#damn. this week is already almost over... :'(

[alwayssassydreamer]

Show Me Your Desire

A/N: so since I've been sick for almost two weeks now I didn't get a whole story done and only managed to scribble some short snippets down and this is the result of me experimenting. I have never done something like this before so here's to the first try. You can thank @hakiofdreams for the character selection and the idea. Its basically one scenario for 5 different characters. Oh and sorry if I messed Lucci, Mihawk and Zoro up I usually don't write for them (and please no more requests for Mihawk and Lucci)

Plot: you ate the Yoku Yoku No Mi - the desire desire devil fruit - that shows you glimpses of someones deepest desires when you touch them. Therefore you made sure to avoid touches and insight into those personal moments. But during a conference things get out of hand.

Warnings: none really, sfw, maybe some slight tinie tiny bit of angst, not proofread and I'm really sorry if it sucks 🙈

Characters: Law; Zoro; Sir Crocodile; Lucci; Mihawk (all separately) x GnReader

Crocodile:

You hadn’t meant to touch him.

The conference room was full of killers, and you had stayed quiet, unreadable as you were told because that was your strength. You were a broker one of the only women allowed in this blood-soaked circle, not because of strength, but because you knew when to keep your damn mouth shut.

Except for when your fingers grazed his.

It had been a fleeting moment someone bumped your chair, your balance faltered, and your hand caught the edge of the armrest next to you. Except it wasn’t empty. Crocodile was already seated there, cigar in hand, gold hook resting on the table.

You touched his skin.

And everything shifted.

The vision hit like a freight ship.

You stood on a sandstorm-swept cliff, wind howling like a banshee. Crocodile was in front of you, bleeding, furious but not at you. "Don’t you dare - don’t you fucking dare leave me," he growled. You took a staggering step toward him. He grabbed your hand pressed his forehead to yours. "You’re all I have left."

And then it was over.

Your fingers recoiled like you’d been burned. Crocodile glanced at you sharply. The eye contact was brief, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. His gaze sharpened, a predator smelling a shift in the wind.

You forced yourself to look away. Pretended to jot notes but your hand, it trembled.

Later that night you were alone on the balcony of the summit villa, nursing a glass of wine and a headache. The sea below was black and endless and you were too lost in thoughts to hear him approach.

"You touched me."

You didn’t look back. “I lost my balance.”

Crocodile exhaled smoke behind you. It curled over your shoulder like a living thing.

"You saw something."

Silence.

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch but enough that you felt it. His presence was heavy, charged.

"Your Devil Fruit," he said slowly. "The rumors are true."

You turned then, eyes meeting his. "You were warned not to touch me."

His lips curled into something like a smirk but there was no humor in it. "I don’t fear little parlor tricks, little flower."

"It’s not a trick. I saw your desire."

You watched his expression and saw a flicker of tension, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

You went on anyway. "You don’t want power. Or revenge. You want….someone."

He flicked ash over the railing. "Lust is human." he said calmly, unimpressed even.

"It wasn’t lust."

Now he looked at you fully. Dark eyes, smoldering with something far more dangerous than anger.

"Then you saw too much." Was all he said before he walked away again.

The days that followed were hell.

Crocodile made sure to stay out of "touching range", but he hovered, always in your periphery. Always watching.

You felt it in the way your skin prickled. The way he lingered too long in every meeting. The way he said your name, like it was a secret he refused to keep.

And worse, the way he looked at you now was not indifferent.

You saw it, a piece of him no one else did. Something he buried deep under years of blood and sand and arrogance.

That made you dangerous.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about that vision. Not just what he wanted, but how desperately he wanted it. How broken and raw his voice had been when he said it.

"You’re all I have left."

The breaking point came the next night in the garden.

It was late. You were alone again - or so you thought.

"You don’t sleep much."

You turned. "And you don’t leave me alone." You said glaninc briefly at him.

He looked tired. Less composed. Shirt open at the throat. Cigar forgotten.

"Why?" you asked. "Why do you keep circling me like a hawk?"

"Because you took something from me," he said vpice low as he stepped closer to you.

"What?" You asked blinking confused.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached out and this time, he touched you on purpose. Bare fingers, sliding along yours.

Another vision hit:

You, standing in the rain, bloodied, but alive. Him, cupping your cheek with his flesh hand, thumb caressing your skin. His hook protectively at your back like an oath. "I’ll protect you. Even if it kills me."

You gasped as the vision ended.

He didn’t let go. "You saw what I didn’t want anyone to know," he murmured. "That I’m tired of pretending I feel nothing."

"Why me?" you asked voice trembling, body shaking.

A beat of silence.

"Because you didn’t flinch," he said. "Even now, you look at me like I’m still a man."

"Are you?" you asked voice cracking

His lips twitched. "Would it matter?"

You didn’t answer just looked at him and he leaned in. Foreheads so close, breaths warm and mingling.

"You scare the hell out of me," you whispered.

"Good," he said. "That makes us even."

And then he closed the gap between you two. The kiss was a mistake, it was desperate, messy. Like trying to drown a fire and you pushed him away the first time. He let you, smirking, but not too far.

The second kiss wasn’t a mistake as you pulled him back giving in to the temptation, the desire, the need.

They said you tamed a monster.

They were wrong.

He was still a monster.

But now, when he burned the world, he burned it for you.

And when his enemies came too close, they didn’t face a sandstorm.

They faced a man willing to destroy the world just to keep your hands from shaking.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

Mihawk:

You stood in a candle-lit hall surrounded by the most dangerous men on the Grand Line, playing the part of a neutral mediator.

You didn’t expect him to be there or well maybe you did but you had just hoped he wouldn’t.

Dracule Mihawk. The Greatest Swordsman. Dressed in black and crimson, leaning against the far wall like a painting come to life.

He radiated silence. Precision. Control.

You made a point to avoid him after your last encounters with him. But fate didn’t care about your plans.

The chaos began when someone bumped into you, a minor captain, flailing, spilling wine.

You stumbled back and straight into Mihawk.

A bare hand caught your wrist. Just for a second.

And that was all it took for the vision hit you like a blade.

You, barefoot in his castle. Dressed in silk. Standing in front of a fire, wrapped in his coat. Mihawk behind you, eyes unreadable, fingers brushing your jaw. "Stay," he murmured in the dream. It was the most intimate thing you had ever seen from anyone, especially him.

And when you jolted back to reality, his gaze locked on you like he knew.

You quickly pulled away. "I-I’m fine, I’m sorry," you muttered, voice brittle.

He said nothing. But his stare lingered too long.

Later that night, you found yourself alone in the garden beneath the moonlight, trying to slow your racing heart. He found you again, silent as shadow.

"You saw something," Mihawk said, voice low and cutting. Not a question. A fact.

Your mouth went dry.

"I didn’t mean to," you admitted. "It only happens with skin contact."

"Interesting," he replied, stepping closer. "And what did you see?"

You looked up at him. His expression was unreadable. Cold, calculating… but something flickered behind his eyes. Hope? Fear? Annoyance?

"You were… home," you said carefully. "At peace."

That was not entirely a lie. But it also wasn't the whole truth.

But he accepted it. Barely.

"Keep your distance from now on," he said. "I don’t need you reading my mind."

"You think I want to?" you snapped. "I see things I never asked for. Every handshake, every shove, every accidental brush…..it’s a flood of everyone’s secrets. Do you know what that feels like?"

Mihawk’s expression didn’t change.

But his voice softened just slightly. "No. But I understand the cost of power."

He left before you could answer.

Over the next days, he avoided you. And you avoided him.

Except when you didn’t.

He lingered longer during briefings. Sat closer at the table. Your eyes met too often to be coincidence.

And then, it happened again.

A thunderstorm cracked over the island. You slipped on the rain-slick stone and someone caught you…….him again.

The vision rushed in.

You, in his castle again, dinner together, candles lit, a glass of wine before you, untouched because you were busy……kissing him, like it was the end of the world.

You jerked back, breathless, trembling.

He didn’t let go.

"Tell me," he said.

Your voice shook. "You want something you think you’re not allowed to have."

"Because it’s dangerous," he whispered. "Because I always win. And I’m afraid I’d ruin you."

You looked up, and your heart cracked open like a wound.

"Then stop touching me," you said. "Or stop pretending you don’t care."

The summit ended with deals were made and for once no blood spilled. But he didn’t leave.

He found you at the edge of the cliffside the next night. Wind in your hair. Sand crunching beneath your boots.

"I don’t know how to love gently," he said.

You turned. "I don’t need gentle. I need real."

Mihawk reached for you, slowly this time, and you let him. His fingers brushed your cheek, and the vision didn’t hit you like a wave.

This time, it bloomed.

It showed a future. A choice he had made. Not a fantasy, not a secret longing, just him, choosing you.

And for once, you saw your own desire reflected back.

When the vision ended, he looked down at you and he kissed you, it wasn’t fire. It wasn’t war. It was something infinitely more dangerous.

Surrender – him giving in to his desire.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

Lucci:

Lucci sat across from you now at a round conference table. He was silent, unreadable, flanked by the pigeon that watched you just as closely as its master. You kept your gloves on. You’ve heard the stories about CP0’s attack dog. Stoic. Merciless. Efficient.

Everytime you crossed paths with him you were surprised all over with how beautiful he was.

Not soft, never that. But there was a deadly grace in his stillness, the way his eyes rested like the flat of a blade on your skin. It was a look that said he knew what you were. What you were hiding.

You were extra careful. Until the second day of negotiations.

It happened fast. A flash of chaos during the midday meeting, two idiots broke into an argument, and someone flipped the table. You were shoved sideways, stumbling, and reaching out blindly to steady yourself.

Your bare hand crashed into Lucci’s wrist.

Shit.

Your world snapped away and the vision flashed before your eyes, flooding your senses.

Red silk sheets and low candlelight. Lucci was leaning against the headboard, half undressed, but it was not the lust that stole your breath, it was the quiet. You were there, beside him. Sleeping against his chest like you belonged there, his arm around you, watching you, like he was afraid you’d vanish. A calloused hand brushed a strand of hair from your face with infinite care, and in that moment, Lucci, the monster, the cipher, the assassin, looked more vulnerable than anyone you’ve ever seen. He wanted peace. He wanted you. And he’d never allow himself either.

The vision collapsed.

You ripped your hand back like you’ve been burned. Lucci’s expression didn’t change. Not one fraction.

But he knew.

You saw it.

After that you avoided him for the rest of the day. You sat far away from him instead, engaging in dry trade debates you barely heared. But Lucci was never far. Every time you glanced up, he was there in the corner, always watching. Not speaking. Not moving.

You dreamt of the vision that night. Of his hand brushing your cheek. Of a silence that felt like safety only to wake up breathless.

The next morning, he cornered you.

Not roughly, he simply appeared in the hallway outside your suite, leaning against the wall like he belonged there. The hallway was empty and the air was sharp with frost.

"I won’t ask what you saw," he said, his voice low and even, making you tense.

"But I would like to know," he added, stepping forward, "why it disturbed you."

Your throat tightened. "You touched me," you said carefully. "I don’t like that."

"You touched me," he corrected. "The reaction wasn’t fear. It was pity."

That hit a nerve. "So now you read minds too?" You asked a little harshly.

"No," he said, "just yours."

You wanted to deny it. You wanted to insult him. But his tone wasn’t cruel it was…..curious. Cautious, even.

"It’s dangerous for people to know what others want," he grumbled tilting his head, making you clench your fists. "Especially when what they want is you."

The silence between you was suffocating. Your heart hammered behind your ribs like it was trying to escape. "It doesn’t matter," you whispered. "You’ll never act on it."

He took one slow step forward. "You’re right." He said bluntly.

His presence was overwhelming, an aura of silent dominance, raw and coiled. But there was a strange gentleness to it now. A restraint that rattled you more than any threat could.

"You didn’t see a fantasy," he murmured. "You saw a possibility. That’s what’s dangerous."

And with that, he left.

The summit ended with a treaty. You should have felt relieved but instead you felt hollow.

You caught Lucci watching you again as the final ships left the port. His face was unreadable, but his eyes, those dark, unblinking eyes, held something you now understood.

Need. Not obsession, not hunger. Just Need.

You found a note tucked into your room before you left.

"You saw me unarmed. No one else ever has. That should frighten you. But if it doesn’t, come find me. I’ll be waiting. —R.L."

You didn’t sleep that night, you just sat with the letter in your lap, fingers trembling above your gloves.

You’ve always feared touch. But now? You feared the idea of never being touched by him again and so you decided to go after him.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇

Zoro:

The room reeked of tension, gunpowder, old grudges, and barely veiled threats. It was supposed to be neutral ground, a temporary truce between pirate factions to discuss territory lines, enjoy the rum and food and make trades and deals. You didn’t trust any of it or them. Especially not the Straw Hats swordsman leaning against the wall like he owned the air around him.

Roronoa Zoro.

You had heard the stories, demon of the East Blue, three swords, no tolerance for weakness. You even saw him once in action and after that had maybe 2 or 3 run ins with him but that was it.

You expected cold glares and muscle-bound not his eyes to linger on you.

So when you handed him some documents for his Captain, Zoro’s hand briefly met yours and you froze as the vision set in slamming into you like cannon fire making your knees buckle under the force of it:

You - bloody, breathing hard, standing between Zoro and a faceless enemy. Your back to him, a sword in your hand, and defiance in your voice. “You’ll go through me first.” His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away out of danger not because he didn’t trust you or because he thought you were weak but because he wanted to protect you to be your shield, to keep you from harm. And then it shifted…..you, in a quiet moment, tucked beside him. Sleeping. His hand buried in your hair, body curled protectively around you, eyes closed but still guarding. He didn’t just want your body. He wanted to protect you, he wanted your loyalty. Your fire. Your presence. He wanted you – all of you.

When you blinked, the vision snapped away. The noise around you from the other pirates was still there. No one noticed, no one paid attention. Except Zoro himself.

His gaze had sharpened and you pulled your hand back fast. Too fast, causing his brow to furrow.

That night you barely slept. The vision kept replaying in your head – how rare it had been. How genuine.

It made no sense. He barely knew you. Why would his desire involve you bleeding for him? Sleeping beside him? Protecting you like you were something sacred?

The next morning you kept catching him watching you after that. Silent. Focused. Not aggressive, but intense.

And you tried to avoid him…..but he didn’t let you.

"Why did you flinch?" he asked, his voice came out of the shadows while you were walking alone, heading back to the guest quarters. He stepped out from between two buildings like he’d been waiting.

"I didn’t," you lied.

He stared at you, then tilted his head. "You looked like you saw a ghost, when we touched."

"I don’t like being touched," you explained forcing a smile.

"Bullshit," he hissed.

"Why do you care?" you asked inhaling sharply.

Zoro’s mouth opened, but he paused because he didn’t have a snarky answer.

"I don’t know," he said, finally. "But I’ve been thinking about it too damn much."

You saw the storm in his eyes and you knew you shouldn’t but he was just as confused and torn as you were and so you told him your secret.

"The Devil Fruit I ate… shows me what people want. If they touch me." You curled your fingers into your gloves. "I don’t mean surface-level stuff. I mean their deepest desire."

"So… you saw mine?" he asked not blinking.

You nodded once.

He looked away. "What was it?"

"I’m not telling you."

"That bad?"

"No. That personal."

"Then I must’ve looked pathetic." He murmured jaw clenching.

You stepped forward, a little closer to him. "No. That’s the problem. You didn’t."

He looked at you then, really looked. "Then what’s the problem?"

You swallowed hard looking at him before answering. "It made me want it too."

Silence.

"What did you see?" he asked again now more persistent.

Your heart hammered. You reached up, tugged one glove off slowly, deliberately.

“Touch me again and find out.”

He stared but then stepped forward.

His hand lifted and for once, it wasn’t a brush, it was a grasp, fingers curling over yours like he needed to hold something steady. Maybe himself.

And you shared the vision with him:

You. His. In every way that mattered. Fighting back to back. Him protecting you. Sleeping side by side. Arguing and laughing and bleeding and living. The sword at your hip matched his. The way he held you wasn’t lust, it was fierce belonging. You weren’t his weakness. You were his anchor.

He dropped your hand like it burned him and backed away a step, breathing hard.

But this time it was you who took a step closer to him. "I saw you," you whispered. "And I didn’t want to run. I wanted to be in that vision."

He blinked once. Then twice.

And suddenly almost out of nowhere he kissed you.

It wasn’t elegant or practiced. It was the kind of kiss you gave when you didn’t have words, when you had seen something terrifying and beautiful and wanted to make it real.

After that you went with him, to stay close, to make the vision, the desire a reality. You never told the others what your fruit did though. You didn’t need to. Zoro never left your side. He didn’t say much but he didn’t need to.

And he always made sure to touch you, your bare skin because he wanted you to see it, see what he wanted, see what he desired, see how much he wanted you.

◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

Law

Why the hell were you in a room with infamous pirates, locked in a tense alliance negotiation, and thought it was a good idea to be bare-handed?

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you sat at the circular table. Law was directly across from you, arms folded, sharp eyes watching everything. You had met him once before during a cargo handoff and you were sure he didn't remember that. But you did.

Your fingers brushed a silver coin on the table.

"Keep your hands still," Law said without looking at you.

You froze, embarrassed. His voice was quiet but stern, laced with a kind of quiet authority that made the others look over.

You retracted your hand and folded it in your lap.

"Don’t be so harsh," one of the other pirates muttered at Law with a grin. "She flinched like you growled."

Law didn’t respond. But his gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary.

Hours passed. The summit devolved into shouting, threats, and chest-puffing. You remained silent, observing. Calm. Neutral.

Until someone, an impatient mercenary with more ego than brains, tripped behind your chair.

You reached to steady yourself. Your hand flew out and….Law grabbed your wrist.

The world split open and your vision blurred and suddenly you saw his desire.

A cold room. Snow against steel walls. You, panting, drenched, eyes furious. He reached for you, desperate. A plea in his voice. "Don’t walk away. Stay. Just stay this time." You stood your ground, shaking your head, tears in your eyes. "You don’t need me, Law." His hand cupped your jaw. Gentle. Trembling. "I do. I just don’t know how to say it without destroying you."

The vision snapped shut like a trapdoor and you gasped, ripping your arm away, your knees nearly giving out.

Law’s brows furrowed. "What did you see?" He urged to know.

Shit. He knew.

You didn’t say anything just got up and walked out of the room.

You found him later that night on the edge of the island cliff, the ocean churning below like a storm waiting for permission.

"You didn’t answer my question," he said without turning.

You stayed back. "I didn’t think you’d actually know what my power does."

"I make it a point to know what everyone in the room is capable of," he said. "But I didn’t think you’d use it. Thought you were smarter than that."

"I didn’t mean to."

His head tilted slightly, dark hair blowing in the wind. "Then tell me. What did you see?"

You hesitated for a moment eyes shifting towards the ground. "You… asking me to stay."

He went quiet. So did the wind. And the waves in the ocean beneath it seemed.

"And what did you say?" he asked softly.

"I said you didn’t need me."

His laugh was low, bitter. "Typical. Even in my dreams, I drive people away,"

"No," you said quickly. "That wasn’t….It wasn’t like that. You… You were scared of hurting me. That’s not selfish. That’s human."

Law turned towards you, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable.

"I didn’t want you to see that," he said.

"I didn’t want to see it either," you replied, truth cutting between you. "Because now I can’t stop thinking about it."

He began avoiding you after that, making sure to keep his distance. His eyes were colder, calculations behind every word. But it wasn’t hatred, it was fear. You knew too much now. You had seen a version of him he barely admitted to himself.

And you couldn’t forget it.

You saw it in the way he stared at your hands, never touching you again.

In the way he tensed every time you stood near. He hadn’t spoken of the vision since, but you felt it constantly, the weight of possibility, just out of reach.

Until you broke first.

You cornered him one evening, at the medical bay. Just the two of you, surrounded by clean linens and the quiet hum of solitude.

"I can’t keep pretending I didn’t see it," you said. "Didn’t see what you want."

Law leaned against the counter, silent.

"You want someone who stays," you continued, stepping closer. "You want to let someone in. But you don’t know how. And you’re terrified that if you try, you’ll break them. That I’ll break."

