#and it is hard work and brashness of course

[y2karasu]

All I wanna spend is one more night // Between your sheets, behind your eyes

Karasu Tabito x Fem!Reader • Word Count: 4.5k

content warnings: established relationship, porn with little plot, lover boy karasu, reader has an aversion to sex kinda sorta, first times, loss of virginity, mutual masturbation, handjob, multiple positions, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare

You met Karasu Tabito in year three. He had chubby cheeks and a missing tooth, knees dirty from falling into the muddy ground many times over as he rhythmically kicked the school’s worn soccer ball at the wall.

He was sweeter then, face flushed red when you handed the ball gone astray back to him, lisp on his tongue from where his adult tooth hadn’t quite grown in.

It’s hard to forget the twinkle in his eye when he shyly whispered “Thank you,” before scampering back to his spot. It’s natural, the way you fall into each other’s lives. Transferring to a new school during the middle of the year had done little to help your social life. Cliques already made; friends grown up side by side. While your classmates weren’t mean, they did little to include you. Recess consisted of you building little homes out of sticks you’d find scattered throughout the play yard, gritty nails digging into dirty as you play. After your first interaction, you gravitate towards another. You move to be closer to watch his kicks, and he makes his way down the wall to tease you. Calls you weird and then cries when you throw the ball in his face. Sniffles a weak, “Sorry,” before asking if you can be friends. You agree despite your previous disdain, keeping track of his hits in the dirt with the sticks he collects for your work. Red strings drawn close, tangled in mud and sticks and leaves.

The first time Karasu kisses you, you’re in year ten. He’d walked you home like he always did despite it being out of the way for him. His ears turned crimson when he shyly asked if you wanted to go to the arcade together, scarlet when you looked at him confused because you always do. He wins you a bunny plushy and makes you swear to keep it forever, holding out a pinky to you. You link the appendages before pressing your thumbs together, and as you move to press a kiss to your own nail to seal it, he moves your hand down abruptly.

Chapped lips meet yours in an awkward attempt at a kiss, and you pull back violently at the action.

“Why would you do that,” you’d asked haughtily, hands on your hips as you scowl up at him.

“Cuz you’re my girlfriend.” Karasu had replied matter of factly.

“Since when? You never asked me to be,” you grump, finger poking accusingly at his chest, “you can’t just go kissing girls and claiming them to be your girlfriend without even asking.”

You’d expected a snarky come back from him as he usually generously bestows upon you, but instead he scratches his neck shyly and asks quietly if you’d want to be.

“Speak up.” You demanded.

“Would you?” He finally asked, uncharacteristically nervous, “Be my girlfriend?”

You stave off the embarrassment coursing through you, a faux air of confidence burning through your veins.

“Well,” you finally say, “if you insist.”

You fight and you squabble and you cry and lick old wounds once more, but you stay together throughout it all. Tabito dabs at your tears and kisses fresh wounds with a soothing tongue, always making sure you know with full confidence he’s at your side.

Truth be told there wasn’t much of a difference as friends than lovers; albeit your touches grow more intimate.

Tabito insists you’d been his girlfriend since you’d chucked the soccer ball in his face back when you were both snot nosed children, and well, you can’t find it in you to argue. A part of you had always been his, and you’re sure if you were ever to split, it would always stay with him. A seed buried deep in your ribs, watered by the brashness of his love.

It would be dramatic to say that when he left for Blue Lock, a small part of you died. Autumn leaves dry and fall; yet we celebrate their beauty. You still see your friends and make sure to stay steady in classes, but you can’t deny you miss Tabito.

Ironically, it’s around spring time when he returns. He takes you to see the cherry blossoms bloom and tells you he’ll love you until his legs give out.

(To which you tell him that it’s likely enough to happen sooner than later with a sport like soccer; cackling loudly when he grabs fallen blooms and tosses them promptly in your face.)

You both turn twenty-one together; celebrating just the two of you in the small run down apartment you now share. You kiss and you eat sweets until your stomach aches, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

(The day of moving in Tabito finds the old plushy wrapped delicately in a blanket.

“You still have this ratty thing?” He’d asked with a smirk, holding it out to you.

“Don’t talk about our son like that,” you scold, snatching the plush from his hands before smiling down at it lovingly, fingers brushing the worn fabric of its ears.

“And of course I kept him, I promised you, didn’t I?”

Tabito smiles widely at this, scooping you in his arms and kissing you obnoxiously as you squeal and shout for him to let you go.)

It’s not until you’re out eating lunch with friends that you truly think about it; sex with Tabito. It’s not that you don’t want to have sex with him. You’re well aware your boyfriend is handsome, you’d just never got around to it.

(Your friend’s jaw drops when you say this, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You haven’t done anything.”

“I gave him a handjob once,” you’d replied with a shrug of your shoulders.

Your friend scoffs in disbelief, but thankfully drops the topic, but you can’t help but let the seeds of doubt whittle their way into the sanctuary you’d built with Tabito.)

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

It’s an ordinary Saturday morning when you spring the question. You’d been thinking of roundabout ways to ask, but you’d never been good at subtly and you know Tabito prefers when you’re blunt with him.

He splutters on the drink he’d been taking, cleaning his throat before looking at you incredulously.

“Do I… what?”

“Do you want to have sex? Make love, copulate, fuck, the hanky—”

He cuts you off before you can finish your sentence, moving to stand in front of you with red ears.

“No, I know what you said. This was just… unprompted. Do you want to have sex with me?”

You cross your arms and huff, ignoring the cheeky smirk on his face as he steps closer to you. There’s a buzzing energy you’ve never quite felt stirring in the room, and you sway from one foot to another with nerves.

“I asked you first,” you respond lamely, looking at him straight in the eyes in a poor attempt to keep up your confident facade.

“Yes, of course I do. Why wouldn’t I want to have sex with you?” Tabito answers honestly, large hands prying your fingers away from where they’d been digging into the fat of your arm in anxiousness. He kisses the heel of your palm softly before wrapping your arms around his neck and bumping his forehead lightly against yours. When you still don’t respond he gives you a boyish smile before attempting to soothe you.

“If we’re being honest, it’s not something I thought you were interested in,” he explains, “you’ve always shied away when I’ve tried to touch you in the past, and that stuff doesn’t matter to me. I love you as you are now, sex won’t change that.”

You frown in thought at his words, fingers threading through his freshly washed hair as you contemplate.

“Have you ever had sex before?”

Tabito laughs at that, presses obnoxious slobbery kisses to your cheek before answering.

“You know I haven’t.”

“Well then how do you know you’re not missing out?”

“I mean I still masturbate, can’t be that much different.”

Your body heats with embarrassment (and perhaps a bit of something else at his vulgar words).

“Well it’s surely better. Tighter probably… and wetter. Or whatever.”

Heat blooms on Tabito’s face as he hugs you close to him, shoving his face in your neck to hide his blush (it doesn’t work, you can feel the heat on his face and see the crimson flushing his ears).

You press closer to him and kiss at the junction of his neck and shoulder lightly before furrowing your brows and pulling back.

“Are you… hard right now?”

A smug smile creeps on his face, and you have an overwhelming urge to kiss it off.

“Can you blame me? My beautiful, gorgeous girlfriend just propositioned me with sex and told me how she’d feel tighter and wetter than my own hand.”

You scoff at his words before picking at the lint on the neck of his shirt.

“So… you want to then?”

He smiles sickeningly sweet down at you, walking you backwards and guiding you to your shared bedroom.

“I do, but I want you to want it too. Don’t think you have to do this because of me.”

“I do, want to, I mean. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He laughs softly at this, turning to sit on the bed and pull you into his lap, familiar hands rubbing up your sides soothingly.

“Neither do I,” he replies easily, pressing a kiss to your cheek and then your pouted lips.

“But you just said you masturbate.” You frown, settling deeper into his lap as he maneuvers you into a more comfortable position, his back pressed against the head of your bed.

“I do.” Tabito’s smile is shy, fingers tracing the familiar lines on your palms as you speak.

“So you’ve watched porn, so you know some things.”

He pauses in his movements, looks at you incredulously before laughing.

“I’ve never watched porn. I just think about what I would do to you. What you’d do to me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he mocks, teeth nipping at your nose as you scrunch it.

“Can you show me?”

Tabito’s movements halt, hips shifting nervously under you as you stare wide eyed at him, a face far too innocent for someone who just asked him to stroke his cock in front of them.

“Only if I can watch you, too.” He finally says after clearing his throat.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You’re almost offended at the shock on his face, but have little time to register before he’s flipping the two of you over, switching your positions.

“Have you touched yourself before?” He asks, hands helping you wiggle out of the sweats you’d stolen from him back in high school.

“Yes,” you answer honestly, pulling your shirt over your head.

A shiver runs down his spine at your words, cock straining in his sweats as you leave each other in only your undergarments.

“Shouldn’t we like… kiss or something?” You ask shyly, fingers picking at your nail beds.

Tabito laughs softly before spreading your legs, and pressing as close to you as he can so he can sit between them, eyes flickering from your chest to your eyes.

“How about you tell me,” he says, “tell me what you think about when you touch yourself.”

You shy away at this, whining when his large body stops you from being able to close your legs; the exposure too much.

“Why are you so shy, baby? I’ve seen you naked before, you know?”

“I know but this is… different.”

Tabito presses a reassuring kiss to your lips, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away. There’s a smirk on his face when you lean to chase him for more, hands making their way down your thighs as he soothes the tense muscles.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he whispers breathlessly, the heat of his words caresses your face, sends a shiver down your spine as he pulls away to palm his cock.

“I- I think about that night,” you finally squeak out, “when you let me touch your cock.”

(Moonlight shone brightly through the room that night, the lewd sound of Tabito’s mouth licking at the fat of your neck filling the liminal space. Big hands dug crescents into your skin, breaths heaving as you part for air. There’s a pause when you shift forward and feel the length of his cock beneath his sweats. Tabito eyes you warily, opening his mouth to assure you that you don’t have to do anything.

He’s cut off by his own moan, hips bucking up into you as you palm his cock.

“Baby,” he whines, head falling back against the headboard with a thunk.

“Can I touch you?” You ask sweetly, eyes entranced at the sight of pleasure watching over Tabito’s features at your featherlight touch.

He nods frantically, aiding you in pulling the sweats down to rest on his thighs. You press your mouth to his, licking against his teeth before sucking his tongue into your mouth. Tabito whimpers at this, neglected cock twitching. You pull back with hooded eyes, spitting down onto the leaking tip before using the palm of your hand to spread it over his tip, wrapping around his cock before giving an experimental tug.

“Like that?” You ask, eyes darting up to look at him.

“God— yeah, just like that, baby,” he whines, hands fisting his hair as your movements speed up.

You keep your eyes trained on his face despite his eyes being scrunched shut, watching the way his jaw clenches when you grip him harsher, the way it falls open shortly after when your thumb traces along the tip of his cock.

“Don’t stop,” he says through gritted teeth, hip bucking wildly into your hand as his high approaches.)

“Don’t stop,” Tabito groans loudly, heel of his palm pressing harshly against his boxer shorts, dark spot seeping through with precum.

His obvious arousal has you wishing for more, more noises, more skin, more, more, more.

“I think about the way you sounded, how you moaned my name when I rubbed my palm on the head of your cock.”

Your hand makes its way down to your cunt subconsciously, fingers ghosting over the band of your panties before Tabito’s stops you.

“Not yet,” he instructs, “just— touch yourself through them, please.”

You do as he says, fingers pressing against your clit. You moan at the contact, rough fabric catching just right. You feel the way your arousal seeps through your panties, high on power as you watch the way Tabito’s eyes dilate when he takes in the sight.

“Keep going,” he encourages, “tell me more.”

“I think about how big your cock felt in my hand, think about it stretching me open,” you whine, fingers moving faster, Tabito’s own matching the rhythm you’ve set, “I— I think about what you’d taste like, if you’d let me put it in my mouth, how you’d sound when I choke on it.”

Tabito moans out loud at this, hand sliding down the front of his boxers before pulling his weeping cock out. You take this as your sign to follow, eyes narrowing in on the way his fingers flex as he strokes himself.

“I wanna hear, too,” you whimper, fingers pulling your panties to the side so he can see how wet you are for him, the tips dipping into your heat to gather your slick before moving back to circle your clit.

“You’re killing me, baby,” Tabito groans, hips bucking up into his own hand as your chest heaves with pleasure.

He remains quiet for a while, the only sounds in the room is the wetness between the two of you, bodies inching closer and closer until you can feel his hand against your own.

“I think about the way you’ll taste on my tongue,” he says, voice husky with arousal, “the way your pussy will feel when she’s stretched open for the first time.”

You press a finger into yourself at this, hips canting up at the intrusion. Tabito groans at the sight, timing his thrusts into his hand with the way you fuck yourself on your fingers.

“T-think about the way you sounded that night, when you let me fuck your hand,” he groans through gritted teeth, “the way you talked to me… the way you licked my cum off your hand afterwards, how it tasted when you kissed me.”

“Please, Tabito,” you finally break, hands moving to pull his face towards your own, lips crashing messily against each other as you claw at the exposed skin.

He pulls you into his lap, cock jumping as your pussy presses against him. You can’t help but moan at the friction, humping his cock as you gasp and cry out for more.

“I don’t want to wait anymore, need you inside me,” you whine, but make no movements to stop the current pace your hips have set, your wetness pooling down onto the base of his cock as you use him for your own pleasure.

“Cum like this first,” he pleads, hands pressing you down harder, “cum like this and I’ll give you my cock. Stretch this pretty pussy open, make it mine.”

You cry out as you fall over the precipice of pleasure, hands clawing at his chest while your hips buck desperately into him.

“One more,” he says, pushing you until your back hits the mattress.

His lips press harshly into yours, tongue licking at your teeth as you whine into his mouth. He pulls away to kiss at your neck, teeth nipping at the familiar skin while his hands smooth up your sides. Your bra is quickly taken off, tossed somewhere in the room before his hands are back on you. Teeth bite harshly at the fat of your chest, tongue soothing the ache before you can whisper a complaint.

“You’re so sensitive here,” he says, eyes transfixed on the way your breathing increases as he blows on your nipple. Tabito flicks his tongue over it, testing the waters and you moan loudly at the sensation.

“So good for me,” he murmurs, his hands pulling your legs to wrap around his waist. Instead of the heat of his cock pressing against you, his abdomen is pressed to the flesh, “I bet I can make you cum from just this. Just this.”

His mouth wraps around your nipple sucking harshly before moving to the next, your hips buck at the sensation, and he presses closer so the rigid muscle of his stomach presses against your aching clit. Calloused hands encourage the movements, hips bucking wildly as you hump his abdomen in abandon.

“Tabito,” you whimper, “please, please, please.”

Your hands fist his hair harshly, pressing his mouth firmly against your chest as his tongue rolls your sensitive chest between kiss swollen lips. Tabito doesn’t bother stopping, if anything he moves you faster, bites harder, kisses soothing the ache until another high crashes down on you.

“You’re so sexy,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, “can’t believe I finally have you like this.”

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” you finally whisper as your breathing evens out.

“Don’t apologize.”

His tone leaves little room for argument, and you nod obediently at his words, smile spreading across his face as he takes in the flush of your face.

Harsh kisses turn soft, and Tabito moves you once again to rest in his lap.

“This way you can go at your own pace,” he says, settling back into the sheets, eyes blown with lust staring up at you, “don’t take more than you can handle. If it hurts, we’ll stop.”

You nod in agreement, leaning to press a kiss to his lips before lining him up to your entrance. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been, hands shaking before his own moves to aide you.

“Look at me, please,” he asks softly, “I want to see your face when my cock stretches you out for the first time.”

You do as he instructs, eyes nearly rolling back when his tip presses past the tight ring of your cunt. Gasps of pleasure are shared between the two of you as you slowly work your way down, pulling up to ease the ache before you finally rest against him.

“What the fuck,” Tabito groans, teeth clenching harshly as your cunt clenches on him.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he whines, fingertips digging harshly into the fat of your hips.

Your cunt clenches again at the filthy words, nails scraping down his chest as he bucks up into you.

“If you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to cum before I even get to fuck you,” Tabito says, chest heaving as he tries to maintain his level head.

You smirk down at him before intentionally shifting your hips, grinding down onto his cock. Tabito’s eyes dart open, eyeing you warningly.

Tabito senses your hesitation, propping an elbow beneath him. His hand cradles your face, thumb brushing against your cheek lovingly before he pulls your lips to his. His free hand moves to your hip, guiding you gently. It’s not long until you find your own rhythm, gasping into his mouth as his cock presses against a spot that makes you see stars.

“Right there,” you whine, “Tabito, please, don’t stop.”

Arm still propped up, Tabito pulls you back, fisting the hair at the nape of your neck. His lips wrap around your neglected chest, hips bucking up into you hitting that spot deep within you over and over until—

“Cumming!” You cry out, eyes rolling back as your pleasure consumes you. Tabito hips fuck into you faster, moving at a bruising pace to elongate your high. You slump against him as your orgasm fades, his fingers tracing absentminded shapes into your back as you heave against him.

“We can stop here,” he coos, lips pressing against your neck.

“No,” you say, shooting your head up to look at him, “I want you to cum.”

He smiles at this, pressing forward until you’re on your back. You whine at how deep his cock presses into you in this position, nails clawing harsh lines into his back as he wraps your legs around his waist.

Tabito pulls back out slowly, eyes darting over your face for any sign of discomfort before he’s snapping his hips harshly into yours. He fucks you hard— deep, carving his cock into your walls as you whine and cry out for him.

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you use the leverage of your legs on his back to meet his thrusts with your own in desperation, “you feel so fucking good, baby. You hear that? Hear how wet this pussy is for me? She’s cryin’ for me, baby. Needed my cock to fill her up, stuff her full.”

