#because the people who actually comment are such a tiny &age

[madamechrissy]

Daddy Likes Crazy Girls

Pairings - Dilf Toji Fushiguro x fem reader

Summary -You're Megumi's best friend, and spend more time at the Fushiguro home than at your dorm room, and since you were a kid you've had it bad for Megumi's dad. He was always cool and fun until you got older, then he started being gruff and rude. Well, that just won't do, because you know you need his attention, and you decide to make his life a living hell, but Toji decides to give that hell right back on you. Who will finally give in!?

CW - age gap- Toji is 39, reader is 20, lowkey hint of somnophilia, rough blow jobs, dirty talk, Toji AND reader ain't shit, using others to make e/o jealous, fingering, cunnilingus, rough sex, dirty talk, highkey daddy kink, spitting, choking, reader and Toji freaks. Megumi and Yuuji are reader's age no NSFW w/them (reader uses Yuuji to piss Toji off but it's SFW) Basically it's nasty, filthy DILF Toji smuttt - WC- 7.5k

Based on Your Best Friend's Dad Toji - The pic on the left is from here (tears on a withered flower) I could not find a source for the Toji image! Reblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoy!

Toji stiffens… in multiple ways as you saunter out that morning, as he’s throwing back two ibuprofen and sipping on bitter coffee, black, just out he likes it. You’re rubbing your eyes just a bit and yawning, stretching up your arms, tiny crop top stretched tight on your breasts, which bounce as your arms rest, and his goddamn cock twitches. He literally turns away, facing the counter then.

“Morning, Mr. Fushiguro.” You say brightly, sleep still in your voice, and he grumbles a hello, tensing when you walk towards him. “Oh, coffee, can I have some? I’m so beat and I have that test later.”

“Yeah, yeah… go ahead kid.” You glare at his strong back, shirtless and muscled, calling you kid when you were damn near old enough to drink, when you drove and worked and went to college.

You’re no kid.

You gently touch his shoulder, trying to get through to the coffee maker in the little kitchen, feeling him tense, as he narrows his eyes, looking over at you, lips pressing together, that scar just stretched a bit over his lip. You lean forward, breasts in his full view, as you start brewing your own cup, and he damn near rubs his hard cock at the sight of your nipples poking out.

God you annoy him, always over here, sure when you were younger it didn’t bother him, you were Megumi’s friend, a good one at that, and a good kid. And as a teen even, you had your shit together, living without your own parents, you had spent a ton of time here. But when you hit about eighteen or nineteen, and you just… started looking at him like you are now!?

Dilated eyes, lowered lashes, licking your goddamn lip?

When you started wearing less and less, and frequently crashed right on his couch, in various states of undress? When your tits jiggled just so, or you bent over in front of him, shorts riding up a bouncy ass? When you giggled and brushed your fingers against his arm?

You drive Toji fucking insane.

He’s tired of jerking it to his son’s best friend, he’s tired of picturing your thighs spread as he fucks women, you’re… infuriating him, actually. Batting your lashes and shooting little smiles, constantly trying to ruin him. Sure, people thought Toji was a creep, a pervert, a fucking whore, and to some extent, he was those things, but with women his age.

Being almost forty and having a very annoying, sexy and tempting twenty year old was not fucking okay. Sure, it’s one thing to jerk it to you, how could he not, but it’s harder and harder with every passing day not to give in, to play with that pussy he’s seen hints of, to suck on those pretty nipples that seem to always be poking out of something you wear.

Toji can’t stand you.

“Have a rough night, Mr. Fushiguro?” You ask then, and he turns his forest green eyes looking down at you, while you pour a little sugar in the cup, taking one of the spoons from his wooden drawers and then stirring it.

“Huh, no rough night. Slept fine.” Jerked it to the thought of you at midnight, and dammit he enjoys his sleep.

“Got it, you seem a little grumpy though.” You tease, nudging him with your shoulder playfully, just that alone makes him wanna spread you wide on this goddamn counter, picturing how your pretty pussy would be in his face.

“Grumpy, doll?” He asks, you giggle a little, looking up at him, the man you’ve had it bad for since you can remember.

As much as you love Megumi, a huge part of you coming here was for him, Toji, Megumi’s far too sexy father. Sure, Megumi was your age, but you two were just too close, but also, Toji. Rippling abbed, strong muscled, thick fucking Toji. The man whose muscles have muscles, and those lazy green eyes, that straight nose with plump ass lips?

The man who you know takes care of business, shit you’ve seen him on nights kissing down girl’s necks, shooting you a quick look before he’d grab their hair, their waist, like you could vividly picture it being you? The man who you could constantly see his thick, girthy outline in these slutty grey sweats he wears?

You want him.

You always have, but at first it was perhaps admiration, or a childhood crush, but now that you’re almost twenty one, and you’ve had sex, you’ve had experience, you can’t stop thinking that Toji knew what to do. Can’t stop thinking how badly you’d love to see that cock just begging for attention, have it down your throat, have him bend you over this kitchen table.

Your mind gets so sidetracked you forget he’s said anything you you, clearing your throat and shrugging. “A little grumpy to me in general lately.”

Toji scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Excuse me for not bein’ Mr. Fuckin Sunshine all the time, doll.”

Doll.

Imagine him saying ‘doll’ as he pounds your little pussy.

Fuck.

You shift just a bit, his gaze catches it. “Hmm, you’ve just been a little mean to me. I used to come… to you all the time, you know.” You smile just a bit, his lips are parted, then you sigh. “Have a good day, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“Damn brat.” He mutters, running his hand through inky locks.

Since you hate your dorm mate, you always come over there, and Megumi never minds, he just gives you a lazy little smile, sometimes you crash in his room, he’ll even take the floor, or separate you all with a body pillow. He listens to your bullshit, with a little sigh and bored face, but he listens. Megumi has been your good friend, even through breakups and makeups with his best friend, Yuuji.

You’d been on and off with Yuuji for years, as the two of you are probably better off friends, but Yuuji is so damn sweet, and so down bad, you end up back with him again, much to the disdain of Toji. When you’re sitting on Yuuji’s lap, hand running through pastel hair, while Megumi and him game, you feel it, Toji Fushiguro’s glare right at you.

Something excites you so much from it, you get overheated, you get wet from your thoughts, and Yuuji would nervously notice, blushing.

You’re kind of shit for that, for being with Yuuji when the man you want is right there, but he never seems to understand that you’re a woman. No skimpy outfit or flirty looks do a damn thing, to the point you think… it’s all in your head, it has to be, some childish fantasy that you have to let go.

Little do you know, as you’re kissing Yuuji, and that boy’s hand is on your waist, Toji has to go to the damn bathroom, and start stroking his cock. He tries to muffle his moans, while he curses you internally, for making him act like some dumb teen. And your smiles are as if you know.

One night Toji comes home and sees you on the couch, with one of your fucking pretty, perfect titties out, shoved out from your twisted little crop top, just begging him to touch it. He goes over, cock leaking precum, to cover you up, but he bends on a knee instead, brushing your hair back, watching your lips part, tempting him to no goddamn end.

Imagine how they’d feel on his -

He clears his mind, or tries to, deciding to fix your tank top, but his thumb brushes your nipple on accident, eliciting a soft whine from your perfect lips, your areola tightening just from his touch. He pauses, hating himself then, but he has to just bend down, pressing a kiss on that peak, and then your hand instinctively grips his hair, making him freeze, wondering what the fuck he’s doing.

“Toji…” You whisper, his eyes shoot up, but you’re fast asleep, shit you’re dreaming of him, like he’s worth a gorgeous girl like you dreaming of his old ass, but he laps at your nipple, before he can stop himself, hot wet tongue tasting your sweet skin. “Mnh!”

Shit.

He pulls back, but sucks your pretty nipple in his mouth for just a moment, greedily, hand brushing over your body and the thin fleece that’s slung over your hips, feeling your heat even through it 

Fuck, shit, fuck.

He pulls back, exhaling and swiping up the slick from your nipple with his rough thumb, picturing how pretty your tits would look covered in his ropes of cum, before he stops himself, covering you up quickly and rushing to his room. He can’t do shit like that…

Why are you dreaming of him though?

It’s still not okay… right?

Nor is it okay he wanted to touch that heat, lap up your juices, watch your sleepy face construe in pleasure. He can’t, can’t, can’t. So instead he’s stroking his aching cock, which slaps his belly button as it’s released, stroking it with his hand in little twists, imagining it now, the taste of your nipple in his mouth, until he’s spurting cum all from that reddened tip.

He can’t.

*****

Toji becomes meaner, gruffer, ignoring you, trying to fall into every woman he can, all while you come over less and less, thank god. But you can’t stop thinking of him, he’s a constant thought as you play with yourself, having dreams of him that feel too real and you come over one more time, already lit as you call Megumi, and he yawns, letting you in.

“You’re so needy, tch.” He grumbles, you giggle then, kissing his cheek, earning his eye roll.

“You’re the best friend ever.” You kiss his cheek again and he grimaces, taking in your attire.

“You went all slutty looking to that party, hmm? Mad at Yuuji?”

“Gumi!”

“Hot, just slutty. Go put on my clothes or something.” He says, with another yawn, ruffling your hair then.

“All right, I will in a bit, but… one more drink?” He chuckles, gesturing to the fridge.

“There’s beer in there, but I suggest water after.”

“Sure, dad.”

Megumi basically was Toji’s dad, way too mature always. He rolls his green eyes, just a little darker than his father’s, yawning again. “You know where everything is, crazy ass. I’m off to bed.”

“Night, Gumi, thank you!”

“Yeah yeah.” He shuts his door, as you’re just a little tipsy, curious where Toji was… some date, you’re sure. He’s sort of notorious for the women he has, though you’ve never seen the man have an actual serious girl.

You crack open a beer, sighing now, still clad in your- as Megumi dubbed it- slutty black dress, sitting in the kitchen chair as you sip the beer, right when the door opens and shuts. Toji walks in, actually wearing some dress shirt and slacks, different from the thin work out tees and sweats you normally see, and pauses when he sees you in the chair, his lips clamping shut.

“Have fun, Mr. Fushiguro?” You ask now, crossing your legs, allowing him to see your pretty, perfect pussy as he realizes you aren’t wearing shit under that dress. He gulps, mouth opening, before he eyes your peer in your pretty little hand, the kitchen suddenly far too small.

“What?” He manages, and you uncross your legs again, standing and walking closer to him, looking so sexy and pretty he wants to yank you by your goddamn hair, show you just how to get fucked.

He doubts you get fucked good, you’re too bitchy and needy, he can just tell, you need someone to split you in two. You lean against the counter, tilting your head, looking so slutty in this dress, tits out, thighs showing, hugging every curve and line of that banging body.

You’re sent to fuck him up, he’s sure of it, whatever his shitty past was, you’re the punishment.

“Have fun?” You practically purr the words.

“You old enough to drink, brat?” He demands, and you giggle again, touching his chest just a bit, but that alone is setting him the fuck off, as his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

“Old enough for lots of things.” You look right up at him, tummy clenching with how tall he is, how big he is, mind running fucking insane.

“Still a fucking kiddo.” He grumbles, opening the fridge now, taking a beer out of it and gulping it down, struggling not to let in.

Annoying brat that you are.

“So, did you have a date?’

“Yep.”

“Did you get off?”

“The fuck!?” He demands, sputtering as you giggle, buzzed and finally bold enough to spit it out, as you see him scowl, leaning down. “You said what?”

“Did you get off, Mr. Fushiguro?” You repeat again, batting those long lashes, some fake ones you wear that shouldn’t be as hot as they are on you.

“The fuck, brat?” He grabs you by the hair on the back of your neck with one big hand, the pull of it making you soaking wet, dripping down your thighs.

“I could help you, you always gave me such good advice as a kid you know, as a teenager. Even though you’re so mean now to me.” You lean even closer, pouting, he tastes the sweetness mixing with the liquor in your system, shaking his head, teeth clenched together.

“Don’t know what you’re fucking saying, doll. Should shut your brat mouth up.” His words go straight to your pussy, when his finger finds you between your thighs, and he curses, you’re slick and so hot. “Slutty ass didn’t even wear panties with this little outfit huh? Want all those college boys to see?”

“I’m sure they did. But that wasn’t the- question- ngh!” When he swipes a rough finger against your clit, your moan does him in.

“This soaked just talking to me?” He whispers, you barely are able to form a coherent thought or answer.

You trail your fingers down to his cock, gripping it and raising a brow. “Want me to help you Mr. Fushiguro? That girlfriend suck you good enough?”

“Keep fucking talking shit, brat, you’ll regret it.” He whispers hoarsely, only for you to smile up at him.

“Oh, gonna teach me a lesson - daddy?”

“Fucking brat I swear to…” He shoves you down on your bare knees then, right on Toji’s tile floor, and you gasp when you watch him free his cock, gulping as you see just how huge it is, thick and veiny, and you look up at him then. Tall, intimidating, cock right next to your lips, while he grabs your hair. “Got one chance to come to your senses, doll- ah, fuck!”

You lap at him, and soon you find yourself sucking every bit of your best friend’s dad’s cock all the way in your throat, burning as it stretches to try to accommodate him, and he’s so thick and long it’s damn near impossible to take him all. Your nails are pressing against his slacks as you move your head, sucking him so sloppy, drooling all over him.

Toji can’t take how good your mouth feels, how pretty your eyes are as they fill with tears for him, gripping your hair with his fingers and now fucking your face. “Shut you up huh, brat?”

You just whimper, as he puts a leg between your thighs, and you’re rolling your hips against his foot, his shoe pressing on your clit. You’re whining and grinding as he fucks your mouth harder, grunting, precum salty and sweet coating your tongue. You’re soaking his pant leg, clit throbbing in need, while his cock slides so deep you’re choking on him.

“So desperate, huh, gonna grind on my leg like that? Slutty lil’ cunt soaking me? This what you do to me, fuck…” He’s muttering to himself more than anything, as you suck harder, the degrading words only making you wetter. You’re trembling and shaking when he pauses, throbbing. “Shit… you suck that good, got me fuckin mad ya ever sucked anyone.”

He yanks you back just a bit, looking at your reddened lips, plump and coated in your spit, your mouth is parted, gasping for a breath then, he’s pulling you back up now, pressing you against the counter, thigh between yours, you’re rolling your hips and whimpering as he shuts your mouth with his hand. He feels it, you soaking him, dying to taste you now.

“Keep it quiet, shit-”

Suddenly the door opens, and you two immediately part, Toji adjusting his cock and turning back to the fridge, trying to act busy as you cough just a bit, throwing back the beer when Megumi walks out. He yawns now, blinking bleary eyed at the two of you, as Toji tries to stop his precum from leaking out of his tip.

“Can you two keep it down, shit. Hey…” He turns to you now, as you put the beer in the trash. “Come get some pajamas on, you can sleep in my bed if you want.”

“Thank you, Gumi, good idea.” You snatch up pajamas that Megumi brings, a big shirt and a pair of his boxers, heading to the bathroom and resting your head on the door, shaking like crazy as you peel off your dress. Your thighs are a sticky mess, your damn throat hurts from his cock.

Your pussy is aching with need, you splash some cool water on your face, struggling to take several breaths as you eye yourself in the mirror. You lips are swollen from sucking him, eyes dilated and pupils blown the fuck out, your cheeks have taken on this color from how overheated they are. You struggle to compose yourself, wiping up the endless slick from your pussy.

What just happened?

You walk back out, seeing Megumi with a water bottle, smiling lazily at you, and you sigh, taking it and smiling, feeling so guilty. You just sucked his damn father, now you’re gonna act normal somehow? Toji is nowhere to be seen, so you try to just to push it out of your brain, even as you’re gulping down icy water and laying in Megumi’s bed.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor, Gumi.” You say, he sighs now, climbing up and laying on the other side.

“Don’t take advantage of me, hmm? Look like you got dick on the brain.”

“Excuse me!?” You both burst into laughter, you shove him nearly off the bed as he’s chuckling.

“You and Yuuji need to stop the back and forth, you know he’s like a sad puppy when you all break up.”

“Ugh, I know.” You sigh, covering your face now, wishing you could get this annoying old man out of your head. “Dick on my brain, whatever.”

“Mmhmm. Night night.”

“G’night.” You turn on your side, thinking just what Toji is feeling, was it nothing but some girl with some crush to him?

You all literally say nothing to each other the next morning, and Mr. Fushiguro has went from somewhat quiet to completely shutting you out. His replies are grunts and grumbles, and he doesn’t say a damn word to you. For weeks, you haven’t even caught a glance, to the point you wonder if it was all some drunk ass dream.

Unable to handle it, you quit coming over, for weeks, in a way Toji is thankful he doesn’t have to constantly have a hard cock, constantly masturbate to you- well he does anyway, but- the memory of your throat is something he can’t stop. The memory of you so desperate you were grinding on him like that, how he almost had you right in the kitchen.

He fights all of it, glad you’re not there, trying to go back out, to forget you even exist, feeling so damn awkward as he talks to his kid about you, asking ever so casually where you are. Apparently you have some new boyfriend, and Toji doesn’t like the irrational feelings that brings him, so he’s even more thankful you’re not around.

Thinking of some college loser not even getting your pretty pussy off makes him furious, no one even deserves to touch you really, even him.

As Toji’s on a date, and they’re being seated, a rooftop restaurant this woman wants to go to, he spots you then. You’re giggling, hand over your mouth, as you show some boy something on your phone, and he’s laughing too. A boy your age, that’s how it should be, anyway.

Right?

You notice him then, how can someone not notice Toji, his gaze across your body, lingering against your breasts, pressed up and on display in the little dress you’re wearing. You see his hand go to his date’s thigh, so you lean closer to your date, whispering little nothings in his ear. His cheeks heat up as his own hand touches your thigh.

Like some sick game, you both trade looks, touches with your dates, all while the intensity builds, and surely your date must think he’s got the easiest girl around, he’s doing really nothing and can feel your heat as he touches your thigh. And surely Toji’s date is enjoying every touch and caress, as you watch his fingers trail down her shoulders, picturing them.

It’s suddenly all too much, you murmur a quick apology. “I have to go to the ladies room real quick.”

“No worries love.” He says with a smile, and you quickly go to the bathroom, splashing cool water on your face, on the back of your neck, exhaling and trying to compose yourself.

“Shit…” You grumble, then gasp as the door slams open, his tall imposing figure right in the bathroom, broad shoulders so big he barely fits the damn doorway. “It’s a ladies room, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“Stop looking at me like that.” He whispers, gripping your face tightly, you take a shaky breath, legs trembling as he’s too close, and your eyes flicker to his lips, glossy and full, making you ache to kiss him.

“Look at you like what?” You look at him under lashes, as he remember’s your damn demon mouth on him, and he turns you then, towering over you in the reflection of the mirror, tilting your chin to face it.

“Like that, see yourself? Fucked out face, begging to be filled.” You gasp when one hand is wrapping your throat, the other slipping up your dress, groaning in your ear as he hovers over you, finding your panties soaked.

“Mr. Fushiguro…”

“That lil boy toy gets you off, doll?” He asks softly, rolling his fingers under the waistband of your panties, as his other fingers squeeze your throat with the lightest pressure. Your eyes roll back, and he slips two fingers inside to the knuckle, stretching you so good you’re damn near sobbing. “Asked ya a question?”

“Does y-your girl… get you off? Suck dick like I do?” You ask in response, smiling at his scowl, as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, you hear the squelching wetness echoing in the bathroom, crying out and bucking your hips.

“Tired of that mouth, tired of you fucking with my head. Little demon brat.” He huffs, cock hard and thick against your back, dying to be inside you, feeling your sticky little walls gripping him, you’re damn near sobbing it feels so good, his huge hard body taking you over. “Look at yourself, huh? Pretty lil face, annoying the shit outta me.”

“Y-you annoy m-me.” He chuckles, as he guides your chin back.

“Open those eyes.” You do as he says, whimpering softly, while your cunt is drooling down to his rolled up dress sleeves, you feel every fucking ridge and callous against your walls, making you even wetter, your cheeks so flushed, your eyes so bright as he watches you. “You drive me nuts on purpose, don’t you brat?”

“Y-you don’t even w-want-” He yanks out his fingers, just as you’re about to cum, leaving you weak, as he literally lets you go, and you glare up at him, as he sucks you off his fingers, making your mouth drop open at how sensual it is.

“Goddamn, gotta taste that good!?” You can’t speak, not when he’s tilting your chin up again, leaning close. “Stop fucking with me, got it?”

“You’re such a dick.” He glares, and you glare right back, as he just walks the fuck out. “Ugh!”

Your jaw sets, stomping out a few moments after, seeing Toji acting so casual, hands gripping a stem of a glass of wine, still glistening from you, smirking at you, and you decide it then.

Two can play at his little game.

*****

You are bouncing around in your little damn cheerleading outfit, as you’re on the field, shaking your hips with your stupid fucking pom poms, all while Toji finally decides to come to Megumi’s football games. Megumi himself is curious why he keeps showing up, it’s not that Toji never came to them, it’s just he didn’t… very often. Usually working or something.

Well Toji takes heavy interest, as he’s got a new girl with him every game, you can practically feel his stupid smirk from across the field as he watches you, an arm wrapped around a pretty lady’s shoulders. So you decide, the best course of action is to slap a big good luck kiss right on Yuuji’s lips before the game, to the awws and oohs of the crowd.

It takes everything inside Toji not to grab you by your pig tails, drag you over and beat your bouncy ass. It takes everything not to smack that ass so hard you can’t walk anymore, especially as you turn away from a blushing Yuuji to smile meanly right back at Toji, seeing his glare.

You may or may not also bend over right in front of him, giving him a full view of thin lacy black panties when you should be wearing spandex shorts, making Toji so hard he physically hurts. It’s not your fault you dropped something, though! You smile innocently when you turn around, feigning surprise.

“Mr. Fushiguro, it’s so good to see you here.” You say brightly, smiling to the lady next to him then. “He’s such a good dad.”

Toji just glares as you wave, running back to the field to finish your routine, little do you know Toji has to leave in the middle of the game, so torn the fuck up from seeing you he can’t stand it. He’s again stroking his cock to his son’s bratty little fucking friend, cursing you the entire time, thinking he could make you stop if you saw him with other women.

But you are driving him more insane.

Megumi is out early for practice when you waltz right in later, wearing your pretty little maroon cheer outfit, the irony is it’s a letter fucking T on your pretty tits, as you peek around, noticing him. You both pause, it’s been damn near a month since you sucked him, and weeks since he fingered you, you’ve both kept your distance just enough.

“Shit, Megumi already left? My phone’s dead.” You frown at it now, sighing as Toji slowly walks up to you, shutting the door behind you and locking it with a click. You pause, breaths coming faster and faster as he looms over you, so big and intimidating and fucking sexy. You let out a whimper before you bite your trembling lip, and he cups your face with one hand.

“You’re playing with fire, y’know that brat? Fucking have no clue what you’re in for if you keep it up.” He juts your chin up roughly then, making your head fall back, you tremble then, biting at your lip harder. “Think I’m playing?”

“Think I’m scared of you? Think I’m some innocent kid? I’m not.” He chuckles gruffly, licking that scar, making it glisten as he tilts his head to the side, strong muscles flexing as he presses you further against the door.

“You ain’t done shit like I’d do to you, none of those lil’ boys could make you cum like me, split you in fucking two, fuck you stupid.” You gasp, his words going straight to your pussy, but you struggle to hide it.

“All talk, is what I think, maybe you’re too old to keep up with me.” You raise a brow with a little smile, when Toji grabs you by your throat, it turns into a full fucking grin.

“You psycho little brat, need a whole fuckin’ lesson, don’t ya?” He slams his lips on yours, and once he does, it’s over for both of you.

His tongue his sliding into your mouth, not teasing, no he’s fucking owning it, devouring it, as your hands slip up his chest, gripping his thin white shirt and his free hand slips down, yanking your cheer top down, one of your breasts spilling out. He moans as he pulls back, squeezing your throat harder, pulling you to him.

“Think I haven’t already sucked on these perky lil’ fuckin nipples?” You gasp then, earning his chuckle. “Sleeping in slutty ass tops, tits out.”

“D-did you… do more?” You whisper, hoarse as he’s choking you harder, and he smirks at you.

“No, freaky ass brat, what did you want me to touch you in your sleep?” You nod weakly, as he squeezes your windpipe even harder, until you’re a soaking wet fucking mess. “What’d ya want me to do?”

“Eat me out.” Your whisper ends him, he’s on his knees then, Toji Fushiguro, on his knees, as your heart hammers in your chest, and he shoves up that cheer skirt, licking you over your lacy panties, groaning as your slick hits his mouth, his tongue lapping the soppy mess out. “Ah!”

Your hands grip his inky hair, hiccuping and crying as he continues to lap at you with his hungry tongue, groaning against you, reducing your panties to nothing. “You’re such a little slut, wearing this? Want everyone to see this fucking pussy?”

“W-wanted y-you to…”

“Shit…” Toji takes your hands, putting them on your skirt then. “Hold this the fuck up, now.”

“Yes…”

“Yes what.”

“Yes… daddy- ah!” Toji groans, knowing he’s just a sick fuck for eating through your panties under your goddamn cheer skirt, knowing he’s old enough to be your damn dad almost, but he can’t stop himself now. Once he tastes you it’s fucking done for him, as you hold your skirt up, hooking a thigh over his shoulder and screaming out.

“Good fucking girl. Finally, listening huh?” You can’t function, dying for the barrier of your panties to leave, wriggling as he teases you relentlessly.

“Please!”

“Please what, doll?”

“Take em off, please… fucking please.”

“Hah…” He’s laughing, biting you over your panties, grinning up at the mess you already are. “Ya gonna cum from this? These boys so pathetic?”

“Mnh…” Is all you manage, and he moans, rubbing your damp and sticky fabric, finally peeling it off you, easing your thigh off him and pressing bites down it as he does.

“All sweet now, huh? Not being a slutty fuckin’ brat?”

“I need… need you… T-Toji…” He moans at how sweet you are when he laps you up between your puffy lips, groaning as you soak his mouth, your hands back to those thin inky locks, pulling as he swipes the flat of his tongue up your slit. “Ah! F-fuck!”

“Bad lil mouth, huh?” He smacks your pussy now, making it sting and throb, but you’re only more fucking wet, as he slaps it again, shoving two fingers up your hole and looking at you under sooty lashes, as his cock throbs in his sweats, precum making him sticky as you fall apart over him. “Nothin’ to say?”

“Fuck you… ah!” He smacks your pussy again, harder, wet slap echoing in the house as he stands now, picking you up like you’re nothing, throwing you over his shoulder as you squeak. “Let me down, f-fuck!”

Toji laughs, smacking your bare ass and making you squeak, before tossing you right on his bed, spreading your thighs and nudging right between them, spitting right on your pussy and grinning with white teeth glinting, slipping his two thick fingers through it. “Fuck, look at her, so soaked and I just am getting started.”

You blink in confusion, sure you’ve got experience, but just a few licks was better than anything you’ve felt. “I’m r-ready, though- mnh!”

“I ain’t even close to done with eating this pussy. Tastes so fucking yummy, demon pussy, demon mouth.” You’d laugh if he wasn’t slobbering all over your cunt again, making you quiver and moan, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his messy sheets, your toes curling, still in your fucking cheer sneakers.

“T-Toji, please-”

“You’re gonna get it, brat, until you’re beggin’ me to stop, until you can’t even move, can’t think. That what you've been wanting all this time, huh?” He asks, eyes alight with something dark and carnivorous.

“Y-yes, yes, I want it, I need it, I-ahh!”

You don’t have to ask again, because he’s already descending, stupidly tongue licking and fucking in and out of your soppy little hole, as you scream out at it, so close to cumming you can feel the pressure in your tummy. He can feel it, as he grips your hips, shoving that little pleated skirt up and drinking you, drowning in you, your body just twitching under his hold.

“That’s it, there you go, doll. Cum all over m’fuckin face.” He urges, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, so goddamn intense as he devours your pussy, your  eyes roll into the back of your head as he latches onto your little twitching clit, sucking hard, and your body arches up, your back bowing off the bed, as you shatter.

