#X black fem reader

[ayeyolooo]

we cry together

you was sitting on your black leather couch sipping on your wine glass in a robe, watching sisters by tyler perry. ony hasn’t gotten home yet and you were upset, and worried. upset because he didn’t answer every time you called so you immediately started to overthink and began to think that he’s out with some other woman. your eyes started to sting as you sniffed and shook your head at the tv. unbelievable. you thought you was nothing but a good woman to him, making sure that he ate, pampered him did everything that a woman should do for their man.

the front door clicked open as ony walked in with his chains dinging and his dreads up in a ponytail. his black shirt fitted tightly around his arms as you just looked at him with complete disgust. he hadn’t met your eyes yet, but you turned around so that you couldn’t see your face, and so he could see yours. “hey mama, you okay..” he walked up to you and tried to kiss your forehead. “where were you..” you stood up and walked over to him looking at his face. “mama i was working i thought that i told you?” he said looking at you with a confused face. “you know what man.. i’m done with this shit.” you said walking to y’all’s room ony behind you all on your trail. “y/n what the fuck is wrong witchu??” he asked taking his gun from his waistband and placing it on the dresser where it always goes. you walked close to him again only to smell the perfume on his shirt. your heard dropped down to your butt. your eyes immediately were filled with resentment. “ony why do you smell like perfume?” you asked with a firm tone. he halted a little. damn. you waited but no answer, you just shook your head with a scoff before reaching for your keys. “wait listen to me.” he said holding out his hands for you to listen. “fuck no. nigga gimme my keys.” he shook his head. “nah you not getting these keys til you listen to me, and what i got to say.” he said softly. you almost folded, but a little part of you wanted you two to keep fighting.

part 2?

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Don't Kill My Vibe

Title: Don’t Kill My Vibe

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.

Warnings: mention of a breakup, recreational drug use (marijuana), friends-to-lovers trope, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids

A/N: This is an AU where Clark Kent is not superpowered and Superman does not exist. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

It wasn’t the first time Clark asked to try some bud, but it was the most pathetic. His gorgeous blue eyes were puffy from crying over that woman. As much as you wanted to say, “I told you so," you didn’t want him to feel any worse about the failed relationship with his reporter beau, Lois Lane.

And yet again, you think to yourself, ‘Fuck Lois Lane’.

When he showed up at your place an hour ago in sweatpants, sneakers, and a button-up pullover, you were surprised to see he opted for something other than his normal flannel and jeans. His hair was mussed, and he avoided eye contact with you. Something was wrong.

You dragged him into your apartment, turning down your Spotify playlist on the Bluetooth speakers so you could talk over the mellow tunes. While you flopped down on your couch, Clark sat down slowly and sighed.

You were already elevated, having taken a couple of puffs from your blue and red glass bowl earlier, so you were struggling to pay attention to everything he was saying. You tried to put on your “I’m not high” face and nod enough, saying “Oh wow” occasionally. But, in actuality, your eyes were as red as the Devil’s dick, and Clark wasn’t stupid.

His eyes looked from yours to the tray on the coffee table that held your various assortments of smoking apparatus, grinder, lighter, and stash box. Leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees, he motioned his chin toward everything and said, “I know you’ve said no a million times, but I could use an escape. And before you say no again, know I’ve tried all the tricks in the book to get over somebody, and nothing is working.” 

“I have a feeling there’s another thing you haven’t tried either, but whatever,” you rattled on, waving off his confused expression. “Fine. It should be illegal for you to use those puppy eyes when asking me for something, by the way.”

So here you are, preparing a strawberry cone for you and Clark to share. You were always weird about people using your favorite bowl. You also figure that for a first-timer, it would be the easiest for him to start with. Twisting the end after filling the cone, you reach for the lighter and ashtray.

“First things first,” you purr, using your phone to turn the music up. “Now, watch what I do. I’m going to draw the smoke into my mouth and then hold it for a few seconds, or as long as I can, before blowing it back out. Ready?”

Clark nods as he turns toward you, tucking one leg under the other. Now that you have his full attention, you suddenly feel flustered. Casting your eyes downward, you take the cone into your mouth and light the end. You inhale deeply and take it out of your mouth. Savoring the citrus flavor of the strain, your tongue licks your lips, and you exhale. 

You close your eyes and take a few breaths. After a moment, you hear Clark’s voice breaking through your haze: “Everything good?”

Your eyes pop open, and just like nothing happened, you perk up. Handing him the cone, you blink as he holds it like someone who has never smoked. You’ve known Clark long enough that you have a suspicion that is probably true for him. 

He’s polite, almost to a fault. He screams Boy Scout, altar boy, and ‘promise ring’ all at the same time. What can you say? Clark was a good boy. And you were getting him high. You little devil! 

Clark takes a short pull from the pink-colored joint and manages to hold it for about two seconds, then attempts to exhale. A small plume escapes his mouth, he inhales sharply and has a coughing fit. You take the joint back before he drops it and sit it in the ashtray.

Rubbing his back, you try to talk him through catching his breath. You grab your water bottle and hold the straw to his mouth when he nods his thanks. He sips the water, then clears his throat loudly, burping up a bit of smoke. He laughs quickly as he sees it exit his mouth, reminding you of a little surprised dragon.

“That was fun,” he sputters, his voice deeper than usual.

“It gets easier, Clark. Trust me, coughing is normal. And most of the time, coughing gets you higher,” you laugh, picking up the joint to take another hit.

You inhale, exhaling into the air, and hold it out for Clark to take again. He sips from your water bottle and gives it to you in exchange for the joint.

Holding it between two fingers, he brings it to his lips. You watch his mouth curl around the tip, and your brain conjures up the vision of what else that boy’s mouth can do. He takes the joint out of his mouth, holding his breath for a few seconds, then blows it out slowly. He gives it back to you and leans back against the couch.

“I don’t think I feel any different yet. How long does it take to kick in?” he asks, crossing his arms and pouting.

It being his first time, he is completely unaware that he is already high. His body language is different; Clark Kent doesn’t slouch even a little. He also certainly doesn’t fidget; his hands suddenly become very interested in the material of his pullover.

“You’ll feel it sooner than you think,” you mumble, the joint between your lips as you speak.

Twenty minutes later, Clark tells you exactly what the last straw was that ended his relationship with Lois. He pauses to take a hit, handing it back to you as he exhales. “But it was always whatever she wanted. I treat her like a queen. And she goes and blows Jimmy-fucking-Olsen. Then she lies about it after Jimmy comes clean to me. I…,” he trails off, looking over at you and shaking his head as he laughs.

“What?” you question when you realize he stops talking.

“Nothing. I just… I think I’m high,” he giggles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling when he smiles at you.

“Besides being high, can you describe how you feel?” You press, wanting to know just how high he is.

“I feel lighter. Clear…er? Is it clearer or more clear? Whatever. I think I also just figured out how I want to finish that article on The Wayne Foundation,” he explains, leaning back so he is lying on his back with his head on your lap. “Is this ok? Your lap looked so comfortable,” he wonders aloud, looking up at you.

That’s when you realize three fundamental truths at the same time. 

1. Clark is single. 

2. Clark is literally in your lap.

3. The crush you have on Clark is swiftly turning into lustful infatuation.

Bringing yourself back to the present, you smile at him and say, “Yeah, of course it’s ok.” You focus on the heat radiating from your best friend as he makes himself comfortable so close to your thirsty pussy. 

“You are the best,” he replies, closing his eyes as your hand finds its way into his curls.

“This cool?” you dare, hoping that you can continue to push the boundary between friendship and something more.

As if the groan from the back of his throat wasn’t enough, he voices his satisfaction. “More than cool. I love having my hair played with. Feel free to go to town on me.”

Oh, the importance of phrasing.

This man is not going to make it easy on you.

You’re explaining to Clark about that episode of Bob’s Burgers where Bob and Linda accidentally get high after eating cookies laced with marijuana at their accountant’s office. “So, anyway. Bob, Linda, and the accountant build a pillow fort from the cushions on his couch, and somehow it makes them feel safer which I get because pillow forts were the height of safety when we were kids. And sometimes, people feel safer thinking about the simplicity of their childhood,” you rattle on, leaning forward to grab your water bottle and forgetting about Clark’s head, which is still very much in your lap.

An oomph is spoken into your boobs, and you shoot straight up to a standing position and knock Clark off your lap and onto the floor. 

“Shit!” he cries from his spot on the floor.

“Fuck, Clark! I’m so sorry! Are you ok?” You cringe, your hand touching your forehead as you watch him pull himself up.

“Hey, hey. It’s cool, I’m fine,” he reassures, his hand grabbing yours to take it away from your face. With the other hand, he grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Tilting your head up, he smiles and counters, “Are you ok?”

Yeah. Fine. My tits were just thrust into your face for a bit there. Oh, and you have no idea that I like you. And that pesky curl is falling into your pretty eyes again. And your handsome face is close enough to-

One second, you’re staring at his smile; the next second, you’re attacking his mouth with yours. His lips are just as pillowy and soft as they look. At first, the kiss is timid. Surprise gives way to need as he deepens the kiss. His tongue seeks solace as it slides against the seam of your lips. Granting him entry, he licks into your mouth like an explorer discovering new lands. 

His hands find their way to your hips, bringing you impossibly close. He feasts on every whimper that leaves you, peppering in some moans of his own. This is the kiss of a man waiting for a moment like this. At least, that’s how it feels.

Begrudgingly, you slowly break away from Clark. His kiss-swollen pink lips beg to be reunited with yours, but you must prove this is real. You look up into his dilated eyes, noting how blue is almost completely taken over by black. 

You open your mouth to speak, but Clark beats you to it.

“Unless you are about to tell me you don’t want this, please just kiss me again,” he breathes, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what’s more intoxicating. This drug or having you so close to me.”

Instead of worrying about what this means, you throw caution to the wind. Tilting your head, you slot your lips with his, devouring the subtle whimper that escapes him. From nervous to commanding, you feel Clark’s demeanor change as his hands wander over your body.

He picks you up by the waist, your legs instinctually wrapping around him. With you in his arms, he walks blindly to your bedroom. Once he lays you down, he covers your body with his. The hard length against your mound gives you pause, but you quickly recover as you angle your hips to meet his.

Clark breaks the kiss to sit up and remove his pullover and shirt. A pink hue dusts his cheeks as he watches you scan his torso while you bite your lip. Leaning down, he tugs at the hem of your shirt, wanting you to get rid of it. 

You oblige, now topless in front of your best friend for the first time. You don’t have time to freak out over that information because Clark hooks his fingers in your leggings, his eyes begging for permission. You raise your hips, and he pulls them down your legs along with your underwear. 

You sit up as he chucks his sweatpants, his heavy erection now visible. Your first thought is, “Now that is a pretty dick.”

“Thank you,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” You wonder aloud, already knowing the answer.

Clark smiles, nodding at you before coaxing you to lay back. He sinks between your legs, holding them open to kiss your thighs. He teases you a bit, licking and nipping at your mound and outer labia until you wiggle your hips and whine. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Patience, please,” he cautions, shaking his head at you. He winks at you, diving fully into your snatch and sucking your clit between his lips. 

You throw your head back in ecstasy as his tongue slides over your swollen button. Humming while sucking on your nub is a fucking power move, and your hands tangle in his hair. You dig your heels into his back as he laps up the juices that accumulate at your entrance. Looking down at him as he worships at the altar of your body, you are taken aback as he peeks up at you over your mound.

With your eyes locked on each other, he watches as he tips you right over the edge. He groans into your pussy, his mouth and chin soaked, as your walls contract around nothing. The euphoria of being high mixes with the joy of being with someone new for the first time.

But this isn’t just anybody; this was your best friend. Warmth and comfort exist between you, allowing you to feel safe enough to fall and that Clark will catch you.

You come down as he plants a kiss on your mound, grazing his lips up your tummy. When he is back above your face, he runs the tip of his dick across your wet folds. He maintains eye contact while he slides in for the first time. 

Once he is fully seated inside you, he lets you adjust to his size before he withdraws slightly and thrusts forward. The wet squelch of your pussy and the smack of your bodies against one another are music to your ears. Clark’s grunts as he fucks into you only fuel your impending second climax.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Too good. Not going to last long,” he warns, sitting up on his knees as his hands go to your waist. Throwing his head back, he growls and picks up the pace, using your body like his personal fucktoy.

Your back arches as he repeatedly hits that hidden bundle of nerves. A searing fire erupts in your belly as your cunt clamps down on his dick, spasming and coating it with your cream.

“Good girl! That’s it. Fucking come for me, just like that,” he encourages. “Oh, shit. I’m right fucking behind you. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuck.”

You lock your legs around his waist, keeping him right where he is as his dick spasms and fills you to the brim. Your hands smooth down his big chest, feeling the muscles ripple as he comes down from what is probably the most intense orgasm he has ever felt. He stills soon enough, breathing back to normal as his softening length slips from you.

Flopping down next to you, Clark wraps an arm around you. You curl into his side, an arm across his stomach, and a leg thrown over his. Contented silence fills the room as you both take in this unforeseen turn of events.

Clark’s hand makes idle patterns on your back as you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You close your eyes for only a moment, missing Clark smiling at you. He gives you a quick peck on the top of your head, causing you to tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“You hungry?” you guess, feeling a bit peckish yourself.

“Yes!” he exclaims.

“Good. I know a great place down the street that makes the best samosas. Does Indian food sound good?” you ask, already tasting the rich spices of the food.

“Sounds perfect,” he says, picking up his arm to let you get up from the bed to grab your phone, watching your hips sway as you walk out to the other room.

Once back in bed, you order various dishes for the both of you. While you wait for the food, you pass a joint back and forth and steal a kiss or two. You decide there is plenty of time for you and Clark to talk. There is no use in killing the vibe for heavy stuff.

With the way Clark is looking at you, there’s not much to talk about anyway. 

🍃The End🍃

A/N: I would love to know what you think!!! Feedback is appreciated!

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[aotprncss]

MY MAN - SATORU GOJO

satoru as your man - jealousy problems to the max, and will never let you forget it. ever. "why don't you ask your boyfriend nanami to open that for you? bc he's so smart isn't he yn ..."

satoru as your man - might be the biggest flirt you've ever met. you've gotten on him about it multiple times, but it just comes natural to him. and as amazing it is for you, it irks you when you see another girl biting her lip over him

satoru as your man - the type of man who enjoys seeing you irritated or jealous. its a major character flaw of his but he cant help but giggle when you raise your voice at him

satoru as your man - "why are you so far away mama? cmere"

satoru as your man - the type of man to text you something needy when you two are in a public setting, just to see you get flustered

satoru as your man - LOVES LOVES LOVES physical touch. are you in his way? he'll grab onto your waist to get what he needs.

satoru as your man - "a bonnet? can I wear one, looks snug"

satoru as your man - always clings to you when you two are in public, like he's your own personal body guard

[princessfizzintine]

dating shoto pt.2 ✿̈

[hookhausenschips]

She said, "He's not coming back. Because he's sleeping with me!”

Masterlist

Summary: based on Dirty Diana

Join my taglist here!

A/N: I was tempted to add smut to this but I’m feeling lazy tonight, lmk if you’d want an updated version with it

Like and Reblog if you enjoyed!

————————————————————

Y/N’s POV

Monaco’s glitter never dulled, and neither did my appetite for its most enticing visitors. Among the Formula 1 elite, Sebastian Vettel had always stood out—not just for his skill on the track but for his notorious resistance to the charms that worked so effortlessly on others. He intrigued me, like a puzzle begging to be solved, and I couldn't resist a challenge.

During one of the Grand Prix after-parties, I wove through the crowd, my dress catching the lights, knowing full well he’d notice. Approaching him with a drink, I smiled, offering it as a token of congratulations.

“Sebastian, that was some impressive driving today,” I said, my voice laced with just a hint of promise. “Ever think of celebrating away from all this noise?”

He took the drink, his smile polite but guarded. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans,” he replied, a flicker of caution in his eyes.

I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. “Plans can change, Sebastian. Sometimes spontaneity can lead to the most memorable nights.”

"Thank you, but I prefer quieter celebrations. Perhaps another time," he replied, already looking past me.

"Oh, come on. A little celebration never hurt anyone," I teased, touching his arm lightly. He glanced at the contact, his eyes flickering with a warning. But I saw the momentary lapse, the brief interest, and I knew—I had a way in.

As the season progressed, I found myself at various races, always making sure I was in Sebastian's line of sight. In Singapore, under the artificial stars of the Marina Bay Circuit, I escalated my efforts. Waiting in the shadows after his disappointing finish, I approached him with a sympathetic smile.

"Rough night, huh? Everyone needs to let off some steam," I said, my voice low and inviting. "Let me show you the real nightlife of Singapore."

He glanced at me, his tired eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability. “You don’t give up, do you?” he remarked, half-amused.

“And you seem worth not giving up on,” I replied smoothly, placing my hand reassuringly on his.

This time, he hesitated, the strain of the race evident in his eyes. "Maybe just a drink," he finally conceded, and I knew this was my moment.

We ended up at a secluded spot, away from the prying eyes of the racing world. As the night deepened, so did our conversation, and eventually, the undeniable attraction took over. It was everything I had planned, a night of whispered secrets and shared laughter, which ended with a promise of no strings attached.

The morning brought reality crashing back. As the sun rose over the skyline, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Sebastian's expression turned solemn. "This can't happen again," he stated firmly, his voice rough with regret. "I have someone waiting for me back home. This was a mistake."

I watched him dress, the lines of his body tense with conflict. "Everyone makes mistakes," I said softly, trying to lighten the mood. But his jaw was set, his decision clear as he walked out, leaving me to ponder my next move.

Driven by the thrill of the challenge, I refused to give up. My next opportunity came in Abu Dhabi, at the season's closing race. I knew this was my last chance to sway him this season. I pulled out all the stops, arranging an accidental meeting at the hotel lobby.

"Sebastian, fancy seeing you here," I said, feigning surprise. "One last celebration to end the season?"

He looked tired, worn out from the demands of his career and perhaps the weight of his guilt. "I shouldn't," he started, but I cut him off.

"Just one drink, for old times' sake?" I suggested, my voice a soothing balm to his hesitation.

This time, when he agreed, there was a resignation in his tone, a surrender to the inevitable. We found ourselves back in a secluded corner, the world fading away as we picked up where we had left off.

The night blurred into a tapestry of touch and whispers, a repeat of our last encounter but with an underlying urgency. As dawn approached, we faced each other with a mutual understanding; this was more than just a fling.

"I don't regret this," Sebastian confessed, his voice low, filled with a complex mixture of emotions. "But it changes nothing back home."

I nodded, my mind already racing with possibilities. "Who says it has to change anything?" I murmured, the idea taking root.

As he left, the final goodbye was different—less regretful, more inevitable. We were both caught in a web of our own making, the boundaries blurred. And as I watched him go, I knew this wasn't the end. The chase was as thrilling as the catch, and I was already planning the next Grand Prix, the next encounter, under the guise of night and the rush of adrenaline.

In this high-speed game of cat and mouse, I was always one step ahead, and Sebastian was an opponent worth every strategic move.

