#I would just really like to know where this supposed privilege comes in??? where is it actually at??

[fromtheseventhhell]

Saying that non-conforming female characters don't face as much misogyny as their "feminine" counterparts is so funny cause literally the misogyny in their treatment is more overt because they aren't staying "in their place" like men think they should. The disdain for women + misogynistic societal ideals are so much more blatant in male characters interacting with these women. Countless times they are, in essence, told they need to sit down, shut up, and know their place but somehow that translates into them having "masculine privilege". I can only assume that people with this take haven't actually read the books and only get their information from second-hand sources.

[wild-at-mind]

Don't want to tone police anyone else, but I kind of hope that if anyone sent me a misguided ask trying to 'correct' some terminology I used for my own self-identity, I'd be able to reply in a way that didn't frame myself as superior for being out longer than the asker.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[emma-needs-attention]

I don’t shave every day. It’s not that I don’t “need” to; I have very dark, dense facial hair that grows quickly and remains pretty visible after shaving. When I do shave, I don’t try to cover it with makeup (beyond some powder to reduce redness). In most other ways I present very feminine, but I always have fairly obvious facial hair.

And it makes me feel terrible.

I started electrolysis a couple months ago. It’s excruciatingly painful, expensive, and it takes forever. In an hour-long session, my electrologist is able to remove hair in only a small region (about 1 square inch). A few weeks later, much of that hair comes back. I am told that it will take two to three years of regular treatments to remove it entirely. On top of that, I apparently have a condition called Post Inflammatory Hyperpigmentation, which causes the skin in affected areas to darken after treatment. For nearly two months after completing a single pass over my upper lip, my mustache was more visible than it had ever been, despite having significantly less hair.

And it made me feel terrible.

I know this is the best way for me to permanently remove my facial hair, but I just canceled all of my upcoming sessions and at the moment I have no plans to begin again.

If I could pay to have my facial hair instantly and completely removed I would empty my savings account. I am intensely aware of it any time I go out in public. If it makes me so uncomfortable, why do I not do more to hide it?

I feel incredibly privileged for a trans woman. I have a loving, supportive family. I have a well-paying job. I live in a very accepting area. I have never had a single person say anything negative to me about my gender identity, which was certainly not what I was expecting when I came out. It is important to me that I be visibly queer, and in my privileged position I am able to do that without fear. A year ago I didn’t think I would ever transition; now I want people to know that I’m trans.

I am disappointed with myself for wanting to remove my facial hair, for changing my voice. I am determined not to have to do more work than a cis person does. Cis women don’t have to shave their face every day. Cis men don’t have to shave their face every day. Why should I? This is who I am, what my body does. Shouldn’t I be proud of that? Am I not supposed to love myself the way I am?

But by that logic, why am I even transitioning in the first place?

I am doing more work than a cis person does. Cis people don’t transition, and transitioning takes effort. I know that there are cis people, both men and women, who do shave every day. Am I lying to myself? I’m a trans woman; aren’t I supposed to want to get rid of my facial hair? Shouldn’t I be trying harder? Doesn’t this give me dysphoria? Am I pretending not to have dysphoria so I don’t have to put in the effort? Does the fact that I’m not trying harder make me… I don’t know, less trans? Non-binary? Is it ok for me to call myself a trans woman? Am I lying to myself?

As a woman who was a man until thirty, there are things about my body that I must accept, that I won’t be able to change no matter how much money I dump into my transition. I’m tall, I have broad shoulders, I have large hands. No amount of surgery or hormones will change these things.

But there are many things that I can change, and while none of them are requirements for being a woman, they may still be changes that I want to make. Where do I stop? Am I finished transitioning when I’ve done everything that is physically possible? My goal isn’t to “pass,” at least not in the way that word is generally used. In a time when cis women are being assaulted because people think they’re trans—because they don’t “pass” as women—the idea of what it means to pass becomes blurry. Often when we say that we want to pass, what we really mean is that we want to be conventionally beautiful.

I am a woman. Therefore, I look like a woman. My transition goal is to pass as myself. I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out who I am so I can look like her. I don’t care whether people see me and think “that’s a woman.” I want to be able to look in the mirror and think “that’s me.” But it can be extremely difficult to separate your own image of yourself from society’s idea of what you should look like. Am I self-conscious about the size of my body because it doesn’t feel like me, or because I’ve been told that women should be smaller? There are tall cis women, there are broad-shouldered cis women, there are cis women with large hands. Those traits don’t make them less womanly.

For the aspects of my body that I do have control over, I am stuck wondering whether I am changing things to become myself, or changing them because I have internalized that the way I am is wrong. At the moment, facial feminization surgery is something that I think I might like to do. But how do I know that I want to do it for the right reasons? I don’t hate my face, but when I catch a glimpse of myself from certain angles I can’t help but think that it isn’t feminine enough. What I should be asking is if it’s Emma enough, but how can I know that? How do I know who I’m supposed to be?

I feel like I was supposed to be a cis woman, but… why? Who am I to say that I wasn’t supposed to be trans? That I wasn’t supposed to transition at thirty, to have both a male puberty and a female one? Being trans has made me more self-aware, more open-minded, more empathetic. The totality of my experience is what makes me who I am. Maybe there’s a world in which I was assigned female, maybe there’s a world in which I was put on puberty blockers as a kid. But the girl in those worlds isn’t me.

Loving yourself and wanting to change are two feelings that can coexist. I tend to think of body positivity as simply accepting yourself as you are, but it is more nuanced than that. As a trans person, who I am inside is not the same as who I am outside. Which one am I supposed to love? I do love myself, but I also love who I could be. I’m transitioning so that someday they’ll be the same person.

Over the past year I have become both my biggest supporter and my biggest critic. I constantly tell myself how pretty I am, how brave I am, how fucking cool I am (hey, nobody else is saying it and it’s true). This forced positivity has been fantastic for me. I can confidently say that I truly love myself for the first time in my life. But I sometimes feel guilty that I don’t love myself more.

I can’t help but stare at myself in the mirror all the time now. I actually bought a new mirror so I didn’t have to walk as far to do so. I’ve taken more selfies than I did in my entire pre-transition life. After many months on HRT, I finally see myself in my reflection. But my eyes refuse to focus on my stubble. Sometimes I catch myself thinking “I’m going be so beautiful once I get rid of this facial hair,” and it feels like a betrayal. Fuck you Emma, I’m already gorgeous.

[explicit-tae]

for ungodly hour couple can we have jk flirt with another girl or smth to try and get a reaction out of oc so he can be like "told you youre down bad look how jealous you got" but it backfires bc she flirts w someone else right back but it ends with them fucking anyway and making up 😭🫶

I actually like the idea of that so I'll just make a quick one-shot of it 🤣

ungodly hour

Word Count: 4.297

Warning: jealous reader, jealous jungkook, smut, yelling, kissing, dirty talking, simp jungkook, tsundere reader ofc, 69 position, oral (f/m receiving), spitting, competative jk sigh, face riding, competence kink, cum-swallowing,

“Well, well,” Jimin says as he looks up to spot you. He’s seated inside the college library at a once empty desk before you occupied it. “If it isn’t Y/N.”

You want to roll your eyes at the tone in Jimin’s voice. “In the flesh.” you say.

“What do I owe the unwelcomed visit?” Jimin drops the pen he was using to continue speaking with you.

“Ugh, Jimin, cut the shit.” you place your bag upon the table. “Jungkook told me you like me and us together.”

Jimin snickers. “I enjoy seeing my friend happy, I suppose.” he shrugs. 

“I guess that means we’re the same.” you retort.

“I'd like to say you’re more of a bitch with an attitude.” Jimin scoffs.

Your eyes widen, but you don’t want to say what you really want to - you and he would be bantering in the library and kicked out. 

You take a deep breath. “I’m going to regret this.” you murmur more to yourself than to Jimin, but the man hears and now he’s intrigued. “I need your help.”

Jimin is in fact intrigued. His attention is fully on you now. “My help?”

You nod.

“What can I give you that you can’t go to Jungkook for?” Jimin snickers.

You don’t answer and noticing, Jimin begins to smirk. 

“What do I get out of it?” 

You sigh loudly. “What do you want?” you grumble, eyes glaring at the older man.

“First, tell me what you want.” Jimin closes his textbook, finding you here before him more interesting.

You swallow. Your body was feeling hot with nerves.

You hoped Jimin wouldn’t laugh in your face and further humiliate you - or even make it worse by telling Jungkook. 

“I want to make Jungkook jealous.” you murmur so low that Jimin has to think hard to see if he’s heard you correctly. 

Jimin then begins to chuckle to himself, leaning back into the library chair. “Ah, so he was right when he told me you were jealous.”

You widen your eyes. “He told you that?!” you hiss lowly, feeling your hands clenched into fists. 

It was a week prior when it began. You and Jungkook had classes that same day, him being done only an hour before yours ended. He had texted you that he’d be in the dining hall - typical for Jungkook and his near never ending hunger. You’d usually always catch him there with someone - his friends, mostly.

That day, however, it was neither. It was a person you’ve never seen before - a girl. 

You recall the way your pace slowed as you caught where he stood, her across from him. He was nodding to something she was saying. It happens suddenly, however, the way Jungkook responds back (inaudible to you) and the girl laughs loudly. You are only a few feet away when you see the way she touches Jungkook’s chest, coming even closer.

Jungkook looks directly behind the girl and his lips form a smile. “Y/N!” he had called your name, nodding to the girl before making his way towards you. Your eyes locked to the girl he was speaking to - the look in her eyes was one you were all too familiar with. “You ready to go?” he asks you and you nodded your head, remaining silent.

“Yes, he did.” Jimin smirks at your reaction. “Said you were snappy the entire time.”

“I was not.” you declare, but you were. After all, Jungkook pursued you for months before you gave him a chance before you ultimately agreed to being his girlfriend. He had to know that was a privilege.

“Sure.” Jimin shrugs at your obvious lie. “Then why are you trying to make him jealous?”

You were beginning to regret coming to Jimin - you didn’t need him going to Jungkook with this. It would just fuel his teasing and that’s not something you wanted. 

You didn’t consider yourself to be the jealous type and you didn’t care who Jungkook was friends with - male or female. However, it was the way Jungkook reacted. His mind clicked when you were a bit distant and snappy, and that’s where it began. “You’re jealous.” he says, stopping in his tracks suddenly. You and he were halfway to his car when he made the revelation, eyes wide and soon, a smirk forming onto his lips. “That’s good. That means we’re one step closer to admitting you like me.”

And it didn’t get better. At every given chance, Jungkook would bring up Sia - the girl he was speaking to. “Sia said this ice-cream shop downtown is good. We should go.”, “Sia says this movie was good, let’s watch it together.” and it went on and on until you eventually snapped at him.

 Jungkook does it for a reaction - a scoff, a roll in your eyes or even a glare. When you snapped at him, declaring “If you’re going to keep talking about what she likes then you mind as well fuck her.”, it’s disgusting to admit that your tone turned him on - mixed with the angered look in your eyes. 

It gets the man going knowing that even you could be jealous. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, but he enjoys teasing you. “You’re so down bad for me, baby. I can see it in your eyes.” he’d say. “You know you’re the only girl for me, Y/N. You don’t have to be jealous.”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine.” you shrug your shoulders. You didn’t want to go into any more detail with Jimin, after all, Jungkook was his friend. He probably already knows enough.

And know enough Jimin does. It was a week ago today when he got a call from Jungkook, asking for advice. “Maybe she’s jealous.” Jimin told him over the phone. “You can be oblivious to when girls are flirting with you.”

“Who? Sia?” Jungkook had scoffed. He hasn’t thought about other girls in months, not since he and you became intimate. “I never knew Y/N could get like that…” Jungkook trailed off, a tone that was all too familiar to Jimin. The younger man was plotting.

“You’re going to make her jealous, aren’t you?” Jimin scoffed. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

��You’re team Y/N now?” Jungkook asked. “I’m not going to flirt with Sia or even be around her. I just want Y/N to admit that she likes me.” he revealed truthfully. “Without me having to fuck it out of her.”

“Does her being with you not mean she likes you?” Jimin furrows his brows. Jungkook could be on the dumb side sometimes and the fact that he had to defend you made him want to gag. But for months it was apparent that you liked Jungkook more than you’d let on - Jimin had to hear it when Jungkook called him nearly in tears when you called yourself “his girl”.

“Stop trying to sound smart, hyung. I just want to hear her say it.” And that’s where it began - each time Jungkook got a reaction out of you, he’d tell Jimin. It was a matter of time before you’d snap - and you did; now sitting before him.

“I see. I help you and you help me.” Jimin leans forward. “Starting with what I want.”

You wait for Jimin to speak, and when he does, you’re left dumbfounded. 

“What’s the password to all of the streaming services?”