Tabito pulls out suddenly, hand falling to his cock to squeeze at the base in an attempt to stave off his own orgasm. Before you can protest, you’re flipped over, limp body pulled onto your knees before you know what’s happening.

Fingers did crescents into your hips as he fucks you for his pleasure, grumbling moans falling from his lips.

“Just like that,” he whines, “just like that. Fuck yourself on my cock. Fuck it like it’s yours.”

He stops his own movements, hands fisting his hair as you press back against him again, and again, and again. You whine his name and his chest presses against your back instantly, large frame engulfing your own before you’re flat against the bed.

Tabito’s arms circle your front, cradling you to his chest as he humps into you, barely pulling out before he’s pressing back in again. Gasping moans are pulled from your lips at the angle his cock slides into you, drool slipping from your lip when he bites harshly at the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“Tabito,” you whine, “want you to cum. Please, please cum for me. Want you to cum inside me. I need it! I need it, I—

You’re cut off by a cry of your name, his hips pressing against yours as you feel the warmth of him filling you up.

You slump weakly against the bed, struggling to breathe as Tabito relaxes against you. He notices your squirming quickly, pulling you to rest on your side. You whine when his cock slips out of you, and heat burns a fire through your veins when you feel the way your combined essence drips down the side of your leg.

Soft words are murmured into your hair, hands massaging at your aches as you both come down from the intense pleasure.

“Still think your hand is better?” You ask, finally breaking the silence.

Tabito laughs, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck before loosening his hold so you can turn to face him.

“Not by a long shot.” He laughs at this, pressing sloppy kisses to your cheek just to hear you squeal out in protest.

“Tabito…”

“Yes, sweetheart?” He asks softly, propping himself up on his arm to look down at you properly, “Are you okay?”

You lean up to press a kiss to his lips reassuringly, nodding, “I’m okay, but… I can feel your cum dripping out of me right now.”

Tabito chokes out a laugh, blush rising on his face.

“You can’t just— just say things like that!” He whines, heat licking at his core.

“Like what? It’s true!”

He shakes his head at this, sliding his arm out from under you before standing and stretching. Dark red lines fill up the space of his back, and you smile shyly at the sight.

“Nice back, Karasu,” you tease, laughing when he uses the mirror hung on the back of the bedroom door to take in the sight.

“Babe,” he whines, “don’t make me get hard again.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Tabito shakes his head at this before walking into the bathroom. He returns with a warm washcloth, pressing a kiss to your forehead before maneuvering you onto your back. There’s a smug smile on his face as he cleans you up, a soft kiss to your knee when you playfully knock it into his shoulder. He looks up at you from between your thighs smiling brightly at you.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey yourself,” he says, moving his face to hover over your own.

“Come here often?” You ask, fingers tracing around his eyes before you lean to press a kiss to the mole resting just below the left.

“First time actually,” he laughs, flopping down onto your chest, nuzzling your neck to press soft kisses there.

“You’re so stupid,” you say with a roll of your eyes, fingers threading through his soft hair.

“I love you,” Tabito whispers, arms wrapping under the small of your back to hold you closer.

“I love you, too.”

[trulyumai]

forbidden words and lidded eyes

pairing: Emperor geta / wife! reader

—synopsis: in the summertime, Geta would be soft, affectionate even. you adored those moments.

—warnings: absolutely none. just fluff!

enjoy!

He was drunk again.

Another celebration held in his honor, and of course it was his idea to begin with. You had retired quite early, too used to the drunken stupor the emperor would find himself in.

He would shout incessantly. At anything— anyone.

It was almost guaranteed at least one person would end up a casualty due to his brash and drunken rages that would escape him.

So why?

Why was he here, at your feet, burying his head into the silk gathered at your tummy mumbling vows of love in thous own name?

“My wife,” there he goes again.

With light touches, his pale fingers crawled up your sides, scurried across your arms until they lay plastered on both sides of your cheeks.

“My wife, my wife.” He said it so adoringly, with pink cheeks and starry eyes laid about your soft form.

A laugh— dare you say a giggle, pushed its way past his wet lips.

“It has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think, darling?” Your eyes met with his brown ones, unable to muster up a response, a nod was given. Seemingly enough for the emperor he laughed out again, squishing your cheeks with newfound interest.

Your lips potruded out in a silly matter, made them all puffy and open. It more so resembled a fish than an emperors wife.

But all he did was stare at your pretty lips, stare and stare until the muscles in your jaw became loose and sore.

You called out to him then, gaining his attention with a single call of his name. He hummed back, not yet averting his eyes from your squished mouth.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, form slack and leaned into yours entirely. You smelled the sweet scent of wine, mixed with a natural musk that paraded around him.

He looked desperately at you, awaiting for an answer he was oh so eager for.

But,

He had never asked so politely before.

Well, he had never asked in general, but that was besides the point.

“Please?” He whispered, already so close. Close enough to rub his stubbly cheek upon the side of yours. Close enough to whisper sweet nothings by your ear.

You nodded, it was slow and the emperor couldn’t help but shake his head in rebuttal.

“I need you to say it— say you want me to.” Kisses trailed down your neck, up your cheek and littered your nose.

Seeing him so… needy was foreign to you. It happened only on rare occasions such as this. With lidded eyes he only smothered little kisses upon you while awaiting your answer.

you smiled, big and full of such a sweetness it made Geta want to fall to his (already bent), knees.

“Please kiss me, husban—“ his lips smashed onto yours. Instantly, you caved in, molded against Geta as he guided you.

He tasted like raspberries and mint. Already you imagined the type of wine that had taken your husbands mind away so.

His favorite summer drink; one that was hard to come by and sweet on the senses. It would always dull his mind, take away the stress and turmoils of everyday life and leave him bubbly— happy.

Finally breaking apart, Geta hummed, arms wrapped around you he put his head down upon your lap, pushing away your book with disregard.

“Let me lay here, dearest. I won’t bother you.” Automatically, you let out a lighthearted scoff. To which the man called out instantly.

“What? You don’t believe your emperor?” Mouth agape, the man looked so silly. Clinging onto you like a babe wouldst their mother.

“I believe you’ll ask for more kisses, my husband.” Picking up the novel by your side you could already tell the man was pouting, just by the way his fingers tightened upon your robes.

“Those don’t count as a botherment, little wife.”

Letting out a little hum, a hand came to settle down upon his head. Little scratches and rubs were given to distract the needy man and it worked almost instantly.

His frame slackened against you. It was a heaviness that wasn’t overbearing. Warm? Gods, yes. But it was comforting. You didn’t always get this side of Geta, so it had to be cherished.

So, even if the man demanded a thousand kisses, who were you to say no?

[tastesousweet]

roommate!hamzah x reader . . .

summary: little headcannons i have ab these 2!!! they’re just friends of course (wink)!!

a/n: hiii i’m slowly working on hamzah requests, ty to those who send them in for me <3

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . tends to do his morning routine without a shirt on (grabbing coffee, feeding the cats, sitting on the balcony while responding to texts he’s put off for far too long)

it’s never bothered you because you’re rarely awake early enough to know of it. yet one morning hamzah is mortified by your hook up from the night before, awake and attempting to crack jokes with him as he pours the remaining orange juice into a soft magenta-stained mug that a girlfriend had gifted you last christmas.

hamzah's eyes give a silent glare at both the audacity (of this random man who's decided to parade around the kitchen that is fifty percent his in nothing but those loose boxer shorts!) and out of disgust (he'd unfortunately heard a lot of last night's... action from his room down the hall and he hates that he now has a face to associate with the trauma).

there's a awkward tension that is clearly not reciprocated by the brash and flamboyant guy leaning against the fridge door with a smirk.

hamzah keeps his arms crossed over his own bare chest, stood next to the coffee machine- and for once he’s actually annoyed by the slow frequency of the coffee's stream and the accommodating, overwhelming smell. but he's starting to think it must be your fling’s presence that's causing everything around him to feel a bit violating.

“ummmm….” he’d delay with a deep exhale, unsure how to end a conversation he never asked to begin

the guy would take a long sip of orange juice, “i’m just wondering like, how long have you two lived together? she didn’t even tell me she lived with anyone so— i mean, it’s not everyday you see a girl hot as that living with some guy!" he pauses, "oh…wait, come on man you had to have hit by now…” he babbles on and hamzah stares blankly, stifling a laugh when it comes to the last assumption.

“man, i’m just tryna’ enjoy my breakfast…” hamzah wishes he’d never left his bedroom so early.

the guy nods his head, “yeah…yeah i get that. i should get back to y/n and stuff. she sleeps kinda heavy, huh?”

hamzah nods absentmindedly, sipping his black coffee and making his way out of the kitchen, “guess so…” he stops and looks back at him with a look of slight disgust, “next time at least put some pants on dude, cmon.”

later that day hamzah tells you about it and you laugh so hard you almost fall off of the soft brown couch. “oh my god!!!!” you laugh through your words, “was your masculinity challenged?! did you feel threatened?? maybe he was trying to eye you up- you were practically naked...” you have a grin that makes hamzah subconsciously grin with you, forcing him to overcompensate due to your implications.

"absolutely none of those things?! what the fuck??? no. he was a fuckin' dog, even asked me if we've..." hamzah stutters a bit while gesturing between the two of you.

your face is shocked first as you both silently gesture between the two of you, occasionally making more grotesque and sexual movements to which you both begin to laugh. "no way! that guy has nothing but mush for brains."

hamzah bites his inner cheek harshly, tightening a grip on the circle pillow in his large arm, "yeah..."

you keep your gaze on your fingers fidgeting with the couch before a smirk inches onto your face and your head slowly turns towards hamzah.

it still surprises him how nervous you can make him with something as simple and intriguing as your eye contact, so he flusters up a bit and sputters a soft laugh, "what?" he reaches for the remote on the coffee table to distract himself.

you hum to yourself and pick up a mini twizzler from the small candy dish in the center of the table before plopping yourself down, resting your head on the pillow sat in hamzah's lap.

hamzah attempts to keep his demeanor intact as you snuggle yourself into comfort (so much so, your tiny spaghetti strap on your loose sleep top falls down your shoulder in beautiful imperfection).

you struggle with attempting to unwrap the red candy before hamzah eventually offers to help, "y'want me to do it?"

"please?" you nod and shift to look directly up at him rather than the tv.

"mhm..." he easily uses his teeth to open it, "and i'm taking a piece for my hard work."

"uh huh, sharing is caring"

not only does hamzah feed himself a peel of the twizzler, he holds a piece above your mouth which you take from him with a giggle, "mm, thank you"

hamzah's eyes almost explode when he wakes up a week later to see you making yourself a smoothie clad only in a bra and silky sleep shorts. you'd laugh at him and tell him he's so fragile and he'd claim you're trying to steal his thing while covering his eyes dramatically.

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . you like to play harmless pranks on in good spirits and post on your close friends story , calling it “hamzah hijinks”

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . helps you cook or bake whenever you find a new recipe to try out on pinterest— at times they're even filmed and treated as competitions between you and mandy versus hamzah and martin

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . finds it difficult to not have a crush on you when his audience constantly tells him otherwise

there are plenty of shipping posts that come from your appearances and mentions on his channel but from your attitude hamzah's convinced you must not be aware of them or are truly that unbothered by anyone's opinion

clips such as you wiping flour from his cheek to which he joked, “okay stop it now, you know that really ignites my mommy issues”

or when you guest starred on a patreon episode of the podcast, adding small tidbits to the conversation while petting blue and eating a strawberry popsicle. leading hamzah to over reach and pet blue with you randomly, which many fans found cute— like you were a family

or whenever martin would bring you up and hamzah would immediately focus on what he says afterwards— many viewers have concluded he’s obsessed with you

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . now edits his youtube videos in the living room with your legs draped over his shoulders so that you can watch and help him when necessary (but mostly because of your abundantly clear physical love language)

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . thinks it’s really sweet that you can find a piece of him in any and everything without trying

“so i was out…”

hamzah leans his forearms against the island counter with a grin and his headset shifted from his ears (you interrupted his gaming and told him to come see you afterwards but he insisted on pausing for you) “uh huhhh??”

“andddd… i found a cute small shop and guess what they specialize in?!!!!”

“what??!!!”

“custom sonny angels!! so i got one for each of us.” you smile wide, “it’s crazy i just showed them a picture of us and they based the outfits on it. look at them!!!”

hamzah opens the box and finds the two small figures; one garnering his iconic nap queen hoodie and the other in one of your cute red babydoll tops. his mouth is wide for an extra second, “oh my god it’s us as lil’ babies” he laughs, “that’s so fucking cool, how much did you pay for this?”

“don’t worry about that. while i was waiting for them to paint those i also got you this nice green shirt from urban i just like this shade on you.” you held up the shirt and hamzah hugs you gently thanking you again with a short kiss to the top of your head.

“now lemme see what you got for yourself.”

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . surprisingly finds you hiding away in the en-suite bathroom during a party you’re both hosting

“i didn’t think you would be in here??” he says while shutting the door behind him and taking a seat next to you on the bathroom floor

“i’m surprised to see you in here i lost you somewhere between martin showing up and that group of girls whisking you away.” you genuinely joke.

hamzah chuckles and scratches the back of his neck, “yeah it’s really not like that— i’m really not like that.”

“i know you.” you smile at his oddly nervous face.

“why’d you end up in here?” he sighs and gives your side a soft tap of acknowledgment.

“i thought i just needed to use the bathroom but then i started to find myself way happier alone in here than out there right now.”

“i feel that. i don’t know if half of those people even know this is my house.”

“i know most of them don’t know this is my house.”

hamzah laughs and lets his head hang into the open space of his bent legs, to which you take the opportunity to steal his hat from his head, plopping it on top of yours.

“come on bruh, that was supposed to cover up this mess!” hamzah jokes referring to his wildly curly hair.

“it’s far from a mess hamzah, please.” and when he turns to you, you cradle his head with both hands, scratching softly at his scalp to help revive his hat-hair.

he stares at you kindly, “mm’hold on let me see it,” he gently pulls your hands away and stands to look into the mirror. “oh my god it’s fucking horrid.”

you stand up to defend as if you crafted his hair yourself, “stop it! it looks fine,” you lean onto your tip toes to fluff it a little more, “i like it like this,”

“oh really?” he exaggerates a lift of his eyebrows and manages to catch your eye in the mirror for a second before you look away bashfully.

“hey! don’t get all shy now,” he looks behind him and confidently wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, “it’s okay. i like yours like this,” he smiles and you roll your eyes playfully.

“‘m not gettin’ shy!” you wrap your arms around his lower torso and bury your head in his chest before you pop the question, reaching up to whisper in his ear, “did max bring you more weed??”

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . hotboxes your bathroom with you, making sure to bring any snacks from the crowded kitchen for the munchies that will undoubtedly come afterward

this is one of the few times you’ve got a real good look in hamzah’s eyes.

the bathroom reeks of weed and the two of you (mostly you) decided that sitting face to face was far better than side by side. it was silent for a while before you felt the need to speak about his eyes.

“did you know your eyes aren’t black?” you ask.

hamzah shakes his head slowly.

“well they have the tiniest brownie-brown to them but you’d only know if you’re like this close,” you jokingly move close enough to touch your noses together.

hamzah looks over your entire face, realizing he’s never been this physically close to you before. you glance at his lips then to his glossy red eyes.

“you smell like coconut cookies,” hamzah smiles.

you sit back on your calves, across from him with his legs crossed, “i think it’s my shampoo,” you play around with a few strands.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you nod before sitting up again, resting your hands lightly on his thighs to hold yourself up, “do you wanna do something?”

he stares at you for a moment, “like what?”

“do you trust me?” he finds that your eyes glimmer extra when they’ve got that certain puffiness and widened pupil combination.

“yeah, ‘f course, but what are we doinggg?” hamzah drags unseriously.

“just shhh,” you smile and reach for his arm behind him, slowly bringing his cold hand up to your soft cheek. “is that okay?”

hamzah sends a silent nod.

“okay,” you breathe and bring your face closer to his.

hamzah’s mind is so boggled. he can’t believe any of this; he’s completely struck by awe and tangled in your sweet cherry stem of affection. he thinks you’re a special kind of girl; one with an attitude both sexy and innocently loving. so infatuating that he’s realizing he can’t kiss you, not here, not when you’re high and thinking irresponsibly.

not when there’s a chance that you’ll wake up tomorrow and not remember it, or worse ask him to forget about it for your sake.

not when your friendship lies directly on that line.

“mm, yeah we really… shouldn’t…” he takes pauses between his words, it almost physically hurts him to see you that stunned by his words with your face still safe in his palm.

you’re completely flustered and blink your eyes a few times before retreating from his space, “oh… fuck, i’m so sorry that was-”

“it’s not like that- it’s more like, not right now. later?” he scrambles for a response as you’re trying to keep yourself from drowning in embarrassment.

“mhm sure yeah, i’ll be back.” you give a forced smile and leave him alone on the tile floor.