“Oh fuck, T-Toji m’gonna cum I - ah!” You’re sobbing out the jumble of words, your voice hoarse, your body shaking as he feasts on you, his stubble scraping your sensitive skin. He’s fucking humming on your clit, and you feel the orgasm wrecking you as your hips buck up to his face.

He’s moaning as you orgasm all over his face, juices fucking pouring, the sounds of him slurping them up are goddamn obscene, he’s drunk off you as he sips up every bit he can. His breaths are hot and heavy, and your thighs are clamping down around his head, already overstimulated and whining pathetically, but he’s just too fucking strong, and he’s not stopping.

“Again, doll, can your lil slutty pussy cum again f’me?” You weakly shake your head, and he chuckles up at you. “So cute, and we’re just getting started, don’t tap out now… where’s your school spirit?”

“Oh my god…” You wanna cuss him out, but you’re about to cum again as he shoves two thick fingers in, curling them and pressing that spongy spot in your messy, not sloppy fucking walls. “Too much!” You whine, his chuckle tickling your clit as he spreads your lips, watching it twitch.

“Talked all that shit, then can’t take a lil foreplay?” You’re sweating already, about to cum again, the tension in your body coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you’re screaming out his name, Toji. Your hips bucking against his face, your juices squirting out all over his mouth and chin, soaking the bed beneath you, and he’s just swallowing it all down, groaning with every drop.

You collapse back, breathless, sweat slicked, and your heart racing so fast you can feel it in your throat, and Toji sits back a bit,, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at you with a smug grin, your pussy still quivering and pulsing around his thick digits as he is relentless in his fingering.

“Weak and fuckin pathetic, huh?”

“Ngh…” Is all you can manage, gasping as he keeps scissoring his fingers in and out of your cunt.

“That was just the fucking appetizer, doll.” And with that, he pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, dilated and reflecting your desire when he leans over you finally.

“T-Toji… I….”

“You sure can’t run that bratty mouth no more, huh? I already fuck you stupid with just fingers?” You just whimper, he makes you pathetic, ripping your top off you now, groaning as he sees your tits right in his face, gripping them in his big hands, sucking right on your nipples, while you’re grinding eagerly, dying for his cock.

“Toji please, more…”

“Think you can handle this cock, doll?” You nod eagerly, and he grins, lifting you like you’re nothing, pausing at your skirt and moaning. “Think we’ll keep it on.”

Toji’s undressing eagerly, despite acting in control, he’s dying to slip inside you, soaking wet and eager, sliding three fingers in just to test you, and you gasp at the stretch, legs shaking while he curls them at the knuckles. “Ngh! Too… much…”

“Doll, need ya nice and ready.” He pulls them out now, shoving them in your mouth, making you soak yourself as he lines the thick tip of his cock against your folds, pressing into your entrance, you scream out at it, pussy clenching just his tip, making him hiss. “Fuck you’re so tight still, shit…”

“Please, fuck me please.”

“Begging so pretty, love you like this - ha- f-fuck!” Toji’s green eyes roll back in his own head as he sinks into your soaking wet pussy, stretching you just perfectly around him, cupping your face as he does. “Look at me, now.”

You struggle to focus your eyes as he fills you, shoving in one stroke so deep your nails dig in his back, nothing but your cheer skirt and sneakers on your body, something about that and your pigtails making Toji feral. He slams his cock deep inside you as your mouth is in a slutty O, whimpering at the burn, the stretch.

“Can’t take a dick like this, huh?” You shake your head weakly, and he wants to chuckle, to smirk, but he’s too pussy drunk now, as he fucks you harder, his bed creaking, headboard slamming on his fucking wall as he leans up. “Look at that… huh baby?”

You weakly look down, seeing your tummy bulge as he slows his movements, and you’re blushing, making Toji murmur how cute his cheerleader is, while he watches it slower and slower, groaning. His tip drags on some spot again, making your nails rake down his arms, leaving marks, and he moans, head falling low, sweat dripping from his brow against your lips.

“That’s it, fucking up your lil body, huh? Too fuckin big for you, ain’t I?” You weakly just nod, he has fucked your brains out, he’s smirking now. “Ready for real dick?”

“For what!? F-fuck!” Toji lifts a leg up now, slamming deep in your pussy, fucking wrecking you then, as you’re cumming all over his cock when he presses fully in, stuffing your little cunt so full you’re sobbing at it.

“There it is, feel her milkin’ me already, huh?” You’re dizzy, blacking out damn near even before he wraps a hand back on your throat. “Been driving me crazy for fucking years, y’know what you were doing, didn’t ya?

You nod weakly, tears in your eyes, gasping as you’re pulsing all around his thick veiny length, struggling as he stuffs you, balls deep. “T-too much, too much!”

“Nah doll, you can take it like a good girl, can’t you?” His words and his strokes fuck you up, you nod eagerly as he moans, fucking into you harder and deeper, before pulling out, watching you shake and laugh. “Hands and knees, doll.”

You eagerly obey, barely able to turn, he has to help you, pressing your head into his soft mattress as he fucks you so hard, the slapping and wet sounds filling his room with your muffled cries. You’re clinging to the sheets until he takes your hands, gripping them behind your back with one hand, delicate wrists squeezed while he pumps into your tight, eager pussy.

“Fuckin feel you, so goddamn perfect, made f’me huh?” You can’t speak, you just whimper, as he groans, yanking your head up by your hair, leaning over. “Asked ya a question doll.”

“M-made f-for you.” You whisper, he chuckles, kissing you sloppy before he lets you go, your head falling again, while he pounds inside your eager pussy, which swallows him in so pretty.

“Know how many times I… stroked it, fuck… know what you’ve done to me!? Think I’ll ever let this pussy go now?” He whispers, insane fucking things, maybe they should scare you, as he pounds you so hard you do feel split in two, but you’re just whining in pleasure as he hisses, your walls pulsing as you’re close again. “So fucking easy, huh?”

You can’t answer, you’re screaming into the sheets while he’s pounding you so hard, wrecking you for anyone, as he rambles - ‘that’s it, feel her’ - ‘no one’s ever fucked you like this, huh’ and ‘this is what you get, talking all that shit, hah- can’t fuckin’ speak now, huh?’

You’re a mess, drooling when he has you cumming again, only for him to flip you back on your back like you are some little doll to him, cupping your face and sucking in a breath for a moment. You have the marks of the bed on your pretty face, tears making your mascara trail, eyes fucked out. You have drool that he swipes, slowing then and huffing.

“Know how goddamn beautiful you are?” He whispers, so intimate and shocking for a moment, your breath catches, as he slows his strokes. “Know how you’re in all my dreams? Pretty, perfect, f-fuck…”

“Toji… y-you think…”

“I know.” You’re sobbing when he kisses you, when you’re clinging to him with numb hands from his brutal grip, and he slows just a bit, the kiss deepening. “God I’ve wanted you so long, doll, shit… like I’m dreaming.”

His words melt you, as you try to cling to any sense of reality anymore. “Oh, Toji…”

“Shh, stop making me sappy and shit, demon ass pussy here.” You breathless giggle, but it turns into a cry as you cling to him, hips rolling, when he’s getting close, and he’s cupping your face, you feel far too fucking much. “Where you want me to cum, doll, because I’m close, pussy gripping too good.”

“In me.”

“In you!?” You nod shyly, and he glares, narrowing green eyes as he tenses over you. “Anyone came in this pussy?” You shake your head nervously, earning his grin. “Perfect, gonna fill you first huh- want it all in you?”

You nod weakly, and he presses your thighs up, folding you in half, girthy cock and mean tip bullying your walls until he’s closer and closer, groaning. “Ngh!” You’re pathetically whining, he laughs.

“Beg for it, all this cum doll, been fucking waiting for this.”

“P-please- ah!” Toji loves how submissive you are despite you having been such a goddamn brat, pleased his cock has fucked your brains good enough you’re begging for it.

“Beg harder, doll.”

“Fucking please!”

“Please what, brat?”

“Daddy please!” Toji’s ended then, pouring hot spurts of cum so deep in your abused little hole, white ropes coating your fluttering walls as he damn near whimpers, falling heavy over you. You’re sobbing it feels so good, muscles throbbing and fluttering around his cock, pushing his cum and yours all down his cock. “Mnh!”

“That’s it, milk me like a good lil slut.” He huffs, easing back and shoving his cock in again, pressing kisses sweeter than his mean strokes down your neck. He exhales, fingers running down your skin as he feels you twitching under him. “Goddamn it, you’re such a brat, y’know? Until you get dick.”

“That w-was the cure.” He snorts now, shaking his head, leaning up with a breath, and cupping your face again, a thin sheen of sweat on your perfect skin, when he hears the door unlock, cursing.

“Shit…” You hastily cover yourself, as Toji struggles to right himself, hiding you under the blankets as Megumi walks in, sighing when he sees his best friend’s cheer top and likely her panties strewn along with his dad’s sweats.

“Really, you two?” He grumbles.

“Nothing happened, kid. Just… she’s…”

“Yeah, whatever.” He crosses his arms, leaning in the doorway as you peek out from under the covers. “We have a game? Get it together.”

He walks out and slams the door as you break into a breathless giggle, hastily getting up, only for Toji to shove you back down. You blink rapidly as he shoves two fingers in your sore pussy, making you hiss. “Toji what the fuck!?”

“Need you dripping me at the game, doll.”

A/N- Toji stuff is just my ABSOLUTE FILTH every fucking time, and I'm not sure I'm sorry about it lol. Reader and Toji both ain't shit, and poor Megumi LMAO. See you in the comments bbs hehe

taglist #1- @ella45jjk @rie-star @konekobby @maniccats @getoisinnocent @atiny-99 @y-u-w-k @mimiluvzu2 @kiliggirl @msniks @chsuguru @g00seg1rl @psychoartiste @aerareads @rentheannihilator @mima0127 @paradisestarfishh @themoreeviltwin @zym555 @nutmilky @superstar-t20 @2bizseechile @plimplimmeiododoi @shydroid3000 lavenderdaydream97 @xd3pr3ss3dx @tojiwoah @xllizs @collectionofdolls @midnightry @21yuki12 @angie420 @socrazylola @whosmarjj PERM- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @loafteaw @tojicvmslut @miizuzu @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @moncher-ire @orikixx @baepsays @airandyeah @naammiii

[mariacallous]

Perhaps you’ve heard: Young people aren’t dating anymore. News media and social media are awash in commentary about the decline in youth romance. It’s visible in the corporate data, with dating-app engagement taking a hit. And it’s visible in the survey data, where the share of 12th graders who say they’ve dated has fallen from about 85 percent in the 1980s to less than 50 percent in the early 2020s, with the decline particularly steep in the past few years.

Naturally, young people’s habits are catnip to news commentators. But although I consider the story of declining youth romance important, I don’t find it particularly mysterious. In my essay on the anti-social century, I reported that young people have retreated from all manner of physical-world relationships, whether because of smartphones, over-parenting, or a combination of factors. Compared with previous generations of teens, they have fewer friends, spend significantly less time with the friends they do have, attend fewer parties, and spend much more time alone. Romantic relationships theoretically imply a certain physicality; so it’s easy to imagine that the collapse of physical-world socializing for young people would involve the decline of romance.

Adults have a way of projecting their anxieties and realities onto their children. In the case of romance, the fixation on young people masks a deeper—and, to me, far more mysterious—phenomenon: What is happening to adult relationships?

American adults are significantly less likely to be married or to live with a partner than they used to be. The national marriage rate is hovering near its all-time low, while the share of women under 65 who aren’t living with a partner has grown steadily since the 1980s. The past decade seems to be the only period since at least the 1970s when women under 35 were more likely to live with their parents than with a spouse.

People’s lives are diverse, and so are their wants and desires and circumstances. It’s hard, and perhaps impossible, to identify a tiny number of factors that explain hundreds of millions of people’s decisions to couple up, split apart, or remain single. But according to Lyman Stone, a researcher at the Institute for Family Studies, the most important reason marriage and coupling are declining in the U.S. is actually quite straightforward: Many young men are falling behind economically.

A marriage or romantic partnership can be many things: friendship, love, sex, someone to gossip with, someone to remind you to take out the trash. But, practically speaking, Stone told me, marriage is also insurance. Women have historically relied on men to act as insurance policies—against the threat of violence, the risk of poverty. To some, this might sound like an old-fashioned, even reactionary, description of marriage, but its logic still applies. “Men’s odds of being in a relationship today are still highly correlated with their income,” Stone said. “Women do not typically invest in long-term relationships with men who have nothing to contribute economically.” In the past few decades, young and especially less educated men’s income has stagnated, even as women have charged into the workforce and seen their college-graduation rates soar. For single non-college-educated men, average inflation-adjusted earnings at age 45 have fallen by nearly 25 percent in the past half century, while for the country as a whole, average real earnings have more than doubled. As a result, “a lot of young men today just don’t look like what women have come to think of as ‘marriage material,’” he said.

In January, the Financial Times’ John Burn-Murdoch published an analysis of the “relationship recession” that lent strong support to Stone’s theory. Contrary to the idea that declining fertility in the U.S. is mostly about happily childless DINKs (dual-income, no-kid couples), “the drop in relationship formation is steepest among the poorest,” he observed. I asked Burn-Murdoch to share his analysis of Current Population Survey data so that I could take a closer look. What I found is that, in the past 40 years, coupling has declined more than twice as fast among Americans without a college degree, compared with college graduates. This represents a dramatic historic inversion. In 1980, Americans ages 25 to 34 without a bachelor’s degree were more likely than college graduates to get married; today, it’s flipped, and the education gap in coupling is widening every year. Marriage produces wealth by pooling two people’s income, but, conversely, wealth also produces marriage.

Contraception technology might also play a role. Before cheap birth control became widespread in the 1970s, sexual activity was generally yoked to commitment: It was a cultural norm for a man to marry a girl if he’d gotten her pregnant, and single parenthood was uncommon. But as the (married!) economists George Akerlof and Janet Yellen observed in a famous 1996 paper, contraception helped disentangle sex and marriage. Couples could sleep together without any implicit promise to stay together. Ultimately, Akerlof and Yellen posit, the availability of contraception, which gave women the tools to control the number and the timing of their kids, decimated the tradition of shotgun marriages, and therefore contributed to an increase in children born to low-income single parents.

The theory that the relationship recession is driven by young men falling behind seems to hold up in the U.S. But what about around the world? Rates of coupling are declining throughout Europe, as well. In England and Wales, the marriage rate for people under 30 has declined by more than 50 percent since 1990.

And it’s not just Europe. The gender researcher Alice Evans has shown that coupling is down just about everywhere. In Iran, annual marriages plummeted by 40 percent in 10 years. Some Islamic authorities blame Western values and social media for the shift. They might have a point. When women are exposed to more Western media, Evans argues, their life expectations expand. Fitted with TikTok and Instagram and other windows into Western culture, young women around the world can seek the independence of a career over the codependency (or, worse, the outright loss of freedom) that might come with marriage in their own country. Social media, a woman veterinarian in Tehran told the Financial Times, also glamorizes the single life “by showing how unmarried people lead carefree and successful lives … People keep comparing their partners to mostly fake idols on social platforms.”

According to Evans, several trends are driving this global decline in coupling. Smartphones and social media may have narrowed many young people’s lives, pinning them to their couches and bedrooms. But they’ve also opened women’s minds to the possibility of professional and personal development. When men fail to support their dreams, relationships fail to flourish, and the sexes drift apart.

If I had to sum up this big messy story in a sentence, it would be this: Coupling is declining around the world, as women’s expectations rise and lower-income men’s fortunes fall; this combination is subverting the traditional role of straight marriage, in which men are seen as necessary for the economic insurance of their family.

So why does all this matter? Two of the more urgent sociological narratives of this moment are declining fertility and rising unhappiness. The relationship recession makes contact with both. First, marriage and fertility are tightly interconnected. Unsurprisingly, one of the strongest predictors of declining fertility around the world is declining coupling rates, as Burn-Murdoch has written. Second, marriage is strongly associated with happiness. According to General Social Survey data, Americans’ self-described life satisfaction has been decreasing for decades. In a 2023 analysis of the GSS data, the University of Chicago economist Sam Peltzman concluded that marriage was more correlated with this measure of happiness than any other variable he considered, including income. (As Stone would rush to point out here, marriage itself is correlated with income.)

The social crisis of our time is not just that Americans are more socially isolated than ever, but also that social isolation is rising alongside romantic isolation, as the economic and cultural trajectories of men and women move in opposite directions. And, perhaps most troubling, the Americans with the least financial wealth also seem to have the least “social wealth,” so to speak. It is the poor, who might especially need the support of friends and partners, who have the fewest close friends and the fewest long-term partners. Money might not buy happiness, but it can buy the things that buy happiness.

[portraitsofguilt]

── # 𝗖𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗠𝗔𝗦 𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗨𝗦 lawyer! abby anderson

content warnings.          18+ MDNI, nsfw content, SMUT, female-bodied reader, lawyer! abby anderson, apprentice! reader, semi-public sex, office sex, implied age gap (?), power imbalance, praise kink (reader), fingering, eating out, kissing, tiny spots of dark content,

author's note.   this is really just yapping and some smut but hopefully it's not disappointing either way HAHAHAHA enjoy.........

so, there wasn’t a lot you could have done about the unfortunate hours you were called in for just try and bear it with the unlimited coffee that the office let you have. you wouldn’t call it a christmas bonus, but it was definitely not the cheap blend they left out, this one actually tasted like coffee and not just some dirt brown liquid with some caffeine sprinkled in it. for a law firm designed for the people who had money to spare, they sure skimped on procurement of the cure for sleep deprivation.

“let’s have a chat in my office.”

out of anything that graced the earth to wake people up, miss anderson, top partner of the law firm and who you were assigned to do grunt work before you could take on your own cases was the best remedy for the last rush of cases before everything stopped for the holidays.

miss anderson always asked you at times like this to sit into her chair, imagine yourself as the top partner, and the stress it came with which you usually stammered out a couple of apologies for because you were there to make her life easier, not to stress her out even more with your rookie comments.

“don’t worry darling, it’s the managing partner’s fault, not yours.”

comments like that puts you at ease, gives you back that spark you need to keep going for that bright future of being a big shot lawyer at one of the best law firms nationwide. it gives her the very opportunity she was looking for to take advantage of- you buried deep within her cherry-picked praises that you don’t even notice when she goes to the door to turn the lock and dim the lights, that her heels are now not clicking with rush but with a sort of sultriness (not that you were paying attention to anything but her words).

and oh god her words, she could talk you into anything and she knew it, abused it just the way you wouldn’t complain about it to anyone, and even if you thought about gloating, there was just no way anyone would believe you. it was an all-evil plot to use you for her own ease, to get rid of that thumping headache that always tore through her eyes and ears.

“next to your christmas bonus, I have come up with my own form of… gratitude.”

 because everything has led up to this moment, although she wasn’t too keen on kneeling for an apprentice, her head being between your thighs with the plush of them warming her ears and your moans calming that migraine that the snow and deadlines brought with themselves. needing and wanting more was on both of your minds as miss anderson’s tongue delved deeper within your leaking hole, with a thumb gently circling your clit and an empty hand filling itself with all that it could find under your white button up.

she is slowly easing you into a rhythm, something that followed the tempo of the slow christmas music faintly playing in the background, but overtime as the world faded, so did the sluggish movements of her tongue and fingers, and soon she was eating you out like there was a time rush, a hungry animal who could only survive on your sweet nectar pried from you with numbing pleasure.

you couldn’t place yourself when the knot in your stomach started to tighten, the rush of adrenaline that surged through you at the promise of an orgasm made you tear up the expensive leather of your boss’s chair and almost dig a hole into her spine with your high heel. it was a shot of ecstasy after each bold stroke of her finger that moved through your clenching walls and if she hadn’t told you to keep quiet then stuff your panties into your mouth to actually keep you quiet, you were almost certain that cops would’ve showed up at the rate you would have screamed at.

but the night wasn’t over after she kissed and fingered you through your climax, not when her lips were so addicting that after she completely pulled away, hands cradling your face as she pulled you closer to herself. on top of her desk, legs open and skirt riding up until her black lacy panties just peak out, letting you have a sample like a search-and-rescue dog, getting you hooked on the smell alone and having you want more and more until there is nothing left for you to look for.

[mc-lukanette]

The bell of the bakery rang, followed by the sound of a pair of boots against the floor. Sabine looked up, brightening at the familiar faces.

"Tom! Look who's here!" she exclaimed, beckoning her husband closer with a wave of her hand.

Tom stopped putting a tray in the oven to look up, beamed, then remembered his task and hurried to finish so he could face their customer properly. Throwing off his oven mitts, he greeted happily, "Anarka! And you even brought little Luka!"

"Everything looks little to you, sailor," Anarka commented with a snort, though he wasn't wrong. She adjusted her one-armed grip on her baby boy, ensuring he was secure against her.

That, in all likelihood, wasn't an actual concern. Luka, despite his young age, had his tiny hands grasping tight to his mother's clothes, as if she would let go of him at any moment. Anyone could imagine him hanging on for dear life even without an arm supporting him.

"Did you come by for a teething rusk?" Sabine wondered. It'd been a special offer for any parent who needed them for their baby at no charge; she and Tom knew from experience how expensive babies could be regardless of such concerns, so they helped others where they could.

"No, but I wouldn't say 'no' to having a few." She raised two fingers. "But Luka's not the only one who needs them."

"Of course." Sabine got a bag ready. "Where is your other one? Sweet baby Juleka?"

Juleka was a quiet one, even more so than Luka, which was a strange thought when considering what their mother was like. It was to the point where you wouldn't know Juleka was there unless you saw her, but it was remained odd seeing a brother without his twin sister.

Anarka tossed her head back with a groan. "With a friend of mine. It's a handful having them together sometimes."

Tom chuckled. "I know just what you mean. Our Marinette is a handful all by herself!"

"Ahh—" She looked off to the side, then to Luka in consideration. Taking a step to be right against the counter, she put a hand to Luka's ear and moved his head so his other ear was against her clothes, keeping him from hearing much as she leaned close to them. "It's actually because of this one."

Tom and Sabine exchanged a look of concern. Was such a cute baby already getting a bad boy streak?

"Oh, they're not fighting," Anarka clarified, standing straight and uncovering Luka's ear, "but he has habits. Never seen a baby feeling suffocated by attention."

She gestured at the chubby hands that still hadn't let go of her. Tom put a hand to his chin, stroking his mustache with his index finger as he tried to piece together what she meant.

She pointed a finger at her son, stressing, "He. Hugs. Everyone."

Luka stared at her fingertip from under his thick, fluffy black hair, following the conversation about as well as the other two.

"That's... sweet?" Sabine commented, not seeing what the problem was.

Anarka shook her head. "Poor Juleka just needs to cry sometimes - babies do that, you know - but Luka squeezes anyone who looks just a little upset. I'm sure she loves him, but he doesn't know when to leave people alone. I had to keep them in separate cribs or he'd hold her all night, but then he gets fussy without something to hold."

That made somewhat more sense and made Sabine a little curious. She made eye contact with Tom expectantly, trying to convey her thoughts without words.

"Hm," he hummed, nodding along to the telepathic conversation, "I want to see it too, dear, but I can't cry on command."

"Think about our wedding day," she countered.

Instantly, Tom let out a choking noise. Doing an amazing performance as the "baby" of everyone in the room, including the actual baby, he grew misty-eyed and muttered, "You looked so beautiful..."

"ah," Luka uttered, the first sound that he'd made since getting there. He let go of Anarka's clothes, only leaving behind wrinkles to indicate that he'd been there, and reached both hands out towards Tom. He was so quick about it that he nearly fell forwards, Tom hurrying to take him in his hands before anything happened.

"See that?" Anarka chuckled, amused. Her tone was mischievous, as of course she wouldn't have let her boy actually fall.

Tom sighed in relief, not yet recovered from the shock. He held Luka carefully and glanced over to speak to him, "man-to-man," only to get a sudden smack to his face. "Ow!"

Sabine cooed, "I think he was trying to wipe your tears away."

"He's got a strong arm for his age!" Tom half-cheered, half-protested, taking one hand off of Luka to rub the tiny mark forming on his cheek.

"That he does." Anarka puffed out her chest with pride and patted her fist against it. "He'll be throwing scoundrels overboard in no time."

Sabine raised a brow at her, wondering if she should be worried, but her thoughts drifted as she looked back at Tom. Seeing him hold a baby reminded her, "Oh, he hasn't met Marinette yet, has he?"

Tom gasped in realization. "He hasn't!" He met Anarka's gaze, questioning, "Should we have a little playdate for them?"

"Your girl is here?" She put a hand on her hip, surveying the room skeptically.

Sabine cut in, looking under the counter at something. "She was napping when we checked on her, but she's awake right now. You two can head up, I'll take care of things here."

Thus, Anarka followed Tom out the back of the bakery and up the stairs, with Tom rambling about the balance between working the bakery, having enough surveillance on Marinette so they knew when she'd need them, and getting others to babysit when it became too much. They didn't have relatives nearby besides Tom's father, who "wasn't around despite being around" as Tom delicately put it, while his mother was off traveling who knew where.

Ergo, their friends helped when needed.

Quietly as a mouse, which was funny considering his size, Tom slowly and cautiously opened the door to the living room. While Marinette had been asleep before, visually apparent from the few strands out of place amongst her soft black hair, they found her sitting in a playpen and playing with a stuffed animal. She'd lay down, holding it above her, then let it drop, but whatever reaction she expected it to make appeared to disappoint her - as much as a baby could sound disappointed - and she'd try again.

Anarka glanced up, spotting a camera in the corner of the room aimed at the baby girl, and guessed that was how Sabine knew Marinette had been awake. She gave it a faux salute, then turned when Tom started talking again.

"We've been calling it Marinette-proof," he explained, indicating the playpen itself and the toys inside. "You wouldn't believe it unless you saw it yourself. We gave her one of those little toys - the ones where you put the shapes in the holes - but not the hard ones; you blew them up with air. She was having a blast until she tried to throw one into the hole; it missed and bounced off, then bounced off the side of the playpen and hit her square in the face!"

He directed a hand to his own face to show roughly where it hit her while Anarka whistled, sympathetic but almost impressed by the bad luck on display. She was seeing a future child of chaos, surely.

She approached and leaned over the playpen, supporting herself with an arm against the edge of it as she wondered aloud, "What's she up to?"

Tom came up beside her and leaned over to get a fully unobstructed view of his daughter. "That one's supposed to stick to her, but she doesn't know how to make it do that." He sighed, but smiled tiredly. "She likes to be held during all the time we can't make for her. She's probably ignoring me because I had to put her down last. Isn't that right, pudding cup?"

Marinette didn't react, nor did she to the pitiful noise Tom made afterwards.

Upon closer inspection, Anarka spotted the soft pads on the end of the stuffed animal's arms, figuring that they'd stick to each other when brought together. While Tom's observation seemed accurate that Marinette didn't get how it worked, she at least appeared to be making a game out of dropping the stuffed animal on herself, or maybe it was only generally giving her some form of satisfaction.

Luka, whose back was facing the playpen due to him being held against Tom's chest, turned his head to follow the attention of the two adults, which was directed solely on Marinette. While she had largely ignored the two adults, the new set of eyes on her made her look up.

Anarka's baby boy and Tom and Sabine's baby girl made eye contact for the first time.

Then, without a prompt or question, Luka let go of Tom's shirt and stretched his arms out for Marinette. He pitched forward like before, trying to launch himself into the playpen headfirst, and Tom made a panicked move to keep him from plummeting for the second time that day.

"You only have one mother!" he whisper-yelled. "Do you want to lose her to a heart attack?"

Anarka, intrigued, reached out to take her son in her arms, slowly putting him down next to Marinette. "He's never done that to someone who wasn't upset, who wasn't his sister..."

Both babies stared at each other in some unspoken staring contest, Luka's arms still out as he leaned towards her. The stuffed animal, once so interesting to Marinette that it'd had her full attention, was set aside without so much of a glance at it. She stretched her arms out and went towards him as well, losing her balance but falling against him.