You blink a few times, trying to register what Jimin said. “That’s…out of everything you can ask for-”

“I need to get back to The Real Housewives.” Jimin waves you off. “Now, passwords before I help you.”

“YNloves97.” you tilt your head.

Jimin rolls his eyes. “I hate simps.” he murmurs, but he writes it down on a sheet of paper before turning his attention back to you. “Now, how far are you trying to go?”

You swallow. “Not that far.” you admit. You couldn’t see yourself flirting with someone else - besides, Jungkook would know you were trying to make him jealous and that would make his head grow even bigger.

“I know my friend, Y/N. If you try too hard, he’s not going to fall for it. You have to be subtle.” Jimin exclaims. “He knows how unapproachable you are.”

“Unapproachable?” you’re taken aback once more at Jimin’s choice of words. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You have a resting bitch face and you’ve turned down so many guys that no one wants to approach you anymore. Jungkook is seen as a conqueror for being able to have you.” Jimin states matter-of-factly.

You sigh in defeat because damn was Jimin correct. You recall back when Jungkook and you went on the “picnic-movie-dinner” and he exclaimed how he knows there's guys that want you, but he was the one that had you.

Fuck Jeon Jungkook.

Jimin swallows, a disdainful look in his eyes. “Do you want to hangout?”

“What?”

“Do you…want to hangout?” Jimin repeats, appearing even more disgusted. “It’s part of the plan, trust me.”

“I-I guess.” you murmur, unsure of how this was going to go. But Jimin and Jungkook were best friends and if you were going to trust anyone about your plan, it’d have to be him.

The following week goes by and Jungkook notices a shift.

The most uncommon shift was you and Jimin together. When you had told Jungkook that you couldn’t study with him because you were doing so with Jimin, he had laughed. He assumed it was a joke, until it wasn’t.

Jungkook was fine with it, of course. He wanted you and Jimin to get along.

What Jungkook wasn’t fine with was the amount of times you’d speak of Jimin and how, in your words, “He’s actually fun to be around.”, “I convinced Jimin to listen to this podcast with me while we studied”, “It’s okay, I’ll just ask Jimin.” - and the fact that you were going to someone else for something instead of him was what truly got his blood boiling.

“I invited Jimin, hope that’s okay.” you said, dropping next to Jungkook. You were in the living room of your home, Chaeyoung showering up the stairs and soon joining you and him. It was only a study session - exams coming just around the corner. 

“Did you?” Jungkook snickers. “Why?”

“Why not?” you shrug with a short giggle. “Don’t we all need to study?”

Jungkook remains quiet, not wanting to think too much into it.

There was no way he was jealous. Jimin was his friend and there was no reason to be.

But when there was a knock on the door. You had risen to answer it, and that was the cherry on top - the way you hugged Jimin, greeting him with a wide smile.

You hadn’t even hugged Jungkook that way - or even appeared to be happy that he was there. When did you and Jimin grow so close? It wasn’t long ago that you were butting heads over streaming services. Now, the two of you were hugging, your arms wrapped firmly around him.

“Is the plan still on?” Jimin murmurs to you, feeling the burning hole Jungkook is burning through him. 

“Yes.” you murmur back. You avoid Jungkook’s eyes, especially when you feel Jimin light tap the low of your back.

Jungkook watches your next move, not taking his eyes off of you. You bring yourself back next to Jungkook on the couch, finally meeting his eyes. He doesn’t say anything  to you, only watching with tense eyes.

“I ordered pizza.” Chaeyoung says, almost on cue. Her hair is damp as she comes through. “Should be here in a few.”

You want to laugh at how giddy you feel right now. Jungkook’s reaction. You aren’t going to feel guilty - he started this first.

It was Jimin’s idea after all. “I would rather die than flirt with you.” Jimin snarls. The feeling was mutual. “But Jungkook is a territorial person. He’ll grow jealous of you hanging out with anyone that isn’t him.”

And that’s where it began - the constant “study” sessions that truly had you and Jimin bickering with one another. “I agreed to listen to your murder podcast but watching The Real Housewives of New Jersey is where you draw the line?” Jimin snapped one day.

However, Jimin was correct. He knew Jungkook like the back of his hand and his plan was working smoothly. 

A study session always started well and ended with loud chatter and laughs - only Jungkook sulked on the couch, while you, Chaeyoung and Jimin gathered around the low coffee table to eat.

“Here, try this.” Jimin shoves his pizza in your face - it has a variety of toppings on it and you want to gag at the sight of it. You want to shake your head because damn did it look disgusting, toppings nearly falling all over the place, but Jimin eyes widen and he slightly nods. 

You open your mouth and take a bite, allowing Jimin to feed you the pizza - and Jungkook’s had enough of watching you and him.

“Y/N doesn’t even like all those toppings.” Jungkook hisses, shoving the pizza away from you. It falls into Jimin’s lap sloppily, and the older man groans.

“Kook, what the hell?” Jimin cleans the pizza from his lap, glaring at his younger friend. “What’s your problem-”

“I think you should go.” Jungkook exclaims.

“No he doesn’t.” you are quick to defend Jimin, and inside you’re screaming, wanting to laugh in Jungkook’s obviously jealous face. “What’s going on with you?”

Jungkook’s taken aback. “Since when are you and Jimin friends?” he hisses, not intending for his voice to be as low. “Jimin’s my friend.”

Luckily you’ve told Chaeyoung the plan, or she would have thought you had two friends fighting for you. She takes a sip of her soda to hide her laughter. 

“Please don’t fight over me.” Jimin chuckles. “There’s enough of me to go around.”

“You should be happy that I’m being friends with your friends.” you cross your arms. “Or do you prefer we butt heads?”

Jungkook would prefer you and Jimin to do nothing at all, like before. He hides his remark because in the end, Jimin was his friend and he truly would never accuse anything of him - but he couldn’t help how he feels.

“Can I talk to you in private, Y/N?” Jungkook murmurs, his eyes intense.

Jimin watches as you and Jungkook walk up the stairs and down the hall, not speaking until he hears a door close.

“Turn the TV up.” Chaeyoung says suddenly, taking a bite of her pizza. “They’re going to fuck it out right about now.”

Jimin doesn’t have to be told twice.

“What the fuck are you doing with Jimin?” Jungkook hiss as soon as the door to your bedroom is closed. “And don’t give that mush-mouth shit either, Y/N.”

You shrug. “The same thing you’re doing with Sia.”

Jungkook stops in his tracks. You sit at the edge of your bed with crossed arms.

“Sia?” Jungkook looks at you as if he had no idea what you were speaking of. “Sia?” he repeats.

“Sia.” you mock with a scoff. “Yes, Jungkook.”

Jungkook inhales deeply before exhaling. He tilts his head for a moment, your words repeating in his mind. 

“I don’t hang out with Sia. I don’t even talk to her.” Jungkook proclaims, a snarky tone in his voice.

“Sia likes this, Sia does that, Sia goes here, we should go there.” you mock Jungkook’s voice the best you could. “But I watch a little Housewives with Jimin and it’s a problem?” It was a problem, because there was only so much New Jersey you could watch.

Jungkook’s eyes begin to squint, and then widen. It was like a lightbulb went off. 

“You were trying to make me jealous. And you had Jimin help you do it.” Jungkook exclaims.

“Did not,” you scoff.

“You did.”

“Not.”

“You always avoid my gaze when you’re lying, Y/N.” Jungkook sighs in relief. He had to hand it to you, you and Jimin were determined - and your plan worked entirely well. 

“Fuck you.” you hiss. “Isn’t that what you were doing first?” you quip, now rising to your feet. “Then you lie about it.”

Jungkook’s head snaps towards you. “Lie? About what?”

“Turn the T.V. down!” Chaeyoung murmurs, hearing the rise in your voice. 

“Already on it.” Jimin responds. 

“You said you don’t talk to Sia which is kinda weird seeing as you seem to know so much about what she likes.”

“You go through all of this instead of admitting you like me, Y/N?” Jungkook begins to laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You like me. You’re down bad for me just as I am for you.”

You roll your eyes at Jungkook’s words. 

“Stop avoiding what I said.”

“I’m not lying.” Jungkook retorts. “Can we admit you’re jealous of Sia-”

“Fuck you and her disrespectfully.” you bellowed, venom laced in your words. You’re even surprised at how it came out. 

Jungkook licks his lips. “I only talked to Sia that one time in the dining hall,” he admits. “I…I did lie about everything I told you she said. I never spoke to her after.”

You blink a few times, registering his words. 

“What?”

“I just wanted to hear you admit that you were jealous.” now that Jungkook hears himself, his plan sounded stupidly childish. “Admit that you like me-”

“Like you?” you scoff. “You met my parents.”

“Because you were hiding the fact that I wasn’t your boyfriend.” Jungkook shrugs. 

“At the time.” you tilt your head. “I’m with you all the time. I watch your nerdy movies-”

“And I watch your serial killer documentaries!” Jungkook defends. 

“Exactly.” you wave your hands around. “How could you think I don’t like you when we’re constantly together?”

Jungkook understands that you make valid points, but he was but a man and how was he supposed to feel? “I just want to hear you say it.” he shrugs his shoulders, unsure what else to say. “You only say it when I’m fucking you into oblivion-”

“Okay,” you lift your hand to pause his speech. “please don’t get ahead of yourself there.”

“Just say you like me.” Jungkook steps closer to you, reaching out for you. He has a small smile on his lips. “Just admit that you like me, baby. You’re so down bad for me that you somehow got Jimin to make me jealous of your fraudulent friendship.”

Jungkook’s holding you now, arms embracing you entirely. 

“What’s understood doesn’t need to be said.” you murmur, melting into his embrace. You inhale his scent, enjoying the freshly clean scent of his cologne.

“It does.” Jungkook kisses your forehead. He wonders if Jimin told you how he reacted over the phone when you called yourself his girl. It wouldn’t bother him because you know how he feels already.

You roll your eyes. “I…like you.” you say against his chest.

Jungkook pushes you back. “Excuse me?”

“I already said-”

“No, say it again. Without a dick in you-”

You slap his hand from your shoulders. “Oh wow, fuck you-”

“I will.” Jungkook nods erratically. “You can sit on my face until you’re shaking with pleasure, then I’ll fuck you until you’re begging-”

“I like you, Jungkook.” your body heats up at his words and of course, your legs clench for friction. It was as if you and he weren’t just in a disagreement not too long ago. “Ugh, I hate you.”  you murmur when you see the smirk forming on his lips. 

“Hate that you like me.” Jungkook squeals, far too giddy than he should be. “Take your clothes off, baby.”

“They don’t waste any time.” Jimin snorts, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

“Turn the T.V. up again. Jungkook’s about to fuck some more love confessions out of her.” Chaeyoung warns.

Jungkook’s nails dig into the skin of your thigh, gripping entirely too tight to fight off his nerves. His tongue laps your clit vigorously - with such need. It’s almost like it gave him pleasure by pleasuring you. 

Your hands wrap around the length of his cock, pumping up and down slowly - just because you want to tease him. His tongue laps even harder when you begin to pump faster, smothering himself against you. 

Jungkook groans, the vibration feeling against your clit. You allow the saliva to pool from your tongue and onto his clit, tightening your grip. You then decide to take him in your mouth, the salty taste of his pre-cum hitting your taste buds.You assure to add more saliva to jerk him while you suckle along the tip.

Jungkook’s hand rubs along your ass then upwards towards your back, He gently bites your thigh. “You’re so good, baby…”

Jungkook presses a kiss against your clit before he continues on his assault upon your clit. You want to tell him to stop - you were supposed to be pleasuring him, too, but Jungkook always made things harder. Naturally, Jungkook was competitive, and it was as if he was competing to see who would cum first.

And with the way Jungkook now adds his fingers, pumping entirely just as fast as his tongue suckles on your clit - you were going to lose.

You take Jungkook into your mouth fully, his tip hitting your throat. Jungkook twitches, and that’s when you know you had it. You lay your tongue flat, continuing to suck him fully. You were just as stubborn as Jungkook was, and now it was a game to see who was going to win - even if you’re certain you’d just become submissive like always and allow him to take control.

Jungkook’s groaning against your pussy now, trying everything in him to not lose (lose a battle that should have never started), but you were slurping him entirely too good for him to not want to.

“J-Just cum, already.” you cave, his cock popping out of your mouth, saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth. 

“You first.” Jungkook huffs. “Ride my face.”

“Fuck…you…” you groan, but you do as Jungkook asks. Your hips begin to roll, clit grinding against Jungkook’s tongue. 

Jungkook keeps his hands permanently on your ass, allowing you to take control of your orgasm. He’s satisfied that you’ve decided to cave, his competitive nature satisfied. Now, all you have to do is cum.

You bite your lip to suppress a loud moan - Jimin and Chaeyoung were just downstairs. But you were going to cum on Jungkook’s tongue like he intended, not understanding how you yet again lost the battle against Jeon Jungkook.