ROOMMATE!HAMZAH WHO . . . you wake up the morning after a house party and find in your bathroom tub with a sharpie mustache above his lip and a pink post it note that read: “GOODNIGHT SUGAR!!! BEST PARTY EVER - Martin :D” written in a barely legible scrawl

[shotoh]

— in which they slowly find themselves enamored by the natural charms of their interviewer

feat. itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae

cw + tw. nothing much just fluff, fem!reader, interviewer/reporter!reader, aged-up!characters, characters are professional athletes and continue playing in their teams from the neo egoist league (except sae)

notes. first time posting blue lock so apologies if anyone’s ooc, either way i might make a follow-up of this (that might be more uh ya know) and/or add characters

ITOSHI RIN

the sound that follows the harsh slam of his locker is a frustrating sigh that has been simmering in rin’s chest since the end of today’s match. the match in which he had lost—and at the hands of isagi’s team which makes the defeat all the more bitter and disgusting on his tongue. it didn’t help that during the game, he was butting heads with his supposed teammate, shidou. once the coach had decided to sub the eccentric player in, their styles began mixing like oil and water. as a result, their win was swooped up from under them.

pxg has been called to host a post-sport interview to review the match with reporters, but rin couldn’t care less to participate. instead, he’s the very last person to leave the locker rooms. his duffle bag is slung over his shoulder, steps ambling down the hallway.

whether he wins or loses, rin never bothers to attend these post-game interviews. he doesn’t need to sit there and have brash reporters shoot the same questions at him, expecting him to “thank his coach and teammates,” “praise his opponents for a great game today,” and say he’ll “continue to work hard to win next time.” gross. he’d rather be caught dead than have any of those words leave his mouth.

as rin navigates through the hallways of the stadium, he’s hoping to be done with the day and think over the turn of events on his own. but when he rounds the corner, he crosses eyes with someone so obviously lost in the facility—a mistake which punishes him as you immediately approach him with doe, bewildered eyes.

“sorry, i don’t mean to bother you, but i was wondering where the conference for pxg was being held,” you ask. a pad of notes are cradled in your arms, pen clipped to the breast pocket of your blazer. it’s clear you’re another reporter.

before he can point you in the right direction to get you out of his hair, you squint. you’re taking a long, hard look at him until your face suddenly glows. “wait, you’re itoshi rin, the striker for pxg!” you practically blurt. with the volume of your voice, rin’s instincts take hold, and he’s pulling you away from the open space of the hallway.

“quiet. you want everyone to hear?” rin chastises.

“whoops. i got a little excited! i-i’ve been wanting to interview pxg’s top player and well…” you could say the opportunity presented itself, but rin makes it clear he’s not interested.

“if you’re here just to hear me mope over my loss, then go home,” the striker affirms to what he thinks will be the last of this exchange until you tug on the sleeve of his jersey before he starts walking away. turning his head back to glance at you, his brow quirks.

“no, of course not! i thought it was incredible how you were able to keep control of the ball from your opponents and even score the first two points of the game all by yourself!” you exclaim, face lifting as it’s teeming with admiration. surprisingly, he can’t help but be a bit amused by the determined expression etched over the perplexed look that was originally on your features.

you swipe your pen hanging off your pocket, prompting it open with a click of your thumb. “and i’m sure a lot of your fans would love to hear from you!”

the athlete cocks his head. “you’re acting like a fan yourself, miss reporter.”

you blink in surprise. the enthusiasm in your words tones down, but you fail to mask it completely. “what? no, i’m just here to get the exclusive on the best athletes of our country!” if your plan is to butter him up to get a word out of him, it may almost work. you send him another fawning look as if to say “can you blame me though?” and that stirs a low chuckle from his throat.

his face lowers until it’s slightly more leveled with your own, and from this angle, you’re amazed to find you can distinguish every distinct eyelash on his pretty face. and you’re even more enamored by the intense color of his teal eyes. at the proximity, however, your face bathes in the heat of the blood rushing to your cheeks. thankfully, the striker breaks eye contact in favor of taking the notepad from your arms, along with your pen which he uses to scribble something down.

“tell you what,” he says as he continues writing, “come to the next pxg match and i’ll give you an exclusive interview, right after i score at least four goals and decimate the other team.”

his declaration leaves you in awe, and your fascination persists when he hands your pen and pad back for you to see a ten digit number, followed by call my manager written next to it.

NAGI SEISHIRO

back when he was in school, nagi was never great at first impressions. and apparently that’s still the case even later on in his career as a professional striker.

he doesn’t even notice you enter the room as he’s preoccupied with tapping the controls for the first person shooter on his phone. as such, he’s woefully unprepared to hear the reluctant, but soft voice that vies for his attention.

“um, excuse me. if you don’t mind, i’d like to get started with the interview.”

taking a slow glimpse above his screen, he sees the refreshing sight of you—his interviewer—sitting across from him in your neat attire and a clipboard on your lap. surprised by the modest smile that greets him, he automatically straightens up and casts his phone to the side.

it’s a big contrast to what he was expecting. usually, scruffy men who claim they’re adept and knowledgeable in the sport would be shoving their mics in his face. when in reality those people are just washed up high school coaches or analysts who act all high and mighty by asking a bunch of nonsense questions. saying this and that about how they would have done it differently had they been in the game instead of him. regardless, they’re such a pain and nagi would rather be napping in his cloud mattress than go through another talk session with those wannabes. however, his encounter with you just might break this boring streak.

he rubs the back of his head sheepishly, playing off the crass first impression. “right. start whenever you want.”

once he gives you the go ahead, you flip through a few pages to your questions.

as time goes on, the sentiment nagi initially held about how the interview might have been a pain and a waste of his time in his already packed schedule begins to sway. throughout the inquiries, he finds himself fixated on you. like the flattering nude color touched up on your plush lips. or how you have a habit of playing with strands of your hair when contemplating on what question to ask next. or the cute laugh you let out that was pleasant to his ears when he gave a much more aloof answer than you were expecting.

well, he can’t change the fact that he doesn’t need to think much when it comes to football. that’s just how naturally talented he is—the sport is second nature to him. honestly, he’s a bit bummed out that he can’t give a competent interviewer like you better responses.

what catches the snowy haired striker slightly off-guard is your next topic of questions about his e-sport endorsements. he wasn’t expecting you to delve into his hobbies. most interviews always glossed over that area in favor of asking something along the lines of “what was going through your head when you made that winning goal,” to which he could only say he was too caught up in the moment to really convey the feelings into words.

but with this opportunity, nagi goes on a mild tangent about the new first person shooter he’s been playing. even if his tone sounds indifferent on the surface, you don’t miss the hidden enthusiasm under the brighter twinkle of his eyes. you giggle which makes nagi pause.

“did i say something weird?” he asks back. you swear you detect a tonal whine in his voice, another endearing trait you didn’t know a 190 cm striker could possess.

“no.. just find it cute how much you can talk about your favorite games like that.”

nagi can’t tell whether the grin on your pretty lips is there to tease him or that you find his boyish charms endearing. either way, his cheeks puff and that only serves to make him more adorable in your eyes.

“well don’t let me stop you! i’d like to hear more about what things interest you other than soccer.” the look on your face fascinates him. you’re not even looking at your clipboard anymore, but right at him. it’s the tell-tale sign of someone who genuinely wants to know him not as the star player of manshine city, but just as regular nagi seishiro. he’s not used to that sort of treatment and as a result, he can’t meet your eyes, not realizing he flushes a lovely shade of pink that reaches the tips of his ears.

nagi pouts, glancing down at his phone that’s been laying near his thigh, untouched for a record of what must be ages, but that honestly doesn’t feel long enough to him. “no fair… you’re just teasing me…” he murmurs, but his fingers are already itching to ask his manager if he can extend the interview to spend more time with you.

ITOSHI SAE

the first opportunity you get to interview the itoshi sae is unconventional, to say the least.

“excuse me! please let me through–!”

“miss, you can’t be here– hey!”

the setting is chaotic, to the point where sae can make out the commotion in the background as he’s walking toward his rest area with his manager and bodyguard following beside him. when he glimpses at what all the fuss is about, he witnesses security personnel wrangle with a stray reporter.

spotting the reddish haired athlete, you find an opportunity to call out to him. “itoshi sae, please, may i have a word with you?”

to your dismay, security persistently blocks your view of the midfielder. despite being obstructed by a pair of burly men almost twice your size, you give them more of a struggle as you thrash around, even reprimanding them to “keep their hands to themselves if they know what’s good for them.” sae can’t help but be amused. a part of him finds your efforts admirable—watching you scrunch up your uniform and crease your notes at just a chance to speak with him.

“mister itoshi is far too busy to entertain any more of you today. please make your way to the exit–”

“it’s fine,” sae interjects to everyone’s surprise—mostly to the utter astonishment of you and his manager. the latter’s eyes widen scrupulously before he cups his hand next to the pro athlete’s ear.

“sir, i believe we’ll be running late to your next scheduled event if you decide to do a last minute interview,” the manager warns warily. “besides, haven’t you talked to enough of the media today? i mean look at her, she doesn’t even seem worth your time–”

“push everything back thirty minutes if you have to.”

his manager gawks. “but..?!”

one side-eye of sae’s piercing ocean eyes is enough for the man to retract his statement and mumble his apologies. that said and done, the security guards withdraw to let you through. you’re astonished by how much the situation can flip with the cooperation of a renown professional.

sae’s staff lead you into his spacious break room, preparing a set of chairs and leaving glasses of water on the coffee table before you start. having already taken his seat, he watches you run your hands through the wrinkled material of your blouse and pencil skirt. after finally fixing your stray hairs in place, you sit in front of him in all your pristine as if the whole conflict from earlier never happened. he wants to give you another point for professionalism.

“once again, thank you so much for granting me the opportunity to speak to you today,” you beam, mocking his manager hovering in the background with your unbeknownst-to-sae sly little smile.

sae grins, charmed. you arrange your notes one last time before moving onto your questions.

during the interview, sae comes to know your professionalism isn’t merely for show. you’ve done your research, analyzed his plays—his techniques, and as a result, ask him the most intriguing inquiries he’s sure no reporters asked him before. and he’s had his fair share of interviews throughout his developing career as a child prodigy. it’s evident you weren’t planning to waste his time and he’s appreciative of that fact.

there’s also an air of zeal you possess that allures him. he can’t exactly pinpoint what it is. your ingenuity? your liveliness? either way, he can’t imagine this to be his last interaction with you, and he makes sure that won’t be the case.

at just a simple snap of his finger, his manager is at his side. you have to hold in a snicker at how the man scurries over to the midfielder like a dog.

the two exchange a few words you don’t catch, only deciphering the dumbfounded look on the manager’s face which clashes with the stoic expression on sae’s. whatever the conversation was about, the former knows it’s a losing battle. at his loss, he pulls out a lanyard from the compartment attached to his clipboard. he gives it to sae, who takes it and leans across the space between you two to place it in your awaiting hands, as if you already knew from the manager’s defeated mannerisms that it was meant to be yours.

“this is..?” you begin inquiring as you eye the card on the lanyard methodically.

sae beats you to your discovery of that answer. “an exclusive press pass, which you can use to reach out to me again following any matches i’ve played in.”

mouth hanging open, you switch back and forth between the pass and sae’s marine eyes which don’t hold a shred of doubt.

he puts it simply.

“i’d like to continue this interview with you again.”

copyright 2023 shotoh, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else so please do not repost this or share my content on tiktok.

[lalunanymph]

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── hanma loves his sweet wife, and he loves it even more when you’re barefoot and pregnant for him. but, when you complain he needs to lay of off you for a bit, he decides he's never going to fill you up again. unless you beg nicely, of course.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── you're now reading . . . 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 + 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 with hanma shuji

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── wife!reader, fem!reader, mentions of pregnancy, reader is breastfeeding, unprotected s[e]x, oral s[e]x, established marriage, mentions of babies, shuji is obssessed with knocking us up, orgasm denial, future toman!shuji, hanma as a dad, mom!reader, loosely based off the characters in my series back to us

⇤flip back to the pervtober masterlist

It's no secret that Hanma Shuji is a difficult man.

His subordinates, old gang members and even his boss slash best friend, Kisaki Tetta, would bet on saying the same. 

He was brash, violent and impulsive all rolled into one neatly pressed pinstripe suit and nicotine-roughened voice. The tattoos on the back of his hand shone more often than not with blood and gore than anything else, and he grew up on a steady diet of abuse and cheap thrills. 

But, despite all of his atrocities, he was your husband and you loved him.

Even if you were currently exasperated over his determination to knock you up again when you had just came back from the hospital 8 weeks ago.

“Shuji, you have to stop,” your pleading tone slowed the roll of his hips.

Frowning, Hanma took a hard pause from fucking you, the look on his face laced with both confusion and worry.

“Shit, baby,” he plucked your hand from between your legs where it was steadily stimulating your clit, kissing the rise of your knuckles. “Did I hurt you?” 

You shook your head, unable to voice out the anxiety clouding your mind. Shuji, however, was always patient with your unravelling thoughts, and gave you the space you needed to sort out your emotions. 

He had ceased every movement, waiting for you to speak.

“The babies,” you finally managed to mumble. “They’re still so young.” 

Referring to your two sons and daughter, your strange observation had him cocking his head to the side.

“Uh-huh. Shusei is eight, Shiori is two, and Shunki is three months old. Am I missing something here?” 

His tone was tainted with a sheen of frustration, and you could plainly hear the thoughts bouncing in his head: Did she really stop our love making just to ask about the kids?

“N-no,” you whispered, trying to get him to understand. “They’re still so young, Shuji. We… I don’t think we should have any more babies… for now.”

Your voice turned meek towards the end of your suggestion, and you braced yourself for Shuji’s uproar. If there was one thing your husband loved more than pleasing Kisaki and expensive cigars, it was the sight of you swollen and pretty with his babies.

And it wasn’t because of some weird masculine need to spread his seed thoroughly—Shuji actually enjoyed the pregnancy process together with you. 

The six foot five Reaper would shrug off other people’s judgement to get you anything you were craving for even if he was in the middle of a deadly meeting. He was present for every single one of his children’s ultrasounds without fail—except for Shusei’s, but that was a prickly past you had learned to make peace with. Shuji would follow you wherever you went if he wasn’t busy with work, and if he was, he always had a group of men shadowing your every movement, terrified that someone would hurt his precious family once his back was turned. 

As shocking as it was, the great Reaper of Tokyo was actually a fantastic family man. 

Never would anyone in a million years come to that conclusion, but it was the truth. Shuji lived and breathed to take care of his small family… and unfortunately, it came with the territory of knocking you up whenever he felt like it.

Which was currently the issue you were trying to get him to see.

“I need to rest, baby,” you murmured, cupping his face to ease the sting of disappointment you knew he was feeling. “I’ve been pushing out babies for the past three years. My body, it’s… it’s not what it used to be.” 

You gestured at your obvious stretch marks, at the cellulite speckling your thighs and abdomen. “It looks bad… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I felt like I needed to tell you this because I’m… I’m ovulating today.” 

Usually, those golden words would have Shuji seeing red for the whole evening. And you did notice your husband’s throat bobbing at the knowledge of your body being fertile and ready for his cum. 

But, he tried to understand where you were coming from, even if he didn’t like it. 

“Baby,” Shuji cooed, caressing your face with one large palm, inked knuckles grazing your wobbling lower lip. “You’re so fucking beautiful to me, don’t you know? I don’t care about what your body looks like. I love you for you. Plus—” he grabbed your breast fondly, squeezing it much to your gasp of surprise. “—I love how these tits have fed my babies.” He moved his hand lower to your hip, kneading the plush flesh with a playful grin. “And these fucking hips? Majestic, baby. I could live in between your thighs forever.”

His words made your cheeks burn hotly, and you struggled to not let him derail you. Focus on the end goal, Y/N. 

But, it wasn’t like you were going to lie to yourself—you wanted a huge family just like Shuji did. But, he had to understand about spacing out conception times so you didn’t feel like a big, ol’ baby making machine from the 1700s. 

“Shuji, that’s not what I’m saying,” you whined, pouting. He sighed, and rolled you over, his softening cock slipping out of your twitching heat. 

“What is it, darling?” he asked, intent on uncovering what’s got your thoughts in a twist. “If you’re worried I would find you unattractive, I won’t. Every time I remember I’m married to you, I get really nervous like… like, fuck—she’s still with me? I have the most beautiful woman as my wife?” His tone turned teasing, like it always did when he was trying to fluster you. “Give me a bit more credit, will you?”

Of course, you did, and you rolled your eyes, half in exasperation and half in spellbound charm for his sincere words.

“I know, baby,” you said, and took his face in your hands again, willing for him to understand. “But, I need you to promise me one thing—no getting me pregnant this year. Not until Shunki is at least two.” 

Shuji looked like you had just told him to jump off a cliff. His golden eyes widened with disbelief, mouth falling slack. 

“Baby—”

“I mean it, Shuji.”

And he knew you did. His sweet wife rarely sets such harsh boundaries, and he was coming to realise how much he had fucked up. 

“Are you angry with me?” 

The little glimmer of uncertainty and fear that you might leave him again reared its ugly head—something uncommon but understood when memories of what you both went through filled your uneasy mind.

“No, Shuji,” you took his face in your hands, tilting it close enough for your foreheads to touch. “I’m not. I love you. I just… want to not be pregnant for a bit.”

He hummed, the sound slightly fractured towards the end. You could tell Shuji hated this idea with every fibre of his being, but he wasn’t the one physically carrying any of the children. Despite how he had tried to make each of your pregnancies comfortable by constantly being at your beck and call, your reality was different. The swollen ankles, aching muscles, sleepless nights and horrifying cravings were all starting to catch up with you.

If you wanted to give Hanma a big family, you needed to take some breaks in between or else you would lose your mind.

“I get it,” he sighed, those brilliant golden eyes downcast. “It’s your body so it’s your choice. I understand, baby.”

You internally exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank you, baby,” you sealed your appreciation with a kiss, and Shuji returned the gesture back half-heartedly. Your husband was pouting like a kid whose candy got stolen, and you couldn’t resist a quiet chuckle at his expense.

“Look on the bright side—we could save up a little extra to take the kids for another holiday instead of buying diapers all the time.” 

He met your optimism with a sour expression. “Yeah—if condoms weren’t so damn expensive.”

You fixed him with a disapproving look. “You and I both know that’s not true.”

Shuji rolled his eyes and then pinned you down into the bed with his bigger frame. “So, lemme get this straight—I can still fuck you, still cum in you… but you don’t want my babies?” 

His words ignited a shiver of pleasure down your spine, and you cursed how susceptible you were to your husband’s seduction. Shuji could turn you on simply by lowering his voice and fixing you with his melting stare.