[yoongis-black-grilfriend]

Mothers Night Out

Warnings: SMUT, oral, lactation, toxic! rafe, car sex, penetrative sex, and breeding.

Ring Ring Ring

The sound comes blaring as you're face down in your pillow, head pounding a mile a minute. The ringtone continues to jingle you answer and put the phone to your ear.

“Hell-” You try to answer before the voice on the other line starts, “Why the hell am I over here watching our children while you're running around as if you don’t have any responsibilities in life?” The voice quickly cut in as you rolled your eyes.

“Rafe, it was one night out, what are you on about-” You were cut off again, the man on the other line not wanting to hear that. “NO, you told me that you were going to hang out with friends; NOT those fucking pogues and you know that”.

“Those pogues are my friends.” You start to say before he cuts you off, in his frustration.

“I don’t care. Get ready” he snapped. Before you could say anything else, the dial tone reached your ears as you sat up in the bed you were lying in, which happened to be John B's.

Ever since you became a mother you were dedicated to taking care of your children trying to be the best mother you could be for your little girls. You sacrificed everything for them, including your well-being. Your friends thought it would be a good idea to hang out last night since you have yet to have the time to genuinely hang out just as a group. Last night was fun. You all piled in John B’s living room playing drinking games and catching up on everything social that you might have missed.

“How are you doing in here sleepy head?” JJ leaned up against the door with a smile. “My head is killing me” You respond, messaging your head. “Well sorry to break it to you but your baby daddy is outside, so your hell awaits you”

“Ha ha, you are so funny.”

Gathering your things you throw a pillow at his head which he dodges with a smirk. “Kiss the girls for me!” He yells behind you as you make your way towards John B's door. “Will do!”

Wanting to say goodbye to everyone else you were met with disappointment as they were all still asleep. Walking out the door you are met with the father of your children leaning against a black truck with your door already opened.

Climbing into the truck, you close the door with Rafe following behind you. Looking behind you, you expect to see your baby girls in the back but you just met with their car seats. Looking to Rafe you ask. “Where are Whisper and Clover?” Looking at you he shakes his head.

“They're with Rose since you want to act like they don't exist.” “Rafe please don’t do this for the past six months I have been held up in the house” you breathe in, tears threatening to fall. “Taking care of our girls day in and day out so please don't act like me hanging out with my friends for one night makes me a terrible mother”

Regret flickers across his face as he reaches across the armrest and he takes your face in his hands, expression softening. “I didn't know you felt this lovely, I’m sorry I treated you that way. I was just upset because I thought you didn't want to spend any time with me.”

Moving his hands under your skirt to your thighs you gasp as his fingers barely graze your skin. His touch sends shivers down your spine and Rafe notices this with a smirk on his face. “Have I been neglecting you, baby?” He teases.

Pulling your legs apart, his tongue runs along your inner thighs while your breath starts to get shallow, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “Please Rafe” You gasp as he continues sticking his tongue out it quickly dips into your folds, your head hitting the car window. His tongue moves at a regular pace while you feel your skin getting inflamed with the pleasure that you are receiving from your core.

Moving his head from side to side he groans as he pulls your hips impossibly closer to his face. “C'mon baby give it all to me.” “Ohhh fuck.” you groan, your body trembling with desire, as he pulls his head closer in between your legs your stomach starts to form a knot.

“Please- please don't stop” you begged, Rafe moaning into your pussy as you started to shake with your heels digging into his back. “I’m cumming, fuck!’ Crying out your back is arched as your white spot starts to blur your vision. Waves of pleasure begin to wash over you through your climax.

“Get in my lap lovely” Rafe murmurs. Blinded by the orgasm you just had you let him guide you into his lap, with his pants unzipped and his length hard as you feel it nudge your walls as you place your hand on your shoulders.

Bending his head he latches his mouth to your nipple gripping your hips as the sweet taste of your nectar fills his mouth greedily taking it in as he moves his cock inside of you as you slowly move back and forth on his lap.

Detaching his lips he attaches his mouth to yours and as you inhale the slight sweet taste of your milk you take his tongue in your mouth. His hips match your rhythm with the car moving side to side due to the impact of Rafe's thrust, each one bringing us closer to the edge.

“You are perfectly lovely please make me cum, inside of you let me give you another baby please!” he begs, tightening his hold on your hips. “Give me another daddy cum deep inside of me!” Gasping for breath, you wrap your arms around his neck burying your head in his shoulder. your orgasm splashing between the two of you, as Rafe’s cum fills you up.

With your mind in its dizzy state, Rafe guides you back to your seat buckling your seatbelt and finally pulling out of the chateau.

*Ding* The notification sound draws you to your phone and your face turns red with the message you read as Rafe busts out with laughter after reading the message on your phone.

JJ🦾:”I hope you know WE all saw that…“

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: “get fucked or die” becomes the motto to live by when a serial killer begins targeting virgins on your campus.

genre: smut, horror/slasher, college!au

word count: 7.1k

warnings: multiple minor character deaths, blood, gore, violence (including gun and knife use), mentions of alcohol consumption. virgin-shaming and slut-shaming, oral (fem receiving), riding, virgin!reader, first-time sex, protected sex, hair-pulling, biting, fingering, dirty talk, virgin kink/corruption kink, fuckboy JK. is JK a sub or a masochist here? answer: i don’t fucking know!

a/n: inspired by the movie cherry falls (2000). heed the warnings. remember that this is fiction, not meant to be entirely realistic, and characters' views/actions don't represent my own. if this kind of content is not up your alley just block me or make use of the wonderful filtering option in your account settings

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 2

CHERRY BOMB

don't wanna die? come out and hook up with a sexy girl or guy.

virgins get in free!

THIS FRIDAY

NOV 3, 20XX

[address here]

"very corny." you shake your head, looking at the party flyer in your hands. you'd just torn it down from the bulletin board in your dorm lobby; unauthorized advertisements aren’t allowed, and your job as RA involves these menial-ass tasks. "this is literally life or death...why are they turning it into a joke?"

"it is a joke," your friend camille says, snatching the flyer out of your hands to look it over. "think about it. 10 students get killed since we came back in august, and the semester isn't even over yet. the school administration and local police haven't done nearly enough to address it or stop any more deaths. and the common denominator is that all these people were suspected or confirmed virgins?” you haven’t seen the evidence yourself, but the daughter of one of the local policemen claimed every victim also had virgin carved into some part of their dead body. “yeah, i'd say it's a joke to pretty much everyone at this point. this is what happens when you let the students come up with a solution."

camille hands the flyer back to you, and you hold it limply. "but...it's not like you can look at someone and tell if they're a virgin. the killer must've known them all personally. it just doesn't make sense."

"some of those people had no mutual friends. nothing connecting them whatsoever. not even shared extracurriculars. it's gotta be a perverted stalker with a fetish, maybe. a scorned hacker who somehow got into their private conversations 'n' shit? or maybe he consulted the cards to know who’d fucked before and who hadn’t.”

“oh please.” you scoff. “now you’re being completely ridiculous. tarot cards aren’t gonna tell you if someone’s a virgin or not.”

“then you come up with a better explanation. either way, these folks—" camille points to the flyer "—aren't taking their chances."

"hm..." you keep staring at the flyer, looking at the shiny-red cherries, condoms, sex toys, and other sex-related objects decorating the paper. whoever designed this really wasn't playing.

"so, are you gonna go?" camille asks with a sidelong glance. "free admittance, after all."

your neck burns under the collar of your shirt. "are you?" neither of you have had sex yet, for differing reasons. camille's reason was almost complete indifference to the whole act.

she gives you a look that says i could give a shit. "...you know the answer to that one, dear. so you're not even thinking about it? as much as you have cried to me and lorelai about not being able to find a man you like enough to give it up for, our killer here probably already knows. you practically have a ‘come kill me’ bullseye on your back.”

"i don't know," you say, because you genuinely are thinking about it. “and stop trying to fucking scare me.” despite your logical brain trying to reason with you, you still feel a sense of underlying terror about being the next victim. "the virgin killer," as they'd nicknamed the freak, clearly prefers a specific type of victim, and all kills have been random and unpredictable other than that—and the fact that every victim attended your university. he also seems partial to using a knife on his victims, but even that isn’t guaranteed—3 of the 10 had been killed in ways other than stabbing. "i don’t know why you’re so nonchalant about this, though."

camille shrugs. "if he comes for me, i'll just spray him with my illegal mace and kick his nuts into his throat. then tie him up and wait for my dad to come blow his head off. there are some advantages to having a gun nut for a dad."

you chuckle at the absurdity of it. "you've got it all planned out, then."

--

FRIDAY, NOV 3

taking a rideshare to the party was a smart idea on lorelai's part, because the two little shots you took to pre-game already have you feeling woozy. or maybe it's just your nerves.

the cherry bomb is located at a mansion that isn’t really a mansion, but a large once-abandoned house one of the fraternities fixed up years ago for throwing off-campus parties.

the party is stacked wall to wall with people when you enter, though from what you can see, no one has actually started fucking yet—maybe they're saving that for the supposed orgy later in the night. you just hope you can get someone in one of the backrooms before that happens, because you're not really keen on having everyone in your class knowing what your tits look like.

you have one simple mission here tonight—lose your long-held virginity and get off the virgin killer's radar. once that's done, you'll make your exit.

"actually, i'm surprised anyone else showed up. other than you, who wants to willingly admit that they're still a virgin in college?" lorelai shudders. you roll your eyes and try not to feel offended, sucking your teeth.

"you were more than welcome to stay back at the dorm."

"no! i'm here for moral support, plus i don't want to be alone tonight. i don't care who this killer targets, it's getting too crazy out here to just be letting your guard down anymore."

well, you won't argue that.

you and lorelai dance to the song booming over the multiple speakers, scanning the room for potential hookups all the while. you become more alert when you recognize a familiar length of black hair coming through the front door, plus the tattoos and piercings to match.

you're not surprised jungkook came. he has his pick of untouched and easily corruptible virgins here, which has always been his thing; you've heard him brag about it to his seatmates more than once in your shared elective. not to mention the stories you've heard from the women who actually fucked him. as far as you could figure, it was the usual male ego posturing bullshit about being able to say he was someone’s first—and likely best. for that reason, alarm rises when he makes eye contact and starts making a beeline for where you and lorelai are.

"oh, here comes the campus bicycle," lorelai says, voice deadpan.

you continue watching him from the corner of your eye, trying to see if he's just approaching someone in your general vicinity, but no. once he shoves his way through the crowd of dancers, some unashamedly groping at his body as he does, he stops right in front of you two.

"so, are you here for the same reason i am?" he asks you, grinning like the devil himself. "or are you looking to get that sweet little cherry popped?"

the backs of your knees sweat. "um—latter, i guess." you hadn't meant to answer that honestly, but to say you are caught off-guard is understating it. you can count on one hand the number of times you and jungkook have talked to each other in class, and never about anything of this nature.

"you're not gonna ask me?" lorelai says.

jungkook gives a hearty laugh; you didn't think it was that funny. "everyone knows you're not a virgin, why waste my time?"

"wow, okay. fuck you. you're no saint yourself." she huffs.

"anyway…" jungkook returns his attention to you. "have you really never done anything before? not even sucked a dick? there's no way someone hasn't tried to hit that. not even some 'backdoor action only' like those weird religious girls?"

"is that any of your business? i didn't know we had to give a rundown of our lack of sexual experience before getting laid around here." you snap.

jungkook's eyelids lower a fraction. "i'm tryna decide how easy i should go on you, babe. i mean, if you wanna take this in one of the rooms. otherwise, i'll let someone else have a go if you're not interested."

unfortunately, you are interested, despite his overly blunt manner and objectifying language. even though you know you’ll just become another entry on his long list of flings—someone he’ll tell his boys about later—maybe the fear of death is making you impulsive.

but maybe his looks are playing a part in it, too.

he's imposing with his physique and his all-black attire, his shirt so tight that you can clearly see his pectoral muscles and his nipples, his unbuttoned leather jacket doing nothing to hide those details. you can easily imagine yourself running your hands across those pecs, squeezing them, rubbing your fingers against his nipples and making him moan underneath you, feeling and seeing his abs contract through this stupid-ass shirt that must've been painted on. this brief fantasy immediately dampens your panties.

"…i'm interested," you affirm, dragging your gaze back up to his eyes, and he smirks from knowing you were obviously checking him out.

knowing the direction this is going in, lorelai taps you on the back and whispers in your ear. “have fun but don’t do anything stupid, yeah? i’m not playing auntie to any offspring you and this dude pop out, sis. use protection.” then she makes her exit to go find herself a partner for the night.

“so, come on.” jungkook nods his head in the direction of the stairs, and you follow him through the crowd as he leads you up the winding staircase. you squeeze past two girls kissing on the staircase railing, their motions a bit unsure as if they’ve never done it before but clearly still enjoying themselves.

jungkook pushes a few doors in until he finds an empty room, and you try not to ogle at the random couples you see along the way. not even an hour in and the two shots must be wearing off, because your body is beginning to buzz with nervousness again.

jungkook closes the door behind him when you both step into the room, which is lit by one lamp on a nightstand and the open window beside the bed. he reaches for you, and you shiver when his hand grasps the side of your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“scared?” he asks, his voice low. you shake your head, and he grins. “relax.” he leans in as if to kiss you and you part your lips, but he doesn’t do that just yet. he traces your top lip and then your bottom lip with his tongue, dipping it into your mouth as he switches. the teasing nature of his actions makes your body heat up as you watch a string of saliva spread and then break between the both of you.

he presses back in for a real kiss this time, his nose bumping yours. despite all your fears about tonight, you’re able to unwind somewhat and just focus on the full sensory experience that is this kiss—the warmth of his hands and his mouth, the sappy sound your lips make when they separate and come back together, the scent of his cologne, the taste of his spearmint-flavored tongue.

you find yourselves inching toward the bed, him walking you backwards while keeping you steady. just as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, there's the sound of a woman's bloodcurdling scream from behind you, and you nearly shove jungkook to the ground in your haste to run to the door. your fingers are scrabbling at the doorknob when you hear a burst of laughter. a guy you don't recognize crawls out from under the bed holding his phone up, displaying a youtube video of the shower scene in the movie psycho, which is where the noise is coming from.

"that was funny as fuck." the guy laughs obnoxiously loud, holding his stomach. “don’t get too carefree or you just might die, girlie.”

jungkook grabs the guy by his jacket collar like he's a kid and throws him out the door; the guy doesn't object because he knows this is preferable to getting his ass beaten by the bigger man. "fuck outta here, you jackass." jungkook snaps.

jungkook stomps over to the closet to yank it open. "any more idiots in here wanna show themselves?" he checks a couple more areas before deciding the room is clear and closing the door again, locking it for good measure.

“okay.” he sighs, stripping off his jacket and shoes. he takes your hand and pulls you toward him as he sits on the bed. “relax, baby. forget about that fucking clown. come ‘ere. why don’t you sit on my lap?”

with a heavy exhale, you try to steady your still-shaking hands as you shuck your boots off and pull your dress up slightly to comfortably sit in his lap, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist.

he squeezes your waist. “so, where were we? i don’t really remember…”

you huff out a half-amused laugh. “really? i’m pretty sure it was this…” you lean forward with your hands on his shoulders and press your lips back onto his. jungkook follows in kind, his hands running up from your thighs to your waist and back again. the rhythm of his hands is hypnotic, distracting you as you try to keep most of your focus on the kiss, and you fear you may be getting overstimulated before anything has truly began.

as you continue kissing, jungkook’s hands creep your dress further up your thighs until your panties are revealed. still feeling up your legs, his hands press further toward your inner thighs, and you gasp into the kiss when his thumb pushes against the seat of your underwear. they have been damp for a while now and you know he knows this, so you aren’t surprised when he breaks the kiss to smirk, though it makes you roll your eyes.

jungkook whispers against your lips, “let’s try something. will you sit on my face?” you stare at him without a word, not expecting this to be the first thing he proposes. at your response, or lack of, he adds, “i want to make you feel good. do you want me to taste you?” his voice is so soft, so unassuming and cloying, that it makes you feel like a lamb clutched gently in the mouth of a wolf.

your brain is already surrendering to it. “yes.”

you get another kiss and a smile. jungkook moves you out of his lap, shuffles further up the bed, and lies down so that he’s flat on his back, his head surrounded by the pillows. he gestures for you to follow.

taking your time, you slide your panties off and crawl up the bed until you’re near his face and he’s lying below you looking like he’s struck gold. he grabs your hips to bring you closer until you’re right over his mouth. you’re embarrassed to have someone looking at you from this angle for the first time, and you’re about to get too into your head about it when he french kisses your inner thigh, blanking out your mind.

the only thing you know from then on is that his mouth is burning hot. his tongue is everywhere. he licks at you delicately to test the waters, and then more firmly when your thighs tremble around his head, in an effort to elicit the same response.

the way he fits his mouth over your entire pussy and sucks it with just the right amount of pressure so that it won’t hurt makes you feel faint. the way he slides the flat of his tongue over your clit only to suck it gently at the end of the stroke makes you cry out louder than you intended. you’re glad he moved further up the bed for this, because you’re holding onto the headboard for dear life.

the only things you’re aware of are your own out-of-control moans and the wet sounds of jungkook’s mouth working you over. all of it has you so overwrought that you’re already reaching your peak, your grip on the headboard weakening.

jungkook seems to know this without you telling him anything. he pauses and looks up at you with a fucked-out smirk and a wet mouth. you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for giving you a break. “before you come, fuck my face.”

“wh-what?”

“rub that wet fucking cunt on my face.” heat flares through your body at his frank words. “grab my hair and just ride my face.” he reaches up to take your hands off the headboard and places them in his hair. “you can do it, baby. fucking use me.”

it takes you a minute to get over the fresh wave of embarrassment and find a pace that works, because the connection between your brain and body feels like it’s frying and your coordination is off. jungkook helps guide your hips, especially with how you’re trembling from pleasure and close to falling apart. soon enough, you’re letting go of yourself and moving your hips enthusiastically, if a little clumsily, and chasing your climax. you savor the feel of your clit sliding across his wet tongue and his soft hair in between your fingers, and you push his head as close as it can get.

you come while screaming, dizzyingly immersed in the pleasure. you forget that you’re holding his hair as you yank roughly on it. the only thing that matters to you is that jungkook’s mouth is still sucking your clit through the best physical sensation you’ve ever experienced.

when he finally lets go and gives you reprieve, you collapse beside him on the pillows.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, disoriented. “about your hair, i mean?”

jungkook laughs. it’s funny how shiny-wet his face is—and that you caused it, which is kind of hard to believe in the aftermath of it. “the pain is what gets my dick hard. don’t worry.”

you chuckle breathlessly at that, and for a few seconds you both have that funny little moment to yourselves in all the ridiculousness of the overarching situation.

then jungkook’s hand is reaching for you again. “i’m not done with that pussy yet, though.” he brushes a finger over your hole, and your body twitches from the sensitivity. he slides that finger through the wetness and then uses the lubrication to push only the tip of his finger in. he dips it in and out, teasing the nerves at your entrance, until you’re shifting your hips closer to him to implore him for more. he grants your request by sliding his finger all the way inside.

having a finger inside you feels okay at first, though not as good as his actions a few seconds ago. jungkook decides to amplify your pleasure by placing his lips on your neck, leaving gentle and wet kisses behind, and you become all too aware of the feeling of your hardened nipples against the material of your dress. the pleasure begins to heighten when his finger finds a place inside of you that makes you throb, your walls clenching around him.