Fuck Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook moans against your clit, a low whine releasing from your sweet lips Your thighs are quivering as you are coming to your high, eyes fluttering close and your head hanging.

You fall against your bed with a sigh. You needed to catch your breath.

“My pretty girl.” Jungkook smiles down at you, now hovering above you. “Are you hungry?”

“Shut up.” you scoff. 

Jungkook’s smile doesn’t falter.

“I was watching porn earlier.” you began. “I want you to fuck my breasts.”

Jungkook chokes at your words, flushing red. “What-”

“Put your dick between my breasts,” you begin, speaking slowly. “and fuck them.”

Jungkook quickly nods, already feeling the familiar throb in his cock. 

“You’re so good for me, Y/N.” Jungkook speaks.

“Put it in my mouth first.” you instruct. “So it can be lubricated.”

Jungkook groans but nods. You suck on his cock for a moment before popping it out of your mouth. Jungkook then hovers above your breast, gulping.

Jungkook moans, pressing your breast together as he begins to thrust. Your tongue dips out so you could lick the tip of his tip each time he thrust forward. 

Both of Jungkook’s thumbs rub along your nipples, his thrusting becoming faster. You're so beautiful and Jungkook would never get tired of saying it. He’s never thought about fucking your breast, but now as he’s doing so, he can’t imagine not doing it again.

You had to admit watching Jungkook fuck your breast was hot - but that was also because Jungkook was hot. There’s sweat lining his forehead and his lips are forming a small ‘o’ shape. Maybe this is what Jungkook felt like when he was pleasuring you - it was because of you that Jungkook was appearing in pure ecstasy.

“You really do like me, baby.” chuckled Jungkook deeply. His fingers twist your nipples. “I can’t believe you’d thought I would ever be interested in that girl.”

You hum, glad that Jungkook didn’t say her name.

“You know you’re the only girl for me, baby.”

“You can cum in my mouth.” you moan, opening your mouth wider and poking your tongue out. 

Jungkook grumbles with a shake of his head. His thrusts become even faster, sloppier. His hands grip your breast entirely in his palms. “My pretty girl,” he pants. “so, so pretty. So good for m-me…” Jungkook’s voice cracks, twitching as he cums.

Jungkook’s cum hits your tongue - warm, salty and great. It’s an abundance, so much cum that a bit drips down your chin. You swallow, licking your lips.

Jungkook falls next to you, legs twitching with ecstasy. He swallows the lump in his throat. He brings you closer to him, kissing your lips entirely. 

“My pretty girl.”

“Ugh,” you groan. “I hate simps.”

Jungkook allows you to fall against his chest and it rumbles as he laughs.  “You’re so down bad for me, Y/N. It's so obvious now.” he teases. “I’ll fuck another confession out of you later.”

You slap his chest, but the throbbing between your legs is evident that you were anticipating his words to be true.

DRABBLE 2 | DRABBLE 3

[explorevenus]

doll parts ♡ leon kennedy x f!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 3.6k

description: leon may not take the best care of himself, but he certainly takes care of you. it's his favorite pastime.

tags/warnings: vendetta leon, established relationship, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dollification, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), mirror sex

a/n: this piece was commissioned by my lovely bestie @dollfacefantasy, who knows me so well in that she knew i was foaming at the mouth for an excuse to write dollification w leon >:3 AND it's based off of that one scene in euphoria where nate dresses cassie up LIKE GET OUTTA TOWNNNNN I WAS SO JUICED TO WRITE THIS !!!!!!!!!!!!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

You were mad. You were so mad, all the time lately, and you were past the point of wondering if you had any right to be. 

It was late, nearly half past midnight, the only sound in the dim house being the unrelenting patter of fat raindrops on the windows. Leon, too, was late, like he so often was. Of course, you weren’t allowed to complain or ask questions about his high paying job, or his whereabouts, or the secrecy, where all those injuries came from or why he didn’t return when he said he would for the hundredth time.

All your life, you thought relationships like this existed only in fiction, the trope of the distant workaholic who dismisses his partner’s concerns with nothing but his wallet and his sexual prowess, piling diamond encrusted bandages upon months worth of neglect, bottled up grievances and novels left unsaid. It was a concept confined to old movies and paperbound romances as far as you were concerned, before you met Leon.

You weren’t unreasonable, and you weren’t dumb. You had gathered that his mysterious government job really was important and strictly confidential, and you trusted that he was telling you as much of the truth as was permitted by the powers that be. You knew he cared about you, you knew he would rather be home with you than running around at the beck and call of the most powerful people in the country. You knew it was never his intention to hurt you.

But your awareness of his love for you didn’t make it any easier to swallow the unending cycle of broken promises, nor the visible deterioration of his mental and physical health while his ‘work trips’ became increasingly frequent until they all started to just blend together. 

You became numb to it after a while. It seemed selfish to demand his time and attention when he couldn’t help his circumstances. Even bringing it up made you feel like a monster, and it was all because you loved him so completely.

And you loved him so completely. You had seen him cry with laughter and sob with grief. You had seen him burn toast, fall asleep with the TV on, forget how to tie a tie, dread a mundane phone call, mumble to himself when he thought no one was listening. You knew his philosophies on life and love and death, you knew him heart and soul, and so too did he know you.

Thus, you just ate it, wore yourself down until you finally accepted that all those bottled up grievances, novels left unsaid and extravagant bribes were worth the privilege of being his lover.

Your eyes felt dry as you stared at the clock, counting in your tired mind exactly how many hours had passed since he was supposed to be home. It had been a long, rough day that would have been draining enough on its own, but the evening proved to disappoint even further. 

Leon heard about the karmic disaster that was your day through a handful of rant texts you’d sent over the course of it, each one more unfortunate than the last. Sympathetic to your senseless string of rotten luck, he promised to cut away from work an hour early to return home to you with your favorite dinner and enough doting on to make your teeth rot. He did not, of course, come home early, and not only that, but he didn’t come home at all, and you couldn’t get ahold of him.

If this wasn’t such a frequent occurrence, you might have been more worried about his safety, or even more angry at him for leaving you hanging on a day like this one, but you had become so familiar with this whole song and dance that your feelings around it were dulled.

You were just about to give up and go to bed when your phone lit up with a notification. Following the several undelivered texts you tried to send asking if he was okay, he’d given a simple response that you knew would redirect the course of your whole entire night.

Headed home in 15. Be in the dollhouse

You had long since garnered that the dollhouse was more for him than it was for you, even if he seemed to believe it was the other way around. It was nice to be pampered and doted on and styled like a Barbie, until it became a way for him to avoid talking to you about anything important. But that was neither here nor there. Dolls don’t talk, and they most certainly don’t complain.

With a deep, measured breath you exited the bedroom and turned down the hall, to what used to be a spare room but was now more aptly describable as a boudoir. The door creaked open to reveal the delicate, feminine space, heavy satin drapes blocking out any potential prying eyes. Between two solid oak wardrobes was an ornate standing mirror, the walk-in closet to the right overflowing with opulent clothing that hardly ever saw the light of day, just the familiar warmth of Leon’s cerulean eyes. 

At the other end of the room was an antique, three-mirror vanity, stocked carefully with luxury makeup, designer perfumes and every last tool one might need to style your hair, down to a box of satin ribbons in every color with which to tie it back. Leon was never one to do things half-way, and dolling you up was no exception.

Piece by piece, you stripped yourself of your clothes, hands moving as slowly and purposefully as his own would, as if by instinct. Just like a doll would be, you undressed to nothing but a pair of delicate lace panties, and you took your place at the vanity, your posture straight and your hands folded neatly in your lap.

All there was left to do now was wait for Leon, to stare at yourself blankly in the mirror and ruminate, to let your thoughts scream and echo around in your head until it would all collapse into silence, putting you in the proper headspace of an empty-headed little Barbie for Leon to play with.

You didn’t so much as flinch at the sound of the garage door opening, or move a muscle at all at the muffled thudding of his footsteps ascending the stairs. Your lips parted with a slow, deep breath, your posture straightening up one final time before the knob turned, and you watched the door open behind you through the reflection in the mirror.

He looked tired. To be candid, he looked like shit. It was evident he had left immediately from whatever dangerous, world-saving thing he was doing to rush home to you, not taking the time to change or freshen up.

Leon approached you gently, reaching over your shoulder to let his rough fingers cup your neck and throat, tilting your head up just enough to make you look at yourself, and to adjust your posture.

“Such a precious little doll, sitting so pretty for daddy,” He whispered, stooping down to plant a kiss at the crown of your head. His hands smelled like iron and gunpowder, and his breath smelled faintly of malted liquor poorly masked with mint. If only you could have confronted him about it. You just swallowed, staring straight ahead where he was directing your gaze.

Reaching over your shoulder, Leon’s steady hand plucked a detangling brush from the vanity, running his fingers through your hair carefully with his other hand. He felt through the length of your soft locks, mindful as always not to tug at any of the little knots he discovered here and there. Shortly after, he was running the brush through your hair with gentle veneration, delicate, even strokes that nearly threatened to put you to sleep.

Leon watched your expression in the mirror as your lashes fluttered, your head lolling back as if mindlessly chasing the attention. A low chuckle fell from his parted lips. “Feels good, huh? I’ll bet it does. Your hair is so messy, baby… You weren’t playing by yourself all day while daddy was gone, were you?”

He was teasing you. A subtle grin begged to tug at your lips, and you let it. Still, you were sure to shake your head ‘no’-- after all, you couldn’t have him thinking you had taken advantage of his extended absence to be naughty, even if you had been awfully tempted to. 

Carding his fingers through your freshly brushed hair, he hummed in mock consideration for a moment, like he couldn’t decide whether or not he believed you. Finally, he turned you around in your chair to face him, tilting your chin up so he could give you a kiss. “I know my baby would never. Always the perfect princess for me, even when I’m not always the perfect daddy.”

That last part came out a little quieter, like he was ashamed to even say it out loud, but somehow still, it was the loudest part to you. You softened.

He noticed, and he, too, softened. The tension in the air dissipated a bit– it was still somewhere around here, likely waiting right outside the door, but it was no longer actively present, at least. Leon gave you another sweet kiss, this one to your forehead, before gently correcting your posture again.

Pushing your hair back with a soft, fluffy headband, he opened up one of the drawers in the vanity and began to take a few things out. First, a light moisturizer, which he massaged into your skin with a jade roller that was cool to the touch and just as relaxing as always. Your moisturizer was followed by a gentle under-eye balm, a thin layer of primer and a hydrating lip oil.

The way he moved was so fluid, so methodical, like a conductor before an orchestra, and you were his masterpiece. In Leon’s eyes, you might as well have been carved out of the finest, most expensive marble, and you were to be treated no less delicately.

He stepped out just for a moment to wash his hands, a clean slate for the next step of the process, your makeup.

You honestly don’t know how he did it. Judging by some of the techniques and products he would use, you could only guess he must have been doing his research online or something, though where he found the time to do so was another question entirely. His lines weren’t always clean, his blending wasn’t always perfectly smooth, yet somehow you always still felt he’d managed to upstage you with the finished product– perhaps it was because he could see you in a way you couldn’t see yourself.

“Daddy?” You chanced a whisper, but he was quick to press a finger to the plush of your lips, ever so gently.

“Shh… Just sit nice and still for me, alright, sugar?”

You nodded, and he resumed his work with a careful touch.

Soft brushes and plush sponges worked their way around the surface of your face, applying shadow and powders and liner, with Leon holding his breath now and then to ensure a steady hand. Your cheeks were rouged, your lips were glossed, your lashes were carefully curled and it was all topped off with a cooling mist of setting spray and a gentle kiss to the forehead.

“There you are, hm? My beautiful baby dolly,” He mused, reaching forward to tilt your head up by your chin, then to the left, then to the right, checking over his handiwork from every angle. Adding a dash of blush to the tip of your nose, he deemed your makeup complete. “Just perfect.”

Slowly, Leon turned your chair around again, allowing you to look at yourself, and yeah. Wow.

You looked gorgeous, you were glowing even. All of your best features were adorned with purposeful swipes of blush, shade and highlight, your eyes dreamy and sweet, your skin smooth and radiant. He let you look at yourself for a moment, just admiring the expression of awe on you– you were always exceptionally stunning, of course, but you looked all the sweeter in these sacred moments in which you recognized your own beauty.

Leon rested one hand on your shoulder to recapture your attention, his other hand coming forward to stroke your cheek. Your long lashes fluttered as you met his eyes in the mirror, a silent signal that your focus had returned to him. Now the hand that caressed your cheekbone was coming forward to take your own. He helped you up from your seat at the vanity and across the room, to the plush chaise lounge in front of that standing mirror.