His jaw clenched but you kept going. "I’m not afraid of you, Law. I’m afraid of how much I want to reach for you."

His head lifted, eyes sharp. "Don’t," he said firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because I’m already thinking about what I’d do to keep you."

The confession cracked the silence like thunder. He stepped closer, finally, hand raised, not touching, just hovering near your face.

"I’ve spent years pushing people away because it was easier. Cleaner. You saw what I wanted… and now I can’t stop imagining it."

"Then take it," you whispered. "Just don’t lie to yourself anymore."

And for the first time, he touched you willingly.

No vision came.

Because you didn’t need to see his desire anymore.

You already felt it.

[buckysprettybaby]

tastes like trouble

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ pairing: cowboy!bob reynolds x reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: cowboy!au, smut, nsfw 18+ [mdni], kinda dom!bob, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected piv sex (wrap before you tap), praise kink, size kink, creampie, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, nipple sucking, mutual pining, sexual tension, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby), hair pulling (mentioned once), no use of y/n, aftercare.

summary: the ranch was supposed to change your attitude. instead, you caught bob reynolds’ attention — and once you’re his, he’s not letting go.

bob reynolds masterlist

a/n: this took me ages and i don’t even know if i like it. i feel like im bad at ending my fics 😭 gif not mine! smut under cut. mdni

requests are open

It’s been a few weeks since Daddy dearest shipped you off to the family ranch in the middle of nowhere. Well—technically, it’s Lubbock. But as far as you’re concerned, it may as well be the edge of the earth. Your father decided it was time you “learn some responsibility,” and apparently, being surrounded by farm animals and dirt roads was the perfect cure for your so-called attitude.

Not everything is terrible, though. There’s one silver lining: Bob Reynolds — the ranch’s quiet, broad-shouldered farmhand. Tall, sun-kissed, and built like the kind of trouble you wouldn’t mind getting into. Always in that damn hat, too — worn low like he’s hiding something, or maybe just watching everything a little too closely.

He thinks you’re a spoiled brat, of course — made that noticeably clear on day one — but you like to believe you’ve somewhat changed his mind over the weeks. You still complain and roll your eyes every time someone asks you to carry hay bales, but… there’s something about it. As much as you hate to admit it, life on the ranch isn’t entirely miserable. You’re starting to get used to it: the early mornings, the dirt under your nails, and the way the sky looks just before sunset — wide open and endless.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls, voice smooth and lazy like honey dripping off the edge of a spoon. “You gonna help me with supper, or just stand there lookin’ like trouble?”

It pulls you from your thoughts, but he doesn't stop staring.

He can’t.

That little green sundress is damn near killing him, clinging soft at your waist, swaying just enough to tease with every step. Sunlight dances off your skin, those long legs bare and golden, and Bob swears under his breath because it's almost too much. 

You don't even notice what you’re doing to him. Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s the worst part. 

He shifts his weight, trying to think about anything else — but his mind keeps slipping, tumbling into places it shouldn’t. Not with you. Not the boss’s daughter.

But God help him, he’s already there.

“Coming!” you shout, tossing a quick glance over your shoulder to double-check the gates are locked.

When you turn back toward Bob, your gaze lingers — just a little too long. You can’t help it. The afternoon sun catches the sweat slicked across his skin, making every muscle stand out in sharp relief. His shirt is half undone, clinging to his chest, and the veins in his forearms flex as he wipes his brow.

You swallow hard.

Yeah… maybe this place isn’t so bad after all.

You tear your gaze away before he turns around and catches you staring — though the thought lingers. You wonder how those muscles would feel under your hands, strong and solid beneath your touch.

You curse yourself under your breath, feeling heat settle low in your belly — and lower. Great. Now you’ll be tossing and turning all night, thinking about the way his forearms flexed. Maybe if you moan his name loud enough, he’ll finally get the damn hint.

By the time you step into the kitchen, the air feels thicker than it should — heat from the stove, or maybe just the way Bob looks over his shoulder when you walk in. “You’re on choppin’ duty.” When you glance over, he just holds your gaze. No smile, no tease. “You’ve got steady hands,” he says simply. But somehow, it sounds like more. 

You feign annoyance, but honestly? You’re kind of glad. Chopping means standing next to him, close enough to smell his cologne and feel the brush of his arm when he reaches for the salt. Not that you’re thinking about that. Obviously.

You grab the apron hanging on the back of the door and tie it around your waist, slow and deliberate. The fabric pulls just right across your chest — and you know Bob’s not immune to the view. He doesn't look away. Not once. Not even when your apron pulls tight against your chest. It’s not cocky — it’s quiet, fixed, hungry. 

You smirk as you pick up the knife and get to chopping.

The rest of the cooking goes smoothly, with flour and laughter flying as you both settle into a rhythm. Bob shows you how to fry up some golden chicken, the sizzling sound filling the kitchen.

You roll out dough for biscuits, get your hands sticky with homemade jam, and watch as he stirs a pot of creamy mashed potatoes on the stove. The smells mingle — comforting and familiar in a way you hadn’t expected.

By the time you’re done, the counter’s a delightful mess of flour dust, crumbs, and chopped herbs, and you’re both a little dusty and sweaty, grinning wide.

“You know the drill, princess,” he murmurs, voice low and warm like a secret. “Pick us out a drink, and I’ll get everything plated.”

You step over to the fridge, letting the burst of cool air hit your skin — a welcome relief from all the heat you’ve been feeling lately, inside, and out. You grab a cold bottle of beer for Bob and one of the fancy cocktails he stocked just for you — the kind you’ve made a habit of enjoying every night like it’s your little reward for surviving ranch life.

You hand him his, and when your fingers brush, barely, it sparks. A flicker of something dangerous. His gaze lifts, calm but focused, and you catch the way his tongue runs across his bottom lip like he's thinking something he shouldn't say.

“You alright?” he asks softly, that damn drawl curling around the words. “You’re lookin’ a little flushed.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, smoothing down your dress like it’ll hide anything. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t argue. Just chuckles under his breath and guides you to the table, pulling out a chair like it’s nothing — like he hasn’t been quietly knocking the air out of your lungs all week with moments like this.

You sit, heart thudding in your chest that you're not just having supper.

He sets the plates down, brushing past you with that same slow ease, and it takes everything in you not to reach out and touch — just to see what he’d do. 

You take a bite of the chicken and let out a soft, involuntary sound — all buttery heat and pepper and crisp skin. He made this for you. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.

Across the table, Bob’s hand tightens around his bottle, grip just a little too firm. He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you, eyes unreadable, jaw clenched tight.

You look back at him, the air thick and heavy like a storm about to break. You chew slowly, careful not to say anything. You both know that if you do, there’s no taking it back.

You take a sip of your drink, eyes flicking to the old hat tossed carelessly on the table. It’s faded, worn down at the edges, and something about it pulls at you. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way that Bob hasn’t stopped watching you like he’s afraid to blink.

You reach for it without thinking.

“This cap’s kinda legendary,” you say, fingers brushing over the fabric. “Think I can pull it off?”

He doesn't say a word. Just watches as you lift, slow and deliberate, and settle it on your head with a grin that dares him to say something.

You tilt your head. “I think it suits me.”

There's a shift in the air — You feel it before he speaks. A crackle, subtle and sharp, like the second before lightning hits.

“It does,” he says, voice low. “Too well.”

You blink, the grin softening, your fingers resting lightly on the brim.

“It's just a hat,” you murmur.

“No. It's not.”

He stands, the movement slow but full of intent. When he crosses the room, it's the kind of focus that makes your skin heat. He stops just in front of you, close enough your knees graze his thighs.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “Putting that on.

You look up at him, heart thudding. “Then tell me.”

Bob exhales though his nose, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough to make your body hum.

“Means something, he says. “To me. And now you’ve got it on like it’s nothing.”

You swallow. “I didn’t mean– “

He cuts you off with a kiss.

It’s sudden but not rushed — like he’s been holding it in for hours, maybe longer, and it finally snapped. His mouth moves over yours like he’s tasting something he’s been craving too long. His hands gripping your hips, firm and steady.

You kiss him back without hesitation, fingers curling into his shirt, dragging him closer. He groans softly against your lips, like the sound’s been buried deep in his chest and you just dragged it out.

The hat tilts on your head, and he pulls back just enough to smirk. “Keep it on,” he says, voice hoarse. “You’re not done wearing it yet.”

Then he’s on you again, mouth hot and insistent. Tongue sliding against yours, slow and filthy. His hands move to your thighs, spreading them just enough to step between, dragging your body into his. “You’ve been drivin’ me crazy,” he mutters, lips brushing your jaw. “Sittin’ there in that dress like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

You gasp when his teeth scrape lightly over your neck, when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your dress. “I– I didn’t,” you whisper, through your voice betrays you, shaking with want.

He laughs against your skin, low and rough. “Liar.”

His hands are everywhere now, like he can’t get enough — up your thighs, over your waist, cupping your ass and squeezing until you whimper. His mouth follows the curve of your neck, sucking bruises into your skin, like he’s leaving proof behind. “I’ve been trying to be good,” he says, dragging his lips back up to yours. “But you? You just made that real hard.”

You tug him in by the collar, breath catching as he kisses you again, deeper, hungrier. You feel it in your gut — the way he wants to ruin you slowly. The way you want to let him. And when he lifts you into his arms, his hat still perched on your head, he doesn’t say anything more.

He doesn’t need to. You already gave him permission the moment you put it on.

He carries you toward his bedroom—your forgotten food fading into the background. His lips trail fire down your neck. His teeth graze, bite, suck bruises into your skin, like he’s desperate to leave proof that this is real. He shoves the door open with his shoulder and kicks it shut without looking. His hands never leave you. His mouth never lifts.

Then he tosses you onto the bed. Not roughly, but with urgency — like he’s seconds away from losing control. You look up at him, dazed. Chest rising and shallow breaths. Heart hammering.

Bob moves between your legs, slow and deliberate. His hand trails up your inner thigh, and your skin prickles under the heat of his palm. God. He looks so good from here. Broad, golden, flushed. Eyes darker than you've ever seen them. You bite your lip, pulse quickening as you meet his gaze. There's nothing playful in it. Just pure, aching hunger period.

He swallows, chest rising hard. “You don't even know,” he says, voice strained like he's trying to hold something back. “What you do to me.”  He slides his hand higher. You suck in a breath. ”Been thinkin’ about this,” he continues, barely above a whisper. “Thinkin’ about you spread out and soft and wet for me.

The patch darkening your panties should embarrass you. It doesn't. Not when he looks at you like that. His hand cups you through the fabric, firm enough to make you jolt. Your legs twitch, trying to close, but he keeps you open with a quiet, “Don’t.”

A pause. His gaze flicks up. “Let me see you like this. Don’t hide.”

You nod. Swallowing thickly.

He breathes out slow, like he’s grounding himself. “That’s it,” he murmurs, thumb starting to move in slow, teasing circles. “Good girl.”

Your hips buck up to meet him, chasing the friction. His jaw tightens. “So impatient,” he mutters, voice low and almost fond. “I’ll take care of you.” He hooks fingers into your panties and pulls them down, tossing them somewhere behind him. Then, without pause, his fingers part your folds, sliding through the slickness gathered there. His thumb catches your clit and presses gently, rubbing enough to make your back arch.

He watches every reaction like it’s art. “Bet you taste even better than I imagined,” he says quietly, like it’s just for him. Like it’s a thought he didn’t mean to say aloud. Then he likes a long stripe up your centre.

You gasp, head thrown back, fingers tangling in his hair. He moans against you, deep and rough and the sound vibrates through your core. He doesn’t stop. His mouth is hot and unrelenting, tongue working you over like he’s desperate to memorize your taste. His grip tightens around your thighs. You feel him lift your hips, anchoring you to his mouth and then –God– he’s everywhere. Tongue pushing inside you, lips sealing over your clit, sucking hard. He moans again, louder this time, like he needs it.

“Bob–“ your voice breaks, body trembling. He doesn’t stop. Just slides his tongue deeper, drags it over every slick inch. You cry out again as he sucks and laps and groans against your swollen lips. You’re close, so close, the tension coiled low in your belly threatening to snap.

“You gonna cum for me?” he rasps against your skin. “Right here, sweetheart?” His voice is hoarse, raw. “Let me feel you. Let me taste all of it.” The possessiveness in his voice, the reverence, it breaks something open in you. The wave crashes hard. You cum with a cry, hips trembling, thighs squeezing his head.

But Bob doesn’t stop. He holds you in place, tongue still working, drinking down everything you give him. He’s messy with it. Starved. And when he finally pulls back, mouth glistening, he looks wrecked. “You’re unreal,” he breathes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then licking it clean. “Could get drunk off you.”

You’re trembling, barely able to breathe, the aftershocks coursing through your body. The only answer you can give is a soft choked moan as your thighs try to close around him again.

He chuckles low—deep and warm. Then starts to move up your body, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he does. He pushes your dress higher, until your breasts spill free. The chill in the air makes your nipples harden, and his gaze flickers there, caught. His hands are slow as they tug the dress over your head and toss it aside. He stares down at you like he’s looking at something holy. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to see you like this.” His thumbs brush over your nippled and you arch into his touch. His palms are rough, gentle.

You laugh softly, breathless; a little dazed. “Keep looking at me like that,” you whisper, “and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He stills. Just for a second. Then he leans in and presses a kiss between the swell of your breasts. “I do,” he says, no hesitation. No grin. “I do.” His mouth moves lower, trailing fire as he goes. He nips at your skin, lingers over your breast, sucking bruises into the soft flesh. When he takes your nipple into his mouth and bites down gently, you moan. Your hips grind against nothing.

Empty. Needy. You mumble, almost broken, “Need you inside me.”

Bob pushes his boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping against his abdomen — thick, flushed, and already leaking. Your eyes widen as you take him in, and he notices. A dark look crosses his face, like he’s fighting some deeper urge. He steps closer, wrapping a hand around his length, stroking once — slow. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “You scared?”

You shake your head, breath catching. “No.” you manage, though your body’s already trembling with anticipation.

He leans down, lips brushing your ear. “Good,” he breathes. “Because you’re gonna take it. Every inch. You hear me sweetheart?”

Another wave of slick coats your thighs at his words. Your voice is a breathy whisper, half defiant, half teasing: “Then stop talking and make me.”

His breath catches. Just a flicker, but you see it. Feel it in the way his jaw clenches, in the way his hand tightens around his cock. Your words strike a nerve, sharpen something already on edge. Your words strike a nerve, sharpen something already on edge.

“You really want that?” he murmurs, voice low, like a warning. “Want me to ruin you?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer.

Bob climbs over you, guiding the thick head of his cock to your entrance. He drags it through your slick folds, coating himself, teasing your clit with slow strokes. His gaze stays locked on yours the whole time, hungry and unflinching.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, more awe than mockery. “So soft…fuck, you’re soaked.” He presses in just a little, and your breath hitches. The stretch is immediate—intense. He grits his teeth, stilling.

“Easy,” he breathes, one hand sliding up your side before tangling in your hair, gently but firmly tugging your head back. The motion exposes your throat, makes you feel bared, offered. His touch grounds you, even in its roughness. “Let me.”

He pushes deeper, inch by inch. His free hand grabs your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh to keep you steady. The stretch burns, just a little, but the way he fills you…it’s overwhelming in the best way. “God,” he groans, jaw tight. “You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, baby. Feels like heaven.

You're panting, nails digging into his arms. You can feel every vein, every inch of him as he finally bottoms out, buried fully inside you. The weight of him settled heavy in your core, full and stretching and perfect. A whimper breaks from your throat. “S’too big, f-feels so good– “

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your neck, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “You’re takin’ me so well. My good girl.”

Then he starts to move.

He starts off slow at first, giving you time to adjust. Each stroke is deep and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him. But then your walls flutter around him, clenching tight, and his control shatters.

A groan rips from his throat as he grips your hips tighter, dragging you closer, and starts to drive into you harder — rough, fast, relentless. Bob grunts against your ear, voice ragged. “This pretty pussy was made for me.” Each word hits like a thrust, like a claim. Skin slaps against skin, loud and filthy and perfect.

A moan forces its way out if your throat: loud, shameless. You can barely breathe, barely think, each thrust stealing more of your mind. You claw at his shoulders, fingers digging into firm muscle, trying to ground yourself. But there’s no anchoring. Not when he’s this deep, this rough, this relentless.

He’s everywhere—his breath in your ear, his hands gripping your hips like you’re something he owns, his cock hitting that perfect spot again and again until you’re teetering on the edge.

“Bob–“ It’s a gasp, a plea. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Your thighs start to shake. That fire in your belly tightens, winding sharper and sharper, ready to snap. “I– I’m gonna–“

“You cum when I tell you to,” he growls, cutting you off. Then his hand slides down—fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles. You cry out, hips bucking, but he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t let you go. His grip on your waist tightens, holding you still as he fucks into you, rhythm brutal and unrelenting.

A whine slips out of you before you can stop it, your body clenching around him, every nerve on fire. Bob notices. Of course he does. His eyes are locked on yours now, something sharp and burning behind them, like he’s seeing straight through you.

“You close?” he murmurs, voice lower now. Less cocky, more reverent — like watching you fall apart beneath him means something. His thumb doesn’t stop. Neither do his hips. “You gonna fall apart for me, darlin’?”

You nod, frantic, too far gone to play coy. The heat building in your belly is unbearable now, all-consuming.

And then his voice softens–not in volume, but in weight. “I ain’t ever wanted anyone like this.”

Your breath hitches as you take in his words, and you nod, barely able to speak, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. His thumb keeps circling your clit, still snapping into yours, harder now — more urgent. “I’m close,” you gasp, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I know, baby,” he grits out, his rhythm growing rougher. “Want you to cum for me. Now. Wanna feel this pretty pussy milk me dry.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and overwhelming — your body seizing around him, thighs shaking, breath catching on a cry that sounds more like his name than anything else.

A groan tears out of him, deep and raw, as your walls flutter around him. “Fuck, just like that. Gonna fill you up.” His hips stutter, pace faltering as he slams into you one last time and buries himself to the hilt.

You feel it. The heat of him spilling deep inside, thick and hot, and the way his whole body trembles with it. He stays there, pressed against you as if he’s trying to pour every last drop of himself into you.

His voice is low, hoarse, right against your ear. “Mine now. Inside and out.”

He stays still for a moment, just holding you. Then you feel the shift in his body as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you in the bath.”

You hum in protest, half-asleep already. “Too far…”

Bob chuckles low in his chest. “I’ll carry you princess. Don’t worry your pretty head.”

And he does — lifts you like it’s nothing, like you weigh less than a feather in those strong arms of his. You tuck yourself against him, limbs limp, still soft and slick between your thighs. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick down for a moment, like he’s remembering exactly what he just did to you.

He sets you down gently on the edge of the top, one hand on your back to steady you while the other reaches for the knobs. The water starts to fill — warm, slow, steam curling in the air. He grabs a bottle from the shelf and adds a little, something herbal and clean, and you watch him, dazed, while he works.

Once the tub is ready, he helps you in first, steady hands guiding your hips as you sink into the heat with a sigh. “There you go,” he says softly, climbing in behind you.

You settle back against his chest, his arms curling around you like instinct. He presses a kiss to your damp temple. “Better?”

You nod. ”So much.”

His hands wander, but not in the way they had before — now, it's slow and soothing. he grabs the washcloth and gently runs it down your arm, over your thigh, between your legs with reverence. every touch says the same thing: I've got you.

“You know,” he murmurs after a while, voice low against your neck, “you wear my hat…now you’re wearin’ my touch…I might have to start keepin’ you.”

You smile, eyes fluttering shut. “You already do.”

By the time the water turns lukewarm, your skin is flushed and pruned, your body relaxed in a way you didn’t think was possible. Bob helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders before drying you off himself — slow, careful, like you might break if he rushes.

He hands you one of his shirts after, soft and oversized. It smells like him. You pull it on without a word.

In bed, he tucks the blankets around you both, pulling you close until you’re tucked against his chest, your legs tangled with his. His fingers trail absently along your spine, slow and gentle, like he’s memorising every inch of you.

