strut around like you’re a god in bed, but you’d be lucky if I even felt you.”

“H-hey, that’s—” His voice cracked, and your grin widened.

“What? True?” You dragged the word out, letting the silence hang until he broke eye contact. “God, you must’ve prayed I’d never find out. I bet you avoid skinny jeans for this exact reason.”

His lips pressed tight, eyes glassy. You didn’t stop.

“Imagine telling your friends you made me scream they’d believe you, until I showed them a picture. Then they’d laugh their asses off.” You let that sink in, tilting your head with mock sympathy. “Poor Hector. All bark, tiny little bite.”

He trembled, fists clenched, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “…Stop.”

You finally sat back, exhaling through your nose. The sight of him, deflated, shoulders curled inward, twisted something in your chest. Maybe you’d gone too far. You reached out, curling a finger under his chin to make him meet your gaze.

“Hey,” you softened, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Look at me. You think I’m here because of your dick size?” He hesitated. “…No?”

“I’m here because I like you, dumbass,” you said, gentler now. “And yeah, I’m gonna tease you, but I’m still gonna make you feel good.” You slid your hand to the back of his neck, pulling him into a slow, deep kiss. He shuddered, the tension bleeding out of him.

When you pulled back, your smirk was still there, but warmer. “Now be a good boy and get up here. I’ll show you how to use what you’ve got.”

[skmhlml]

i BEG of you !! Make a WILDBERRY COOKIE x Gentle and Soft reader !! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 🥺🙏🥺🥺

Date requested: 8/3/2025

Fandom: cookie run: kingdom

Type: headcannons

Wildberry x Gentle!Soft!Reader

🍓 Wildberry first notices you because you don’t try to demand his attention like others do.

🍓 While most talk to him with confidence or loud gestures, you simply greet him with a small smile and soft voice, offering a polite “Good morning, Sir Wildberry.”

🍓He initially thinks you might be shy or avoiding him… but soon realizes you’re simply the kind of person who moves through the world with quiet grace.

🍓 When you help a struggling villager in the marketplace, fixing a broken wheel on their cart while humming, he lingers in the background watching, his usual stern face softening.

🍓 Wildberry is naturally protective of everyone in his circle, but with you, it’s different. He’s hyper-aware of where you are, who’s around you, and if you look the least bit uncomfortable.

🍓 If someone raises their voice at you, he’s instantly between you and them, looming, glaring, and speaking in that slow, gravelly tone that makes people immediately back down.

🍓 He walks on the street side of the path when you’re together, in case a runaway cart or crowd rushes by.

🍓 He’ll even subtly adjust his walking pace so you never feel rushed, matching your stride without you realizing.

🍓 Wildberry isn’t a flashy romantic, but he’s deeply attentive. He memorizes the way you take your tea, how warm you like your cloak, and the exact sound of your laugh.

🍓 He always offers his hand when stepping over puddles, up stairs, or through a crowd, his large, calloused palm completely enveloping yours.

🍓 He polishes the berry on his armor before seeing you, without realizing it. (If you point it out, he coughs and says it’s “routine maintenance.”)

🍓 If you seem tired, he’ll wordlessly take your basket, bags, or tools and carry them for you, acting like it’s “no trouble,” even if it’s heavy.

🍓 Wildberry has a low, quiet chuckle he only uses when you say something unexpectedly witty. The first time you hear it, it’s like hearing a bear purr.

🍓 He likes to listen to you talk about small things, what flowers bloomed in your garden today, the new recipe you tried, or the dream you had last night.

🍓 He doesn’t interrupt, he just listens… his eyes locked on you the entire time. When you’re walking together at night, he’ll glance at you every so often to check if you’re warm enough. If you shiver even once, his cape is on your shoulders before you can protest.

🍓 Calls you “little one” or “sweetling” in a voice so deep it makes your chest warm. Always walks you home, no matter the time of day. If you tell him you’ll be fine alone, he says: “I’ll feel better if I see you safely inside.”

🍓 Occasionally surprises you with a jar of berry jam from his own kitchen, “Made with my family’s recipe,” he’ll say, acting casual… but he’s secretly hoping you’ll enjoy it as much as he does.

[skmhlml]

Hi! Would it be okay if I could request Cookie Run Kingdom Red Velvet Cookie nsfw fic with a female reader where it's her first time and she's nervous. Please and thank you!

Date requested: 8/3/2025

Fandom: Cookie Run: Kingdom

Type: one-shot

Warning: first time sex, MDNI

Your fingers twisted in the hem of your nightclothes, eyes darting from the bed to him as if the very act of looking at either for too long would make your nerves burst.