The room filled with the quiet noises of rummaging, Leon sifting through drawers and racks of hangers stuffed with what had to have been thousands of dollars worth of designer, a stark contrast to his own attire of largely plain black shirts and jeans that had seen better days.

But you were his princess. Leon was just Leon, and Leon couldn’t possibly deserve as much as a princess.

Turning over his shoulder, Leon approached you with a simple pair of white stockings in hand, sinking to his knees right before the chaise lounge to put them on you. Your ankle looked so slight and delicate in his strong hand as he lifted your leg, drawing a line of kisses up the inside of your calf to follow while he rolled the stocking up higher and higher, until the hem reached just above your knee.

He repeated the action with your other leg, the movement of his hands fluid and practiced, but his breaths were becoming shorter, his kisses a little wetter and needier on your skin. Your own breaths were quickly falling in sync with his own just by watching him dial in on your sex, his calloused hands propping your legs up onto his shoulders so he could shuffle closer.

Gripping you by the hips to angle you up to his liking, he buried his nose into the seat of your thin lace panties and breathed you in deep, as though he were starving for oxygen. The tip of his nose nuzzled forward to brush your panties aside, and just as soon as your slit was bared to him, his tongue was darting out to taste it.

He spread it flat in a slow, languid stripe from your weeping hole all the way to your throbbing clit, his lips closing around the little bundle of nerves to coax it from beneath its hood. You sucked in a breath, your manicured nails printing into the lush material of the furniture you were perched on, trying as hard as you could to keep quiet and still, to allow him to guide you, to play with you as he so desired. Luckily, he wasn’t in too stern of a mood this evening anyway– you weren’t likely to be reprimanded for small errors like that, especially not while he was otherwise occupied.

“Fuck,” He growled lowly into your cunt, leaving white prints where he gripped your pillowy thighs just to ground himself. You could feel his body growing warm as he lost himself in you, lapping up every drop of your arousal with greed. For just a moment, his dilated, denim eyes flicked up to look at you, his rosy cheeks gently squished between your quaking thighs as he puffed out, “Just look at you, my dolly… Daddy’s favorite little toy…”

Your eyes screwed shut with pleasure as his hot mouth met your center again, and when they fluttered open, you caught sight of it all in the mirror. It nearly knocked the wind out of you.

Your dainty legs spread out over your gruff boyfriend’s broad shoulders, adorned in delicate white stockings that looked pure and bright against his tight black t-shirt; his sandy blonde hair damp and messy as he wedged himself between your thighs and drank from you like a fountain; your hair and makeup fit for a gala as your expression contorted with rapture… it could have been an oil painting.

Every swipe of his tongue up the length of you, every flutter along your swollen bud, every deep, wanton, needy groan had your eyes rolling back in your head, your thighs trembling and tightening around his jaw. Every inch of you felt featherlight with electricity as he worked his magic on you, more than capable of making you cum in three minutes flat, but opting not to for the fun of it.

Not that you were complaining. At times he could get carried away in his teasing, but tonight was not one of those nights. Leon wasn’t going to waste your time dangling you over the edge much longer than was strictly necessary. As soon as he noticed you were having trouble sitting still, quiet whines and sighs of pleasure occasionally slipping out from between your glossy lips, he knew it would be unfair to string you along any further.

Leon was practically making out with your folds, the room quiet aside from the slick sounds and lustful whimpers that accompanied his dining of you. Soon it was joined with the low, husky timbre of his voice as he groaned into you, “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna make a pretty mess all over daddy’s face?”

In all honesty, you barely registered his words, but all it ever took to get you nodding like a bobblehead was that upward lilt in his tone that indicated he was asking you something. That was all you needed to know that the correct answer was yes.

Smirking briefly to himself as he witnessed your eager and rapt approval, he doubled the intensity of his efforts, his hands wrenching tight into your thighs to pull you flush against his face, but more importantly, to keep you from wriggling away. He didn’t bother to shush you when a shocked yelp bubbled out of you, your body jerking in response to the added stimulation. After all, it was the response he was expecting, and the response he yearned for.

Your shaking hands darted forward to claw at his hair, half-lidded eyes catching your reflection in the mirror once more. Your skin was warm, your breasts heaving as your spine drew into a fine arch and your lips parted to gasp in all the oxygen you could get to your dizzy brain, heels digging into the prominent muscles in his back. He felt every quiver and twitch of your muscles and it only spurred him on. He ate you up like you were his last meal.

Your vision went white as your climax crashed over you hard– the sounds he made were obscene, a satisfied groan vibrating from deep in his chest at the syrupy sweet taste of your arousal. It was an essence he couldn’t possibly get enough of.

As you laid there panting, your legs shaking after the tension in them released, Leon’s eyes dragged up the length of your body with pride. He carefully pulled your panties back into place with a sweet kiss to the bow in the center of them and an affectionate pat to the thigh. 

“There’s a good girl,” He hummed, crawling up from between your legs to kiss you, his mouth still warm and slightly slick with your own spend. “A perfect little doll. All I have to do is pull the right strings to get you to sing for me, huh, princess?”

Once more, you nodded, eyes fluttering shut just for a moment as he kissed your forehead. Then, he stood to his full height again, one hand taking yours and the other steadying you by the dip of your waist as he raised you up to join him, wobbly knees be damned. After all, he wasn’t finished playing dress-up yet. He took a moment to ensure you had regained your balance enough to be able to stand without assistance before opening up one of the wardrobes in search of the remainder of your outfit.

Moments like these only piqued your curiosity in terms of how his brain worked. Sure, you’d been dating for a long time and it was safe to say you knew him quite well, but his penchant for compartmentalization never ceased to astound you. He possessed the sometimes frightening ability to just switch his brain from one mode to the next.

You were brought back to reality once more by the feeling of his lips on your neck. He murmured into your ear, “Arms up, darlin’,” and he barely even finished saying it before you were complying.

You lifted your arms, and he slipped a new dress over your head. There it was, the compensation for being home late, for dropping off the face of the Earth again. The dress was flattering and soft, a delicate blush pink color with embroidered details along the bust and white lace hemming. He drew up the zipper without resistance, and as it reached its apex, the fabric hugged your form perfectly, as though the garment itself was made with you in mind.

Leon kneeled down to straighten out your stockings, and then the skirt of your dress, his eyes scanning over you meticulously in search of any little imperfections that might need fixing. Finding none, he wandered over to where he’d left his jacket, fishing a baby blue box out of the pocket. You had become quite familiar with that blue lately– Tiffany.

Nestled in the slender box was a dainty diamond necklace that now rested right at your collarbones, the clasp in the back secured with a smooch. He carded his fingers through your hair one last time before turning you around to look at yourself in the mirror, his hands rested on your hips, head stooped low to smother the crook of your throat in kisses.

“What do you think?” He whispered in your ear, nibbling gently at the shell.

“Beautiful,” You replied just as quietly, “Thank you, daddy.”

[mochinomnoms]

Thinking about the Tweels parents reacted to them bringing home a partner, think of how excited mama Ashengrotto will be when Azul brings home his mate. After seeing Azul alone, depressed, and self-loathing for so many years, seeing him have the confidence to bring home his mate. If he is in his Merform she is even more thrilled. When she sees them comfort and hug him and allows Azul to cling to them she may faint. If/when they get married, you know she is throwing the biggest wedding reception in her restaurant. Yuu’s dress or tux, completely covered no matter the cost, all food, covered. She is just happy that her son found someone and Mr. Ashengrotto has to hold her back and keep her from squeezing Yuu to tight out of joy. She would also drop hints that she would be a great grandma and show you how cute Azul was in all his baby pictures.

Azul would probably die of embarrassment when his mom shows baby pictures and when they are finally alone (thanks to Azul’s Stepdad reminding her she has a Business to take care of) he finally relents:

“I’m sorry, she is just excited to meet you,” Azul has yuu curled in his many arms inside his octopot.

“Is she the reason you waited so long to introduce me to your parents?”

“Yes… also she has three books full of photos hidden in the house I can’t find and my step-father won’t tell me where they are. They just appear when guest come over and disappear when I try to burn them later.”

“Well, we are meeting your Grandma tomorrow so things should be better there!”

Azul groaned.

“More picture books?”

“Six books. I have no clue how she got half of those photos, I think she hired the tweels behind my back!”

She's so happy upon learning about Azul's partner. Ms Iris Ashengrotto is a sweet woman whose restaurant started from the bottom to become a renounced, exclusive dining experience that only the most wealthy, prim and proper folks under the sea could have the privilege of eating. It's why the Ashengrottos and the Leech family have worked together for so long, it makes a fine establishment for their… “business” deals. She's what we would equate to Gordon Ramsay, really: no-nonsense, with strict and high expectations in her kitchen. Similarly, she is oh so sweet with children, her own especially.

So it was a pain to watch Azul grow up so lonely, though she could never get him to tell her why. Iris assumed that it was due to bullying, most merfolk are not kind to cecaelias, but she couldn't go off and scare random children into not interacting with her son. Nor could she talk to their parents without knowing for sure if that was the case, or if her son was just naturally shy. It didn't help her worries when her son got skinner and skinner, thinking she didn't notice him look at his body in the mirror as he poked and prodded at what little fat remained on him.

She took comfort when the Leech parents sent their twins off to keep Azul company, though he didn't seem to warm up to them for quite some time. Even when he went to NRC with the twins, opening his own establishment, Iris was still concerned about him making friends. It's why she was so pleasantly surprised to hear from her son during his second year about his partner. He's shyly gushing about you to him, a magicless human that slithered their way into his locked up heart. With the way he describes you, like you hung the moon and starts, she's already planning a wedding in her head.

It takes some nudging after that to get him to bring you for a visit, but he eventually did over the summer break. Oh, she was delighted to see his limbs unconsciously curl around you, holding you close as you curled into him yourself. You were so cute! A sweetheart! A delight! A perfect child-in-law! Azul, please forgive her if she starts sobbing, but how else is a mother supposed to react when she sees her child gaze at someone with so much love in their heart?

The first day she's monopolized your time, feeding you and Azul all sorts of food and snacks, offhandedly mentioning that the two of you would have to fatten up a bit to give her health grandchildren. She had to withhold a laugh at Azul's mortified expression. Iris has several albums of baby and childhood pictures, eager to coo over how cute and chubby Azul was as a baby. Her son is sulking at the other end of the couch, but he still has a tentacle curled around your ankle, never leaving you for long.

It's when she's hiding away her album (one of three, Azul's destroyed many be she always has spares), that she overhears your conversation. Iris had stopped by his bedroom to let you two know that she needed to return to the restaurant, but instead quietly delighted at the sight of you two in his octopot. A cecaelia's octopot, hiding place, is a very private and intimate place. So seeing you, cradled in Azul's lap, as his many arms hold you close to him, makes her heart swell.

She decides to leave you two alone, taking one last peek as you giggle at a pouting Azul, before sharing a soft kiss. Iris is smiling at the sight, sighing as she can finally relax, knowing her son is going to be taken care of.

[moonchildstyles]

hiii i was wondering if you would write a blurb about vamp h taking care of a drunk y/n lol i think it’d be awfully cute omg or a girls night out (+ one vampire) and he’s like trailing after her trying to keep her out of trouble

wordcount: 3.9k+

—————

"Darling, are you certain you are not going to be cold?" 

Twisting and turning in the mirror, her dress ruched over her body in tight folds, it took all of (Y/N)'s effort to keep her smile at bay. "I'm sure I'll be fine, H. It's not that cold out, and we won't be spending much time outside anyway." 

It was clear he still wasn't pleased at her answer with the way he folded his arms across his chest and set his mouth in a grim line. (Y/N) had to bite back her smile lest he see her amusement from where he was leaning against the doorframe to her closet. He hadn't moved much from where he'd started the night watching her try on practically every outfit she had stuffed into both their wardrobe and closet. 

She could feel his eyes on her as she smoothed her dress over her thighs, pulling down the hem another inch before ruching it back up. Counting down in her head, she had to keep herself from laughing when he followed the same pattern he'd curated for the past ten minutes.

"What if you fall ill? Or the weather changes while we're out? Y'could freeze before I have a chance to warm you."

This time, she couldn't stop the laugh from falling from her lips. She stopped her assessment in the mirror, turning to Harry with her amusement clear on her features and a cant of her head.

"H, c'mon."

His own expression tightened, his stubborn streak peeking out. "Come on, what?"

Stepping towards him on bare feet, (Y/N) peered up at him. "I know you think humans can't handle anything, but, honestly, do you really think it's that easy for me to get sick or freeze to death?"

They both knew well that Harry had done his share of research when it came to anything human. Especially after bonding and ensuring (Y/N) wanted to be at his side for their forever, he'd deep dived into anything and everything human to refresh his knowledge and become the most perfect beloved he could be—including knowing just how to take care of her. He knew better than to assume she would drop dead after a gust of wind. 

Despite the stubborn line of his jaw, he relented, "No." 