You tilt your head up slightly, catching the way he’s watching you, soft-eyed, lips parted. It’s like he’s still not over the way you said his name. Without a word, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s unhurried this time. Sweet. His lips move over yours like he’s savoring it — like he has nowhere else to be but here, with you. You sigh into him, hand slipping up to rest over his heart as your mouths move together, slow, warm and easy. The kiss deepens, just a little. Enough to make your chest flutter. His hand slides up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing in the corner of your mouth like he's trying to soothe a need you didn't know you had.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to look at you, his forehead rests against yours. “Still mine,” he whispers, voice low and rough.

You smile, lips brushing his. “Yours.”

He pulls you closer — chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat — and this time, when he kisses you, it lingers.

Like a promise.

please like, comment and reblog to let me know what you think ♡

© buckysprettybaby; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[todosdream]

I can fix that | ony

2.7k wrds. black fem reader. fluff.

warnings: cursing, men can be sucky, bluecollar!ony, flirting

pliers, pliers, pliers, you think to yourself as you search through the store.

about a week ago, the stream on your shower head started acting funny. at first you could just hit it a couple of times with the perfect amount of strength and it’d be knocked back into its senses. over time, the trick started to work less and less.

one particularly frustrating day led to a swing with too much umph in it, unfortunately knocking the thing out of commission. after a brief moment of frustrated silence, you decided to just replace it. you’ve already picked out the fancy massage shower head you want. now, here you are in good ‘ole home depot, searching for all the tools needed.

you’re roaming the aisles and trying to look like you have at least the slightest clue what you’re doing, even though your source of knowledge for the particular task at hand is just… well, the internet. it probably isn’t a good idea, you doing this yourself, but there’s no way you’re paying out the ass for something you can let youtube guide you through. hopefully you won’t make it worse. if all else fails, you can just continue to take baths for now.

“pliers!” you smile to yourself when you notice the rack. your smile slowly but surely dwindles when you realize just how many types there are up on the wall, the variation of colors and shapes immediately making you regret your decision. “what the fuck,” you mumble.

combination, flat nose, linesman… the list goes on and on and on.

before you can let out a sigh of frustration, you hear the agitating sound of someone clearing their throat behind you. “need help, little lady?” a voice calls, sounding almost slimey in its delivery.

you turn, top lip already itching to raise in irritation, but you see it’s one of the employees. the bright orange apron is an insult to your eyes, but it’s not as bad as the look on the guy’s face. “oh. um... yeah, if you don’t mind. I just need a pair of pliers to change out my shower head,” you say casually.

he hums with a raise of his eyebrow, eyes flicking up and down your form. it’s a judgemental gaze, very telling for how this conversation is about to go.

oh, brother.

“you sure you can do that all by yourself? pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to get your hands dirty,” he drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips. it almost makes you want to gag.

“I’m sure,” you say blandly. you definitely didn’t come here to talk to mr. greasy, despite his attempt. “I just need a basic pair of pliers. please and thanks.”

he doesn’t seem to like your tone, smirk falling as his ego is bruised. he must pull shit like this all the time. it’s a wonder his ass hasn’t been fired.

“well, I can’t just sell you anything basic, sweetie. that’d be doing you a disservice,” he tries again. he walks past you to the wall display, gesturing with his arms. you get a whiff of funk every time he moves. “these here are top notch. definitely what I’d recommend. there’s no way you’ll mess up.”

before you can give the nastiest eye roll manageable, a voice grumbles from behind you.

“aye, bruh, you can chill with all that sales shit.”

ony had approached behind you a few moments prior, several feet back as he waited for the two of you to move and stop blocking the wall.

his trip to the store was supposed to be simple. he just wanted to get a new pair of tongue and groove pliers, maybe some more bug spray for his home, and then get an icee from the gas station after working all day in the damn heat.

but here he is, sighing softly to himself as he listens to the worker attempt to ruin both of your days. he figured he’d put himself and you out of your misery.

when you turn to inspect the newcomer, who’s quite frankly saying what you were thinking, it’s like a scene from a movie. you can hear the imaginary music playing and everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

behind you is the finest man you’ve ever seen. dark skin, locs pulled up into a messy bun, bushy eyebrows pulled into a slight frown. he’s handsome, kind of like the men you’d expect to be in a monthly calendar of fine ass, hardworking beaus. light brown eyes, beard in slight need of a trim. his arms are crossed and big, covered in tattoos and small scars, and his form towers over yours. rugged but sexy.

“that’s what I’m supposed to do, sir,” the worker says with a tight smile. “is there anywhere I can point you to? I’m a bit busy helping this girl right now. as you can see.”

your gaze flickers back and forth, taking in both men’s demeanors. now, how did I end up in this? you ask yourself.

“nah. I’m good here,” ony responds with a shrug. his gaze is steady and doesn’t even shift your way. he stares down the employee with a calm look, seemingly unbothered. “this young lady don’t need you in her face if you gone be condescending. and she needs a basic tool for a basic job, not something she’ll have to spend big money on to use once.”

the worker’s eyes narrow, but before he can respond, someone speaks over the intercom.

“buford please report to aisle 13. buford please report to aisle 13.”

the worker, now outed as buford, huffs and crosses his arms. “alright, miss, I’ll be right back, okay? if this guy bothers you, just come grab me.” you give a tight lipped smile in response. “yeah, sure. thanks.”

with one last (supposedly threatening) look to ony, the employee walks off, grumbling softly under his breath. there’s a quiet tsk from the man still standing next to you, and he shakes his head as he watches the other retreat.

“sorry about that,” ony says with a nod in buford’s direction. his tone is softer now, but not overly so, and the strength of his gaze is now on you. it causes a warm feeling to bloom within you and a small smile to tug at your lips.

“yeah. being a woman means unfortunately being used to it,” you say with a soft laugh. “I’m not opposed to a knight in shining armor from time to time, though.” you tilt your head with the tease, a flirty sparkle in your eyes.

hm. ony doesn’t like that fact that you’re used to it, though he understands. but he does like the flirting tease from you.

his eyebrow raises as a smile crawls onto his face. such a pretty belle you are. and a fun personality is there too, he can tell. “I ain’t a knight, I’ll tell you that. but I can fix that shower head for you. if you want.”

“mmm, I don’t know,” you say, a playfully suspicious look on your face. “you’re still a man. don’t want just any stranger in my home.”

“I don’t have to be a stranger,” he smiles, obviously quite tickled. the action makes a deep dimple appear on one side, as if the man could get any finer. “but I do this shit forreal, I swear. here, let me getchu my card.”

he reaches into his wallet and pulls out a slightly crumpled business card, handing the item to you. you take the card and glance over it, noticing the lackluster design layout and plethora of services offered.

“interesting design. onyankpon, huh?”

“close. onyankopon, but I go by ony,” he says lowly, correcting your pronunciation. he tilts his head a bit, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “that face says you think it’s less than interesting. what’s ya name, pretty?”

“ᥫ᭡,” you answer with a smile. “the seems… slightly legit, I guess. I keep that thang on me though, so how about an exchange of services, mr. ony? I can design a new card for you. this is cute and all, but I can make it better.”

the idea is appealing to the man, but you’re where his full interest lies. there’s a teasing tug in the way you interact with him. he likes it. “a trade,” he says with a nod. “I can do that. I was fully ready to do it at no fee, though, darlin’.”

you shrug, face warming just a smidgen. “I don’t mind. keeps my skills sharp.” you pause, looking him up and down. “you are legit, right?” you question with a squint of your eyes.

ony chuckles then, rubbing at his jaw. “I’m forreal. got a truck with my name on it and everything.”

you hum and place your hands on your hips. “‘kay then. I don’t have to buy the pliers anymore, right? this place is a nightmare. spooky.”

ony shakes his head, dimple on full display with his handsome grin. you’re just too cute to him, all jokes and beauty. “nah. I do, though. ‘scuse me, ᥫ᭡.”

the sound of your name from his lips sounds unfairly addictive. you look up at him as he reaches over your shoulder, body close but not close enough. he keeps his eyes on yours as he grabs the pliers he needs, the scent of his cologne only adding to the experience.

gah damn.

the man gives you another charming smile as he steps back. “I have to go do another job in a few, but call that number when you wanna schedule somethin’. hope to see you later, pretty. don’t leave me hangin’, yeah?”

ᥫ᭡

“nice spot you got, darlin’,” ony murmurs as he walks through the doorway. it’s a cute sight, seeing his large frame treat your comfy home with so much respect.

he wipes his work boots on your doormat for a long moment, ensuring he won’t track anything around. he’s sure to adjust his work belt so he doesn’t budge anything. he’s looking around with rapt curiosity.

“thanks. took me a while to decorate how I liked, but it was worth it,” you smile. “c’mon, I’ll show you the bathroom.”

ony follows behind you, wondering if you wore the cute lounge outfit you have on for him. he intentionally keeps his thoughts respectful, but little does he know, you absolutely did.

he steps into the bathroom behind you, noticing the scent of jasmine and sandalwood from the wax warmer. your place is definitely a woman’s place in all the best ways, and he has no choice but to smile when he sees how cohesive the decor is.

“okay, darlin’. lemme take a look,” he mumbles. you step aside and wait with your fingers interlocked. after stepping into the shower and looking over the situation, he lets out a focused hum.

“yeah, definitely time for a new one. I’ll get this off real quick, you’ll be good as new in a few,” he nods. “where’s the replacement?”

“right here in the sink,” you point, happy to help. it feels like opening the door when someone carries a couch or something. like you’re not doing the hard work but still contributing.

ony lets out a warm chuckle, once again amused. you’re just happy to be here and he adores that. “good. you mind handing it to me when I ask?”

“nope!” you chime.

he shakes his head with a grin, dimple once again capturing your heart. he works efficiently for the next few moments, quickly dismantling, cleaning, and prepping. “alright, pretty,” he murmurs, holding out his hand.

you happily plop the replacement head into his hand and he takes it with a smile. “a lil helper, huh?” he asks as he easily completes his task. “alright. I just need to check for leaks and you’ll be good to go. easy peasy.”

“perfect, thanks so much, ony, I really appreciate it,” you smile. who knew a trip to home depot could kill two birds with one stone? free assistance with the shower and a fine ass man.

“no problem,” he chuckles. “just leave a good review on my site,” he winks.

“will do. five stars, I promise,” you grin. “I’m gonna run to the other room real fast.”

ony lets put a hum of acknowledgement as he checks over the shower head, vigilantly searching for leaks. you turn to exit, heading to the living room to grab the small cardboard box on your coffee table.

“what’s that?” you hear him ask from behind you. you turn and shake the box in your hands, enjoying the rattle. “your cards! you didn’t forget about our deal, did you?”

the man smiles as he crosses his arm, leaning on the doorframe. “I told you I was fine with doing it for free.”

“oh, well,” you roll your eyes. “c’mon, check em out. I only got a few in case you didn’t like ‘em.”

he hums as he approaches you, stopping just short of your frame to take the box from your hands. he lifts the lid and slides a couple out, eyebrows raising in surprise when he sees the new look.

“damn. this shit look professional as hell. I like the color too.”

“yeah?” you smile. “I made sure it looked as nice as possible, some color to liven it up a little. added your logo from your site. now you just need to keep them in something so they’re not rumpled when you hand them out.”

he chuckles in response and nods. “hell yeah. I like these much better, forreal. thanks, ᥫ᭡.”

“no problem,” you wave dismissively. it really hadn’t taken long at all. “service for service, right? I would’ve struggled with the shower, and no disrespect, that card was all over the place. misaligned, boring with no color. hope you didn’t pay the designer much.”

ony licks his lips and sheepishly rubs at his jaw. “mm. I was the designer, pretty.”

“oop-“ you immediately respond, laughing softly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that.” you did, but now you felt bad, so you feel the need to spare his feelings as much as you can. he probably tried his hardest.

“s’no problem. you were right. this is definitely an upgrade,” he nods, waving the card in his hand. he can’t be mad if he just doesn’t have the skill, and he never got around to paying someone to do it. “makes me feel all official and shit with my name on my truck and now this. I’d say this was a good trade. except…”

“except?” you ask with a raise of your brow. you were pretty sure you did a damn good job, checking several times that the design was crisp and typo free.

“except,” he starts, “I traded for you to redesign my card. not print them.”

you blink at him. “I’m missing your point? I told you I only got a few.”

he shrugs, twinkle of mischief in his brown eyes. “still paid for them. that’s technically a service and a purchase. it ain’t fair, y’know?”

“I mean, it’s not really a big deal…” you trail off with a mumble.

“ᥫ᭡,” he says warmly, looking at you with a dimpled smile and a tilt of his head. “I’m tryna ask you on a date. just go with it.”

you blink again before you have to fight a smile. cute. really cute. he’s fun.

“hmmm,” you start, tapping your chin. you’re playing the part now, and you have to admit it’s very amusing. “you might be right about that. s’not a fair trade. we should discuss this further.”

“mhm,” he smirks. “how about… dinner? my treat.”

you bite you lip and tilt your head slightly. “dinner and a drink,” you rebutt.

his smirk widens, a twinkle in his eye. “dinner and drinks.”

“you’re a bad negotiator. you know that?” you question, squinting playfully.

“I don’t know, I feel like I should throw in some extra for emotional distress,” he shrugs. “an unfair trade can be a lot to deal with, you know.”

you laugh and shake your head in disbelief.

“I think you’ve got yourself a deal, mr. ony. dinner and drinks, I’m sold.”

a/n: just a little meetcute :) get the title reference?

this is inspired by one of my text aus lmao. writing a lil everyday is kinda gettin me out this funk ngl. feedback always welcome and wanted <3

[rafesyangel]

Reader accidentally pees herself in front of military!Rafe

You shouldn’t have been waiting at the door like some lost puppy, but the moment you saw him — boots heavy on the porch, uniform stretched over his broad frame, freshly buzzed hair your stomach dropped and heat rushed between your legs.

“Rafe,” you breathed. He hadn’t even said a word yet. Just one look, and your knees nearly buckled. That wild, stormy gaze did something dangerous to you.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered low, stepping inside. His voice dropped further as he glanced down between your thighs. “Seriously? You got that excited?”

You whimpered, face burning, unable to explain yourself.

“Christ, baby.” He shook his head, jaw tightening, like he was torn between amusement and reprimand. “I leave for a week and you lose all your dignity.”

Then, without another word, he swept you into his arms like you weighed nothing. He laid you down on the couch with surprising care

Your body trembled under his touch, too humiliated to meet his eyes, but too desperate to stop. The ache inside you throbbed harder than ever — it was maddening. All he’d done was walk through the door.

“Look at me,” Rafe said firmly, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

You blinked through your embarrassment, lashes wet, mouth parted. He was kneeling in front of you now, the thick scent of engine oil and the outdoors clinging to his uniform. His fingers slid between your thighs again, inspecting how soaked you really were, his face calm — but eyes burning.

"You really couldn’t hold it, huh?" he murmured, voice heavy with restrained heat. “You pissed yourself over me like some filthy little thing."

You whimpered, biting your lip. Your body jolted when he slapped your thigh — not hard, but sharp enough to make your insides twist.

“I should be mad,” he said. “Should scold you for being disgusting. But you’re just needy, aren’t you? Pathetic.”

You nodded weakly. "I missed you," you whispered, voice breaking. “Didn’t know it’d feel like this.”

That made something shift in his expression — a quiet softening. Still rough around the edges, but… proud.

“Mm. That why you waited by the door like a damn puppy?” He reached over and started pulling your ruined panties down slowly, letting the cold air hit your flushed skin. “Couldn’t even wait for a kiss before drenching yourself

“You need to be taken care of, huh?” he muttered, wiping you clean with slow, almost reverent movements. “Act like a brat but fall apart the second I walk through the door.”

“Let me clean you up,” he said, quieter now, voice gravelly. “Then I’ll deal with that pretty mess of yours properly.”

He grabbed a warm cloth from the side table, one he'd taken the time to dampen for you. His movements were methodical but gentle, like he was used to caring for something fragile. You whimpered again as he wiped carefully between your thighs, scooping your legs up into his lap.

“I leave for a week and you’re already ruining clothes, crying for me, and peeing on the damn floor?” he muttered, a dark smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Next time, hold it in until I tell you you’re allowed. Got it?”

"Y-Yes sir," you choked out, heat blazing across your face.

He leaned down again, pressing his lips to your ear, his fingers trailing just above your folds

“Looks like you missed me that much princess “

[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ banana muffins

| joel miller x mom! reader. ~1k words. fluff, comfort, domestic.

masterlist. | oneshot masterlist.

The apartment still smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet from the night before. Maybe the remnants of the formula you’d spilled on the counter when your arms were too full to care, or the fading comfort of a candle you’d lit in some desperate bid to make the place feel like home instead of a constant, cluttered battlefield between sleep-deprivation and survival.

The your baby was everything to you, a smile always lit up your face as she squirmed in her crib, small fists waving like she was trying to punch the day into submission. You moved in before the cries could start, scooping her up with practiced arms, shushing in the way only a caretaker can really master. Her head nuzzled into your shoulder immediately, cheeks warm, eyes fluttering, already soothed by the presence she trusted most in the world.

And then there was Joel.

Leaning against the doorway to the living room like he belonged there... because somehow, without either of you saying it out loud, he did.

He must’ve let himself in with the spare key you gave him last week, one you pretended you offered casually, but it was really an invitation you weren’t sure he’d accept. He held a paper bag in one hand and a thermos in the other, and when his eyes met yours over the tiny baby head tucked into your chest, something in him softened so visibly it almost undid you.

“Mornin’,” he said, voice low and rough in that way it always was before his second cup of coffee.

You offered him a tired smile, "You always show up right before the worst part of the morning.”

“’Cause I know you won’t ask for help even when you need it,” he replied easily, stepping forward, setting the bag down on the counter without making a sound. “So I bring bribes. Banana muffins today... pretty damn good i might've had a bite.”

The baby stirred at the sound of his voice, turning a little in your arms, fingers curling around the collar of your shirt like a life preserver. Joel reached out instinctively, brushing a thumb across the baby’s tiny fist. He always did those small, quiet gestures like his hands remembered what it was like to hold someone that fragile and had never quite forgotten how.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you said quietly, though even you didn’t sound convinced. You weren’t pushing him away, not really, you were just still not used to the idea of someone showing up like clockwork.

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, unreadable for a second before softening into something gentle. “I know. But I want to.”

And that? God, that did something to you. That someone could want this, want you, in the messiness of sleep-deprived mornings and spit-up stained shirts and the ever-present haze of responsibility. Someone could want this tiny human who cried at unpredictable hours and needed more attention than anyone had to give. Want in on all of it, not because they had to, but because they chose to.

You swayed a little, rocking the baby, who was already half-asleep again in the safety of your arms, her tiny breaths even and warm against your neck. Joel reached over with careful hands like he was the gentlest force, and you let him take the baby without hesitation, watching as the little one settled into his arms like they’d done it a thousand times. Which, at this point, they nearly had.

Joel held her with the kind of instinctual ease that always left your chest aching because it healed something you hadn’t known was broken.

“You look exhausted,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “When was the last time you got more than four hours of sleep?”

You gave him a lopsided shrug. “Couldn’t tell you. Time kind of… melts together.” you teased a bit with a small smile.

“Well, I’ve got two hours and nowhere to be. Couch is yours. I’ll keep ‘er quiet.”

Your throat tightened at the offer and how easy he made it sound, like holding your whole world in his arms for a while was no burden at all.

You stepped a little closer, until your shoulder brushed his. “Why do you keep coming back?”

He looked down at the baby in his arms, then back at you.

“’Cause you’re worth showin’ up for,” he said simply. “Both of you.”

And that -- that was what undid you.

Not the muffins, or the way he swayed so naturally with a sleeping baby like he was still rocking Sarah back to sleep. Not the familiar warmth of his flannel, or the way his voice softened when he said your name.

It was the constancy. The choice. The quiet in his presence.

You leaned into him, head resting briefly against his arm, just for a second. But he shifted so you could stay there against his solid shoulder and his body warm. His hand now resting against your back like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he was willing to admit.

“I should warn you,” you said, voice muffled against his shirt, “you’re gonna get stuck with us if you keep this up.”