“ah…” you gasp and shift eagerly against his body as he keeps stimulating that spot, not thrusting his finger into you but simply stroking it across that area in a come here motion.

jungkook pulls away from your neck to smile at his handiwork. “that’s better, right?” he whispers, watching your reactions. your lips form around the word yes, though it’s difficult to try to speak, and you worry how unsteady your voice might sound. he waits until you’re clutching at his arm, leaving red lines on his skin from your fingernails, to carefully push another finger in beside the first. you try to breathe evenly, though his refusal to let up on that spot has your lungs stuttering for air all over again. his nose nudges your ear as he leans even closer and whispers, “there are so many different spots to find, so many different ways to make you come; i wanna go looking for them all.”

jungkook angles his hand so that his palm is also stimulating your clit, his fingers thrusting slowly now. you turn your head away from him as your body becomes ablaze, unsure what to do with yourself as your climax nears quickly.

“would you let me do that? learn your body like no one else has done?” he kisses the shell of your ear, and even that small action is enough to tip you closer to the edge with how your body is already so fired up. “who else could make you feel as good?”

this orgasm makes your eyes fill with involuntary tears, and little clear droplets bleed down the sides of your face and towards your ears as your body convulses. jungkook kisses the wet trails they make on your face, still fingering you steadily and forcing another urgent cry out of you. you feel untethered from yourself, like you’re not in control of your reactions, and you don’t know whether to be afraid of that or not.

jungkook pulls his fingers out when you have mostly calmed down, watching strands of your wetness drip between them before sliding them into his mouth.

after you come the second time, you begin to tire. the deeds have been done, and if you want, you can confidently go back out to the party now and say you’re no longer a virgin; you’re off the unofficial kill list and can live the rest of your days without having to look over your shoulder with every breath.

…but jungkook is hard against your hip, and in all honesty, you don’t want to leave without knowing what his dick looks and feels like.

“you tired?” he asks, and the casual air of it makes your stomach flip, for some reason. he says it as if this is something you two do all the time and he’s used to asking you this after wearing you out during a good session.

but now’s not the time to get delusional.

“no. i want more.”

jungkook smiles broadly, teasing his lip ring with his teeth. he sits up to peel that skin-tight shirt off, and you don’t bother to stop yourself from staring at all that skin in front of you. your eyes drop further down when he removes his belt and undoes his jeans, pushing his pants and underwear down enough for you to see his v-line but not taking them off. is that an invitation for you to do it? "you hold the reins here," he says, lying back on the bed again. "do whatever you want to me."

“whatever i want?” you repeat, already sitting up. he nods, hands behind his head, and you take the initiative to straddle him again, knowing you’re getting his jeans wet.

you reach for his pecs first, just like you’d imagined downstairs. the firm muscle of them is mesmerizing; but when you slowly circle your thumb against his nipple and his eyes flutter, a small and breathy moan escaping his lips, you’re sure you enjoy this much more.

you play with his nipples and even work up the boldness to purse your lips around one, sucking it softly, and every noise that arises from him makes your clit tingle.

you eventually move your hands to his abs, enjoying how they flex at your touch. you didn't think his navel would be pierced, not hearing that detail in any of the sex tales you've eavesdropped on about jungkook, and you wonder what else you might find out about him tonight.

“you should do your nipples to match.” you suggest it without much thought as you’re teasing his navel piercing, though you don’t regret saying it.

“would you be into that?” jungkook sounds like he’s actually considering it, watching you from below his lashes.

you grin. you don’t know if you’ll actually end up having sex with him again to see them, but you answer, “i’d love it…it’d be sexy on you.”

sliding your hands further down still, you come to the waistband of his underwear, which is peeking over the top of his lowered jeans. for a second the nervousness returns; jungkook notices how your hands twitch with hesitation. “it’s fine, i’m not gonna bite you…unless you ask me to, though. here.”

he slips a hand into his underwear and grips his dick, though he doesn’t take it out right away; he strokes the shaft a few times, observing your reaction with expectant and hazy eyes. the scene before you makes your mouth dry. jungkook quickens his pace, twisting his hand at the tip and using his own precum as lube, until you are overcome with the desire to see it and you pull his underwear out of the way.

his cock is thick and flushed and glossy with precum. you don’t have much to compare it to, but it’s a good size, and all the previous women have said that he clearly knows what to do with it. he releases it and it slaps against his abs, leaving a streak of precum behind. when you look at him in anticipation of what he’ll do next, he grasps it again and starts stroking himself quickly, like he’s trying to get off. the wet slap of his motions and his quiet groans make your walls clench.

“i could keep fucking myself and you could watch, since you seem to prefer it…” he murmurs.

“no, i—let’s go all the way.”

jungkook smirks and answers your decision by pulling a condom out of his jean pocket. you watch as he unwraps it and slips it down his cock. though you’re already straddling him, he grasps your wrist and encourages you to draw nearer to him. “come here, pretty thing.”

when you’re hovering directly over him, jungkook grips the base and teases his tip against your entrance. “ready?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say breathlessly.

it’s a little slow-going, but you eventually end up with him seated inside you. it’s uncomfortable to be taking something bigger than a couple fingers, but it isn’t terribly painful.

“now, try moving your hips like this…” with his hands on your hips, jungkook helps you grind against him so that your clit slides across his pubic bone with every move. the discomfort begins to ebb out of your mind after a little while of doing this, and you laugh quietly.

“i thought…i thought this doesn’t feel good for men,” you sigh, your eyes closing from the bliss of his firm abdomen stimulating your clit. “this grinding thing, you know. or so a friend told me…”

jungkook laughs too, but he doesn’t confirm it like you expect him to. his only answer is, “a sexy woman on my dick will always feel good.”

he seems to be more about showing than telling, anyway. his hands reach for your breasts, groping them over the fabric of your dress before sliding underneath for better access. sporadic moans escape you as he plays with your nipples, making your clit throb harder and sending more warmth pooling in your abdomen.

your breath wheezes out of you when jungkook starts pushing up into you, his hands still squeezing your breasts. “you’re okay, baby…” he tries a few different angles until he pulls a visceral reaction out of you, your walls fluttering around him and your body shivering intensely. “mmm, there it is.”

your motions start tapering off as jungkook continues thrusting up against that same spot that had you in tears earlier. noticing this, he slips one hand back down to your hip and encourages you to maintain your pace, keeping your clit stimulated while meeting his thrusts. “you’re doing good…” he murmurs. “go ahead, keep fucking me just like that.”

you’re glad lorelai makes you go to the campus gym with her every week, because otherwise you’d be about to collapse riding him for this long. it takes more of your strength and stamina than you’d expected. no wonder jungkook stays in the gym.

“oh, fuck…” the way all his muscles flex as he repeatedly pushes up into you makes you wetter; you no longer have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about the gushy noises your pussy is creating. your whole world has whittled down to this one room, and all you can think about is your next orgasm.

“pull my hair again,” he requests, his eyes dark and lost in lust when he looks up at you.

"jungkook..." you grip his sweaty hair in your hand and pull it to bare his throat, and he gives a desperate moan, his member jerking inside you. you've never felt so in control of a situation before in your life. it gives you a straight adrenaline-slash-dopamine rush.

his neck is just there and exposed, flushed from exertion, and his physical responses make you feel so primal, like you could do absolutely anything to him right now and he’d enjoy it. because of this, you decide to bite his neck, if only to give your mouth something to do. his dick twitches again when you do, another pretty moan leaving his mouth.

his voice is strained when he says, “bite me harder.” when you let go, your mouth travels the expanse of his neck to leave marks in a few other places, digging in harder just as he asked of you.

“fuck, y/n—” the pain of your teeth is pushing him close to the edge too soon, so he slips his other hand out from under your dress and brings it lower to circle his fingers over your clit. jungkook adding his experienced fingers to his constant stimulation of your g-spot is enough to cause your release. your body slumps onto his as you squeeze around him, your head falling into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and your eyes shutting so tightly that you see wobbling shapes in the darkness.

jungkook gives you a few more thrusts rougher than the rest, causing you to cry out. your climax and the aftershocks have your mind so dizzy that you only just realize that he’s reaching his own peak, his muscles tensing and relaxing as he fills the condom with his cum. you hear him groan next to your ear, the sound of it filthy and uninhibited.

jungkook lifts your head from his shoulder, his thumbs on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours in a final slow kiss, his teeth leaving their mark on your bottom lip as a parting reminder.

you're still trying to get your bearings and slide him out of you when jungkook suddenly says, "what is that noise?"

"huh?" you remain immobile for a moment so you can listen more clearly, and you recognize the sounds of screaming and feet pounding on the floors in a bid to run away—both upstairs and downstairs. these don't sound like the same screams of pleasure from earlier. "what the hell?"

you and jungkook scramble to collect your clothes and get dressed, thankful that neither of you stripped down completely, and he throws the used condom into a random corner of the room. you're still making last minute adjustments when jungkook stands up and unlocks the door.

"the fuck is—?" his voice cuts off as if he can't finish his thought.

"what? what is it?" you stand up to get a better view around his body in the doorway, and you scream when you see a lone blonde girl lying a few feet away from the door, slumped against the opposite wall with a slashed throat. her pink party dress bleeds red, and her face that catches the illumination of the string lights glints with tear tracks. you look away from her unseeing eyes before you can cry out again.

jungkook seems confused, peering down the other end of the hallway like there'll be someone there to explain. "it...didn't work?" he asks to no one in particular, as you have no answer. you walk farther back into the room as if putting more distance between you and the body will provide some protection. bumping against the window sill, you turn around to look out the window and see several cars peeling out of the makeshift grass parking lot, nearly running over other people or hitting other cars on the way. you release a stifled scream from behind your hands when someone is too disoriented to get out of the way of the speeding cars and is sent flying through the air before landing painfully, their body now unmoving. the offending car never stops to check on them.

the screaming downstairs worsens, countless voices rising to a fever pitch of shouting and wailing, and you imagine this must be what the pits of hell sound like. jungkook whips around to look at you. “we gotta get the fuck out of here.”

you two inch out of the room with him in the lead, peering into jarred-open doorways to see if anybody could be waiting in the shadows. there are a couple of other bodies in two other rooms, and you wonder—even with the loud music constantly reverberating through the house, did you really not hear the struggles that led to these deaths in your throes of passion? the thought unnerves you. the idea that maybe you were only saved by jungkook deciding to lock the door…

the stair railing you’d walked by an hour ago is now broken in the middle, splinters of wood lying scattered on the stairs, along with more bodies lying on the steps just as haphazardly. the scene looks like the remnants of a stampede; you hope most of these people are just unconscious and not dead.

the dancefloor is a swarm of people in various states of undress pushing and pulling each other as they rush for the exit. there’s not as many people heading for the back door, everyone attempting to squeeze through the main entrance in their unthinking panic, so jungkook grabs your arm and the two of you pick your way through the bodies to get down the stairs as best you can. when you enter the mass of people, you’re exceptionally glad for his strength because it’s easier to get through the opposing crowd.

to reach the back door, you must first get through the kitchen. beside the kitchen entrance in a dark corner, you see someone doubled over and grasping the person in front of them for stability.

you realize belatedly that they have a knife in their stomach; the other person standing over them is the virgin killer himself, calmly watching them suffer.

the killer’s face is hidden by the mask he always wears, which you are seeing for the first time now, up-close—a hairy werewolf head with lemon-yellow eyes and a candy-red tongue. it’s so unexpected that you would’ve found it comedic if not for the context.

a guy in a blue sweater grasps the killer from behind in an attempted surprise attack, causing him to jerk the knife out of the other person’s stomach. the sudden movement causes a spray of blood to come flying off the knife, and you have to hold back vomit when drops of the warm, stinking crimson hit your face. though it feels like time has slowed to a mere creep, all of this happens within seconds.

you don’t see much more before jungkook is forcing you to move again.

you, jungkook, and multiple others barrel out of the back patio door, nearly ripping the flimsy screen door off its hinges in your haste, while the classmate in the blue sweater fruitlessly struggles with the killer in the kitchen. your leg muscles flex harder when you hear the person's agonized shout and the mushy rip of flesh being torn seconds later. almost everyone else has taken the same idea to run for their lives rather than stay and try to fight or disarm the killer; the streets are dotted in every direction with students running for any possible safety, many not having arrived to the party in cars to escape in.

thankfully, jungkook is not one of them.

he grasps your wrist painfully hard in his panic and yanks you in the direction of his car, which is so pitch black that you almost didn't see it sitting in the shadows.

when you get inside, you've never been so grateful to be within the safe metal enclosure of a car in your whole life. hands shaking, jungkook jams the key into the ignition and presses the gas pedal so hard your head jerks against the headrest. however, in your temporary relief, you think of lorelai. your vision doubles as you scramble to open your phone and call her, your head spinning with a new spike of fear. it rings for a while with no answer, and you try two more times only to get the same result.

"maybe she got to safety somewhere else?” jungkook tries to reason with you, his eyes bouncing between your face and the road ahead so he doesn't hit any other cars or any random students still running across the streets. "i didn't see her anywhere in the house before we ran out."

"that just means she could be hiding somewhere in there!" you shriek, unable to control your terror at your friend possibly being trapped in the house with the killer.

"well—maybe just let her stick it out, he won't find her if she just—"

"oh god, but i called her like three fucking times; what if he heard the phone ringing? i'm gonna kill myself."

“y/n, you’re overreacting like shit, there’s no way he’d hear a phone ringing in all that noise—"

unlistening, you drop your phone and bang your fists on your head in frustration and anguish.

sighing deeply, jungkook forgoes any attempt to do a 3-point turn, which requires more coordination than he has at the moment, and drives straight up into someone's yard to make a U-turn back toward the house.

you hadn’t gotten too far from the party house, so in another minute or two and with a couple messy turns that cause the wheels to ride up onto the curb, you’re back on the street leading up to the house. before you can reach it, though, jungkook slams on the breaks, and you have to throw your hands out onto the dashboard to avoid flying into it due to not fastening your seatbelt. you’re not very successful; the move hurts your wrists, and you’re pretty sure some of your ribs just got bruised anyway.

“what the fuck?” jungkook shouts.

the virgin killer with his lycanthrope mask is standing in the middle of the street; he turns to face the car. he has a chokehold grip on a guy you recognize as a popular frat member, who is almost bare except for his blue-plaid boxers. you remember seeing the frat guy dancing with his girlfriend when you and lorelai initially entered the party; he was in the group of guys who put this whole party together as a way to “save” the campus’s virgins.

the virgin killer is holding a gun to the guy’s head, and you have no clue where he might’ve gotten it from. the guy’s demeanor is weak, and he’s barely able to stand, which is obviously from the profuse blood loss he’s suffering; the killer has carved sharp letters into his stomach to form two words—“FAIR GAME.”

“fair game?” you mumble, a sickly realization forming in your mind.

“fuck no—" jungkook is already throwing the car into reverse when you hear and see the first bullet go off, exploding the frat member’s head into an unrecognizable mess and making you scream at the top of your lungs. you hear more shots after you close your eyes and tuck your body down, along with the sounds of bullets splitting metal and hitting glass, and you think you might be actively dying—or maybe you’re already dead. even that would be preferable to experiencing this nightmare.

you can’t think as you feel the whole world spinning, your body tossed violently around. in reality, the only thing moving is jungkook’s car as he whips the vehicle around and speeds down the same street you just traveled up.

for a few long minutes, you only hear your own heartbeat, his murmured and frantic curses, and the strained breaths coming from both of you. you keep your body curled up with your knees tucked to your chest and arms over your face. the car’s engine roars as it races down the highway.

you’re afraid to open your eyes and find out, but you have to at some point. plus, the uncomfortable position is making your body hurt. carefully, you unfurl yourself and turn to look at him. “did you get hurt?”

“uhh—no? i don’t think…?” he takes one hand off the wheel to feel up his body as if he’s just realizing that might be a possibility. “but i’m wired off pure adrenaline right now, so give me a few more minutes to be sure…” he looks to you. “are you?”

“no.” your blood still runs cold at the thought of lorelai being stuck in the house or navigating the dark neighborhood streets at this time of night. maybe she doesn’t even have her phone; maybe it was lost in the commotion. the number of possible scenarios makes you ill.

there’s silence for a while; you assume he must not be hurt after all. you start seeing familiar roads that lead back to the campus, and the gears in your mind begin turning, powered by fear.

“do you think it’s safe to go back to the college?” you ask, your voice small.

after a pause jungkook asks, “why not?” though his face begins to look like he’s second-guessing things.

“the killer could go back to the campus…i don’t know. there was so much violence tonight. it’s like he really has a grudge against the students from our school or something. what if he wants more victims? the campus police are already incompetent, but with most of them off the grounds and on their way to the party house…” you don’t finish your thought. you’ll need to warn camille of the potential danger.

“right, yeah…” jungkook’s hands flex around the steering wheel a few times. “we should…probably go somewhere else, then.”

nowhere feels safe. still, you ask, “where?”

changing his route, jungkook glances over at you. “to a friend’s house.”

[h0ttestgrlinm0urgu3]

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔟𝔬𝔴

𝖍𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

summary [henry let's you play with bows and you get carried away]

warnings [smut, mouth stuff🎀, bimbo~ish ig, no p in v, pet names, soft dom henry🎀]

being the type of girl you were you loved ribbons and bows. they weren't something you indulged in often as a child, growing up in the country and all, but once you got older you feel in love with them.

you'd put them everywhere, in your hair, on your clothes, there's even some on your walls and others tied around stuffed bears.