"Then, why are you so nervous about tonight?" she crooned, wrapping her arms around his middle with her chin set on his chest. 

His palms ghosted down her back, leaving a chilled trail just barely felt through the fabric of her dress, until he stopped at the bottom of her spine. His touch was delicate. She could see the whole of him softening the longer she looked up at him. 

"You know I worry about you," he murmured, "Anything is possible when it comes to humans. I dread testing the limits when it comes to you." 

As much as she teased him and found his concern over something as simple as a breeze something to laugh over, the root of it all was something that had her softening. It was hard not to hear his words and grow tender. 

"I promise I'm going to be okay, Harry," she told him, "I'm going to bring a jacket, and you're meeting us after dinner, anyway. If I feel like I need more than my jacket I can text you and let you know." 

Though she knew he would never be one hundred percent pleased with her answer unless it was her layering up with all dangers padlocked away from her, this seemed to be enough for him as he sucked in an unnecessary breath. 

"I suppose that will work," he sighed, overdramatic as always, "You are rather strong." 

Stretching to the tips of her toes, (Y/N) pecked a quick kiss to the soft of Harry's lip. "I promise I'll be okay. Thank you for worrying about me, though." 

He chased after her when she pulled away, craning his neck to steal one more kiss before she landed on the flat of her feet once more. "'S a privilege, m'love." 

It was poetry like that that almost had her agreeing to wrap up in layers and layers complete with a shell of bubble wrap before she left the house. 

————— 

Harry couldn't keep the frown from his face as he parked across the street from the nightclub he was meeting (Y/N) and her friends at. He'd never been to an establishment like this before (minus blood clubs but that was an entirely different concept that appealed to his more baser needs, so it didn't count), and, judging by the specimens he could see pouring in and out, he would have liked to keep it that way.

But, this was where (Y/N) had asked him to meet her and there was no way he was going to let her down. 

He was just going to have to hold his breath, he decided. Before setting foot inside, he was sure he would not be a fan of the scents perfuming the building. 

It would only be a few hours, he reminded himself as he stepped out of his car. Hours like this were a minute compared to the eternity of his existence. He could handle tonight without a doubt.

The slight breeze in the air (he didn't even want to think about (Y/N)'s bare legs enduring this wind) pushed open the unbuttoned lapels of his shirt. He hadn't been sure what he should wear for the night, but he took some cues from (Y/N)'s dress and heels when he decided to pull a shimmering satin piece from the wardrobe and fitted black trousers. Looking at the young men walking in and stumbling out of the nightclub, he wondered if they were underdressed or if he was overdressed. 

That concern didn't last long, though, pushed aside once he heard a familiar peal of laughter pouring out of the swinging door of the nightclub. What he was wearing was pushed to the back of his mind then, his priority shifting. He needed to get inside and ensure (Y/N) was alright just like she had promised. 

Making it to the entrance of the nightclub, Harry was stopped by a man tucked away in a cubby by the door. He was dressed in all black, a bored expression on his face when Harry approached. 

"Hey, how are you?" the man asked, barely looking at Harry as he spoke. 

A furrow pinched Harry's brow. "I am well, thank you." 

At his abrupt tone, the man finally chanced a look at Harry. He lingered for only a moment on his stern expression before seemingly shaking it off. "That's great, man. Can I see your ID?" 

The man set his hand out, palm up in expectation. The knit in Harry's brows tightened that much more at the ask. This never happened at the blood clubs from what he could remember; why did it matter who he was before stepping inside? 

Nonetheless, he pulled out the (forged) ID out of his wallet, passing it off to the man with a quick flash of his hand. The man barely glanced at the piece of plastic before he flicked his eyes back up to Harry with a slight smile curling his lips. 

"So, you're Harry," the man pointed out, passing back Harry's ID. 

Pocketing it, Harry wasn't sure what this man was trying to get at, but answered him nonetheless, "Yes. That's me. Why?" 

The man shook his head, a small laugh falling from his lips before he stepped away from the door. "Nothing. Your girlfriend just made sure to let everyone know you were coming tonight. She'll be excited to see you."

Mumbling a thank you to the man, Harry stepped around him and entered the nightclub. While it was a sweet thought that (Y/N) had boasted about him to the nightclub staff, he wasn't sure why she would go through all of the trouble. It wasn't like her to bubble off to strangers. 

The lights were off, leaving the bar lining the back of the space with only a dim glow for the tenders to work by. The main floor, full of people dancing (at least that's what he thought that was what they were doing. Harry couldn't be sure, and he truthfully didn't want to look close enough to find out) was the darkest space with only pumping strobes and multicolored spotlights to be the only guides. Here and there were tall tables stationed by the bar and rounded booths tucked into the walls, no seat left unclaimed despite the busy dance floor. Scanning his eyes over the packed bodies, Harry searched for a familiar dress or the peak of a familiar scent, hoping to find (Y/N) somewhere. 

His hunt didn't take long, finding (Y/N) with a few other girls he was familiar with only through photos on the far edge of the dancing crowd. He was only able to catch a view of her profile, where she had a lazy smile on her lips and her lashes sitting half lidded over her eyes. There was a cup in her hand, the neon liquid almost empty between shards of ice, though she still managed to slosh it almost to the edge with every uncoordinated sway of her body. 

Harry didn't waste any time before he was meandering his way through the throng of bodies, keeping his breath stilted so as to not bother his senses with the scent of so many others that were not his beloved. It was bad enough he felt the heat of their bodies and the unnecessary brushes against him, he didn't want anything more from him to invade his senses. 

Just as he hit the edges of their little group, (Y/N) stumbled on her heels, her features falling. In a rush, Harry was at her side, saving her balance and settling her back on her feet. A bewildered expression crossed her face, one he was sure matched her friends who all had eyes on him as well. Though the second she recognized his chilled touch and the familiar hands wrapped around her arms, she loosened back into her oblivious state. 

"Harry!" she cheered, completely forgetting about her almost finished drink when she twirled on her feet and threw her arms around his shoulders, "You're here!" 

His bunched muscles finally relaxed, allowing him to reciprocate her hug. Dipping his head down, his cheek pressed to hers with his lips by her ear, he murmured, "'M here, love. Are y'alright?" 

"Yeah, why?" she bubbled, seemingly having wiped the stumble right out of her mind already.

It didn't take Harry's extra senses to notice the vodka on her breath, though he was sure he was the only one that could notice the sharp edge added to her scent from the alcohol. With how saturated it was, she hadn't just started her night at the club. That would at least explain why she had made sure to alert the man out front that her boyfriend (a silly title, but cute nonetheless) was on his way.

"No reason," he smiled, dropping his hands to sit on her waist, "Are y'having fun?" 

"I am! I'm so happy you're here now! I've been telling everyone that you were coming, and now you're here!" 

The glaze over her eyes was enough to draw Harry in, his lips curling into an amused smile. He'd never seen her anything past a bit tipsy. Drunk (Y/N) was a person he'd never met before.

Before he had a chance to offer any kind of response, using a surprising amount of her strength given her state, she pulled him along before presenting him to her friends. 

"Guys!" she bubbled, catching the attention of the rest of the women, "Look who's here!" 

One of the women looked decidedly more sober than the rest, though Harry could smell a tint of alcohol on her as well. She was the first to step forward, giving a small smile. 

"Harry, right?" she said, the ends of her short blonde hair dusting her collarbones, "(Y/N)'s been so excited to see you tonight." 

"As I've learned," he laughed, offering a hand out for her to shake, "And you are?" 

"Oh, I'm Charlotte! It's nice to meet you!" 

At that, the surrounding group made their own introductions with (Y/N) clinging to his side. He dedicated each name to memory, hoping that would help him pass the test that he was surely going through that night. Meeting her friends had been foiled before with the changes in weather keeping him stuck inside, or his insistence that (Y/N) live her life outside of him lest she feel trapped in the manor at his side. Tonight had been the first time everything had fallen into place: a girls' night with an open invitation after dinner. 

Shifting his arm around her shoulders, Harry pulled (Y/N) to his side as he guided her out of the way of those still dancing behind them. His features set pleasantly neutral, he looked towards Charlotte first. 

"(Y/N) told me your significant others might also be joining us tonight," he drawled, his version of asking of their whereabouts as he seemed to be the only boyfriend having shown up so far. 

"I'm not sure, actually," Charlotte mused, the evidence of her own drinking beginning to show. "I know my boyfriend will be here to pick me up later, but I haven't really heard anything about the other girls’. It might just be you, if that's okay." 

Feeling eyes on him, Harry glanced down at his side to see (Y/N) still gazing up at him with a dreamy smile on her lips. He hoped he didn't come off as rude when the sight distracted him as Charlotte spoke, taking a beat to reciprocate her look and keep her snug to his side. 

"I am okay with that. I hope 'm not intruding on your night then," Harry charmed, shooting his gaze around the room in search of a vacant booth or barstool, "Perhaps, I can find a free spot and let you all have fun without me interrupting." 

"No," (Y/N) piped up, "You have to stay with us now! I don't want you to go."

Her words are slightly slurred but her passion was clear enough. He didn't bother to look at what the rest of the women had to say, only worrying about  keeping the smile on his beloved face. "Okay, then I will stay, love. I will still try to find a table, though, so y'can sit with me for a little."

She was more than quelled by his answer, her body pliant against his own as if she were already ready for him to drag her wherever he wanted. 

"I don't know if anything is going to be open," Charlotte interjected, having heard his proposal over the music, "I've been hoping someone would move, but they've all been taken since we got here." 

"I'm sure I can make something work," Harry smiled, already spotting a booth he would prefer over the others, "We'll be right back." 

As soon as Harry stepped out of the small circle formed by their group with (Y/N) on his arm, it was closed up once more, though he could feel eyes pasted to his back watching where they went. Aware of her stumbling steps at his side, Harry took it slow as he escorted her towards a booth situated in the back corner, just out of view of the others. 

"I think people have—hic—they're already sitting there, H," (Y/N) murmured. 

"'S alright," he answered, tightening his hold on her hand, "I think they're about to leave." 

He didn't waste any time in reaching the group, a charming smile on his lips when he picked out the leader. An underdressed (in Harry's opinion) blonde man with a drink in hand seemed to be the center of attention, the first one to acknowledge Harry approaching. 

Before he could utter any kind of greeting, Harry took over the situation. "Hello," he smiled, "M'girlfriend and her friends would like to sit here, please." 

The man looked bewildered for a moment, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "Um—I'm sorry, but—" 

"No need to be sorry," Harry cut him off, voice taking on a quality he didn't utilize very often, but this was a special occasion, "You can find another space. Right?" 

As soon as the man met his eyes, Harry could tell the effects he wanted were taking place. It was all within the span of a heartbeat that this man took Harry's words as his own idea and nodded his head. 

"Yeah, we can find another spot," he relented, a faux cheer to his voice as he beckoned his friends to follow him out, "C'mon, guys, let's try the bar." 

There were a few questioning glances thrown to both the man as well as Harry, but no one questioned. Instead they only murmured amongst themselves as they followed their leader towards the bartop. As he led her into the now free vinyl seating, (Y/N) was one of the few that had a question in her eyes and pinch in her brows. 

"How did you do that?" she asked, her voice low under the music but still audible to Harry's ears, "Is that a vampire thing?" 

A breath of laughter fell from his lips at her words. "A little bit, yes. I don't like to do it often, but I want to make sure y'have somewhere to sit and relax while I get y'some water." 

"You're getting me water?" she questioned, thoroughly distracted at his new offer as if she didn't have a cup of half melted ice in her hand. 

"Mhm," he hummed, releasing her hand once she had tucked herself into the corner of the booth, "After I grab your friends, 'm getting y'some water before y'have any more fun." 

With the way she was looking at him, he would have figured he had proposed and offered diamonds and jewels to her, and not just a glass of water from the bar. This night was already going better than he'd thought. 

—————

"Did you guys know that Harry's a painter?! Like, he does huge murals and things all over the house! He's amazing." 

Only Charlotte seemed to catch (Y/N) words—the same declaration she had cheered about only ten minutes prior. She and Harry exchanged a small glance while the rest of the table treated this as new information. 

It'd been a long time since Harry had drank, and even longer since he'd been intoxicated to (Y/N)'s degree. Was short term memory something that was now lost when mixed with spirits, or was that just her? 

"Do you really?!" one of (Y/N)'s friends (Cecilia, maybe?) bubbled, her cup of ice water cradled in her hands as she leant over the table with wide eyes, "What kind of stuff do you paint?" 

"A little bit of everything," Harry answered, just as he had the last time a similar question was posed, "M'style has changed a lot over the last year or so. I can show you all some time if you'd like—'m sure (Y/N) would love to have you over to the manor." 

Even Charlotte perked up at this offer, looking to (Y/N) for confirmation. "That would be so much fun, (Y/N)! We could do that the next time we get together!" 