Joel chuckled, low and soft. “Good. I don’t plan on goin’ anywhere.”

And in the quiet that followed, the three of you just… breathed.

No monsters. No running. No fires to put out. Just Joel’s thumb brushing against the baby’s back in slow, reassuring circles, the soft sound of morning birds outside, and the warmth of something steady building in your chest.

Maybe family wasn’t always what you were born into. Maybe sometimes, it was something you built... slowly and gently, in the quiet between cries.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t doing this alone anymore.

[juceys]

convenient jey uso

— where you know you shouldn’t keep letting him back, because he only comes to you when it’s convenient.

pairing toxic!jey x fem!reader wc 959 genre angst suggestive warnings explicit language notes first time writing something like this, bare with me pt 2 lmao

listened to high for this by the weeknd, playing games by summer walker ft. bryson tiller

3:18 am.

your apartment was silent, the only light source being the tv as you watched your show in the living room.

then there was a knock at the door. not rushed, not urgent. just a simple knock-knock.

you rolled your eyes, already knowing who it was at this time of the night. you sat still on your couch wrapped in a blanket. your phones been dead for hours, not bothering to charge it because you knew he wouldn’t call or text. although you wished he would.

then came another knock, but louder this time.

you don’t want to open it.

God, you feel like you’d rather get tased than open it.

but you do.

you find your legs moving to the door before you can stop yourself, opening the door to reveal a red-eyed joshua.

hoodie on, hat low, hands shoved in his pockets. he looked at you as if everything was as normal. as if he didn’t just ghost you the past week.

you smell his cologne and a very faint scent of weed that lingered on him. his jaws tight. he doesn’t say anything, silence being the only thing between you two.

“fuck do you want, joshua?” you sigh out, voice calm and collected while your fingers come up to rub your temples. he doesn’t bother to reply and instead brushes past you to let himself in.

he makes his way to the couch, as you scoff and close your apartment door. he manspreads, and damn it, if you weren’t so pissed off at the sight of him, you’d pounce on him right now.

“i’m serious joshua.” you say as sternly as you can.

he looks at you, acting dumbfounded. “you mad baby?”

“don’t fucking ‘baby’ me. you ghosted me all week and now you think you can just show up to my place like you didn’t do shit?”

he rolls his eyes, “i ain’t ghost you.”

“oh, i’m sorry — what do you call it again? oh right, just ‘taking time for myself’ and all that fucking bullshit,” you laugh bitterly. “you don’t call or text, but you have the audacity to watch my stories and heart them as if that means shit.”

you step closer with your arms crossed. “you’re prolly only here ‘cause you’re high or drunk… or God forbid, maybe you’re here ‘cause you’re fucking horny.”

he exhales sharply through his nose, “see, why you gotta be on all this bullshit already? you always gotta turn this into something.”

“because it fucking is something joshua!” you raise your voice, which doesn’t seem to faze the man as he still just stares at you blankly. “you mean something to me. meant, actually. but i only mean something to you, when it’s convenient.”

he flinched. just barely, almost going unnoticed by you.

he stands up and makes his way over to you. “c’mon ma, you know you mean something to me,” he says as he reaches your waist.

your stomach clenches at the feeling of his arms around you, almost tempting you to give in. but you know you need to stand for yourself.

“man, fuck out of my face and my apartment,” you spit, removing his hands from your waist. you turn around and walk away, hoping he’d make things easier for the both of you.

he knew if he touched you again, you’d either slap him or moan — and he was willing to bet it’d be the second.

you barely made it two steps when his hands shot out to you, pinning you against the wall. his hands came up to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

you know you should push him off you. scream and hit him. tell him off again. maybe even kick him in the balls to prove your point. but your body betrayed you the moment you felt his hands wrap around your throat.

and the main thing you’d never admit? you had hoped it would get to this point, from the moment you heard the knock on the door.

maybe i need to start being careful for what i wish for, you think to yourself.

“look mama, i let you run your mouth with this little attitude you have. but y’know, i’ve had a very long day today, and the last thing i need right now is your smart ass mouth.”

he places his knee between your legs, making you whimper.

“i ain’t give you the attention you want for a week, and it’s like you forgot who the fuck you’re talking to.” but then his face changes from stern, to… something softer.

“‘m sorry for ghosting you mama. you know i ain’t mean to. you know you the only one in the world for me.”

at this point you feel your resolve melting, getting more aroused as he continues. all your anger that you’ve held onto the past week suddenly vanished. and he knows it too.

he leans into your ear, whispering, “want me to make it up to you?” to which you let out a quiet yes.

and so the night ended with clothes scattered on the floor, messy sheets and scratches on joshs back. because that’s how it always went.

he’d ghost you. you get mad. he’ll show up, and you cuss him out. yet you always ended up in bed together, bodies curled into each other like you were a married couple. but you’d always wake up to an empty bed — no note, no text, no nothing.

you’ll resent him. hate yourself for falling for it again.

for proving to yourself once again, that you’re nothing to joshua, but a convenient fuck.

[and-claudia]

Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 7

Word Count: 6100+

Warnings: mentions of sex, teasing, mentions of having children, soft moments with Spencer (and a cat), snowstorms

Taglist Sign Up (Read Carefully)

Bound by Winter Masterlist

Please leave comments and like!! I love reading y'all's comments!!

header made by yours truly

Waking up the next morning felt different. It felt like what waking up next to your husband should feel like. It was warm. It was calm. It was perfect. There was a dull ache between my legs, but it made me smile knowing what had caused it. 

“Good morning,” I said, smiling at Spencer. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone smiling this early in the morning.” He said, clearly fighting a smile of his own. 

“I can’t help it…” I said, slowly leaning over to press a kiss to his lips.

Spencer finally lost the battle with his emotions as I felt him smile into the kiss. 

“We need to get up,” He said, pulling away. 

“Awe, why can’t we just lay here and fuck forever?” I asked pouting playfully. 

“As lovely as that sounds, we have duties that require our attention.” He said, giving me one last kiss before getting up, with me following shortly after. 

Third Person Point of View 

Spencer was already out in the courtyard when Ser Damien arrived, the cold morning air barely biting at him. He had his cloak draped over his shoulders, sword at his side, and for the first time in weeks… a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

Not a grin. Not a smirk.

A real smile.

Damien, still shaking sleep from his eyes, froze halfway across the snow-covered cobbles. His eyes narrowed.

“Oh no.”

Spencer didn’t even look up from where he was checking the leather wrap around his sword hilt. “Morning to you, too.”

“No. Nope. Absolutely not.” Damien strode over, eyebrows raised. “What the hell is this? You’re in a good mood. Before breakfast. That’s suspicious as shit.”

Spencer sighed through his nose. “Maybe I just slept well.”

“You don’t sleep well, you brood and toss and mutter about strategic grain supplies in your damn dreams.” Damien circled him now, like a hawk sniffing out weakness. “So, what is it? Did you kill someone off the council? Did your warhorse have a foal? Or—” He stopped, eyes widening. Then his mouth fell open. “Oh. Seven hells. You finally—?”

Spencer gave him a sidelong glance, jaw tightening. “Don’t.”

Damien whooped, drawing the attention of two nearby guards. “You did! That’s what this is! That’s why you’re all light on your feet and not biting off heads!”

“Damien.”

“Oh, I’m proud of you, lad.” He thumped Spencer hard on the back. “Our brooding Lord of Caerwatch finally made his move. Took you long enough. She’s only been giving you those eyes for—well, for a while.”

“She didn’t—I didn’t—” Spencer exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t like that.”

Damien just grinned, ignoring the warning edge in Spencer’s tone. “Oh, I bet it wasn’t. Bet it was better. And judging by your face, you didn’t sleep much at all.”

Spencer straightened, biting back whatever sharp retort hovered behind his teeth.

But Damien wasn’t cruel. He caught the soft flicker in Spencer’s expression—the part of him still reeling, still processing something that had shifted—and clapped a hand to his shoulder.

“Hey,” Damien said, voice dropping to something quieter. “I’m really glad, you know. She’s good for you.”

Spencer looked away, lips twitching slightly. “She’s… something.”

“You’re something,” Damien muttered, but his grin was fond now. “C’mon, let’s go find something warm to eat before you start composing love ballads.”

Spencer finally cracked a reluctant smile. “I’ll put you on night patrol for a week.”

Damien paled instantly. “Gods, no. Don’t do that. I do not need to hear whatever the hell is going on up there!”

Spencer’s grin widened, dangerously.

Damien groaned. “You’re evil. I helped you two get together, and this is how I’m repaid?”

“Consider it penance.”

They walked off toward the kitchens, the snow crunching softly beneath their boots, and the morning sky bleeding light over the peaks beyond the keep.

First Person Point of View 

The door flew open without a knock—of course—and Angela bustled in with her usual morning energy, braid bouncing behind her and a smug look already on her face.

“You’re up early and not in a sour mood about it,” she sang, arms full of freshly laundered linens. “And don’t even try to lie and say you were up simply waiting for me to grace you with my presence because you’ve got that glow.”

"Glow?" I asked from where I sat on the bed. 

Angela raised a brow, dropped the linens on a nearby bench, and pointedly looked toward the still-warm spot on the other side of the bed.

“You know. The post-brooding-Lord-of-Caerwatch-finally-did-something-about-his-feelings kind of glow.”

My cheeks flushed hotter than the embers in the hearth. “Angela.”

She gasped, mock scandalized. “You did! You wicked little thing!” Then she squealed and danced in place. “Oh, I knew it! That man’s been one long stare away from falling apart. I swear if I had to witness one more soft glance across the war table—”

“Nothing happened,” I tried feebly.

Angela gave me the flattest stare imaginable. “You’re in his tunic. You’ve got bed hair. And you're smiling like someone who got kissed real good last night.”

I groaned and flopped back against the pillows. “I hate that you notice everything.”

“I love that I notice everything. I’ve waited for this development.” She perched on the edge of the bed and narrowed her eyes. “So? Was it worth the wait? Was he all smolder and soft hands?”

I laughed into your hands, trying to smother it. “You are the worst.”

“Come on, give me something! Did he light the candles first? Whisper scandalous poetry? Or did he just throw you over his shoulder like a barbarian and—”

“Angela!”

She cracked up, full of delight, and reached out to squeeze my hand. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really. He’s not an easy man to know… but I see how he looks at you. And how you look at him when you think no one’s watching.”

I softened at that, my smile shy but genuine. “It wasn’t just about… that. It was slow. Kind. He asked if I was alright more times than I could count.”

Angela’s eyes misted over a little. “Stars above. I told you he was secretly soft.”

The two of us sat there in a rare quiet moment, the early sunlight spilling in through the frosted windows, golden on the stone floor. Angela reached for a comb and gestured for me to turn around so she could start on my hair.

As she gently began working through the tangles, she added with a grin, “Now, you know Damien’s going to be insufferable about this.”

“Oh no,” I groaned.

“Oh yes. You’d better brace yourself. Because the entire keep will know by noon.”

My morning was fairly uneventful. I had breakfast with Angela, then spent the morning with her, some other handmaidens and Septa Amanda. Although needlework wasn’t my favorite thing in the world, it was necessary for a wife to do at times. 

So here we sat in the women’s solar that smelled faintly of lavender oil and spiced tea. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the crisp mountain air. Pale winter light stretched across the wooden floors, catching in stray threads of silk and wool as the ladies of Caerwatch worked through their morning tasks.

Angela sat cross-legged on a low stool beside the hearth, cursing quietly under her breath as she fumbled with a tangled thread. “This is punishment for every sin I’ve ever committed.”

“You’ve committed more than enough to deserve it,” quipped Arasha, one of my other handmaidens with quick fingers and a sharper tongue.

I sat near the open window with Septa Amanda, my embroidery hoop nestled between gloved fingers, a length of pale blue linen stretched tight. Admittedly, my stitching was passable at best—uneven, uncertain—but I kept at it with quiet determination. 

“You’re improving,” Septa Amanda offered, her voice mild and knowing as she glanced over my shoulder.

“I still can’t keep the flowers symmetrical,” I murmured.

“Well, real ones rarely are,” Amanda replied, arching a brow. “Nature favors imperfection.”

The room lapsed into a lull, broken only by the rhythmic pricks of needles and the soft clatter of Angela dropping her spool again.

“Perhaps,” the septa continued, casually, “we might begin setting aside cloth for a different sort of project soon.”

I glanced up. “What do you mean?”

Amanda gave me a look that said she knew exactly what she meant. “Baby linens, of course. It’s not uncommon to prepare a few small things early, should the gods see fit.” 

Angela perked up immediately. “Oh, we should use the soft wool from Seastar! The silvers and pale blues—those would suit a little Lord Agnew.”

“Or a little Lady,” Arasha chimed in without looking up.

My hands paused, thread dangling between my fingers.

I hadn’t thought of it much. Not really. Not since the wedding. Save for last night in the heat of the moment. I knew it was expected—marriage brought alliance, and alliance would eventually bring children—but I'd kept it on the horizon, somewhere hazy and far.

But now…

Now I imagined a tiny tunic, no bigger than my hand. I imagined Spencer—messy-haired and muttering—cradling something impossibly small, staring down at it like it might disappear if he blinked.

My chest tightened.

It wasn’t a fearsome thing anymore, the idea of a child. Not with him. But not something I wanted now. Not with the war. Not with me slowly gaining the respect of the men here in the north. 

I bit my lip, eyes flicking back down to my hoop as my stitches blurred.

“It’s… not something I’m ready for yet,” I said quietly.

Amanda’s hand came to rest gently on my arm.

“And that’s perfectly fine, my lady,” she said warmly. “But the fact that you’re thinking of it at all—it says much.”

Angela leaned over, grinning. “It says you’re warming to our broody Lord Agnew.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I muttered, trying to focus again on my stitching.

Angela nudged me with her elbow. “You’re making a flower crown, not a dagger.”

“I’m considering both,” I said, though my lips twitched.

As laughter spilled into the solar, warm and easy, I looked back out the window.

The sky had cleared. Somewhere beyond the stone walls, Spencer was likely bickering with Ser Damien or reviewing troop rotations.

And for the first time, I wondered—if we ever had a child—would it inherit his wit? My stubbornness? Would it have dark curls like his or a serious mouth like mine?

The needle pricked my finger and I hissed in pain, shaking it out.

“Careful,” Amanda chided gently, offering me a cloth.

I took it, pressed it to my fingertip, and smiled to myself.

Not now. But maybe someday. And not just because it was expected. Because it might actually be… wanted. 

Around midafternoon, I found myself walking with Septa Amanda towards the public solar where the Winter Preparations Council was to take place. I hadn’t seen much of Spencer today, just small glances through the window of the woman’s solar. So when I saw him, sat at the head of the table, one arm braced on the chair’s worn armrest, the other nursing a mug of something steaming, I couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at the edges of my mouth. 

I went in and took my usual seat next to him. His hair was still damp, most likely from a rushed wash after a training session, and a few dark strands clung to his brow. He didn’t look particularly lordly—but then again, he rarely did. Not that I cared. 

To his right, Ser Damien sat sprawled with unbothered ease, fingers drumming against the wooden surface, expression far too smug for a mundane meeting. I was refusing to make eye contact with him in any capacity whatsoever. I could feel his smirk radiating like a second sun.

“First snow’s falling faster than the ravens predicted,” Septa Amanda said, spreading a small map across the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “We’ll need to confirm all grain stores are counted and dry. And the infirmary’s firewood—”

“Already being restocked,” I said quickly, voice a bit higher than usual. “I had Angela assign it to two of the stablehands yesterday.” 

Spencer flicked his gaze toward me, subtly amused. “You beat me to it,” he murmured under his breath.

I nodded and scribbled something into the small leather-bound ledger I’d brought with me. It gave me something—anything—to focus on besides the grin tugging at the corners of Ser Damien's mouth.

"Very efficient of you, my lady," Maester Tommy added from across the table, his voice a touch too cheerful. He had ink smudged on his cheek and one sleeve still tucked into his belt. “Although I do think we need to reconsider the insulation around the rookery tower—it's draftier than expected and the ravens have been refusing their feed.”

“You’ve been feeding them from your hand again, haven’t you?” Spencer asked dryly, not even looking up.

Maester Tommy blinked. “W-well, yes. They only bite a little now.”

Ser Damien snorted.

“Charming,” Spencer muttered, taking another sip of his drink.

“The storehouses are nearly at capacity, but I do believe we should begin rationing dried fruit and root vegetables for the northern villages. Some will be iced out before first frost.” Septa Amanda added. 

“Agreed,” I said, thankful my voice didn’t waver. “Draw up a list of which villages we can reach by the week’s end. We’ll send small packs with extra coal bricks from the reserve.”

Then, Chef Garrett, still wearing his apron and holding a wooden spoon like a sword, cleared his throat. “We’ve salted the last of the fish from the harbor run, and the butcher’s preparing the smoked boar. But we’ll need a decision on whether to host the harvest supper. Half the barley’s in storage, but the weather—”

“We’ll hold it,” I said, firmer this time. “Even a modest celebration gives the people something to hold onto as the snow deepens.”

Across the table, I could feel Damien’s eyes burning into me. And worse—his faint chuckle.

I finally glanced up, only to see him lean closer to Spencer and mutter, not quite softly enough, “Think she’s always that commanding after a night in your bed?”

I dropped my quill.

Spencer didn’t even blink. “Damien,” he said, without turning his head, “shut the fuck up.”

The knight just laughed harder, rocking back in his chair.

I cleared my throat and returned my eyes to the parchment in front of me, cheeks warm. “Maester Tommy,” I said, perhaps louder than necessary, “you were saying something about the lower cellars flooding?”

Tommy perked up. “Oh—yes! Yes, quite! That is—well, possibly. I heard from the steward that one of the tunnels might be… squishier than it should be.”

Spencer dragged a hand down his face. “Seven help us.”

My cheeks heated up, and Damien howled with laughter. I am pretty sure even the Septa was struggling not to laugh as well. 

Spencer rose, “Garrett, Maester, walk with me down to the lower cellars. I want to check on the frost seals.”

As the rest of the table began to clear, Ser Damien rose more slowly, scooping up his cup.

“Lady Agnew,” he said as he passed behind me. “Sleep well?”

I did not look up.

I simply said, “I will see to it you’re on roof-watch by first snowfall, Ser Damien.”

Damien barked a laugh and strolled off, calling over his shoulder, “That’ll only encourage me.”

Angela giggled. Septa Amanda tried very hard not to smile. 

After the meeting, Spencer and I had dinner together. Then we decided to go for an evening stroll. 

The snow had begun falling again by the time we left the hall. Dinner had been quiet but comfortable — no bickering, no awkward silences, just us and a shared bottle of spiced red wine. The kind of evening I’d once only imagined.

Spencer walked a step ahead, hands tucked in his coat, dark hair slightly tousled from the wind. He looked up at the sky with a sigh.

“Snow’ll stick tonight,” he muttered. “We’ll be buried by morning if the wind shifts west.”

“Good,” I said, smiling. “I like the quiet it brings.”

He glanced back at me, arching a brow. “You say that now. Wait until the shutters freeze shut and the stone bridges become death traps.”

I laughed. “You have such a gift for killing romantic moments.”

“I try.”

We rounded the stables when I heard it — a faint, high-pitched mewl. I stopped so suddenly that Spencer nearly ran into me.

“What now?”

“Shh,” I hissed, tilting my head. “Do you hear that?”

He went still. Another tiny cry came from under one of the overturned crates near the stable wall.

“Oh no,” I whispered, already hurrying toward it.

“Please don’t be a dying rat,” Spencer grumbled behind me.

I crouched low and gently lifted the edge of the crate. A tiny black kitten peered up at me with wide, watery eyes. It shivered, its tail curled tightly around its body. 

My heart melted instantly.

“Oh gods,” I said, voice thick. “Spencer…”

“No,” he said flatly before I even turned around. “Nope. I already know that tone. That’s the ‘we’re keeping it’ tone.”

I scooped the kitten into my arms. It fit perfectly against my chest, already purring weakly.

“He’s freezing,” I said. “He won’t survive the night out here.”