They both went down onto the soft surface at the bottom of the playpen, letting out little noises and giggles that almost made it seem like they were having a conversation. Tom and Anarka waited, though they weren't quite sure for what: for Marinette to finally get bored of being held by someone and push Luka away, or for Luka to finally reach his limits of holding onto someone and let go?

Neither happened. They moved occasionally, rolled around, got back up just to fall over each other again, but never released one another.

Anarka grinned, waving her wrists about to make her bracelets jingle and see if it might get their attention, but they were completely distracted. "I think my son's found himself a co-captain!"

"A what?"

—————

From there, Anarka brought Luka over as much as possible. There was no reason not to and both Luka and Marinette received all the benefits from it. It was perhaps a little early to call them playmates before they could fully understand the concept, but they enjoyed seeing each other. They brightened whenever they made eye contact and curbed the other's "worst" habit.

The parents let the other babysit for them at times. Anarka could take Marinette when Tom and Sabine were too busy, and Tom and Sabine could take Luka when Anarka needed a break from dealing with twins. Marinette and Luka had even slept in the same crib on occasion.

It was precious. The parents were fairly sure the two didn't know what sharing was yet, but the babies would play together, wait their turn when being fed, and showed each other their toys.

That wasn't to say there weren't problems, but they were purely emotional, meaning realizing their baby had a new favorite person that wasn't them.

The worst of it was when the babies started to talk. Tom and Sabine had been holding out (maybe even placed a bet or two on which of them would be her first word), but they knew deep down that Marinette's utterance of "uuka" was not just a random noise.

On Anarka's end, she had the relative luxury of pretending that "Mah" was for "Mama" and not the first part of Marinette's name.

—————

Inevitably, the babies started to grow up into semi-functioning human beings. It was speculated that they might start unattaching from each other as they gained more personality, still being friends but not clinging to each other as much. However, that did not happen, which served as something both sickeningly adorable but headache-inducing.

The moment Luka could walk without falling and memorize a path he'd been carried through over and over, Tom and Sabine caught him at the door to the bakery. He could barely open it himself, but looked up with bright, Marinette-seeking eyes like he'd done nothing wrong, all while the two co-owners peeked outside frantically for any sign of his mother.

They made sure to keep the side door locked starting that day, just to make sure Marinette wouldn't sneak out to see him too.

Since they were old enough to grasp the concept of sharing now, that was exactly what they did. Whenever one brought toys over to the other's to share, at least one or two stayed there, and Anarka laughed when she commented that Luka had about 60% of Marinette's toys and only 40% of his own in his room.

Not that it really mattered. They saw each other so often that they never regretted leaving a toy with the other, and there was a mutual unspoken promise that they'd take good care of them. The only reason the parents themselves could tell whose toy it was, even if they couldn't remember who they bought them for, was based on the type of toy it was: Luka leaned towards musical toys or ones that made sounds while Marinette liked colorful toys or ones that had her solving problems.

Luka even left his little guitar with Marinette once; his guitar, simply because she told him that she liked how it sounded! The situation was remedied when she realized that it didn't sound good without him, but it showed how close they were.

They still slept together from time to time, and not always because they stayed the night at the other's house. After a day of hard work (play), they could be found peacefully passed out together, either on the bed or a little blanket they'd put down to play on so they wouldn't be sitting on the hard floor.

It wasn't always the same. Sometimes there'd be a stuffed animal between them, or Luka's child-sized guitar would still be strapped to him like he'd lulled them both to sleep with his playing, and other times it was apparent that they'd deliberately set everything aside for a nap. On rarer occasions, they'd have tiny crumbs on their mouths, indicative of having raided the fridge for snacks before settling down to sleep.

Snacks they fed each other, in all likelihood.

It was difficult to get mad about it. Tom took pictures while Sabine sighed and made excuses about it being their fault for not hiding the sweets well enough. It probably didn't help that Anarka thought it was positively delightful, more proud than anything else when such little kids could coordinate so efficiently to find snacks no matter where or how high up they were.

On one day in particular, Tom and Sabine awoke to the small knocking noises against their bedroom door. Sabine slipped out and headed over to the door, opening it to find their little girl on the other side.

"Marinette? What's wrong?" she asked in concern.

Marinette sniffled, dressed in her pajamas but certainly not in bed. A plush was attached to her arm, as she actually got how those worked nowadays.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Sabine pressed.

Marinette nodded, looking ashamed by the fact.

"Aww, gumdrop," Tom began, getting out of the bed as well. He lifted the blanket and gestured towards the center of the mattress, offering, "Come here. You can sleep with us for the night."

She blinked her shimmering eyes at the spot indicated for her, then Sabine, then back at Tom. Finally, she shook her head, saying with a pout, "No. I want Luka."

Tom's expression cracked like an egg into flour, the man having never felt so betrayed in his life.

—————

Years continued to pass, and with the passage of time came Marinette and Luka continuing to grow up. Toys were slowly traded out for more consistent hobbies and the parents were still cherishing the precious moments when they could call their child their "baby" without any fuss about it.

Of course, with that came the cuddling elephants in the room that Tom and Sabine had consistently put off over and over, because how do you tell two preteens who had been sleeping together since literally before they could even remember that they shouldn't anymore?

"The longer we put this off, the harder it's going to be on them," Sabine said, trying to be the voice of reason between the two. It was a slow day at the bakery, making it easier for them to have a conversation.

Tom made a noise at the back of his throat, not at all enthusiastic at the idea. He hit the dough he was kneading in a mini fit of exhaustion, specks of flour being flung off onto his apron. "Maybe Anarka will talk to Luka about it soon?"

The two made eye contact for a long, considering moment, then shook their heads. Anarka was not going to talk to Luka, and they knew that. She found their relationship as "co-captains" (a term which Tom still had not gotten an explanation for) to be something that shouldn't be intruded upon.

Sabine tapped on the counter, then bent down to grab an "out on break, be back soon" sign they hadn't needed since Marinette was much, much younger. She headed over to the front door and hung it, then spun around to face Tom, hands on her hips in a show of confidence.

"We should do it now."

"Now?" he repeated, having not been given any time to prepare.

"They're both here." She pointed upwards. "We'll get it out of the way, and then we'll never have to think about it again."

Reluctantly, he relented and followed her to their self-designated fate. No matter how used to cuddling Luka and Marinette were, they were still a boy and a girl who were exhibiting signs of puberty, and it was hard to know what might happen going forward.

When they reached the top of the stairs next to the kitchen, Sabine knocked to let them know they'd be coming in. There was no answer, so she knocked again, louder, but the room on the other side remained quiet.

Exchanging a knowing look, the two invited themselves in, expecting to see the preteens lying down on the chaise lounge or Marinette's bed (in the worst case scenario), yet they weren't on either. While they initially feared that the two had snuck out for some rebellious preteen shenanigans, they noticed the abandoned guitar near the wall - Luka wouldn't have left without that - and light pouring in from above the bed.

They headed up themselves, careful not to make too much noise, and peeked up at the balcony to confirm their suspicions.

There, of course, were the two sources of their concern, sharing one lounge chair instead of the two they had blatantly bought so they had separate and equally comfy places to sit. Luka had seemingly laid down first, but with one socked foot on the floor and his legs crossed. The action gave Marinette ample legroom on the footrest as she slept on top of him, her face against him to hide from the sun while her hand gripped his hoodie. She was in just the right position for Luka to curl against her, hiding his own face against her hair while he held her.

They were like two black kittens sunbathing together.

Sabine hesitated. So did Tom. They looked at each other for a solid minute, having a wordless discussion on the matter, then sighed and left the two alone.

It wasn't a moment of weakness, they told themselves; it was just better than the alternative where the two resorted to cuddling and sleeping together in secret at Anarka's place instead of where they could see them.

—————

Juleka didn't have any particular feelings about her brother cuddling someone. Marinette was her friend, which was practically guaranteed to happen with how much Marinette came over when they were young and also now. Her mother told her stories of Luka's habit as a baby that bothered Juleka at times but perfectly aligned with Marinette's, and that checked out.

She felt the nice balance of their relationship the way it was. Luka cared about her, doted on her, but she was given space to herself when needed. In a home where they shared a room, it was nice to know that he had other places he could go or be at just about any time.

There was at least one moment when she realized that she was bothered by the seemingly endless capacity for affection on display, but it hadn't been jealousy that someone else was getting her brother's attention.

Rather, it was jealousy that her brother was getting to cuddle a cute girl, a feeling that Juleka shelved for a couple years until she could make sense of it.

Overall, she considered it a positive for all involved. Most entertaining, actually, were the people who didn't know about it and came to hang out for the first time, an occasion that Juleka put her full focus towards.

Her most vivid memory was having a group of friends over: ones who knew Marinette, but hadn't met Luka yet. She'd considered warning them, but decided it'd be funnier to catch the reaction in real time and took them down to the lounge room.

Luka was there, and of course he was because Marinette was there too. The two stared when Juleka and her friends entered, oblivious as to why they were getting looks. Marinette even had the audacity to ask, "What?"

A sight Juleka had grown all too used to seeing was right in front of her again: Marinette in Luka's lap, which was just as much of a home for her as it was for Luka's guitar. Said guitar was atop her lap instead, Marinette leaning against Luka and making it easy for him to put his arm around her to reach the guitar's neck.

"Hey, Jule," Luka greeted, unphased and not putting much thought into the reactions.

The total nonchalance he had about getting "caught" caused Juleka's friends to turn their eyes to her instead, desperate for an explanation. She mumbled a greeting back to Luka and turned away, pretending to look in the cupboard for snacks whilst trying to contain her laughter.

—————

It was inevitable, perhaps, that word would spread at Marinette's school. The bakery was right next to it, thus making for an easy view of the balcony. It wasn't like Luka and Marinette were at all careful either, not getting why they would ever have to hide how close they were.

In a way, it was more surprising that it took until Marinette was a teenager for it to be brought up. She had been sitting in the cafeteria, biting into an apple, when a hand slammed down on the table. She peered past the fruit to see Chloe, who normally disappeared around lunch to eat elsewhere, but apparently had nothing better to do that day than to bother her.

"Hey, Marinette DuPlain-Jane," she sneered, searching through her phone rather than looking at her.

Marinette munched idly, wondering how many hours Chloe spent coming up with that. A voice in her head pointed out, That's generous. It was a week at least.

The same voice corrected a second later, Actually, bet Sabrina came up with it.

She'd been bullied by Chloe for years, so she'd had countless memories of going to the Liberty rather than home in order to cry in Luka's arms as soon as possible. He held her the whole time without complaint, serving as her support outside of school.

"I'm with you," he'd promised at one point, squeezing her middle and pulling her against him. She could still imagine the sensation of his warmth against her, developed over all their time together, and his voice next to her sounding so pained due to being unable to physically be there for her.

It felt like so long ago, which was also when she'd stopped crying. She put up with the bullying, knowing that the staff didn't really care anyway, and calmed herself thinking of all the conversations she and Luka had over her, as well as the conversations she would have with him in the future.

For example, he'd scoffed when she told him about being in the same class as Chloe that year and getting bullied the very same day. "So you grew up, and she didn't? How is she still in your class?"

Marinette just barely managed to suppress a snort as the line replayed itself in her head, not wanting to instigate Chloe any further than Chloe instigated herself against her. That said, the bullying largely bounced off of her now that she was in her mid-teens.

With a noise loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear, Chloe slammed her phone down on the table. On the screen was an image of Luka on the Liberty, sleeping on a lounge chair with Marinette on top of him as usual. Lounge chairs were always their favorites when they sunk down in the middle like it wanted to be an understudy for a hammock; it helped keep them close together.

"Sleeping with a boy?"Chloe asked, also deliberately loudly. "What do you think the whole school's going to think about this?"

Marinette wondered if Chloe could send that picture to her. Excluding the shoddy photo-taking job, it was of her and Luka, and she could always digitally edit it to fix any weirdness.

Point being was that she didn't see what there was to be ashamed of, but telling Chloe that wouldn't go anywhere. While she didn't tend to engage with Chloe when she was being bullied, it was fun to do it every now and then when she could think of something to say that might be fun to tell Luka later. He'd hold her tenderly while listening to her, and his warm, low laugh would echo in her mind for the whole day afterwards.

Glancing at the photo again, Marinette put her apple down and muttered, "How embarrassing."

"Isn't it?" Chloe's smirk widened. "Because I'm about to send it—"

"For you," Marinette corrected with faux concern. "Of course you think it's embarrassing when you've never had a boyfriend before. You're still young."

Whatever Chloe was going to say next, it cut off with a choking noise. "Wha—I'm just as old as you!"

"Couldn't tell." She grabbed the stem of her apple, turning it to spin the fruit on her tray. "So something else bothered you? Oh—" She placed her other hand to her mouth in mock surprise, though she actually grimaced at the thought it conjured up when she said, "Sorry, I'm not interested in girls."

Chloe flushed bright red, either in shame, embarrassment, or both. She might've exploded right then and there by trying to start an actual fight if she felt that she could get away from it.

No longer hungry - not after Chloe breathed in the general direction of her food - Marinette slowly got up from her seat and picked up the tray.

"You—how dare you—!" Chloe hissed.

Giving her just a little more attention that she didn't deserve, Marinette gave her a once-over, eyeing the red cheeks, the blue eyeshadow, and the blond hair. Pointing to Chloe's face, Marinette added, "By the way, yellow, red, and blue are a really bad combination on you."

With that, she left, glad that Luka with his receptive hearing wasn't around to hear the shrill yell behind her.

—————

Luka let out an exhausted sigh, taking a moment to relax against the wall of a building. His part-time job wasn't awful, but it could be tiring with all the biking around and infrequent "bad" customer. Marinette tended to scold him when he looked too worn out (whatever standard that was), fretting over his whole body and reminding him to take breaks.

Thus, he made sure to do so whenever he could. Maybe he could've gotten away with not taking a break if he knew he wasn't going to be seeing her after work, but such instances were few and far between. They saw each other often enough that he probably had more pictures of him with her in his phone than with his own sister.

Not only because taking pictures together gave him an excuse to text her later to send it over.

He smiled to himself, glancing at the thin, red object hanging off of his bike. It was actually something meant to hang up in cars, but Marinette had gotten it for him as a gift.

"The smell of strawberries always perks me up!" she'd told him at the time. "Maybe it'll work for you too!"

He knew it wouldn't, but happily accepted it anyway. He could never say no to her and wouldn't dare refuse anything he could add to his collection of Marinette's various presents to him.

The reason he knew that it wouldn't work was because Marinette smelled like strawberries. After literal years of cuddling, he'd associated her with the scent, which brought him a sense of calm, warmth, and home. The "perking up" was only when she invited him over or told him she needed him, adding an extra rush to his steps.

That didn't stop him from hanging the air freshener on his bike, giving it a playful tap whenever he got off as if to say 'I'll be right back,' and enjoying the scent whenever he biked anywhere. Even the picture of strawberries on it reminded him of Marinette, as strawberries were shaped similarly to her pigtails back when she still had them.

His friends at school rolled their eyes whenever they saw it, but it was all in good fun. They'd seen him with her so many times - enough that they could joke "where there's a Marinette, there's a Luka" and vice versa - and never hesitated to tease him or ask if they'd "finally" gotten together. Juleka wasn't immune to it either, though had learned that she'd get the same answer every time.

Luka couldn't comprehend the obsession everyone had with what his relationship with Marinette was, nor the looks he'd get when he said they weren't dating but weren't "just friends." To him, Marinette wasn't a friend, wasn't a best friend, nor his girlfriend. She was, however, special to him, which was about as far as he went to put any sort of "label" on what they had.

His mother had used the term "co-captains" before, which he accepted but wouldn't use himself. How would one begin to describe a bond that extended past what they could remember?

He thought of it in the same way he thought of music. Words weren't always enough to carry emotion, and a person could be made to feel with music alone even if there weren't lyrics to tell them what the sound was trying to convey.

Luka was Luka, Marinette was Marinette, and together they just were. He could've searched for a word that might define what they had, but he didn't need to: he and Marinette understood on an abstract level what they had and that was what mattered.

A guitar without strings, a piano without keys, and a drum without a drumskin: all things that remained physical but ultimately incomplete. That was how he felt, as Marinette had been a core part of his very being and he didn't want to - couldn't, really - imagine life without her.

He paused, contemplative, then pulled out his phone and tapped down some notes. Such thoughts could make for a good song, he figured.

He sent the notes to Marinette first, as usual.

—————

Seasons passed, fashion trends faded, and songs moved onto the next verse, but Marinette and Luka's relationship stayed the same: older and wiser, sure, yet no less attached at the hip. Whether it was a driver's license or graduation, they shared their experiences with the other, who celebrated like it was their own.

Luka, being older than Marinette, had deliberately held off on going anywhere, so Juleka moved out before him. Moving out tended to mean going farther away and there weren't any places he could go that both suited him and were just as close (or closer) to the bakery.

It seemed utterly ridiculous to anyone who knew, because it wasn't as if the distance was going to stop them. They were both perfectly capable of driving and each had either a bike or a Vespa, thereby making a little extra distance negligible, but it was about the conscious choice for Luka. The path they'd both walked to reach each other from childhood to adulthood was precious to him, and they walked that path even when they had other options. To make the decision to move further away than he already was, it was unthinkable.

He never said any such thing out loud, but Marinette knew. She too had a fondness for the places they'd been together, her balcony alone littered with recollections of being there with Luka to spotting Luka walking along the path below, which often led to her rushing down the stairs at full speed to meet him at the door. She never called it nostalgia, as she wasn't sad to leave it behind, but only on the condition that it meant newer, closer experiences with him.

"We'll just have to move in together. It's the only way," she concluded at some point when he'd brought up the topic of her ideal home. She noticed his awestruck face, feeling almost shy but not really, and shrugged. "Finding two places close enough together might be a problem, and we don't even know if it'll be as easy as the way between the Liberty and the bakery." She made a motion of drawing a line between them, which was a difficult task when they were pressed together. "Unless you—"

"Yes," Luka interrupted immediately. He squeezed her tight and murmured another affirmative into her shoulder, though it was more of a sound than a word. It was like when they were still babies and Luka wanted something but didn't have the vocabulary to express it.

She buried herself against him and echoed the same sound back at him.

—————

To absolutely no one's surprise, finding a place to settle into did nothing to curb the habits of old. If anything, they got worse, as Marinette and Luka "didn't have to waste valuable time heading to see each other" that they could've already been spending with each other. Marinette might've wished she'd done it with him sooner if she hadn't known that her poor parents would've protested at the idea of her leaving the proverbial nest so soon.

But now, the two without a label were free to do as they wished. That meant holding hands whenever they weren't busy doing anything, still staying close when they were busy doing something, and making sure their house had seating that had its hammock-esque quality so they could sink against each other all over again. They got a bed to share that was cheaper than one that two people might buy normally, confident that they wouldn't need one at full width since they already slept so close anyway.

There were also new experiences to be had that they either couldn't fully take in while living separately or didn't have the occasion to before. Luka would hug Marinette from behind when she was cooking, or she'd swoop in to squeeze him when he'd come out into the living room in a bathrobe she'd made for him, fresh out of a shower.

Discussing meals they wanted to have over the course of the week, trying to sync their off days so they could make plans together, always being ready for the other to fall into their arms after a particularly hard day, and the list went on. They'd done just about everything, and it was as perfect as they could've asked for.

Marinette was thinking exactly that as she woke up one morning, not bothering to move since she didn't have anywhere in particular to be. Luka was waking up himself, smiling down at her and keeping her comfortably in his arms. It was difficult not to sync their sleeping schedules with how they were, finding the bed too tempting when the other was laying on it, so they often woke up as one unit.

She was amazed when she thought about it, how one moment from their infancy could lead up to this. Anarka had told her the story before of how they met, a baby girl sitting alone in her playpen and the baby boy who reached his arms out to her. She couldn't say what had been running through her infant mind at the time, but she was glad she reached back.

Visions of the past came together, of Luka when he was a child accepting snacks she fed him, of Luka as a teenager with his arm reaching out to her on pure muscle memory, and finally the adult Luka of the present who lived with her. She saw the highlights in his hair that he'd asked her to pick the color for, the piercings in his ears that he'd gotten while she held his hand in case it hurt him, and the lips that whispered words of comfort and affection to her whether she needed or simply wanted them.

Without another thought, she kissed those very lips. There wasn't any fanfare, or a grand declaration, or any other indication of it prior beyond the heat in her gaze; it just felt right. They'd held hands, they'd cuddled, they'd licked bits of melted chocolate or sauce from the other's fingers, and they'd pressed their foreheads together for minutes on end. Kissing was natural, like they'd been doing it forever or it was an extension of everything they'd done before.

As she pulled away, he followed after her, not letting the contact break for even a moment. His arms went further around her, one hand going lower towards her hip and the other to her shoulder. His kiss was slow at first, then more fervent when she grabbed at him to keep him close.

It wasn't a next step in their relationship, nor changed it in any significant way. The love that flowed off their tongues when calling the other's name had been there for a long time, and they would continue to do everything they already did. It was just more of each other, only with less talking.

They didn't leave the bed until their stomachs protested for them to eat, an unintentional mirror image of two babies sharing a crib until they were made to separate.

[sideprince]

Eileen Prince

I'm relentlessly curious about how a witch from Slytherin, a house that values cunning and ambition on paper, and bloodlines/nobility in its culture, ended up living in a muggle slum.

Unfortunately for me, she's a barely mentioned character written by an author who consistently fails to portray female characters with depth or dimension. The women in Harry Potter are portrayed as either maternal or villains, or, in Ginny Weasley's case, as redeemed by their masculine traits (because Rowling's Thatcher era feminism dictates that equality for women = emulating patriarchal ideas of manhood). About as much as you can expect from an author who's as unable to acknowledge the personhood of trans women as she is to write women as actual people. This leaves a lot of room for interpreting or delving into what Eileen Prince's life may have looked like, and how that would have affected her son's development.

There are three direct mentions of Eileen in the text :

“The picture showed a skinny girl of around fifteen. She was not pretty; she looked simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. Underneath the photograph was the caption: Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team.”

HBP Ch. 25

“I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she’d given birth to a" “ — murderer,” spat Harry.

HBP ch. 30

“Harry looked around: he was on platform nine and three-quarters, and Snape stood beside him, slightly hunched, next to a thin, sallow-faced, sour-looking woman who greatly resembled him.”

DH Ch. 33

(Shoutout to Harry James Potter, who didn't recognize Eileen's fifth year photo despite her resemblance to Snape, the teacher whose classroom he got his used Potions book from. Shoutout also to Harry James Potter who didn't connect the dots between the Prince's handwriting and Snape's, a teacher who regularly wrote instructions on the board. "I needed to make the plot work, ok?" - JK Rowling, probably.)

Other relevant excerpts:

“Snape staggered - his wand flew upwards, away from Harry - and suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his: a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner ”

OoTP Ch. 26

“Harry delved into his trunk and pulled out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making before getting into bed. There he turned its pages, searching, until he finally found, at the front of the book, the date that it had been published. It was nearly fifty years old.”

HBP Ch. 16

Supplemental material re: Gobstones from JK Rowling:

"...it remains a minority sport within the wizarding world, and does not enjoy a very ‘cool’ reputation, something its devotees tend to resent. Gobstones is most popular among very young wizards and witches, but they generally ‘grow out’ of the game, becoming more interested in Quidditch as they grow older.  ... Gobstones enjoys limited popularity at Hogwarts, ranking low among recreational activities, way behind Quidditch and even Wizarding Chess." [There's an additional sentence on the Harry Potter wiki's Gobstones page: "...it is also known as 'the thinking wizard's Quidditch.'"]

A few conclusions can be drawn from what little information we're given about Eileen:

She's described as "cross and sullen" around the age of 15, and as "sallow-faced, sour-looking" when she's older.

She's captain of the Gobstones club around her fifth year, so she likely marched to the beat of her own drum - given that Gobstones isn't particularly popular - and owns it proudly enough to take, or even seek out, a leadership role.

The sport is described as "the thinking wizard's Quidditch" which would imply Eileen was more interested in intellectual challenges and was clever (and can be paralleled with a young Severus' comment about "if you'd rather be brawny than brainy" to James Potter when they first meet on the Hogwarts Express).

Her marriage and the birth of her son are both announced in the paper, which might mean the family she came from was of some importance or note, or perhaps something else... but we'll get to that.

If we assume that Severus' secondhand copy of Advanced Potion Making was originally Eileen's (reasonable, though there is no textual evidence) then its publication date is likely around the time she was a sixth year, given that this particular text was specific to students beginning to prep for N.E.W.T. exams. Harry begins his sixth year in 1996 when the book is "nearly fifty years old," so we can assume Eileen was 16 years old sometime not long after 1946. Severus was born in 1960, which would mean Eileen was in her mid-late 20s at the time.

Her marriage was dysfunctional at best, abusive at worst. As per a Pottermore post that is still up on WizardingWorld.com: "...the desperately lonely and unhappy childhood [Severus] had with a harsh father who didn’t hold back when it came to the whip." Based on this, we can assume Tobias was abusive, and given Eileen's cowering as he shouted at her, she presumably feared him.

From these bits of information emerges the image of a woman who either had a surly personality, or at the very least was guarded, though perhaps just formal. There isn't really any difference in how her face is set when she's in an everyday setting like King's Cross, or when she's having her picture taken for the Gobstones Club. It's possible she was a stern, unsmiling person, but it's also possible - given that her wedding and child were announced in the paper - that she came from a family of some standing and was raised to conduct herself with hallmarks of British class, such as dignity and unaffectedness. After all, there are several wizarding families - such as the Potters - who are wealthy purebloods with social standing but are not part of the Sacred 28. Additionally, the Gobstones Club portrait would have been taken around the mid-1940s, when portraits were formal and their subjects did not often smile, and given that we see only a snippet of Eileen, we don't have enough information that she was unhappy or sour. It's also important to remember that we see her portrait and Snape's memory of her through Harry's perspective and, like his perception of Snape himself, this may convey Harry's biases.

We also know from the text that Snape had a house in a deserted part of Cokeworth, a fictional Midlands town that presumably had a collapsed milling industry, at the end of a street called Spinner's End. There's a great thread that goes into details about the kind of 2 up 2 down house it would have been, and we can assume that this is Snape's family home given that we know he and Lily grew up in Cokeworth. For all intents and purposes, the conclusion we can draw from this being the Snape family's home in the 60s is that they were working class and cripplingly poor. Most estates like this had been cleared by the 60s, and no longer exist today.

This begs the question: how did a witch from a possibly well-off family end up in an abusive marriage in an irrelevant slum?

Buckle up kids, we're leaving the world of textual references and veering into deep meta territory now. I won't label any of this as head canon because I'm not set on these interpretations, and am just drawing conclusions from the text, but some of it may be a bit loose even for meta.

If Eileen was 16 years old not long after 1946, then she would have finished school in the late 40s, possibly even 1950. While some people (including past me) posit the theory that Tobias may have been injured in WWII and his injuries debilitated him, forcing him to go on the dole and affecting his mental health, I'm increasingly skeptical of this theory. It would make more sense if Eileen had known him before he was drafted/enlisted and had committed to a relationship with him, which would then have changed when he came back from the war and was altered. If we assume Eileen's age based on the idea that it was her own copy of Advanced Potion Making Severus used, then she would still have been at school during WWII (which makes an interesting parallel with Severus' own experience of spending the bulk of the first wizarding war against Voldemort as a student at school).

I do think, however, that there's merit in the theory that Tobias suffered some kind of altering injury and that he wasn't necessarily abusive before Eileen committed herself to him. It makes little sense for a Slytherin graduate who was confident and self-posessed enough to be the face of an unpopular club to be drawn to a partner so abusive his shouts caused her to cower and who whipped his child freely. If, however, he was a charming, happy man when they met who suffered a life-altering injury, the trauma of which left him a shell of his former self, then someone like Eileen might stick around for the sake of the parts of his old self she can still see in him.