Henry had recently gotten you these really cute ribbon bow clips and you were currently sitting beside him putting them in his hair. he's not really paying attention to you, he's used to this kind of treatment and just sat scrolling on his phone. you dropped one of the clips from his hair and in to his lap. as you go to reach for it a thought flashes in your mind. 'can I put a bow on your dick?' you ask your boyfriend after retrieving the clip.

you see the way henry freezes and hurriedly say 'not these, like ribbon' you clear up. he lets out a breath and laugh before looking at you 'I was scared for a sec baby' he says tucking a peice of hair behind your ear making you smile. he returns your smile and leans in for a kiss. 'of course I'll let my pretty girl dress me up' henry says sitting back up with the clips still in his hair.

so excited you jump up and let out a squeal 'omg yay' you scream about to go into you and Henry's shared room for some ribbon. turning to him before you go saying 'don't get hard' which earns you an eye roll as you leave 'you wanna do it or not' he mumbles as your walking but you hear.

in the room your trying to figure out what color ribbon you wanted. you got it down to pink and purple, so you bring them out to henry. 'which one do you want?' you question, you sit beside him on the couch, getting comfortable with your upper half mostly on his lap. 'whatever matches my hair' he says as he scrolls through something.

you go with the pink since he had pink in his hair. unzipping his jeans and pulling his cock out your really happy to see the he wasn't hard. it might sound odd but you liked playing with his soft cock. cutting the ribbon to length before throwing everything on to the floor. you start to tie the ribbon at the base of his dick, humming to yourself as henry continued on his phone, you could care less.

looking down at the pretty pink bow you made your so proud in your self. you let out a giggle in excitement and notice the way Henry's cock twitched when you laughed. your mouth begin to water. trying something else you lightly blow making it twitch again.

you mouth became the ocean and you desperatly needed to taste him. opening your mouth and letting droll drip onto the head of his cock before lowering your head and licking it up. 'ohh fuck baby' henry moans out at the unexpected pleasure, finally placing his attention on you.

you take the tip of this cock in your mouth savering the taste of him. opening your mouth wider you take his full soft length in. feeling the bow brush against your lips. feeling him swell you come up for air letting out a little whine at the fact that this is the first time he's ever fully fit in your mouth, and it's because hes never let you suck it soft. and it's not gonna last much longer, but you'll enjoy having him in your mouth either way.

looking up to meet his gaze he grips your jaw and squeezes your cheecks together. sticking out your tounge he roughly brings you up for a sloppy kiss, gripping the back of your scalp. he breaks the kiss to leave kisses all over your face before letting you go back down to his cock, which is now fully hard.

bow intact.

you lick from the base to the tip repetadly. bringing your focus more to the head of his cock you bring one hand to the base and the other to his balls. 'fuck baby you know daddy likes that' he moans out as his hips buck forcing the tip of his cock all the way into your mouth. you gag a little before you adjust to it returning to your pace.

henry looks down to the ungodly display infornt of him. you desperatly sucking his cock, pretty hands playing with his balls with a pretty pink ribbon rapped around his cock, your eyes are watery, the floor beneath you full of droll and pre cum. your looking up to him eyes glossed over moaning every so often telling him just how much you love his cock.

'ahh- fuckk, baby im gonna cum' he moaned out. forcing the rest of his cock into your moth and down your throat henry couldn't hold back any longer. his cum being forced down your throat and falling from the sides of your mouth around his cock getting your bow all dirty. removing him from your mouth with a giggle and a smile so happy that you grew into loving bows.

[a/n: this randomly came to me and I wrote it right away so if it's bad blame it on that. 🎀]

[chrollohearttags]

drug dealer!mikasa and her hood princess gf headcanons

📝: don’t y’all judge me but this been in my head all day and it’s not going nowhere so I’m sharing the delusion.

mentions of heavy drugs, violence and weapons, robbery and setups, smut warning, tribbing, gunplay, fingering, car sex, Mika being a freak

drug dealer!mikasa, who you first met while working at a gas station was so infatuated the moment she laid eyes on you. Always frequenting on your scheduled days and making more visits than the average customer.

drug dealer!mikasa, who always looked fine as hell, regardless of how she was presenting that day. Whether she in a pair of baggy joggers, band t-shirt and a pair of Nikes or tight fitting two piece skirt and tube top that revealed all of the tattoos littering her toned body. Nothing but designer and expensive shit touched her skin.

drug dealer!mikasa appeared cool as a fan but every time she entered that store, she wondered how she was going to approach a bad bitch like you..loving your various hairstyles that you switched out weekly and duck bill nails. Not to mention the gold hoops dangling from your ears, clavicle piercings and tattoos.

“Who done your arm piece? It’s beautiful.” “From the shop on 104th. The tall dude with the long hair? Him.”

drug dealer!mikasa only smirked when you brought him up because she knew him very well. “That’s my boy Eren. We used to work together.” Failing to mention that said work involved a little something on the illegal side. Something she could never give up as easily.

drug dealer!mikasa, who drove a brand new matte black Audi R8 or Benz Truck when you saw her and wore jewelry that could pay your rent always gave a vague answer when you asked her what she done for a living.

“Shit, I’m tryna get like you, pookah. What you do for work?” “Family business. Nothing major.”

drug dealer!mikasa, who lived with her uncle, a well known club owner and kingpin attended the university as a business student, put her studies to good use selling all types of drugs to her peers; from the star football player to the stuck up sorority girls. It brought her joy to see those bitches tweaking on her supply.

drug dealer!mikasa, who mainly hung out on your side of town would offer to smoke you out after your shifts as you two sat in her car. Talking about random shit and having a good time. It was one night when the two of you were chilling when you decided to ask her once more what she done while she was high.

“I already told you, I’m in the family business.” uttering as you caught a glimpse of the baby Glock tucked between her console and a dime bag right beside it.

drug dealer!mikasa knew she couldn’t keep her secret any longer and seeing the excitement in your eyes at the prospect of her being a dealer, began to spend a lot more time with you and a whole lot more money! Buying you gifts, taking you out and spending racks at the strip club with you.

drug dealer!mikasa loved having you by her side when she made her drops. Knowing that you weren’t some boujie bitch who’d be scared. Sitting pretty in her passenger seat and holding her pistol. Not to mention that having a sidekick made it easier to hit a lick. Setting men up from her uncle’s club who had been harassing girls and robbing them blind.

“That dude again? Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him. Right, baby?” “Of course, this gon’ be fun.”

drug dealer!mikasa, who didn’t even need drugs after the high of watching you get these assholes down to their underwear and then coming in for the drop. Getting turned on by watching you count your money up while the guy cried in the corner. Just having to fuck you crazy afterwards.

“Yeah, suck on that gun like you did him, baby.” That mouth is so fucking pretty..” shoving her barrel between your lips as she fingered you in the front seat. Knowing how much wetter it got that little plump pussy.

drug dealer!mikasa loved when you fed each other percs because the sex was ten times more intense. From letting your tongue piercings clash in sloppy kisses as you scissored to riding a double sided dildo for almost an hour; going back and forth to see who could come the most. Leaving the bed drenched in your puddles of squirt and silky cream.

drug dealer!mikasa dicked you down better than any man with that thick eight inch strap on. Pounding you from behind and slapping your thick ass with each stroke.

“You fucking the shit out this pussy!…oooh..” “Then come for me, gorgeous. Give me that shit.”

drug dealer!mikasa ate you out and stimulated herself with a vibrator until the two of you finally tapped out and came down from that high.

drug dealer!mikasa had never met a girl like you, knew she’d never be able to fuck with anyone else after getting a taste of you.

[fushigur0ll]

IN SICKNESS & IN HEALTH

꒰ ♡ ꒱ you’re sick! so earth42!miles takes care of you at..3AM

includes; kisses, fluff, sick talk, sweetness and etc

sequel ~ 24/7 surveillance

“babe..miles! baby!” you try, emphasis on ‘try’ to wake your boyfriend up but knowing the type of deep sleeper he is, you know he wasn’t bound to wake up this easy and your body was getting weaker and weaker as every minute passes by.

every night, miles swings to your house unless he’s already there and sleeps over for the night, cuddling you until you both fall asleep comfortably and once miles is comfortable then there’s no waking him up till he wakes up himself. you always enjoy it when miles comes over to sleep with you because that’s when you sleep 10x better and you just wish you could enjoy it like how you did the night before and any other night but sadly you’re sick and when i say sick i mean as, sore throat, stuffy nose, headaches, weak body, sore eyes- that death feeling sick and it’s horrendous. you even feel so gross even when you took a shower literally before you laid yourself on that bad of yours. you groan softly when a feeling like someone is knocking your brain down with a hammer passes by, your migraines getting stronger every time they come as well.

you sigh and look at your sleeping boyfriend again, poking his nose but the only response you get from his was snores and that made you let out a drawn out groan. you open your eyes, immediately feeling the pain from looking around the semi dark room, eyes landing on the red numbers you see on the nightstand of your clock reading ’3:00AM’ you blow raspberries and look around again before you stop at the door of the bathroom.

this was gonna be hard..you want to freshen yourself up again so you’d be comfortable once more but you can barley feel your legs and arms. you definitely felt like you’ve been drugged but you remember this isn’t the first time it’s happened. you exhale and try getting sitting up but you end up rolling and rolling till you literally hit the floor with a loud thump. “oh sh- owwwwww” you whine, squirming on the cold floor boards overwhelming your bipolar tempered body. you try getting up but at that point you give up and lay in a starfish position on the ground, just staring at the ceiling fan.

“….baby where are you” you hear a deep and tired voice , one you love and know too well so you sigh.

“on the floor” you croak, cringing at the sound of your voice. it was silent before you hear the bed ruffle and rustle, miles head popping up from the bed and looking down at you with low lidded eyes.

“you good ma?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and you shake your head slowly. “i’m sick” you frown and close your eyes.

he stares at you and takes an arm out, using his hand to feel your neck, head and armpit. his eyes widen a tiny bit when he does feel the heat literally emitting from your body. he takes his hand back and stretches, before coming off the bed and leaning down to pick you up princess style.

“ou- miles be careful my head” you whine, holding your head in your hands,

“ ‘m sorry mami” he mumbles and kisses your warm temple, walking towards the bathroom and turning on the light. you immediately close your eyes, the light irritating your eyes further. he murmured another apology and kisses your cheek this time. he sits you on the sink counter and you open your eyes slowly, getting used to the light and you look at your boyfriend. he gets a clean face cloth, drowning it in warm water from the sink and drains it so it’s warm and damp. he walks back to you, and steps in-between your legs to wipe your face softly and you just sit there allowing him too.

the warmth from the damp rag felt nice on your face. you ask him to wipe your arms, legs and chest and he complied, doing so with feather light touches. he finishes and throws the rag in the hamper, turning back to you and cupping your face.

“you hungry?” he inquires, looking into your eyes and you nod. he hums in response and picks you up again. he moves you both out the bathroom not without closing the lights off then downstairs to your kitchen where he turns the lights on in there. your eyes is used to the light by now but that doesn’t mean your eyes doesn’t hurt from looking around.

“i already feel myself getting sick” he jokes, earning a soft and playful glare from you. “at least i didn’t sneeze on you” he chuckles, his chest rumbling slightly.

“at least you didn’t..not yet i mean” he glances at you as he sits you on the counter again. “i’m sick and you gonna bully me right now?” you raise a lazy eyebrow making him cross his toned arms staring back at you with the same expression.

“of course” he smiles and you rolls your eyes. “what do you wanna eat?” he moves towards the refrigerator and you hum, thinking about what you’re really craving for.

“anything, what’s in there?” you ask, light swinging your weak legs back and forth

“..cheese, leftovers, cake- you’re not eating cake” he knows you too damn well. literally when you’re sick you’ll get anything else other then something that’s like soup or actual food and will go for the sweets instead. your eyes sparkle at the mention of cake but you huff and frown when he told your ass no. he snickers and continues to look in the fridge.

“i’ll make you some soup and yes it can be chicken noodle soup” he closes the fridge but not before getting a cup of water and sees you with a bright smile on your face that makes him feel warm inside.

“thank you~” you singsong, giving him kissy lips and noises.

“anything for you baby”

it wasn’t that long before the soup was made and done. steam rising from the bowl that the soup has been poured into. he gets a spoon and goes back inbetween your legs. he gets the soup onto the spoon, blows on it a few times before putting it close to your already open mouth.

“it’s a bit hot okay?” he mumbles and you nod, encasing the spoon and soup into your mouth. your stomach rumbles happily in response, loving the taste of the soup, noodle and chicken broth. you hum and sway side to side in happiness. he watches you, snorting and shaking his head.

“cute” he leans into peck your lips and you smile softly.

“feed me peasant” you demand and his face drops so fast making you burst into laughter, falling back slightly and all he does is just stares at you blinking.

“you’re so lucky you’re sick right now because i could tickle you right now and never let you up” he stoically responds, his eyes tracking your every move. “hehe the way your face dropped” you giggle and sit up properly, leaning forwards to peck all over his face making the corner of his lips move up.

“i’m sorry pookie butt” his face drops again and you howl in laughter again but this time you start uncontrollably coughing, holding onto your chest. this time it was him laughing at you while you glare at him as you fight for your life trying to catch your breath back.

“not too much on me now milestone- don’t even try” he cuts you off, mean mugging whilst you, again, start wheezing and coughing. “look at you loosing your life, sit up baby” he chuckles and gives you the cup of water which you generously take sips from.

you both enjoy the small moment, laughing, talking as he feeds you soup till the bowl was empty. you burp and excuse yourself, feeling your body get better and less weaker. you tell him and even so he pick you up like a princess and picks up the cup of water then walks out the kitchen then turning the light off on his way out.

“going back to bed now?” you ask quietly, watching his side profile and he nods, looking towards you and staring at you.

“my own stalker huh?” he jokes and smirks when he sees you kiss your teeth. “you needa stop playing with me boy” you playfully push his head away and he chuckles, making his way back in the bedroom and placing you on the bed then placing the cup of water on the nightstand.

“how you feel?” he asks, looking down at you. you stare back and smile brightly. “i feel slightly good as new thanks to you” you widen your arms and he climbs into bed, laying down and pulling you ontop of him. you get yourself comfortable, laying your head on his chest as listen to the beating of his heart. he wraps one arm on you and one hand to your thigh, holding you securely. it was quiet and peaceful, his hand rubbing up and down the soft skin of your thigh, looking up at the ceiling as he feels your hand move towards his cheek.

“hm?” he looks at you, leaning into your hand as you look at him admiringly.

“thank you for taking care of me” you whispers and rub his cheek. he smiles softly and leans in to kiss your nose and forehead.

“anything for my girl”

fushigur0ll © 2022 all rights reserved. do not plagarize, translate, or post to other sites please.

[yesimilkdamilkman]

art by @/yunonoai on twitter and tiktok

I cropped each of the panels

[ayeyolooo]

24/7!!

You and Connie was in the car just chillin. "Ouu bae lemme put on a song." Connie said reaching over to the radio and turning on the song. He turned it up and the bass was booming making your body jump.The both of y'all looked at eachother before smirking and dancing all crazy. "BOP BOP BOP BOPPP." You made noises imitating  a gun. Connie just gripped on the steering wheel and moved along with you. The both of you just laughed as how you not could be so comfortable around eachother and be yourselves and still have fun with one another.

"Wait ma hollon the police behind me." Connie said,turning the music down. The both of y'all looked out the window and seen the police car pass by y'all so he turned the music back up and the both of y'all went back to acting stupid. "Y/n Quiero un beso." You only understood the 'beso.' Part so you leaned in and pecked his lips.

Which made him suck his teeth. "I want a real kiss y/n." Connie said mugging you. "Man Nigga you better gone on." You pushed him away lightly before you unlocked Connie's phone with your face and began to record yourself. "Deja de jugar conmigo." Connie lowly said before grabbing your neck and pulling you in for a kiss. You grabbed the sides of his face and deepened the kiss. He slipped his tongue in and applied pressure to your neck which made your stomach flutter.

He pulled away and he placed his two tatted hands on the sides of your face. "I love you so much,you don't even knowwww." Connie said dragging out the "w." You just chuckled before placing your head down in embarrassment. "Why got acting all shy now y/n??" Connie's hazel-green eyes looked at you and he smirked. "Nigga move you annoyinggg." You said laughing and pushing him away.

"I wasn't annoying when I was all in you now was I??" You rolled your eyes and he just laughed. "Ahh~ connie slow down please I can't take anymore~." Connie mimicked you. I"Omgggggg." You said laughing. "Nah I'm jus teasing you pretty girl." He said smiling and showing off his smiley piercing and pearly white teeth.

Your cheeks went hot at the nickname. "You wanna go upstairs and we watch a movie?" You asked Connie. He nodded as he turned his car off and placed his stuff in his pocket and he got out the car.

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

Wash Day 🫧🚿

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x AFAB!Reader

summary: Miguel offers to wash your hair because wash days can be a lot, mischief ensues.

content warning: 18+ MDNI, lots of fluff and banter, talks of marriage/proposal, lovey dovey!miguel, head scratching + massaging, p in v sex (wrap it up 🫵🏾, healthcare is expensive and so are babies), just the tip at one point, cussing, subby + service-like miguel (he does start to enter a daze that is similar to a sub drop, but it's not really that and the reader checks up on him immediately), needy!miguel, creative use of miguel's talons, kissing, hickys, a little hair pulling, manhandling, cunnilingus, fellatio, squirting, slight edging, praise kink, breeding kink towards the end, mentions of cum, overstimulation, a little aftercare, reader is a bit of a tease, miguel is a bit of a brat, more references to cats than I thought, no use of y/n

credit for the art/dividers: Me! (+ illustrator and canva)

a/n: This is my first fic that I am posting on here! 🤠 This one has been in the works for a while, but I am happy with the result. This story is written with a black reader in mind, but it's very inclusive minus the hair situation, so anyone can enjoy the story. There is one unrealistic part that NONE of my natural brethren would ever allow, I beg you to just go with it. 😭 I also used a little Spanish in here, to my Spanish-speakers, if anything is wrong, just let me know and I 'll change it right away!

I also imagined the shower to be one of those fancy walk-ins like this or this but big enough for two, because in my mind, Miguel is stacked in the money department as well.

word count: 6.9k (I got carried away)

To all my sub Mig lovers and fiends! Love ya! 🩵🪮

It was finally time for the day you’ve been putting off for about a week now, the taxing Wash Day.

Normally, you would drag this day out because you knew that once you started, you had to keep going until your hair was done and either ready for the bonnet or the hood dryer. Although today, you were lucky because you had a braid appointment the following morning, so that meant just a simple wash and a blow-dry. You were even luckier because your boyfriend, Miguel, was more than happy to wash your hair for you.

“I know how tired you get afterwards and I just want to help make the process easier,” is what you remember him telling you last night in your sleepy, whiny state.

Now, here you are the next day watching his eyebrows furrow in confusion, lips pouted in a crooked M as you guide him to the old faithful: the kitchen sink.

“Why are you giving me that face? You said you were gonna help,” you chuckle at his expression, watching as his eyes turn to your hair supplies littered across the counter.

“No, no! I still want to help. It’s just that,” he picks up your wide-tooth comb, running his fingers over the teeth, “I thought we were going to be in the shower.”

You look at him, a little dumbfounded at the statement. You didn’t mind washing your hair in the shower, you did it all the time, but what was the point of getting you both wet?

“I just thought it would be easier for you this way,” you reply, pulling the faucet from the sink and waving it around in an attempt to hype up the situation. “I’ll bend my head in the sink, and you’ll wash it that way. Or! You can hike me up on the counter and I can lay down with my head over the sink. That one’s a little less comfortable for me, but it gives you more than enough room to maneuver.”

“Hm,” he grunts, eyes going from you to the counter, then right back to you. “That’s fine and all, but what if my back starts to hurt from bending for too long.”

You just stare at him, unamused. If anyone would be in pain, it would be you.

“In the shower, we can stand together and I can see exactly what’s going on. Plus, you can wash my hair too,” he continues, pulling you flush against his chest, comb forgotten. He starts to rub your hips in a slow motion. “Let’s make it a date.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re not that old to where your back can just give out like that,” you quip, leaning back from his embrace to look him in the eyes. “Secondly, you expect me to believe that the Spiderman is unable to wash someone’s hair in this sink.”