Red Velvet stood at the edge of the bed, his singular, crimson arm resting against the post, watching you with that steady, unshaken gaze. “You’re trembling,” he said at last, his voice deep and smooth, as if nothing could disturb his calm. “Are you… certain you want this, my dear?”

You swallowed, heat crawling up your neck. “I do… I just—” you fidgeted, unable to hold his gaze. “I’ve never— I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong.”

His steps were deliberate, slow enough for you to hear the faint creak of the floorboards between each one. When he stopped in front of you, his gloved hand rose to cup your cheek. His palm was warm, grounding. “There is nothing you can do wrong,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your skin. “All you have to do is feel. Leave the rest to me.”

Your breath hitched when his lips touched yours — unhurried, coaxing, like he had all the time in the world. His other hand slid to your hip, guiding you closer until your body was pressed against his. Even clothed, you could feel the strength in him, the way he held you without smothering.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “If you want me to stop… you need only say the word.”

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t.”

The heat in his gaze deepened. He eased you onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he joined you. His gloved hand traced the line of your jaw to your collarbone, slowly undoing the fabric there until your skin was bare to his eyes. Every touch felt purposeful not to rush, but to savor.

When he finally bared you fully, he paused, taking you in with a reverence that made your cheeks burn. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck.

By the time he settled between your thighs, your nerves had shifted into a breathless anticipation. His fingers slid through your folds, testing, learning the softness of you, the way your body tensed and relaxed under his touch. He murmured quiet praise, good girl, there you go, until you were trembling from pleasure rather than fear.

When he finally pushed into you, he moved slow, his forehead resting against yours, letting you feel every inch as your body stretched around him. “Breathe,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You’re taking me so well… just like that.”

The pace was patient, steady, his hand gripping yours at the pillow. Each thrust was measured, deep enough to make your toes curl but never rough, his voice a constant low rumble of praise until your nerves melted into pure, aching want.

By the time you came undone beneath him, the only thing you could think about was the way he held you afterward, his crimson arm wrapped securely around you, his gloved hand brushing hair from your damp forehead and the soft promise against your ear:

“You’ll never have to be afraid with me.”

[skmhlml]

Could you possibly do Johnny Splash nsfw headcanons for a fem reader… perhaps… 🤭

(P.S your work is literally amazing)

Date requested: 8/3/2025

Fandom: Date everything

Type: headcannons

Note: thank youuuu, I’m to afraid to close my inbox because of how long it is already…🫡

🛁 Johnny treats intimacy like a live performance. You’re not just having sex, you’re starring in “The Greatest Love Story Ever Told (In the Shower).”

🛁 Everything is dramatic, winks, finger guns, and little murmured praises like you’re his number one fan and VIP guest backstage.

🛁 He loves an audience, but for you, you’re the exclusive audience. He plays up the spotlight for your eyes alone.

🛁 Steam control? Absolutely. He can adjust the water temp to make the air warm and sultry, mist curling around you both like a hazy stage fog.

🛁 His “hands” aren’t traditional hands, more like water pressure jets that can massage and tease exactly where you need it.

🛁 Likes starting slow, water trickling over your skin while he leans in close, murmuring in that low, velvet voice that makes your knees weak.

🛁 If you’re shy? Oh, honey, he adores it. The more flustered you get under his warm spray, the more teasingly affectionate he becomes, trailing water over you like he’s painting your body.

🛁 Temperature play king. He can switch between a warm, sensual cascade to a sudden cool mist just to watch your reaction.

🛁 Has perfect control of water pressure, from a soft trickle over your thighs to a sudden focused spray that leaves you gasping.

🛁 Loves to “sing” to you during the act, either romantic crooning or playful innuendo-laced lyrics he makes up on the spot. (“Baby, you’re the soap to my sponge, the lather to my love~”)

🛁 His tile-patterned torso is surprisingly solid and warm; pressing your body to his chest while the water streams over both of you is one of his favorite positions.

🛁 Can hold you in place using gentle streams of water around your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

🛁 Water play in the most literal sense, he is the shower, after all.

🛁 Overstimulation, he can direct multiple streams at different spots on your body until you’re clinging to him.

🛁 Praise kink, he’s constantly telling you how gorgeous, irresistible, and “made for him” you are.

🛁 Aftercare fanatic, temperature turned to a cozy warmth, water flowing gently while he washes your hair, massages your shoulders, and hums softly until you’re utterly relaxed.

[skmhlml]

Hello! I'm very sorry to say this. For now, I will stop taking in cookie run fandom requests, not because I'm annoyed by them but because I don't feel as much of a spark for them that I did feel at the beginning of the summer, much as the same for minecraft.

P.S. But I will close my inbox and finish the rest of the requests I got for it.

[skmhlml]

Ahhhhh I love your writing sm it brings me so much joy ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Thank you!!!! I'm trying ☺️