You swallowed hard, unsure how to reply to him. “W-well, yes—”

“Okay, fine,” he mumbled sourly. “Won’t do it, then.” 

Sighing, you shook your head. “Okay, Shuji. Are you okay?” 

He fixed you with an unfathomable look, and you were sure he would say something sarcastic. But, all your husband did was pull you into his embrace, kissing your hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

Then, he mumbled, “I won’t cum in you tonight, baby. You can trust me on that.”

And, you did. Shuji had proven to you time and time again how he religiously kept his word. Everytime he said that you were the only one or how he only wanted you in his life, he backed it up with real actions—like spending an entire night awake to take care of Shiori when she was down with a flu while you got your much needed rest; your pregnancy with Shunki wearing you out more than usual. 

You should’ve known Shuji was a man of his words, but like two extremes, Shuji could never find a balance.

And this time, he took his promise overboard. 

“Shuji,” you sobbed, completely lost in your pleasure. “A-Ah, I’m close!” 

Your nails bit into his shoulders, the bathroom tiles shimmering in your periphery. Shuji had your knees pressed to your chest, rearranging your guts with languid strokes as the bath steam perfumed the air with lavender fragrance. 

Your back was pressed to the grand mirror, and his lips were on yours, drinking every honeyed moan you had to offer him. 

Hanging by a single thread of your sanity, you were close enough to taste your orgasm.

Shuji was steadily wrecking you, hellbent on bringing you past the threshold of pleasure that you both barely cared to keep it down.

His hoarse groans were swallowed by your eager mouth, and your every purr went straight to his overstimulated cock.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he groaned, crowding you further up the cool glass, intent on invading every inch of your space with his dominating presence. “Wanna hear you scream my name—w-wanna… ah, fuck, you don’t want t’get knocked up.”

At the mention of getting you pregnant again, you whined, shaking your head.

“D-don’t—please, Shu.” 

He shook his head, reassuring you with a gentle squeeze on your thigh. “I won’t doll, I won’t. You know I won’t.” 

Your syrupy hiccup was met with a soft, sympathetic kiss on your jaw. 

“Ssh, ssh, darling. Don’t worry your head off, okay—a-ah, oh f—you feel so good.” Shuji’s beautiful golden eyes were heavy with lust, every weighty snap of his hips pushing his shaft to rub your sensitive spots deeper, making you see stars.

“I’m gonna cum,” every fibre of your soul was aching for your husband, your body echoing the same feat—demanding for Shuji to fulfil your gnawing lust. “G-gah, I-I’m g-gonna cum, Shuji—”

“F-fuck, me too, doll—fuck, fuck, you gotta—shit, shit, m’cumming—fuck!” Your husband’s guttural groan right in your ear made your insides flutter around his thick length, and you were rapidly melting for him; first your bones turning jelly, your muscles screaming and then your pussy was pulsing around him, ready to drop over the sweet, sinful edg e—

Shuji yanked you back from the edge when he practically ripped his cock from your swollen depths, jerking his raw and red cock hard. You barely had time to cry out in despair when you felt a hot spray coating your pelvis and thighs. 

The room was spinning, your whited-out mind reemerging back from the fog as one singular thought blared loudly like a hurricane siren: Shuji denied my orgasm. 

The devil in question exhaled out a laugh which stirred the loose hairs stuck to your neck with sweat. “You alright, baby?” 

Your mouth fell open, about to whine out your displeasure, when he tilted your face up, handsome face completely suffused with love as he kissed you slow and deep.

“You should get cleaned up,” he murmured, lips a heated stroke from yours, and yet so far away.

“Shuji—”

“I have some documents to wrap up,” he pried himself free from the beckoning circle of your arms, his smile touched with regret.

All you could do was gawk at him, dumbfounded by how he brushed your arousal aside like it barely even mattered. This was out of character for the man you intimately knew as your husband. Shuji had once eaten you out until his jaw went numb just so he could feel you cum on his tongue—his blase attitude towards your denied orgasm didn’t make sense.

“H-hey, I didn’t cum yet—”

“Hmm?” he cut you off, a pinch in his brow. “What do you mean, baby?” 

Flushing in anger, you pried him back into your arms, jaw clenched in fury. “Don’t be an asshole, Shu. I didn’t cum yet and I was so close. You knew I was close—”

“Sheesh, okay,” Shuji gently disentangled your hands from his body, giving you a smug grin. “I know you’re always a bitch in heat for me, but I honestly thought you came already.” 

Your jaw fell open, the anger giving way to disbelief. Your husband quickly pecked your cheek, backing away on his long legs in preparation for your mounting wrath. 

Quickly hopping onto your feet, you fully intended to chase him down and make him get on his knees for being so mean to you, when a familiar cry over the baby monitor stopped you short.

Shuji had already disappeared into his office, and you were left with the selfish decision of marching in to give him a piece of your frazzled mind, or tending to your baby. In the end, your motherly instinct won out, and you quickly slipped on your night robe, wincing at how you had to wash it now that the material had touched your husband’s cum as you hurried down the hallway to Shunki’s room.

Your baby boy was red in the face, screaming at the top of his lungs to be fed. You didn’t hesitate to shrug off one shoulder of your robe, placating him with your milk as he latched on hungrily. You fed your son and rocked him gently, brushing the baby fuzz on his head to get him to calm down. Once Shunki had his fill, you burped and cuddled him, waiting for his eyes to slip close after a fulfilling feeding.

Setting your son down to sleep in the crib, you had to take a quick shower and hurry to tuck both Shiori and Shusei in.

Once the children were all asleep, you had almost forgotten about the simmering lust in your veins, until the reminder of your soiled robe in the hamper stopped you up short.

Shuji would be working till late tonight, and there was no chance of him tending to your needs.

Somehow, you sensed it was because of the boundary you placed on him a few days ago which incited your husband’s petty actions. Which was a shame, because you were about to suggest hopping back on the pill if he refused to wear a condom. It’s not like you hadn’t done it before; at least one of you had to be responsible for the family planning, and unfortunately, the onus seemed to fall on your shoulders. 

So, you trudged back to bed, too tired to deal with your arousal and hoping it would go away when morning came.

… Only, you couldn’t fall asleep.

You stayed awake, tossing and turning; wishing Shuji were here to hold you. 

Unbidden, you reached for his side of the bed and found it empty. 

Lying up, you rubbed your eyes, reaching for your thin cardigan. Even though you were angry with him, you still wanted his comfort and love. Without a second thought, you trudged into his office, startling him from his papers.

“Oh? Darling.” 

Like a child, you padded over to him, throwing yourself onto his lap and burying your face in his neck. 

Shuji held you close, inhaling the scent of lavender from your hair greedily. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

“Mhm,” you smacked his chest lightly. “‘Cause of you, dumbass.”

His deep laughter rumbled under your cheek. “What did I do now?”

“Don’t act stupid,” you grumbled under your breath. 

“Baby, I’m serious.”

This close to him, your senses were ignited and tingling; a rush of desire flooding south to stain your innocent cotton panties with a bone-deep need for your husband.

“You’re so mean, Shuji,” your whine reached his heated ears, and he strangled back a chuckle at your expense. Sensing your cresting arousal, he ran his rough palms down your back, warming you up under your thin night clothes. 

“Yeah, I guess I was. I didn’t make my baby cum. I’m a bad husband for that.” 

“Mhm hmm,” you petulantly agreed. Sitting straighter, you inched off his lap to perch on the edge of his desk. Parting your legs, you dangled your arousal right in front of him, the innocence on the curve of your brow contrasting vividly with the wet spot his sights immediately latched onto. “So, what’re you going to do to make it up to me?” 

His hollow chuckle sounded strained, even to his own ears. He wrapped an inked palm on your bare thigh, calloused thumb rubbing circles into the heated flesh. 

“I guess you have to show me, darling.” 

This was the thing about your husband; while you were given full reign on the house and his emotions, Shuji still held all the cards when it came to your body. You had barely cared before; he had always made sure to put your pleasure above anything else in his life. But, in this instant, when you could feel the tides of power shifting uncertainty from one stubborn end to another, the ball was in your court to determine how you wanted this night to end.

Shuji was giving you both an out and an in—waiting on the choice you were going to make.

Without a word, you nudged his hand away, and parted your thighs further, slowly inching down your panties. His pen dug into your side, and you impatiently shoved it away, the pesky item rolling down the desk to clatter onto the floor. 

Once your cunt was naked and dripping in front of him, you didn’t hesitate to rub your clit, literally taking your pleasure into your own hands.

“Is this how you wanted me to react?” you quietly goaded, a fire in your eyes he found breathtakingly beautiful. Shuji responded by sitting back into his chair to get a good look at you touching yourself, those golden eyes infuriatingly unreadable. “By forcing your hand? You’re sick, Shuji. J-just because I enforced a boundary, you—nghh—want to punish me.” 

Your circles turned jerky, the previously denied orgasm he didn’t give you rearing fully back to the surface. The room was sticky and hot, the air saturated with the smell of seduction and repressed need.

You couldn’t see it, but Shuji was holding tightly to the arms of his desk chair, outwardly patient while you got yourself off; inwardly dying to feel your walls choke his cock. 

However, he hesitated to react; in some sick, twisted sense, he wanted to see how far he could push you—how much you could take until you crumbled.

He was always the more active one in pursuing your physical pleasure while you allowed him to dominate you and lead you down endless carnal paths. This time, Shuji took one step back, letting you decide what you wanted—because to him, your words and actions weren’t matching. The woman who didn’t want him to breed her, was displaying her pussy fully just for him; begging him earlier this now to make her cum. Every part of you begged for him deep inside you, but he had to make sure this was what you truly wanted.

“Shuji,” your sweet whine made his cock throb. “God—f-fuck—must I beg you to touch me?”

Immediately he pushed your hand aside, cheek pressed to the inside of your thigh as he greedily inhaled your arousal. In hindsight, it was your fault for goading him, because for the next hour, Shuji ate you out until you were dripping onto his proposal papers, smearing Toman’s next steps around your sweaty, writhing body as you came again and again for your husband.

His tongue rubbed on your tender spots deep inside you, his nose pressed firmly against your clit, rubbing back and forth back and forth until you cried out gonna cum again Shu, g-gonna cum again—

He let you grind your pussy all over his face, let your hands twine in his hair to hold him in place while you found your unravelling for the third time tonight.

Once your thighs had stopped spasming, he eased back, lips glossy and lower chin drenched in your juices. 

Pulling you into his lap, Shuji’s hard cock strained against his slacks, surely leaking now from how long he had teased himself—held himself back from ravaging you like you deserved. But, even saints were humans who had a limit to their patience, and Shuji would never delude himself to believe he was a good man.

He was as rotten as they came—corrupted both inside and out. But, his love for you would always be his salvation. 

You brought out the man underneath the monster; only you were able to claw him out from the dark and into your arms. 

You were his salvation, and Shuji was going to make sure you were ruined for him. 

“Undress me.” 

Those hooded golden eyes pushed you to unbuckle his belt first, your shaky hands pressing down on his broad pecs, trembling when they unbuttoned his dress shirt. 

Shuji simply sat back, studying the adorable concentration scrunching your brow as you tried to quickly take what you wanted. His dress shirt slid down his scarred shoulders, and his cock finally sprang free from behind the restrictive material of his slacks. 

It was your turn to undress. You eased the flimsy silk nightgown from your shoulders, letting it fall in a pool by your waist. Shuji’s intensity threatened to swallow you whole—from the smouldering heat in his amber eyes to his parted lips, he was looking at you like you were a rare feast laid out for him.

Those large palms cupped your breasts, massaging your swollen nipples and toying with them until you winced. He lifted you up slightly to slide the pretty black nightgown fully off you, leaving you bare and vulnerable just for his scrutiny. 

Shuji’s lips were on yours, drowning you with his kisses that tasted of whisky and cloying impatience. You drank him in deeply, until you felt like your lungs would puncture and overflow. His tongue slipped past the shaky barrier of your mouth, intimately dancing with yours as you both savoured and teased each other.

“Shuji…” your breathless sigh never failed to get him light-headed. He loved how his name always sounded coming from your sacred lips. 

Cupping your face in his hands, he gently pecked your nose, cheeks and lips, while subtly nudging you further up his torso so his cock could brush your entrance. Your first gasp rang through the room, the sensation of his fat tip pushing past the tight muscle an experience you never wanted to give up.

Suddenly, this game of cat and mouse snapped your patience in half, and you wanted nothing more than to feel his hot cum flooding your womb.

“Shuji…” your gasp was swallowed by his feral mouth on yours, kissing away any of your anticipated complaints.

But, you were done restricting your husband from the most tender parts of yourself. It was his right to defile you; to drive his hips deeper and deeper into you until you bore him the fruits of both your labours.

Sacrilege was never giving Hanma Shuji what he wanted when all he wanted was you.

“I need you…” 

Hanma’s ears pricked, hearing something more than desperation in your sweet request.

“Yeah, doll? What do you need?”

He would always have a sixth sense whenever you were struggling with piecing together your needs. Shuji wanted to count all of your insecurities and pin them onto the bruises of his body just so he could brush them softly whenever they started to hurt.

Lifting your glossy, tear-filled eyes, you hiccuped: “You.”

His chuckle brushed your parted mouth, nose grazing yours. “You already have me.”

“No,” you whined, bucking your hips to take him at a deeper angle. The both of you hissed out curses, the sloppy sounds of your pussy taking his dick growing louder and fervent. “No, I want you. A-all of you.”

The pricking in his ears turned into a roaring. Shuji couldn’t make out a maths equation for his life, but he was pretty sure he counted every cadence of desire in your tone which led him to one singular conclusion: you were begging to be bred.

A smile of pure triumph spread across his face, hidden in your hair. “Yeah?” he struggled to keep his voice from shaking in excitement. “But, you already have me, doll. What more could you want?” 

He meant to tease you; to goad you further until you broke and bent just for him.

Shuji needed to hear those words leaving your lips, all for the sake of his bruised ego.

“I… I need you.” Your soft bleat went straight to his heart. God, he was so fucking in love with you; no one could change that fact. Come hell or high water, Shuji was all fucking yours till the end. 

He kissed your temple, soft and unhurried with his thrusts. “Where do you need me, baby?”

Close. He was so close to breaking you.

You groaned, the sound filled with lust and frustration—a little bit of your insanity leaking through. “Shuji!” 

If your whine was meant to scare him into acting, all it did was make his bastard grin grow wider. Hanma kissed down your neck, placating your impatience with the sweet temptation of his lips. You tensed in his arms, ready to slip down the freefall. But, his hesitation was keeping you from fulfilling your high.

One minute turned into two. The inner restraint you harboured fraying at the edges, like a glass dome showing cracks in the middle. Rocked by an earthquake, your resolve was fracturing bit by bit. Shiny shards slipped down your cheeks when the axis tilted and spun but never broke you—and so, you decided to take a sledgehammer to your own stubbornness and shatter those walls.

“Inside!” Your cry could’ve woken up the neighbours if Shuji hadn’t smartly made his entire office soundproof. “I want you—ngh—inside!” 

Your husband didn’t waste a single second. Grabbing you by the plush fat of your thighs, he nudged you up in one swift move, spreading you across his wide, oak desk. Shuji’s snarl would’ve been terrifying if you weren’t so relieved to feel him going deeper, throwing your legs over his shoulders to touch that spot inside that always made you melt for him.

His face was between your breasts, peppering the jiggling flesh with soft kisses and sharp nips which made you squeal. Shuji used every bit of his strength to push his hips forward, over and over again until you saw stars in the back of your eyelids—your orgasm threatening to explode like the formation of a new universe.

You welcomed the implosion with open arms, your lips on his; the desk rattling and eventually groaning as the full effects of your passions ricocheted around the room. 

Shuji’s gritted cry of your name, and your delirious moan melted into a sloppy meeting of tongues and teeth, his warmth filling you up, right where he belonged in the deep embrace of your body. 

You held him close to your thrumming heart, feeling him soften and relax in your hold. 

For a long minute, neither of you spoke—Shuji was afraid to look up in case he crossed a line, and you were dazed, trying to recover from your earth-shattering release.

He felt your fingers scratching his scalp, and that little move was enough for him to summon a shred of courage to look you in the eye. Your smile was soft, if a little hazy, those pretty eyes latched onto him with a woozy affection. 

“Are you okay?” Shuji gripped your hand tightly in his, hoping he hadn’t scared you away again. 

But, you shook your head, beaming angelically at him. “I’m fine, Shu.”

His nickname and your relaxed countenance made some of the fears stop dancing in his mind. He heaved a sigh of relief, pressing his forehead to your neck and inhaling your sweet scent lightly.

How could you have ever denied your husband what he wanted whenever he looked at you with such pure love in his eyes?

Every fibre of his body echoed an affection which remained steadfast and sure—you were positive if it resulted in more love to bring into this household, you would welcome those blessings with open arms.

“What changed your mind?” 

You hummed, relaxing further into the unyielding wood, safe and sound in his embrace. 

“You.” 

Shuji furrowed his brow, glancing up into your serene expression. “Huh?” 

Your laughter was pure and unaffected. “I want only you, Shuji. How could I say ‘no’ to more babies if it means we have more proof of our love? We always wanted to build a big family, and I want to do that with you.” 

Unexpectedly, he felt a lump grow in his throat. “Doll, you don’t have to do this for me. It’s your body—”

You shushed his complaints, giving him a look. “I want this,” you emphasised. “I want this with you—forever. So, you better make sure we have enough money to send the kids to college, Shuji… because we’ll be paying tuition fees for a long time.”

His answering giggle made more sticky sweet love bloom in your soul. “You got it, doll. I’ll work my ass off for you. Break more rules for ya. Up the drug prices to squeeze everyone dry till our babies are big enough. I love you.” 