At that, Harry sat back while the chattering arose amongst the group. Under the table, his hand rested on (Y/N)'s thigh, the warmth of her skin anchoring him through the pumping music, strobing lights, and unfamiliar smells surrounding him. As much as he was aiming to leave a good first impression on her friends, he was still very much out of his element in the nightclub. He hoped (Y/N) would call for him to take her home sooner rather than later. 

As if she knew he had her on his mind, (Y/N) leant into his side, looking up at him with a toothy grin and affectionate eyes. The chattering was going strong on the other side of the table, the conversation sounding as if the women were making plans for their next outing together—one that would take place at the manor with bottles of wine and movies. 

"You'd really be alright with everyone coming over?" (Y/N) asked, moony eyes trained on his face. 

"Of course," he answered, a smile landing on his face on instinct, "It is your home too, petal. Y'can have your friends over as well—'s not jus' Mitch and Niall that are allowed over."

She curled into his side, her thigh under the table practically draped over his own. "Do you think Sarah would want to hang out with us?" 

The thought of Sarah playing around with a bunch of human girls was more amusing than he thought it would be. He wondered if that was how she and Mitch felt when they realized he was courting a human girl. 

"She might," he told her, keeping his amusement to himself, "I can ask for you." 

In an impossible feat, (Y/N) looked that much more in love with him at his offer. As much as he missed her regular scent without the sticky edge of alcohol, he did like just how tender she became—adoring his every and any move. 

"That would be so nice, H. Thank you," she told him earnestly, her hand coming to rest on his middle with his shirt in her grip, "You're the best ever, you know that?" 

"I have been told as much a few times." All by her, but that was a detail that he would leave out for the moment.

"Well," she pouted, "It's true. I'm so happy you came tonight. I think the girls really like you, too." 

"Yeah?" he smiled, hoping it was more than just her drunken tongue making the claim. 

"Mhm," she hummed, stretching to rest her head on his shoulder with a squeeze of her hand over his shoulder, "You're better than all of their boyfriends." 

At that, Harry couldn't help but to release the laugh building in his chest. While he understood the sentiment, that wasn't quite the impact he was going for. 

"You think so?" Harry questioned, unable to wipe his amusement from his voice. 

(Y/N) didn't seem to notice—or, most likely, care—responding with a definitive nod. "I know so." 

Another breathy laugh left his lips as he ducked his head, burying his nose in her hair. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Charlotte glancing their way; an adoring smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when she saw the way her friend clung to him. 

Taking in a lungful of (Y/N)'s scent, Harry decided that nightclubs weren't so bad. 

At least when (Y/N) was there.  

“Wait, (Y/N),” Cecilia babbled, a look of urgency on her face, “You said he cooks, right? You cook right?” 

Her attention was splashed over Harry then, forcing him to draw away from (Y/N)’s hair. Clearing his throat under the music, he nodded his head. “I do, yes.” 

A squeal fell from her lips with her companions being just as excited. “Would you make us food when we come over? (Y/N) says you’re so good!” 

Just as (Y/N) perked up at his side, turning her wide eyes on him, Harry stifled his own laugh. God, how he wished he had been a fly on the wall while she apparently spouted off all these facts about him—the ones reserved for her. 

“If you’d like.”

Just as he expected, more noise erupted from the table.

—————

thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please send in any fun ideas or requests you have!!

[killuintense]

olá!, gostaria de fazer um pedido, onde leon e o leitor estão em um momento íntimo +18 e o leitor acaba esguichando nele 👉👈(se puder, pois o leitor é mais novo que o leon) ♡🧸

❝ delicious ❞

leon kennedy x fem!reader.

summary: Leon didn't let you forget how skilled he was with his fingers.

content: 1.4k words smut, p in v, unprotected sex, age gap, fem squirt, degradation kink, worship, also sweet Leon, little fluff, needy dom Leon.

note: it is the first time that i write about squirts and i found it very fun and interesting to do it! i hope i have described it as accurately as possible, it really is a difficult feeling to explain, haha. anyway, i hope you liked it, sweetheart, thanks for trusting me ♡

It was supposed to be a quiet and cozy evening, you spoiling Leon and relaxing with him in bed while you watched movies and pampered each other. That's what you thought it would be but now you were writhing on the bed with tears in your eyes threatening to come out as Leon rubbed your swollen clit over and over again with his fingers wet with your fluids, while his cock moved lazily inside you, as if he wanted to stimulate you little by little but with the struggle of not wanting to come inside you. He had cum in you seconds before and you joined him, leaving his back completely red from the scratches. And you didn't know if it was because of the distance that had passed during those weeks where he had had to attend to work matters, but he refused to come out of you claiming that he needed to feel you until he got tired.

And he was getting what he wanted, getting rock hard inside you again as the seconds ticked by. Wasn't he content to give you an orgasm so strong it left you in a feverish state, almost fainting? Apparently not, and now the wet sounds were a little more intense, needing to move a little deeper but not ramming you with the force of a few minutes before. "Leon, f-for God's sake stop" your voice sounded broken and shaky, and your eyes were wet and watery, whimpering as best you could when he brought one of his large hands to your sensitive neck, squeezing firmly but not quite suffocating you.

"Sh..." he hissed, licking his lips as his fingers made increasingly frantic movements on your swollen core. He was too self-absorbed watching you squirm and squeezing it so hard that he felt privileged to have your walls smothering his cock with such vigor. He loved how, in desperation of not knowing what to do with so much pleasure, you brought your hands to your tits and squeezed them, mistreating your hard, red nipples from so much groping. "Why are you asking me to stop, fuck" he gave a loud lunge, almost growling, opening you wider "You're moaning like a fucking bitch in heat and you want me to stop, damn it, you punish me" the growl turned to a laugh when he felt you shaking harder than usual.

And is that... you could feel the tip of his cock hit you in that very specific spot with such precision, feeling your juices mixing with his cum still inside you. Fuck, you felt it still hot, dripping and leaking out of you every time he gently pulled out and pushed back in. Leon took his hand off your neck to grab one of your thighs and place it on his shoulder, pulling out completely and back in again; almost feeling addicted to watching his cum dripping out of your pussy and helping the thick sound become more constant.

"Leon!" you sobbed, begging him for mercy "Fuck, stop!" you curved your back throwing your head back, soon you felt your gaze cloud over. It was... different. Different in so many ways that you were scared, almost as if you wanted to stop everything and go to the bathroom to see what the fuck was going on, because that wasn't an orgasm like any other. And, while Leon had made you cum in so many ways you lost count, the tingling sensation and total tightness in your belly was different, as if something more was coming out than just that clear liquid you denoted every time you cum around Leon. Each time Leon came and came harder and harder, more liquid came out of you. "Love, this is different..." your cheeks were hot like never before and totally stained by your tears "It feels weird, please..." your dry mouth and chest rising and falling from your irregular breathing.

"Let it go, princess" he kissed your thigh, biting it gently and sucking without any kindness "Trust me, it will feel good..." he gasped, his pelvis moving harder, moving out and in, his fingers now defiling not only your clitoris but your pussy completely, running his fingers along your lower lips, going up and down. However, that last movement spelled your doom, as he pulled out of you and without much effort, slipped back in, causing a weeping, dripping head to impact your sweet spot.

Your legs trembled, your voice went away for a few seconds and you let yourself go without thinking that you would completely wet the sheets with that deep orgasm that felt like a beating in your whole organism. Everything was spinning around you, making it hard for you to regain consciousness and yet, despite everything, you did not stop feeling that sensation of fullness that having Leon inside you gave you... you'd be lying if you said you hadn't fantasized about having him inside you forever, and at times like that you could almost be sure you recognized every protruding vein on his fucking cock.

It took you a few minutes to come back to yourself, and when you did you lifted your body, propping yourself up as best you could on your elbows, seeing the large wet spot on the sheets. Leon's thighs were wet and so were yours. What the fuck had happened and how did you manage to come so far with your orgasm...?

"Feeling better?" the sweet voice of Leon woke you from your little dream, making you look at him pitifully, stammering apologies not knowing what else to say. You had soaked him completely "I had to stop because I was going to cum so much that it was going to be twice as hard for you to clean yourself afterwards" he confessed, kissing your thigh still on his shoulder as he caressed it. You hadn't realized how scarred he had left it with his wet bites and hickeys, you couldn't even feel your legs in fact. "Don't apologize, love. I'm flattered to have provoked your first squirt in fact" he mentioned with that arrogant but deep tone, typical of him. You hadn't even understood what he meant, because your head was still spinning. You almost felt sorry when it came out, still hard as if all that hadn't been enough. You thought the weirdness of the situation would make the excitement disappear from his body immediately, but he seemed just as hard as before, if not harder.

"Damn..." you threw yourself back on the bed, closing your eyes "I'm all yours, Leon, please do whatever you want. You deserve it" you laughed, still feeling your mouth dry and your cheeks dripping. He seemed to laugh, almost like an excited child about to use his favorite toy.

"You have no idea how hot your pussy makes me, you are delicious. If I wasn't so tired I swear I'd eat you out" a mischievous chuckle broke out, and you chuckled to yourself. You would never have thought that this man ten years older than you would have so much energy in bed, much more than you -just entering the young-adult world- would have. But when it came to your body he seemed to go completely out of control, almost animalistic.

Soon he gathered your wet thighs together and wedged his member between them, beginning to masturbate between them, smothering his red, weeping cock with precum as the wetness of your cum helped him slide better between them "Fuck, fuck, fuck" he moaned, and the thought of him getting so aroused using you as his plaything, you totally pounded by the orgasm, produced your body to heat up again. You had no rest "Always wanting me to use you, to fuck you so hard, don't you?" he gave two more thrusts and strips and strips of dripping, hot cum trickled down to your belly and, most of all, completely stained your thighs. Leon melted into his orgasm and allowed himself to fall on top of you, blessing you with his 70 pounds of muscle and heat crushing you sweetly.

"I'm all dirty and yet you want to kiss me" he laughed along with you when he heard that, kissing your neck as soon as he could and moving with soft caresses from his mouth to your lips, sucking them with devotion.

"This is the part I like the most" he declared, watching you raise an eyebrow; he had literally ground you up and fucked the shit out of you with the previous fuck like an animal and that was his favorite moment. Crazy fucker. But... that was what you liked most about him, after all "Let me know when you're better, love, and I'll run you a warm bath" he left a soft kiss on your cheek and sunk his face into the beginning of your breasts, making you laugh.

Truly Leon Kennedy was a basket case when it came to having you all to himself.

[wonderlandwalker]

Trying to Forget | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Part 2 of Remember. Finnick is trying to make peace with simply being your friend, because he thinks that is better than not getting to see you at all, but he might be proven painfully wrong. Find part 3 here

Content Warnings/Tags: Memory loss, insinuations of smut, angst, foreshadowing

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I have seen all your requests so here it is, part 2 of Remember. Happy ending is unfortunately not part of my vocabulary so this will have to do. I want to write more as a continuation of this but I have a big exam coming up so unless someone wants to take that for me I might have to take a break for a little bit

He still wasn't used to it, to see you there, to see you sitting next to your friends and how he had to join them as if that’s all he was, a friend. And don't get him wrong, he was glad you were there, he was thankful they had found you, but it hurt too.

You spend your days as if nothing was wrong, and he supposes to you there wasn't. He had to hold himself back from falling to your feet and praying to the gods to give you back to him. And he didn't understand what he had done wrong to deserve this punishment. He knows he has made mistakes in his life, but surely the cruelty of his current situation could not be matched by any and all of his past. When you look at him with those eyes full of excitement he wants to kiss you and make you remember, but it would only push you further away. So he pretends, he pretends he’s okay with the way things are, that he is okay with being a friend. 

He tries to let go, he really does. He tries to separate you from his love for you. He tries to remember not to hug you from behind when he walks into a room, but every time he remembers a piece of him withers away. 

And he doesn't know how to deal with this, because whenever he was upset, he would go to you. He would talk to you, or lay down next to you, and your presence would assure him he’d get through it, it would show him what he was doing it all for. But your presence isn't assuring anymore, it's shattering.

So he’s stopped touching you, he’s stopped looking at you like you’re about to remember him again, he’s stopped showing you affection. But he doesn't know what to do with himself, he’s spent as long as he can remember loving you, and he doesn't know where to channel this hole that is threatening to swallow him. So he makes sure you have everything he knows will light up your days, even if you don’t remember, he’ll remember for you. He makes sure they don't run out of blueberry jam because he remembers the time you told him it made the perfect breakfast with yoghurt. And whenever he does, you always look so surprised, asking him how they possibly could have known, but the real question is how he could possibly ever forget. 

Yes, he’ll remember for you. He’ll remember how you get cold at night after a long day, and he convinces someone to stack an extra blanket on your bed. And you might think it’s a coincidence every time, but he’ll never let coincidence make a turn for the worse. 