Spencer sighed so deeply it sounded like it came from his soul. “Then give him to the stablehands.”

“They’re already full with the war horses. You know that.”

“He’s probably feral.”

“He’s purring,” I argued. 

“He probably has fleas.”

“Then you’ll help me bathe him.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re going to guilt me into this, aren’t you?”

I gave him a look I knew would work. “He’ll die, Spencer.”

He groaned like he was in physical pain.

“…Fine. But he stays in the solar. Only the solar. Not in the bed. Not in my boots. And if he shits in my favorite chair, I’m blaming you.”

I grinned. “Thank you.”

He squinted at the kitten in my arms and said, “He looks like a jackass.”

“Spencer—”

“I’m calling him that.”

“You are not.”

“Jack,” he clarified. “Short for ‘jackass’ It’s perfect.”

The kitten sneezed in my direction.

“…Bless you,” I whispered. Spencer was already pretending not to smile.

We decided to cut our stroll short as the wind picked up. The warmth hit us the moment we stepped back inside, the door slamming shut behind Spencer with a grunt. Snow clung to our cloaks and boots, but the kitten—now bundled in my arms inside my coat—was the only one perfectly content, purring like he’d lived in Caerwatch all his life. 

We made our way to our solar, where Angela would most likely be waiting for me to assist in my nightly routine, should I ask her. And sure enough, when we entered, she looked up from the hearth where she was warming her hands, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“What’s that?”

Spencer groaned. “Don’t start.”

The kitten let out a tiny chirp of a meow in response, its little head popping out from the fold of my cloak. Angela gasped and scrambled to her feet.

“Oh, Seven help us, you brought home another one.”

Spencer blinked. “Another?”

She came closer, gently scratching behind the kitten’s ears, beaming like a child.

“Not a kitten, but she used to do this all the time when we were little,” Angela said, shooting a grin at me. “Once it was a raven with a broken wing. Another time, it was a one-eyed possum you swore was your ‘forest prince.’ Your poor father never stood a chance.” 

Spencer gave me a look. “A possum?”

“It had character,” I mumbled defensively.

Angela barked a laugh and turned to Spencer. “So what’s this one called? Let me guess. Something noble and sweet like ‘Snowdrop’ or—?”

“Jackass,” he said flatly. “Or Jack, if that’s too harsh for delicate ears.”

Angela blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re such a softie!”

Spencer glared. “I am not.”

“You are! You let her bring in a half-frozen kitten, and now you’re naming him like a grumpy uncle who secretly knits scarves for his pet. Don’t think I don’t see you, Lord Agnew.”

“I said he stays in the solar, not the bed,” Spencer muttered, shrugging out of his cloak and avoiding both our gazes. “And he bites.”

Angela grinned. “Oh no, I definitely see you now.”

Jack yawned and curled tighter into my chest.

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. Spencer noticed—and looked away quickly.

Angela arched a brow at me. “If you bring home a second one, I’m writing to your father myself.”

“He always said no,” I said with a laugh, “but he never sent them back out.”

“Just like someone else,” she sing-songed, tossing a look at Spencer.

Spencer just sighed, tugged off his gloves, and grumbled, “You’re both lucky I like you.”

“Mm-hmm,” Angela said, already trying to fashion a tiny blanket out of a napkin for Jack.

He didn’t complain once. Not even when Jack settled into his lap ten minutes later and refused to move. 

“It’s late,” I sighed, leaning into Spencer’s side. Angela had already retired for the night after I assured her I wouldn’t need her assistance. 

“It is, someone’s already asleep.” He said, nodding down to this kitten curled up in his lap. 

“Poor thing,” I said, looking down at him as well. 

“I gotta move him,” Spencer said, and before I could protest, he was scooping up the small kitten, waking it, and setting it down on the couch. 

Spencer stood and then turned to me expectantly. I sighed and stood as well after leaning over to give Jack a goodnight pet. 

“I’ll come check on you in the morning,” I said to the small kitten before following Spencer to our chambers. 

The following days brought more snow. I knew it wasn’t the blizzard everyone was talking about, but with how thick the snow was getting, I was wondering what we would look like once it did come. 

Third Person Point of View 

Snow still drifted outside the high, narrow windows of the solar, blurring the world into quiet white. A fire crackled in the hearth, throwing warm light across scattered maps, a half-finished ledger, and a napping gray kitten curled in the center of Spencer’s lap like he owned the place.

Spencer glanced down from his chair, ink-stained fingers paused mid-note. Jack shifted slightly, little pink paws twitching in a dream.

Spencer exhaled. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” he murmured. “You sleep all day, you won’t eat unless it’s warmed, and the moment I so much as move, you act like I’ve wronged your entire bloodline.”

Jack purred louder, clearly unaffected.

Spencer rolled his eyes and leaned back with a resigned groan. “I let you in once, and now you’re king of the solar. Typical.”

No response. Just a tiny sneeze from the fluff ball.

“…And you snore.”

He scratched behind Jack’s ears with the same gruff tenderness he denied having, shaking his head.

“You’re lucky she likes you,” he added under his breath. “Otherwise, I’d have tossed your arrogant little tail into the snow days ago.”

There was a quiet creak behind him.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Spencer froze.

Slowly, he turned in his chair—just enough to spot Ser Damien leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, smirk already blooming.

“You’re talking to him,” Damien said, gleeful disbelief in his voice. “You’re sitting there, mid-conversation, like he’s going to offer counsel.”

“He’s more helpful than you are,” Spencer deadpanned.

“Spencer.”

“What?”

“You’re petting him.”

“I was petting him. Now I’m reconsidering my choices.”

Damien strode in, grinning like a man who’d just discovered a state secret.

“This is incredible,” he said, crouching beside the chair. “Look at you. Lord of Caerwatch, scourge of snow and storm—gossiping with a cat.”

“He’s not gossiping,” Spencer muttered.

“Oh? What would you call it, then?”

“A tactical briefing.”

Damien cackled. “Seven save me, I’m going to tell everyone.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“Oh, I will. Angela. Chanse. Everyone.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “You tell one person, and I’m putting you on night patrol. Permanent. And you can explain to the guards why you’re stuck walking the outer wall with frostbite on your nose.”

Damien stood, dramatically brushing snow off his cloak like he’d just been knighted.

“So dramatic,” he said. “Maybe I should start writing to the kitten, since you seem to respect him more than me.”

“He’s quieter,” Spencer said, deadpan. “And doesn’t interrupt my peace every damn day.”

But as Damien turned to leave, Spencer glanced down again.

Jack was still asleep. Tiny paws curled around a bit of loose parchment.

Spencer sighed.

“…You’re still not sleeping in the bed,” he muttered.

From the hallway, Damien’s voice called back, sing-song:

“Spencer has a cat! Spencer has a cat! He loves it more than his sword!”

Spencer threw a quill at the door.

First Person Point of View 

I side-eyed Ser Damien as he went through the halls singing about Spencer having a cat. When I got to the door, I narrowly missed getting hit by a quill. 

“I sure do hope that wasn’t intended for me.” I teased. 

Spencer glanced over his shoulder and saw me. “My apologies. It was intended for Damien.” 

I nodded, walking over to where he was sitting at the desk. 

“Food and coal have been brought to the villages. Not just the northernmost ones, all of them received ample rations for this blizzard, the northern ones received enough to hopefully last them the winter, or so I was told…” I said, leaning against the desk beside him. 

He nodded, “Good, if they run low, an additional ration will be brought during a lull in the storms.” 

“When do you think the first storm will get here?” I asked. 

“By the look of the sky, two days, if we’re lucky. Tomorrow if we’re not.” He said with a sigh. 

I nodded as Jack jumped up beside me, and I scooped him up into my arms. 

“Will you keep us warm?” I asked, bringing Jack up to rub my cheek against his head. 

Spencer huffed, “You? Absolutely, can’t have my wife freeze in her first blizzard. That Jackass? Vertic is still out.” 

I laughed, setting the kitten back down beside Spencer before showing myself out to join my handmaidens and Speta Amanda in the ladies’ solar. 

By the same time the next day, the wind had started again.

Not the gentle kind that whispered along stone walls, but the sharp, rising howl that rattled the shutters and dragged icy fingers across the seams of the windows.

I was sitting on the couch and pulled the fur-lined blanket tighter around your shoulders and glanced toward the hearth where Spencer stood, poking at the fire with a bit more aggression than necessary. 

“That sound,” I murmured, “it’s louder than the last storm.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched as the flames licked up toward the newly added logs, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, “It’s not a storm. Not yet.”

I raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Spencer leaned the poker back against the wall and turned, his hands brushing soot from his sleeves. “This is just the teeth of it. The bite that comes before the blizzard sinks in.”

I tilted your head. “And the blizzard?”

His gaze shifted to the window, where snowflakes now danced like ash in the wind.

“It will come fast,” he said, voice low. “The sky turns gray as slate. The wind starts to scream. Then everything—everything—goes white. For days. Sometimes longer.”

I let out a breath. “And it’s always that bad?”

He nodded once. “Worse, sometimes. You’ll feel it in your teeth. In your bones. The walls will groan. The Keep goes quiet. Not from sleep, but survival.”

I stood and crossed the room slowly, settling near him by the hearth. “And the people? What do they do?”

“They hunker down. The servants prepare hot stones for the bedframes. Meals are kept simple, fires stoked constantly. No one travels. No one fights. It’s too cold to bleed properly, anyway.”

That earned a weak smile from me. “Comforting.”

Spencer huffed, then glanced sideways. “I’m not trying to frighten you.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

A pause.

“Prepare you,” he said simply. “This place—it’s harsh in ways Brightmere or Seastar could never be. Winter here doesn’t just visit. It claims. You have to respect it. You have to listen when it speaks.”

The fire cracked between us, shadows moving over his face.

“But Caerwatch doesn’t fall easily,” he added. “Not to snow. Not to war. It’s stubborn, like the people who keep it.”

I let the quiet settle a moment before speaking again. “And the people who marry into it?”

He finally turned to look at me then, a glint of warmth buried beneath the guarded stare. “They’re the ones who survive it best.”

I smiled, soft and slow.

“And what do we do when it comes?”

“We ride it out,” he said, eyes flicking briefly to the storm-dark window. “We stay close to the fire. We stay warm. We wait.”

I stepped a little closer, shoulder brushing his arm. “Well, at least I have someone to show me how.”

His mouth twitched. “Just stay out of the snow. And don’t let the cat eat the firewood.”

Jack, from across the solar, yawned like he’d been listening the whole time. I let out a small laugh, glancing over at the kitten. 

“How often do the guards tend to the fires around the keep?” I asked, feeling worried about the small creature. 

The solars were quite large and got drafty on a normal day, even with the hearth going. I could only imagine how cold it’d begin to feel once the blizzard hit. 

“They try to do it often.” He said, clearly hesitating. 

I stayed quite debating if I should even ask if Jack could stay in our room during blizzards. 

“Perhaps he should stay in our room where it’ll be warmer during the storm.” He said before I got the chance to ask. 

“Really?” I asked and he gave a nod. 

“But, and I mean it, he stays out of our bed.” He said firmly, and I nodded. 

“Do you hear that, Jack? You can come sleep in our room!” I called out to him. 

A couple of hours later found us getting ready for bed. I made Jack a little bed near the fireplace, ensuring he had extra blankets just in case. 

In the short time that had passed, the world had gone still in that strange way that only winter could bring. No flickering candlelight. No creak of footsteps in the hall. Just the occasional groan of stone against ice as the Keep settled further into the season’s grip.

 I was curled beneath thick blankets, Jack had abandoned his bed, and now was curled in a warm loaf at my feet. I had slipped into a light sleep when something stirred beside me.

A hand.

Gentle fingers brushing against my shoulder, followed by the hushed rasp of Spencer’s voice.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Wake up.”

I blinked into the darkness. “What time is it?”

“Late.” He was already halfway out of bed, pulling on a heavy wool tunic. “Come see.”

I groaned, nestling deeper into the warmth. “See what? It’s freezing.”

His boots thudded softly against the floorboards. “Exactly.”

There was something different in his voice—not excitement exactly, but an urgency. A reverence.

Curious despite myself, I sat up, shivering as the cold bit at my skin. Spencer tossed me one of his thicker fur-lined cloaks from the chest at the end of the bed and gestured toward the small spiral staircase that led up to the private watchtower above our chambers.

I followed him barefoot, my fingers gripping the stone rail as I climbed. The air turned colder with every step, and when he unlatched the heavy wooden door at the top, a gust of air nearly knocked me back.

But then I saw it.

And all the breath left my lungs.

The valley below had vanished.

What had once been rocky hills and forested ridges now glowed with a haunting, colorless light—snow so thick it swallowed everything in its path. The sky above was slate gray, shifting with violent, restless clouds. Wind howled like wolves through the pass, carrying ice that whipped across the peaks like smoke.

I stepped closer to the edge of the archway, your hand reaching instinctively for Spencer’s.

“This is it,” he said, voice barely audible over the wind. “The first white. The real one.”

I stared out, wide-eyed. “It’s like the gods took the world and buried it.”

He gave a short nod. “That’s what it feels like. Like the rest of the Realm disappears. Just Caerwatch. Just us. Snow turns everything quiet... and sharp.”

We stood there together in silence, his hand warm despite the cold.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” I asked softly.

“No,” he said. Then added, “This is.”

He tilted his chin down the slope, where in the distance—just barely visible through the white curtain—you could make out the flicker of torches being hurriedly brought inside from the courtyard, the glow of hearthfires blooming in the windows of the Keep, and a line of guards huddling together as they pulled the gates closed tight.

The Keep locking itself down.

Preparing.

Surviving.

“It's beautiful,” I whispered.

Spencer glanced sideways at me. “It’s dangerous.”

“Like you, then.”

That earned a small smirk, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled me closer beneath his own cloak, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin atop my head.

We stood there like that, watching the snow devour the world together.

Eventually, we retreated back down to our bed. And by the time morning rolled around the storm had not relented.

If anything, it had worsened overnight. The wind had become a beast, howling and groaning against the stone of Caerwatch like it meant to claw its way inside. Snow piled so high against the windows that only faint gray light managed to slip through the narrow slits of the tower walls.

And still, the Keep held fast.

I was bundled beneath a fortress of blankets, drowsy and warm, my limbs tangled in fur throws and linen sheets that smelled like pinewood smoke and faint remnants of Spencer’s skin. At some point in the night, he’d tucked me against his side, my back pressed to his chest and one of his hands sprawled possessively across my middle, unmoving even now in sleep.

And then there was Jack.

The cat had burrowed between our legs, curled into a compact, purring loaf so rooted into the bedding that it seemed he might have grown from it.

Spencer stirred behind me, muttering lowly.

“I swear to the gods… that cat weighs more every day.”

“He’s conserving warmth,” I murmured, eyes still closed. “He’s smart.”

“He’s smug,” Spencer grumbled, cracking one eye open to glare at the furred lump. “And territorial. He growled when I moved your leg last night.”

“You did kick him.”

“I nudged him. Gently.”

Jack let out a long, dramatic sigh through his nose—as if he knew the conversation was about him and had chosen to remain morally above it.

I laughed softly, pressing my face into the pillow. “You’re just mad he’s your competition.”

Spencer huffed but didn’t deny it.

There was a knock at the outer door, faint and muffled by the thick stone. Spencer reluctantly untangled himself from me and padded across the room, shirtless and barefoot, cursing softly about the cold. He cracked the door open and accepted a message from one of the morning guards.

He read it. Blinked. Then grabbed a quill, scrawled something, and handed the message back with a curt, “Send it to every quarter. Every level.”

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up slightly as Jack gave an annoyed grunt.

Spencer climbed back into bed and dropped the blanket over both of us again. “I’ve declared it a stay-warm-in-bed day.”

I blinked. “Is that a real title?”

“It is now. I’m the Lord of Caerwatch. I make the titles.”

I laughed. “So everyone’s just... staying in?”

“Unless they’re on patrol, in the kitchens, or bleeding to death, they’re to remain in their quarters until the wind dies down. The Maester agrees. It’s too dangerous out there—some of the lower halls are already snowed over.”

I curled closer to him, smiling softly. “You’re turning into a very responsible lord.”

He reached out and pulled me gently against him again. “Gods help us.”

Jack climbed further onto my legs, clearly satisfied that we weren’t getting up anytime soon. 

“You know, if we get too cold we could always warm up in other ways while staying in bed.” I said, playfully scooting back into him. 

“Careful, I may just take you up on that offer.” 

A/N: So, I actually start my new job tomorrow at 9am instead of Monday at 2:30pm... so that's fun. Also just to rant bc I can owning a uturus SUCKS!! I started my period today and am starting a new job tomorrow, ain't it. So wish me luck ig!!

Taglist Sign Up (Read Carefully)

Taglist: @fan-g0rl, @spennininomenon @mazzyowl @burrowedinnature77 @apollothegod22 @scratch-and-sniff-ghost33 @areyoutheregoditsmecelia @cloverrwritess @readerihardlyknowher @lovergurl4life @goblynnrockz @ahhhiscute @happyclifford @jellysmosh @talkativecarnation @ladybugonfilm @teenyfinds @chamomiletea11

[reallyromealone]

Title: Tokyo host club

Chapter: 8

Fandom: Tokyo revengers ohshc, KNB

Genre: fluff

Warnings: mentions of abuse, omegaverse, angst and fluff, scenting, crying, Makoto Hanamiya

Notes: works kicking my ass but I'm taking two weeks for vacation so more writing woo

Summary: mitsukuni and the reader go on a date where they see the omegas ex boyfriend

🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛🌜🌛

(name) was excited to spend his summer with haruhi, the two going to her dad's friends bed and breakfast to get some quiet time + (name) had a chess open in the area so it worked out.

He was a little bummed he couldn't spend his birthday with mitsukuni and his family but it was fine, the soon to be sixteen year old just happy to be out of Tokyo for a bit. (Name) Was cleaning and polishing the dining tables while Haruhi put the linens on the clothes line.

"HARUHI!" the sound of Tamaki screaming startled (name) and he looked to see the linens fly in the air, damn it. He was gonna have to grab that.

-

(Name) Stood beside haruhi, an annoyed expression on his face that slowly melted when mitsukuni doted on him and the two strayed away from the chaos "Tama and the others came because Tama thought haruhi was in danger but I came to see you ~" the Alpha was already fully aware on (name)s summer plans and had his own plans to surprise him but seeing the opportunity, he couldn't miss it "you know I'm still working, right? I can't just stop it all"

"And you know I could have taken you to Switzerland!"

"Mitsu, I don't even have my passport" (name) reminded and the Alpha pouted, there was the other reason neither brought up and that was (name)s grandpa's health decline. (Name) Was worried about going this far but Shinichiro practically booted him out claiming the Omega needed to relax and that Shinichiro would pick him up asap if anything happened.

"Well! That's neither here nor there! Now where are those treats you spoke of!"

-

The group sat in the garden with tea, (name) sipping casually until kyoya spoke about expulsion for getting a job. His blood froze and for a second the smell of rot made it to the host clubs nose before (name) got his scent under control and (name) was gonna be honest... He kind of blacked out the rest of the conversation out of anxiety.

When he finally checked back into the conversation, there was something about a competition but Mitsukuni was focused on him more than anything, panic in his eyes at the omegas short and distant responses "the lights are back on!" Mitsukuni whispered teasingly and (name) smiled back meekly, having not felt that level of anxiety since the time Emma almost got shot...

He never thought he would feel that level of anxiety again.

Mitsukuni knew how badly (name) needed this scholarship, wanting to support and help his family in any way he could and after high school, mitsukuni taking over his own family's business once he finishes university.

And when that happens he already had a plan partner with S.S motors to boost it.

But (name) didn't need to know that.

Not yet.

"Tama and the others are fighting for the room but taka and I already have a cottage more in town" mitsukuni explained and linked his fingers with (name) "don't worry (nickname), you're not getting expelled... They're just being jerks to haru-chan" jerks indeed as (name) found the manipulation towards the beta girl quite cruel honestly.

Rich people really didn't get it, did they?