It's interesting that she didn't seem to use her magic to protect herself or her son, or even to dress her son in clothing that fit, but we know from the text that depression can cause a wizard's powers to wane:

“...it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen”

HBP Ch. 13 (Dumbledore talking about Merope Gaunt)

The fact that the Snapes retained the house in Spinner's End seems to indicate that they continued to live there even when the local industry dried up and the slum was cleared as workers were moved to other parts of the country where they were needed (presumably what happened given *gestures at British history*). The most likely explanation for this would be that Tobias wasn't able to work, and perhaps did suffer an injury, only it was at work, and not during the war. This would mean the family lived on the dole (ie. welfare) and also that he would have spent a lot more time at home. It would also explain his anger and frustration that led to abusive behavior (which isn't to say that disabled people are abusive by any means, but it would have been emasculating for a man who considered himself the breadwinner in the 60s, and chronic pain coupled with limited abilities would give anyone a short fuse).

Moreover, this living situation seems to indicate that there is no additional support coming from anywhere. Where is Eileen's family? Why were they not helping? There's no indication in the text that there is any connection with them at all. We can infer from Snape's memories that, as a child, he learned what he knew about the magical world from his mother. This implies that she talked to him about it a fair amount, and his conviction that he and Lily were going to Hogwarts well before they got their letters also implies that Eileen expected him to go there and was set on her son having a magical education, despite how little she seemed to use her own powers.

Severus knows a lot about the wizarding world as a child, including that prisoners are sent to Azkaban and that it's guarded by Dementors, Hogwarts' house structure and what to expect when he and Lily get there, and about the Statute of Secrecy and the laws around it. When Lily asks him if it makes a difference being Muggleborn, Severus hesitates before replying no, presumably because he's aware of pureblood bias being a part of wizarding culture.

Perhaps that's the reason Eileen's family doesn't seem to be in the picture. My own theory is that Eileen hadn't planned to commit herself to Tobias long-term, and Severus was an accidental outcome of an innocent tryst in which a young Eileen, an educated witch from a well to do pureblood family, was having fun slumming it with a working class muggle and ended up pregnant. While we don't know the wizarding world's attitude around pregnancy and abortion, we do know it's a conservative and classist society that parallels muggle British culture fairly closely, and that the late 50s/early 60s were a time when an out of wedlock baby would have been considered a disgrace.

Add to that the anti-muggle bias of a pureblood family and it sounds like Eileen was disowned her for her mistake (and don't @ me, but even though I know that not all Slytherins are purebloods, it does seem to be a persistent cultural value of the house reaching back to Salazar Slytherin himself, so Eileen's being sorted into it can reasonably be taken as an indication of her blood status). Perhaps the marriage and birth announcements in the Daily Prophet were put in by Eileen herself, if she was a woman from a family where this was customary. It may have been her way of letting her family know of the events, or even of asserting herself and even deliberately defying them, announcing to the whole wizarding world that a Prince married and had a child with a muggle. It makes sense that the girl who wasn't just in the Gobstones club, but became captain, would also say to herself, why shouldn't I have my marriage announced in the paper like everyone else in the family?

It's worth noting that mid-late 20s is pretty young to have a baby in the wizarding world, where the life expectancy and child bearing years are much longer than they are for a muggle. According to the Harry Potter wiki:

"Wizard life expectancy in Britain reached an average 137¾ years in the mid-1990s, according to the Ministry of Divine Health ... Wizards in general have a much longer life expectancy than Muggles, usually living two or three times as long as their non magical counterparts, some living even longer than that depending on circumstances. In addition, seeing as James Potter's parents had him "late in life,” witches likely have significantly longer childbearing years than Muggle women."

Although we see several characters in Severus' generation getting married and having kids not long after leaving school, there's a mention in the text that a lot of people were doing this during Voldemort's reign, as the fear he inspired made people more eager to get a move on with life since they thought they might die any day (I think Mrs. Weasley says this but I can't find the quote, @ me if you do). It's clear this wasn't the norm in the wizarding world. Eileen was a Slytherin, a house that values cunning, ambition, and strong wizarding heritage. Something must have gone very wrong in Eileen's life for her to end up having a child so young and living in a muggle slum.

And so it's possible Eileen Prince found herself pregnant and alone, having been disowned by her family to save face in light of her disgrace, and dependent on the only person she was still close to, the father of her child. It's the kind of storyline that Rowling would write, and it would parallel fairly closely the story of Voldemort's mother, thus adding another to the long list of similarities between Voldemort and Snape.

Lorrie Kim makes an interesting point when she talks about how Snape has a strong reaction to other people having a love life or romantic experiences (the context being Rowling's intention of his love for Lily being romantic and unrequited), but doesn't react particularly strongly to mothers sacrificing themselves for their children, whereas Voldemort does. Her insight, and I think it's a reasonable one, is that Severus accepts the idea of mothers making sacrifices for their children, whether it's Lily giving her life for Harry or Narcissa risking all she did to ask for his help in protecting Draco, because his own mother protected him from his father as much as she could.

There's a lot of room for interpretation on what Eileen's relationship with her son looked like, and what it says about her own state. She may have prioritized not angering Tobias to protect Severus, who as a child might have perceived her actions as a form of rejection. At the same time, she seems to have prepared him thoroughly for life in the magical world, perhaps in the hope that he would find his place in it and escape home. Perhaps she missed it and told him so much about it so she could live through her own memories.

The only time we see her argue with Tobias, in Severus' memory, she's cowering as he shouts. We know from JK Rowling that Tobias used corporal punishment liberally, which implies Eileen didn't stop him despite her magical abilities. We also see in the text, however, that while at school Severus stood up for himself against bullies and fought back, and that he was an exceptionally clever and powerful wizard. As an adult he was brave enough to face Dumbledore when he betrayed Voldemort, and later fought against Voldemort right under his nose (or lack thereof). So it stands to reason that at some point Severus began to stand up against Tobias too.

How much of that was Eileen's influence, or the result of Severus seeing her acceptance of her fate and rejecting it for himself, is hard to say. As for what happened to Tobias and Eileen that their house was Severus' by the mid-90s and they were nowhere in sight, I don't think there's enough information in the text to infer.

[guardarecheluna]

I'd do anything for smiles, i'd move heaven and earth.

Authors note: Hiiii! Uhh, so this turned-out way more angsty and emotional than I planned, which is probably what happened when I just go with the flow and write instead of trying to plan it all out beforehand. But I really enjoyed writing this piece, so let me know your thoughts! Love, Elle x.

Word count: ca 4k words

Warnings: Angst, fluff, talk about babies and pregnancy

Summary: Harry wants a family with Y/N, actually, he wants nothing else. Y/N isn’t so sure about the whole baby thing, until everything changes.

Y/N never wanted to be a mother. She was mother enough to her siblings growing up, and she knew; if there was ever a want to have a child, it would be an already existing child who needed a home.

Harry on the other hand always knew that it was his calling to be a father. He had this constant baby fever, always agreeing to babysit his friend’s children and tending to their little ones. No wonder he had an abundance of godsons and goddaughters at the ripe age of 26.

He also knew he wanted children with Y/N, almost the minute he caught her eyes at that birthdayparty, but 3 months into their relationship, they still hadn’t talked about if there was a possibility of children in the future.

Y/N had grown up being told that having children was the ultimate goal in life. She’d been told stories about how rewarding it was, how much love you got to give and receive, and how all the newborn sleepless nights was going to be worth it. She always smiled at the comments, knowing she’d never feel that way.

Her mother always told her that she had been the same when she was younger, but then when she had met Y/N and her siblings father, she just wanted to give him a baby. Almost like her biology and nature was playing a bigger part than her conscious. Her mother had told her that Y/N was going to know when she’d met the right man, that she would know that she loved him, because she would want to give him a child that was half her and half him, but Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever heard anything more ridiculous in her life.

Don’t get Y/N wrong, she loved children, and they loved her just as much, it was just that she couldn’t picture her life surrounded by another tiny human being. Taking care of them constantly, them always needing her in one way or another, hovering ang clinging on to her. Y/N was out of breath just listening to people talk about children.

3 months into Harry and Y/N’s relationship

Harry had agreed to babysit Scout; Sarah and Mitch’s baby. Just for a few hours while they got some things done that would be at least 10 times more difficult with a needy baby around. Scout isn’t a baby really, at 13 months old, but Harry would never admit that fact to anyone.

Harry was on the carpet of his own apartment, laying on his stomach, looking at Scout who was currently stacking cubes to make a tall tower. Harry had absolute hearts in his eyes for this baby. Looking at the small blonde boy, Harry released a sigh he had been holding when Scouts tower of blocks finally held up and was steady enough not to fall over. “Look at you, Scout! Your tower is so tall!” Harry exclaimed, impressed at his godson’s work, and expecting Scout to push the tower over, and starting his project once again. Instead, Scout looked up with his bright blue eyes and walked over to Harry, who was now sitting up. Scout threw himself right in Harry’s arms, giggling and babbling something to him with his teethy grin.

Harry felt like he could cry. Melt into a little puddle on the living room floor, just a wet spot in the carpet for Y/N to mop up when she got home. “You’re too good to me” Harry said once again when Scout regained his balance and started over with his blocks again.

Harry placed his large hand over the baby’s back, strong him gently to let him know that he was still behind him. Scout had blonde little locks ending just at the nape of his neck, and a stylish little outfit on, he looked almost like a little old man. Harry curiously continued watching Scout playing, reacting to his towers and stacking, now and then running his hand trough Scout’s blond locks. Yeah, he could get used to this.

Y/N’s footsteps were heavy, coming through up the stairs to Harry’s house, and in over the doorstep. Her shoulder was aching with her massive tote bag carrying around everything she could possibly need for a workday – she just wanted to cuddle up at home, with Harry.

She heard giggles from the lounge as she took of her shoes. Simultaneously smiling and being slightly annoyed at the unwelcome guest, she was just so tired.

She walked through the hall until she arrived at the lounge. Two messy looking boys looked up at her in surprise, seeming very invested In building some kind of tower with building blocks.

“Hi my darlings!” Y/N put a smile on. She really couldn’t stay annoyed with Scout in the room, he just had this incredible vibe to him, it was impossible not to get in a good mood around him. “What a lovely surprise to come home to.” Y/N continues, settling down next to Scout and Harry. Although, just by looking at Harry, Y/N knew he was in baby-mode. A constant smile on his pink lips, eyes barely leaving Scout for a second.

Scout was happy to see Y/N, leaving his blocks for a minute to get some cuddles in from one of his favourites. Harry also leaned in for a kiss, smile still on his lips, putting his arms around them both and nuzzling baby Scout’s forehead with his own. Yeah, he was going to get used to this.

Later that evening, full of homemade pasta and wine, Harry and Y/N cuddled up on their sofa, Scout having left with his parents hours ago. Harry had waved him off and was throwing kisses to him as Mitch walked out with Scout in his arms.

“What’s with you, today?” Y/N whispered softly to Harry, lips ghosting over his jaw, leaving wet kisses along the stubble. Harry’s cheeks instantly flushed, feeling a word vomit consisting of love, babies and the future coming up his throat. He thought about babies way too often, and of course, he was still young and had many years to plan his family, however, when he looked at Scout and Y/N cuddling earlier in the afternoon, he knew he had to let it spill out how much he wanted a baby at some point.

“I just…” Harry trailed off, looking at the ceiling to try and calm his beating heart, knowing that with Y/N’s soft kisses on his jaw, it was going to be impossible. He continued, “Seeing you and Scout cuddling and playing today was just…you’re it for me. And I can’t fucking wait until we have one of our own. A little mix of you and me, I can’t imagine a more perfect thing even If I tried.” Y/N felt her blood run cold at his comment. He had taken for granted that they were going to have children one day, and she was going to have to break his heart with what she was going to say next. She felt cruel, also aware of how many women on this earth who would kill to have Harry say that to them.

She had been quiet for far too long now, frozen up in Harry’s tight embrace. She realized that it was no use for her to say anything else but the truth.

“Harry, we haven’t even spoken about having children. I…I’m not sure I want that for our future.” She spoke gently, knowing that this may break his heart into microscopic pieces, his feelings for her turning to absolute dust and flying off to an unknown destination.

It was Harry’s turn to freeze up. He could feel tears burn in his eyes, jaw aching at those simple words. She didn’t want to have a baby. She didn’t want to have a baby with him. Harry truly couldn’t imagine a worse scenario for himself. He had found the love of his life, but she didn’t want children. Harry knew better at this point in his life than to just keep it to himself. Bottle up his needs and feelings and bury then deep, deep underground. But right know, in this situation, he didn’t know what to do besides breathing deep and calming his becoming tears. “Dove, I, what do you mean you don’t want it? Not right now or not ever? C-cause I didn’t mean right now, I just-“. He babbled out, eyes still focused on the ceiling, knowing that if he looked at her, he’d break into pieces.

He awaited her answer with a sweat forming on his brow, hands clammy as they tried to hold on to her as well as he could, but metaphorically, he could feel her slip away from him already. “Not right now. And probably not at all.”

The tears he had held onto fell.

1 year later

Harry really hadn’t expected to become so emotional about their conversation from a year ago, he blamed it on his emotions running high from when he babysat Scout earlier that day.

Harry didn’t let Y/N see his tears that night, everything was still new between them, and after that night, they had both agreed that they would talk about it another day.

But the thing is, the thought of Y/N never wanting a baby with Harry, absolutely killed him. It was like ever since that day, he had a grey little cloud above his head, having her words wash over him like the high tide at any point of the day.

Harry knew he couldn’t hate her if she didn’t want children. He knew that some people just didn’t want children, and he would have to accept it, even though the thought of not having his own family was aching in his bones.

He knew that if this continued on, he would have to choose between staying with her, the love of his life, but probably never having children, and leaving her, knowing that he could have a family of his own, but never with the only person that he wanted that with. At this point, all the thoughts were swirling in his head, causing a migraine. It always turned out this way, and none of the options he considered was making him happy. He loved her so much. So much that he could barely breathe when he looked at her. He hadn’t been in love before he met her, and he was in love the moment she met eyes with him. She was everything, but this couldn’t continue any longer.

Harry felt all his emotions from that day resurface when he entered his bedroom, Y/N laying cuddled up on his bed, freshly showered, with her nose in one of his books he had recommended to her. As he stepped inside, his breathing was shaky, and from that point on, he couldn’t hold it together for even a minute longer.

Y/N looked up at him, confused with the sudden rush of emotions in the room. She opened up the duvet for him, and he crashed into her body like a limp doll, grabbing on to her for his life, knowing that it may very well be the last time that he got to do so.

Y/N had been on her own journey in the past year. A year of self-discovery, of pain, pleasure, and allowing things to come as they are without trying to put to much thought into it.

After their conversation about family and children that night, just three months into their relationship, Y/N was still sour about the way she grew up, caring for her siblings, taking on way to much responsibility at such a young age. But she wasn’t angry anymore. She had realized that it didn’t do her any good to think about her past and let it swallow her whole. She wanted to focus on the future, her work, her relationship with Harry and their future together.

She was so in love with him, like the moon loved the stars, like the river liked the rocks they were flowing with. He was everything.

The memory of their conversation from a year ago hurt her heart. She knew it had broke him. But they were also just three months into their relationship, she was angry at her family and fresh into being alone and self-sufficient as an adult. She couldn’t think about having kids, she wasn’t in the headspace.

But as their relationship evolved and bloomed, she couldn’t help but to think about their future together, maybe as a family. The glimpses of him with his godchildren, the way he was acting around them made her body run hot.

How much she denied she wanted children, she couldn’t anymore. It would be a lie. The thought she almost didn’t dare to think, their own baby was creeping into her head more and more since that conversation. Since she had truly fell in love with him. And there was no longer any reason do hide it or deny it.

Harry’s body was shaking under the duvet, gripping onto Y/N’s body for some type of comfort. Y/N was confused, but gentle, letting him trap her with his tall body, and running soothing circles over this bare back and shoulders. “Shhh, darling, what’s on that beautiful mind of yours, huh?” She said gently against his unruly hair, sticking out everywhere.

And he told her. He told her everything on his mind and placed all of his card on the table. He had given up any hope of being truly happy, weather it was with or without her. It was her time to cry, her breathing harsh and guilty. She didn’t know he was still thinking about that, and so constantly as well. She had been thinking about casually talking about it with him, revisit the conversation and drop some hints about her current state of mind. She had no idea he felt like this, like the only options were to be with her and have no children, or to leave her to be with another that could never make him truly happy, but he would have a family with.

Y/N let him spill out every single one of his thoughts, gently carding through his hair, trying to calm him down, and unconsciously letting him know that is was all going to be alright.

When he finished, he felt like jelly, his body weak and dehydrated. “Alright my love.” She told him as she switched their positions in the bed, their bodies flush against each other, facing each other with only so much as a few centimetres between their wet faces.

“Let me tell you about this past year…” She started, as he listened to her voice telling him everything he had wanted to hear all those months ago. His breathing was slowly evening out, but tears still fell steady as she went on. He placed pecks on her puffy lips now and then, listening, awarding her with more kisses when he realised; it really wasn’t as bad as he had thought, she did want a family. As long as it was with him, and as long as it was never going to be as it was with her own family.

2 years later

She was going to tell him tonight, and she wanted to make It special.

Y/N’s now fiancé was at the studio, and while on facetime with her best friend, Maya, she told her about something she had been keeping a secret for the better part of the 2 hour call. Y/N was pregnant. And she did want to tell Harry first, of course, but her head was spinning with thoughts and she wanted to make the announcement at least a little special, so she needed advice. Maya was screaming bloody murder over the call. She was jumping up and down, tearing up and couldn’t seem to get the information into her head. Her best friend was going to have a baby.

Y/N had barely even been able to work through the information herself, but she also had tears streaming down her face.

Her and Harry had another babytalk when they had gotten engaged, just 4 months ago. It had been hours into the night, the moon shining bright onto their bed and lighting up the room. They wanted it. They wanted it now. Names had been thrown around, ideas for a nursery, and Harry was absolutely dying to get started making a baby.

Y/N had a Nexplanon implant for the entirety of their relationship, and a part of her wanted to call the doctor immediately to have it taken out.

She did have it taken out, just weeks after their conversation. Harry was away on business for three weeks, the perfect opportunity as the little incision would leave a few bruises and scars on her arm. She decided on not telling him that she got it removed, and if she was able to become pregnant quick enough, it would be an ultimate surprise. She knew where he stood anyways, it wasn’t like he didn’t want to put a baby in her as soon as he could, he wanted nothing else.

“I honestly don’t even know how to tell him. “I want to make it at least a little special.” Y/N sighed to Maya over facetime, head empty of any and every idea she had ever had. “I don’t think it has to be that special, it’s still an intimate moment, and Harry will surely love it either way. I think with him it’s just best If you catch him when he’s in that disgustingly loving mood you always have him in.” Maya said and rolled her eyes. Y/N smiled at her comment. She did get him in that mood often. He was almost always loving up on her when he had the opportunity. “Yeah,” Y/N said, lost in thought about how to tell him. “I think you’re right, maybe I’ll get him something cute though, I don’t know. I just feel like I could absolutely burst, I just want to tell him right when he gets home.” Y/N continued, gauging Mayas reaction over the phone. Maya offered her a big smile. “I think you should just tell him tonight.”

Harry had burst through the door a little past 6 that night. Voice strained after a whole day of writing and vocals on his new record. He looked visibly tired, but he lit up as soon as Y/N met him in the hallway of now their house. Without a single word falling from his lips he reached his arms out for her, like a child needy for a good cuddle. And of course, she welcomed his embrace with her heart in her throat, like always when he was around her.

“Hi, Dove.” He murmured into her neck, as he breathed in her scent, making a home for himself in the crook of her neck. “Hi” She shyly got out as he embraced her, placing a few gentle kisses on her lips. “I have a surprise for you.” Y/N said cryptically as she looked him in his eyes, wanting to play It off as serious. “You do, yeah? My lovely fiancé at home, giving me a surprise, huh? You know I’d rather have you on a silver plate than-“ he said in his tired tone, eyes gleaming and playful as he straight up admitted his horniness right as he stepped through the door.

“Jesus Christ, you have the mouth of a sailor, I swear.” Y/N chuckled and pushed herself away from his grip, but not without giving him another kiss. “I’m pretty sure you’ll want this surprise.” She continued as she walked away from him, sitting down on their sofa.

Y/N had cozied up the room before Harry got home, fluffed the pillows, lit some candles and got out something to drink for them as well as placing the wrapped up pregnancy test on the coffee table.

Harry eventually arrived into the lounge, raising his eyebrow at the wrapped up gift laying on the table. “S’that for me?” He said playfully. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She felt guilty not telling him about her implant but was sure that the guilt would be washed away with pure joy and excitement at any given moment. Harry sat down right next to her, looking at her face carefully and studying it for any kind of clue of what could be hiding inside the wrapper. “You know you don’t ever have to get me anything, Dove, but it is a nice surprise.” He said, reaching for the gift on the table.

She could barely get any more words out of her mouth, they got stuck in her throat: Her eyes glazed over, knowing what was coming, which had Harry immediately dropping the gift, tending to her instead. “Hey, hey I’m sorry, was it something I said? Are you okay my love?” He carefully said as he took her in his arms, holding her and kissing her head gently.

At this point it was getting ridiculous, so she just laughed it off. She knew he would understand her behaviour when he got to see what was inside of that gift.

“Just open your gift already.” She lightly chuckled and made eyes at the gift, still sitting on the floor from where he dropped it.

And for a moment, something flashed in his eyes. Like he could sense what was coming, he eyed her for a moment, holding the gift in his hands. Harry said nothing more, but just ripped up the paper and was met with not one, but three very positive pregnancy tests, all yelling the word PREGNANT at him. “You’re going to be a dad, H.” Y/N almost whispered, and the tears had started falling for real this time. It was like the best confirmation in herfself that she could ever feel. THIS was what she wanted, the relief flowing from her, making her finally breathe again. Harry studied the tests quietly, Y/N could see his hand shaking from where he sat next to her. “This is a prank, you can’t- are you serious my love?” He looked at her for answers, and she could just kiss him with how he looked right now, lips puffy from biting on them, eyes wide and watery. “I’m fully serious, I got the implant taken out when you were away.” Y/N laughed and stroked his cheek for a moment. She couldn’t believe this was real, that he was real, and that he was hers.

And then he cried, he couldn’t get the words out, fumbling and falling right into her arms, making her fall back on the sofa. “You’re pregnant, Dove, we’re having a baby, I-“. Y/N could feel his wet tears on the side of her neck as he took in the moment, trying to regulate his tears and his breathing, but to no avail. He placed a large palm on Y/N’s lower belly, not yet showing any signs that she was expecting. He laughed, cried, and consistently stroked over her stomach as he kissed her with all the passion he had in his body. No matter how tired he was, he would never be too tired for a moment like this, it was like his whole body was on fire, never to be put out.

“I can’t even believe-, I love you so much, I love you, I love you and our baby so much, you’re everything, absolutely everything.”

And in that moment, Harry and Y/N realised that even if their ways had parted all those years ago, without having this baby, without having each other, everything would be pointless. This is what they were meant to be doing, this is where they were meant to be - in this exact moment.

[onlyangel4]

desperate times call for desperate measures. toto wolff.

sugar daddy! toto wolff x reader

you are a struggling artist trying to live instead of just spending every moment worrying about money. toto wolff is the lonliest rich man in the world, when you find each other you are exactly what the other needs.

warnings- 18+, cursing, discussions of financial struggles. sugar daddy relationship. age gap relationship ( reader is around twenty five) there will be a lot of smut in the following parts of this fic. toto in love with someone he hasn’t met. male masturbation. smut. for this toto has been divorced for three years.

part two

your life wasn’t at the point that you hoped it would be by now. art was your biggest passion in the entire world, it was something that you loved and you were incredibly good at, but it was also so difficult to make a break through in the art space. you painted whenever you were inspired but those paintings crowded a storage unit that was worth half your monthly rent. your financials were in the bin, and you were furiously budgeting just to make sure you could afford everything that you needed. this was not living. your friends were constantly going on nights out but you had to say no time and time again just because you knew you would not be able to afford it. you were missing out on so much fun and it was driving you fucking insane.

you were embarrassed by your financial situation, the only person who knew about how much you were struggling was your best friend, anna. anna was the least judgemental person on planet earth, you knew that you were safe to rant to her about everything going on in your life, she didn’t have much more money than you but she did get to go on the trips that you missed out on.

“you know what you need?”, anna mused sat on the bed of your tiny apartment her frame threatening fall off at any moment, “you need a sugar daddy, lou has one and he buys her all sort of shit”, anna spoke and you just rolled your eyes at such an out there suggestion.

“come on anna, those things are just scams”, you spoke and anna was quick to shake her head.

“no, they are legit, lou showed me the app she uses. seeking arrangements, it is all legit. i swear if I wasn’t with tom i would have downloaded it already”, she was actually being serious.

you were going to come back with some snarky comeback for your best friend but you quickly noticed that the phone in her hands was yours and not hers.

“what are you doing with my phone?”

“i am doing you a favour y/n, this could really help you out”

you pondered her words for a moment, the last time you had seen lou she was decked out in all knew jewellery and she was wearing one of the nicest dresses you had ever laid eyes on. maybe this whole thing had worked out well for her. It could be worth a try.

“okay, but make sure you pick my best pictures”

the rest of that night was spent drinking wine and setting up your seeking arrangements profile together. there were was a good mix of photos on the profile starting with one of you on the beach from two years ago, the last time you could afford a holiday, you were dressed in a striking red one piece and anna swore that you looked like someone out of baywatch. one of you and your beloved black cat, liquorice. one with you next to the last painting you had sold, three months ago, the last time you had been truly proud of yourself. then there were a couple of filler pictures of you and your friends because anna decided that any sugar daddies needed to know that you had people that loved you, just in case they were planning on harming you, a comment that made your eyes roll. once the profile was set up you and anna both fell asleep, anna in your bed and you on the floor in a sleeping bag, because your couch was from a charity shop and probably the most uncomfortable thing to sleep on.

the following week your profile had gotten a little bit of attention from different people but never anyone that properly took your interest. all the first messages were either mentioning how good your tits looked in that one piece or they were guys proper showing off how much money they had something that did not interest you at all.  however, eight days into your profile being up you had gotten one message much more interesting than all the others, “that painting in your third picture looks familiar is that ares del maestrat?” now that message had taken you by surprise. one, because so far in all of the messages you had received no one had actually mentioned your art. and two, he was right, it was ares del maestrat, a place in spain that you happened to stumble upon on your last visit to the country, an area that you had found so stunning you knew you needed to paint it as soon as you got home.

“you are right! It is a gorgeous area, i found it by accident a couple years back, i wish i could visit it again”, you text him back.

“it is beautiful, i visit spain every year, i try to make time in my schedule to go every single year”, oh so this man was RICH rich.

you continued to text the man behind the kind messages about your work for the entire following week. you were quick to learn that his name was toto, his profile was under peter but that was only because he wanted to keep it somewhat private that he had a profile on the app because his career was in the public eye. Once he felt comfortable with you he began telling you what his job entailed, he was a team principle for an f1 team. you told him that you did not really know what that meant because you had never even seen a race. he explained to you his role and you couldn’t help but find the fact that he was so high up in such a career incredibly attractive, you were enjoying talking to him.

toto had downloaded the app due to a mix of loneliness and pure curiosity. He had been single for a few years now and he was getting fed up of both falling asleep and then waking up alone. he had heard about seeking arrangements and after doing a little bit of research on the app he had decided that maybe he did want to be a sugar daddy. he just wanted someone to spoil, someone that he could spend time with. and the idea of helping someone that was struggling with money was also something that interested him, it seemed like a pretty good exchange to him.

one issue though, toto found out that he was incredibly picky when it came to finding someone on the app. he was forever picking holes in all the profiles that he saw, some people had “don’t message me unless you will drop a hundred grand on me”, in their profiles which he just found tacky and others just did not seem like they had much substance behind them. but then he found you. each one of your photos was embellished by a genuine smile on your lips. and he couldn’t help but be taken aback by a picture of you with a painting of his favourite place in spain, now that had to be a sign. that is how you ended up being the first person that toto messaged on the entire app.

he had not been expecting to get on with you as much as he did. he educated you on all things to do with f1 while you sent him multiple voice messages about painting and your creative process. he was so interested you and listening to you go on about how passionate you were about art was something that toto could do forever. you were special and he was going to treat you as such.

after the first week of talking you sent him your number, citing that it was much easier to use that rather than text on the app. And after a couple days of having your number toto called you out of the blue. he spoke to you like you were long lost friends, there was no awkwardness at all. just the two of you talking about your days. you called every day always at the same time and after a week those calls turned into facetimes and toto was sure that he would never get bored of seeing your face flash up on his screen. you became the favourite part of his day. he actually began secretly purchasing your paintings, going through art dealers. making sure that his identity was hidden. every time you sold a painting you sent him a picture of you with the painting and he was so happy to see your smiling face, knowing that he was the reason for it made his heart swell with pride.

you were actually the first one to bring up meeting but you were too much of a pussy to do it over the phone, “so mister f1, when would you be free to meet in person, i like talking to you :)”, you had text him and as soon as toto saw that message his heart started hammering in his chest.