And you knew Shuji would keep his word—he was a man of integrity as much as he was rotten on the inside. A man of trust and fulfilment only for you. 

Just then, the baby monitor he kept in his desk crackled, and Shunki cried out for his nightly feed.

Both you and Shuji lurched into action, slipping on your clothes in record speed. Your baby boy’s cries even catalysed Shuji into sprinting down the hallways, and he was there first thanks to his longer legs, cradling his son close to his chest while you caught up. 

“Give him here,” you hummed, taking the wailing bundle from Shuji and slipping down your nightgown to press one plump nipple past his tiny lips. 

Shuji watched you feed his son with pure love in his eyes, leaning back against the old, chipped yellow crib with arms loosely perched on his side. Absorbing this scene and imprinting it onto his brain as the idea of his perfect version of heaven.

If fate would allow it, he wanted a moment like this with you for forever. 

Nevermind his dangerous occupation or the nature of his lifestyle. You, Shunki, Shusei and Shiori were the only specks of light in his otherwise fucked up world. Hanma would fight tooth and nail to keep every one of you safe, and he would put every dream of his own on hold just to see his little family happy.

As soon as that thought arose, the door to the nursery swung open, and Shiori crept in, curious by her two parents who were still awake. Hanma lifted her into his arms, cooing softly at his sleepy, baby girl. Shusei, too, ignored your rule for sleeping early on school nights to peek into Shunki’s room. His father called him over, and Shuji easily lifted his other baby boy into the seam of his side, cradling them both while you fed your youngest.

All three of them were piled onto the soft couch you often sat on as you pumped more milk for Shunki, and Shuji was drowsily recounting a story for his other two children.

“... the elephant then said to the fairy: I want to be a cat today, and the fairy—” 

You sat down next to him, Shunki still in your arms, and admired how both your children looked at their father with honest admiration and adoration in their twin golden eyes. 

Shusei, who was following the story with rapt attention, smirked at his sister.

“I told you the elephant became a cat but you didn’t believe me.” 

In answer, Shiori stuck out her tongue. “No!” 

They were both about to bicker when Shuji stopped them with one large palm on each of their tinier heads. “Kids, let’s not start to fight, yeah? You’ll wake your baby brother up.”

All three golden eyes latched onto the sleeping infant in your arms, and you smiled at them. “Your tou-chan’s right. Shunki is really grumpy at night when he doesn’t sleep well.” Levelling them a look, you had to play the stern parent when you realised Shuji wasn’t going to say a word about how they both were up past their bedtime.

“Speaking of, aren’t you two supposed to be asleep?” 

Cheekily, Shusei shook his head. “Can’t sleep, mama. Wanna see Shunki again.”

Like the adoring big brother he was, your oldest son clambered towards you, his head on your shoulder as he stared intently at his baby brother. Shiori, too, was curious and Shuji let her go, carefully helping her down the sofa so she could rest her head on your knee. Carefully, you untucked one arm to pat her messy bedhead, fondly smiling down at your daughter. 

Shunki gurgled and burped in his sleep, eliciting giggles from all four of you. 

“He’s like a doll,” Shusei murmured.

“A doll,” Shiori echoed, always following her brother’s lead. 

“Yeah,” Shuji leaned forward, taking a spare moment out of his busy day to have this time with his family. “The cutest doll. Makes you want to have another sibling, huh?” 

Shusei groused, “Mama just gave birth.”

Shiori giggled. “More, more.” 

Hanma smiled at his daughter’s excitement, knowing his middle child was the most excited for a baby sister so she wouldn’t be the only girl in the line-up.

“We’ll get you both another sister.”

Again, you were scandalised by Shuji’s blatant promise to the kids, like he did a year ago before Shunki’s conception. He was filling the children with hope, cornering your decision so you couldn’t change your mind, not when they were already this invested. 

What a scheming, cunning asshole.

“Maybe we can all ask papa to take us to Disney World when Shunki is a little older—would you want that? And your new sister can join, too. We’ll make papa carry all the bags.”

Your quick plan was met with pure excitement from both of your children, and Shunki nearly roused awake if you hadn’t clamped one hand around his ear to block out their hushed squeals.

“Disney World!” 

“Didney World!” 

Shuji winced, and you knew you were triumphant when he conceded letting his children clamber back into his lap, pawing at his clothes and face as they excitedly enthused about a trip which hadn't even happened yet.

As your husband shot you a look of exasperation, all you did was grin cheekily back at him, your baby still miraculously asleep in your arms.

All was perfect in the Hanmas’ house and your life.

intellectual property of ©️lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or play around with my sentence structures, plots and characterization.

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ AW, LOOK AT THE PRETTY PRINCESS CRY.❞

— minors dni, bully! satosugu, dubcon, face/throatfucking, meandom! geto, degradation (slut), pet names (princess, pretty girl), hair pulling, one mention of spanking, photography

summary; you need to copy Suguru’s notes, but he’s gonna make you work for it <3

“Is this really the best you can do?,” Geto squeezes imprints into the fat of your hips. “Thought you really needed these to pass the exam?”

Gojo’s cock bullies its way down your throat, allowing you only a grunt to respond as he marks the tight cavern of your throat with more ropes of his cum. Red, angry marks adorn the length of his thighs, the work of your nails, fruitlessly aiming to slow the brutal thrusts of his hips to your mouth.

“Aw, look at the pretty princess cry.,” Gojo mocks, thumbing away an endless ocean of tears pouring down your cheeks. The ‘click’ of his phone as he takes another picture. “You’re trying so hard for us, aren’t ya? What a responsible little girl you are doing anything for that good grade, huh?”

He savors the irritation behind your eyes, clouded over with heaps of pleasure coursing through your veins. The fat tip of Geto’s cock nudges your cervix, causing a falter in the roll of your hips as you gag around Gojo’s cock. A fluttering of your walls, knot growing taut in the pit of your stomach, and a stifled moan involuntarily spills from your lips.

“You’re about to cum again?,” Geto sighs. “I only asked you to make me cum once, and you can’t even do that for a couple sheets of paper?”

You clench down on his cock at the brash words, cunt quivering and begging to be filled as another orgasm finally topples over the edge to send spasms throughout your body. Eyes rolled back, you release an overflow of pathetic whimpers around Gojo’s length; throbbing pain shoots through both your jaw and pussy from the sheer stretch of their thick cocks. Geto extends an impatient hand beneath your shirt, paws your breast and tugs at your nipple to force a whine out of you. He runs the other hand down your back, roughly groping your ass before landing a rough smack on your rear.

“Selfish slut.,” he mutters. “I’ll give you one last chance, otherwise you’ll have to get this shit from someone else. Understood?”

Gojo halts his movements to slip his enlarged cock from your throat. Globs of his cum spill out the corners of your mouth, ones he shoves to the back of your tongue with forceful fingers and your subsequent wretching exhilarates him. “Come on, pretty girl, I thought you wanted this A+?”

You start to bite back with whatever insult comes to mind, only for Geto’s aggressive jerk of your hair to have you facing him. That ever-present smile of his seems anything but calm and inviting at this moment; if you saw it under any other occasion, you’d be turning-tail and hauling ass the other way.

“Answer me, first.” His tone raises the hairs on your neck, and compels you to surrender.

“F…,” you shakily let out a gasp. “Fine.”

More pressure as his fist tightens in your hair. “Fine?”

Your gaze falls to the floor in submission. “Ah, I-I mean, yes, sir.”

Geto hums in approval and releases you, allowing for Gojo to take hold of your cheeks and force his length back into the wet warmth of your mouth. He takes in your helpless form beneath messy, white bangs. “That’s more like it.”

[iicarused]

he loves me, i swear

ticci toby x reader / pre-proxy & after

synopsis: you met the man as a lone criminal, then he started working for a faceless man

requested by: anon && @/nowonlydogs

★* not the healthiest relationship — more codependency in this one. beware of // co-dependency, stalking, mention of murder, yandere aspects tbh

wrote this while very very eepy, so it ain’t my best tbh.

PRE-PROXY

he spared your life, you should be thankful.

his eyes settle on your form like a wine glass on the shelf. his mother never allowed him to touch such intricate things.

his hands are gentle on your skin, caressing your face as this is the first in a very long time he felt the softness of a cheek — he truly believes he’s a saviour

he saved you. nothing will change that, and as repayment, you just need to be his pretty lover. sit on his lap, smother him, love him; everything that normal lovers do.

but only you would know that this isn’t normal. what a life to be a doormat, and you would meekly agree to live with him

the only way you ever got to see the sky was through windows. the windows of his home that he was quick to also make yours.

he never brought unfamiliar faces — just food, clothes, home decor, and whatever else you requested for

of course, you were hesitant. it’s not everyday that you were about to be murdered then let go — just because of a pretty face — or so you thought

toby often admits his stalkings, and how long he’s been watching you. in a way, he does expect you to find those stories endearing. when in reality, you never noticed his gaze

in the park, when you went shopping, at your friends, night outs, morning runs, at the comfort of your home. you never knew that he was there

but it all made sense. things would move, often disappearing and reappearing. others were gone permanently —— well, until you found them in the makeshift room he made for you.

waiting for your arrival.

toby wasn’t brash nor commanding. he just wanted a home

but you would learn quickly not to go against his simple wish. the plan of escape failed and it took months to regain his trust.

you nearly forgot how the stars looked in the night sky

PROXY

just because his free will is restricted doesn’t mean he became easier to handle — in matter of fact, it became much worse — but somewhere at the back of your head says it is love.

the home you worked so hard for — the trust you built — finally being back in your room and promising toby to never run, all a waste

now your surroundings are alien. your head hurts and your ears hasn’t stopped ringing

he says life will get better but your vision is a blur.

if there is a wish toby wanted, slenderman had granted. all toby yearned for was to be wanted by you, and that’s what the faceless served. not that you would know at the time

all you did understand is that when you lay by toby’s side — everything stopped. your hands would grasp for the fabric of his sweater, pulling his weight to come over you. the world became clear and all you felt was toby

his fingers brushed over your cheek, the cold of his lips pressing against your temple. you truly are a gem

[itsabouttimex2]

I hope this isn't an odd question

But, do you think Wukong or Macaque would act or treat different their "cub" if they genders were swapped or being a female version? This is also for a Yan behavior

I don't know too much about how is the raising of a monkey from the father and mother so I was curious with this since they're both mystical demons

I was thinking about this when I saw some fanarts from the artist @/car_nimbus on Twitter, they made a neat versions of the characters with another gender

Monkey Mama

(Hmm okay let me build a hypothetical OG “Female Monkey King” to work off of here and then I’ll try to translate that into LMK’s SWK. Also, I’ll probably make a second variation of this afterwards with other characters, haha. This got a little long to do both SWK and Mac!)

Sun Wukong as a character is already heavily defined by rebellion and personal choice, so I think that making him a girl only really compounds that layer of his character.

In many older narratives, female characters are often expected to be more obedient or modest than men, and very frequently only exist as prizes or, more rarely, villains. A female Sun Wukong; assuming she plays the same role as her original incarnation, defies the expectations of how “traditional” women should behave, shirking the demure and passive “ideal” and adding another layer of rebellion to her character.

(JTTW is actually pretty great in terms of female representation, with characters ranging from the perpetually good Quanyin, the eventually repentant Princess Iron Fan, and the straight up evil White Bone Spirit. I’m a big fan of how the women aren’t slid into any one “role” throughout the story.)

I think: in story, she’d likely be viewed as a sort of “anomaly”—a woman too strong, too outspoken, and too unwilling to conform to typical feminine ideals. Her defiance and arrogance might be viewed as even more scandalous by the Celestial Realm.

Instead of being made a “stable-keeper”, I think probably she’s sent to whatever Heavenly Scullery exists in that divine realm, and put to work very quickly. She would treat this “job” with indifference or even amusement at first-after all, physical labor or menial tasks don't diminish her self-worth or confidence! She’s had a life of hard work, leading an army of Yaoguai, cultivating Flower Fruit Mountain,

So she’s fine with this… at first. Then it turns out that the food she makes with her fellow low-class workers isn’t distributed amongst the people making it, but plated up nice and pretty for a bunch of “stuffy old gods” who didn’t lift a finger! Bullshit!

So obviously, the prideful Monkey Queen goes on a destructive rampage in regards to the unfair disparity of treatment, then storms back down to Earth to throw a “feel-better” party with her fellow Yaogaui.

(Which isn’t just a party, but a symbolic reclaiming of joy and community, with her monkey tribe representing the freedom she craves and the earthly bonds she prefers over heavenly authority. It's not just an escape, but a statement of independence.)

After an extensive set of repairs, the Court sends down someone to drag her back, because, you know, the local super-powered monkey is back on the loose, and that’s not exactly great for them. This time, they offer her a “better” role- she gets to become an official Peach Maiden, lucky her!

Of course, it’s just another form of entrapment, but within a prettier cage. Even though she's given a cushier position, it's a veneer- she's still being silenced, controlled, and stripped of her freedom. The role played by a Peach Maiden is an inversion of Wukong's essence, as these women are happily serving the role of passive caretakers, nurturing with gentle smiles—a direct contrast to the free-willed, brash nature of the Monkey Queen.

(And while there’s nothing wrong with being demure, passive, and feminine, having people try to force her into that role is where Sun Wukong draws her line.)

Here, she is expected to watch in silence as others revel in the freedom and power denied to her. It's a different kind of prison, one that quietly erodes her spirit. When the Celestial Court tries to reintegrate her as a Peach Maiden, they are once again attempting to place her into a docile, decorative role, one that strips away her power and independence. Those immortal peach orchards, a symbol of immortality and divine favor, becomes a prison for her.

Surrounded by "ideal" women who embody the quiet, submissive role she despises, the Monkey Queen finds herself chafing under the pressure of conformity. Her energy, once boundless and chaotic, is now caged, and the simmering resentment builds.

The buildup to her inevitable rebellion after being made a Peach Maiden, then, becomes a very sympathetic moment because it's not just a rejection of the role forced on her, but a rejection of the very system that tries to diminish who she is at her core. Her rebellion isn’t about anger and shame- it’s about reclaiming her true self after having been suffocated by the expectations of the Celestial Court. Her rampage becomes an assertion of her identity as something that can't be confined by heavenly rules or social mores.

The Court, in its attempt to “contain" her, only fuels her defiance further, leading her once again to rebel.

It was never going to end well. But it ends all the same, and punishment is to be levied to the Queen, just the same as any other rebellious rule-breaker... actually, probably harsher.

There’s “you broke our rules and tried to lead a coup”, then there’s “you did all that, and we also find your very person to be wrong on a fundamental level”, and then she gets the book thrown at her twice over.

But! Then she meets Tang Sanzang, who sees something in her that neither the Celestial Realm nor her own band of Sworn Brothers saw. Not a heretic simian savaging a holy realm. Not a Queen to rally behind for their own gain.

But a lost soul in need of guidance.

And from there the Great Monk works on building Sun Wukong up as a person instead of leading her astray or trying to cut massive chunks of her personality out? And talks to her about the things she cares about? And teaches her about all the things she missed after spending five hundred years under a rock?

And then she meets Zhu Baije, who starts out a little too happy and carefree about having a beautiful woman around, but eventually comes to smash open heads when Wukong is disrespected, because that’s not just a hot woman, that’s his sister?

Or Sha Wujing, who helps her with even the smallest things, from trimming her claws to cutting her wild hair to preparing meals for the monk? And lets her perch on his shoulders and head so the queen can get some skinship in?

Then Ao Lie, who is every bit the “disappointment to the world at large” that she was considered? And they take turns braiding each other’s hair and wiping the mess from the other’s face, and sleeping in the same tent and same bedroom because it’s less effort?

She gets a dad and three little brothers?

She gets a family.

And then loses it and is alone again for several hundred years more.

So if we go with this theoretical “My natural existence has been rejected for being seen as ‘improper’ by a court of stuffy traditional assholes” and then “I dearly love/miss my dead found family” angle, I think she’d be portrayed as a very different sort of character in LMK.

She’s quicker to lash out and defend herself, and much less willing to sit around and let the world pass her by- because that’s what was demanded of her by the Celestial Realm.

Be good. Be quiet. Be demure. Be obedient. Be anything except you.

I don’t think she’d be as willing to “rest on her laurels” as her canon counterpart, given that a “quiet boring life” was what she had fought so very hard to escape in the first place, so instead of isolating herself from the world in the first place, she probably sets up a little “souvenir shop” at the foot of Flower Fruit Mountain, taking a human form to sell little knick-knacks that herald to the journey she undertook with her old friends.

In part, this is how Wukong works to honor them. To spread their legacy. To ensure that they aren’t forgotten, left as a footnote in the annals of history. To remember them.

In part, it’s how she justifies all the mistakes she’s made and the suffering she’s been through. Settling in to a pointlessly relaxed life is exactly what she fought against, after all. She’s heavily fallen into the “sunk-cost fallacy”, where giving up and settling in, to her, means “losing”. It means “everything I went through was all for nothing”. So she keeps at this little store instead of just retiring and isolating herself from the world, even though she’d be happier to ditch it and lounge about.

So when MK and his eccentric bunch of friends comes around with their boundless energy and mischief, she immediately goes, “Oh, okay! This is what I wanted!”

(It’s not. All she’s ever wanted is her friends back. How could there be anything else?)

The Monkie Kids are vibrant, eccentric, and full of qualities that immediately resonate with Wukong. They remind her of the energy, camaraderie, and sense of adventure that she once shared with her old companions. She sees MK's arrival not just as a chance to teach someone a few of her old tricks, but as an echo of her own life—a life she hasn't been able to truly let go of.

So she starts projecting- on the surface, MK is very much like her. He's spirited, good-natured, and curious- and reckless. Just like she was. Wukong latches onto this quickly, sort of using the kid as a proxy for herself. After all, if she can't go back to her old life, why not embrace a new one that feels close enough? In some ways, this marks her refusal to accept the passage of time, a desperate clinging to the hope that, through MK, she can rekindle the connections she once cherished.