He sees when you go to visit the doctor, but he doesn't know what is going on anymore, because he isn't your boyfriend anymore. He’s asking people, bribing people to tell him, but it rarely works, because it’s confidential, and he no longer holds the privilege to your heart. 

There’s a small party tonight, and he knows you’ll be there. He knows because you’ve become close to Johanna, you laugh with her and you spend your days with her. And he’s glad that you’ve found someone you can talk to, but he still wished it had been him. In a way, it’s a small victory, because Johanna has taken pity on him. In any other situation, he’d tell her he didn't need it, he didn't need anyone's sorrow to comfort him, but he’d just be lying to himself and she knows it too. In any other situation he would have shut down on himself, he would have locked himself in his room and not come out. But you’re still here, haunting him like a ghost from a comforting dream he once had, so he goes on as usual, but it might be worse this way. 

Yet he still takes every crumb he can find, and so here he is. He’s standing around talking as if everything isn't so very, very wrong. He sees you walk in, and he wants to look away, because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, but he just can't. He remembers the dress you’re wearing, and if you had too he would have called you cruel for it. But he knows you don't, he knows it's just him basking in the memory of your skin against his, and that you probably don’t even remember what he feels like anymore.

He recalls the memory as clear as day, but if someone has been repeating them in their head like he had been, there wouldn't be any other option. You’re wearing the dress you wore on your anniversary last year. He had seen you wearing it and insisted on staying in, but you just laughed at him and called him silly for the idea, he didn't think it had been silly. He thought that if you had let him, he would have cancelled everything he had spent weeks planning. Because truly, all he really needed was you. You had shown him the dress and asked him how you looked. He had said you looked good enough to eat, and he was ready to prove his point to you over and over until the sun went down and took his vision of you with it, and even then he would have gladly continued.

But this time he doesn't get to, he sees you walk in with Johanna by your side, and he honestly doesn't know if this was intentional, but the grin she gets when she sees him watching tells him it isn't purely coincidental. Johanna had taken pity on him, but she was testing him as payment. 

All he wants to do is walk over to you, take your hand and kiss the soft base of your palm as you start to giggle nervously. He wants to, but he can’t. He can’t because this time you won't grace his ears with laughter, you’d just pull away. And he tries not to think of the way he wants to trail his fingers from your silk hair to the top of your dress. He tries to distract himself from the urge to kiss you while he drags the zipper down your back. He tries not to remember the way you used to moan his name as he traced a path up your thighs with his lips. 

He wants to forget, he wants to forget so he can find peace again. With all of his might he tries to forget, as if that will make everything more bearable. But in reality, if he did forget, he didn't think he would ever forgive himself.

He tears his eyes away from you and starts to leave before you can meet them, and if he hadn't, if he had given into his wish to keep getting lost in the vision that you were to him, he might have seen the smallest spark of memory flash through your eyes. He might have seen you walk his way to greet him with a new sense of sentiment, trying to nourish the bubbles that had surfaced after the storm. But he never gets the chance, because he has convinced himself keeping his hopes up was futile, he had resigned himself so much to a life of admiring you from a distance that he didn't even consider it might not be forever, that even the cruellest of circumstances can't keep two people destined for each other apart. But if he wasn't careful, the scissors of the fates might take it from him once more before he got the chance to see it.

Part 3: The Will of the Moirai

[pomefioredove]

Hiii! I adore your writings especially the vill fics thank you for blessing us vil fans 😭🙏💕

Can you please write soulmate au with vil and the perks of being soulmate with him? Thank youuu

thank you so much, that's so sweet!!! and OHHH soulmate.... so good

summary: soulmates type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, FLUFFY, lovesick vil forever

Vil Schoenheit had always deemed the existence of "soulmates" to be a thing confined in the lines of a poem.

Ever the rationalist, Vil hadn't even entertained the fantasy of meeting his "perfect match", if such a person even existed. His life was not that of a cheesy movie script he'd turn down.

Finding someone who could cope with his strict lifestyle would be a miracle in and of itself.

...And if you had asked Vil Schoenheit what his image of the perfect partner would be, he would say exactly that.

Someone beautiful, intelligent, responsible, with the dedication and discipline to keep up with him.

Spoken with a sardonic smile and honeyed words, Vil knew that his chances of actually finding someone to meet his standards, to keep up with him, were slim.

He couldn't have possibly imagined having to keep up with you, instead.

You were like a shooting star; swift and bright, moving faster than he could fathom, cutting through the dark parts of his life like a hot blade.

Something for him to wish on.

Beautiful.

Like nothing he could have ever imagined.

There was a radiance in everything you did, one that made your skin glow with or without products, a certain warmth that so contrasted the refined and elegant image he'd grown to associate with beauty.

Vil would eagerly tend to your every need. It was a dream just to touch you, to have the honor of pushing your hair out of your face.

He would savor every second of grazing your skin, of tracing your features with delicate fingertips, if only just to cleanse your pores after a long day.

With you, every simple action is beautiful.

Vil enjoys pampering people he cares for, and thus your life is full of high-end products, the best groceries money can buy, and his personal advice from the very second he sets eyes on you.

He would gladly do your personalized skincare routine with you every night and every morning if time allowed it.

2. Intelligent.

In such a way that makes him eager to understand you.

Really, it's your insatiable curiosity that draws him in.

He could spend hours upon hours simply listening to you talk. Your interests begin excite him just as much as they excite you, your passion for learning and creating capture his attention with ease.

There's never a dull moment between the two of you.

What others might consider useless conversations about trivial matters, Vil holds to the highest regard.

It comes to the point where he begins asking you for opinions, even if he knows he'll disagree with your answer, just to hear your perfect voice, just to watch your expression change in the way it does when you're thinking.

He's infatuated with your thought process, with the way your mind works.

Understanding you is not a labor, but a privilege.

3. Responsible.

To where all he could ask for is you and your gentle touch.

You care. Whether you're aware of it or not, you care so deeply about the people in your life, it almost puts Vil to shame.

Paired with your determination and resilience, and your ceaseless sense of independence, it's absolutely irresistible to him.

Vil is so unfamiliar with the way you treat him. Tenderly, and softly, like he's something that needs to be taken care of. You don't put him on a high shelf like a trophy, but carry him at your side, like a beloved doll.

He's never been at the receiving end of such consideration.

On the days where it feels as if the world is coming undone around him, he has somewhere to go. A place to hide, where he can forget all that he's supposed to be, and just simply be instead.

You are a home to him.

Vil knows that the both of you are perfectly capable (exemplary, even) at minding yourselves, though that's exactly what makes this tenderness you share all the better.

Independence is a gift, though one that he'll gladly set aside for a time, to be alone and soft with you.

4. Keeping Up.

Some days, it feels as if he's hanging onto you for dear life.

Afraid that if he looks away for even a moment, you'd vanish, leaving him alone with all of his naive, shallow thoughts on what his soulmate should be.

You're a dream to him. Far better than anything he ever could have asked for, or even imagined. He would be a fool to let you get away, he knows as much.

And perhaps he doesn't have the words to express it yet, perhaps he does. Perhaps these thoughts of his are tucked away in a journal, imbued in the lines of a poem, or in the color choices of a floral arrangement. Perhaps he whispers them to you in the early hours of the morning, still caught in that dreamlike space between sleep and wake.

One thing has become clear to him, though: Vil could never adequately describe all that he wants in a soulmate.

You're far too complex to put in a single sentence.

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: no, you’re the monster

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: G

genre: angst. like super angst.

pairing: alastor x reader

summary: As the hotel has gained notoriety in Heaven, after more souls are redeemed, an idea of allowing those at the hotel to talk to their Heavenly family is put in place. The only thing is Alastor has never even once, tried to use it to talk to his mom. What’s the worse that can happen when he does use it as you offer the idea up to him?

As the hotel gained notoriety and after a few more souls had been redeemed, Heaven started to finally collaborate with Charlie on redeeming sinners. One of these ways was for sinners to have a weekly call via a special portal to talk with their loved ones up in heaven. Which Angel and Alastor likened to prison. Charlie didn’t care though because it was “progress”.

The idea though, was to create a connection in heaven that sinners would want to work towards. Most of the hotel patrons and staff used their calls weekly. You remember Angel’s first call talking to Molly as he cried realizing she was up there and hearing her sobbing, thanking him for protecting her in life. Encouraging him to do better so that she could hug him. Needless to say, after that call Angel gave up just about everything and really set forward on a path to redemption.

The only person in the whole hotel who hadn’t used these portals were yourself and Alastor. Your whole family had been awful to you save for your sister and she was still alive. You had checked. Alastor on the other hand, you had heard him mention his mom. He talked about her fondly and made her special jumbalaya on occasion. You figured that he would use the portals to talk to her, but he never did. So, one night when sleep was evading you again, you found a chance to ask as you were sitting in the lounge reading and everyone had gone to bed.

“Another late night where sleep’s tender hold evades you my dear?” Alastor said, appearing on the couch across from you. You jump a bit and chuckle.

“You know me too well Al.” You say and put your book down. “How was your day?” You ask him, as he materializes a book to read. You remember the first time you asked him how his day was, he asked you why you wanted to know. You had to explain you were being nice and it was something friends did. He questioned you on your use of the term friends but let it slide.

“It was well enough. I took a trip over to Cannibal Town. Rosie says hello.” He chuckled. He had introduced you to Rosie after you wouldn’t stop begging him to come with to Cannibal Town. You wanted to see more of the Pride Ring but it was scary, up until traveling to the hotel, you stayed in your apartment mostly. Except for work down the street. So, why wouldn’t you want to go to Cannibal town when you had scary dog privileges with Alastor?

“Awww, really? I love that. I’ll have to come with you over there soon, if you don’t mind of course.” You say, dog earring your book page so you don’t loose it. Alastor scoffs seeing you do that.

“Why you choose to ruin books is beyond me.” He mutters. “And of course you may, Rosie may have my head if I didn’t say yes.” You nod.

“How else am I supposed to save my place Alastor?” You ask him.

“With a bookmark.” He explains, conjuring one up and it floats over to you, his magic opens your book, smooths out the dog ear and then places the book mark near the spine. You roll your eyes.

“With how you treat books I am sure you are devastated to know that the library of Alexandria was burned to the ground.” You say, your voice monotone, closing the book.

“Absolutely devastated.” Alastor grins and then goes to reading his book. You sigh, and ready yourself to ask him the question you’ve been wanting to for a while.

“Hey Al?” You ask quietly.

“Hmm?” He murmurs not looking up from his book.

“Can I ask you a question, and you promise not to get mad at me?” You say. He looks up at you, his eyes scrutinizing you as he motions for you to continue.

“So, today was portal day for everyone. And I’ve seen everyone use the portal to talk to loved ones in Heaven, but I’ve never seen you use it. And the way you talk about your mom… Don’t you want to talk to her?” You ask, looking up and your eyes widening as a darkness falls on his face. “I’m sorry, I was just curious. I can leave you alone as I think I’ve overstepped.” You say starting to get up.

“Sit.” Alastor says, a tentacle appearing and pushing you back down. “You’re… fine. I just don’t think my darling mother wants to see her darling son… like this.” He says motioning to himself.

“But if she loved you and you her-“ You start, being cut off by Alastor.

“She was the only one to love me in life.” He whispered.

“Exactly.” You say and gently cross over to his couch sitting next to him. “Wouldn’t you think she’d want to see you again, regardless?” You say earnestly.

“Well, I suppose…” Alastor starts.

“And would it not help you to have a conversation with her?” You go on.

“I’m not being redeemed dear.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“No, I know your sentiments on that. But wouldn’t it be good to talk to her. Not to encourage redemption, but just to catch up?” You say. “If it were my sister, I would love that. I know when she dies I’ll be doing that, I don’t plan on being redeemed, because I want to stay here and help with the hotel. But I’d still want to hear her voice again.” Alastor sighs and looks off, you can see his jaw tighten.

“I apologize if I’ve prodded too much. I can go if you’d like.” Wanting to remind him you could give him space but a small part of you realizing this was good progress as he hadn’t freaked out on you yet. You celebrated the small victory.

“Maybe I will put my name down for next week my dear.” Alastor acquiesced.

“If you wanted to do it now while everyone is sleeping you can.” You smile and hold up the portal key. “The portals stay open until midnight. They started doing that because Charlie and Emily talk a lot.”

Alastor looked at you, his eyes wide. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can even leave the room if you’d like me to. Or we can wait it’s up to you.” Alastor breathes and it’s like watching a war be fought on someone’s face with the emotions running through his eyes.

“Would you stay with me?” He asks, sitting up and fixing his suit jacket and ears, taking a breath.

“Always.” You whisper and his eyes widen. He nods at you.