“well we have summer break starting next week, i can fly to London and we can meet there”, he had text back, making you smile brightly.

“i’ll see you then”

“darling, send me your address, i will send a car to pick you up”, you did as you were told, this man way only want you to provide company for him but you felt a need to oblige him. from your messages and times spent calling him you had learnt that he had a very dominant presence, one that never failed to make you go weak at the knees.

your message could not have come at a better time, you were driving toto mad with all your cute pictures and messages but toto had realised that he really needed to see you the moment he found himself with his fist around his cock, one hand looking through the pictures that were on your profile coupled with a few pictures that you had sent him privately when he asked to see more pictures that you had. he was rubbing his cock thinking about a girl that he had never met, a girl that just wanted a sugar daddy but he could not help it, something about you just made him moan your name as his chest heaved up and down, head tilting back slightly. And as he came onto his bed sheets he made a promise to himself. he was going to treat you so good you would not be able to find a reason to leave. and that was the night that you text him about meeting, it was like you could read his mind.

[jjkhz]

If it's not you, doll. [JJK]

pairing: Idol!Jungkook x female reader

words: 3,275

genre : established relationship, fluff, smut, slight angst, a tiny tiny bit of smau.

Age rank: 18+

summary: Being in an open relationship with Jungkook can make you insecure, getting hate comments daily. But one day it gets that bad you betray his trust, and he makes it all up for you.

warnings: jungkook so in love it's cute. cheating scare. mentions of stalker fans. engagement. aftercare. crying. jungkook is one annoying brat. fingering. oral[m receiving]. unprotected. marking. pussy slapping. cream pie. thigh slapping. dirty talk. ruined orgasm. jungkook pretty rough sometimes. teasing. some praising. cuddles and so so many kisses.

MASTERLIST.

Having an idol fiance was not easy, it was tiring even. But in the end it was worth it all for him. You both have been together for four years now, engaged since this year and you have never been happier. Even though the relationship had some ups and downs, you're grateful it went as it is. A year into the relationship, you both did a good job hiding the relationship until some paparazzi had to ruin a date and next thing you knew, dating news. 

Jungkook stayed with you for days, not leaving your apartment while both of your phones went crazy. You were so scared that he will leave you and that you ruined a poor man's life, crying and shaking. But your boyfriend just clinged onto you while whispering softly "baby, everything will be fine, hm?". Everything did get better. It didn't take long before BigHit announced that Jungkook indeed was in a relationship and that the idol hoped that the fans will be happy for him.

There were mixed opinions, of course. It didn't take long before stalkers had found your address and phone number so Jungkook took you to live with him, moving out from his band dormitory for you. The new home was very secured and even the windows were tinted so no one could see or take pictures of the celebrity. Other fans though decided to do what Jungkook asked them to and tried to take you into the family, it didn't take long before you had fanpages and people called you the 8th member of bts. That all was kind of new to you but you tried to accept it and go with the flow until Jungkook seated you down and basically begged you to drop your current job because it was too dangerous. You weren't fine with it at the start, but when you thought of it more, he was right. So you dropped your work and stayed home for some time. 

It didn't take long until you got interest in writing and started to write some books out of boredom. You also got requests for modelling which you said yes to. Your boyfriend at that time didn't mind as long as you were safe. You both were happy and so in love that it seemed to good to be true, so Jungkook seated you down under the pretty moon and stars before he gazed you, eyes soft and full of adoration as he got on one knee and soon you were a crying mess in his arms while repeating "yes" from your lips.

Articles floating around with the engagement rumours as army saw a diamond ring on your finger. You weren't sure if you could be open about it since BigHit and your soon to be husband were both quiet about it so you just shook it away for a bit, until your heart dropped.

"BTS, Jeon Jungkook spotted with another female idol" Your eyes went through the title again as you scrolled down reading some comments.

"Finally Jungkook got someone who is actually worth him"

"I knew he was a player but weren't he and his girlfriend engaged or something?"

"poor y/n"

You bit your bottom lip maybe too harshly, quickly scrolling back up to the picture. Jungkook grabbing onto some girls shoulders while mouth open but that pretty much was it. You groan as you place your phone away, onto the bed table. Sometimes you were a bit insecure, being a boring normal person dating an perfect idol to ever exist, really can do something to a person.  You just stare down on your lap, looking at the beautiful ring your love gave you weeks ago. 

You sigh and move your head up, gaze falling on the window as you watch the dark but busy city. It didn't take long before you felt warm tears on your cheeks, now sobbing onto your pillow while your ears ringed. Jungkook won't be home today since he was in Hong-Kong for a awards ceremony so you continued to cry your heart out onto the bed, pouring all your insecurities into it. Probably about half a hour later, you were still crying but not that hard as before, soft hiccups leaving from your throat. As you were about wipe your tears again, your hand froze, hearing the door opening beeping sounds. You quickly turn around, looking for your phone for the clock as you curse under your breath, shit.

It was already two am, which means you have definitely cried for more than just 30 minutes. as you were about to quickly wipe your teary cheek, a soft voice stopped your tracks. "Y/N? Baby, why are you still up?" You quickly turn your head, eyes widening softly at the sight of your fiance. He still had his makeup on and hair done from the ceremony, hair a bit messy from the sides. White big shirt hanging on his torso while wearing some plain comfy black pants. You shake your head quickly from the 'daydream' as you wipe your face clean, hoping that he didn't notice since the light wasn't the best due to the moon. Your heart drops quickly when you see his already confused and a bit worried stare turn into a plain worry and panicked one. He quickly walks over to you and sits beside you on the bed, taking your hands. 

You move your eyes away from the male, as you try to hold your tears back, bottom lip slightly shivering. "Baby, what happened? Are you okay?" And that question is enough to make you into a sobbing mess again, trying to move away from him as you don't want him to see you like that because of dumb insecurities. That doesn't go as planned as he quickly takes your waist and hugs you, pressing soft kisses on your cheeks and on your temple. You relax to his touch as you cling onto him tightly, hiding your face onto his neck. 

He gently starts to stroke your back, quietly singing a song onto your ear that he wrote for you a while ago, which you loved. Your sobs turn into quiet hiccups as he moves you away from his neck, taking your chin as he moves it up to make you meet his gaze. His eyes soften, as he moves his hand slowly to your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. "i hate seeing you like this" he says quietly but calm as he slides his other hand to your other cheek, now cupping your face softly. 

"Princess, please tell me what's wrong" his eyes never leaving yours as you sigh, biting your bottom lip before saying "are… are you with someone else?". You whisper the last part as you try to move your gaze away from his, before you could,  he pulls you closer and cups your face harder than before.  His eyebrows jump up from confusion as he tilts his head "What do you mean?". You then hesitantly grab your phone as you give it to him, his hands leaving your cheeks as he takes the device from your soft hands. He then dials the code as his eyes are met with the bright light of the screen. 

His eyes widen a bit as he moves his eyes from the title to the picture, a soft smirk appearing on his lips. "Damn they are fast" He says as he places your phone back to where it was, quickly taking your waist to pull you closer. You furrow your eyebrows as you just stare at him, mouth dry. He then looks at you as he leans closer to you, the playful smirk never leaving his lips. "That girl asked me out" he just says as your mouth opens slightly, ready to say something. "But i rejected her, and she was being a bitch about it so i told her that i have a beautiful fiancee home and kind of moved her away with her shoulders". You just blink your eyes repeatedly as you close your mouth before opening again "moved?" "pushed…" Jungkook looks away like a little boy as you chuckle. 

You've had a talk about not fighting and pushing anyone for so many times in the past years so you just shook it off since there won't be a use for that again. You roll your eyes as you pout a bit. You, here, cried for hours like a baby for nothing. You should have known that he would never do something like that, you knew it but the insecurities got the best of you. As you were lost in your thought, you gasp as you feel a warm hand on your bare thigh, remembering that you only had wore his shirt and some panties since you were too lazy to put on some "fancy" pj's.

"Did you really thought i would cheat on you?" He asks you, voice suddenly a bit husky as you keep your eyes away from him, nervousness filling your veins. Your throat makes a quiet whimper as he grabs your neck, pulling your face towards his. Your eyes widen as your heart starts to pound, his lips inches away from yours as he has that dumb little smirk on his lips again. His veiny hand moves up your thigh, as your mouth opens slightly. "I would never think of another woman, touch another woman and glance at another woman if it's not you, doll" You breath now heavy as your eyes never leave his dark ones, lust all over them. 

You gasp when he suddenly pushes you into the mattress, quickly hovering over you as he pins your hands on the bed with one hand. He then moves his other hand from your neck to your chest, to your stomach and to your dripping warmness, cupping your pussy. A low laugh leaves his lips as he moves his hand slightly, making you close your legs. "already this wet when I haven't even done anything?" Warmness moves to your cheeks as you try to hide your face, which is no use as he quickly brushes his nose against yours, his eyes on your lips. You lick your lips as you groan from frustration, trying to connect your lips with his as he moves his face away, making a tsk tsk tsk sound with his tongue. 

"hm, doll, I don't think you deserve my kiss just yet, after you betrayed my trust like that" he says lowly as he chuckles after, rubbing your clothed cunt. 

"Jungkook- it's not like that" You moan out as you close your eyes. He then slaps your inner thigh, his grip on your hands tightening. "Keep your eyes on me doll, you want to make me more pissed don't you?" You quickly open your eyes as you nod at him, biting your bottom lip. He just smiles slightly as he moves your underwear on the side and rubs his index finger up and down your folds. A moan slips from your lips as you try your hardest to keep still, holding his gaze. He then slides his middle finger in as he circles on your clit painfully slowly. "Jungkook, please.." You whine out as you hold yourself back from not closing your eyes.  "Please what?" He tilts his head as he moves a third finger in, his speed increasing. You just moan as you squeeze you eyes quickly gasping when you feel him slapping your cunt. "words doll." he says slowly as he suddenly slides two fingers in your hole, a loud cry leaving your mouth.

 "please fuck me, I'm all yours" he groans at that as he quickly presses his lips on yours, his hand starting to move faster into you as you moan loudly against his lips. He then slides his wet tongue in, you suck on it as you start to grind against his fingers,  soft moans leaving your mouth. He pulls away from the kiss as he pecks your lips before moving his head to your neck, placing wet kisses on it. "Fuck" You groan out as you feel yourself getting closer, your lips leaving a whimper as he sucks on your neck. "Jungkook I'm-" Before you could finish, an annoyed groan leaves your lips as the male pulls his finger out of your hole, a playful smile on his face. You pout at the male as he only chuckles, connecting your lips with his for a quick kiss. 

He then pulls away as he unbuttons his shirt, straddling you while keeping his gaze on you. You suck in a breath as your eyes move from his eyes to his abs, he chuckles as he quickly pecks your cheek, pulling your shirt off. His eyes widen a bit as he bites his lip, his gaze meeting with your boobs as he quickly leans towards them and kisses around your nipples. You whine out as you move your hand to his hair, looking down at him as he focuses on your chest. He then slides his other hand to play with your nipples, pinching them while sucking on them. Your breathing heavy as you moan, his hand sliding to your panties, pulling them off. He then places kisses on your stomach as you caress his cheek "Baby?". He hums at you as he keeps placing kisses on your stomach. "Wanna suck your cock." 

He stops at that as he looks at you, squeezing your thigh before rolling beside you on the bed. You quickly kiss his temple as you pull his pants down, quickly meeting with a pre cum dripping massive cock as you move between his legs. He keeps his lust heavy eyes on you as you lean down on him, pressing a kitty lip on the tip. He groans quietly as you rub his tip, looking at him with a soft smirk. "You look so pretty like that" You say before moving down again, wrapping your lips around his pink tip. He groans at that as he slides his hand to your hair, playing with it softly. "Fuck y/n" he groans while throwing his head back, you sliding the whole member into your mouth. You then start to move your head faster, glancing up at him through your lashes. 

Shit, the whole sight is enough to make you cum yourself. His head moved up, as his gaze was on you, his eyes sharp while he licked his lips. At that you start to move your head at a faster pace, rolling your tongue on his cock. He suddenly grabs your hair as he groans, starting to thrust into your mouth. You moan around his member as tears start to form in your eyes, looking up at him. "I wish i could fuck your little throat everyday like that" he groans out as his grip on your hair gets stronger. Tears are going down your face but you don't stop, loving this too much. You hear a loud groan as his thrusts get weak, closing his eyes while mouth open. "doll, can i cum in your mouth?" you just nod against his dick as he moans loudly, feeling the salty liquid in your throat.

At that, he lets go of your hair slowly as you fall beside him, some cum still on your lips as you breathe heavily. He turns towards you as he hums deeply, moving on top of you. His eyes soften a bit as he caresses your cheeks, his gaze moving to your lips. He then presses them against yours as he slides his hand to your neck, squeezing it softly. You moan into the kiss as you move your hands to his hair. "You have been such a good girl, baby" he whispers against your lips, as he moves his hand to your breasts, squeezing them. You moan as he chuckles again, moving his face to your neck. He licks on it as you bite your lip, closing your eyes. "But i think i still have to fuck you, thinking i would cheat on you gorgeous" he scoffs quietly as he grabs his cock, bumping it a few times as he rubs it against your clit. You whine as you grab his shoulders,  him quickly stopping you as he pins your arms back on the bed. He leans closer to your face as he scans it, pressing his cock harder against your cunt. 

You groan as he only smirks at you, slapping your pussy with his member as you moan loudly. "Jungkook please…" You whine out while looking up at him. He then suddenly slides his cock in, a loud moan leaving your lips as he groans. "So fucking tight" he breathes out as he starts to move his hips slowly, keeping his eyes on yours. You pout softly as you groan "Faster, please". At that Jungkook starts to move slower which makes you whine, he chuckles as he presses a kiss on your nose before he starts to move his hips faster.

You're a moaning mess, mouth slightly open as you keep your eyes on the man. He curses as he kisses you hungrily, the kiss being full of lust and love. He slides his hand to your thigh, stroking it as he squeezes it. He breaks the kiss to look at you, pressing kisses all over your face "so gorgeous…" he whispers between the kisses as you hum. Feeling like you're floating from the pleasure as stars form in front of your eyes, his thrusts getting deeper. You moan out his name  as you throw your head back, closing your eyes. Jungkook breathes heavily as he sucks on your neck and collarbone, leaving marks all over you. "Can i come inside, love?" He asks softly against your neck as you nod quickly, groaning. He then whimpers as he slides his hand to your chin, moving your face towards his. You look into his eyes as you forget everything around you both, his other hand leaving your arms as you pull him closer. Kissing his lips sloppily as he cups your face, groaning as you cum around his cock.

His thrusts get weak as he moans against your lips, filling your hole up. He does some last slow thrusts before carefully pulling his member out, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek as he quickly walks into the bathroom. Your chest moving up and down while you look up at the ceiling, smiling tiredly. Jungkook quickly comes back into the room with a towel as he climbs on the bed, cleaning you up he pecks your lips with a soft giggle. You keep your gaze at him as you chuckle at him, opening your arms so he could come back. He smiles as he throws the towel somewhere into the room as he slides into your hug. Pulling the sheets up while holding you close. He then pulls you against him as you rest your head against his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat as you smile to yourself.  

"Did i tease you too much?" he asks quietly while stroking your bare back, hiding his face into your hair. "Maybe a little" you hum out as you snuggle closer to him, giggling softly. He smiles against your hair as he presses a kiss on your head, hugging you tightly. "I love you Jungkook" You say before pressing a few kisses on his chest and neck, breathing in his scent. "I love you too, y/n".

The first thing you saw in the morning, was BigHit's statement notification about the engagement.

i hope you all enjoyed, please let me know your opinions :)

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

It's the parts of König that she didn't see

a/n: I worked on this special for quite some time and it's finally time to get a glimpse of what was going on in metalhead!könig's head during his time with reader... a little thank you to all the peeps who have kept up with the series and a little summary before we head into the last few chapters <3 (i added links to the chapters as well where the situations took place that i'm referring to)

(the usual CWs apply: age gap 25/41; MDNI, nsfw, lots of smut, fluff and a bit of angst)

the part before: saying goodbye

It's the parts of König that she didn't see. From the first moment on when they met.

How he was kneading his fingers before he just blurted out the comment, complimenting her on the shirt she was wearing, there in the bar.

The surprise when she approached him again, to talk. The thinly veiled flirty-ness on both sides that didn't quite register in his mind.

The little shock shooting through him when he realised that she was that much younger than him. His thoughts racing to find a way to gracefully navigate the situation while the sound of her cheery voice seeped into him.

Giving her his number when he offered to take her to a concert because she had nobody else to go with, thinking she would surely have forgotten about it by the next day.

The surprise on his face when she actually sent him a message in the morning.

The surprise growing when she didn't stop texting him, after she fixed the thing with going to the concert together. The pictures she sent him, just telling him about her day.

A little ding from his phone every now and then. The disappointment he tried to not feel when it was another email and not a message from her.

When he went to the drugstore before the concert, to pick up condoms, because the ones he still had at home weren't any good anymore.

It isn't even a date, we are just going to a concert. Because she didn't have anybody else to go with.

He felt himself going a little crazy over this. Cursing himself out because he was a 41 year old man anxious about buying condoms. Sure, not because of what other people might think while he purchased them. But overthinking what the younger woman he was going on a date with (that wasn't a date) might think.

Unsure if she would even consider him in that way. He didn't really trust his gut, the little voice in his head that reassured him that she was surely flirting with him over text. Better to be prepared, right?

The way his mind went blank when he saw her again, picking her up for the concert. She was really pretty in her outfit, but the thing that took his breath away was her disarming smile with which she beamed up at him.

She was tiny. In his mind she was tiny. A grown ass woman, sure, but compared to him everybody was small and dainty. And she seemed even more so.

And he saw that every time he looked at her. He always had to look down, but there she was. Cheery and yapping about her day. Looking up at him every so often, just having a normal conversation. And he couldn't fathom how that happened.

How his heart sank when he nudged her playfully while they were waiting in line at the bar. Which made her almost topple over. Fuck.

Her reassuring smile. "I don’t break that easily." The realisation on her face when she heard how that sounded. She was so easy to read, like an open book.

The one part of him wanted to find whoever tried to break her before. The other part wanted to break her himself. Just a little bit. See hot tears stream down her cheeks as she came on his dick. Make her scream for him. Feel her body writhing against his.

Verdammt. He shook his head, making those intrusive thoughts go away, but they kept pestering him.

When he put an arm around her shoulders, more reflex than anything really, shielding her off from the other people in the crowd bumping into her.

He almost pulled back, the nervous feeling of uncertainty licking up his spine, when he realised what he was doing. But then she leaned into him. Relief flooded him, his hand coming to lie on her hip.

Her shoulders didn't even reach his pecs, her head grazing over one of them, when she looked up at him. And for a moment, he felt like the unsure guy again that he once was. The huge grin on her face pushed that feeling away, the spark in her eyes, the excitement in her expression infecting him instantly.

"Thank you for taking me to the concert."

"You're so very welcome."

And he told himself right there and then that it didn't matter the slightest what came out of this. Seeing her get excited over being at the concert had already made it more than worth it tagging along. And he hadn’t been at one in so long, he had forgotten how fun it is.

He was willing his thoughts to stay platonic when he had her on his shoulders so she could see the band onstage better. Her skirt inevitably riding up, his fingers digging into her supple thighs to steady her and the warmth of her clothed pussy against the back of his neck. Trying to think about anything else but his head between her thighs and failing miserably.

When she very obviously tried to rile him up as he was taking her home afterwards, pulling out the "old man"-card again which clearly was a jab at his age. And he tried to ignore it. Trying to ignore the tension too that he felt, in case it was just him getting the wrong idea.

But then she dropped the b-word. Brat.

One banter led to another, and the banter led to her lips on his. Oh fuck, her soft moans. That he swallowed up with each kiss. She tasted so fucking good, the slight hint of beer that they both drank not able to drown out her taste.

Pulling her into him, her taking a seat in his lap. When she grinded down on him, no force in the world would have been able to conceal his erection, but he still tried to keep calm. To not lose his mind which was costing every ounce of restraint he could muster.

When she invited him up to his apartment, the innuendo clear, he had to double-check. “Are you sure you want this?”

That sweet "yes please" from her lips while she stared into his eyes and he couldn't find anything but want in them was finally enough to convince him that he wasn't dreaming.

Him not being able to stop grinning the whole day after dropping her off at work the next morning. Getting lost in the thoughts of her.

How her smaller body felt against his. Her soft thighs and tummy against his hard muscles. The way she shivered against his lips, coming down from her orgasm. Her taste in his mouth. He just wanted to go down on her again.

He also fit into her, perfectly. Sinking into her pussy, slowly, squeezing him tight. But he fit somehow.

His need to fuck her harder when he planned to do her slow and sweet. Her permission to not hold back, repeating how she won't break easily, dismantling his resolve.

Her moans when he pounded into her. His fucking name on her lips as he pressed her down into the mattress and she came again. He just wanted her to say it over and over as her eyes rolled back in pleasure.

Anticipating her messages all day long. Only a few of them. Trying not to feel the disappointment that was slowly sinking in.

He did what he always did when he couldn't drown out the voice in his head. Working out until his muscles hurt more than whatever was plaguing him. The dark screams from his headphones boomed in his ears while he upped the speed on the treadmill.

Still not able to forget how his name sounded on her lips. How her hands grabbed him. How her body...

He shook his head. No, he had to forget about that, or else he would go crazy.

Maybe it just had been a one-time thing for her?

Maybe she regrets it now? Maybe she thought about the age difference again and changed her mind? Which is fine, of course.

Maybe he did something wrong? Maybe he came on too strong still, despite making sure how she felt every step of the way. Asking if he could wake her up with his mouth. Something that made him curse himself out now.

He finally got the courage to text her about it. And she wanted to meet him, drive around in his car.

When he saw the look on her face as she waited for him on the curb in front of her apartment building. She wore her feelings on her sleeve and he could see the guilty conscience from a mile away. Which made him crack a joke, just to see her smile again.

“König Private Chauffeur inc. – at your service.” And it worked to make her laugh as she got in the passenger seat.

Her explanations how she has been held up with work made him feel better, at ease, although the little voice in his head still didn't shut up entirely. He even confessed that he hadn't been dating the last few years. Explaining his insecurities away, more to himself really, like it made any difference. This whole thing never had been about him, she had just been busy with work, all the doubts only had been in his head. Overthinking it all.

When she reassured him that she didn’t regret it and that it wasn’t anything he did. The blush on her face as she told him that she had indeed enjoyed it very much.

Oh, his ego almost couldn’t take it, and he knew he was getting cocky, unable to hide it, teasing her about it just a little bit. Needing to hear again how she couldn’t stop thinking about it either.

How she teased him in retaliation, her lips on his neck, her hand in his lap, so brazen. “Need you deep inside me.” His restraint snapping in an instant because the imagination alone drove him crazy.

The picture she sent him of her tits, earliest in the morning the next day. He probably never received a better Good Morning text.

Like he wasn't already awake, lying in bed, his morning wood straining against the boxer shorts, only made worse because first thing he thought about was how he fucked her on the backseat of his car. And he wasn’t planning to do anything about it, the thought alone making him feel dirty…

Yet he reciprocated her gesture and sent her a pic of his junk, safely tucked away in his boxers. Her naughty messages coaxing him to do something about his hard-on, he let her instructions guide him until he made a total mess. Sexting, something he never did before either.

He then took the chance to invite her to his place in the evening.

Which led to him taking the cover off the mirror on the ceiling in his bedroom. He often thought it was really unnecessary that he put that there. Not today though, with the prospect of fucking her on his bed.

He was standing on the mattress, polishing the reflective surface, making sure it's spotless. Grinning to himself thinking about her face when she sees it. Her face looking up at the mirrored image as he went down on her. Seeing what he got to see. Oh yeah, it had totally been worth it, just for that.

The way she looked standing there in his living room, in her casual comfy clothes. Stretching to get one of the books on the higher up shelves. Almost prompting him to help her, but he didn't. Because she surely would have asked. And he didn't wanna invade her space, even though she was traipsing around in his.

The incredulous look on her face as he unpacked the Asian take-out he ordered for them. When she realised that he actually considered her dietary preferences, which didn't make him feel good about it, but rather made him think. Who had made her feel like she wasn't a priority before?

Content with seeing her munch on a spring roll. Knowing that he fed her, even if he didn't cook it himself. The little pang of possessiveness spreading through his chest. Telling him that he was already too deep into it, but he didn't want it to stop either.

The way his heart jumped when she laughed at one of his stupid jokes. Which made him want to grin back at her. And make another joke, just to do it all again.

He didn't know when the last time was that he laughed that much.

Oh and the filthy nasty hard sex. His need to take her in every room in his house, on every possible surface there was. Starting at the bar in his party room, propped over the sturdy wooden furniture. In his bed, in the shower. On the counter in his kitchen. Then in his bed again.

After they spent the whole weekend together, he didn't want to have her leave, but he also knew it would've been ridiculous to have her stay, so she went home again.

When he called her because she couldn't sleep and he just needed to hear her voice. And he would have been content with that, but he could have never refused when she asked him to help her come. Guiding her through it with whispered instructions, her sweet sounds and choked moans spurring him on as well.

When he came over to her apartment, and she had cooked for him. And she showed him the games on her computer and he couldn’t stop teasing her while she was ingame. Getting her to be more open with him, to tell him what she liked, building a trust between them.

When he broke the bed fucking her the next moment and he asked her to stay at his place, the shame and guilty conscience of destroying her furniture with his thrusts (ugh) were driving his offer. Not thinking about other implications or what it would mean to have her stay with him.

For example, that she would see his reading glasses. That he totally wasn’t hiding from her. But she didn’t mind them at all, quite the contrary, if the way she dropped to her knees was any indication.

When he tied her to his bed then, he made her come over and over again. Wringing orgasms from her body, reading her every move, as she writhed, crying out. Her sounds getting muffled by the panties he stuffed between her lips, shutting her bratty mouth up in the best way. Worshipping her the way he knew how to while at the same time punishing her for mouthing off at him. When he finally sank into her, he loosened the cuffs, her pussy warm and tight around him, her thighs shaking, her frame shivering as she pulled him in. Her lips pressed to his, their chests up against each other, the skin sweaty, but he just needed her closer.

Pushing into her, he was so close already, then she looked up at him, that familiar expression on her face as her mouth dropped open. He was done for, even before that image and the feel of her underneath him burned into his mind.

And it didn’t help when she asked him if they could do it without a condom. His brain almost short-circuited, when he hadn’t allowed himself to be that close with anybody in quite some time, not dating somebody exclusively as they put it, and he entirely lost it as she sank down on his length. Her warmth and wetness around his dick was divine, and he just desperately tried not to burst with how she was squeezing him.

The soft look on her face, the way her breath caught in her throat… Fuck, she was too beautiful.

She weaseled her way into his life and he unintentionally welcomed her with open arms, because he didn't have any defenses against her bubbly nature and her genuine smile. Like a bright beam of sunshine that was tickling his nose. Getting closer and closer until it felt unnatural to not have her by his side.