However, underneath that initial enthusiasm is the repressed understanding that MK, despite his similarities to her younger self, cannot truly replace what she lost. The friends she fought beside, the battles they waged together, and the lessons they learned are unique, irreplaceable moments in her life. No matter how much MK’s gang reminds her of the past, he and his friends a stand-in for the companions she still longs for. But her deep desire to reconnect with her old friends clouds her ability to see MK for who he truly is: his own person, on his own journey.

It takes her a while to get to that point, though. So she’s more doting and affectionate, in a way that somewhat stifles her student’s training because she wants to be both her old carefree self and also a good mentor, and the two just get jumbled.

Sidenote: I think with the difference in actions and behavior, MK would be more open to viewing Fem!Wukong as a parental figure than the OG, especially since he doesn’t really have someone to fulfill that “mom” role.

For their dynamic, I think something like this would be the outcome:

———————————————————————-

The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, painting the landscape in hues of varied orange and blue. With a tired hand, MK wipes the sweat from his brow.

He’s perched on one of the rocky spires dotting Flower Fruit Mountain, gazing at the view with a small smile of accomplishment. Training had been intense lately… if only because he had been doubling down on the time he spent practicing, without giving as much care to rest or aftercare.

After all, even though his powers were blooming steadily… his enemies also were growing in power and quantity, leading to the ever-creeping edge of fear that anything less than a constant one-hundred percent just wouldn’t be “enough”.

And right as he reaches back to grab the golden staff he has inherited from the Monkey Queen-

“MK! I told you to take a break, not run off to do more training!”

Her voice, uncharacteristically sharp, cuts through the formerly tranquil air, causing MK to jump. He turns just in time to see Sun Wukong strolling toward him, her hands on her hips and a look of mock annoyance on her face.

MK grinned sheepishly, shifting his grass-stained boots against the dirt. “I was just, you know… checking out the view.”

She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement as her eyes narrowed in annoyance. This kid... “Uh-huh. Checking out the view or sneaking in some practice when I wasn’t looking?”

Caught fast in his lie, MK rubbed the back of his neck, face scrunching up in embarrassment. “Maybe a little of both?”

In spite of herself, Sun Wukong quietly laughs, the sound echoing like a chiming bell through the mountain. Her long, golden hair flowed behind her in the wind, each strand catching the light like molten fire. Despite her legendary status- the rebellious warrior who’d fought the heavens and nearly won!- there was a warmth to her that MK had come to cherish.

“All work and no play, MK,” she said, sitting beside him on the rock and ruffling his hair with a fondness that always made him feel like a little kid again. “You’ll burn out before you get anywhere.”

He looked at her, eyes shining with admiration. “But you never stop training. You’ve been at this for centuries! I just…”

A pause, as his chest turns over, unsettled by the notion of opening up. But… it’s the Monkey Queen. So it.. should be okay, right?

“I want to make you proud.”

Sun Wukong’s expression softens, and she wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling the boy close in a tight embrace. “You already make me proud, kid. You don’t have to prove anything.”

MK leaned into the touch, feeling a wave of comfort wash over him. Even from the start she’d been like this with him- protective, nurturing… and maybe a bit overbearing at times. But he didn’t mind. It made him feel safe, like no matter what challenges lay ahead, he wasn’t alone.

MK chuckled, turning his face up to meet his idol’s eyes.” I’ll keep up,” he triumphantly declares, pumping a fist.” I promise.”

“Good.” Wukong shifted, her clawed hand lightly missing his spiked locks. “Now, how about we head back to the shop and grab something to eat? You’ve earned it.”

MK’s stomach growled at the mention of food, and he nodded so eagerly that she wondered if his head wouldn’t ache from the motion. “You know, I won’t say no to a good meal.”

The Monkey Queen stood up, dusting off her mentee’s clothes before offering him a hand. “Of course you won’t. C’mon, my treat.”

———————————————————————-

Now, to answer your question about how she acts in regards to her own cub… in general I think she’s much more doting than the OG, willing to express herself through constant displays of physical affection, in ways that are far more varied.

Constant forehead smooching, cuddles, grooming sessions, all of it! Mama Wukong never wants to let go of her baby! Sit down and let her paint your nails! Let her comb and braid your hair! Let her make you a nice lunch (loaded with mystical drugs to keep you nice and sleepy for extra cuddles), or at least a filling snack! Let her pepper your face with kisses as she spins you in her powerful arms!

Lots and lots of indulgent fluffy days of binging unhealthy foods and watching cozy reruns of old shows, your head in her lap as she hums and does up your hair with her lazy hands.

Lots of reminiscing about old suitors as she considers the quietest and quickest ways to kill anyone who makes the futile attempt to pursue you in the same way.

Despite her obsessive behavior, Wukong struggles with conflicting feelings about wanting her child to be strong and independent, just like her! She pushes you to train hard and become powerful, but when you inevitably seek their own freedom or autonomy, she’d experience a mix of pride and heartbreak, pushing her deeper into possessive tendencies.

If you ever tried to leave or even just start to break away, Wukong’s worst traits would bubble up like hellfire. Just as she fought against an entire realm’s authority, she would absolutely wage a war to keep her child close, all while justifying her actions as love.

The Monkey Queen is also more willing to take routes outside of brute force if it means securing extra protection for Y/N. If Macaque or maybe Azure (or someone else like Erlang Shen) wants to try and play “suitor”, well, she’s not too interested… until the thought arises that having him around makes you extra safe! And then she’s willing to think on it.

(That’s assuming that you aren’t one of their biological kids to begin with, in which case there might be a sort of “yandere triangle”. Azure/Macaque/Erlang Shen doing his damndest to reclaim his wife, before he learns that she’s had a child while he was gone... or maybe Pigsy and Tang decided that MK needs his mentor in a more ‘accessible’ position, and plot to drag her to Megapolis…)

Lots of potential monkey mama shenanigans, basically!

[jayaury]

Marrying the Maid

More archive short stories. Get more on my P*treon. Enjoy! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

---

Baron Lukas Instaf fell into his office chair with an audible groan.

Yes.

His office.

He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. To think, he would inherit the barony at a mere twenty years of age. It was quite a bit of pressure, he had to admit.

He found himself looking back at the imposing portrait hanging over the mantle of the fireplace. His father’s picture was of a grim, sullen man with dark hair and a face of hard, disapproving lines.

Lukas had inherited the man’s hair, if not his rough features. He was slimmer than his stocky father. Many said handsomer, and certainly younger. He flexed his hands on the arms of the chair uneasily and scanned the study. He didn’t much care for the decor. But that had always been his problem, as his father had frequently berated him. He was indecisive. Weak.

Well, Lukas had best start getting decisive. For this was his home now.

Well, mostly.

The door swung open with a bang. “Good morning master!”

He sat up sharply as a familiar figure bounced into the room. Clarissa, the family’s maid of two years, was a forceful personality in the house. She filled every room she stepped foot in with her presence and somewhat unconventional character. Lukas had no idea why his father had kept the boisterous redhead.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had a good idea. Two of them, actually. Clarissa was bustier than some holstaurs. In fact, there were rumours that she was one of those bovine maidens, but had filed down her horns. Lukas wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he did know that she did attend that new cow goddess church that was making waves. And she was unbelievably brash and forceful for a servant. Not to mention teasing. He’d often been at the receiving end of her attentions, leaving him flustered and annoyed.

And she was wearing scent again, he noticed with a sigh. Honestly, it seemed like every day she wore a new kind of perfume. The current one was jasmine, and was shockingly potent. Well, at least it was better than the rosemary she used to wear around his father. In fact, it was almost… pleasant.

“Clarissa!” he sighed, forcing himself not to stare at the maid’s impressive bust. “You-”

“Here with your tea!” she said, sliding the tray into place before him with a wink of her long lashes. “Starting off the morning well, as the big, strong baron should!”

“Clarissa, really. You can’t just-”

“Not to worry, my baron! There’s plenty of cream. I know how much you like it,” she added, picking up a pitcher and pouring a generous helping into his cup. “And you’ll need it today! Because we have quite a bit of work to do.”

In the midst of tidying his papers, Lukas paused. “We do?”

“Of course, my lord! Now that you are baron, we must decide on your betrothed.”

“M-my what!”

“And I have them right here!” Clarissa chimed, lifting a folder out from some hidden recess of her scandalously short skirt (it had to be custom. No other maid in the estate had such a revealingly tight uniform). “Shall we take a look, my baron?”

“Wh… Hold on now, I can’t just-”

“My baron!” Clarissa cried in mock horror. “Surely you realize the importance in choosing your bride? The barony cannot be left without a mistress. Not only for the hard work running the estate, but also the vital work of carrying on the family line! Which means we must choose the most ample, breedable, lovely wife for you.”

“B-breedable? Clarissa! That is-”

“Not to worry, my baron. I’m sure you can manage that. Why, any woman would consider herself lucky to be bent over your table as you thrust home, stuffing her full of your droit de seigneur.”

Lukas’s face burned as it always did whenever Clarissa got going like this. Not to say she was wrong, unfortunately. She was absolutely right. He did need to get married, but it still seemed so early to be shopping for a bride. “Clarissa, really. I-”

“Early to start, my baron! We must be. Once word gets out that Baron Instaf is not only single, but such an adorable, impressive, handsome piece of stud meat, why, we’ll be besieged by eligible young ladies looking to have you mount them like a prized mare! And whichever does will be lucky to have you. Take my word for it!”

“Clarissa! This is… that sort of talk is hardly-”

“You’re so right, my baron. Here I am, chattering away, and you haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the choices! Let’s take a look at the candidates, shall we?”

Lukas sighed, finally giving up. It was near impossible to stop Clarissa once she set her mind to something, though by gods he would soon. He’d have to talk to the head butler about firing her. She treated him far too casually. But for now, he supposed the best thing was just to get this business with the portraits over with.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s take a look…”

“How wise, my dear baron,” Clarissa chirped merrily as she opened the folder to the first page, propping it up just underneath her immense bosom.

Lukas cleared his throat, forcing himself to look at the portrait and not the impressive pair of breasts just above it. “And this is…”

“Mirria Mable. Daughter of a lord in the southern country. Quite the pick specimen. An attractive if air headed young thing. Pretty, but not terribly bright. And not nearly as endowed as me, hm?”

“Clarissa! That’s hardly appropriate,” Lukas said, though he had to admit it was true, and his eyes did quickly steal a glance at Clarissa’s chest as if just to make sure of that. Gods, the room felt suffocating in the perfume she wore. He should open a window, though the scent wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was a bit… soothing.

Clarissa giggled. “Very true, my baron. We cannot judge a woman less blessed than myself in that respect. Some of us were merely born with a generous bosom. Perfect to lay one’s head upon.”

Lukas rolled his eyes, but felt his cheeks warm at the thought. “I ah… Well, what about the others?”

“The others? Of course, my lord,” Clarissa said, turning the page, her chest bouncing as she did so.

The sight made Lukas realize quite suddenly his mouth was very dry. With haste, he picked up a teacup and took a sip. Mm. Normally he wasn’t a big fan of cream in his tea, but wherever Clarissa got hers, it was delicious.

“Now then,” Clarissa said. “Lady Blumen from the duchy of Clausen seems like a perfect match for you. Nearly as busty as I am, and I know how important that is for you, my baron.”

“Not that important…” he mumbled.

“Ho ho!” Clarissa laughed, the throaty mirth making her breasts bounce most distractingly in her tight top. “How droll you are, my baron! But I know how much you value an impressive pair of breasts. You can barely keep your eyes off mine!”

Lukas flushed again, realizing he had been staring at her chest. He hastily took another sip of tea. Gods, he was feeling a bit light headed. “I ah… What else is there about her?”

“Why, only that she is something of a black widow, my baron. A nasty piece of work. She delights in wedding rich men, then crushing them beneath her heel. Nitpicking them until they don’t dare breathe without her approval. And what a cruel thing, my baron! Why, she cannot understand true love. The love of a good husband willing to do anything for his darling wife. Adore you. Worship her! She’s only in it for the quick cash! No sense of adoring her new spouse like the good boy he is.”

“S-sorry. Good boy?” Lukas said.

Clarissa giggled, her long lashes fluttering again. “Oh yes, my baron. A husband must be assured what a good boy he is. What a good, obedient, lovey dovey dummy he is to his beloved wife. Otherwise, he might get the most silly ideas in his head.”

Lukas felt his cheeks redden at the degrading words, even if they weren’t addressed to him. And he found his eyes looking at Clarissa’s breasts again. Big and soft. The subtle heave as she breathed. Or rather, the not so subtle. Looked like she was as into the discussion as he was.

“Er, right. Sure,” Lukas said, taking another sip of tea, sinking back into his seat with a sigh. “So, not her.”

“Oh no, my baron. You deserve so much better. So much bustier! So much more loving and adoring. A sweet wife who would show you what a good boy you are. Who would let you adore her like the happy, dopey husband you were always meant to be.”

“Er, yes. Yes. But uh… Who is the next one?”

“Oh yes, my baron. That would be the Countess Francesca,” Clarissa said, turning the next page. “But she wouldn’t make an appropriate wife for you either my lord.”

“Hm?” Lukas said, taking another sip, barely paying attention as he watched Clarissa’s breasts bounce. “She wouldn’t? Why… why not?”

“Oh my baron! Why, she does not want children.”

“O-oh,” Lukas said as he took another long drink of his tea. “Yes, that might… might be a problem. Need an heir…”

“Oh no, my baron. Not just one.”

“S-sorry?”

Clarissa gave him a knowing look. “Why, my dear baron, your wife must bear you many children! A dozen at least. A dozen happy, lovely children. Your wife needs to be very eager to take your virile seed. Because I know, my dear baron, that you’re far too much a stud to be satisfied with just one child. That you would like nothing more than to breed your beloved wife at every opportunity. To make her breasts so big… so heavy… so creamy and soft that you can’t help but play with them and kiss them every night.”

Lukas stared at her breasts. Gods, he could imagine it. Imagine those breasts bouncing. Heaving. Wobbling and Clarissa positively glowing from… from…

But… but no. He… he needed to only think of… of his wife like that. Yes. Only his wife. His beloved wife, whoever… whoever it turned out to be.

“I uh…”

“Oh dear, my baron,” Clarissa sighed, closing the folder dramatically, crossing her arms beneath her jiggling bust. “This just won’t do! It seems like there isn’t a noble woman in the land who can satisfy all your needs. A woman so busty. So loving. So beautiful and fertile to satisfy your very high standards.”

“I… y-yes. No one…”

“Oh!” Clarissa suddenly said, brightening visibly. “But then, of course! How silly of me. I didn’t think of that at all! Why, you don’t need a noblewoman for your wife.”

“I… I don’t?” Lukas said, frowning a little, brow wrinkling in concentration. Didn’t he? He was under the impression that was important…

“Oh no, my beloved baron,” Clarissa cooed as she planted her hands on the table, climbing onto it and crawling towards him, pendulous breasts swaying teasingly, her eyes hot, molten with something that made Lukas’s pulse quicken and pound. “Not at all. Why, if the noble stock isn’t up to the standards, then we must simply find another who is. One who is capable of seeing the greatness in you. The handsomeness. The virile… powerful… studliness in you.”

Lukas found himself instinctively retreating, pressing into the back of his chair, watching his maid move towards him like a she-wolf on the hunt. “Wh-who?”

“Now that is the question, isn’t it, my baron,” Clarissa giggled, straightening so she was kneeling on the desk in front of him, her hands cupping her breasts, fondling and massaging them teasingly. “She’d have to know your domain inside and out. She’d have to have every servant in the house already under her thumb. She’d have to know the ways you love things done. She’d have to be so pretty… so clever… so very… very… busty that you just couldn’t say no to her. Every idea she had would just seem like the bestest idea ever. Oops! Did I say breastest?”

“D-did you?” Lukas said, fairly drooling as he watched her bounce and mold her breasts together.

“Maybe I should have, hmm?” Clarissa said. “Because I know how much my baron loves breasts. Big… bouncy… soft breasts. That’s why I know he’ll make the right choice. I know he’ll decide on exactly the right person to be his baroness. To be his loving wife. His devoted mistress. His gorgeous… bouncy… beautiful bride. But who, my baron? Who is busty and smart and beautiful enough for that.”

“Wh-who?” Lukas gasped.

“Think hard, my baron,” Clarissa crooned.

Lukas tried to. He really did. But his mind just didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Every thought he had swirled and squished and bounced and wobbled like Clarissa’s breasts. He whimpered, biting his lower lip, trembling with need as his maid continued to massage her breasts, her buttons straining against her ample tit flesh until… until…

“Mmmm,” Clarissa moaned, tearing open the front of her uniform, her ample, pale breasts spilling into the open. Bouncing with heavy softness. Nipples dark accents to their creamy slopes.

Lukas gasped, jolting like from a physical blow as her breasts bounced free.

“Whoops!” Clarissa giggled. “Did I do that?”

“Y-you… you…” Lukas stammered.

Clarissa’s smile widened. “Me, my lord?” she said coyly. “You want me to be your gorgeous baroness?”

Lukas blinked blankly, his sloshing thoughts struggling. “I…”

“Well, it is true, my lord,” Clarissa cooed, her leg extending, foot pressing against his chest and pushing him and his chair back with a squeak. “I am so very smart. So very beautiful. So very…” she breathed, sliding off the desk, into his lap, Lukas groaning as her weight settled on the hardness of his tenting cock. “Very…” Clarissa moaned as she leaned forward, her ample titflesh pressing against his face. “...Busty…”

Lukas shuddered, inhaling, breathing in the heady scent of Clarissa’s breasts and body. A scent so potent and strong it made his toes curl. Sweet. Heavy and wonderful. Something so real. So potent. The jasmine stuffing his nose. Suffocating his thoughts. And with… with just a faint hint of cream…

“Oh, but whatever would society say,” Clarissa groaned, her hips rocking, rubbing herself upon his thick cock, making Lukas moan and pant under her as his cock throbbed with need. As her breasts squished his face between them and Clarissa’s weight ground him under her. “They might say such terrible things…”

“Ohhhh,” Lukas groaned.