“At 6’9? Absolutely.”

“Touché.”

Truthfully, Miguel was a bit turned on after spending the last 20 minutes watching you completely melt under his hands from scratching your scalp.

It was such a simple task but all of your sighs and whispers of “right there” and “harder” had him internally groaning.

When it was finished, you were up off the floor easily and blissfully unaware, while he was left with a few of your shedded curls covering his clothes and pre-cum threatening to seep into his underwear.

So yes, while technically the shower was the best option for him, he really wanted to ignite that same reaction from you again. It was addicting.

You reach up on your tippy toes and squish his face to give a quick peck to his lips. “Fine, fine! Quit your puppy dog eyes, we can go to the shower. Just let me pee first.”

Step 1 of Miguel’s master plan was already successfully underway.

He started to pick up your supplies, reading the ingredients out of curiosity. Today you were trying a new line of products that was making huge waves online. He remembers seeing how excited you were when the package came in. You had barrelled into the bedroom in a squealing frenzy, and had it not been for his spider senses listening out for you, he would have jumped from the way you threw the door open.

Even though it was another line of products that would fill up the bathroom cabinets, your giddiness rubbed off on him, so he was ready to see results.

“Baby, come on! I’m ready!”

Miguel quickly huddled up everything from the counter and made his way to the bathroom.

He walked in to see you standing next to the sink, birthday suit on and your hands reaching up to push your hair from your forehead.

Heaven-sent were the first words that came to mind. Here you were, standing in the steam of the bathroom just for his eyes. He couldn’t help but linger in the doorway, heart skipping a beat at the sight of you.

You turned to look back at him, mirth in your eyes, “Mig, come on, the water’s running.”

He didn’t even comprehend the sound of the water hitting the tiles, he was so zoned in on you.

“I’m coming, I was just…admiring you,” he replies, moving to prepare for the shower.

“There’s no way you’re eyeing me up right now. I look a little crazy,” you say, turning back towards the mirror.

“Querida, you could be rocking a spiked mohawk right now, and I would still have the same reaction. You’re beautiful no matter how your hair looks.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering at his words. If you didn’t have to get ready for your hair appointment tomorrow, you’d stop everything then and there to love on your boyfriend.

For now, you settled on helping him out of his clothes, a smile growing on your face. You pulled his shirt up as far as you could reach, then let your hands roam over his chest, watching the goosebumps that followed behind. You kept your fingers walking down to the waistband of his pants, lightly scratching at his happy trail.

His stomach twitched in response to your touch, hands itching to pull you closer.

You placed your hands at his sides, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, slowly tugging at the bands. You stepped forward to get a better leverage, breasts pressing against his torso.

His breaths were coming out in short beats, not wanting to disrupt the spell that you put him under. He looked down at the closing space between you all’s bodies because if he looked up at your eyes, he’d stop everything and take you right there against the counter.

But the shower. He was supposed to make it to the shower. Which was in an area by itself. In the next room. With your hands roaming everywhere, he wasn’t even sure if he could even make it past the toilet.

His eyes fluttered closed as you slid your hands back up his thighs, a deep breath building in his lungs. Like this, he was really able to tune in on both the heat of your body against his and the lingering touch of your hands. Hyper-focused on you and you alone.

Then he heard a loud slap.

His eyes bucked back open, body rigid as the sting came back in waves on the side of his ass.

“Come on, we’ve got heads to scrub!” you said, voice as clear as ever.

He watched you twirl towards the shower, his mind muddled from your switch to playfulness. Had he read that all wrong?

He looked down and sighed at the sight of his dick, half-hard at what could have been.

All he could do was stagger out of the clothes that pooled at his ankles, grab the hair products, and waddle to the shower.

You were already halfway under the spray of the shower head, head leaning back, waiting for the water to completely soak through the layers of your hair.

Miguel came up next to you and detached the shower head, bringing it closer to your scalp, careful not to get water in your ears.

“So first, we have to use the scalp scrub shampoo,” you say, grabbing one of the taller bottles and unscrewing it. “Just take this in your hands first, lather it, and work it into my scalp.”

You pull his left hand forward and squeeze some of the liquid in his palm.

“Is this enough?” he asked, noticing the little amount you put in his hand.

“Yep! A little can go a long way, baby,” you say, turning around to him, trying to determine how you would reach the top of his head.

Oh, how Miguel was so well acquainted with that phrase. Especially after this cat-and-mouse game you’ve been playing with him all day.

You faced him as he placed his fingers on your scalp, beginning to move in circles, spreading the shampoo in several sections.

“You can add a little pressure. I can take it,” you mumble out, almost low enough for Miguel to miss it.

So he does. He starts to scratch at your scalp, remembering that this is an important step. For your hair of course, not his plan.

“Ugh, that feels so nice,” you sigh, trying not to sway under him. “I should have had you do this sooner.”

Miguel thought so too. Here you are, head leaned back, eyes closed, and completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. He kept scratching at your scalp, your head nodding along with the motions.

“Can you scratch over here, please?” you ask, pointing at the right side of your head, eyes squeezed tight to not let any soap fall in them. Even after all of your teasing, you were still so cute in this moment. When Miguel complied, you showed your gratitude by groaning out a quick thank you. With a long sigh, you placed your hands in front of his chest, fingers balled up in loose fists.

“Does it feel good?” Miguel knew the answer, but he had to play along. “You want me to move anywhere else?”

“Yeah, could you just-” you leaned your head over, mindlessly guiding Miguel’s hands. “Right there, baby.”

You brought your hands up to grip at his wrists, needing something to hold onto. Miguel felt insane.

To curb the feeling, he quickly leaned down and kissed your forehead. His head was overloaded with the sound of your voice and he had to keep himself composed.

You looked up at him, eyes big and wide at his affection. He kept making you feel warm doing such mundane things. You purse your lips, silently begging for more.

Miguel brought his soapy hands to the water to quickly rinse them off, then placed them on your cheeks and leaned down again to kiss your lips.

One. Two. Three pecks and you were giggling.

Four. Five. Six pecks and you were on your tiptoes, arms crossed behind his neck.

Seven. Eight. Nine pecks and you were turning your head, opening your mouth for more.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve kisses and you were in his arms, feet off the ground, biting at his bottom lip.

By the thirteenth kiss, you were pulling your head back, staring into his eyes, grabbing at his nape.

“We still have to wash the shampoo out,” you say, watching as his eyes linger on your lips.

“We can do that,” he mumbles, still holding you close.

“Are you gonna put me down?” you ask, tone a little cheeky.

He snaps his eyes up at yours, eyebrow raised. “Are you gonna finish what you started?” He started to move one of his palms down your back, taking a thigh to pull around his waist, and placing his mouth on your jaw.

“Nuh uh, O’Hara,” you chide, pushing against his chest and wiggling to get him to remove his embrace. The water smacks against the tiles as you jump down, one calf still in Miguel’s hand.

“O’Hara?” Miguel scoffed, playfully pulling at you again and tickling your side. “I’m not sure who that is, but maybe you forgot how to say baby, mi vida.”

You laughed at him, finally calling out his bluff, “No, because my baby said he would help me wash my hair, and right now he’s being bad and trying to distract me. So, until you finish, it’s O’Hara.” You folded your arms and tilted your head to the side, daring Miguel to counter your words.

He dropped your leg and muttered out a gruff “fine” with his lips downturned. Two could play at this game and if he wanted to distract you, he just had to turn up the heat.

He grabbed for the shower head and started to rinse the thick shampoo from your hair, carefully weaving through the locks.

“When do we detangle it?”

You started to smile again, happy at his verb usage. He really does listen to you when you talk about your hair.

“When we put on the conditioner, but you can start a little now while the water’s running on it. Need the brush?”

“No, I’ll just use my fingers for a little bit.”

You turned your face back to him, shocked that he remembered another technique.

“You’re gonna finger detangle, ba- I mean, O’Hara?”

“Yes I am, corazón. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m a great boyfriend that knows what his girl needs.”

You squint your eyes, wary at his words. “Uh huh, I bet you do. If you know so much, what’s next?”

“We shampoo again. Rinse. Then it’s conditioner and detangling, just like you said.”

You hummed, internally ecstatic that he actually did know the answer. “Another point for you,” you say, turning back around as Miguel places the shower head back on the hook.

Miguel smirked. He listened to you, he really did, but he also made sure to watch over 20 videos about washing coily hair while you were sleeping. You didn’t have to know that though.

His high was short-lived when you bent over to grab the next shampoo. He grabbed at your hips, watching as the swell of your ass aligned against his front. He pushed his head back and breathed in deep. How unfair.

You leaned back up slowly, turning the bottle around trying to fish for any specific directions.

“This one is a hydrating shampoo. It says you can just put it on my hair and just work it through.”

Miguel repeated the same shampooing process, although this time with less scalp scratching and more scalp massaging. You were once again in bliss at his ministrations, like a cat who couldn’t stop purring.

“O’Hara, you really have a way with your hands. Super relaxing,” you say with snickers underlining your voice.

Miguel just reached for the shower head, ready to rinse for the second time. “This guy sounds like a real catch. Too bad he isn’t here.”

You just laugh at how sulky he sounded, ready to grab the conditioner.

“Well, is there a Mr. O’Hara here? I kind of need him for this last step.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks.

You really didn’t understand how much he wanted to make you his wife. In fact, he started planning the proposal to a T after a year of you all being together. He started to dream about a future with you after the first couple of dates, despite how often he had to tell himself to slow down. It was terrifying yet thrilling how much you left an impression on his life.

Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara.

Mr. O’Hara.

Mrs. O’Hara.

Miguel bent his head in your neck and wrapped his arms around your waist, face burning from his running thoughts.

“Y-you can’t use that against me. You know how I get,” he said petulantly, voice softened in the juncture of your neck, drowned out by the pouring water.

“And how do you get, baby?” you ask, reaching over to run your fingers through his damp hair. You tugged lightly at the root causing Miguel to hug you tighter and groan against your neck.

As hot as the water was, the heat of your body against his left him burning. The angle was weird so he couldn’t exactly rub up against you, but he could kiss along the surface of your shoulders.

He started to slowly press kisses down your neck, moaning as you tilted your head to give him more space. He stopped to linger at the top of your shoulder, taking in a small amount of skin. After he was happy at the mark he left, he opened his mouth a little wider, canines grazing against your skin.

You reach to pull his head back up, resting his jaw on your shoulder.

“Focus, Mr. O’Hara, it’s only one more step.” You say these words lowly right next to his ear, pressing your lips on his tragus then pushing his head up to kiss against his jaw.

When Miguel stood up fully, you could see the dazed look in his eyes. Staring closer, you noticed they were a little dewey.

You had to bring him back down to Earth. You couldn’t have him lost in this steam.

“Hey, baby look at me,” you even your tone and angle his face towards yours. “Are you alright? Do we need to sit down?”

You wait for his eyes to find yours, searching for discomfort.

“No, I'm fine. I’m ok, sorry,” he says, leaning into one of your hands, wrapping his hand around it for extra support.

“Positive? I know the water is really hot so if you need to step out and cool down, then that’s fine. I’ll help you settle down then come back and finish up by myself,” you say, adamant in your words.

“No! No, no. I’m really ok. I’m so cool and calm right now that it’s crazy,” he replies, frantic at the thought of leaving you in the shower. “Hand me the conditioner.”

You look at him again, tickled at the change in condition. All you could do was sigh, twist the cap off of the conditioner, and pull the inner lid off.

He dabbed two fingers on top of the cream, scooping a small amount off of the top. “A little goes a long way, right?”

“A little does go a long way.”

“Can you turn around, please?”

You comply, placing the conditioner in a corner.

“If you need it to lather a bit more, just add a little water,” you remind him.

He began to work the conditioner through, going from the root to the ends. The results were quick and he could see your curls begin to sprout. He started to thoroughly pull his fingers through, working out any leftover tangles. He got to a bigger knot and held the section of hair in one hand, and carefully combed through the knot with the other.

You were feeling peaceful until it dawned on you: you never gave him a comb or a brush to work with.

“Hold on, baby what are you using to take the knots out with? Do you have a comb?”

Miguel placed one of his hands in your face and pushed his talons out, like a cat showing its claws off when you press the center of its paw.

You panic, remembering that they can tear through people and metal, “Um. I don’t think using these bad boys on my hair is the right way to go.”

“Tranquila, mi amor, I got it. I’m using the dull side, see?”

He put a tuft of hair in front of your eyes and showed the process of him detangling while talon-less, then working out the final tough knot with the side of the talon, turning his hand sideways to avoid cutting your curls.

As a result, the section was completely detangled, allowing him to run his fingers straight through the thick strands, and the curls springing back up once he was finished. Plus, from what you could tell, there was no breakage.

Color you impressed because Miguel was pulling out all of the stops today.

“Alright, just. Be careful.”

“Always.”

“If you jack up my hair, Lyla will have to place Jess in charge permanently.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You stand, arms placed under your chest, waiting for Miguel to finish. Subconsciously listening to the pattern of his breaths and the sound of his talon going through your hair.

“Ok, that’s it. Do you want to wash my hair while this sits?”

Such a smart boyfriend.

“Yeah just let me go ahead and finish this shower while you get your hair wet.”

Miguel stepped back to get under the overhead shower head, letting the water fall on him like rain, watching you as you began to lather body wash on your net sponge.

You were scrubbing away at your skin getting into every crevice, peach fragrance filling the air.

He wanted to reach out and touch you, but look where that’s gotten him so far. Almost kicked out of the bathroom.

You were just as stubborn as he was, no, resolute.

He admired it, especially when you gracefully brought him down from clouds that were his own fantasies.

Focusing back on you, he stared openly as you folded your body in half to reach your ankles causing everything to be on display.

A normal person would put their foot on the ledge to reach below. You were definitely fucking with him.

He watched as you pulled the net sponge across your body, leaning up as the languid movements of your hands pulled the net side to side.

He was glad that the water drowned out his harsh breathing.

You finished off your shower, working the detached shower head over the soap, clearing up your skin.

You brought the shower head lower, making sure that there was no bubble left behind.

When you held your ass to help the water pass all the way down the back of your body, Miguel jumped to hold the base of his cock, softly groaning at the picture you were painting.

He lifted his face up and pushed his hair back, in hopes that the stream could help him clear his mind. But, the water was hot, all it did was make him lightheaded at the thought of you.

“Miguel? Come over here so I can wash you too.”

Miguel tottered over, looking down at your body, shining after all your thorough work. You were placing soap on a pair of exfoliating gloves you had bought for him, lathering them together once you were satisfied with the amount of soap.

You got to work on his body, starting at the shoulders and moving in circular motions.

Miguel stared in silence, hoping you would put an end to this charade. But you continue to be meticulous, covering every inch of his upper body. Lifting his arms when you wanted to. Moving him around when you wanted to.

In this moment, he felt like a ragdoll, letting you do whatever you pleased.

You squatted down to do his lower body, eyes laser focused, not missing a spot.

All Miguel could focus on was your face so close to his dick that was twitching in anticipation. You just ignored it and continued to rub the rest of him down. Miguel wanted to cry.

You were touching everywhere, slowing down on his inner thighs and ass causing his knees to shake.

You held him steady by gripping the back of his thighs and finally looked up at him, acknowledging his presence.

Your eyes traced him all the way down to the gift that was in front of you. You parted your lips and let your tongue brush against the tip, watching as spurts of pre-cum escaped. You couldn’t have that. You leaned forward a little more, taking the head in completely, and allowed yourself a few more licks and a suck before you let go with a pop, watching the thin trail of spit grow as you leaned back.

Miguel whined in frustration, a cloud of desire fading so quickly.

“Amor, why did you-”

You quickly jumped up and rested against him, arms wrapped around his waist and hands lightly groping his butt.

“I didn’t even wash your hair yet, silly,” you quip, chin nuzzling against his sternum. “Now, go rinse off and sit on the bench so I can reach your hair.”

Forget wanting to cry, Miguel might actually do it.

He was so, so hard.

After the soap was gone he trudged to the bench, glancing over at you washing the conditioner out of your hair.

“I could have washed it out for you,” he protests, half bothered by his situation and half annoyed that he let it blindside him from the main point of this shower.

“It’s ok, baby. You really helped me out a lot today and I’m thankful. I’m also making sure you don’t drop to the floor right now, so hold on for me,” you reply earnestly, chuckling at the look of frustration slapped across Miguel’s face.

You bring over the hydrating scrub, some conditioner, and the shower head, and stand in between his legs, ready to start.

Miguel looked up at you like you hung the stars in the sky, undeniably in love and unbelievably aroused.

You started to unscrew the scrub, making sure to part his hair down the middle.

“You’re using your products on me?” he asked, confused at your actions.

“Just the shampoo. I don’t think this conditioner will do you any good, but for the most part, the line is pretty inclusive. Ain’t that neat?”

“Mm-hm,” he responded, cheeks squished against your chest, arms wrapped around your thighs.

“Look forward, for me, baby,” you say, starting to spread the shampoo on his scalp.

He just hummed and groaned in the safety of your torso, while you scratched at his scalp and pulled the shampoo to his ends. He started to kiss and nibble at any skin he could get his mouth on. His grip was getting tighter and he felt a stutter in your breaths.

“Lean back so I can rinse this out.”

He placed his chin on your stomach again, eyes full of hearts.

“I’m almost finished, I just need to put your conditioner on.”

Miguel hummed once more as you placed the conditioner at his ends first, then scrunched his hair up, careful not to mess with his scalp. Mindful of his wavy, curly hair texture like he was for yours.

His wine eyes kept staring at you, as if you were the 8th wonder of the world. You felt heat in your face, an accumulation of the almost boiling water and Miguel’s full attention.

He was simply grinning, face wet and tinted from the water.

“You’re so cute,” you say, rinsing out the last of the product.

“Only with you,” he replies, still trying to make you look into his eyes. “Can you come closer?”

You set the shower head down and run your hands through his strands, “I feel like I’m already as close as it gets.”

“Not really,” he said, swiftly sitting you on his lap like you weighed nothing. “You could always be closer to me, cariño. I can think of many ways to make that happen.”

You finally allow yourself to indulge in his shenanigans. Leaning your forehead on his, you open your mouth to say, “Is that why you were so adamant about getting in the shower? To get as close to me as possible?”

He looked from your eyes to your mouth, “No?”

You bring your hands from his hair to his neck, “You know you can’t lie. In fact, you’re like, really bad at it.”

“Fine. It was partially because of that. How did you know?”

“Like I said, you can’t lie and neither can your face. You’ve been pouting ever since I let you scratch my head and especially when I wanted to wash my hair in the sink.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Kind of,” you say, a laugh twinkling off your lips. “I can always tell when you want me.”

“Yeah? And what am I telling you right now?” He starts to move your hips, placing his erection right under you, grinding your lips against him.

You close your eyes, a flame beginning to blossom within you, “I guess that you need, fuck, you need me.” Your clit was throbbing against his length as he dragged your body back and forth.