And he still couldn't believe that she just saw him.

She didn't say anything. But he could tell that she knew. Ever since they talked about his work, well, he talked mostly and she listened. Soaked in the little bits and pieces about him that he dropped while talking. She just saw him, without even knowing his real name.

He kind of was waiting for her to pack up and leave, but she didn't. She didn't run away when he had bad days. The ones with the night terrors too. They were few and far between while being with her, and most days he even managed to get out of his slump, so she probably didn't notice.

Except for that one time, when he snapped at her, though he didn’t even mean too, mad at himself, not at her, and he saw the expression on her face fall before she practically fled the room. On those days it was hard for him not to hate himself.

Running after her, apologising. And when her arms closed around his waist, her head rested on his chest, and she told him everything was okay, he could almost believe it.

She fell asleep on him, after they fucked. Her eyebrows were turned up, his face turned in his direction like she was looking at him, but her lids were closed, her breath steady, just the tiniest of snores dropping from her lips.

His hands pushing her hair back, his fingers caressing her cheek, so soft. She was so soft and warm against him. So alive.

That thought flipped the switch in him.

The cold feeling of dread gripped him from beneath, like icy flames licking up his body as the familiar sensation set in. He tried to breathe through it, not to wake her up. Softly caressing down her back. Pulling her a little closer against his chest, suppressing a shiver.

He thought, he could do it. Maybe he would be strong enough this time, to not go down that spiral. But the thought of leaving somebody behind still scared him too much.

Fuck, that's why he stopped. Stopped building connections to people. It had been a conscious decision, and an easy one at that. Not relying on anybody else, and more importantly, not having anybody rely on him.

What could he give her anyway? Other than a few orgasms.

She made the house feel lively, although it was a little messier. Leaving her things in his space. Bringing her kitty with her, the rascal turning everything inside out.

Sitting beside him on the couch. And it still felt like his space.

She managed to drag him outside, not just for walks in the greenery. She made feel him lively too.

This much younger woman. Warm, soft and tiny against his chest. Who fit so perfectly against him, like a puzzle piece. Who looked like she was smiling, even in her sleep. So alive.

He shouldn't have let it come this far. He has to leave either way, going on the next mission, and he can't have her waiting for him. It wouldn't be fair to her. She shouldn’t wait for him, and she shouldn't grief if he didn't return.

It hasn't even been a month, it will be okay.

She's gonna be okay. In the long run, she's gonna be okay. Maybe find somebody who was better suited for her. Younger. With less baggage. Somebody who was easier to love. Who deserved her.

So, he needed to say goodbye, even if it will make him miserable.

Hearing her cry through the door after he ended things made him wanna burst through it, for a moment at least. A pang of regret cutting through the resolve he had built, but he still left.

Driving home in silence, not daring to listen to music. The playlist she put together of their favourite songs still opened on his phone, and he closed the app instead of pressing play.

The silence was eerie, feeling almost suffocating when he sat in his living room. The room where they spent so much time. His mind wasn’t able to focus on the book he tried to read, his thoughts always coming back to her. In her apartment. With her new bed.

He sighed and went upstairs to his bedroom, getting his clothes off, when the hair tie she lent him fell out of his pocket. He picked it up and just looked at the little thing.

Fuck. I'm such an asshole.

With a groan, he laid down, trying to find some sleep, the thing that lulled him in being her scent that still lingered on the sheets. He should have changed them, was the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep.

So, he went on the mission. Like he had always done. Gone for weeks and months at a time.

Yet this time he took something from home with himself. Because everything reminded him of her... His favourite songs intertwined with the memory of her singing or humming along when they listened to them.

Remembering that she used his shampoo for a while, how his scent would be all over her, but still sweeter, more herself. He sighed and washed his hair, damning the shampoo and himself. Putting it in a ponytail, with the hair tie she gave him.

Smoking a cigarette. A bad habit that he had under wraps most of the time but couldn't shake when he was on duty. Remembering the one cigarette they shared, in front of the bar where they first met.

More than once he caught himself looking at a picture of her on his phone. At pictures of them together. And their similarities became as obvious as the differences he had used to convince himself.

His mind revolved around her whenever he had a moment to himself. Wondering how she was doing. If she thought of him as well. Probably not.

He thought it would have been a distraction to know that she would be waiting for him at home. That the responsibility of staying alive would have been too much.

Seeing the relieve on his family's faces every time he returned broke his heart. He didn't die, this time. Not returning anymore after his grandma died and barely having anybody to care for him in his new surroundings freed him from that.

And she would have brought that back. Or at least so he thought. Knowing that there wouldn't be anybody waiting at home, it made him more reckless. It didn't matter anyway if he lived or died. And while that thought soothed him before, it made him all the more anxious and bitter now.

When a grenade exploded just a little too close to him, it threw him back against a wall and his senses blurred for a moment. The dizzy darkness in front of his eyes vanished and the ringing in his ears turned into her laughter, and he knew that he was fucked.

One evening, after one too many glasses he finally confided in someone. Horangi just laughed and patted his back. "You're in love, my friend.", he simply said. The younger man who had an eye for what's going on always told him plainly how he sees it.

"I guess I am. And I fucked it up." Telling Horangi about how he broke up with her, and he just shook his head.

"Of course. You always find a way to destroy things most efficiently.", he said, not an ounce of judgment in his voice.

König scoffed, taking another drink. "Thanks, just what I needed to hear."

Horangi pulled up an eyebrow, the look on his face alone calling him out on his shit.

"Yeah, yeah, don't look at me like that.", König grumbled. He finished his drink, getting up to finally head to bed.

Horangi's hand held him back.

"You want her back?"

"I don't think she will take me back."

"That's not what I was asking, dipshit."

König sighed. "I want her back.", he said, the thought sobering him a little.

"Then you at least gotta try."

Another pat on the back and König makes his way to his room. Only one thought on his mind.

I gotta at least try.

for the sake of completeness: the Masterlist and the next part: returning home

also sorry it took me so long to update, i finally finished my degree which took more brainpower and time than anticipated :') i hope you understand <3 thanks for reading and tune in soon for the return of the king - i will try to update within the week <3

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS | O3

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Mature, 18+, suggestive tones.

→ DATE POSTED:

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Hoseok being a menace with medical terminology, innocent (but absolutely calculated) comments about oral muscle endurance, subtext so thick it's suffocating, plausible deniability at an elite level, flustered reader, casual intimacy that feels dangerous, and dinner table tension that might actually kill you.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2.2k

→ MINI SERIES: NEXT | PREVIOUS

→ A/N: Listen. I don't know what is wrong with me. I sat down to write something normal, and then suddenly I was researching orofacial muscle fatigue like a lunatic. WHY is this man like this? Why does he say things so kindly while ruining your life? Why is he explaining anatomy while looking directly at you like that? Anyway. This chapter is dedicated to anyone who has ever choked on their food while someone smiled at them way too nicely.

PLAYLIST

It starts in the kitchen.

Which is unfortunate, because the kitchen is small. And there are only so many places to stand before proximity becomes a problem.

You’re hyperaware of it—the space (limited), the air (too warm), him (entirely too close). But it’s fine. You’re fine. You’re just making tea, and he’s just existing, leaning against the counter like this is his apartment instead of your brother’s. Like he belongs here. Like his presence isn’t making it impossible for you to function like a normal person.

(He’s not even doing anything. Which somehow makes it worse.)

“I didn’t know you liked green tea.” His voice is easy, just conversational. Not a trap. Probably.

You don’t look at him. Can’t. “Yeah. I mean—I do. It’s good. Antioxidants and stuff.”

Brilliant. Truly stunning commentary.

Hoseok just hums, and you hear the soft clink of his rings against his glass as he lifts it to his lips. He’s drinking water, which seems unfair. Water is neutral. Water doesn’t require decisions. Meanwhile, you’re standing here, internally debating whether you’re taking too long to steep this tea, if leaving the bag in too long will make you seem weird, if—

“Relax, Chip.”

The words are casual. Just a little offhanded throwaway of a comment. But it lands like a dropped match, tiny but catastrophic.

You blink. Slowly. “What?”

Hoseok sets his glass down with a soft thud and turns to you fully, eyebrows lifted in lazy amusement. “You’re overthinking your tea.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s a thing people do—casually observe someone else’s entire internal meltdown and name it out loud.

Which, to be fair, is exactly what he’s doing.

Your ears feel hot. “I am not.”

“You are.”

He’s enjoying this. You can tell. It’s in the corner of his mouth, the hint of a smile he’s barely holding back. Not mean—just knowing.

And then it clicks. The name.

Chip.

“Wait,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Did you just call me—”

His grin sharpens, eyes flashing with something teasing, but infuriatingly innocent. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s no big deal. “Chip. Short for chipmunk.”

You stare at him. Your brain scrambles for a response and comes up with absolutely nothing.

He keeps going, undeterred. “You do this thing when you’re overthinking—” He gestures vaguely at your face, at you. “Your cheeks puff up. Just a little.”

Absolutely not. That does not happen.

Except—you know exactly what he’s talking about.

Which means he’s noticed.

You turn back to your tea, because looking at him feels impossible. “That’s not a real thing.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” he says again, softer this time. Almost amused.

You risk a glance at him. He’s watching you, expression easy, mouth still curled slightly at the edges.

It’s not a big deal.

It’s just a nickname.

But you can feel it settling somewhere deep in your chest, warm and unwelcome, curling into the spaces he’s already managed to take up.

Chip.

You should tell him not to call you that.

You should absolutely, definitively tell him not to call you that.

But you don’t.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

That he’s just being himself—casual, playful, thoughtless in the way people like him can afford to be. That it’s just a nickname, not a calculated attack on your sanity.

And yet.

Yet.

You feel it every time he says it after that.

The first time, it’s two days later. He and your brother are in the living room, a game on in the background, when you walk by with your laptop. You aren’t even stopping—just passing through—when he glances up and says it like it’s always been your name.

“Where you off to, Chip?”

The sound of it makes you trip over your own feet. Embarrassingly. You don’t even answer, just keep walking, face burning, fully aware of the way he watches you go.

Then it happens again.

And again.

Sometimes it’s subtle, slipped in like an afterthought. “Hey, Chip, toss me that.” “You always this quiet, Chip?”

Other times it’s deliberate. Measured. Like he’s testing the weight of it, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll react.

You don’t.

You refuse.

(Which only seems to encourage him.)

And then one night, it’s just the two of you. Your brother’s in the shower, music spilling under the bathroom door, and you’re curled up on the couch, trying very hard to ignore the fact that Hoseok is sitting way too close for comfort.

His arm is slung over the back of the couch, loose and easy, and every so often, when you shift, your shoulder brushes against his.

(You should move. You should absolutely move.)

Instead, you stay where you are and pretend to be very, very interested in the show playing on the screen.

Hoseok shifts. You feel the weight of his attention before you see it.

“You don’t like it?”

You blink. “What?”

“The nickname.” His voice is low, smooth, barely above the sound of the TV. “You never say anything about it.”

You don’t know what to do with that. Don’t know what to do with him, watching you like he’s reading something written just under your skin.

“It’s fine,” you say, and it’s not convincing.

His lips twitch, but his voice stays neutral. “You sure?”

You nod, too quickly.

There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the shower running down the hall, the TV filling the air with white noise.

And then—so soft you almost don’t catch it—

“Good.”

It lingers in the space between you, something light, something easy. But you feel it settle somewhere deeper. Somewhere dangerous.

Because now, you know for certain.

He’s not going to stop.

And that’s the problem. It’s a problem. Because Hoseok is nice.

He’s just nice.

He’s warm and charming in a way that isn’t practiced—it just is. The kind of person who remembers how you take your coffee after hearing it once, who laughs with his whole chest, who makes people feel like they belong.

He’s good at things, too. Competent in that effortless way that makes it infuriatingly easy to admire him. You’ve seen him fix things around your brother’s apartment without being asked, roll up his sleeves and lean under the sink like it’s nothing, like he was built for it.

(Not that you were watching. Not that you noticed the way the muscles in his forearms shift when he grips a wrench.)

The point is—this is just how he is. With everyone.

So it’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Or at least, it would be, if he’d stop saying things.

Because then, it happens at dinner.

And the reason for Hoseok being here is simple.

He’s always here for dinner.

Not every night, but often enough that it’s routine. That your parents barely bat an eye when they see him at the table, that your mom still sets an extra plate for him when she cooks, that your dad asks about his job like he’s part of the family.

Because he might as well be.

He and Caleb have been friends since his first year of university—long enough for Hoseok to be comfortable in this house, for your parents to know his favorite foods, for you to be so used to him being around that you shouldn’t be affected by it anymore.

(And yet. And yet.)

Dinner is normal.

It’s just the five of you at the table, passing dishes around, the smell of takeout filling the air. The conversation is easy, punctuated by laughter, by the scrape of chopsticks against plastic containers.

It’s nice. It’s comfortable.

Or at least—it should be.

Except your eyes keep tracking him. They always do. The way he sits—too at ease, too familiar. The way his sleeves are pushed up just enough to be distracting. The way his fingers grip his chopsticks, loose and confident, movements fluid and practiced.

(It’s stupid. It’s stupid that you’re noticing these things.)

Your dad is asking Hoseok something about work, and you force yourself to focus, desperate to ground yourself in the conversation instead of spiraling into a pit of your own making.

“How are you managing, with the residency?”

“It’s been busy,” Hoseok says, setting his chopsticks down neatly. “But good. No complaints.”

Your mom tuts. “You work too much.”

Hoseok just smiles, warm and self-effacing. “It’s not so bad.”

Your dad nods approvingly. “That’s a good mindset. A little hard work never hurt anyone.”

“And at least someone in this house is doing it,” Caleb says, nudging you lightly under the table.

You roll your eyes. “I work plenty.”

“Studying doesn’t count,” Caleb argues, because he loves to be annoying.

“It literally does.”

Your mom sighs, long-suffering. “Can we have one meal where you two don’t bicker?”

You sit back in your chair, focusing very hard on your plate, on not looking at the person sitting just to your right. The conversation flickers and tumbles around you, but you don’t register much of it.

And then—

“You should use your mouth more, Chip.”

The table goes quiet.

Your heart stops.

Your stomach plummets.

Your entire soul leaves your body, hovering somewhere above the dinner table, watching this play out like a nightmare in slow motion.

Because—because—

He didn’t mean it like that. He can’t have meant it like that. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

Your dad is right there. Your mom is right there.

Hoseok is just sitting there, utterly relaxed, a picture of perfect innocence.

You’re the only one who reacts.

And that’s the problem.

Your brother—oblivious, as always—just scoffs. “I keep telling her that.”

The world tilts.

Your face burns.

Because Caleb just agreed. Like this is a normal conversation. Like this is fine.

And maybe it is fine.

Maybe you just missed something again—some context, some crucial piece of information that would make this make sense.

You frantically rewind the last few minutes, trying to figure out how this could possibly be about—

“She eats too fast,” Caleb continues, like he’s talking about the weather. “I’ve been saying it for years.”

Your entire body deflates.

Oh.

Oh.

It’s nothing.

It’s just about chewing. About how you’re always the first to finish your plate, about how your brother has been calling you out for it since you were kids.

You were imagining it.

Your hands are clammy. Your heartbeat is still a mess. But you take a slow breath, trying to pull yourself back together.

You force a weak, strangled sort of laugh. “Right. That.”

Hoseok hums, tilting his head slightly. “I wouldn’t say that.”

He taps his chopsticks against his lower lip, slow and thoughtful, as if genuinely weighing his next words. Then, with the kind of mild, absentminded curiosity that should not be dangerous but absolutely is, he continues—

“Oral muscles are surprisingly adaptable. With the right conditioning, they can handle prolonged exertion without fatigue.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Absolutely not.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the weight of his voice, the way the words land, the way your lungs forget how to function. You try—desperately—to convince yourself that he means nothing by it, that this is just a fun little fact, the kind of thing anyone might say in casual conversation.

(Except no one says things like that in casual conversation.)

Your parents don’t react. Your brother doesn’t even blink. They just keep eating like this is normal, like this is fine.

You, meanwhile, are staring at your plate, trying not to choke on air.

And just as you’re about to die from sheer mortification, he adds—

“For instance, brass players develop impressive endurance. Hours of embouchure control, you know?”

Embouchure control.

You think you might be having an out-of-body experience.

Because he’s not even looking at you. He’s just sitting there—calm, innocent, like he’s just making an offhand comment about music, like he’s not actively ruining your life.

It’s fine. It’s nothing. It’s science.

(Except it’s not.)

You need to leave.

You shove your chair back, your hands shaking. “I’m—gonna grab some water.”

Hoseok watches you go. You feel it.

At the sink, you grip the counter, staring hard at the faucet as you fill your glass.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

You’re imagining things.

It’s Hoseok being Hoseok—friendly, completely unaware of the way his words get tangled in your head, twisted into shapes they were never meant to take.

You gulp down half the glass, hoping it might cool the heat rising under your skin.

Behind you, the conversation moves on. Your dad is talking about a trip, your mom is mentioning something about the neighbors.

Everything is fine.

But when you turn back, Hoseok is still watching you.

Not in a way anyone else would notice—not in a way your brother does, too focused on his food, or in a way your parents would think twice about—but in a way that you notice.

In a way that makes something low in your stomach twist, tight and uncertain.

And then, like he knows, like he can read the exact trajectory of your thoughts, Hoseok smiles.

Soft. Innocent.

Like he didn't do anything at all.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[dreamsofbroflovski]

CRAIG CRAIG CRAIG CRAIG W FEM BODIED READER I BEG PLEASE GO WILD

I do believe I did, in fact, go wild.

Seemingly contrary to popular demand, the (first) Craig fic is here! Have one more already in drafts.

I'm still writing slow apparently

Pastor!Craig Tucker x Succubus!Reader - match made in hell

Also available on ao3!

Summary: What was supposed to be a normal night of feeding for one powerful succubus turns into much more when she runs into Craig Tucker, a simple pastor from a small town - allegedly.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Smut, Oral Sex, Deepthroating/Facefucking, Penis In Vagina Sex, Cowgirl Position, Slapping, Mentions of Alcohol, Religious Imagery and Symbolism (Portrayed NEGATIVELY - Reader is a sex demon)

A/N: Warning: If you have a particularly close and positive relationship with religion and/or get offended easily, I suggest you avoid this work. The Reader character is a sex demon, and as such, some descriptions of religion and comments on it are less than respectful. If you wanna read Craig but aren't keen on this one, I have something else prepared for him in a more light-hearted and cutesy tone coming soon (possibly next month because I do also have a request for Kyle, and Craig needs a break)

My first one of 2025. Here's to many more! I hope the person who created the concepts for Pastor Craig and Imp Tweek in the Phone Destroyer headquarters got paid HANDSOMELY. These two characters are endless mines of content for the fandom, and all the fanart people have created with them is fucking FIRE

Toc toc toc, my shoes clacked as I walked down the street in an unknown town, the repetitive sound only being broken when stepping over the still fresh tiny clumps of snow all over the ground. The cold didn’t graze my body, which was always warm and comfortable no matter the weather or outfit, and the area was empty enough at night, so I also didn’t have to deal with the usual looks of confusion people had on their faces when they saw me walking down the street in nothing but six inch heels and a strapless tube minidress.

I walked without really knowing or caring about my destination or surroundings - the workings of human geography are irrelevant to an entity of superior ranking such as myself. Being a succubus means being able to find sustenance absolutely anywhere, with my powers being able to do the whole work of charming a target that I could then fuck, their semen containing precious life energy that I fed on. Not that I needed that energy right now; it hadn’t been long since I last manifested into the Earth looking for food, which meant I was… still full, so to speak.

My presence in the human realm at all was considered abnormal. Most of my sex demon peers were mostly used to visiting humans in the form of wet dreams and taking their energy off of that. They didn’t also feed often, only doing so when they really needed to, to save themselves the trip and the hassle. As such, most of them turned their noses when seeing me making moves on the land of the living rather frequently, enjoying the thrill of the chase and taking my victims in person - usually with them ending up dead as a result; most human men couldn’t survive an actual physical encounter with a succubus, hence my colleagues’ preference for dreamwalking.

Which is probably why all of those other demons were fucking weaklings and I was the most powerful by a huge margin, but that’s a story for another time.

Soon I found myself at the entrance of an unknown tavern. It had all the airs of a place that’s trying too hard, like it was trying to cater to an audience that wasn’t its usual and was probably failing miserably on that. I already knew I had to brace myself for what I would find inside. The men that usually frequented these places usually reflected the ambience - acting all high and mighty, pretending to know more than they actually did, and like you should be grateful they’re even bothering to lend you a moment of their oh-so-important night. And I’d have to humor these types of cretins, laugh at their jokes and pretend to be smitten by their flirting, give them the satisfaction of sleeping with them. Those men were no different than the types you’d find at the run-down bars in the shittiest parts of the human world, their minds worked in the exact same way and I always found more delight in seeing their dead bodies under me than I had when actively having sex.

The thought of that delight was what gave me the patience to push through the heavy doors into the pretentious pub. Jazz music played softly on unseen speakers, but with almost no ears to appreciate it; the place was mostly empty. Just one guy sitting alone at a table in the corner looking over the window, a couple on a table closer to the entrance - the annoyed look on their faces told me I wouldn’t have the slightest hint of a problem making a move on the husband if I wanted him, and he probably wouldn’t be missed after death either - and a loner on the stools by the counter.

Immediately after I entered, the most delicious scent invaded my nostrils, overpowering all my other senses and clouding my awareness of the environment like a purple-ish haze. My kind is able to feel the sexual energy flowing through human beings, much like a predator can smell its prey. It is usually different from person to person, sometimes mouth-watering, sometimes repulsive, but it always has the same effect of drawing us in and making us aware of possible targets. Some humans have more energy than others, more impacting and flavorful scents - those are what their kind would usually see as sexually superior, the ones with lots of stamina and a sensual aura that cannot be ignored, an information that is not necessarily attached to their physical appearance. Never quite to the level of us succubi, but those individuals usually did make for tasty meals.

Whoever was exuding this smell, however, was on another echelon entirely. I didn’t think I had ever felt that much sexual aura emanating from one single person, and I had come across many powerful examples. Being with someone like this would no doubt be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, both in the matter of power intake from the feeding and sexual gratification of the act itself. It was like a complete banquet had been placed right under my face, and all it would take for me to feast was seducing one insignificant human male, a task I knew I had in the bag.

My head turned in the direction the smell was coming from, an almost automatic movement, instincts taking over to more easily get to my prey. Immediately my brain identified the target, the guy at the counter, nursing a glass of something all by himself. It was a young man, possibly in what would be the early to mid twenties in a human lifespan. The most ridiculous blue chullo hat covered his hair, and honestly it had me confused for a second on how a guy wearing something like that could have such a powerful aura. The rest of his outfit was mostly normal - run-of-the-mill dark blue jeans, a black blazer fully open at the front, well-shined dress shoes on his feet. Overall very unassuming. Had it not been for the full black collar shirt with the white detail on the front of the neck, I might’ve not even realized that the man was a pastor.

Not that it was a problem. I had been with religious leaders many times, and this one definitely wouldn’t be the last. For all their hatred for demons and their efforts to steer the ‘sheep’, as they called it, away from temptation, they were always particularly easy to seduce - a whole life built on self-imposed abstinence often made for extremely frustrated men who could never put up a fight against my sensual charms, their pent-up sexual energy bursting to the forefront at the first opportunity. Admittedly, it was actually kind of fun; seeing the desperation behind their eyes as they struggled to keep their cool and remind themselves of their vows to whatever deity they worshiped, the hypocrisy they exhibited when finally running their disgusting hands all over my skin, and their completely drained bodies when it was all over. Every single one of them had died under me.

Licking my lips over the perspective of an easy full meal, I made my way to the counter across the door, taking the free seat to the right of the pastor, balancing myself on the flimsy bar stool and checking him out through the corner of my eye. From most men, I got feedback right upon arrival, and it could come either in the form of a quick glance or a full-blown stare, depending on how smitten and desperate the guy was. The one on my left, however, barely flinched, not even the usual reaction associated with having someone sit right beside you when everywhere else is empty. He just took another sip off his glass, his eyes fixed on the shelves of beverages in front of us, physically seeing them but clearly not committing anything to memory.

Weird behaviour, but fine by me. Even if he might act a little odd, the only thing I wanted from this man was his energy, and that he clearly had to spare. So it was worth taking the lead and forcing him to pay attention to me. I leaned towards him, expecting that to create some sort of movement from him, but he did absolutely nothing. So I touched his shoulder lightly, forcing his brain to acknowledge my presence, even if his body wouldn’t show it.

Putting on my most demure and soft voice, I spoke to him in a low volume. “Excuse me, sir, can you call the bartender for me? I don’t think he’s seen me here yet.” Total bullshit. The place was almost empty and everyone who was present saw me enter, the only reason I hadn’t been served so far was because I literally didn’t give anyone any time to.

The pastor simply lifted his hand in silence, still not looking at me, and the aforementioned bartender came rather quickly, introducing himself and the place, clearly already entranced by my presence and affected by my love charm. Unfortunately - or fortunately? - for him, he wasn’t my target. I ordered a B-52; just a simple shot, so I could maybe strike a conversation over it with the guy sitting beside me, or at least buy myself some time to come up with another excuse.

“Hey, you’re a pastor, right?” I pointed to the collar of his shirt, feigning ignorance, “Why are you at a bar?”

The guy took another sip of his drink - now that I was up close, I could see it was a glass of plain whiskey. When he opened his mouth to speak, I felt his energy all over again - his voice was deep and devoid of all emotion, but extremely hot to the ears. “If you had to constantly deal with the people of this town, you’d drink too.”

I forced my mind to stop thinking about how sexy he sounded and focus on his actual words. Jaded, like everything else about his demeanor. “Sure, but I didn’t know y’all could drink,” I retorted, chuckling a bit to emphasize the unseriousness of my comment, “Isn’t that forbidden or something?”

“Jesus turned water to wine,” the pastor shrugged.

The finger that had drawn attention to his collar now pointed to his glass. “Wine, not whisky.”

“It’s all alcohol anyway.”

And that’s what truly mattered to him, apparently.

My shot glass arrived and I downed it quickly, suppressing a smirk as I heard the guy speak again, of his own accord this time. “I have never seen you before,” his comment felt slightly funny, considering he hadn’t looked at me at all yet, “And I’m the pastor. I know everyone.”

“Oh, I’m just… visiting,” my usual hand-crafted excuse for why I was somewhere slipped without even having to think about it, “Not really from around the area.”

“I can see that,” he said from behind his glass, his voice echoing slightly inside of it and making the liquid vibrate.

“You haven’t even seen me yet…” I let that sentence draw out flirtingly, my hand moving to the pastor’s chin and tilting his face to the side so it would be towards me - knowing that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it even though I hadn’t asked permission. Guys like him cared heavily about their personal space, while I didn’t, so my demonic powers always won out.

I expected him to try and turn away right off the bat, get full blown red in the face in a way that I’d be able to practically see the lascivious thoughts running inside of his head and hear his inner voice trying to reel them back. Instead, he just eyed me up and down, his expression unreadable. Wasn’t even subtle about the fact he was doing it, either. When he was done analyzing me, he turned towards the bar again.

“So…” I murmured again, not letting him have his silence, “What do you think?”

“That’s a stupid question to ask the local pastor,” his answer came as dry as ever.

“Well… Can I at least get a name for the local pastor then?” finally finding a chance to ask, I gave him my best soft smile, making my question seem innocent enough, “Just in case I wanna attend mass while I’m here?”

“You’d get one if you actually went to the thing,” he retorted, ”But I guess it’s fair. I’m Craig Tucker. You?”

I gave him a fake one, like always, one off the little list of feminine-sounding names I had memorized for those exact occasions. Craig repeated it after me in a murmur, seemingly testing how it rolled off his tongue, but it didn’t matter to me. The way he’d moan it when deep inside was the only one that counted.