“You’re so right, my baron,” Clarissa giggled. “True love overcomes all odds. And oh, but you do love me, my baron. You do love my big… soft… breasts. And I love you. Loved you so much I tried all sorts of alraune perfumes before I found the one that just. Makes. You. Melt.”

“Mmmm,” Lukas moaned as he inhaled deeply.

“And you love my wonderful, clever mind, don’t you?” Clarissa cooed as she gave her breasts a bounce, swirling his thoughts again to a lather. “So smart to think of buying that holstaur cream for your tea. So clever to know how malleable it makes a good boy. How needy and aroused by big breasts it makes him. How adoring and dumb. How needy and horny and obedient.

“But there is something bigger than my breasts, my baron,” Clarissa moaned as she squeezed her tits around his head. “Oh yes! Believe it. And that is my warm, adoring heart. Perfectly made for my darling baron. Utterly devoted to him. Because I know, my beloved baron, how haaaaard it is for you to think with me around. How distracted you get from a big… soft… pair of breasts. How hard it is for you to rule. You’re not suited for it, my lord. You’re just suited to be a lovey dovey bimbo. A perfect, obedient stud to your darling wife. And oh, my baron, do you really want me? Do you really need me?”

Lukas whimpered beneath his maid, his mind whirling. Drunk on lust and love and heavenly cream and her body. His hands trembled as they touched her, stroking her hips and rump. Touching her back and causing Clarissa to lean forward and bounce teasingly atop him, his chair creaking.

“Oh my baron. If you begged me, then, well, maybe,” Clarissa giggled. “If you told me how much you loved me, how much you need me, then maybe I’d believe you. Maybe I could be convinced to make you my adoring husband. My sweet, brainless stud of a man who’d do anything his busty wife said. Shall we try, my baron?”

“Mmmm,” Lukas moaned into her breasts.

“Let’s,” Clarissa crooned.

Lukas gasped as her breasts came off his face. He blinked dully as he found Clarissa smiling down at him, gaze smoldering and smirk hot with desire.

“I…” Lukas said.

“I want you, my baron,” Clarissa breathed. “Don’t you want me too?”

The note of hot passion in her tone dashed any effort of resistance from him. Lukas’s mouth trembled and he nodded, the truth escaping him in a panting gasp.

“Y-yes,” he said. “W-want you.”

“Do you, my baron?” Clarissa cooed as her hips rose, her hands teased down his chest and to his crotch, Lukas gasping as her fingers played with his bulge, undoing his zipper. “Do you want to fuck your beautiful bride? Propose to her and fuck her and breed her glorious pussy?”

“Y-yes!” Lukas whimpered, his cock springing into the open, a shock of pure ecstasy surging through him as her fingers wrapped around his length. “C-Clarissa, I… I…”

“Oh my baron,” Clarissa giggled, leaning in closer, her molten eyes hot, her rouged lips soft, enunciating every word as he felt his cock guided under the tickling hem of her skirt, brush the smooth skin of her inner thigh, drawn towards the heat of her naked pussy. “Just say… I do.”

“I… I… d-dooooo!” Lukas groaned, head falling back as Clarissa’s body eased down, his cock swallowed in the warm tightness of her pussy. His face buried again under the buxom softness of her ample tits.

“Mmmmm!” Clarissa moaned, her hips rocking, riding her atop his cock with slow, passionate motions that sent throbbing ecstasy radiating through his body and manhood. “Ohhhh my baaaaron! Yes! Yes! I will! I’ll be your baroness! I’ll be your gorgeous wife! Your perfect lover! Your loving, breedable bride. Ah. Ah! Oh goddess yes! Fuck me! Fill me with your cock!”

Lukas groaned beneath her, his lips kissing and licking her breasts, lost in the creamy valley of her tits, trapped in the ecstasy of her figure and the seemingly endless ampleness of her bouncy breasts. His cock throbbed in her, squeezed by her adoring inner walls. Heat consumed him. Pleasure subsumed him.

It was so good. So perfect. He couldn’t break free. Couldn’t resist. The need to cum surged within him. Devoured him. Urged him towards the inevitability of climax. He panted, gasping, moaning under her.

“Yes!” Clarissa gasped. “Oh my baron! Oh my husband! Yes! Fuck me! Fill me! Stuff me full of your cum! Ohhhhh my baron! I neeeed it! Need your mnnn! Your cum! Ah. Yes. Yes! Cum in me, Lukas. Cum in your bride! Fuck me! Breed me! Now! Breed me… nooooow!”

Her voice rose, a crescendo of shameless pleasure, her inner walls tightening, flexing, squeezing his cock with the glory of her peak. As her breasts shuddered around his head, Lukas cried out, surrendering to her pleasure, his cock throbbing, his balls tightening.

And he came.

Blessed release seemed to burst within him. Sear him. Devour him. His cock surrendered to her, filling her in sharp bursts of heady pleasure.

Lukas moaned, lost in her breasts. Lost in the pleasure. Floating in a sea of creamy ecstasy and delight, his mind sinking under waves of soft, bouncy bliss.

Atop him, Clarissa cooed, giggling as she felt him sag, lost beneath her breasts. Her arms wrapped around her new husband’s head, pulling him deeper into her bosom as she looked about the study. Ugh. Such depressing decoration. She’d have to get it cleaned out. And the room would make such a lovely nursery too.

She giggled, admiring the dazed expression of her former master as she smothered him beneath her breasts. She couldn’t wait for the wedding. Especially since she promised that holstaur priestess and her alraune friend they could be her bridesmaids. After all, when one was looking for a husband, one needed a foot in the door. And she just knew her beloved betrothed had some friends in need of busty, brainwashing brides.

Clarissa hummed contentedly, lazily rocking her hips, feeling Lukas’s cock stir anew within her, ready for round two.

Mmm.

All too easy for a clever, busty girl like her…

[meanbossart]

Do Drow and Astarion ever argue? Not necessarily over silly things, but serious stuff, like things going on in their relationship or, for example, due to a misunderstanding. If so, how do they act during those times? Overall, I just would like to know what they're like if they happen to get mad at each other lol.

Oh absolutely LOL arguing might as well be a pillar of how they... Progress their communication? If that makes any sense.

They are both abrasive in their own ways: DU drow in his brashness and Astarion with his quick temper. The former easily misses signs and sublety and the latter frustrates easily when trying to explain them to him. It is almost entirely In Astarion's camp to keep open communication going and pry DU drow's feelings and thoughts out of him, because he otherwise does not express them properly.

Something I found noteworthy about Astarion's character in-game, is that he is very good at being vulnerable when your relationship progresses - he is good at communicating his needs, wants, and seemingly at processing his own feelings and being upfront about them with you. DU drow, on the other hand, very much isn't. His internal world is a complete mystery to him, as is everyone else's - and Astarion consistently puzzles him and catches him off-guard by becoming upset with things he did not expect him to be upset by.

By contrast, he just closes up when he is distressed by something. Astarion has essentially found that the only way to get through to him in times like those is by elevating the stakes of the conversation - having a minor outburst, or prying and prodding until he gets some frustrated, reluctant admitance of emotional vulnerability out of him - he then privately puzzles it together into something cohesive and then disengages so they can tackle it calmly. This is, of course, a very clinical summary of a very organic concept, but it's more or less the gist of it. There are a few examples of it In A Novel Experience.

Ironically, this often makes it seem like Astarion starts every argument they have, but it's not quite as it seems!

Obviously there are absolutely instances where Astarion is the one being unreasonable, but he's much better at catching himself and quietly arriving at resolutions on his own - self-soothing, essentially. DU drow, on the other hand, wants to sweep every conflicting emotion he has under the rug, and Astarion realizes this would doom them as a couple if he allowed it to happen.

He can express his love and adoration for his partner and his friend concisely and proudly, but he staggers when it comes to feelings of insecurity, weakness, guilt, fear, the works. He will use every euphemism before he ever admits to any of it - not to mention the times when he can't even pin-point what those emotions are.

It takes someone who can navigate around all those eggshells to have an earnest conversation with him about it. This would be very frustrating for any partner to deal with and Astarion would have probably given up by now if DU drow didn't try very hard to meet him in the middle - he sees that, and he apreciates it.

They don't argue like lunatics though, for the record. I don't think they would ever raise a hand at each other or sink to personal insults, they are both more passive aggressive in that regard and feel genuinely bad when they realize they may have crossed a line - there's some nipping, some barking, never biting.

[eye-may]

Could you do Etcetera and Electra now pretty please? The besties

Your drawing style is so cool and pleasant to look at💕💕

Also, Happy Christmas and new year!✨🐱

ty for the kind words! I hope yall had a good holiday!

disclaimer, this is my first time trying to draw etcetera and electra so Im sure my designs for them will change in the future, but that's par for the course with me lol. I draw mistoffelees probably the most and even now I wouldn't say that I'm 100% on even his design. usually when I go about transliterating the costumes I'm looking at the napier concepts and the '98 designs (if only bc they're the easiest to find clear images of lol) but sometimes those leotards and wigs are damn hard to recreate in my style lmaooo

not that anybody asked about all that lmao ANYWAY,

in terms of backstories, these are another pair of kittens that I'm not too decisive about yet lol. I can at least start with surmising that neither were, or are, domesticated, as neither wear collars. I entertained the idea of them knowing each other prior to arriving at the Junkyard, but now I'm leaning more towards them actually having met there instead.

I see Etcetera as very outgoing, sociable, trusting, and so on, with humans and cats alike, so I'm actually thinking that maybe she had been briefly domesticated, but then was abandoned for whatever reason by her humans, maybe discarded somewhere near the entrance to the Yard. I feel like she would have naively thought it was all a game, taking a while to realize that she was left purposefully and her humans weren't coming back from her, nor where they looking to be found. Probably one of the older cats would have spotted her and invited led her back to the Yard to be looked after.

For Electra...personality-wise, I see her as similar in personality/energy levels to Ectetera, but kind of "edgier." She's more bold, brash, and curious, whereas Ectetera is persuadable, impressionable, credulous, etc (heh). she's a little goofier and lighthearted. that's not to say that Electra isn't also fun and goofy, but I think she's more of a "thinker," and more independent. Electra may be a more itinerant member of the tribe, despite being so young. Nobody, after all, is a prisoner there; cats and kittens alike can come and go as they see fit, and Electra is a little too insatiably curious, and a little too courageous, to be confined.

Her backstory is ehhhh...very nebulous to me yet. It's probably something similar to Pouncival and Plato; born to a stray, maybe in an alley, and eventually ended up separated from her family. I'm going to have to think more extensively about where she comes from and how she ended up a member of the tribe. Honestly her and Etcetera both lol.

I think Electra, sort of like Tumblebrutus, is likely to be a ringleader when it comes to mischief among kittens in and out of the Junkyard. Tumbebrutus, though, is always looking to impress and appear tough, whereas Electra operates under no such pretenses; she doesn't care nearly as much about what others think of her. Her concerns lie more in the greater unknown. She's the epitome of a curious feline, wanting to know more about the world, about history, and about what it means to be a Jellicle Cat. Others like Victoria and Jemima more often intuit such things, more likely to allow themselves to be governed by the influences of the Jellicle Moon and their own varieties of mysticism. Electra is a bit more literal, more salt-of-the-earth. She usually convinces the other kittens to accompany her on her sojourns and escapades, but she'll go it alone too; I'd peg her as one of the most organically independent kittens...and also, I think, one of the most leaderly and protective.

She gets along with everyone, but is most often accompanied probably by Etcetera. She probably butts heads the most with Tumblebrutus, although the two of them can be quite a pair when it comes to working together towards a common goal.

Etcetera is less so those things, although she's sort of "daring" like Electra, insofar as she's not prone to fits of pragmatism that make her cower in the face of adversity, real or perceived. she's simply all to happy to be along for the ride. extroverted and containing boundless energy, she feels the need to enjoy the company of others and to be the center of attention almost constantly. I think her and Electra get along so well partly because Electra is so restless, and Etcetera lacks inhibitions, all too happy to be included; she's pretty much the only one of the younger cats who will never play devil's advocate, who will never express doubt, who will never try to talk another cat out of an impending adventure. her only reservation, really, may be getting in trouble with the older cats; but it's not too hard to talk her into disregarding such concerns.

More meaningfully, I think the two go well together because of their polarized approaches to viewing the world and construing more difficult lessons and concepts. Electra is prone to getting too much in her head and overthinking; so it's a good thing Etcetera is there to dumb things down for her, to simplify those more challenging queries in a way that is comfortingly sensible and potent. I.e., when Electra finds herself pondering why is such-and-such right? Etcetera will remind her that right is right, and there's no need to look further. Or in other words, she reminds Electra that sometimes it's time to mind your heart and your intuition, rather than get tangled up in endless cerebral complexities. in her view, sometimes you truly don't need all the answers.

all together the two of them enjoy a very balanced and close friendship, and are jointly the source of a lot of energy and mischief that takes place in the Yard!

[elliewithcellie]

Right in front of you

summary: reader complains about their bad luck finding a guy when the guy for them is literally right there (Steve Harrington x Reader)

wc: 796

cw: mention of bad boyfriend in the past, friends to lovers speedrun, reader is a little dummy but we love them. Gender neutral, but might be implied more fem. One bad word. Steve POV more or less

a/n: Just a little blurb i found in my files, nothin to it, but the ending made me smile so i figured i'd post it

“When will it be my turn, ya know?” you rambled on to your friend, Steve. “Like, you know I’m thrilled for my friends. The girls have gone through so much, and to see them grow and learn that they deserve the best and take on love again is more than anything I could ever ask for. I’m so happy for them.”

You paused, looking down at your hands, fiddling with a stray string on your sweater.

Steve sat in the silence, waiting for you to fill it again. But he knew you. He knew you weren’t sharing the whole truth. He watched your eyebrows furrow like you were fighting with the words in your mind.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there,” Steve said.

You sighed. “It’s silly.”

“That’s ok.” Steve brushed the hair from your face to behind your ear. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just that I was with them through all of it. We all started in the same place. We all came from these shitty relationships, and we all worked together to heal. I worked so hard, Steve. I want you to believe me—”

“I do.”

“—When I tell you how hard I worked with these girls, I mean it. They became my everything. We became a family when I felt like I had no one.”

Steve couldn’t help but wince. It was hard hearing you talk about your past. His senses always overloaded with anger. For his dear friend he cared for more than anyone to be treated the way you were made his temperature rise. His heart pounded in his chest, but he let you continue.

“But I guess I’m just confused. You know? It’s like they’ve moved on without me, carrying on with their lives. But they were my life. Gosh, I wish you could meet them. You’d fit in so well with the whole gang, I swear.”

Again, Steve’s heart jumped. God, did he want that. For you to introduce him to your friends. Steve’s mind began to wander, thinking about the two of you traveling up to Utah together, meeting the girls that made you who you are today. He’d want to thank them individually for taking care of you. For allowing you to be comfortable enough to be vulnerable with him and allow him to love you. ‘Love you’? Oh, god. He didn’t realize.

“I’d love that,” he choked out.

“But what about me, Steve? What about me? I’m stuck in these patterns I want to get out of. I want to be independent and free. Just like them. But can I be super honest?” You looked up at Steve for the first time in this conversation.

“Of course.”

“I—I think I’m lonely. I’m really grateful that we’ve become friends because I don’t know what I would have done without you. But what do I have to do to have that special someone? I’ve put in the same work. But people aren’t looking at me like that, I guess.”

“That’s not true.”

“What? Of course, it is. How else do you explain that the only relationship I’ve been in was a narcissist taking advantage of me?”

Steve was taken aback by that. He watched your eyebrows crinkle together at the bridge of your nose, a last defense to fight the tears.

“Where’s my lineup of men then? Explain to me why I’m skirted at the bar so they can talk to Brenda, or I’m approached only so they can ask for her number.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “You’re so dense sometimes, you know that?”

“Huh?”

“You’re so lost in your own head that you don’t even notice what’s right in front of you!”

“Oh, please. Name one guy who’s even flirted with me.”

“ME, you dumbass.”

“I, er, you, what?”

Steve didn’t waste another moment. He placed his hands on your cheeks and pulled you in for a kiss. It was brash, almost harsh in quality, with fervor as Steve pressed his lips against yours. He felt you settle against him, your hands reaching out to the back of his neck and hair.

Steve pulled away and looked you in your eyes. “Everything you want,” he began, “I want to be the one to give it to you. The intimacy you crave, the best friend wrapped in a man, that’s literally me. If you’ll have me, we can heal our scars together and work toward the goal of independence, one step at a time.”

“You really want that?”

“More than anything.”

This time, you pulled him into a kiss. This time, it was softer, kinder, but the passion remained.

You giggled. “And to think. I was crushing over you this whole time!”

Steve laughed. “God, you are a piece of work, you know that?”

[kkrahe]

Unexpected - Chapter 1

George Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Series Summary: You never expected to cross paths with George Weasley - your complete opposite. But as rivalry ignites between you two, so does something far more dangerous, an undeniable attraction that neither of you can ignore.

Chapter Summary: When Fred and George Weasley step into your family’s dark and mysterious shop in Knockturn Alley, the last thing you expect is a clash of wits. But as the brash twins push your patience to its limits, tensions rise.

CW: None :D

AN: This is my first fic please be gentle, I'm very open to suggestion or corrections. Sorry if formatting is weird/off I'm not sure how to work tumblr TT. Lmk if this is bad so I can just quit while I'm ahead :D

Masterlist

...