“I do, bebé, I do,” Miguel was moaning loudly, melting at the feeling of your pussy finally warming him up. He moved his lips to yours, desperately trying to have more of you, gripping your hips even harder.

“Baby, s-slow down,” you say in the midst of his kisses, trying to put your feet on the bench next to him to gain some sort of stability. You knew he was pent up, but he was moving so frantically, you were scared he might slip off.

“Te necesito. Please, just-” Miguel cut himself off with a groan in your neck, grinding your slit along himself faster. He started to kiss down your chest, finally getting to your breasts, and gliding his tongue along the wet skin. He took a nipple into his mouth, allowing himself to suck.

The flame from before was starting to grow, “Miggy if you keep going, I’m gonna cum.” He was just starting and you already felt everything coming to an end.

How were you so close, yet he was the one who was riled up?

“Miguel, I’m-” you hold on harder to his neck, eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh huh. C’mon, give it to me,” he encouraged, staring at you, eyes cloudy.

You break above him, a scream crawling from your throat, hips stuttering in his hold, and liquid leaking onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” your mind was hazy, reveling from how quick you came, but mostly at how needy Miguel looked.

“Was it good?” he asked, hugging your body as he switched angles, dragging his body closer to the edge of the bench, letting your feet fall to the floor. His voice was whiny, desperate, wanton. “Was I good for you? Did you feel good?”

You brought your mouth to his temple, movements shaky and heart still thumping, “You were so good for me, baby. So good.”

He sighed, breath leaving his lungs as if what you told him was a matter of life and death.

“Then use me,” he leaned back, hands pressed against the seat. “Use me, however you please.”

You stared at him, a little stunned but fully immersed. When you brought your hand to his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was moving. You brought your mouth to his once more, a thumb on his chin pushing so that lips could part. You kissed him deep, making sure to direct his focus there while you placed your knees on the bench.

Sitting just above him, you guided your sex to his, allowing his tip to barely kiss you. You wanted him, yearned for him inside of you, but not yet.

You slid his tip past your slit, only edging it in partially, then rubbed your pussy up and down the head, allowing yourself to open up.

Miguel moaned into your mouth, hands curling into fists as he felt your walls close around the top of him. He started to move in tiny thrusts matching your rhythm.

“Nuh uh, baby, it’s just me right now, remember?” You break your kiss to reprimand him, bringing your hand from his chin to his stomach, and stopping all movement.

Miguel could only cry out and nod, upset at the loss of your body devouring his own, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, keep going. I’ll be still, cariño, please.”

“Good. There he is, my sweet baby,” you say, voice a prime example at how much Miguel begging for you was affecting you.

You start back, ass moving with a bit more force. You lean to press a long kiss against his neck, losing yourself in the sound of him barely inside of you, his groans a lovely melody filling up the room.

“You feel amazing, Miguel. So big, and you’re only giving me so little,” you pant in his ear, knees starting to hurt from how hard the tiles were.

“It’s all for you. Just for you,” he gasped, twitching when the sounds of your juices got even louder at your constant movement. “Mi amor, please, can I hold you?”

“Always, baby.”

Internally you chuckled, you never told him he couldn’t touch you, you just followed his plea to use him like a toy. He was so pussy drunk, he forgot the parameters he set for himself.

He wrapped his biceps around you, your arms folding behind your back in the process, but that didn’t stop you from riding out the high that was another orgasm.

“That’s right, keep going. Úsame, take what you need,” he requested. He was itching to dive deeper into you, not wanting your pleasure to end.

You threw your head back and whined high with Miguel’s name on your tongue, gushing out your release for a second time.

“Fuck.” Miguel was still holding onto you, legs taut in their position. He swerved your pussy across his length, listening at how wet you were.

You laid your head on the tile above Miguel, relieved with its slight coolness and trying to slow down your rapid heartbeat. Your hips kept bucking as an aftereffect.

You didn’t get that much of a cool down before Miguel was at it again, finally sliding his dick in until he bottomed out.

The two of you let out long moans in unison, a harmony that wasn’t unfamiliar to your apartment.

In this position, your face was back in front if Miguel’s, eyes watery from the sensation of him filling you up.

“You’re perfect, you feel perfect,” Miguel cradled you, trying to get as comfortable as he could, despite the impossible position he put himself in.

Lifting his hips off of the bench, he held himself up by his back pressed against the tiles.

Before you could even ask him if you all should move to the floor, he knocked the wind out of you, holding you up as he slammed into you.

“Miguel!” you shout, clamoring for anything to grab onto after the impact had you knocking forward.

“I got you, I promise. Won’t let you fall,” he heaved out, words spilling out as fast as his hips were snapping.

All you could do was mutter out words incoherently, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass reverberating off of the walls. Your eyes finally let go of the tears they were holding, overwhelmed by your state of being.

“What’s that, mi amor?” Miguel cooed at you, licking off one of your tears and kissing your cheek. “Can you feel me? Is it too much?”

“I, ngh, I,” you could barely get your words out, your brain turning into mush after each thrust. Miguel kept going, humming as he spread kisses around your face.

“You gotta answer me, baby. I need to know,” he whispered.

“I’m trying,” you respond, voice cracking from overuse. You were still peeved at his composure. “I thought you said, oh my god, you said you didn’t want to hurt your back.”

Miguel just pursed his lips, eyes clearing up for just a second, “I didn’t. And I’m not going to, super-healing, remember?”

“That’s-” your sentence was cut off by Miguel hiking you up and smacking you back down in time with one of his thrusts.

“Shit! Do that again,” you sob, thoughts coming to a stop.

“Yeah?” Miguel tried his best to keep his eyes on you, but you were squeezing so tight around him that his eyes kept rolling.

“Yes, Miggy. Right there, that spot. It’s so,” you were drooling at this point. “It’s so much.”

Miguel kept it up, glad to be hearing those words, proud of himself for igniting you.

You held your head down, body wound tight, “I think I’m gonna cum. I’m close.”

“Again?” Miguel asked, heart fluttering at you falling apart on his dick.

“Yes, baby. Don’t stop,” you say, voice wavering.

Right as you felt your body beginning to let go, Miguel halted and sat back on the bench.

“No, no, no. Why did you-” You were cut off by Miguel grabbing you and placing you on your shoulders, pussy in his face.

He opened his mouth and pushed his tongue in where his cock once was swirling in and out, sucking at your folds. He starts to hum as if you've fed him his last meal, causing your orgasm to come in waves.

“Oh!” you shout, thighs quivering around his head, one hand gathering a fist of hair and the other pawing at the wall. Miguel was lapping everything up, holding you so that you couldn’t even think of falling.

“Ok, ok,” you say, mewling as he kept you in place while your hips shook. “S’too much.” He finally let’s go, placing you back in his lap.

“Did I do good?” he asks, chest rising and falling rapidly now that he catered to you. His face was a mess, evidence of you all down his neck.

You kissed his nose, giggling at his need for praise, “Yes, baby. You did amazing. Fantastic. Perfecto.”

He was practically vibrating with joy, kneading at your thighs.

“But Miggy, there’s still a problem,” you say, holding his face with both hands. “You still didn’t cum yet.”

You watched his face flit through several phases: ecstatic, worried, then hungry.

“Can I keep going?” he asks, hands starting to roam again.

You simply nod and try to prepare yourself for him moving you around again.

He sinks back in slowly, careful of your sensitive body. You try your best to move, hips working in circles, hands holding onto his thighs. You couldn't help but to squeeze onto him, despite how tired you were.

“You look so pretty,” Miguel mumbled.

“Bet I would look prettier if you finished. Inside.”

That fired him up even more. He started to help you to bounce up and down his length, teeth gritted. You held your head back, eyes scrunched at the feeling of him inside again.

Then he started to whimper, a telltale sign that he was close.

“Can you say it again, please?” he said, moving to stand with you in his arms.

“Say what?” you ask, exhausted yet in awe that he still had so much energy. “That I want you to cum inside? Fill me up?”

You could feel him twitch inside of you, mind hazy at the thought.

“Shockingly, no. My name. Porfa, mi vida. I need to hear it.” He was still holding you as he pounded away, eyes never leaving yours.

You’ve been saying his name the whole time, so surely that can’t be it. Then, it dawned on you.

“Let go, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, mouth right next to his.

And so he did. He bent over, hands gripping your sides as he snapped his hips frantically, groaning into your mouth as he kissed you hard. You could feel him seeping inside you, hot liquid filling you up.

You clutch at his shoulders, feeling your hold slipping from how wet his skin was from the shower and the heat. You cry out again, body sore from all of fun and sensitive from overstimulation.

Miguel finally let up for what felt like hours, standing up straight and pulling you off his dick. He hissed at the feeling, angling your body parallel to his so that everything could fall to the shower floor.

You lay your head on his shoulder tiredly, grateful that he was still carrying you.

“That’s going to mess up the drain. You should have just let it stay in me until it took,” you mumble into his shoulder, hearing his breath hitch at your words. “Or until I got to the toilet or something.”

He brought you both back to the bench, “You're on the pill so stop teasing me about that.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t live out your breed-”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, mi amor,” he says, pecking your lips to stop you from continuing. “Now let's clean you up. Again.”

He reaches for the shower head and checks the temperature. Humming, he aims the spray at your lower area.

You jump and yelp, “That’s so fucking cold!”

“Bébe, it’s literally warm. I just checked!”

No wonder he was about to die in the steam, “You know how hot I like my showers, and that’s ice cold right now.”

“Well I’m sorry it’s not burning, but we have to clean you up,” he said, trying to console you. “I’ll warm you up later.”

You look at him and there’s this playful look on his face. “No,” you say, just the thought of doing this again making you sleepy.

You eye his body up and down. “Maybe later.”

He just chuckled and finished up.

An hour later, the two of you are dry, blow dried, and comfortably laid out across the couch with baking competition shows queued up on the TV.

You look up at Miguel from your position on his chest, cheesing from ear to ear.

He feels you staring at him and looks down, eyes warm. “What?” he asks, watching your face light up.

“Nothing. I just love you,” you say, unable to look away.

He kisses you, heart keeping a steady beat, “I love you too.”

I hope you enjoyed reading! 🩵🩵

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

(And did anyone catch my Beyoncé Cécred refs?? I have no idea how brand names work with fics so I just stuck to nameless descriptions😭)

- Lauro 🧼

[princessfizzintine]

dating shoto! ✿̈

[hookhausenschips]

Nightshade

Word Count: 9.5k (yup she’s a long one)

Summary: In Eastern Europe, Y/N, Blade's daughter, embarks on a harrowing mission to rescue their mentor, Whistler, from vampires. Joined by Oscar, a vampire warrior, they navigate a dangerous alliance to thwart a vampiric threat. Amidst battles and betrayals, Y/N and Oscar form an unlikely bond that tests their loyalty and strength, proving that even in darkness, unity and resolve can prevail.

Warnings: Violence, Gore, Vampirism, Explicit Language, Death, Betrayal, Some Sexual Tones, Use of Weapons?

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Masterlist

A/N:let me know what you guys think! I literally rewatched all three movies while in this Tornado Watch and say fuck it😂

Like and Reblog if you enjoyed!

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**Y/N’s POV**

The cold air of Eastern Europe gnawed at my skin as my father, Blade, prepared for our mission under the pale light of the moon. Our objective was clear: locate and rescue Whistler, who had been taken captive by vampires, tortured, and believed to have been turned into one of them. The sense of urgency was palpable, as Whistler was not just a mentor to Blade but had been a surrogate father to me as well, teaching me everything from the mechanics of vampire weaponry to the subtle art of survival.

The warehouse where Whistler was being held loomed large and foreboding as we approached. Blade was silent, his jaw set, his eyes revealing a rare flicker of concern that he usually kept hidden beneath layers of stoicism. I mirrored his intensity, my hands steady despite the roiling emotions within.

Together, we infiltrated the warehouse, dispatching vampire sentries with swift, practiced movements. The air was thick with the smell of decay, a stark reminder of the grim scene we were about to face. When we finally found Whistler, he was chained, his body a canvas of bruises and wounds, barely clinging to life. The relief on Blade's face when we found Whistler alive was short-lived, quickly replaced by a hardened resolve as we carefully transported him back to our compound.

Once back at the safety of our headquarters, the tension did not abate. Scud, Blade’s somewhat cocky and irreverent weapon specialist, watched as we settled Whistler into a makeshift medical area. His approach to the grim situation was jarringly different, carrying a certain irreverence that often grated on me.

As Blade and a medical specialist tended to Whistler, trying to reverse any potential vampiric transformation and heal his physical wounds, Scud leaned over to me, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, if he turns, I’ve got just the thing to put ol’ Whistler down. Quick and painless—well, maybe not painless.”

My response was immediate and icy, my eyes narrowing as I stepped closer to Scud, my presence imposing despite my youth. “Listen, Scud,” I began, my voice low and menacing, “that’s not just some turned vampire you’re talking about. That’s Whistler. He’s family.”

Scud’s smirk faltered under my gaze, the weight of my words cutting through the casual bravado he so often wielded like a shield. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“Words mean things, Scud,” I interrupted sharply. “How you talk about him, it matters. He’s not some target practice. He’s one of us. And we’re going to save him, not joke about ending him.”

Scud nodded, chastened, his usual cockiness deflating under the seriousness of my tone. “Right, Y/N. I got it. I’m sorry.”

I held his gaze for a moment longer, ensuring my point had truly sunk in, then turned back to my father and Whistler. I watched silently as they administered a serum to counteract the vampire enzymes, my heart a mixture of hope and fear.

As Whistler’s condition slowly stabilized, I remained vigilant, my resolve fortified by the ordeal. I had not only reaffirmed my dedication to our cause but also my role as a protector of my unconventional family. Scud’s subsequent demeanor showed a newfound respect not only for Whistler but for me as well, his jokes and quips now tempered with a visible measure of thoughtfulness regarding our dire circumstances.

In those tense, weary hours, I grew not just in the eyes of my allies but also in my own, stepping firmly into my role alongside Blade, ready to face whatever darkness the night would bring next.

As the urban twilight descended upon Prague, cloaking the ancient city in shadows and whispered secrets, a pair of hunters prepared for a rendezvous that would challenge the very essence of our lives. Y/N, daughter of Blade, the notorious Daywalker, was an enigma wrapped in leather and steel. Raised amidst a symphony of combat and survival, I mirrored my father’s deadly skills and unwavering mission to hunt the vampires that plagued mankind.

Tonight was pivotal. Blade had reluctantly agreed to join forces with the Bloodpack, an elite squad of vampire warriors. Our common enemy, the Reapers, posed a threat serious enough to unite the fiercest of foes. As the meeting place—a derelict warehouse that time forgot—loomed ahead, my grip tightened around my weapons, my senses sharpening.

Within the shadowy confines of the warehouse, the Bloodpack awaited. Among them stood Oscar, standing slightly behind, who caught my attention. His demeanor was calm, almost detached from the revelry, his eyes, a piercing shade of brown with hints of green, surveyed the room, pausing momentarily on me with an unreadable expression. In that fleeting exchange, a spark of curiosity ignited.

Blade’s entrance with me and Whistler was met with palpable tension, the air thick with animosity and mutual distrust. “This truce is temporary,” Blade stated unequivocally, his voice a low growl as he scanned the vampires before him. I stood slightly behind, my expression unreadable, my stance defensive yet poised.

As the group’s uneasy introductions circled, Reinhardt, the brash leader of the Bloodpack, made a pointed comment about humans and their frailties. It was Oscar who defused the brewing storm. “Strength often lies where least expected,” he remarked diplomatically, his gaze lingering slightly on me, acknowledging my presence not as a liability but as a formidable ally.

Standing just a few feet from the unfolding confrontation between my father, Blade, and Reinhardt, I felt the tension escalate with every taunt and gesture. The air in the dimly lit room felt heavier, charged with a potent mix of anticipation and hostility.

Hey, me and the guys were wondering…” My father turns, “What?” “Can you blush?” Reinhardt’s whispered question to my father was meant to demean, to unsettle. I knew the intent behind it—the implied weakness, the racial undertone. My hands clenched instinctively, anger flaring within me at the disrespect shown. It was a provocative, dangerous play, aiming to provoke Blade into losing control. But my father wasn't just any opponent; he was Blade, seasoned and ever-strategic.

My reaction was instantaneous. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and a hot rush of anger flooded my veins. The remark was not just a challenge to my father’s composure but a personal insult to my heritage and our shared struggle against the darkness. I took a step forward, eyes blazing, ready to defend my father’s honor with more than just words.

However, before I could act—whether to speak sharply in defense or to let my fists fly—Blade placed a calming hand on my shoulder.

As Blade’s response unfolded, I could feel the shift in the room. He didn’t just address Reinhardt; he threw down a gauntlet. The challenge was clear, and the sarcasm in his tone, "Oh, I get it. I see now. You've been training for two years to take me out. And now, here I am. Ooh, it's so exciting, isn't it? Okay. Here's your chance." was dripping with contempt. He was calling out Reinhardt’s bravado, exposing it as hollow. My heart raced—part pride, part worry—as I watched him handle the escalating situation with calculated aggression.

My father takes out a silver stake, “Come on, what are you waiting for?” He points it at himself, “Here I am. Right here in front of you. Adolf here gets the first shot. Come on.” Reinhardt looks at Nyssa. “Come on, what are you looking at her for? You need permission? Maybe you need a little bit of incentive. Okay, I can help with that.” He swirls the stake then hits Reinhardt with it, visibly agitating him. “What's the matter, you miss that? It's okay, I can do it again.” He does the same thing again.

When Blade reached to hand Reinhardt the stake, my grip tightened around my weapon. The risk was palpable; it was a test, a deadly dance on a knife's edge. Could Reinhardt overcome the urge to strike, or would he give in to the crowd's fervor and his own bruised ego?

The taunts from Verlaine and Chupa in the vampire language added fuel to the fire, voices rising around us like a chorus of the damned urging bloodshed. Despite this, a part of me admired Blade's control and audacity. He was masterful, turning the psychological tables on Reinhardt, making him the center of a spectacle that he had originally aimed to direct at Blade.

Blade insistently says, “Come on. What, do you need a manual?” He hands Reinhardt the stake, “Do it!”

When Reinhardt finally lunged, the tension broke like a snapped wire. My father was ready, swift with his counter. The device he placed on Reinhardt’s head was not just a physical restraint; it was a clear message. This explosive threat, this leash of sorts, was Blade asserting dominance, ensuring compliance through the imminent threat of destruction.

“Now you got an explosive device stuck to the back of your head. Silver nitrate. Rigged to go off if anybody tampers with it. I'll have the detonator with me. And you. If you so much as look at me wrong.”

As my father coolly announced the nature of the explosive device, my respect for his tactical mind deepened. This was the Blade I knew, the warrior who had raised me, who thrived not just on physical prowess but on psychological warfare. He had turned a potentially dangerous insult into a demonstration of power, securing his leadership and our safety.

In that moment, I realized more deeply than ever the layers of warfare we were engaged in—it wasn’t just physical battles against vampires or Reapers. It was also about dominance, respect, and psychological edges. As Reinhardt absorbed the reality of the explosive device attached to him, his face a mixture of fury and fear, I felt a shift in the dynamic of our forced alliance.