“Craig Tucker.” My way of saying his name was less about memorizing it and more about making a declaration to myself; setting my prey’s name to my brain, like throwing a dart at a picture of him on the wall. “I still want your answer…”

He drank the final bit of the whiskey he had and set the glass aside. “Like you need salvation, lady.”

The fit of laughter that came from me was completely genuine. Surely it wasn’t intended as a compliment - or maybe it was; hard to tell with Craig - but I took it as one anyway, committing it to memory for later bragging to my fellow succubi. “Is that so?” I said once the hilarity of it all started to die down, “Hm… You know all about salvation, don’t you? Maybe you can help a girl out… I wanna go to heaven, after all.”

Words that quite literally hurt my tongue to say, like thousands of hot needles pricking on it, but I managed to push through the discomfort - you don’t become one of the best by following every single rule Hell forces upon you. The pastor waited a moment, then lifted his hand in the air, calling for the bartender, who came rather quickly. They exchanged some words I didn’t care to hear; all that mattered was Craig signaling in my direction, both of them looking at me for a moment, then the other man nodding quickly and stepping right away to prepare a drink.

That’s when I knew it was all working. This is how it always started. Men would get entranced by my charm and try to woo me with drinks and erotic words, which was just entertainment in itself from how hilarious they were most of the time. It was always worth it coming up to this realm for that alone. Then they’d start making passes on me, trying to get a move on, and when I accepted eagerly, they’d leave with me thinking that they were getting the upper hand on the whole thing by taking a hot babe home with barely any effort. Even if some of them started out slightly put off by a woman showing so much initiative, the end result was inevitable; a husk of a man left completely drained in his bed, if he managed to make it out alive, and me off on the road to my next endeavor.

It didn’t take long for me to hear the glass sliding across the bar counter, but when I caught it with my hand, what I saw gave me pause. I was used to the fancy tall glasses with colorful drinks, all fruit and sugar and barely any alcohol at all, that men would buy me in clubs when trying to impress. Instead, what stopped in front of me was a small glass of Old Fashioned, an orange slice resting lazily inside of the amber liquid, alongside a single dark red cherry that had sunk to the bottom with its stem still poking out of the cup. I had had a couple of these before, but had to charm bartenders into giving them to me every single time - they were much more up my alley than the borderline diabetes-inducing drinks I was normally forced to enjoy, but men wouldn’t ever let me have those because they didn’t think a pretty woman like me could handle the real deal.

I blinked twice, looking at my drink, before lifting my eyes to Craig again. A new, full glass of whiskey had appeared in his hand, probably while I was too busy in my slight shock.  “Don’t you think that’s… a bit too much for a woman?” I chuckled, lifting up the glass and shaking it lightly, letting the ice clink around. Though my comment was playing into the usual human gender norms, the real objective was to gauge his intentions and thoughts; the pastor had already proven to be more than meets the eye, and I was just dying to find out more about what happened inside that ridiculous hat he wore.

“It’s nothing. I think you can handle it,” he responded with a snort - probably the most emotion he had shown yet, even if it was a bit of disdain, “If you’re too weak, then give it here.”

Immediately I took the drink out of his reach and brought it to my mouth. The liquid burned as it went down my throat, leaving behind a lingering stinging sensation, obviously too strong for my human disguise but absolutely delicious for me. This time, Craig spun his whole body on the bar stool to face me, watching my reaction with great interest - evidently expecting me to gag or cough or maybe even start crying. I didn’t give him the satisfaction, taking great joy in the strong flavor of a proper beverage for a change.

The whole glass was gone in a couple of gulps, and I let it rest on the counter. The small orange slice was left alone in the glass when I picked the alcohol-soaked cherry and placed it between my teeth, my eyes shining with mischief as I teasingly closed my lips around the fruit and broke the stem away, chewing slowly without ever losing the pastor’s gaze.

“Well would you look at that.” There was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, which I was.

After swallowing the chewed cherry - much less sweet from its time submerged in the drink -, I let my lips curve into a smirk. “You’re right. I can handle it.”

“Clearly.” The pastor raised his own glass towards me, as if going for a toast, despite the fact that I didn’t have anything to toast with anymore. He didn’t wait for any reaction of mine, just bringing the drink to his lips right after the silent movement. A nonverbal acknowledgement of my skill, not necessarily praise since his face was still cold as ever, but close.

I lifted my glass a few inches from the table as well, reciprocating the imaginary toast. “Cheers to the fact that I can handle my alcohol?”

Just like me, he was done with his glass of whiskey after a few gulps, drinking rapidly without a break. The noise the glass made when he placed it on the bar was maybe a bit too loud, even though Craig’s movements were as calculated as they had been the whole time. “You can handle more than that,” he responded, “Or at least it’s what you’re trying to tell me.”

I put my hand over my mouth, hiding a giggle. “Excuse me?”

The pastor leaned towards me, lacing his fingers and propping his elbows on his thighs. “You come to a bar with barely anyone in it, wearing next to nothing, sit right next to a dude you’ve never seen and start a conversation with him. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Yeah, of course. He was spot on. Not that I was trying to be secretive about my intentions, but usually the religious fellows don’t speak on them with their full chest like this guy did. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I murmured, looking elsewhere and twirling a strand of hair on my index finger in the most obvious flirty move ever, a behavior that annoyed even myself with how stupid it was. 

“Don’t play with me, lady,” his tone was firmer this time and I knew I didn’t have much more time with my coy act before he’d lose his patience, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t prolong it as much as I could. “I’m a pastor, not a fucking dumbass.”

The sudden cursing should’ve felt absurd, but somehow I knew Craig was not above it. “Language!” I nudged his leg with my foot playfully.

“You can fuck right off.” Swiftly, he stood up, his bar stool making a noise on the floor with the quick movement. ”Now, let’s go.”

It wasn’t a suggestion or a question. It was an order.

“Where?” I tilted my face a bit.

The eye roll he gave me could’ve made a person dizzy. “My place.”

“Oh, but…” I pouted slightly while looking up at him, “I thought guys from the church had to wait until marriage?”

“We do. And we also don’t drink or curse.” He pulled a wallet from the pocket of his blazer and slammed a bill on the counter, visibly not intent on waiting for change. His point needed no further explanation. “Now you can leave with me or you can leave alone, it’s your call.”

Craig’s poker face made it really hard to decipher which parts of his attraction to me were doings of my passive demonic charm and how much of it was actually just him being interested without me having to do anything. His actions seemed completely original, he wasn’t much trying to impress me or jumping at the slightest hint of my affections like guys usually did when I used my abilities on them. Maybe he just… Wanted me of his own accord.

Fine by me. Giving up on any further teasing, at least for the time being, I got up as well and followed him out into the cold night like a guided missile - not without looking back one last time and noticing the disgruntled expression on the bartender’s face as he saw me leaving with the pastor.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

My high heels had barely touched the carpet in Craig’s apartment before the door slammed and his hands were on me. The whole drive there we hadn’t spoken a word to each other, his eagerness only still noticeable by the firm grip on the steering wheel and the several red lights he ran through. He had managed to restrain all his desire for a moment where we’d be fully comfortable and alone to act on it.

The pastor didn’t try to butter me up by showing me around his house or using flattering words on me some more like anyone else would - no, he went straight for the kill. Clearly Craig gave no fucks for anything that didn’t explicitly pique his interest, and right now his interest was in my body, so that’s what he was going to focus on and all the other social norms were out the window. He knew I wanted him too, so in his vision, there was no point in waiting. This straightforward attitude of his drove him further and further into my trap and he didn’t even know it.

He spun me around after closing the door and took my lips on his, wasting no time before sliding his tongue past my teeth and letting it find mine in a passionate dance. That blue hat had somehow vanished in the couple of seconds I wasn’t looking at him, Craig’s full head of short black hair slightly mussed from being under its confines too long, a problem that I solved quickly by running my fingers all over it as I grabbed his head to pull it impossibly closer.

Although the fire with which he kissed me was welcome, it also seemed unbecoming. The celibates I charmed in the past usually had an awkwardness attached to the way that they touched me, because they literally didn’t know how - their teeth would clash onto mine when they tried to come for a kiss, and they’d try to grope and massage the weirdest parts of my body, clamoring to feel any part of a woman’s soft skin. Craig had none of that. His hands immediately went for my ass, hiking up my form-fitting dress and letting the fabric bunch on my hips, taking the soft yet firm flesh on his palms as he squeezed it possessively. 

He tried forcing me to walk backwards in the direction he wanted to go, his legs taking him automatically despite his closed eyes, since he already knew the way around all the obstacles. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t have that same awareness. When the back of my leg hit what seemed to be an armchair and we lost our walking pace, Craig grunted in major annoyance before breaking our kiss and narrowing his eyes at me like I had just committed the eighth deadly sin. Immediately, he used all the strength in his arms to pull me up, my legs wrapping tight around his waist and my arms around his neck instinctively as I lost my footing. Apparently, he figured it was better that he take me himself, since I was being ‘inefficient’ to him. I didn’t mind that at all.

“Wow, you’re strong,” my whispering made his arms tighten around me even more, “You gotta tell me your workout routine later…”

“Someone like you wouldn’t keep up with it,” the way he said it wasn’t exactly sexy; more matter-of-fact, as if it was actually part of a conversation - one he wouldn’t continue, having clashed his lips on mine right after to stop me from questioning.

It didn’t take many steps for him to kick a door open in some direction I didn’t care for and bring me into his bedroom, throwing me onto the mattress without much care, my body bouncing on impact. His bed was queen size - kind of unnecessary for a guy who couldn’t actually lay beside somebody else before marriage, but very convenient for my purposes - and extremely comfortable, with cushy pillows and a decent comforter that smelled like him. A huge focus on personal satisfaction that probably cost a lot and thus went against the humility he was supposed to preach.

Faking a contented hum, I made quick work of my tiny dress, the only thing covering my otherwise very naked form, and stretched myself lazily, turning around like a pleased cat and touching the comforter all over with my body; not quite masking his scent with my own, but rather creating an enticing cocktail better than anything he could buy at the flimsy bar I met him at. It’d undoubtedly stick for many days even after I left, to keep Craig - or whoever discovered his dead body - completely aware of what had transpired in this mattress.

Stopping after a few moments, I laid on my side, facing a very stiff Craig who gazed down at me with his arms crossed. My eyes managed to catch on to the slightest twitch of his nose, which had me grinning straight away - I was getting to him, even if it was almost impossible to tell. My sexy little show did not go unnoticed.

“You’re just gonna stand there?” I bit on one of my fingernails , pointing at him with the other hand. “Or are you gonna strip for me?”

I made sure to not use any of my seduction magic at that moment, wanting to play with his response, expecting him to fight me for it. Instead, he just let out an annoyed grunt, his hands moving to his belt - unlike what I’m usually accustomed to, the pants came off before anything else; he pulled him down along with his boxers in a very quick motion, kicking them off of his feet with his shoes and leaving them on the ground somewhere unseen. 

My attention was immediately drawn to his rock hard cock. There were no roundabouts for it: he was damn massive. Likely one of the biggest I’d seen on a mortal in centuries, in both length and girth. Had a patch of black hair at the base, extremely nicely trimmed, as if it had been done just that same day - first time I actually saw a religious guy care about his pubic hair. The veins that ran under the sensitive skin of his cock were visible even under just the dim moonlight that came from his blinds, and so were the beads of precum already leaking from the huge tip, glistening like they were made of thousands of tiny diamonds. His balls hung low, seeming heavy and full, ready to keep me fed and strengthen my demonic power for possibly weeks on end. Maybe it was a blessing to human women that his calling had been voluntary celibacy, otherwise his sexual partners would be in severe danger.

“Yeah, it’s fucking big,” Craig groaned, my unabashed inspection clearly not getting past him. Understatement of the century, but was this guy reading my mind? “And you’re gonna fucking take it.”

The words were meant to threaten me, but they had the opposite effect. My body was built for exactly that. “Well, if god made it, it must fit, right?” I decided to taunt him back, reminding him of his position despite the filth that came out of his mouth.

He scoffed. “God didn’t make it.”

I was left to try and understand just what the fuck he was talking about while he continued to undress, taking off his blazer and undoing his collar and the buttons of his shirt with practiced ease, letting both pieces of fabric fall to the floor next to his pants and allowing me to see what his build looked like. The source of his earlier strength was then clear to me. For a pastor, he was pretty toned - the shirt and blazer did a fantastic job of hiding his defined arms and abs, maintaining  that completely boring façade he had while the real gem was hidden from view. In each movement, Craig Tucker laid in front of me more of his secrets and surprises, sating my mental curiosity before he even had a chance to do the same to my physical vessel.

With his upper body now bare, I took in another detail that had been hidden under his shirt. A silver cross rested on his chest, dangling from a simple chain, barely any details on it - ingenuous, just like the rest of him.

I let my nails scratch his whole torso lightly, moving up from his abdomen all the way to the chain, twisting it in my index finger while I looked at Craig with a sultry grin. Contrary to popular human belief, the little pendant had no effect on me - their religious symbols were nothing more than decorative pieces of wood or metal to us, powerless against the forces of Hell. “What about this?”

“It stays on,” he immediately said, grabbing my wrist and yanking it away from his necklace. This pastor was fully naked for me, yet some part of him still clung to his deity. It was hilarious.

“Suit yourself.” I giggled.

Craig nodded, as if to silently tell me ‘I will’, before grabbing my arm and dragging me on the bed until I was laid across it on my stomach. I propped myself up on my elbows, but before I could even try and look at him, the pastor did all the work for me by grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling it back so I was forced to do just that while he positioned himself in front of my face.

Despite me already knowing where this was headed, I still tilted my head a bit to the side in a silent inquiry of his actions, which he was quick to answer. “I need to figure out if this mouth is good for anything,” he took his cock in his free hand and gave a few lazy taps with it on my bottom lip, “Besides drinking booze and flirting with men of the church.”

“Oh, so you do admit it’s good for all that?” I whispered before closing my lips around his tip, watching the annoyed eye roll he was preparing disappear as his eyelids fluttered closed and his mouth hung open just the tiniest bit when I started sliding my tongue along the slit before swirling it all over, the wetness of his pre being replaced with that of my saliva.

I hummed smugly while starting to slowly take more of that cock inside my mouth, letting the vibrations course through him. I lived for this. Even the most unresponsive of motherfuckers couldn’t control himself with me, and I was counting on just a few more seconds before Craig Tucker became complete putty in my hands. The idea of ending this with only a blowjob, not even getting to fuck him and know what it was like to have such a huge guy inside of me, was a little bit upsetting, but this was a decision he made. Oh well, I thought, until…

With a sharp snap of his hips, he buried all of that inside of my throat.

The coughing and sputtering I emitted when that happened weren’t physical responses. Succubi don’t exactly have useful gag reflexes or the need to breathe, because we’re not mortal; even if our disguises look the part, every single bit of them exists only to elicit arousal or assist in feeding or reproduction, with all the other stupid human necessities made irrelevant. So all of that reaction was purely shock - complete astonishment at the fact that he was able to do something like that with so little care and effort, and no warning whatsoever. Something that could’ve possibly killed a normal human woman, which was, at least to him, what he was dealing with.

He was already waiting to meet my gaze when I looked up to him with wide eyes, moving his free hand to give the side of my face a few light slaps. ”I told you you were gonna take it,” the pastor said, the tiniest of smirks curving his lips for a brief second before he shifted into his stone-faced self again and started slowly pulling himself out of my mouth, “Now hopefully this shuts your damn trap.”

The pace he set while fucking my face wasn’t as brutal as his initial thrust, but I had a vague idea that it wasn’t exactly for my own comfort - he was just trying to draw out the sensation for the longest time possible. My hands grabbed his hips, trying to bring back some semblance of control over the circumstances, which only had him tugging harder at my hair and made me choke in another surprised response. Tears started prickling at the sides of my eyes and streaming down my cheeks, yet I still noticed how Craig’s own gaze laser focused on that; he was finding my whole struggle hot.

So I really played up the act. My grip became more intense and my nails dug down slightly on his skin, as if I was struggling and trying to make him get away, and I shut my eyes tight while gasping and choking all around his cock, my tongue swirling around it and getting it even more smeared in my building saliva. I didn’t need the gift of vision to take in his reaction - his low grunts reached my ears like they had been broadcasted to the whole world.

Then his hand came in contact with my face again, this time in a very fierce smack that made me yelp and cough immediately. “Shut up,” the pastor hissed, “I didn’t ask for your whining…”

Even so, considering how he sped up his thrusts considerably after this, it was clear said whining was very much welcome. So I kept on doing it, taking in stride every single following slap and thrust of his inside of my mouth, faking pain and discomfort but never completely surrendering. 

He was getting close, I could sense it as he went to the initial brutish behaviour of shoving himself all the way quickly like it was just another hole instead of someone’s throat. I used my hands to try and pull him towards me this time, trying to catch any sliver of confusion on his part with this, but getting nothing. Craig just continued using my mouth for his own pleasure, and I braced myself for the surge of power I was about to receive once he came, having literally sucked the life out of him.

Until he gave my hair a yank and pulled himself back abruptly, swiftly taking himself on his free hand and letting a sequence of warm white jets land straight onto my face.

I almost screamed with anger. It was almost impossible for a human man to have enough self-control to pull out of a succubus, no matter which hole he was using. It felt like a personal defeat, to let prey use me like that and not even get to feed. But not everything was over - the pastor was still standing, his eyes closed and head thrown back, but very much alive. He had survived the ordeal, and, for the way he still had my hair on a grip, there was energy for yet another round, one I would not dare to lose.

“Craaaaaig…” I tapped my fingers on his body after a bit, trying to get him to look down at me, to see my face plastered with both his release and the mess of spit all around my mouth from his reckless fucking.

In a small victory of mine, he did. Letting go of his cock and taking my chin in his hand, the pastor tilted my face slowly to one side and then to the other, his eyes narrow as he analyzed his own work. While he did that, my eyes drifted down to his dick - confirming with delight that he was still rock hard as ever, even after coming so hard on my face. That man was one of a kind indeed.

Giving out a type of snort that I couldn’t differentiate between amused and disdainful, Craig released me fully. He silently made his way to the other side of the bed and climbed onto it, sighing as he laid on the mattress, getting cozy against his soft pillows.

No way I’d allow him relaxation now. I was not leaving that place without what I came to get in there. This guy would not be my first defeat. “Tired already?” I whined, turning around and propping myself up on one elbow as the other hand sneaked towards his chest. “I wanna play more…”

Craig turned his face to me with a stern look. “Do I seem tired to you?” Always. “And shut up.” He then patted his thigh with his hand, keeping his gaze on me. Guess my moment of just opening wide and looking pretty was done.

Slowly, teasingly, I straddled his body, his eyes following my every movement like a critic’s. I rolled my hips a few times over his cock, letting my arousal coat it - although it would take much more of it to cover his full length. Though his eyebrows curved into a frown, clearly displeased by the fact that I was waiting so long to just put him in, he couldn’t help but watch the full display with focused eyes, taking every single movement in with an interest that he didn’t show but I knew was there.

“Just get on with it already,” the complaint finally came after a few moments, his hands moving up my thighs.

“In a rush? We have the whole night,” I purred, taking one of my hands to his face and dragging my index finger along his cheek, settling it on his lower lip. 

Craig tilted his face up a bit to move my touch away from his mouth before speaking again. “The earlier we start, the more we do. So stop wasting time.” Hands finding my hips, he took a firm hold on them and lifted them up himself, staring at his own slick-covered cock for a few seconds before looking up at me again, “Unless it’s too much for you.”

Fuck you, I thought to myself, before realizing I was about to do just that. It was clear he knew the effect he had, how sexy he really was, even if he didn’t conceive the true nature of that power. To say something like that to a sex demon! The disrespect! Made me even want to show my real form to him for a brief moment, so that measly pastor could really know what he was dealing with before I drained the life out of him. But I held it back, deciding to make him swallow his words through actions.

Which is why right after getting into position, I sank onto him entirely in one quick movement, meeting the base of his huge length with a brutal downward thrust. My walls stretched themselves to accommodate him in a snug fit, swiftly and painlessly, the perks of a body that is literally made for that. He groaned deeply with this, pressing his lips together to not let the sound be any louder, but the damage had been done.

I leaned towards him a bit to whisper in his ear, “It’s just enough.”

He had unknowingly put me in every succubus’ favourite position. Being on top meant I got complete control over the situation, free rein to do as I pleased while Craig would be left to squirm and take what I gave him. As I straightened my posture and started to ride him expertly, he also began lifting his hips up to meet mine, trying to establish some sort of dominance over my movements, his hands roaming everywhere on my body like they were trying to leave an invisible trail of his touch.

Knowing I had him under relative control, I allowed myself to relax and enjoy the moment. And oh how easy it was to do so. He was so big I could feel him everywhere, hitting the deepest parts of me every time I moved, and the pleasure was indescribable. Legitimately, I had never felt better - my whole body was covered in a delightful warmth with the desire he created, even hotter wherever he handled me. Admission had to be made: Craig was a remarkable lover, and in other circumstances, I’d dream of finding out what else he could do with that cock as well as other parts of him. Maybe if he lived, I’d visit him in his dreams again, both to torment his soul and keep using his body for my leisure without actually allowing him the respite of death.

Actually, that even might not be much of a respite. He’d certainly be in my grounds by then. A church man who willingly gives in to a cardinal sin? Those are rarely allowed in that paradise they talk about so much. 

“You were right, Craig…” I murmured between breathy whimpers, “I think I am good for more than what you said…”

His face was contorted with the effort he was making, but he still managed to keep his eyes open, meeting my gaze fiercely. “You… You really don’t shut up, do you?” He huffed as he spoke, the pleasure and the strain of repeatedly fucking into me clearly getting to him. I merely chuckled and started moving even faster - my dirty talking became uninteresting to me over the sound of our skin slapping and the mattress’ bounce.

Bringing my face down close to him again, I licked a long stripe on his cheek. Surprisingly, despite the physical exertion, he wasn’t sweating. Still, human skin was extremely tempting to any demon, and Craig’s especially so. I couldn’t help but sigh with desire, the light breath hitting right on the wet line on his face, and I fixed my position just in time to see him shudder and groan at that feeling - like the logical part of him wanted to complain and be disgusted but his body was too far gone to actually know what about.

The smell of his essence was getting stronger by the second and it took a lot from me to not both pull all my stops to make him cum and also to not finish myself from the overwhelming ecstasy. Through that haze of lust, there was still a certain competitive aspect for me - knowing that I’d come out the other side from an encounter with such a formidable opponent on the human race, someone whose essence any sex demon would kill to have, to have their abilities obscenely heightened by such great power. Knowing that, from the moment he came, he’d be mine. 

“Say my name,” I honestly didn’t even remember which was the one I had told him; all that mattered was his calling out to me, acknowledging who had prevailed.

It took him a few gasps of air before an answer came. “(Y/N),” he finally husked.

Shock came through me in two different ways. First was the physical: The sound of my name on Craig’s voice made tension I didn’t even know I had over my whole body snap like an elastic that was let go after being stretched to its limits. A scream of pleasure broke free from deep inside my very being as I came around his cock, with an intensity that bordered on violent, jolts upon jolts of lightning starting from my cunt and running through every single part of me. In that moment, my nails clawed his chest viciously, actively etching marks on his skin - the force of my orgasm had me losing control of my human disguise for a brief moment, and my demonic form shone through right in front of the pastor’s eyes.

Yet he didn’t flinch from the pain or shout at the new sight. Gritting his teeth and emitting a shuddering grunt from behind them, he bucked upwards a few more erratic times before spilling fully inside of me, streams upon streams of his seed filling me up completely, seeming endless. I didn’t even have time to enjoy the brutal surge of energy that washed over me from taking in his life energy; my whole body was already too busy spasming from pleasure, and my mind couldn’t be informed of anything else, having short-circuited completely.

When I eventually came down from the orgasm that ravaged my entire system, I was finally left to deal with the second shock: The psychological. And that’s when the world stopped spinning. The part of Hell inside of me froze.

There was absolutely no way.

I hadn’t told the pastor my real name, and it was a deliberate decision, but it meant more than just any chick on a one-night stand who doesn’t want to see the guy again. For demons, our name is legitimate business. Knowing a demon’s real name means having power over them, and we don’t, under any circumstances, want another being to have that kind of hold on us; it usually means complete destruction. Most humans don't know about this, but we still avoid telling them the real thing, because they can use that power even without knowing of it.

And yet here Craig was, knowing that information and using it like it was nothing. Looking at him again, my eyes went wide as I took in his features - his lips were twisted in a wide, sadistic smirk, the most expression I had seen him sport all night. That smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, which probably made the whole thing even scarier.

Every single bit of that fucking smile was legitimate. He knew.

“How do you…” There was no recognizing my voice with how weak it was as the words left my mouth. A sense of urgency made my heart race, my wide eyes denouncing the terror that shook my body. More than anything, I had to interrogate Craig: Force the information I needed out of him, then end his life in a torturous manner for even daring to say my name with that filthy human mouth of his.

Yet I found myself unable to even move, let alone speak. The questions I needed to ask never made their way to my vocal chords. I couldn’t ever have imagined that a simple church guy from a small town would manage what literally no other man had ever gotten even close to doing - he left me speechless.

“I have my means, (Y/N),” the way he kept that deadpan tone of his while my name rolled off of his lips once more made me shudder completely, “I don’t usually see your kind around here, though.”

“Wha-what are you talking about, priest?” I finally found it in me to roar, my face contorting in fury - though my speech still stuttered at the beginning, a tiny faltering that basically made the whole thing pointless.

“Pastor.”

His dry and almost ironic correction only fueled my anger. “Like I fucking care! Who do you think you are, you idiotic male?” 

My nails shifted into my demonic form’s claws and I tried to swipe at his face with them, but he immediately grabbed my wrist, stopping it in midair like nothing had happened. “I told you already. I’m Craig Tucker. But I guess low-levels like you need help understanding.”

The next second was a blur. With incredible speed and strength, Craig pushed me onto my back, freeing himself from under me and shoving my legs wide open as he settled between them, placing his hands over my chest and pinning me down with such inhuman strength I was sure he could crack my ribcage right open if he really wanted to. But, judging from how he stared down at me, his intentions were different - and honestly, considering what he had become, I might’ve been in less danger if he just ripped my skin open.

The man - or rather, the entity - above me wasn’t the pastor anymore. His pupils had shifted into mere slits and his once hazel eyes now blazed a vibrant red; looking straight into them, I swore I could see all the nine circles of my birthplace in their entirety, the screams of the tortured souls echoing in my brain just like they would if I was physically all the way down there. Wide coriaceous wings spread from his back, the thick and rough onyx-colored skin that covered them sporting a slight bluish hue, barely noticeable. Of similar color were the goat-type horns that now protruded from his forehead, their bases slightly covered by his shaggy bangs. A long, pointy tail swished dangerously behind him, before twisting itself around my ankles, trapping them together.

He wasn’t an incubus. Wouldn’t have been able to overpower me so easily if he was - strength through us sex demons is measured by the power we steal from a human’s life energy rather than the biological sex our vessels embody. And he could do all that after being stripped of his energy while I was supposed to be at my prime from the best feeding of my life.

No. ‘Craig Tucker’ was something much above me, more ancient even, a being who manifested Sin itself in a way I never could. And that same being knew my true name. He had the ability to do whatever the fuck he wanted to me.

Hovering over me now was the silver cross chain, like a hypnotizing pendulum, about to bring me into something I could never snap away from.

“You got what you came for, demoness. Now, it’s my turn.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[thesunfyre4446]

Rhaenys reaction to Corlys infidelity is so disappointing. This wasn’t Corlys sleeping with some whore, barmaid or camp follower once. Corlys had an actual bond and prolonged relationship with this woman. He made a baby with her and then did it again. He was playing house with her and the babies for a time.

Rhaenys is now childless, she lost her 2 children- really because of Corlys ambitions. Then she sees that Corlys has 2 more children? She should’ve raged.

Rhaenys is way more passive than she and team black accuse Alicent of being. In the end there’s nothing a woman can do about her husband’s infidelity and bastards in their society like divorce. They have rights over your body, you can’t withhold sex. The only thing she is allowed is to show her displeasure and anger about the situation and fans are applauding Rhaenys for not embracing that tiny bit of resistance??