(Name) Continued his work, working as a repair man of sorts in the b&b and fixing everything though the other alphas kept trying to step in "my sweet son, let me handle it!" Tamaki tried to say and (name) lifted a leveler "Tamaki, what is this?" The alpha failed to answer "I have been working with tools and the likes since my brother could put them in my hands, trust me I'm fine"

And with that (name) had an air conditioner to go fix, Mitsukuni following along to watch his omega fix things! He was so attractive when he got things fixed!

-

(Name) Was thankful to be given the day off the following day, having wanted to go see the shops in town but first he had to go grab his mate, Mitsukuni wanted to join him and (name) had to go awaken the beast.

Why were all the short blonds in his life nightmares to wake up?

Well at least he didn't get cussed out like he did with Mikey.

(Name) Was let in to the expansive and ornate cottage without a fuss, the place had to be double the size of where (name) was working. Walking into the blonds room, he saw the lump under the blanket and huffed with love in his eyes "mitsu, wake up" he said softly, leaning over the Alpha who grumbled "come on, you wanted me to wake you"

"Hmf..."

"... Come on Alpha, please?" This turned out to be a mistake, the other grabbing (name)s wrist and pulling him into bed, half awake and in a bitchy mood "careful" the Alpha warned and snuggled into (name), face pressed into the others neck before going back to sleep and (name) knew he wasn't going to get out of here in one piece, snuggling into the other and deciding to join the Alpha.

When (name) woke, he was snuggled into the others chest, purring sweetly and subconsciously chirping. This was the best sleep he's ever had, feeling the Alpha gently play with his (hair/nape) while texting with one hand on his phone, glancing down as if he wasn't just a monster two hours ago "good morning~!" His words light and airy, he could get used to having his omega so close to cuddle and kiss, "you ready to go, sleepyhead?" Mitsukuni said teasingly before they got up, the Alpha still in his pajamas and wandered to go change. The alpha changed in the washroom with the door slightly cracked open to talk "I'm starving, can we get some yummy food?" Mitsukuni asked and (name) shrugged "I could eat, I saw a cute deli when I rode here" the Omega had brought his bike to the small town to do deliveries and such, acclimating easily to the groove of the town.

"Rode here?"

"Yeah? On my bike?" He said confused and the Alpha stepped out dressed, wandering to the window and indeed there was a shiny motorcycle sitting in the driveway, he forgot his mate drove a motorcycle.

"Don't worry alpha, we can go your way" (name) used that nickname again and Mitsukuni turned and the love in his eyes was unexplainable.

-

Mitsukuni watched as (name) enjoyed his lunch, the Omega so serene and content around his alpha... Mitsukuni was so unapologetically in love with (name) in ways he didn't know were possible and sleeping together... That was honestly the best sleep he ever had, he loved his naps and sleep but this was... It was like his world was complete.

"(Name)?" A voice called out and he saw (name) freeze before his eyes sharpened a bit, gripping his fork and Mitsukuni looked at the man behind the Omega, first thing he noticed were some big ass eyebrows.

"Hanamiya" (name) hissed, scent turning sour and the Alpha in question smirked "come on, don't be like that" his voice condescending and mocking and eyes holding a look that mitsukuni didn't like "you used to be so good"

Mitsukuni would be a liar if he didn't do a full background check on (name).

He knew everything, every detail of the omegas life but he never said anything... He wanted (name) to be ready to talk about the dark and scary.

And he recognized Makoto Hanamiya at that moment, he didn't know the full details of what happened but he knew they dated for eight months and broke up, apparently it was bad, (name)s brothers had to accompany him everywhere for a while. "Let's go." (Name) Whispered with a pleading tone, his heart racing from anxiety and Makoto kissed his teeth "can't wait to see you at the open, it's gonna be great!" Makoto said with a plastered smile, eyeing mitsukuni.

"And I hope you two enjoy whatever you think you have, heads up about (name)--""shut up hanamiya, you psychotic narcissist!" (Name) Finally snapped "this is why no one stays around you because you're the worst and you know you are and god forbid you aren't terrible even just once! I'm going to absolutely rock your shit at that open so bad it's gonna remind your mom she should have aborted you!" He knew he went way to far, mitsukuni dragging him from the restaurant and somewhere quiet. (Name) Was hyperventilating, shaking and a mess while mitsukuni gently wiped those tears.

"He hurt you bad, huh?" His voice soft and sweet and he slowly put USA-chan in his mates arms and was so sweet to him, already having the limo coming to collect them both and he hoped they came fast at the sight of the clouds rolling in. (Name) Struggled to breathe, memories coming back hard "H- I" (name) could barely get the words out, this was a side of (name) mitsukuni had never seen and honestly never had to deal with something like this.

But he was determined to help (name) through this.

When the limo came, mitsukuni got (name) in and snuggled him as the limo took off back to mitsukunis cottage while the Alpha soothed him. (Name) Was quiet when they got back to the cottage, nesting materials already in the alphas room where (name) had calmed down "sorry..."

Mitsukuni didn't like seeing (name) this defeated and frowned "you don't need to apologize, (nickname)" mitsukuni said softly, if anything it was deeply attractive how (name) shut that down. "I-I should probably tell you why... I reacted like that"

"Only if you wanna"

"I feel I need to be honest with you about stuff" mitsukuni was quiet while (name) began explaining "you probably guessed that my brothers are into questionable things, my brother's run Toman..." There wasn't a person who didn't know Toman, they were gaining traction fast after all. "Makoto started dating me to use me as leverage against toman, blackmail them and emotionally abused me..." He had to go to therapy for it, wasn't allowed to walk alone for years after "A-and he tried to force my heat to trigger and when it didn't he broke my arm"

Oh mitsukuni was going to turn Makoto's bones into mist.

"I'm so sorry..."mitsukuni wanted to lock his mate away and keep him safe but he knew that wasn't even remotely on the table. (Name) Started crying again while years of repressed pain flooding out. "I-I thought my brother's scared him off... But I guess not"

"Don't worry (nickname)! I'll protect you!" And not leave the omegas side unless the other needed to pee, he was his beautiful mates faithful watchdog.

(Name) Sniffled and smiled at the others words "wanna continue our date? I feel bad for ruining it"

"You didn't ruin anything! It was that gross creature that ruined it!" Hunni stared with an 'angry' expression and let his omega pull him close for a hug.

-

The two didn't end up going back out, instead cuddling with (name) resting against the alphas chest and the blond even letting (name) hold USA chan for comfort. The two were watching a movie and (name) took in the sweet musk of his mate, brain fuzzy and a sense of peace and serenity falling on the both of them.

(Name) Ended up falling asleep on his mate, mitsukuni happy his mate felt safe before closing his eyes and joining him.

-

(Name) Was nervous for his chess match, he had no doubts he would win but the idea of facing him.... Sent shivers down his back and he had to focus his breathing.

"I got this..."

He had to win

[thedevilinmybrain]

harry is the quirky literature teacher and louis is the funny music/drama teacher at a high school. they’re all the students’ favorite teachers. they’re secretly dating and trying and failing to keep it lowkey

(anon i feel like you know i've been watching abbot elementary and you know i love a good teacher au.)

"Mr. Tomlinson." Harry nods his head as they pass in the hall, each of his hands holding a mug of what smells like fresh coffee.

"Mr. Styles." Louis nods back, pausing at the door of his classroom. He needs to get in there and start his class - Drama II. His Sophomores are performing their monologues today, but he doesn't think they're in any rush to get started and Louis likes to linger just a little. Harry has his glasses on - big, tortoise shell ones that take up half his face and make him look like he regularly shops in a grandpa's closet.

"Did you see that they finally fixed the Keurig in the teachers' lounge?" Harry asks, has to step closer because a group of four boys goes running past him.

"No running in the halls!" Louis and Harry chorus together, their voices lost in the chatter of the passing classes.

"No, I didn't know." Louis gives an impressed frown. "About time. It only broke in September and now it's nearly Christmas break."

"Well, you know how the district is. Priorities and such." Harry holds out his left hand, offering the mug. On the side of it is painted what looks to be a grassy hill with five rocks seeming to be rolling down it. Each one has a pretty impressive looking mullet on it too.

"Sugar cookie latte for the almost birthday boy." Harry grins wide, looks almost too charming when Louis takes it a sip, letting out a soft moan. "In your Rolling Stones mug."

"You know very well that you bought me this cup." Louis murmurs, but he takes another sip because for being coffee from a pod, it's pretty damn good. "Thank you, baby."

"Louis!" Harry hisses, reaches his now free hand to lightly smack Louis' shoulder.

"Oh, sorry." Louis says it but he doesn't really mean it, self indulgently loving the way Harry's cheeks have gone a little pink. "Thank you, Mr. Styles. That's very nice of you. Very kind to your fellow coworker."

"So convincing," Harry rolls his eyes, hiding his fond grin behind his own mug. On it is a picture of a frog with the words "Okey Croakey" above it.

"Can't blame me." Louis pouts a little, his body still leaning out of his classroom door. "You are my baby."

"Hush." Harry, in an act of surprising lack of self control, reaches out and gently touches the cashmere of Louis' sweater. "What are you doing for your free period?"

"I want to say you." Louis grins all cheeky, loves the way Harry's eyes widen behind those huge frames. "But probably something boring like finishing up lesson plans for next week."

"Hmm, well." Harry's fingers dance over Louis' forearm, lowering his voice so the last straggling students won't hear. "If you find time to do those lesson plans this weekend, maybe I'll let you convince me to do option one."

"Haz-" Louis gasps, absolutely scandalized and wide mouthed.

"You know, that closet in my room really needs to be organized. Maybe you can help me out." Harry pulls back with a smirk, already beginning to walk down the hall when he calls over his shoulder. "Have a good class, Mr. Tomlinson."

[akashxbedi]

Akash let out a quiet laugh at the babysitter line, the image clearly amusing him. “Welcome to our glamorous reality,” he joked. “I’ll see if Cat’s babysitter is free for whenever we plan this double date—so we might just be able to sneak away without the guilt trip.” His grin softened. “But yeah, a normal dinner sounds like a damn luxury these days. Let’s make it happen.”

As Thomas spoke more seriously, Akash’s expression shifted with it, the warmth still there but now layered with quiet focus. He didn’t interrupt—just listened, absorbing the details, the tone, the weight behind the words. By the time Thomas admitted the truth about Lucian, Akash had set his tea down untouched. “I figured something like that might be coming,” he said, voice low but steady. “I’ve seen this kind of play before. The will says one thing, but it doesn’t matter to guys like Lucian. What matters is perception—what he can spin, what he can sow doubt around. And the longer he keeps people talking, the more room he has to maneuver.” He leaned forward slightly. “And you’re right—your lawyers are probably doing exactly what they’re supposed to. But that’s not always enough in this town. What you need is someone who understands that this isn’t just legal. It’s tactical. It’s narrative control. We don’t just counter the claim—we tell the story better. Make the truth louder.”

There was no bravado in his voice, just quiet confidence. “I’ve got time this week to go over what’s already in motion, if you want. Doesn’t have to be official, just a second set of eyes. I’ve seen bloodlines get nasty, but I’ve also seen how fast things shift when you take the right shot at the right time.” Then, with a gentler look, Akash added, “And for what it’s worth? You’re not scrambling. You’re thinking ahead. That’s the difference between surviving this and letting it eat you alive.” He sat back, but didn’t move to leave. “Besides,” he added, almost smiling again, “I’m not in a rush tonight. It’s been a while since I had a conversation that didn’t involve depositions or damage control. Talking shop with someone who actually gets it—reminds me why I do what I do.” He gave Thomas a respectful nod. “You’ve built something real at the Spades. If Lucian’s coming for it, he better be ready for a proper fight.”

"A babysitter, Christ," Thomas laughs, shaking his head. "Yeah, double date sounds perfect actually. Vera would love Cat, and honestly it'd be nice to have a normal dinner where nobody's plotting anything." He takes a sip of his tea, feeling lighter already. "Celebratory dinner's definitely happening. Just gotta not mess up the proposal first. You're absolutely right about the poison thing," he says, pushing his plate aside. The food's gone cold anyway while they've been talking. "Lucian treats everything like some bloody chess match where everyone else is expendable. Meanwhile I'm just trying to run my casino without drama." Thomas has been so caught up in family politics lately that he'd forgotten what normal friendships actually feel like. "I appreciate that, mate. Really. Having someone who gets the city but isn't tangled up in all the Kang family rubbish feels like a lifeline right now."

He contemplates the extent to which he should disclose Lucian's recent actions. Akash deserves honesty though. "He's trying to say that I am taking his share of the Grand Royale. I'm not. Dad left it to me." The frustration creeps into his voice because Lucian's being clever about it. "My family lawyers are solid but they're cautious. Sometimes you need someone willing to think outside the box." He meets Akash's eyes directly. "I might actually take you up on that offer. It's gotten worse since the funeral, and I'd rather have options ready than get caught scrambling when he makes his next move."

[vizziefizzie]

XZero Week 2025

Day 6 ~ Desire

(Awakened Zero's desire was to tear X apart... but X's was to save his partner's soul...)

[paperbag1999]

i’m someone who sees things in like constant shades of grey and i quite often try to see the light side of things and i think i’m constantly reminded of all the great stuff i have in my life. also i am full of gratitude all the time and also every time something bad happens to me i’m like yknow what this makes sense🫶 all these bad things suck but they lead to so many amazing things i’m hyper aware of the butterfly effect. so uhm i’m a pretty resilient person if i do say so myself. so today when i came to the realization of OH. i’m having a BAD YEAR!

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Oh my god. You know it’s getting bad when you start doing things you don’t even want to do to procrastinate on something you really do want to do.

It would be one thing if it were something like a hobby; but the thing I want to do is also extremely necessary to my life.

[fdrsamericanflagduckfloaty]

SCREAMING INTO MY HAND HITTING THE TABLE CRYING STIMMING REELING C R I N K L I N G MICROWAVING COMBUSTING DEMATERIALIZING

[tonycries]

Hey, Venom Boy! - C.K.

Synopsis. Venom’s had enough of his host’s racing heartbeat and tíghtening pants around you. So he does what any good symbiote would do - help Choso lose his vírginíty, of course!

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, Venom!Choso, best-friends-to-Iovers, PlNING, héats, he has tattoos and piercings, Venom in bold, first times (for Choso), PÚSSYDRÚNK CHOSO, oraI (fem. rec), spítting, ínappropríate use of the symbiote, LONG tongues, ríding, dúmbifícation, making it fit, size kínk, tummy buIges, creampíes, cúmplay, MARATHONS, matíng presses, overstím, squírting, cúmming dry, proposals, biting marks, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. Inspired by this ask and this post by the lovely @/screampied.

“You like her.”

“Shut up.”

“You want to fu-”

“Shut up.”

“Heh- loser.”

And Choso was genuinely contemplating smashing his head against the nearest wall, if only it would yank out that damn parasite- “Oi, I can hear you.” -he had the misfortune of picking up.

Weeks - though, it felt like years - weeks since he’d wandered into his usual hiding spot at the abandoned Lady of Saint’s Church for a moment of peace and quiet; except, he wasn’t alone that day. Too busy poring over yet another sketch of your dazzling smile to notice-

“Your pulse rate spiked- you’re thinking of her, boy. You want her.”

But it’d been weeks since he’d had peace and quiet after this…alien symbiote had forcibly attached itself to his body that day. 

And the worst part was that he wasn’t even wrong. 

“S-so what?” Choso hisses out. “She deserves better than me anyway.” Wincing at the sheer predatory amusement in Venom’s voice as he purrs— 

“I have a plan…”

.

.

.

Your best friend was acting strange.

Given, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for his fawn eyes to linger on you just a little more than what’s considered appropriate for a “friend”, or for him to burn with the prettiest blush whenever you caught him. 

But these days it was almost like he was avoiding you on purpose. 

Taking the longer routes after lectures, being struck pale as a ghost mid-conversation, always muttering away underneath his breath. 

Hell, one day you even had half the mind to jokingly ask him whether he was talking to someone you couldn’t see - to which Choso had sputtered and all but sprinted away from you. 

And here he was right now - towering right at your apartment doorway in just a snug undershirt and the sexiest grey sweatpants.

“Ch-Choso?” Your jaw drops slightly at his disheveled, heaving state. 

Milky skin simmered with a sheen of sweat that made his dark tank top glue to his broad chest, chestnut strands of his bangs falling out of his bun to hide his eyes from you, almost…feverish.

Frantic gaze bouncing off the beefy arm he’d kept leaned over your doorframe for support, “What happened- are you sick? Are you drunk?” A quick glance at the clock showed that it was well past 12AM, “Are you okay, Cho-”

And then he flinches.

Fuck- he flinches as if the sound of that very nickname falling from your cute lips made his entire body shudder with a thousand bolts of lightning. 

Baritone voice hot and murky once he utters, “Baby…”

Oh. 

You could feel the goosebumps starting to slither down your spine already, and you tug nervously at the paper-thin pyjama shirt you had on. Too-aware of the fact that it was the only thing you were wearing other than your thin panties- damn.

Noticing the way that every minute movement of yours seemed to make Choso’s pants grow heavier; you dare to take a step closer, and it only makes him grip onto the mahogany doorway until it splinters. 

Teeth grit. Nostrils flaring. Barely holding himself together.

Gasping, “Cho?”

“I need you.”

“Wha-” And it’s the last thing escaping your mouth before Choso surges forward like he’s being jerked, movements twitchy - desperate - he falls a few steps forward until he’s in your heated proximity. 

Your saccharine scent so sweet that he’d be on his damn knees if you hadn’t clawed a hand on one of his flexing biceps- a gruff whimper departing from Choso’s plush, pink lips. “K-kiss me.” 

Oh, fuck.

You watch with a carnal sort of desire at the way that he scorches with a breezing blush all the way from the tips of his ears, down to his collarbones. Fisting your dominant hand in the flimsy cotton of your best friend’s undershirt, just the tiniest, weakest tug makes him gulp.

Now that he started, he couldn’t stop.

“Kiss me- kiss me, p-please.” He’s finally darting his hazy peripheries up from the floor to look at you, you, and only you. Dragging in a deeeep breath of your air, his half-lidded pupils were begging- “Kiss me, baby.”

You’re humming, the curved edges of your fingertips curling ‘round Choso’s nape and pulling him in. 

He’s melting.

He’s melting and melting into the kiss - as if he’d been dreaming of this for just as long as you have. Even longer. 

Strong, sturdy hands wrapping around your waist to tug you against his hardened front, you gasp at the sweltering hot temperature he was radiating. Already feeling beads of perspiration starting to form across your forehead-

He’s sucking in a sharp breath, “Need to- need to tell you something.” 

Words huffin’ out through glides of his berry-pink lips across yours, each one wrenching out like it pained him to part from your candied mouth with each sloppy mwah! Blindly, he slams the door shut with the heeled back of his foot. “There’s- a- a thing-”

You’re grinning once his voice breaks - breaks, as soon as you’re sipping on the cold spherical piercing homed at the edge of his tongue like your favorite gummy candy. “A…thing?”

Through a slightly-cracked eyelid, your gaze sinks down between Choso’s thick, meaty thighs. Instantly feeling a wave of sap flood your mouth at the massive cylindrical bulge that tightened his sweatpants uncomfortably.

He was just too cute. 

“A ‘thing’, hm?” You’re breaking off to smirk, twisting a silky lock of his hair around your index in a way that makes the looming man in front of you shiver. Chasing and chasing your lips- he was so weak for you. 

Giving in, you’re just about getting ready to kiss your best friend silly once more - but what meets your ravenous mouth isn’t his soft, plump lips anymore. 

No, it doesn’t even feel human. 

What instead greets you is something frigid and slimy. Something that crushes you to him with a strength tenfold of what Choso had been using - almost animalistic - until you’re lurching back and gaping at the fact that your feet were now dangling almost two whole feet off of the ground.

Snapping your head to his face and- 

What…the…f-

“Don’t scream!” In a startling split-second, that black mass of goop masking Choso’s face slithers away in tiny tendrils to reveal, well, Choso. 

And honestly, you’re not sure if that wants to make you scream even more or just shuts you up completely. But whilst you ogle whatever it is in front of you, Choso keeps plowing on. 