Standing there, watching the scene unfold, I knew that this encounter would set the tone for our uneasy collaboration. My father had just solidified his command in the most dramatic of ways, and I felt a surge of both pride and an increased awareness of the dangerous game we were all playing.

As we prepared to leave the room, I caught my father’s eye, an unspoken understanding passing between us. We were in this fight together, and his actions had just drawn a firm line that even our allies dared not cross. This was our reality, our battleground, and we were ready for whatever came next.

**Oscar's POV**

Standing off to the side, I observed the escalating verbal duel between Blade and Reinhardt. I had seen Reinhardt provoke many opponents in the past, but Blade was unlike any we had encountered. When Reinhardt whispered his derogatory question, I felt a twinge of disapproval. Such tactics were beneath them, especially in a situation that demanded cooperation and focus against a common enemy.

As Blade turned the tables on Reinhardt, not just defending himself but taking control of the situation, I was inwardly impressed. The Daywalker's cunning use of psychological warfare, his ability to maintain composure under verbal assault, and his strategic positioning in the volatile situation spoke volumes about his capabilities and experience. This was not merely about maintaining authority; it was a lesson in leadership.

When Blade equipped Reinhardt with the explosive device, making it clear that any wrong move would result in severe consequences, I understood the depth of Blade’s resolve and the seriousness with which he took the threat of internal betrayal. This action, though extreme, effectively cemented Blade’s leadership and set a clear boundary for the entire team.

My reaction was not just one of passive observation. I analyzed and learned from the interaction. This was a pivotal moment that delineated the power dynamics within our uneasy alliance. It showcased Blade’s dominance and strategic mind, elements that my respected and recognized as essential for our survival against the Reapers.

As the tension in the room eased with the resolution of the confrontation, my respect for Blade grew. I saw a leader who could not only fight but also think several steps ahead, qualities that were crucial in the war we were engaged in. My understanding of the necessity of Blade's actions, even if they were severe, shaped his approach to the alliance going forward.

For me, this incident was a clear indication that while our alliance was fragile, it was also under the guidance of someone capable of leading them through the direst of circumstances. This realization might have softened my initial reservations about working with Blade, setting the stage for a more cooperative and respectful interaction as we prepared to face the Reapers together.

**Y/N’s POV**

The night air was thick with the muted throb of distant music as my father, Blade, approached the entrance of the House of Pain, a notorious vampire nightclub hidden beneath the bustling streets of Prague. Tonight, however, our purpose was graver than a typical hunt; we were to meet with the Bloodpack, a formidable group of vampire warriors specially assembled to combat the Reaper threat. This was where alliances would be tested and formed, under the pulse of electronic beats and amidst the throngs of the undead.

As we descended into the club's depths, my senses were on high alert. The crowd was a mix of the dangerous and the decadent, vampires reveling in our nocturnal existence.

The plan was simple: blend in, gather information on the Reapers, and prepare for a coordinated strike. As Blade mingled with Reinhardt to discuss tactics, I found myself paired with Oscar. Our initial exchanges were clipped, each measuring the other's worth and intent. "Stick close," he murmured, leading me deeper into the club. "Reapers could be anywhere, and they won't hold back just because you're Blade's daughter."

I bristled at the comment but followed, my hand never straying far from my weapon. The club was a labyrinth of shadows and light, the perfect hunting ground for creatures like the Reapers, who thrived in the chaos of such environments.

Our first sign of trouble came when a sudden commotion erupted near the bar. A vampire, his features contorted in agony, crashed through the crowd, his body morphing grotesquely. It was a Reaper, its hunger unleashed. The crowd panicked, scattering as the creature attacked indiscriminately.

Myself and Oscar acted instinctively. Fighting back-to-back, We found ourselves an unexpectedly effective team. My human-vampire hybrid abilities combined with his elite vampire warrior training created a symphony of destruction. Each move was perfectly timed, strikes deadly and precise. I drew my sword, slicing through the crowd to get a clear shot at the beast, while Oscar intercepted another Reaper diving towards us from the balcony above.

We fought back-to-back, a rhythm developed between us that was surprising given our mutual suspicion. Each move was calculated, with my blade and Oscar’s strength complementing each other perfectly.

The fight was brutal. As we battled, I found myself thrown against a wall, a Reaper’s clawed hand inches from my face. It was Oscar who saved me, tackling the Reaper at the last second, his fangs bared as he ripped into the creature's neck with his knife. As the last Reaper fell, we finally had a moment to truly see each other.

Oscar was injured, a deep gash across his shoulder where the Reaper had struck.

Breathing heavily, I approached him. "You saved me," I said, my voice a mix of gratitude and surprise.

"It seems we make a good team," Oscar replied, wincing as he touched his wound.

The club was in disarray, the remaining vampires and a few brave humans fled, leaving only the sounds of distant sirens and the heavy breathing of the fighters. I found some cloth and pressed it against Oscar's wound, my touch gentle. "Let's get you patched up," I insisted.

This act of kindness did not go unnoticed by Oscar. He looked at me, his expression softening. "We're not so different, you and I," Oscar said, wiping his blade.

I was ever wary and kept my weapon ready. "Except I hunt your kind," I replied, my voice steady.

"A common enemy makes strange allies," Oscar remarked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As we made our way back to Blade and the others, there was a newfound respect between us. We had saved each other's lives, a bond forged in battle that could not be easily broken. Blade eyed us as we approached, a nod of approval directed at me. He had seen many things in his life, but the sight of his daughter, fierce and proud, allying with a vampire was something new.

As we stood side by side, looking out over the city we had defended together, we realized that our journey was just beginning. In a world shadowed by night and blood, our bond, formed in the heart of conflict, might just be the key to a new understanding, bridging the gap between day and night.

In the shadows of the House of Pain, amidst the echoes of chaos and the rhythm of pulsing music, a daywalker and a vampire had discovered an unlikely alliance. Together, we would face whatever darkness lay ahead, not as enemies, but as comrades. And in a world divided by light and shadow, our newfound trust was a beacon, guiding us through the night.

**Oscar’s POV**

I paused in cleaning my weapon, feeling the weight of the evening's fight still clinging to my muscles. Raindrops pattered softly outside our temporary refuge, mixing with the harsh scent of blood and mud that coated them. Despite the fatigue, my mind remained sharply alert, aware of the ever-present tension between myself and the Bloodpack.

Reinhardt approached, his massive frame blocking the dim light, casting his features into a harsh, menacing silhouette. "Getting cozy with the hunter's daughter isn’t part of the deal, Oscar. She's Blade's kin—same as him, just younger. Don't forget she'll turn on you the first chance she gets," he hissed, his voice barely more than a growl, reflecting the deep-rooted mistrust that had been bred into each of them from the start.

I straightened up, cleaning the last of the blood from my weapon with a deliberate slowness. I met Reinhardt’s intense gaze with a calm that belied his wariness. “She's saved my life, and I've saved hers. In battle, trust is what keeps you alive." My voice was steady, asserting a truth he'd come to believe despite the complexities of our entwined existences. "I haven’t forgotten what she is, but she hasn’t treated me based solely on what I am either.”

Reinhardt snorted, the disdain clear on his face. "Just remember where your loyalties should lie," he spat before turning away, his heavy boots squelching in the muck as he left Oscar to his thoughts.

Alone again, I continued my meticulous cleaning, reflecting on the precarious balance I maintained. Trust was a rare commodity in our world, and while Reinhardt’s warnings were not without merit, I believed in the bonds formed in the heat of battle. her actions had shown me a different perspective, one that suggested coexistence might be possible, however fraught it might be with dangers and misunderstandings. As I stowed his weapon, ready for whatever came next, I felt a firm resolve within me to prove that our alliance could be different, and could be more than just a temporary truce in a world bent on our mutual destruction.

As I meticulously finished stowing my weapon, I felt the tension in the air shift slightly. Nyssa approached her presence almost a calm in the storm that perpetually surrounded the Bloodpack. Her approach was less confrontational than Reinhardt's, her voice carrying a quiet authority that often served as a grounding force within our volatile group.

"Don't mind Reinhardt," she began, her eyes meeting mine with an understanding that seemed to reach beyond the immediate mistrust and suspicion that so often characterized our interactions. "He doesn't understand that sometimes enemies can align under common goals. Use this alliance to our advantage. And who knows, maybe this could be a turning point for a greater understanding between our kinds."

Hearing Nyssa's words, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. It was refreshing and rare to find someone among his own who could appreciate the nuances of our situation. Nyssa's perspective was a stark contrast to the usual cut-and-dry mentality that dictated so much of our lives, and her support was a vital affirmation of his own beliefs.

As Nyssa walked away, her words lingered in my mind, adding a layer of responsibility to his actions. I felt fortified by her understanding and support. It strengthened my resolve to maintain a balance of camaraderie and vigilance with Y/N, pushing me to consider not just the tactical benefits of our alliance, but the broader implications it could have for a future where both our kinds could coexist more peacefully. This interaction marked a subtle yet significant shift in his approach, grounding his next moves in a mix of cautious optimism and strategic foresight.

**Y/N’s POV**

Later, as we planned our next move against the Reapers, Oscar and I stood slightly apart from the group, talking quietly. Our conversation was no longer just about strategies and tactics but about understanding each other's worlds, finding common ground in our shared fight for survival.

As I methodically cleaned my weapons, the familiar rasp of Whistler's voice broke the rhythmic scraping of metal. I looked up to see his figure looming in the dim light of the workshop, his face etched with lines of concern, each scar a stark reminder of the battles he'd fought. The weight of his years in the fight against the undead seemed to pull him down a little more each day.

"Y/N," he began, his voice as gruff as the stubble shadowing his jaw, "I know you've got your father's strength and a good head on your shoulders. But vampires... they're not like us. This alliance, it’s dangerous, and getting close to one of them—even if he's saved your life—might cloud your judgment."

I paused, my hand stopping mid-stroke on the blade I was polishing. Whistler's words weren't new; they echoed the myriad warnings I'd grown up with. But hearing them now, in the context of our uneasy alliance, made me weigh his advice even more heavily. I respected him, not just as my father's friend and ally, but as a mentor. Yet, there was something different about Oscar that I felt needed consideration.

"I know it’s risky, Whistler. But Oscar—he’s different. He’s proven himself in battle, not just to me, but to Blade as well." My voice was firm, trying to convey the conviction I felt about Oscar's actions and his apparent dedication to our cause.

Whistler sighed deeply, the lines on his face softening with a paternal concern that I knew came from a place of deep affection and fear for my well-being. "Just remember what's at stake. And remember who you are and where you come from. Don’t let your guard down completely."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the tension of unspoken fears and unyielded trust. As he walked away, leaving me to my thoughts and my weapons, I felt the solitude of the workshop wrap around me like a cold embrace. Whistler’s advice wasn’t just a caution; it was a reminder of the lineage I carried and the expectations that came with it. I knew I couldn’t afford to let my guard down, yet I also wondered if there was room for trust in a world so riddled with shadows and deceit. It was a delicate balance, one I was still learning to navigate.

The plan was simple yet fraught with danger. We were set to penetrate a notorious Reaper nest deep beneath the city’s crumbling Gothic quarter. As the team dispersed, I found myself teaming up with Oscar.

Making our way through the serpentine catacombs under Prague, the suffocating darkness seemed to pulse with impending threats. My training had sharpened my abilities to navigate silently, but it was Oscar’s heightened vampiric senses that truly complemented my skills, leading us deftly through the most perilous shadows teeming with danger. Suddenly, a swarm of Reapers ambushed us. Our survival hinged on flawless coordination. Positioned back to back, we blended into a fluid dance of combat—my sharp blade slicing through the air while Oscar unleashed his raw, vampiric strength.

As we dispatched the last of the Reapers, we found ourselves momentarily safe, but the respite was brief. Another group, larger than the first, surged towards us. In the heat of battle, a Reaper caught me off guard, its claws nearly fatal as they swiped towards me. In a flash, Oscar was there, his body a shield against the onslaught. With a swift, fierce motion, he dispatched the threat, his eyes never leaving mine.

Our breaths heavy, our bodies pressed close in the narrow passageway, something shifted. The adrenaline of survival faded slightly, and I became acutely aware of Oscar’s presence—his chest rising and falling against mine. He looked into my eyes, an unspoken understanding passing between us. And then, in the dim, flickering light of the catacombs, Oscar leaned in and kissed me. It was a kiss that melded gratitude with passion, sealing our shared ordeal with a promise of something more yet to be explored.

After the kiss, the intensity of the moment lingered between us, a palpable connection that neither of us could ignore. With our breaths still mingling in the cool, damp air of the catacombs, we pulled away slightly, eyes locked. The urgency of our situation returned, reminding us that we weren't out of danger yet. But that brief moment had changed something fundamental in our dynamic.

"We need to keep moving," Oscar whispered, his voice husky with emotion. His hand reached for mine, fingers intertwining as if to affirm that he wasn’t ready to let go. I nodded, and together, we continued deeper into the catacombs, our steps now lighter, buoyed by the newfound bond between us.

As we navigated through the twisting tunnels, we communicated with looks and subtle touches, our senses heightened not just to the lurking dangers around us, but also to each other. Every glance and touch sent a thrill of connection that was as new as it was undeniable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we emerged from the catacombs, blinking in the dim light of dawn that filtered through the city above. We had successfully gathered the intelligence needed to dismantle the Reaper nest, and while our mission was accomplished, it was clear that something new was beginning for us.

Once we regrouped with the team, Oscar and I maintained a professional demeanor, but the glances we exchanged spoke volumes. As we debriefed, our hands brushed under the table, and a smile would tug at the corners of our lips, the memory of our kiss in the dark catacombs lingering in both our minds.

Oscar broke the silence. “You fight like the Daywalker,” he noted, a tinge of respect in his voice. “Trained by the best,” I replied, my guard momentarily down as I assessed the vampire who had fought at my side.

“What made you join the Bloodpack?” I asked, curiosity coloring my tone.

Oscar’s answer was tinged with a darkness akin to regret. “Choices often aren’t choices at all when you’re what we are. But we do what we can to bring honor to our existence.”

The conversation marked the beginning of a fragile respect between us. As we rendezvoused with the rest of the group, we shared a look of mutual understanding. The mission progressed with increased cooperation, and the group dynamics shifted subtly as they observed the pair’s effective partnership.

Following the mission, Blade noticed the change. In the dim light of the debriefing room, he observed me and Oscar conversing with an ease that had been absent before. While part of him wanted to pull me away, to remind me of the line that divided our worlds, another part saw the benefit of this alliance, albeit grudgingly.

Later, as we prepared to part ways, Oscar pulled me aside. "Can I see you tonight?" he asked quietly, the anticipation clear in his voice. I nodded, my heart racing with excitement. "Yes, I'd like that," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

That evening, as Prague lay bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, Oscar and I met again, this time far from the shadows of our battlefield. As we walked through the quiet streets, talking and laughing, the connection we had felt in the catacombs grew deeper, promising the start of something new and thrilling. The perils of the night behind us, we were eager to explore the possibilities of what lay ahead, together.

Blade pulled me aside during another meeting, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that, despite the years, still managed to unnerve me a little. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but the underlying urgency was palpable. "Listen, I’ve seen many things turn sour fast. Oscar may be an ally now, but never forget what he is. Our mission comes first, and our emotions must be second."

I could feel the weight of his words, each one laden with the hard-earned wisdom of countless battles and betrayals. It was a caution that echoed the many lessons he'd drilled into me since childhood—never let your guard down, always have an exit plan. My response came as a soft but firm acknowledgment of his lifelong teachings. "I haven’t forgotten, Dad. I’m careful." Yet, as I spoke, a part of me wrestled with the notion of trust and partnership. Was it really possible to fully put aside emotions in the face of potential betrayal, or was that just the ideal we strived to meet? As Blade nodded and clapped a reassuring, if somewhat heavy, hand on my shoulder, I knew this was yet another moment where I had to navigate the thin line between caution and collaboration.

The stench of decay in the sewer was suffocating, blending with the adrenaline and fear that pulsed through my veins as Oscar and I set up the UV bomb. It was supposed to be a straightforward part of our strategy to eradicate the Reaper threat, a beacon of searing light in the dank darkness of our lair. Yet, as I toggled the lever to activate the bomb, it jammed—resistant and unyielding. A cold knot of dread settled in my stomach as I tried again, a sinking feeling telling me this wasn't just a mechanical failure.

Nothing happened when I pulled the lever.

A spike of adrenaline shot through me as I tried again, urgency twisting in my gut. That’s when Reinhardt’s voice crackled mockingly through the comm in my ear. “Having trouble, princess? Maybe check the manual.”

Anger flared within me, but there was no time to dwell on it. I shoved at the lever, my frustration mounting as it refused to budge—an obvious sabotage. “Oscar, keep sharp,” I barked, my voice tight as my fingers worked frantically over the device. He nodded, his stance protective, scanning the shadows for any hint of a Reaper approaching.

Reinhardt’s laughter echoed in my ear, grating against my nerves. “Tick-tock, Y/N. Wouldn’t want to miss the fireworks, would you?”

Fury flared within me, white-hot and blinding. "Reinhardt, you son of a—" I began but cut myself off. Time was slipping away, and anger wouldn’t help us now. I glanced at Oscar, his eyes wide with realization and alarm. He nodded once, sharply, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing words. We were on our own.

With a growl of effort, I jostled the lever hard. Then finally slamming with all my strength it gave through. My eyes widened hearing the ticking of the timer.

"Let's move!" I shouted, grabbing Oscar by the arm. We raced through the waterlogged corridors, the sound of our splashes sharp in the oppressive silence. The timer on the bomb was ticking down rapidly, too fast. We had moments, maybe less, before the UV light would burst forth, deadly to anyone in its vicinity.

Ahead, I could see Blade, Nyssa, and Asad near an enclave in the tunnel. We were too far, too separated from us by debris and distance to make it to them in time. My mind raced—there was only one option left.

"Into the water, now!" I yelled to Oscar, not slowing my pace. As we neared a deeper section of the flooded tunnel, I didn’t hesitate; I pulled us both into the murky water, pushing Oscar down beneath the surface. The cold enveloped us instantly, a stark contrast to the heat of my raging heartbeat.

Clutching Oscar tightly, I positioned myself above him, ready to shield him with my own body. As we submerged ourselves fully, the faintest glow began to illuminate the water around us, signaling the bomb's activation. The light grew rapidly, a blinding burst that enveloped everything.

The force of the UV explosion rocked through the water, sending painful vibrations through my body. I held Oscar closer, my arms locked around him in a protective embrace, determined to shield him from the worst of it.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the light receded, leaving behind an eerie quiet. We surfaced, gasping for breath in the sudden darkness that seemed even more oppressive than before. I shook my head to clear it, water droplets flinging from my hair.

"Are you okay?" I asked Oscar, my voice rough with concern and lingering anger.

"Yeah, thanks to you," he replied, his voice steadier than I felt.

We regrouped with my father and the others who survived, all of us shaken but alive. The betrayal stung deeply, but it also hardened a resolve within me. Reinhardt’s treachery wouldn’t go unanswered. I stayed close to Oscar, the weight of what we’d just survived bonding us even more firmly.