The writers fail every time they refuse to let team black have any inner conflict when they have just as many issues as the greens. Everything is solved by good faith and some self righteous speech.

Everything must be neatly packaged with a bow on top by the end of the episode, while they have TG carrying generational trauma and several ongoing plot.

I suppose Jace’s issue with Rhaenyra is solved because she told him that irrelevant ass bedtime story that will soon be lost to history. He’s now a grown man and his mother has never had an honest discussion about his father’s. There is no anger or resentment towards her for the situation she put him and his brothers in. Team Black collectively blame Alicent more for not pretending to be blind than they do Rhaenyra for making an immensely dangerous decision 3 times, 1 time was after an 8 year age gap.

Rhaena now fully accepts her claim to Driftmark died with the pretender Luke. She’s now reconsidered her original feelings about becoming a nursemaid to Rhaenyra and her father’s children (because Rhaena is never treated like family, Rhaenyra never appeals to her by calling them her brothers. Poor Rhaena has had to live the last 6 years of her life as an outsider looking in on her “family”) because Rhaenyra gave her a task to make her more pliant and agreeable like you do with little kids when you hand them a shopping list because you want them to behave and stay out of the way.

Daemyra isn’t even over, he is still tb’s tortured misunderstood devoted malewife “babygirl”. Eventually Daemyra will reunite and talk about twin flames, burning together, a dragon alone in the world or some fake deep shit like that. Rhaenyra is going to accept him back into her heart. He’ll be magically cured of his jealousy and tendency towards domestic violence because Alys sent him some dreams at Harrenhal. While on the other side you have Alicole taking the blame from the writers and the fandom for the murder of their grandchild that Babygirl- Daemon had committed, entrenched in Catholic guilt, fucking and fighting and having secret abortions.

This is why watching team black scenes is like watching white paint drip down a wall. When a team black scene comes on, I can look away from the screen, have a conversation, go online shopping, zone out a little and answer texts or scroll the socials.

They’re dreadfully boring. I saw something yesterday that I never thought I would see from team righteous. The comment section of a promo video HBO posted on IG, a lot of people who said they are team black admitting to finding team green characters more interesting because they have flaws. Saying that they enjoy team green scenes more because the blacks are boring.

literally why i'm team green. anon ATE and left no crumbs. that was amazing please let's be mutuals

[cobragardens]

Holy Kittens, Y'all: My Favorite Good Omens Moment Has Gotten EVEN MORE ROMANTIC

Okay so I wrote this post about my favorite moment in Good Omens, and the stuff people are pointing out in the reblogs and comments is blowing my freaking mind, and I HAVE to show you how beautifully this all fits together, like I am flailing at my desk about this.

@vidavalor points out this gif from @soft-ange-aziraphale [Source]:

Here it is in sequence (gifs 1-4 from Fuck Yeah Good Omens):

I can't stop laughing over Aziraphale's smile, which shows, as @quoththemaiden says, that he's "utterly delighted with himself" and knows perfectly well that he's minxing Crowley; and this tiny extension of the moment convinces me even more that Crowley is desperately fighting a smile himself here.

Actually there's a lot in @quoththemaiden's comment that's insightful and well-put:

Totes agree with all of this.

And then. AND THEN!

I knew Crowley was trying to communicate something with this Shakespeare line, but I didn't know what until @paperbunny and @musingsofmaisie put it out there: Crowley is complimenting Aziraphale here, telling him he's enjoying being in Aziraphale's company, telling him his humor worked.

Remember how I keep banging on about how much equivocation Crowley does? This is more equivocation. In 1601, Richard Burbage was 34 years old, so age hasn't had the chance to wither his infinite variety yet. The stupidity of demons and the ignorance of angels regarding the human aging process prevent surveillance from noticing the poor applicability of this line to Burbage, but since the first half of the line fits Aziraphale (who does not age at all) more than Burbage (who is merely not yet old) it stands a chance of indicating to Aziraphale that Crowley is speaking about him. And the underlying true meaning of this equivocal statement would be A DIRECT RESPONSE TO MY FAVORITE MOMENT: Even though I have known you so long, you still surprise and delight me.

(Crowley's Antony & Cleopatra line also accomplishes something else important: it gets William Shakespeare to go away so they can speak privately, because Shakespeare doesn't want them to see him writing it down.)

A Dip Into Speculation

I don't think the evidence for it is binding enough to say for sure, because the evidence is really just that it fits together so nicely and lines up so well with A&C's coded romantic messages in 1793; the (pretty overt, actually, I mean damn) romance in 1827; the size and nature of the fight in 1867; the yeah, really overt romance in 1941; and in 1967; and yes okay now that I'm thinking about it the whole series, but I have this View about how the rest of the 1601 scene goes.

And in fact there is Word of Gods that could be interpreted as evidence against this little pet headcanon I have, though it doesn't necessarily have to be:

Here's my assertion: Aziraphale volunteers to go to Edinburgh for Crowley. Crowley cheats the coin toss to accept Aziraphale's offer and to keep up appearances as a demon. Rather than making a deal with (or asking a favor of) an angel, he's 'cheating' him (without the angel's knowledge, but with his consent), which "moves the dials" of evil a bit and would also make Aziraphale appear less at fault if this instance of the Arrangement is ever discovered by Heaven.

This can coexist with Gaiman's statement, above, that it doesn't even occur to Aziraphale that Crowley cheats the toss. THEE ongoing leitmotif of Aziraphale's view of Crowley is that he thinks of Crowley as much more genuinely evil and much less in need of ways to create cover as evil than Crowley actually is.

(Which is interesting, given that he also clearly thinks that Crowley is not as evil as he pretends to be, that he is and wants to do good, and that he deserves to be an angel again. [There is a whoooole nother essay slowly curdling in the churn in my head about how Aziraphale is obliged to practice doublethink and how that stunts his personal development because that's what happens when people aren't free.])

Here's what I mean when I say Aziraphale volunteers.

Does Aziraphale ask in this tone because he is actually feeling suspicious and curt, or because he has to sound suspicious and curt? He could be perfectly willing to do Crowley a favor and would still need to sound the way he does. It's difficult for me to believe this guy--

--or this guy--

--are really all that bothered by the idea that Crowley might want something from him.

Crowley's response sounds like a(n unconvincing) protest of innocence. Maybe it is. But he doesn't disagree with the premise on which Aziraphale based his question, which means Aziraphale now has confirmation: Crowley called the meeting because he wants to ask Aziraphale to do him a favor.

Close your eyes and listen to Sheen's delivery of this line. The way he says it is so soft it's got no judgy angelic sting to it at all. Is this really a prissy answer to Crowley's semi-rhetorical question? Or is Aziraphale using the cover of a prissy answer to ask Crowley, Is what you want related to the no-good you're up to, i.e., demon work?

Either way, Crowley answers:

Is Crowley making a demonic jibe at Aziraphale in return to "You're up to no good," or is he telling Aziraphale, Yes, what I want from you is related to my work, and to your work, esp. what you've got on right now?

Aziraphale volunteers some information about his schedule and what it is he's got on right now.

--he says, and the velvety way Crowley says "Ohhh," tells us--and could tell Aziraphale--that Crowley already knows this. In this coded communication I'm suggesting, Crowley's tone on "Oh" confirms to Aziraphale that the thing he wants help with does indeed have to do with Aziraphale's trip to Edinburgh.

So Aziraphale gives Crowley his travel details: Yeah, I have a couple of blessings and a minor miracle to perform. It's going to suck; I have to ride a horse.

Crowley's like, yeah, riding horses does suck. You have my sympathies. (Phrasing it as an insult to God: "Major design flaw if you ask me.") And then he says, I have to go to Edinburgh too this week. Tempt a clan leader into stealing some cattle.

And here's where I think Aziraphale volunteers to do Crowley's Edinburgh job for him:

If, as I propose, Aziraphale understands already at this point that Crowley is asking him to take Crowley's Edinburgh temptation, then this response tells Crowley he's willing to do so.

And then they have a little bit of kayfabe theater and a little bit of miscommunication between themselves. Crowley suggests Aziraphale take Crowley's Edinburgh job. Aziraphale protests "You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you're implying," even though, as Crowley immediately points, out, they've now done this dozens of times.

Now, obviously Aziraphale is pretending innocence here with "You cannot actually be suggesting," etc. But he's not pretending innocence to Crowley. He can't be: Crowley knows about the dozens of other times just like Aziraphale does. So the protest of innocence is for surveillance; it's the spirit, not the letter, of the protest itself that's genuine: I am reluctant about this.

And Crowley misses it.

He reads the surface layer of the equivocation, the Heavenly pearl-clutching; and the surface layer is where he argues. "We've done it before," he points out. "Dozens of times now. The Arrangement--"

But Aziraphale, visibly frightened and looking around, cuts him off. "Don't say that." Getting caught in an Arrangement would be much, much worse than getting caught in a one-off deal.

Why is this suddenly a problem? says Crowley. You know we've been getting away with this; you know they don't check up.

It's not pearl-clutching at all; Aziraphale is worried for Crowley's safety.

When Crowley says--

--is his tone half wheedling and half impatient because that's how he feels, or because it must sound like that? Is it soft only out of courtesy to the other people in the Globe?

There's no difference to the outcome of this scene or the story as a whole whether this romantic interpretation of the Edinburgh bickering is correct, because we've already got a solid base of evidence that the characters have romantic feelings for each other and show each other affection and care in this scene. In my opinion this interpretation fits the tone of the rest of the Globe scene better than only the face-value interpretation. What Gaiman and Mackinnon say about Crowley cheating the coin toss and Aziraphale not being aware of it can still easily apply.

While these three statements together aren't enough evidence to convict, so to speak, if my initial argument about the interpretation of "Buck up!" and Crowley's reaction is correct--and the cool stuff other people have found and pointed out suggests it is AND explains Crowley's Antony & Cleopatra line--this reading of the Edinburgh bickering is, if not ironclad, at least valid.

And holy shit, people, that makes this scene romantic af from beginning to end. I could not have asked for a better little gift from my fellow humans. 🤯I have such a better understanding of the entire 1601 scene because people from anywhere with an Internet connection sat down and spent their time sharing their ideas, and it just makes the lit-nerd lobe of my brain so happy. I love you all, you romantics and nerds and perverts.

[bwabys-scenarios]

7 Minutes in Heaven

Various!HXH x Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

taglist: @desiray562 @lovelyxkazuha

if you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, comment a ❤️!! make sure you have your AGE in your bio, and that you’re able to be tagged/mentioned!

It was late October, and after meeting up with your friend Kurapika and Leorio for some fun fall activities, you came home to see a letter in your mailbox.

“Dear (Name),

You have been cordially invited to this years Costume Party. Please come wearing a costume, and be aware that there may be some people there that you do not like. Guests are required to hide their identity with their costumes, and fighting is prohibited.

Regards,

Pariston”

You frowned, seeing that there was another letter attached that had the address and time it would be taking place. Fortunately(or unfortunately really), you didn’t have anything planned for that day, so you didn’t see why you shouldn’t go.

All you would need is a costume.

“You got an invitation too, (Name)? Both Leorio and I received one the day we parted ways.”

You blinked, looking between the two. “Oh yeesh, I hope that it hasn’t been handed out to every hunter in existence. I will actually pee my pants if Hisoka is there.”

Kurapika grimaced and Leorio started laughing. “Shit, don’t do that he might like it!”

Now both you and Kurapika were grimacing. “(Name), don’t worry. If he shows up, just stick by our sides and we’ll protect you.”

You nodded, giving your friends a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Aww, thanks guys!”

You turned just in time to miss their blushing faces. “Let’s buy our costumes together, so we can recognize each other at the party!”

“Oh, that actually sounds like a good idea!” Kurapika said after recovering from the kiss. Leorio nodded, following after the two as they headed towards a costume store.

——————

You look down at your costume, a black dress, a masquerade mask, and witch hat. It was a little plain, but followed the rules of hiding your identity. The only people that would know who you are would be Kurapika and Leorio.

You walked towards the address, stopping in front of a large mansion. “Did he seriously rent out a mansion just for a party? Figures…”

Before you could even knock, the door swung open and you were pulled in by Pariston, the only person not wearing a costume. “Welcome, you’re just in time! Everyone else is here, and ready to party!”

He was right, the entire first floor was full of people, some easily recognizable, and some not. You were hoping that the man lingering in the corner of the room was not the leader of the phantom troupe, Chrollo, because that would mean a battle to the death between him and Kurapika.

“Pariston, I don’t know what you have planned, but-“

Pariston smiled down at you. “Shh, just have fun. Everything will be fine. Probably.”

You pout, but join the crowd of people, drinking a little and dancing. You spotted a short dark haired man nearby, sitting with a taller, blonde haired one.

“Come on, Fei. It’s not often we get invited to things. Phinks is already dancing, look!”

You blink, glancing to where the blonde was pointing to see a man swaying on the dance floor, sipping from his drink. They spot you looking, the shorter man giving you a look that sends you running in the opposite direction. “Hey, don’t mind him!” the blonde yells after you.

You sigh, bumping into someone as you turn. “Oh sorry I-“

A man towers over you, his hair dark and long. His eyes peer down at you through his skeleton mask, and you can’t help but feel tiny compared to him. Thankfully, he just pushes past you, patting your shoulder almost reassuringly.

“(Name)!”

Kurapika and Leorio spot you, sighing in relief.

“Geez, woman. You should have texted us when you got here! There’s a lot of creeps here.” Leorio said, patting your head.

Kurapika scowls. “Yeah, creeps and criminals. Does Pariston think we’re stupid? I can sense the phantom troupe is here. I swear I’ll-“

You grab his sleeve. “Hey, no violence, remember? Try to be calm, just for tonight. You recognize them, but they don’t recognize you. You could get some information out of them once they get drunk enough.”

He sighs and nods slowly. “You’re right… I need to be calm.”

Kurapika smiles appreciatively. “Thanks, (Name). You’re always a voice of reason.”

As the three relax and drink, planning, Pariston comes forward. “Alright gang, I’ve got a game planned for you all!”

You all turn to see Pariston holding a hat. “Drop an item of yours into the hat!”

Everyone grumbles, not a single person wanting to listen to the annoying blonde. To get it over with, you’re the first person to walk forward, placing your strawberry scented chapstick in the hat. “There.”

Others come forward, the entire party placing items in it. A few have to be dragged up to the hat, others grumbling and growling as they’re nudged forward.

“Alright, that’s everyone! Now…”

He looks to you, grinning.

“We’re playing 7 minutes in Heaven. Come pick an item, (Name).”

You blink. “Are you serious? What are you, a horny 15 year old?”

Pariston laughs. “No, but I am curious.”

You roll your eyes as some people start to murmur and ask what 7 minutes in heaven is.

“For those unaware, 7 minutes in heaven is a game where two people are locked in a closet for seven minutes! You can do whatever you want, and I really mean whatever.”

Your two friend begin to protest. “Hey, she’s the only woman here, this is sexual harassment!” Kurapika yells.

“Meh.”

Pariston offers the hat to you, and you groan. “Oh whatever. I’ll take a stupid item.”

You rustled through the hat… what do you pull out?

Options:

-a needle

-a bookmark

-a scalpel

-a cellphone

-an earring

-a piece of candy

-a roll of gauze

POLL FOR WHAT COMES FIRST!!

[iceman-soup]

request!

sorry if you've done this already, but what would Ghost and Soap's first leave together look like? could be sfw or nsfw, everything is up to you

yes yes yesss this is sfw because my descriptive brain took over, also autistic ghost supremacy 🫶🫶

ghost x soap

Simon wasn't ready to meet Johnny's family yet. Hell, they'd only been dating five or so months before deciding to stick with each other on leave, and by that point it was far too stressful and overwhelming to think about meeting a whole bunch of new people to mask around and make good impressions. Ghost needed the time off to re-regulate, and honestly, Soap wasn't up to introducing a boyfriend he had barely warned his mother about beforehand.

So instead the two taxi'd over to Manchester from the airport, arriving at a tiny, cheap flat with even cheaper security cameras dotted on each outside wall and above the front door. "Enough of a deterrent, even if half don't work," explains Simon, seeing Johnny looking around curiously. He unlocks the door and pushes it open an inch, baited breath for a couple of moments as he appears to listen for anything unusual, before opening the door properly, flicking on the warm overhead lights and pulling Soap in by the hand, who gazes at the inside of his flat whilst Ghost locks the door again.

"Dinnae take you for an interior designer, Lt," John grins, glancing at the taller man before going back to admiring the space. It's dusty, sure, but otherwise not quite as awful as expected, and although cramped, holds a feeling of comfort and rest. The two are standing in the kitchen, cupboards naked oak wood and counters hand-painted daffodil yellow, the honey-coloured floor tiles chipped but superglued back together. The image of Si sitting cross-legged on the ground fixing them fills Soap's mind, his heart fluttering at how domestic his lieutenant suddenly seems.

There isn't a wall between the kitchen and living room, and Johnny takes that opportunity to wonder straight through, taking note of a comfy-looking secondhand sofa to cuddle up on together later. An old TV with a jumble of cables is stood upon a coffee table, which simultaneously doubles as an actual coffee table, evident by a few mismatched coasters with just as many water marks as the surface they're supposed to be protecting. Splintering wood in the tried-to-be-aesthetic bare floorboards are covered by a granny rug which contrasts the baby blue walls surprisingly well. Two doors lead off from the living room, and Ghost walks over to the first one, opening it to show the other.

"Bathroom," he comments as if it isn't obvious. There's nothing extraordinary about it, but Soap does notice his unwavering loyalty here and on base to his very specific shower products - of course. He nods and they move on, entering the fourth room. Si hovers at the doorway whilst Johnny wanders inside, taking in the bedroom.

Most of the space is taken up by a double bed pressed up in the far corner, white paint on the metal frame missing in spots, showing its age. The bedding is black with little bone prints patterning it, soft cotton and all matching. Shoved next to the bed is a chest of drawers, one of the handles missing and replaced with a nail bashed into the wood. Hung up precariously on the picture rail over it is Simon's formal uniform - clearly unused for years due to his skilful avoidance of social events. Again, the floor is stripped of carpet (the bedroom in slightly safer condition than in the living room) and the walls are painted, this time a pale pink and dotted with glow-in-the-dark plastic stars.

"Never got them as a kid," Ghost mutters, gesturing to the stars and then the general soft colours of his flat. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet, avoiding eye contact - and subsequently his boyfriend's loving smile too. "You want something to eat? I don't have anything," he adds quickly.

"We can go doon to the chippy?" John suggests, walking over to kiss him tenderly. "Or if you don't feel like seein' people, I could order us something." The taller man nods at the second option, then proceeds to wrap his arms around Soap's waist, burying his face into the crook of his neck and pressing his lips to the skin, simply savouring his warm embrace.

"I love you, Johnny. I'm happy you're here."

The next few days go by far too quick for either's liking. They're spent with long mornings just laying in bed, doing fuck all on their phones in the oddest cuddle positions known; alternatively, smothering each other in hugs and kisses until they have to give them attention until they're satisfied. Time is spent plodding around the flat, wearing pyjama trousers and fluffy socks and with blankets draped over their bare shoulders.

Meals are cooked with very little skill but a whole lot of try, so at least that's something. Neither go out much; just to the shops when they need something or one night to get fish and chips from the good place across the street. They eat sitting on the countertop or the sofa, watching some shitshow with a laugh track that winds Simon up.

Evenings involve making out during conversation, quietly murmuring and laughing between kisses, chests pressed together so their hearts can talk directly. Ghost realises he's never felt so safe and content on leave before this one night when they're lying in bed, a dim lamp the only light in the room as he runs his fingers through Soap's hair, now slightly curly from growing out whilst not on base. It's quiet, but not in the lonely, terrifying way it usually is when he's alone in the flat, left to his own thoughts for however long between deployments.

Maybe, just maybe, leave will become something that he doesn't dread anymore. And perhaps next time - he thinks, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead and flicking off the lamp - it might be nice to meet Johnny's family.

[enkas-illusion]

Two Can Play a Game

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Geto Suguru x f!reader

Rating: NSFW/Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Content Warning: suggestive, Gojo being a menace, roommate shenanigans, wingman!Gojo, violent games, friendly banter, geto’s huge fingers…

Chapter Summary: You are stuck with your awful roommates on their Saturday games night. You were ready to be bored to death this weekend but what you were not expecting was being stranded on Geto’s lap by the end of the night.

Author's Notes: gamer!Suguru rotting my mind. Let me know if I should make a part 2! If you enjoy it, feel free to like, reblog or comment; I’d love to know your thoughts. Thank you for reading! 

-Nanami's Munchkin

Part 2

Being roommates with Satoru and Suguru was nothing short of an adventure. It always felt like you were taking care of two cats who actually did pay rent but were a pain in the ass to handle. 

The tamed one was Suguru, the black cat with black cat energy. Satoru, on the other hand, was worse than the orange cats, a menace, making your life miserable. However, you wouldn't have it any other way – a cat person always loves the little devils immensely, despite the hell they raise.

Saturday nights were game nights for the boys. Usually, Shoko, the fourth person in the house, your white dove of peace between the guys and you was out for the weekend. The dove in question, however, had betrayed you to flock in someone else’s nest so you were left alone with the men-children screaming over a stupid game.

It's true that you don't know what you've got till you don't have it anymore. You think back on all the times you open a bottle of wine, enjoy a smoke on the balcony, and share the gossip of the week with Shoko. 

You weighed your options – scrolling through reels while silently drinking your wine while pretending you don't exist would be a lot easier than spending the night witnessing your two roommates behave like toddlers. 

So you did just that, flopped down on the armchair scrolling through feed, sipping your wine quietly. You'd downed more than half the bottle before boredom hit, causing you to look up at the TV to see what Suguru and Satoru were up to. 

The amount of fun they were having playing a violent and gory game made you cringe. For them, this was no less wholesome than a fluffy princess ride at DisneyLand.

“Seriously guys, is this fun to you? You just go around killing people!” Ideally, it'd be better to let it slide without the unnecessary commentary, but this is far from ideal so you let the boredom and booze speak for you.

“Oh and Genshin is not violent at all!! Sweet little Hillichurls getting hit by a meteorite just for existing is fun, right?” Satoru mocks back in an instant without taking his eyes off the game.

“I don’t think you know Hillichurls to be calling them sweet and little,” you argue, offended that your favorite game was dragged into the conversation.

This time Suguru replies,”Maybe you are just salty because you don’t know how to use a console.”

Taking full offense, you challenge, “I would've learnt it ages ago if I wanted to…”

“What's stopping you? That way you can play your precious Genshin on the console as well. It will be fun. Then we can all have a game night.” Suguru's tone is condescending but you understand him well enough to know when to take the bait.

“Hard pass! No way I wanna play with you both. It would only make my hair whiter than this dumbass.” You say pointing at Satoru.

“Huh! The feeling's mutual darling. I’m not psyched about you ruining our sacred games night. Also, you might finally start to look a bit attractive with hair like mine.” 

Satoru’s comment ticks you off, you know better than to let it get to you but you're too far gone to think straight now. So you put down your wine glass as you stomp to where they're sitting, ripping out the console from Suguru, settling in the tiny space between the two manspreading, “You’re on, bitch!” 

“You really think you can beat me?” Satoru looks amused, Suguru has a similar look on his face.

“Just shut the fuck up and start.”

As the game starts, you realize how dumb this decision was – you'd walked right into the trap. Not only do you not know how to use the console, you don’t even know what this game was and what you needed to do.

“I’m going to find youuu~~” Satoru says in a creepy singsong voice that makes you shriek as you try to run in the game. 

Suguru just lies back on the sofa laughing at both your antics. No matter how much you tried to believe the cat analogy exclusively applied to the two, everyone knew you were one too.

“Found you!” Satoru squeals as you nevertheless try to hide and fail miserably. And before you know it, your screen turns red with the words DEFEATED on it.

You pout at Satoru and he says, “Aww, that was no fun. Let me heal you so we can go again.”

“Really! You can do that?” You ask, looking up to him with glittering eyes.

“Satoru!” you hear Suguru suddenly scold, causing you to stare at him with confusion. And before you can ask what was wrong, you hear a few more gunshots from the game. Satoru, being the absolute worst, continues to shoot your already dead character.

‘SatoruAlmighty_89 WINS’ the screen displays.

“Suguru! Satoru is so mean!” You look at Suguru with those puppy eyes that you know makes him melt. Your final trump card, given that he may or may not have called that look adorable in the past.

“‘Toru, your name doesn’t really look that well on top of the leaderboard… kind of used to seeing my own.” Suguru pokes at his best friend just to rile him up.

“Bitch please… Do you wanna go again?” Satoru takes the bait.

“Nope. Not me… her.” he says, tilting his head in your direction.

“Hmm?” you simply give him a confused look. But before you can decipher the meaning behind his words, he wraps his arm around your waist to pull you to him in one swift motion till you’re sitting on his lap. Your face turns hot as you quickly slide down to adjust between his parted thighs instead – trying to keep the atmosphere pg-13, what with Satoru in the room.

Suguru, on the other hand, couldn’t care less – he leans forward till his chest is flush against your back, resting his chin on your shoulder. His huge arms wrap around you, enveloping you into him as they hold the console in front of you. 

“Okay, let’s defeat him, shall we?” he whispers sweetly in your ear, “Let me take it from here.” you feel his hot breath behind your ear, making you blush harder than a rose.

Satoru gives you both a disgusted look, “Ugh… get a room!”

“Somebody’s bitchless.” you tease Satoru. It wasn’t hard to sense the sexual tension that had always lingered in the back ever since you had started living together with Suguru – sure, you had two other roommates but you never wanted to tear the others’ clothes off in a fervor. Shoko had once teased you that ‘if one could try cutting the sexual tension with a knife, the knife would grow blunt due to how thick it was.’ 

As you’re laughing at the now-pouting Satoru, you twist your neck to look back at Suguru, giving him a big grin that makes his heart do summersaults. 

Suguru’s fingers encompass your dainty ones as he guides them to the console. As the guys start playing the match, you move your fingers to the side of the device, letting Suguru take control as his fingers rapidly slam and rotate the buttons. You can’t look away from his hands even when the game begins. His fingers look so sexy moving around the console that you can’t help but imagine how they would feel on you.

“Pay attention to the game, sweetheart.” he whispers into your ear. His words catch you off-guard as your eyes shoot up to the screen, embarrassed that he’d caught you staring. His comment puts you into a deeper daze but you shake it off to focus on the screen, still you find your mind wandering, barely caring about the game. 

He’s so into the game that his chest often presses against you as he tries leaning forward when a battle gets too intense. At one such moment, before you can talk yourself out of it, you shift your hips back ever so slightly to press against his crotch. You swear you feel his otherwise restless movements still for a split-second but he doesn’t let his composure falter since he had a match to win.

Suguru actually manages to win as his name makes it back on top of the leaderboard. You cheer out loud and turn around to hug Suguru, but not before tilting your head to blow raspberries at Satoru.

“What are you… like five?” Satoru complains. You simply bring your hand up to do a blah-blah gesture, rolling your eyes at him dramatically.

“It’s not fair! It was two vs one.” Satoru pouts.

“Go cry about it somewhere else. A win is a win!” you tease him further. 

Satoru gets up from his place and walks off saying, “I anyway don’t play with cheaters.” 

If you weren’t reeling in the high from your win and laughing at Satoru’s antics, you would have noticed the wink he gave to Suguru before retiring to his room.

You’re still laughing as you watch him go back to his room and shut the door behind him with a ‘night, cheaters!’

When it gets quiet, you suddenly become super aware of the way you’re still perched comfortably in Suguru's lap. 

“You need to actually teach me how to use this thing.” You say as you try to break the impenetrable tension, fumbling with the console before tossing it on the sofa, beginning to get up.

Before you can move any further, you’re pulled right back into Sugurus lap as you let out a tiny squeal at the unexpected move. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his clearly evident boner, hard against you.

“Did you really think I'd let you off so easily after you pulled that little stunt during the game?”