“This- ah, this is what I meant by a…thing.” He’s stammering out nervously, dark brows crinkling with nervousness as he watches on for your reaction. “Basically- a few weeks ago- my body got infected by this alien thing- a ‘symbiote’, it said, and I-”

“Improved.”

You’re feeling that temptation to exhaust your lungs with yells once more as Choso’s swallowed up within that dark matter. 

Muscular and big. 

Except this time it was formulating a mouth - all wide and decorated in tiny, jagged canines - and slanted white eyes with not a pupil in sight. A dexterous tongue gliiiides down the crevice of its sharp mouth, glittered with strands of slobber. “We are Venom, pretty girl. And you smell…”

Venom’s voice was deep. Coarse. A rumbling bass that made the very bottom of your stomach quiver- you’re distracted only by the growling sniff he lets out. Monstrous ivory eyes locked right between your heated core-

“-delicious.”

Oh…he was reaching well near eight feet and twitching from the inside out once Choso fights to regain control. 

“A-as you can see-” Smiling sheepishly down at you - you blink, and your best friend was suddenly back. Eyes hooded, mouth snarling, looking ruined. What the fuck. “-he really seems to like your scent and it’s driving me-”

“Stop talking, boy, and mate the girl.”

“Shut up.” 

You blink almost owlishly in disbelief, and in something…else, as you feel your thighs clench together. A slight motion that Venom surely doesn’t miss, if the way that Choso’s lungs heave with more gulps of your sweet, sweet leaking pheromones was anything to go by.

And then, you’re finally piping up– “Let…let me see that tongue of Venom’s again?”

.

.

.

“A-are you sure? W-we’re best friends, and I’ve never…”

You’d be rolling your eyes at the repeated question if it wasn’t for the fact that Choso Kamo just looked so pretty when he was knelt obediently at the very foot of your bed. 

A thin sliver of sweat sliding down his temple, breaths coming out in heated gusts, slender hands balling into a fist and shivering once you smear your legs open just a fraction more. Twitching, white-knuckled like he was forcing himself to not just ruin you right then and there. 

“Mhm.” You’re nodding, and the very action is enough for him to snap his eyes down where your cotton panties were starting to dampen and swallow. “Please, handsome- don’t be coy.”

It was almost too good to be true. 

But, fuck, Choso wasn’t waiting around ‘till he wakes up from this dream.

With so much pent-up eagerness that he felt his lips twist into a sleazy grin- Choso’s crawling himself the few inches it was to stuff himself nose-deep between your pretty legs. 

“O-oh.”

First it was the tiniest tug on your restless hips, then it was a sniff- and then it was a bite of his honed, glossy pearly whites over the lacy lil’ bow homed on the hem of your underwear. A throaty groan snarling through his teeth– “Oh, baby…”

That did it-

Quick as a flash, he’s snagging his teeth on the flimsy fabric of your panties and all but tearing it off of you. Rip-rip-ripping to simply push its tatters to the side, Choso doesn’t even fully take it off before he was simply drooooling. 

Gulping and gulping the scent of your leaking hole. 

“Sweet.” He gasps out, words taking on a dark edge. And you swear the chocolate color of his irises looked as if they were almost glowing, “So sweet.”

“Hurry, the symbiote hungers.”

Sharp jaw ticking as he ignores Venom’s request, the fattened pad of his thumb spanks down on your swollen pussylips and spreads you all wide open. Cock twitching at the deafening wet squelch! that chimes once he gathers copious wads of saliva and spits. 

All over your lustrous cunt, slicking out a mess so great that it was already starting to form a puddle underneath your silken sheets. 

“And mine.”

“Tch.”

And Choso wasn’t just greedy - he was outright gluttonous. 

“You…you taste this sweet, baby?”

“Oh- ohhhh fuck–!” You’re shrilling out a syrupy moan once his chilly tongue piercing flicks at the tippy-top hood of your clit like a lollipop. Taking extra care to press down hard so that it has you thrashing-

“There? S’that good?” He’s roaming his mouth over your puffed-up lips eagerly, yearning. Not knowing what he was doing, just addicted. “You’re so wet, baby- s’this for me- r-really, really f’me?”

He just couldn’t believe it- and the only answer he’s getting is a few soft gasps of oh! and yes! Spit n’ whines overflowing your tongue with every slap of his textured tastebuds. You couldn’t help but nod your head down and admire just how drunken Choso was as he’s suckin’ away on your perky clit. 

The hollows of his cheeks sucked-in and flushed red, spit-glossed mouth wrapped snugly ‘round your sensitive nub. 

You’re whimpering, head thrown back at the grunts he muffles out between your legs. 

“M-more, Cho–” You mewl out in a tone that makes his tensed hips rut forward like an animal, immediately grinding against the firm base of your bedframe. Fuck. Snaking a hand down to intertwine with his mussed-up bangs, and tugging them free of his bun- “Wan’ more.”

“More.”

“Hear that? I wanna taste.”

His tongue’s so thirsty - throat so parched - that it lets out the most sinful sluuuuurp at the very first slobbery drag from the dewy base of your quivering pussy, openin’ up your plump folds so widely agape to lather down on the very top of your clit. 

Nodding and nodding and nodding- grinding up to tease the mushy tip of his tongue past your slippery folds just the tiniest bit. “More- please.”

And it’s not like Choso didn’t hear you - fuck, it’s that you’d broken him.

Because it happens in a singular nanosecond, it happens so fast you’re seeing cartoonish stars in your vision when he’s hauling you halfway across the bed like some glorified ragdoll. 

Thighs thrown over his shoulder, trembly hands guided through his sweaty scalp, mouth wolfish- 

“Keh. No wonder you’re a virgin, boy.”

“Sh-shut up.” He’s answering out loud, sending the most electric buzzes down your spine as he nips on the fleshy slope of your pussylips. His own ears pop! as the pointed curve of his chin hits your treacly cunt with a smack of skin-on-skin, so deep. Nose-deep till those lined tattoos on his face. 

Ready to suffocate if he has to.

“Oi- give me a taste, and I’ll give her…more.”

Upper lip glueing to your pussy, Choso’s making you scream every time the sharp ends of his fangs snag on your clit. “Shut up shut up shut up-‘

“Ch-Cho?” Fuck, it takes you every ounce of strength in your body to lift your head up from your creaky bedsprings. Glassily eyeing the way that his grip on your hips turns bruising with semi-circular claw-marks of his, “Everything hah! alright?”

And shit- he breaks off slightly from your dripping wet pussy once- twice. Thrice, each n’ every time letting off a pained grunt that forces him back to stuff himself at his favorite spot between your legs.

He couldn’t even break off to speak. To breathe.

Still murmuring his response at the outer edges of your saturated core, with so many numerous strings of slick dangling from his rovering, swollen lips. Gingerly, “It’s V-Venom, he…wants a taste too.”

“Oh.”

And shit- Choso didn’t need Venom’s superhuman abilities to notice the instant that you’re growing so much wetter. A silky torrent of sap gushing out of you to lacquer your inner thighs like a fountain, already making him lurch- and suck and suck up every pearly droplet.

“I…” You’re starting off, lip chewed underneath your teeth in a way that almost makes him jealous. The memory of his extravagant tongue still fresh in your mind, “-wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh? Well…”

“-about time.”

As Choso lets Venom take over, you can’t help but gasp.

Oh, you were never getting used to this. 

He was about two feet taller, hulking, monstrous. And the only thing more lecherous than that toothy grin he wore was his tongue - sliiiiding out all its endless inches and swaying teasingly to n’ fro in midair. Big. 

So, so big. 

“Eyes…” He’s looming over until scalding hot breath humidifies your features, tonality so gruff that it rumbles your very bones. Oh, he already knows of his effect on you - can flick his tastebuds out and taste it in the saccharine air. “Lungs…pancreas…”

The curly, reddened end of it stingingly slapping down on your thigh, Venom’s tongue is oh-so-long enough that he can lace it all over your shivering leg and wrench them further and further open–

“Pussy.”

And then it feels like you’re being split apart- just a few solid, thorough inches of Venom’s slimy tongue burrowing past your puffy folds, keeping your jolting legs pinned firmly by a few of his Stygian spirals. 

One taste. One taste is all it takes. 

You’re being rendered utterly stupid by the swashing flicks of his pointed muscle stirrin’ up your insides, wriggling in circular slurps around and around and around your gummy walls. Scarfing you down until his tongue reaches the very gooey bottom of your cunt and kisses your cervix. 

So hard that you’re pushed up the mattress and he’s forced to wrap a few tendrils that reel you back down again. 

“Heh, finish line.”

“What- oh…oh my god-” Tears drip down in constant rivers from your heavy lids, wailing whimpers breaking off from your larynx at every smack-smack-smack he left on that spongy end. Further pushing aside your panties, retracting aaaaaalll the way back to thruuuust- “Y-your tongue is sooo big.”

“So many snacks. How good.” He’s tittering out with a thundering pant, spiked ends of his canines littering your skin with gnawing bites. “How delicious. How…”

He’s sloshing his tongue almost aggressively inside, whacking your g-spot in-between his barreling journey to fuck you with his tongue just as much as he wanted to with his cock. 

Lolling sloppily, thrusting, dragging the ridges of his tastebuds across your g-spot. 

And it takes you a few more vulgar strokes, it takes you the sound of that familiarly melodic voice for you to flap your tear-heavy lashes open and finally look once more between your legs. “-mine.”

It’s almost as if both Choso and Venom couldn’t decide on who wanted to make out with your soft, candied pussy more. 

Because it was your best friend’s pretty upper half of his face peeking out from between your splattered legs, but Venom’s mouth that was pumpin’ addictively past your rubbery entrance. Over and over. 

“N-ngh pleeease!” Comes out your repeated record of whines, every mushy gyration so good that you can’t help but rock into every second of his frenzied cadence. Creeping down one of your hands to smear your pussylips wider with a soppy slurp so that he could go even deeper, “I-it’s so good- don’t stop don’t stop.”

And the look in Choso’s dark eyes is the most raw glint of disbelief that you’ve ever seen.

Unsteady thighs clenching as he hits his v-line against the wooden board of your bed and grinds, unwilling to angrily fist his raging cock the way he ached n’ leaked to, unwilling to take his hands off of you for a mere second.

“N-no no, move that hand, baby. Lemme see her- Please.” You’ve never seen your cute best friend dare to be so rude- urgently swatting away those few fingers of yours to replace with his own knobbly, greedy ones. 

Pressin’ on your weeping, swollen clit with the flat end of his digit - you’re coating his chipped black nail polish with so many layers of goopy slick that it trickles down to his wrist. 

And oh, you’d almost forgotten just got many frigid metal rings that Choso wore on his hot fingers. Sappily nuzzling the inside of your left thigh the very moment he’s slipping his middle past your widely messy hole and curling–

 “How could I? How c-could I stop?” He’s muttering away - octaves higher than you’re used to, hitting and hitting your bruised and battered g-spot at the very same tempo that Venom was, too.

Double whack after whack that made your spine arch curvaceously off of the dampened mattress, icy edges of his rings scraping your walls. Choso just salivates at the heavenly sight of you below him, “How could you even- think- I’m-”

“-addicted.”

And Venom chooses just this precise moment to make your stupidly muddled mind remember his presence until you can’t think at all. 

Prolonging his plumply constricted tongue - using his symbiotic powers and extending it even more feet stuffed inside your tightly cozy walls, slashing the very tip to become split-ended. 

“Pretty. Pretty pussy.” He’s groaning out carnally, and your throat rips with a scream once he’s starting up a thrusting pace that flicks at your weeping cunt with those two slithering ends of his monstrous tongue. “Don’t know who’s prettier- you or…”

You’re shivering then - shivering at the windy gust of air inhaled once Venom tugs you even closer by his black coils and sniffs. Breath hot, his French kiss on your pussy hotter. “-her.”

“Fuck- fuck, you’re making such a mess, Choso.”

“Mhmmmm—”

Shifting between both his tongue and Venom’s - every transformation had you dizzy. Alternating between Venom’s hard, almost violent thrusts with his split-end tongue to Choso’s sensual tickling of his piercing into your most favorite spots. 

Glittery slick and spittle dripping down like a glazing polish, Choso’s swallowing down every sweet gumdrop like he’s a man starved. 

Like a damn dog in heat, every pant of the honeyed pheromones between your legs was driving him fucking mad. Making his hips thrust-

“Sh-she’s drooling almost as much as ngh- me, baby.” He’s fighting back that damn parasite for more more more of you- for every squelch! once he’s mazing his second, third lengthy finger inside. 

Searching for your g-spot like treasure trove - hitting and hitting, you’re so pretty and gone that Choso’s chuckling. “Ride it.” Pap-pap-pap goes his hits to your delicate, most tender spots, faster. “Ride it- yeah, ride m’f-face like it’s yours, baby- ride it.”

“S-shoooo much–” And you don’t know whether it’s the torrents of slicked saliva falling from your mouth or the sheer overstimulation that has you jumbling up your syllables - but it’s enough to make both Choso and Venom grin. “It’s so ngh- haaaa–”

“She’s close.”

“Fuh-fuck.” He’s spitting into your drooling lips, right above your pulsating nub. Ringed digits so thick that it makes your knees shake and weaken. Sloppy. “Faster. Harder. Use me, baby-”

Again and again and again.

Your brain’s fuzzily stupid by the time you finally recognize that familiar twist at the bottom of your tummy, too. Blubbering out an unsteady, “P-please! M’not gonna- ngh! last, Cho.”

“I know- I know I know I know– make a mess.” He’s spitting out once more, letting a wad of saliva stream straightly down your slit and liiicking it all up before Venom overtakes him to keep on probin’ your entrance fully. Swirling every speckled tastebud until it was like the symbiote was trying to brand you–

And with a gluttonous swipe at the fresh beads of slick homed on top of your nub, Choso wastes no time before pinching your clit- 

“Cum. Cum on my tongue, baby. Mine.”

-and making your field of vision simply shatter with tears once you’re crashing into that built-up high. 

“Shit- shiiiiit. I-it feels so good, Cho- I’m- nghhh I’m…” It was an orgasm like no other- fuck, any of your toys were paling in comparison to Choso and his…parasite. 

Fully himself now, you gawk with your mouth unlatched into a sagging oh! at the primal way that Choso’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs with each eager swallow. Thin lines of sappy slick falling from the pink, puckered corners of his lips and waterfalling all down the side of his damn throat. 

“Th-tha’s it-” His sopping wet tongue drags uuuup n’ down your open folds to trawl you through your euphoria, every lolling flick of the curled end jostling against your thoroughly-stuffed folds.

Pumping, pounding your glutinous walls until they’re sticking to his barreling digits like adhesive, the metallic band curving his fingers smooches your g-spot softly. Dimly-lit molten eyes widening at the sheer ribbons of sap you’re letting off with every white-hot bolt of pleasure.

“This- this is all f’me–?” He’s crooning out, dazed. Letting his jaw fall open with every quiver you’re instinctively clenching with your cunt, “All for me- me. More- more, baby.”

“For me, you mean.”

Choso- Venom- Choso just keeps on alternating their slobbering drags of your hips until you’re completely wrung dry. Even the tiniest spank of their rugged tastebuds making you squeal with overstimulation, tears pinpricking behind your eyes. 

“Aw, c-c’mon–” Your best friend slurs out in a tingling, pussydrunken tone - so gone that his perspired head falls n’ cuddles your thigh. Begging, “M-more…?”

“But Cho…m’sensitive.”

And he’s perking his head up like the thought didn’t even occur to him - only then do you get a final, filthy look at your best friend after so long. 

Grinning, he sucks on each of his polished, soppy fingers. Each and every one - looking right into your dilated pupils, “That was my first time.”

Fuck.

He was pretty. 

Granted, you always did know that, but right now - with Choso’s dark strands of hair hooding his half-opened gaze, what little you could see of his eyes gleaming, cheekbones burning scorched red - he was dreamy.

He’s wearing your saccharine wads of slick like a medal of honor. 

Thickly coating everywhere from the tattoo on his nose, to the lower half of his face, to bubble all down his jaw. A slippery wire of it spills from the corner of his mouth as it starts moving, an almost airy tone seeping into his voice. “I-I’m never wiping this off- hey!”

Before he knows it, Venom’s tendrils dart out to filthily lick off the remnant excess his host cherished so much.

Grinning, “Delicious.”

Fighting back his damn alien acquaintance, you stifle a giggle as Choso’s rosy lips jut out into a pout. Lifting his knee onto the bed- well, grindin’ it right between your legs so that he’s putting pressure on your throbbing slope. 

Fleshy thumb and index squeezing your cheeks together, “Spit in my mouth.”

“Wh-what?”

“Spit-” His sweaty forehead sticks against yours, humid breath clouding up your senses. And you could count every long lash, every smudge of his dark eyeliner. Hiccuping, “-in my mouth.”

And the moment you do- fuck, the moment you’re pursing your spit-glued lips to let out a saccharine web of saliva that slops right down his pinkish tongue with a splat! So loud and filthy and sinful that Choso only as the time to breath out a shallow ‘fuck!’ before he’s cumming.

Burning hot and feverish. Right then and there to create a dripping damp spot in his trousers- “Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit- you’re t-too-”

“Great going, virgin.”

“Shut up-” Choso grits through clenched teeth, desperately trying to heave his breaths back into some semblance of normalcy. Failing, once you immediately reach over and tug his sweatpants down-

He was cumming and cumming so much that you’re met with a white, streaming wet mess that gleams down both of Choso’s meaty thighs. They’re shivering with each ribbony string of seed that oozes down his long limbs, “O-oh, so pretty, Cho.”

“Oho? She’s an interesting one.”

“I-I know…”

And you’re not just talking about his orgasm.

Because when you’d imagined - on those long, lonely nights - that your best friend would be big…you didn’t expect that he’d be big. 

Damn near ten- no, maybe even eleven inches of fat, hot girth that swelled his mushroomy tip to be as cutely pink as a strawberry and just as thick. 

Your mouth waters as you follow the winding lightning patterns of his puffy veins, oh-so-prominently bloated that you swear you could count every throb-throb-throb. 

And what- what was that?

No, you weren’t imagining it. Choso Kamo had a tiny studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the tip-top of his bulging cockhead. Cold and sparkling underneath the dim bedroom lighting. 

Mindlessly, you’re darting over to swipe one of your thumbs across a creamy bead of cum that’d started drenching his dark happy trail.

“O-oh.” Choso grunts at the look on your gorgeous face once he’s letting his chubby balls twitch n’ soak your skin with yet another splurging streak of seed. Again. Just from you touching him. “No one’s ever touched me like this- fuck!”

And you just had to find out whether he tasted as sweet as he looked.

Planting your mouth over his juice-capped head with a wet plop! you hum with utter delight at the caramel salted taste of him. Aching and pulsing underneath his piercing with just the tiniest kitten lick to his leaking orifice. 

“Do it, boy.”

“Wh-what?”

“Do it. I’m inside your mind, do it.”

And Choso really wouldn’t have considered being that rude - really. 

He really, really wanted to take his time slow n’ sultry with the one person who’s been the girl of his dreams from the moment he met you.

But fuck- Venom was jerking his body so that with the slightest rock, he’s rutting like a fucking animal deep inside the hot cavern of your mouth. Staining a milky white lipgloss around your plumpened lips, pushing his seed inside—

Venom wanted to see you choke.

“M-mmpf—!” And you can’t lie about the way the sheer force and heady musk of Choso’s v-line made your thighs squeeze.

“That’s it- cry. Cry on my cock- atta girl.”

“Fuck! I’m sorry-” He’s panicking from above as your pretty nose detaches from the curly black tuft of hair at his toned pelvis. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, baby. Are you-”

Only…for all his concerned apologies to shrivel up on Choso’s tongue when he catches the way you’re smiling. 

Cockdrunk and stinging at the back of your throat with the way that Venom had actually elongated Choso’s already-massive cock just a few more centimeters by accident. Oh, fuck…

The hazed look that’d crept into your eyes as you look up makes the towering man shiver. Striking him to his very cock, “C’mon- fuck me, Cho.”

“C’mon. Don’t wanna disappoint the pretty girl.”

Choso doesn’t even remember getting rid of his undershirt, his sweatpants, everything but his silver rings and necklace - but what he does remember is the way your eyes had widened just the slightest fraction as you took in all of him.