Nyssa was bleeding and horribly burned despite Asad's sacrifice. Blade crouches next to her when suddenly I hear sparks of electricity before a pain shoots through my neck and everything goes black.

Waking up I noticed that I wasn’t in the sewer anymore. Looking around I see Damaskinos, the weird lawyer, Scud, and Reinhardt in front of me. My father was next to me. While Whistler, and Oscar to the right of us tied up. “Oh, the princess is awake,” Reinhardt spoke. I glared at him, “Fuck you, you burnt gobble-necked bastard.”

Amid the chaos, my heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst through my chest. “I thought he'd never leave,” Reinhardt said. Tied down and helpless, I watched in horror as Reinhardt, with a smug grin plastered across his vile face, as he shot my father in his leg and struck Whistler. “The wolf has lain with the sheep long enough.”

My throat burned from screaming, the cords straining as l yelled for them to stop.

Blade, always one step ahead, seemed to have a plan. He took out a detonator, and for a moment, hope flickered. “Reinhardt, you can kiss your ass goodbye.”

Then nothing. Laughing Scud says, “I'm sorry, man. B, you're wasting your time, man. The bomb's a dud. It was never supposed to explode. It was just supposed to make you feel in control.” “Thought you had me on a short leash, didn't you, jefe?” Reinhardt speaks as he removes the bomb and tosses it to Scud, “Much better.”

“See this?” Scud exposes a vampire glyph on the inside of his lower lip, “I'm one of Damaskinos's familiars. They needed my help to bring you here to control Nomak. The old fuck, he was always just bait. I mean, look at him. He's your only real weakness, man. You may be fast, you may be strong, and all that other bullshit. But in the end, B, you're just too human!” He then punches Whistler in the face

The revelation that he was a familiar, a spy, sent a cold shiver down my spine. His betrayal wasn't just a strategic loss; it was personal. The mocking tone he used, the way he claimed to have always loved me—it was nauseating.

The pain intensified when Scud struck Whistler again. I tried to lunge at him, anger boiling over, but Reinhardt grabbed me, his grip iron-tight. My father, despite his own pain, shouted insults at our captors, his spirit unbroken. My threats to Reinhardt and Scud were fueled by a burning desire for vengeance. “I’m going to enjoy killing you both.” Scud’s face showed faux sympathy, “Oh sweetheart don’t act that way, I’ve always loved you.” Reinhardt laughs as Oscar struggles with his restraints when Scud gropes me.

Whistler seethed, “Why, you little shit.”

Scud punches Whistler again, “You think they scoped out my security system? I let them in, asshole! I practically handed them the keys!” He then turns to my father, “You heard cue ball, right. Pretty soon, they're gonna all be daywalkers, man. And when that happens, I'd rather be a pet than cattle. You got me, B? What do you think about that, man?”

Blade smiles, “Two things: One, I've been onto you since they turned you. And, two, it's not a dud.” He activates the detonator. Scud looked down at his hand, “Oh, great.” The detonator explodes, killing Scud and showering the area around it with his remains. I shrink away from the sight. Whistler smiles, “I was just startin' to like him.”

My father and I are dragged into a large, cold, clinical autopsy room, laid out like specimens on metal tables. The vampire guards lay us each on a steel autopsy table. We struggle against them, but Blade’s just too weak from loss of blood. Eventually, my wrists and ankles were clamped down, and the cold steel against my skin was a harsh reminder of our vulnerability.

Back in the Eugenics Chamber

Reinhardt is examining Blade's sword, “I wonder how many vampires he's killed with this thing.” Whistler replies, “Not nearly enough, son.” Reinhardt pulls out his pistol “Keep talking, honky-tonk. It just makes my sending you into the next world all the sweeter.” Oscar rolls his eyes, “As if you’ve got the balls you coward.” Whistler not an ounce afraid, “Been there, done that. Do your worst, chickenshit. We'll settle up after.”

Autopsy Room

Damaskinos enters, followed by Carter Stevens. The guards remain posted at the main entrance of the room. Damaskinos approaches, looking down at Blade and his daughter.

Blade stares back at him, still defiant, but fighting a losing battle. I sneered at Damaskinos. Y/N is dying and she knows it. Her breathing is shallow. It's an effort just to keep her eyes open.

Damaskinos says, “With every century, humans become more repulsive to me. Once, you were souls to be taken, corrupted. But you have disgraced yourselves to being nothing more than blood and meat.”

I flinch as two surgeons snap on surgical gloves. Stevens is enjoying seeing my father and me helpless. Stevens grins, “We're going to harvest you both.” He begins injecting fluid into us. “Bone marrow, organs, everything. Your tissue's too valuable to let go to waste.”

Blade weakly mutters, “Nomak is still out there.” Damaskinos shrugs: “True, but thanks to you, we know his weakness. We can keep him contained. It's just a matter of time before we hunt him down.” I mutter, “Too bad you're out of it.”

Damaskinos is amused by our seeming lack of concern, “And why is that?” He asks. “Revenge. That's what Nomak wanted all along. To pay back the people who created him.” My father answered.

Stevens shakes his head, “You may be right. Fortunately for us, he has no idea where this facility is located.”

I smile, laughing tiredly. My father speaks, his tone even “He does now. He's been watching us since the tunnels. Following us. We led him right to you.”

My father lifts his hand, unfurling his previously closed fist. There is a deep gash in his palms. “Just like a trail of breadcrumbs.” My father muttered. Damaskinos stares at Blade's hand, then looks to the floor. A line of blood droplets lead back to the doors through which he entered.

“FATHER!” Nomak roars. Damaskinos' eyes widen in terror as he stumbles backwards, activating an alarm. The tension in the room skyrocketed as the facility went into lockdown mode, the emergency lights casting eerie shadows.

Nomak's arrival was like something out of a nightmare, his fury palpable as he tore through the security door. It was chaos, and in that chaos, Whistler and Oscar took advantage of the distraction. Whistler folds his legs up under him, working his cuffed hands over his feet. A grate moves up from the floor. Whistler and Oscar emerge, rushing to Y/N and Blade's side. As he starts frantically releasing Blade while Oscar helps Y/N.

Oscar redoubles his efforts. He helps me from the autopsy table. I am sinking, starting to fade. Oscar slaps her face, shaking her. “Come on, Y/N. Talk to me!” “Blood…” I weakly say.

Staggering through corridors, injured and weak, we were barely hanging on. But my father’s resolve never wavered, and neither did mine. As we made our desperate escape to the blood cask, gunfire erupted around us. Each shot that rang out seemed to echo my pounding heart. Whistler and Oscar were hit, their pain evident, but they pushed us onward.

My father, gripping the guard rail for support, dragging me and him along. Reinhardt fires. A shotgun blast hits Blade, grazing him but otherwise missing him. As Reinhardt curses and prepares to fire again --

Blade makes it to the end of the catwalk, pitching us out into open space. Time slows to a crawl as we tumble downward, plummeting into the blood cask below.

We sink from view, disappearing beneath the churning slurry of crimson. A beat passes as Reinhardt and his men draw closer, apprehensive. The moment we plunged into the cask of blood was surreal. Submerged in the thick, crimson liquid, time seemed to slow. Then, an explosion of BLOOD gushes over Reinhardt and the others. When we emerged, it wasn't just as survivors, but as avengers, transformed and empowered. The guards fall backwards, blinded, slipping.

My father and I surface from the cask in morbidly glorious slow motion. Now, only instead of a river of mud, we are covered head-to-toe in crimson. Majestic and glistening. Like primordial gods. My father rears back his head, letting loose a triumphal ROAR. I smile darkly.

Reinhardt's men hesitate. One look at our eyes and they can see we tapped into a well-spring of fury even we never knew we had. My father and I are super-charged and ready for war.

After we killed an entire legion of Damaskinos's security guards there was one person left who should’ve been gone a long time ago just like his scumbag friends.

Reinhardt speaks, “Well…” Then he sets down his shotgun before continuing, “Like my daddy said right before he killed my mom, ‘If ya want somethin' done right, ya gotta do it yourself’. He then unsheathes my father’s sword, “He also said…”

Reinhardt attempts to kill my father with his own sword, only for Blade to grab it. My father leans in close, “Can you blush?” I knocked the sword out of Reinhardt's hands, As I caught the sword and cut him down, a sense of grim justice filled me. We had faced unimaginable horrors, but in this moment, we were not just survivors; we were warriors. Blade's question to Reinhardt, a taunt in the face of his imminent demise, was the perfect punctuation to our victory.

Together, we had turned the tables, not just surviving but asserting our defiance against those who would see us fall.

Nomak could still be heard in the building. My father looked at me and I motioned him to go. He ran towards the commotion after I handed him his sword. I ran to the catwalk upstairs to Whistler and Oscar. “I’m alright kid,” Whistler said as I looked him over. I nodded then moved to Oscar, he was healing already but the wound to his side wasn’t pretty. “You need blood,” I told him. He shook his head at my tone. “I’ll be fine, just do it, please. You’ve saved me enough.” I spoke and I moved my curls away from my neck. Helping guide his face to my neck I shivered feeling his fangs scrape against my skin. I winced feeling him bite into me.

Soon we made our way to find my father. He stands, exhausted. Then he looks to where Nyssa rests. He moves to her side, kneeling beside her. She smiles up at him, bravely, but frightened all the same. Blade inspects the wound on her neck. It's clearly fatal.

Nyssa coughed, “How does it look?” My father said with genuine sadness, “Not good.” Nyssa nods. He has only confirmed her existing fears. “It won't be long now. I can already feel it burning inside me –“ She grips my father’s arm, her eyes welling with tears. “I don't want to become what Nomak was –“ she pauses, her voice straining “I can't. I want to die while I'm still a vampire.” Blade sighs. The burden is all too familiar to him.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks “I want to see the sun rise.” My father, his face is a mask of sad resignation. He lifts Nyssa into his arms. She closes her eyes, resting her head on his chest.

As I watched him carry Nyssa in his arms toward the light of the approaching dawn, my heart ached. It was a poignant reminder of the brutal world we inhabited, where moments of beauty were all too often overshadowed by loss and sacrifice. Inside the safety of the facility, Oscar and I stood by the doorway, our own wounds and exhaustion forgotten in the face of Nyssa's impending farewell.

The shutters over the doors and windows slowly rise. Blade shoulders open the front door, moving across the lawn towards a bluff overlooking the ocean.

The pre-dawn air was chilly, wrapping its cold fingers around me, yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding outside. The sky began to lighten, a canvas of soft blues and pinks stretching wide over the horizon. The ocean’s waves crashed rhythmically below, a natural lullaby to the tragic yet beautiful moment before us.

Nyssa’s face, illuminated by the first light of dawn, was serene yet resigned. Nyssa's eyes widened in expectation, her breath catching. She looks up at Blade, stroking his face, and smiling. “Each day is a little life. Remember?” Blade's response was unspoken, communicated through the tear that escaped his stoic facade. It was a rare glimpse into the depth of his emotions, revealing a vulnerability that he seldom showed.

I felt a lump form in my throat. The simplicity and depth of her words struck a chord, resonating with the harsh truths we’d all come to accept. Life, no matter how fleeting, was a collection of these small moments, each one precious.

The sun, now peeking over the horizon, cast a warm glow that seemed to hold the promise of peace, if only for a moment. They kiss then as the sun rises in full glory, flooding the world with its brilliance.

As the sunlight grew stronger, bathing everything in a golden light, Nyssa's transformation was both tragic and beautiful. The way she clung to my father, seeking comfort in her final moments, was heart-wrenching. I felt Oscar's hand squeeze mine, a silent support in the face of such profound sadness.

When Nyssa finally turned to ash, the sight was devastatingly beautiful. She didn't suffer; it was quick, almost gentle as if the sun itself had reached down to cradle her. Blade’s mourning was palpable, the way he held onto the empty space where she had been, unwilling to let go.

As my father faced the sun, eyes closed and face serene, there was a sense of closure, of acceptance in his posture. It was as if he was allowing the warmth of the sun to fill the void left by Nyssa’s passing, embracing the pain and the peace that came with it.

Standing there, watching my father, I realized that each battle we fought, each loss we endured, was shaping us. Not just as warriors, but as beings capable of profound sorrow and resilience. In that moment, I understood that we weren’t just fighting for survival, but for these small pockets of time where we could feel, love, and remember. Each day, indeed, was a little life, and despite the darkness, there was always a possibility for light.

As my father turned away from the sunrise, his movements slower, weighed down by grief, I felt Oscar tighten his grip on my hand, grounding me. We lingered in the doorway as Whistler walked out to my father, neither of us eager to step away from the raw, emotional tableau we had just witnessed. Oscar finally broke the silence, his voice a low murmur barely audible over the crashing waves. "There's something hauntingly beautiful about saying goodbye like that, isn't there?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on Blade’s retreating back.

I nodded, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions I felt. "It makes you realize how precious every moment is," I managed to say, my voice thick with emotion.

Oscar turned to look at me, his eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and something else—perhaps a newfound appreciation for the fragility of life. "It does," he agreed. "And it makes me want to make the most of every moment we have."

The weight of his words hung between us, charged with an unspoken promise to face whatever lay ahead together. It was a commitment, not just to battle, but to life itself—to finding those moments of beauty amidst the chaos.

We finally stepped back into the facility, the normalcy of the interior felt starkly contrastive to the profound scene outside. The hum of machinery and the sterile, metallic smells seemed out of place with the natural beauty and emotional intensity we had just experienced.

As we walked down the corridor, the sound of our steps echoing off the walls, I glanced at Oscar. His profile was set, determined, yet there was a softness there that hadn’t been as apparent before. In that moment, I realized how much he had changed, how much we had all changed. We were bound together not just by our mission but by our shared experiences and the losses we had endured.

Oscar’s words, laced with both sorrow and resolve, resonated deeply with me. I could see in his eyes a determination, a shared vision that stretched beyond the current moment of grief and into the many battles we would face together. His commitment was not just to the cause but to us—to our life together amidst the chaos.

As we navigated the corridors of the facility, moving away from the aftermath of the sunrise, a plan began to form in my mind—a plan that involved Oscar not just as a partner in battle but in every aspect of life. I knew the risks, the uncertainties of our existence, but the thought of facing it all without him was unimaginable.

Turning to him, I stopped and took both of his hands in mine. The cold metal of the corridor seemed to drop away as I looked into his eyes. "Oscar," I started, the intensity of my feelings grounding my voice, "these missions, this fight—it's going to continue, maybe for a long time. But whatever happens, I want you there with me. Not just as a fighter, or a tactician, but as my partner. All of it—every fight, every quiet moment, every sunrise. Will you do that? Will you come with me, wherever this leads?"

His response came not just in words but in the gentle squeeze of his hands and the immediate warmth in his eyes. "Yes," he said firmly. "There's no one else I'd rather be with, through all of this and beyond. Wherever you go, I'm with you."

With that affirmation, a weight lifted from my shoulders—a weight I hadn’t fully acknowledged until that moment. Our path wouldn’t be easy; we had seen too much, lost too much to harbor any illusions about the future. But with Oscar’s promise, the journey ahead seemed not just bearable but hopeful.

As we rejoined my father and Whistler, now with a shared purpose shining clear between us, our steps were a bit lighter. We were more than just comrades; we were partners in the fullest sense, ready to face whatever challenges awaited, knowing that together, we could find those precious moments of life amid the battles we fought.

This commitment shaped our future operations and decisions. We planned together, fought together, and in those rare moments of peace, we built a life together—one carefully constructed moment at a time, treasuring each day as if it were both the first and the last. Our partnership became our strength, our beacon through the darkest times.

My father’s reaction to my decision to formally bring Oscar into both my personal and professional life was marked by his typical stoic demeanor, yet beneath his reserved exterior, I sensed a careful assessment taking place. Blade has always been a complex figure, grappling with his own solitude and the responsibilities that come with leading a war against darkness. His approval, therefore, was never going to be overtly enthusiastic or warmly affectionate, but rather conveyed through subtle signs of acceptance and strategic planning.

Initially, my father was quiet, his eyes frequently meeting mine with a discerning look. I could tell he was evaluating not just Oscar’s suitability as a permanent team member, but also how his personal relationship with me might affect our operations. Blade's primary concern has always been the mission and the safety of his team. He watched Oscar and me closely in the days that followed, observing how we interacted during both high-stress situations and downtime.

One evening, after a particularly grueling strategy session, Blade finally addressed the situation in his usual direct manner. "You two seem solid," he remarked casually while cleaning his weaponry, not looking up. "That’s good. Just make sure it stays that way in the field. We can’t afford distractions." This was his way of giving his nod of approval—it wasn't just about personal feelings; it was about maintaining operational integrity. His acknowledgment was a testament to his trust in our judgment and our ability to balance our personal relationship with our professional duties.

My father’s acceptance was also reflected in how he began to include Oscar more frequently in strategic decisions, often deferring to Oscar's expertise in technology and intelligence. This shift was subtle but significant, signaling Blade's recognition of Oscar's value to the team and his trust in my choice of partner.

Whistler’s reaction, on the other hand, was far more straightforward and warmly paternal. Having been a mentor and almost a father figure to me, Whistler always showed a more openly protective concern about my well-being, both on and off the field. When he first realized the depth of my relationship with Oscar, his response was mixed with cautious optimism.

"You sure about this, kid?" Whistler asked me one day, his voice tinged with concern as we worked on repairing some equipment. I affirmed, explaining how Oscar supported me and strengthened our team. Nodding thoughtfully while puffing on his ever-present cigarette, Whistler finally cracked a small, wry smile. "Well, I’ve seen the guy in action, and I gotta say, he’s got guts. Just watch each other's backs, alright?"

Over time, Whistler took it upon himself to offer both practical and personal advice to us, sometimes sharing anecdotes from his own past to illustrate the importance of trust and communication in relationships, especially in our line of work. His stories were often sprinkled with humor and hard-earned wisdom, helping to ease the tension and build camaraderie.

Whistler also became a sort of informal counselor to Oscar, taking him under his wing and guiding him in both the technical and tactical aspects of our operations. This mentorship helped Oscar integrate more smoothly into the team and reassured me that our relationship had the blessing of someone I deeply respected.

Both Blade and Whistler’s reactions, in their own ways, underscored a crucial aspect of our group dynamic—while we were warriors fighting against a dark and powerful enemy, we were also a tight-knit family, looking out for one another and valuing each member's happiness and well-being. Their responses reinforced the balance we strove to maintain between our personal lives and our responsibilities to the team and the mission.

[kanekisfavoritegf]

It was the small things that you did that drove Nanami Kento wild.

A simple tucking behind a lose curl behind for ear had him growing embarrassingly hard.

He wasn’t always like this, which is was why he blames you. Before meeting Kento, he was stoic and in unmoved by everyone’s presence.

But you. You came into his life, and now he is fisting away at his cock in a janitor's closet, rubbing away his lust and, most importantly, anger at you.

How dare you look so cute today. How dare you look up at him with those eyes.

And how dare you commit the crime of existing in his presence.