The scent of old parchment and dust permeated the air throughout your family’s shop. It was familiar; you had worked there every summer since you turned 14. The shop was eclectic, with shelves littered with the ancient tomes, cursed artifacts, and hard-to-come-by ingredients that your family had collected over the years.

Located in the narrow dimly-lit Knockturn Alley, most of the shop's patrons were familiar faces. Pureblood wizards who favored darker magic and the occasional wanderer, looking for something more sinister or rare than the opposite Diagon Alley could provide.

You leaned against the dark hardwood countertop, flipping idly through a thick, leather-bound book. Savoring the last few weeks of pleasure reading before you returned to Hogwarts for your final year and would be too consumed in school to find time for hobbies.

You had spent most of your summer in the shop, not that you minded. The crowded maze of a building was like your second home, providing a much-needed haven from your families chaotic manor. Truthfully, you savored summers in the shop, unlike Hogwarts and your family home, here you were in charge. The shop ran by your schedule and your rules.

The chime of the doorbell cut through the quiet, typically you had a few visitors throughout the day. Many of them friends of your family or the occasional lost first-year. Your eyes flicked to the door, setting your book aside.

Two tall figures crossed the threshold, and your heart sank. Fred and George Weasley.

You recognized them immediately - their flaming red hair, boisterous laughter, and of course their tendency to cause chaos wherever they went. Hogwart’s notorious pranksters stood out like a pair of sore thumbs in your shop.

You feel yourself tense behind the counter, watching as they glanced around with curious stares. They didn’t belong here, you knew that much, and from the inquisitive yet hesitant expressions they wore, they did too. But Knockturn Alley had a way of attracting all kinds of customers - especially when they were searching for something they couldn’t find elsewhere. You had a feeling they were up to no good.

“Blimey, this place is cheerful huh Georgie?” Fred called out loudly, his brash voice echoing through the narrow aisles of shelves and cabinets. So clearly out of place in a shop such as your own. Looking at his brother as he brushed a hand over a shelf of dusty potion vials.

You stayed silent, spine rigid as you sent them an unimpressed glare. The twins however didn’t seem to notice, not even glancing your way as they gawked at the assortment of forbidden magical goods on display.

George, was already across the room, picking up an ancient cursed dagger from a shelf clearly labeled “do not touch” in a bold angry scrawl. His slender fingers brushed dangerously close to its blade.

Your eyes narrow, voice sharp as you call out, “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. Unless you fancy losing a hand, Weasley.”

George snatched his hand back, startled by your voice as he hadn’t noticed the presence of the shopkeeper. A flicker of acknowledgment and bashfulness in his eye as he set the dagger back into its stand.

His smile was boyish, charming even, but you didn’t waver. You weren’t amused, and you weren’t going to let them get away with their usual reckless antics here. Your family’s shop was dangerous - its contents were not for the careless or the foolish.

Fred, on the other hand, seemed intent on pushing the boundaries. Reaching for an ornate vase perched precariously on a pedestal near the counter, tipping it dangerously close to the edge.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you watched the vase teeter on the edge of the table. Snatching your wand from under the desk and catching the vase just before it hit the floor. The shining black ceramic just above the hardwood, frozen in place as you scowled at the twins.

“That’s worth more than your life,” you snapped, moving the vase to a different shelf out of reach from the twins. “Try not to break anything, Weasley. Unless you want to be in debt for the next three generations."

Fred held up his palms in mock surrender, grinning. “Easy there. No need to be so touchy.”

You ignored him, your patience wearing thin. The Weasleys were loud, obnoxious, and far too reckless to be in here. The sooner they left, the better. You had no interest in entertaining any sort of banter with the twins, surprised you could even find it within yourself to not kick them out of your shop that very second.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of them rummaging through your family’s carefully curated inventory, George placed a small vial of Ashwinder eggs on the counter. Not particularly nefarious or ancient, but certainly hard to come by, and quite expensive due to its rarity.

“That’ll be 50 Galleons,” you said flatly, not in the mood for negotiation.

Fred leaned against the counter, flashing a grin. “Fifty Galleons? How about we call it twenty-five? We are just some poor schoolboys trying to make an honest living after all.”

You don’t budge. “This isn’t a joke shop, and I don’t haggle. If you want cheap, I suggest looking elsewhere.” You looked the twins up and down, a scowl forming on your face. Your words cold and cutting. The look exchanged between the twins told you they weren’t used to being dismissed so easily.

You could see the flicker of irritation in George’s eyes as he stepped forward, “Right. Must be nice, being able to charge whatever you want. Us Weasleys wouldn’t know anything about that though, would we?” His tone, though light, carried a hint of bitterness that made your jaw tighten. You didn’t care for his attempts to belittle your family’s business, nor his declaration of what he thought your goods were worth.

The air between you thickened, but you held your ground, refusing to let their words affect you. “Fifty Galleons,” you repeated coolly.

Begrudgingly the twins paid, sliding a pile of gold coins across the counter in a messy heap. Their smiles gone, replaced with clear annoyance and tension that simmered beneath the surface.

As they left the shop, the bell chimed in their wake, Fred turning to shoot you one last look, “We’ll be seeing you around. Don’t miss us too much."

You watched them go, glaring down your nose as the shop door slammed shut, the quiet you longed for returning like a heavy cloak. You should have been relieved by their absence. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time Fred and George Weasley darkened your doorstep. And despite yourself, the thought unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

[nameless-jamie]

TARTT'S CORNER - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

A/N: Hello, this is going to be my second FF. I wanted to take a different approach this time and post a Prologue or Teaser first. If this gets a good reaction I will proceed with the idea. Thank you so much for reading.

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is Richmond's own Premier League Podcaster. Recently hitting global fame in the Podcast and Football world. Her opinions are important and her takes on matches are like a 'Hail Mary' for every Richmond fan. She had several Global players and most importantly Richmond players and coaches in her Podcast, thanks to her good friend Keeley Jones. Her next challenge, a Podcast series with the ever so charming Jamie Tartt.

Masterlist - Chapter 1

Prologue

Y/N sat in her small but cozy office, a stack of podcast equipment scattered around her. Her desk was cluttered with notes, football magazines, and her laptop screen flashing with the latest stats for the upcoming AFC Richmond game. The room, though simple, had a personal touch—photos of the team on the walls, a signed football from Coach Lasso, and even a poster of Roy Kent with a sarcastic quote beneath it.

Her podcast, Striker's Corner, had quickly become a sensation in the football world. She’d started it just a few years ago as a way to combine her love for the game with her desire to share her unique perspective. What started as casual discussions with friends about the game turned into interviews with big names in the sport, and soon, Y/N was in demand by football fans all over the world. But it wasn’t just the listeners who were tuning in—AFC Richmond’s fans, players, and staff all eagerly awaited her takes on the team, and the podcast had become a cornerstone of the AFC Richmond fan community.

Y/N's love for football went beyond just supporting a team. She was obsessed with the sport's tactics, the psychology of the players, and the stories behind the scenes. Her insight was sharp, and her takes were bold—sometimes controversial—but always engaging. She was known for her unfiltered opinions, and her audience appreciated her candor. But it wasn’t all about hot takes and player stats; Y/N had a knack for making football feel relatable, even for those who weren't die-hard fans.

Her journey into the world of football podcasting had been anything but smooth. She didn’t come from a family of football fans. In fact, growing up, it was a bit of an oddity when she first started following the game. But she loved it, and that passion led her to create Striker's Corner, where she could share her thoughts and maybe even get a few interviews along the way. It wasn’t long before her quick wit and deep knowledge caught the attention of key players in the sport.

But this success hadn’t come without its challenges. Y/N knew she had to work twice as hard to earn the respect of the football world, and even harder to get access to the players. She’d worked tirelessly to build her brand, and now, she was on the verge of landing one of the biggest interviews of her career: Jamie Tartt.

Y/N had heard the rumors about him—the cocky attitude, the flashy personality—but she wasn’t one to buy into all the hype. She knew there was more to Jamie than the tabloids let on. And she was determined to show her audience a different side of him, a side that maybe only a few people had seen.

Her connection to AFC Richmond had grown over time, and her friendship with Keeley Jones had opened doors for her in the club. Keeley, who’d been more than happy to help Y/N with behind-the-scenes access, was the one who had suggested she take the plunge and interview Jamie. “He’s a challenge,” Keeley had told her. “But you’re the right person to crack him.”

Y/N had been excited, of course, but also a little nervous. Jamie Tartt was a star, one of the most controversial players in the league, but there was something about him that intrigued her. She had a feeling that beneath the brash exterior was a man struggling to navigate his own identity and expectations.

And so, the first chapter of this new journey was about to begin. The podcast had already featured interviews with Coach Lasso, Roy Kent, and even Sam Obisanya, but this—this would be different. This wasn’t just an interview. This was her chance to get to know Jamie Tartt, and possibly, to reveal a side of him that the public didn’t often get to see.

With a quick glance at her notes, Y/N adjusted the mic in front of her, her fingers tapping the table as she mentally prepared for the interview that would change everything.

[wicked-barbie]

The softest hearts always have the toughest shields

Hazbin Hotel: Lute x Seraphim!Reader

Rating: Teen

WC: 1.2 k 

Prompt: Wound Care for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: Blood, injury, stitches, needles, mild angst, hurt/comfort 

Summary: You tend to Lute after she returns to heaven in the aftermath of the extermination

To say Adam’s death caused panic and chaos in Heaven was an understatement; there were very few times when you saw Sera shaken to her core. Dread and hysteria chimed through the realm as hard truths came to fruition; angels could be killed, and souls in hell could be redeemed. The misfortune of Adam’s demise and the appearance of Sir Pentious as a redeemed soul had dealt her two blows, leaving her at a loss for words while Emily flitted away happily. She gushed over the new arrival, immediately showing him around.

“Please tend to Lute,” Sera whispered, gently touching your arm as the exterminators ascended back into the Heavenly Realm.

“Of course,” you assured her, noting that the eyes on her wings looked solemn and heavy.

Blood oozed from Lute’s amputated arm as she stumbled forward, rage emanating from her entire body. Adam’s halo and her sword clattered to the ground.  Her teeth gnashed, fingers digging into her flesh as she attempted to slow the bleeding. You stepped forward, gently placing your hands on her shoulders.

“Come, let me tend to you,” you murmured, flying over to a more private area. You had always admired Lute’s brash attitude and brute strength; you held a soft spot in your heart for her. She had suffered the pain of ripping off her own arm to save her life.  You could never handle being an exorcist; the very idea made you blanch with horror. While you often kept your opinions to yourself, you had been happy to learn that Charlie Morningstar had been correct in her assessment. Could this mean peace? Most likely not considering the angels that fell to their deaths at the hands of hell’s minions.

“Once I’m healed, I’m gonna fly down there and annihilate all their pathetic demonic asses! I’m gonna make them all suffer, tear them limb from limb, and shove their fingers down their fucking throats!” she growled as you pushed her into a chair before manifesting a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. You gently cleaned her wound, wiping the luminous blood away.

“Let’s not be too hasty. You need to heal first. It will take time for your arm to regenerate,” you informed her, waving your hands to produce a spool of silk and a needle.

Confusion etched across her face. “Huh? It will grow back?”

“I see no reason why it shouldn’t.”

“Well fuck me, that’s the best news I’ve gotten all day,” she grumbled, wincing in pain as you began the sutures, working meticulously to ensure the wound was closed correctly. Angelic powers worked wonders, but specific measures must be taken. You pressed your palm to the sutured injury before coating it in your white light to help hasten the healing process.

You reached out to remove Lute’s black exorcist mask before skimming your fingers down her cheek. You noted how she pressed into your touch.“There we go, all done. I’m sorry about Adam. I know you two were close.”

Her shoulders slumped, her facade slowly crumbling as she allowed vulnerability to creep in. Her wings hung limply as tears rolled down her face. You caught her in your arms as she rocked forward, collapsing into your chest as your massive wings wrapped around her, further shielding her and allowing a private alcove for her grief and turmoil. Her tears soaked through your white dress while your hand soothingly stroked her short, white hair. You had never seen her so broken before. However, you had always suspected that a soft center lay beneath her hardened exterior. All the armor and weapons in the world couldn’t shield someone’s true nature or emotions, no matter how hard they fought. The tips of your feathers gingerly caressed her back as she lifted her head as one of your pillowy plumes slipped under her chin.

“You better not tell anyone you saw me cry, or I’ll….” You noted the way her voice cracked.

“Hmm let’s see, you’ll rip my wings off or smash my face in. I get the picture. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me, but there is nothing wrong with showing emotion and empathy,” you said, a wry smile twitching on your lips. Lute always was…well, Lute.

She narrowed her eyes before swiping a tightly balled fist under her running nose. “So long as we’re on the same page,” she said.

You nodded to indicate to her that you were before tenderly brushing your fingers over her healing wound. “New skin is starting to form; that’s a good sign.”

“Y…yeah, thanks for patching me up,” she swallowed.

“It’s my pleasure. Part of my duties is looking after you exorcists,” you teased.

“I’m sure Seraphim have more important things to worry about than ripped body limbs,” she sighed, rubbing the area and getting used to the feeling. “What if it doesn’t grow back?”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to learn how to fight one-handed. If anyone can master such a feat, it would be you. You would make sure no one fucked with the one-armed exorcist.”

A small smile fluttered briefly across her face, her nose scrunching slightly. “Hey, maybe I could fuse a sword in place of my arm if it doesn’t regenerate.”

“See? Now you’re looking on the bright side!” You gently swiped your fingers under her eyes, swiping away her remaining tear tracks.

“Thanks for patching me up. You did a good job,” she murmured.

“It was my pleasure, Lute. Don’t forget to take time to grieve,” you said encouragingly as you squeezed her shoulders and stared into her pale yellow eyes.

Your eyes locked with hers for what seemed like an eternity. A pleasant warmth spread through your body as your fingers laced through the fingers of her remaining hand.

“Adam and I were close, but he was never the one I cared about…in that way,” she whispered.

“Oh.’ The word fell softly from your parted lips.

“I have to go see someone, but I’ll find you later?” she asked hopefully.

“Please do.”

You watched as she flapped away with Adam’s halo clutched in her hand. You pressed one hand to your chest as pleasant flutters filled your stomach before whisking away the mess and supplies before seeking out Sera to see if she needed assistance.

“I’m afraid we’re in a mess,” she sighed, rubbing her face.

“Things may seem hopeless now, but we’ll figure it out—we always do. It seems Charlie Morningstar might be on to something with her redemption plan. Hopefully, that will help us avoid an uprising in hell,” you reasoned.

“Let us hope.”

Lute found you that evening as you settled in your chambers, feet snug in cozy, fuzzy slippers as you relaxed and stretched your fluffy wings.

“Are you feeling any pain?” you questioned kindly as you guided her into your room.

“A little bit, but it’s nothing too bad,” she shrugged, “Man, you Seraphim lucked out with your quarters.”

“Part of the perks of being a high-ranking celestial beings,” you teased, gently bumping her with your elbow.

“Hmm, meanwhile, us exorcists do all the dirty work,” she teased, spinning around to face you, mischief sparking in her eyes.

“I must say…you look damn good with an exorcist blade in your hand,” you grinned, moving in closer, towering above her slightly.

Lute rolled onto her tiptoes before pressing her lips against yours. The searing kiss sparked through you.

“How about I show you what my hands can do?” you purred against her warm lips, squeezing her.

“Oh, you’ve read my mind,” she smirked as your wings wrapped around her.

[shepherdsheart]

Dont Blame the Boy

DpxDc Prompt

Bruce was no stranger to taking in children into his home considering the many he called his own. So he was no stranger to the struggles of a new family member, each of his children had been different.

Dick had been out for blood when Bruce first took him into his home. The boy grieving for his parents was set on revenge and had promised to make there killer pay. How different he was now compared to the child he first brought home.

Then there was Jason who at first was angry and miss understood. But as time went he began to see the book loving boy who loved to learn. He was always enthusiastic to learn but he could be brash and hard headed at first. Jason still held a great love for learning but the young man was no loner as open with the family and he had developed quite a dark sense of humor.

Tim of course was a kind and smart young man with a love for knowledge. The boy was a natural genius though he did need some encouragement at first.

Bruce could go on and on about them and his other children. He was proud of how far they had all come with Damian the most recent addition before now.

Now though he was faced with a challenge, he was faced with young Daniel or Danny as the boy preferred. Danny had only lived in the manner for about 2 months now and still they had no progress of pulling the boy out of his shell.

Bruce had been reluctant at first to take in such an unstable child but when he met the boy he couldn’t say no. Seeing such pain and distrust in the boys eyes broke Bruce’s heart.

Danny had fallen victim to his parents over a year ago when they had decided he was something no longer human and as such needed to be researched. They had experimented on there own child for over a year before the boy finally broke. The boy had snapped after all the tournament they had put him through before he went on a rage filled massacre.

To put it lightly there wasn’t much left of the Fentons by the time the police arrived to investigate a call made by some concerned citizens.

With the state of the lab and Danny himself the police had called in the League for assistance where Danny was then rushed to the tower for emergency care.

Danny had been in a medically induced coma for over a month because of his violent reaction to anyone who approached him. And after he was put through intensive therapy mental and physical with several doctors.

It had been months sense then and the boy no longer acted like a caged animal but he was still very much an animal, lashing out when he felt threatened or cornered, retreating when things became to much and he didn’t blame him.

Bruce understood why the boy didn’t trust people, didn’t trust adults. After years of people failing him and the year of torment? He didn’t blame him.

Bruce didn’t blame the boy though and he was certain that with time and care Danny would come out of his shell and join the rest of the flock but till then they would work the best they could to make him feel safe and comfortable.

No he didn’t blame the boy at all