Shit, was he sculpted by the Greek gods or what?

You could count every one of his eight, toned washboard abs - making the broad width of his pecs look so thick. So engulfing as they tense n’ ripple once your best friend slouches sexily on top of you to pull off your cotton t-shirt.

“Oh.” He’s gasping- you’re not wearing a bra. Completely naked underneath him except for the lecherous remnants of your torn panties still hanging on. 

Ones that he keeps on - even when you try to shuffle them down with a whine - once he’s flipping the two of you over to let you straddle his slenderly sculptured hips. 

“Keh- this position.”

“Shut up and watch.”

Blushing and pretty.

Choso’s teary lashes knock against the apples of his cheeks as he blinks furiously up at you, throat scratchily raw. Gulping more of your scent, “R-ride me, baby.”

“Cho–” You’re sliding the mounds of your ass gingerly against his aching hot length, shudders skittering down your spine at the sheer size of him pressing up into you. “Y-you’re so big, though- don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“I’ll make it fit-”

“A-am I actually that big?” He’s whispering, in awe. Watching with damply bated breath as he’s spanking his cock against your right ass cheek with a wet smack! smack! smack!

Pointing that curved, bulbous tip right between your pussylips and sliiiiiding it up n’ down so that you’re coating him in all your sweet juices, Choso’s guiding his girth until your hole was quivering for something - anything. 

Him him him. 

Panting at the first squeeze of his reddened, blushing tip- “Oh, you feel like th-this?” His pitched voice wavers almost as much as his heavy eyelids, falling apart with just that first taste of your perfect cunt. “Fuh-fuuuuuck fuck fuck fuck! Baby- you feel like this?”

This was heaven.

And he’s spurting out a few stray wads of cum just from feeling your velvety walls, letting it thwack! against your goopy innards n’ stick to your trembling folds. 

“You got it- you got it.” Choso’s voicebox cracks with a lil’ whimper at that snug resistance, “You can take it- you can take it. I’ll make it fit.”

“Oh- oh my god- Choso- Cho–!”

“S’it too biiig for my girl, hmm?” Croaking out in unison with the aged bedcoils of your mattress, each and every time Choso jerks his hips off the bed and pushes. Just to fit in. “Baby-” Choso gasps as you throw your head back with a mewl at the sheer size of him.

His painfully-aching cock was so big that just the stoutest inch being bullied inside was enough to make your vision blotch with white. Rounded circumference stretching n’ stretching your slick-flooded walls stupid- “I’m sorry, baby- sorry s’big. But you’re my girl- my girl can take it- you can…you can take it.”

It’s inch by overlarge inch.

Choso’s scraping his way down your walls so sensually that you could feel your fuzzy brain sparking every time one of his prominent veins was draaaagging a zig-zagging pattern along.

Curled toes twitching with each passing second, “S-s’it almost all the way in, baby–?”

“Mhm—” And you’re just letting out the cutest cry once he finally eases himself all the way in, practically impaling you. Head throwing back, tits bouncing, cunt overspilling. 

“Hmmm…maybe this position isn’t so bad.”

Choso didn’t disagree, but it took every single shred of rationality left inside of him to push back Venom’s rasping voice and wrench out a desperate thrust. Allll the way from the globular ends of his ruby-red tip till your sensitive pussy tickled against his soaked-through happy trail.

Tenderly caressing your palm down his hardened front, “I-it’s in–?” Your hitched tone makes his eyes roll back, and yet- and yet, he’s fighting to bring them back down n’ watch your gaped bounces back into his sloppy pace. “It’s in. O-oh my god, c-can feel you all the way in hck! here.”

He’s just so big.

And you’re swearing that Choso only fattens himself even bigger, fatter, wider once you slide your hand about halfway up your tummy. Feeling for that one spot he was bruisin’ right into your spongy cervix.

Biting his lip not to cum again, “Yeah-” You’re jostled ever-so-slightly on top of him as he’s sucking in a deeeep breath, “Yeah yeah yeah- you got it. Y-you better take all of it hngh! Take every. Single. Inch.”

Every vein, every sliding ridge, every throb that was bucked into your readily-awaiting entrance- Choso wasn’t just mazing open your cunt- 

He was spearheading you with such thorough thrusts that made your back curve backwards just so.

“Tch- I’d fuck her even better.”

“No you w-wouldn’t.”

Lazily weaving tendrils start tickling your outer pussy, threatening to slip n’ slide their greedy way past your lips. “Is that a challenge? Summon Venom, if you dare.”

“What’s he saying, Cho?” You coo, tear-shimmered lashes blinking adorably down at his internal argument. And as if he could ever say no to you - hell, the response is dripping from his tongue before he even realizes it.

Grouching out, though he couldn’t deny the way his own cock was jolting at the very idea- “H-he wants a try, too…says he’ll be even better.”

A cockdrunk smile plasters itself onto your face- “Prove it.”

And you were right in your prediction - Venom didn’t just make Choso meaner, it made him bigger. 

So big, in fact, that the bawling tip gently kissin’ your g-spot was instantaneously skidding past to give your cervix a longer, harsher probe. 

So hard that you’re sure there’s now a permanent crater of his exact meaty circumference. And you’re being filled with the distinct feeling that Venom could’ve gone bigger - he just didn’t want to break you…yet. 

Draping across his oversized pectorals, you’re nothing against his over eight foot height. “Y-you…”

Those slimy raven molasses covering his half-fucked face once more to form a rude Cheshire-cat smile. “Me.” Planting an Earth-shattering, mind-numbing ram you’re feeling all the way in your lungs, his pulsing length is so widely thick that Venom has to bite down on his lips and manhandle you for his thrusts to move to and fro. “I am inside your pussy, greedy girl. Me.”

Flicking his dexterous shaft to brush your tingling g-spot, he’s using his powers so much that you could almost feel yourself bonding with the symbiote, with Choso.

“I know every inch, nerve, and spot inside of you. I can make you scream-” Coiling mass contracting to barrel your elastic walls even wider, you’re rightfully crying out at the way he molds himself deliciously into your very walls. 

“Nghhh- fuck! Fuck, y-you’re in sooo deep-”

Stealing your sweetened scent, making him heated. “Hmmm, kiss me.”

But that didn’t mean that your best friend- your…Choso was going down that easy.

In a few more brushstrokes of his ravaging cock against your softest spot - before you can kiss him - Choso’s blinking back the cobwebs of his symbiote so that his face spies out. Only the lower half of his body - his length - partially-covered–

“Keh- annoying.”

“Should’ve- should’ve done this sooner-” He hisses out through a narrowed pant, flecks of spittle flying angrily across the non-existent space between your two faces. “-done this muuuuch sooner- you h-have no idea.”

“O-oh nghhh fuck fuck fuck–” The backs of your thighs ache after every slamming pap! you’re bouncing back into his swervin’ hips. 

Pounding away like he was crazed, every jackhammer only makes Choso grow more feral. Every swab of his prolonged cock inside your silken pussy feral-

His rummaging, fat-tipped shaft was so large that you could feel the way his ridged cockhead scraped your cervix with his studded Prince Albert’s, roaming like a searchlight to spot your most favorite angles.

Eyeliner practically staining down his cheeks now, “Should’ve fuh-fucked you the moment I ngh- met you. Should’ve fucked you r-right there on the lecture table in front of everyone- sh-should’ve—” You’re squealing once his doughy, ringed fingertips dart down to toy with that pretty lil’ clit of yours. “-should’ve let her drive me hck! crazy sooner, baby.”

Oh, he was babbling. 

Cooing, you slither one of your hands through the dampened valleys of his dark hair, “Awww– d-drivin’ you crazy, Cho–?”

“Yes.” He’s seething, he’s heaving. Saturated pheromones driving him mad, he can’t help but flop his pierced tongue across your lips and suck. “S-s’not even that damn parasite anymore-”

Pace growing sloppier by the minute, barely even noticing when those same digits coddling your clit had started to twist and turn in shape. Overtaken by Venom and his meeeean tendrils that alternate between dragging on your overstimulated clit and slipping inside…

“Sh-shit– Venom?”

“Sayin’ another man’s name when I-I’m here- ngh–” Choso’s nosebridge crinkles as he teases you, watery honeypool eyes dropping down to where your glossy hole was swallowing him whole. 

Mouth falling into an ah! at the way Venom’s wisping vines were still wrapped snugly to smooch your walls wiiiide open. And fuck- fuck, the sight. The sight of you bulging with all of his staggering cock still taking in more, more, more of him.

“I see…” He’s giggling - giggling, glassy eyes boring dead-on up at you through his curtained bangs and oh- they were shaped into hearts. Baritone voice rasping as one of his veins itches your walls, snagging past your underwear. “Greedy girl.”

It’s almost as if you didn’t know whether it was Choso or Venom taking over now, only fucked dumb with every sharp jut. Both his cock- his tentacle-like strands spreading you open, targeting your g-spot over n’ over with his plummy, split-ended tip. 

Digging inside, scouring so wetly.

Spread twice as open that the squelch! squelch! squelch! of it resonating each nanosecond was quickly becoming Choso’s favorite song. 

You were damn near shattered.

“I-I’m so close-” You’re hiccuping through your salty tears, brows scrunching at the stormy wave of bliss that was surely oncoming. “-f-fuck! Choso m’gonna cum.”

“Fuck- fuck, m’not gonna last either–” His response comes out guttural, and it’s just so sexy the way that he’s forced to gnaw on the strawberry gummy texture of the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from filling you up right then and there. 

Tender, aching balls squeezing dangerously before-

“Breed her.” Venom’s voice thunders out enough for the both of you to hear, excitement spiking down your spine and straight to where your pussy was drooling. “I know you want to. I know you both want it.”

Shocked, Choso sounds as if he could still barely even believe this was all real. “I-is that true, baby?” Tentatively craning you over to drag his lips softly against yours, “Can I really…inside…my girl?”

“Mhm– please- please, I wan’ it all inside—!” 

“G-get ready.” 

The plush, cushy tip of his cock outlines a water-logged line straight down your cervix as Choso leans further into the bed. Feet planting down flatly so that he can pressurize his powerful, inhuman hips to thrust-

“She’s about t-to be full- so full.” You can feel such pangs of desire as his teeth pull back into a primal snarl, tear-glinted eyes locked permanently where his red, swollen cock was disappearing between your legs. “So full that you won’t even remember what it ngh- feels like w-without me stuffed inside this cunt.”

Squirming with a yearning for sweet, sweet release once he hovers a fingertip over to about halfway up your tummy and draws an invisible line there.

“H-here.” Deepening it with the pressure of his rude digits, Choso’s right hand still rolls over your clit with a few shapes of hearts. Once. Twice. Thrice. “Get ready here–”

Whining, “I’m- I’m gonna-”

Before Venom’s slimy tendrils pinch it once more and you’re cumming- and so is he. 

But Choso doesn’t even realize it - doesn’t even remember to breathe the very moment you’re creaming all down his pummeling cock. Such cute twitches taking over your body as you shut your eyes and riiiide it all out. 

Using his sloppily saturated shaft like a dart that was pokin’ the bullseye of your pussy again and again. Every brushing skid straight across slapping your g-spot repeatedly to drag out your high with a squeeeelch.

And Choso’s licking his lips at the glossy lathering that glued to your folds, then - and only then - catching sight of the dollops of creamy white that was frothing out of your glistening entrance. 

Thick and hot. 

Every splat! of his ribbony sap hits the back of your pussy like heavily condensed cream, swashing inside of you like a sizzling second skin. It feels so filthy to have his mess beading down your walls and forming such a soaking ring ‘round his bulky hilt. 

Your meaty folds spread to smear the puddle that was forming up his happy trail, “You- you feel so good inside.”

“O-oh-” Almost thankful as Venom’s dark strands push aside your torn, sullied panties further for his host to take a better look. Blushing all the way to the tattoos across his nosebridge, “A…a creampie.” 

He’d cum- he’d really, really cum - inside of you. Pressing down on the prettily jiggling tummy bulge he was fucking into you- and it’s enough to make you scream. “Want more.”

And you’re just tapering off from your own orgasm, eardrums nearly popped yet still managing to register those words. Clenching, “Wh-what? Will it- hngh- even fit, Choso?”

“No- nononono it will- it will.” Urgent, rapidly he’s flipping the two of you immediately over to hover on top of you and rut- like an animal. 

You’re gasping once your head plops down on the soft mattress, heels struggling to cling onto Choso’s sweat-laminated hips until he’s trekking his beefy arms underneath and hauling them over his shoulders. Bending, bending, bending into a–

Oh, a mating press. 

He had you manhandled like some lawnchair into a mating press. The sloppiest of its kind, he’s using Venom’s tendrils to lock your ankles together in just two blinks of his eye.

“I can make it fit–” Growling through the tiniest gaps of his grit pearly whites, he kisses his forehead to yours and inhales that sweet scent of yours still permeating the heady air. The chilly heard pendant of his necklace hits the front of your chin and makes you keen. Rough, rugged through punctuating rams, “I will- I will I will- it’ll fit- It will.”

Shivering and shuddering. 

He struggles to even focus his eyesight on you properly - and Choso’s heated maw droooops at the deafening squelch! your pussy pushes out once he sinks all the way back in.

A thick capping of white syrup rising all the way to the top once his massive girth once more fills out your every nook and cranny. He’s still so ravenous that the sight down there is enough to make his mouth water. 

And this position, this angle made Choso’s elongated shaft lean into your g-spot so bruisingly that with only a few more strokes you’re cumming again. 

Fleeting, and faster than you both know it.

It’s only once Choso sniffs at the air and grins that he realizes the rapidly pulsing ba-dump–! of your velveteen walls was because you’re bein’ his good girl and cumming once more. 

Heavy breeder balls striking the treacly slope of your cunt until they were raw and red - you’re sure that the both of you are bruised everywhere. His thighs on your own, your ass on his pelvis, you can’t even wriggle your ankles free because Venom’s keeping a firm grip on them.

Rendering you at the full mercy of Choso’s thrashes dragging out your high, “P-please- fuck- it just f-feels too good, Cho-!”

“S’good- s’good-” He’s flushing out in something that looks like a mix of relief and need. No sooner milking himself on your tightly clenched pussy until you’re being filled all over again.

This time with white, wispy ropes of seed that ache his sensitive shaft to spray out, still coating your gummy walls with viscid layers upon layers. So much.

“So good f’me- so good. Look how much sh-she’s ngh- suckin’ in, sooooo full and- and warm…” He was practically twitching right now, trembling. “Jus’ look at that greedy girl.”

You couldn’t even be moved without feeling all its wads splosh inside of you.

And he still wanted more. 

Yelping, your legs struggle to shut once his sloppy cadence turns even sloppier. Lazier. 

“O-one more-” Choso’s puffing out in a clouded pant, “Keep- keep those pretty legs hck! open f’me- I beg. M’begging- take it, baby.”

Vein-covered forearms placing attractively upon either side of your head to lace right on top of your crowned scalp and push- Weaving wines of the symbiote winding down to furiously pump his cock.

To bloat himself up oh-so-thick straight after two whole orgasms, flying up and down up and down up and down to make his cherry-red divot start weeping once more. “One more- one more.”

“Nghh fuck fuck- Choso–!” Your lower lip wobbles cutely at the carnal glissade of his washboard abs down your own front, he was so strong that you could count every flex and ripple. “S-shooo sensitive-” Eyes shuttering tearfully, you can only jerk your hips up weakly. “-so much. Too much.”

“Never too much.”

Venom’s voice speaks up from somewhere, and you’re feeling the snaking, slimy journey of his tendrils twistin’ around your tits to grope. A greedy handful that teases your hardened nipples so–

“Less talking. More fucking.”

“W-woah-” Choso breathes at the sight before him. You were ruined in only ways he’d seen in his wettest dreams - and it’s not like he was doing any better. Because the way your hips were moving…“B-birthing hips- look at h-her take that big fuckin’ cock. So pretty- so pretty so pretty so pretty.”

You’re so overstimulated that even the slightest brush of his lightning bolted veins makes you gasp- tears springing up to your eyes. “F-feels so…oh.” So good, his stamina was maddening. 

“Yeah? Yeahhh? S’all for you- only for you-” Purposefully pressing up close so that your poor clit gets rubbed over by that patch of tawny brown at the base of his abs. 

And by now, even Choso’s swivellin’ cold piercing was molten hot and drawing wet slides of cum across your walls. Fervently. 

He was fucking you like he couldn’t get enough - would never possibly be able to get enough. Every thrust had him pushing you down once more after the papping recoil, gliding your feverishly sweat-slicked bodies against each other because Choso couldn’t bear to part. “Only for you only for you only for you-”

So gone that he almost doesn’t even register Venom’s deep tone muttering in his ear– “Three.”

Every heated bang of his mushroomy tip plummeting to the back of your overspilling cunt was meant to milk himself. Over and over, he’s tempting out just one more orgasm - just one more to fill you up with more cream. “Two.”

And in your rambling stupor, you’re being drilled into the mattress so spellbound that you don’t even notice the way your unfastened mouth nibbles on Choso’s sexy silver necklace. 

“One.”

Gnawing on for dear life as you squirt.

“Oh.”

Simply spraying him with a voluminous heap of your sweet, sappy juices - Choso has the mindless audacity to crane his head even further downwards and catch whatever stray remnants hit his awaiting maw.

“F-fuck…” You feel like you’ve just been put through ten thousand wringers and milked dry from your poor, tingling core. Gushing and gushing- it’s almost embarrassing how much you’re leaking around Choso’s meaty base. 

Well, embarrassing for everyone but Choso…and Venom.

He was mesmerized - he was hypnotized. A glistening few droplets of pussydrunken drool slipping from the corner of his mouth as he just watched himself get drenched in all your torrential orgasm whilst he emptied out for the third- fourth, fuck he doesn’t even know - inside you.

Raw, and messy - milking himself until he’s hitting a damn dry orgasm. 

“O-oh.” Choso doesn’t even know what to fucking say above your cutely trilling mewls, every languid pump of his flinching cock sending massive shockwaves through both of you. He blushes, “Oh.”

“That was fun. Now, make her yours or I will.” Venom grumbles, the symbiote already starting to take over Choso’s body with its blackened mass. 

And the man jolts- remembering all at once that this was you you you underneath him. Thumb absent-mindedly reaching down to write his last name over the mess spurted across your tummy. 

You, who he’s wanted all his life- 

“M-marry me, my girl.”

The smile that breaks across your face is one he’ll remember for eons. 

“I love you, too, Cho–” You’re purring, tucking one of the mahogany strands plastered onto his forehead behind his ear. 

“I love you.” He’s bursting out at once- rose-pink lips wobbly and wet against your own. He’s kissing you like he needed you to breathe, “I love you- oh, how I love you.”

“Satisfying. But we need more.” 

“Dammit.”

And Venom doesn’t care - Venom cackles to himself as he seethes in yet another gust of your honey-dipped scent and pulls out. The sensitivity startling through your body is so shocking that he’s shooting out a dark web that attaches your hips to the bed. Unmoving. 

But, of course, he takes his leisurely time to stroll near the edge of your bed. Monstrously hulking over it to sweep apart your bloated pussylips and watch the way Choso’s cum driiiiips out.

Now completely encompassing his body— “A three course meal. Yum.”

He was far from done.

You’re sobbing at the sloooooow draaaag of his glistening, large tastebuds down your weeping hole. Unapologetic and primal. “F-fuck! Your stamina…” It was truly monstrous just how pent-up that he was right now, being pushed off by your new boyfriend- fiancé? for so long now.  

Holding you tight with a few tendrils ‘round your waist to keep you from running—

“We’re going to keep this one.” His long, venomous teeth sink into your inner-thigh, not toxic to you. Not at all, but claiming; and the feeling was as good as cumming again. “You’re ours now, pretty girl.”

A/N. RAHHH I TOLD Y’ALL I’D DO IT MWAHAHAHAH-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[raksh-writes]

Twf your body forces you to take a break by making you feel sick and giving you migraine symptoms, like-- thanks, I get it, but could you lay off on the stress if Im to have any Actual rest? Please and thank you :')