“You sure about this?” You ask one more time. “You can say no and I’ll forget we ever had this conversation.”

“No, go ahead.” Alastor breathes. You stand up and look forward. You place the key in the air turning it and hearing a click. As the portal opens, a directory is pulled up.

“What was your mom’s name?” You ask, waiting.

“E-Evangeline. Altruist.” Alastor says almost breathless. You find her and look back at Alastor.

“One more time, I’m making sure, you want to do this?” You ask holding your hand to him. He takes it and stands up.

“I wouldn’t have accepted if I wasn’t sure.” Alastor says shortly. Giving off his confident air but his eyes were unsure.

“Okay. I can pull the plug at anytime too. Just let me know.” You press the name and the screen brightens and then Evangeline comes into view. Alastor gasps, his eyes wide and his hand squeezes yours.

“Evangeline Altruist?” You ask as she looks down at you. The portal must have appeared on a table.

“Yes, who is this?” she asks confused. You explain what your name is and that this portal allows those in Hell to communicate with loved ones in heaven. You explain that there is someone who would like to talk to her and does she accept the call. She does and you step out of the way and motion for Alastor to step in frame. He breathes and slowly does so, seeing his mother for the first time in who knows how long. There’s a gasp from his mother as she murmurs out his name.

“Hi Mama.” He whispers. The radio effect gone and a southern sounding accent in his voice as he talks to her.

“Alastor, is that you? You’re in hell? Truly?” His mother cries.

“I-Yes I am. I do miss you dearly.” He says, looking almost ashamed, his ears pin back on his head.

“I had heard the rumors… But I never thought my boy… What have you done Alastor?” She asks, her face twisting. “I don’t even recognize you from the man you were. The man I knew.”

“Mama, please, I-“ Alastor starts his eyes desperate, as he flits over to you and back to his mom. Your own heart shattering. You hold out your hand and he grabs it like a life line.

“No. You are no son of mine. I do not recognize you.” Her voice turns cold, your eyes widen and Alastor’s eye brim with unshed tears. “After everything… this is what you become? A monster?” The disgust in her voice is unbearable as Alastor bows his head and tears fall silently down his cheeks. You on the other hand see red.

“Now, just a damn minute here.” You say stepping back into view and shielding Alastor, still holding his hand.

“This is none of your business, girl.” Alastor’s mother exclaims, anger in her eyes.

“It became my business when you decided to unleash your bullshit on your son with me here. This was my idea, having him come talk to you, because out of everyone here at the hotel, he hadn’t made any contact with the woman who he holds in such high regard. So i figured, you held him in the same regard.” You start and get cut off.

“I loved my son, in life and in death but what he has become is worst than Lucifer himself.” Evangeline continued on. You felt your hand shaking with the strength of Alastor’s quiet sobs.

“No. Nope. That’s where you are wrong. Alastor has worked at this hotel night and day to help people be redeemed. He protects this hotel from those that wish it harm, he protects the patrons and Lucifer’s daughter Charlie. He is genuine, and while he has made a numerous amount of wild missteps in life and in death, he is trying to be better. I see it, the staff at the hotel sees it, his friends see it. And if you choose not to know him or you care not to get to know him, that is entirely your loss. He is not the monster, you are.” You say as you pull out the key, and start to end the portal. “Don’t call for him either. If he decides he wants to actually talk to you again, it will be his choice.” You say as the portal closes and the last words you can hear are ‘I’m sorry.’

“A little too fucking late for that.” You murmur pocketing the key. You turn and your heart breaks seeing Alastor’s tears paired with a smile.

“You don’t have to smile with me you know that right? Nothing I know about you would I ever use as a weapon against you.” You say as you cross over to him slowly, looking for any signs that he didn’t want comfort. Even though you felt like the last person who should be allowed to do so as this was your idea. You reach up and caress his cheek, wiping away tears that continued to spill.

“Alastor, I am so so sorry.” You say, tears coming to your own eyes. “I should have never suggested… I am so sorry.” You say again, bringing him down as he willingly folds into your arms.

“Can you take us to your room?” You ask, knowing he would never let any show of real emotion happen out here. He nods and suddenly you’re in the middle of his bed that has been moved into the forest he added in his room. You gather him to you and he sobs, his head in the crook of your shoulder and neck, as he grips onto you for dear life. There’s something even more heart wrenching as all walls fall and you can hear his natural accent, no radio effect at all, through broken words of ‘I’m sorry’, ‘She hates me’ and ‘I’m a monster’. His shadows darkening the space and the one shadow that always followed him looking so distressed.

“Alastor, if she can’t see the good in you then that is her own blindness. Darling, I can see it. Charlie sees it. You have changed from when you first got here. Hurt people, hurt people. And I think you’ve been hurt for a long while. It’ll take time, but I ain’t going anywhere. You’re not a monster to me.” You assure him as his sobs somehow become even worse hearing you. You gently rock him back and forth, and look up at the sky he produced for the forest. A perfect replica of the night sky on Earth.

“When I was back on earth in my 20’s, my sister would get upset and would go out to the roof. Anytime I found her there, I’d hold her and tell her stories of the stars. Do you want me to do that?” You ask. Wanting to take Alastor’s mind off of everything. You feel him nod and you smile slightly, pressing a kiss to his head, feeling him stiffen at the affection and hug him tighter.

“So there’s this group of stars that makes up a virgin maiden that they named Virgo. Many people say that Virgo’s constellation represents Persephone, the daughter of the Greek Goddess Demeter. Persephone in some stories was kidnapped by Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Demeter’s grief at loosing her daughter, abandoned her post as Earth Goddess, which caused crops to wither and the earth to grow cold.” You recounted one of your sisters favorite tales. Feeling Alastor’s cries fade and his body relax. “Because of this Zeus ordered Persephone to be put back on Earth, but along her travels she mustn’t eat anything.” You continue, gently wiping the tears off Alastor’s face with your oversized shirt. He doesn’t protest and just looks up at you, his eyes rimmed red but the self hatred you saw before not as prominent. You smile at him while you finish. “That’s why Hades gave her six pomegranate seeds, which she ate. Meaning that she would spend six months of the year with Hades and six months with her mother.” You feel Alastor sigh, and you think this is when he will get up and pretend none of this happened, fortifying those walls again. That doesn’t happen. He draws you closer to him, his body laid over yours and his head resting on the left side of your chest where your heart was.

“Tell me another.” He requests, not looking up at you but looking out into the forest. You smile and glide your fingers through his hair, stopping to pet his ears every now and again as you begin telling the story of the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, astronomy stories being whispered well into the night until you both were fast asleep with a blanket Alastor had pulled up over you both.

[rotten-pomegranate]

Good morning 🌞, since requests are open, can I please get head cannon ask for how the adult trio with feitan, shalnark and phinks would react if reader successfully escaped them for years. Please I want reader to win just once 😭🙏🏾

Yes you can 💪🏻

I wasn’t sure if they were supposed to catch you in the end but I made like that

Warnings: mentions of torture, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of rape

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Feitan

Feitans gonna be pissed and offended that you have so little respect for him you escaped and when he finds you it’s hell

you should have killed yourself when you got away because the things he’s gonna do to you and Any friends you made along the way will make death seem like the better option by a lot

You don’t get any privileges your always chained up and you only get enough food and water to survive

He was being nice before, holding himself back, but not anymore now he does anything and everything he wants

Shalnark

He’s gonna be sad he knows he wasn’t the best but was he that bad?

He’s gonna track you down eventually, probably one of the quickest to find you, I’m talking three years or so

When he finds you he just mocks you, like you really thought he wouldn’t find you how cute

He’s gonna stick you with antenna a lot more often to make you do stuff you would never willingly do and he’s gonna make sure you remember every bit of it

Phinks

He’s heartbroken, you didn’t love him? Sure he kidnapped you but he was so nice, he got you gifts, fed you, never forced you to do anything and he let you do whatever you wanted in the fairly big house (he’s a but Delusional)

He’s a close second to shalnark when it comes to finding you in sense of time give or take about three and a half years

When he does find you he’s not gonna be as nice as he was before, your not gonna get sweet little gifts or the privilege to go around the house freely and he’s not gonna brush off your attitude anymore, from now on your getting locked away when you give him any sass

Chrollo

even though he tried his hardest to prevent it He knew it would happen eventually, he let his guard slip gave you to much freedom

It’s gonna take him about five years to find you because he has to focus on other stuff such as the troupe

When he gets you back your never gonna see the light of day again, your locked I and chained In his basement from now on and while it’s a nice basement with carpeted floors, a nice bathroom and a big bed with lots of fluffy blankets that he often joins you in your only there for his pleasure now

He regularly pins you down and forces you to do stuff that he didn’t make you do before whispering how it Could be different the whole time

Illumi

Illumi is savage, has every person in the zoldyck manor out looking for you and that intensity doesn’t go down if anything it gets worse the longer it takes to find you

It’ll take him about four years to find you and when he does your in for it

First he’s gonna beat you black and blue, he’s gonna break both you legs in the process and that’s the only thing you’ll be allowed to see a doctor about

He’s gonna try and get you pregnant as soon as he can and if you where kicking and screaming before he would have stopped but not anymore now your getting tied to the bed frame and having a gag in your mouth

Hisoka

He’s the calmest out of all of them, he knew it would happen, he’s not happy about it but he’s not a total mess like some of these guys

It’s not his top priority to find you but it is up there, so it’s gonna take him about seven years to find you

When he finds you your getting the beating of a life time, I’m talking broken ribs, and kicked out teeth, he will pay machi to come fix you up but he might do it again if you annoy him

He didn’t hit you before but he does now, oh you dropped a glass worth ten bucks? Your getting smacked up side the head

And lastly from now on when you sleep it’s on the cold ground with a chain leash attached to his bed frame around your neck no more comfortable pillows

©rotten-pomegranate- All rights reserved, don’t steal, translate, copy, plagiarize, claim my work as your own or post it on other platforms.

[deadlynavigation]

Pretty & Pink

Warnings: swearing

Author’s Note: request from @cecebabs !! school has been kicking my ass lately so just bear with me yall 🥲

Navigation

**gif is not meant to be a representation of what reader looks like**

Opposites attract—or at least, that’s what they said. Wednesday had never put any stock into the saying until he met you.

You were a bright little thing, full of happiness and hope and all the other disgusting emotions. But Wednesday endured, because at the end of the day, you held his heart in your manicured hand.

Every once in a while, though, he’ll question what he’s doing. Like tonight, for instance. It had been a long day. The errands that had been piling up over the week were finally accomplished a few hours ago, and it was exhausting. So exhausting that all he wanted to do was collapse in the nearest bed, no matter the owner or location. And since you didn’t want your partner to end up in some alleyway mattress, you dragged him over to your apartment, where he was currently camped out on your bed.

“You doing okay in there, sweetie?” You call to him from your bathroom, hands dripping with water as you rinse your cleanser off.

“Yes, my love. Are you done yet?” Wednesday calls back. He knows his question is in vain, though. Your skincare routine is a long ordeal, and you’ve only just started.

He hears your soft laughter float through the air. “I’ll be right out.” You respond, picking up a serum.

Wednesday decides he can’t wait, heading into the bathroom and settling behind where you stand. You greet him with a smile, picking up the next step of your routine to show to him.

“It’s a new moisturizer I got today,” You explain. “It’s supposed to be good for dry skin, and with all the nasty weather lately…”

Wednesday doesn’t hear the rest of your rant, focusing instead on those pretty eyes of yours. Oh, how he longs to drown in them. To sink into their depths, seeing the world from your hopeful view. Unpacking all your thoughts, understanding and empathizing.

Listen to him. He’s practically a puddle of mush. What have you done to him?

“...Wednesday, baby?” You tilt your head as Wednesday snaps back into reality. “Were you even listening?”

He takes one more second to stare at you before sheepishly shaking his head. “Deepest apologies, cara mia. There are simply too many pretty parts to you, I cannot focus on every one of them at once.”

You giggle, a blush tinting your cheeks. “Maybe I should turn away, then. Stop distracting you with my wiles.”

Wednesday smirks. “Turning away from me would entice me even more, Y/n. You really want to play that game?”

“Oh my god. Ok, I’m not facing you anymore. You’ve lost that privilege.” Your cheeks are on fire now, and if you maintain eye contact any longer, you’re worried you might burst into flames. True to your word, you pivot to face the mirror. Then, using your arms, you hop up onto the counter, climbing into the sink for an optimal view.

Wednesday nearly has a heart attack as you jump. His hands fall into place, ready to catch you or save your head from a nasty bang should your acrobatics go wrong, but once you’re in place, he sighs loudly.

“Must you do that, my love?” His seriousness is ruined by a smile creeping onto his face.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. This moisturizer requires my full attention.” It’s hard tamping down your own smile, but the teasing seems to be worth it as Wednesday’s stare darkens.

“The moisturizer gets your attention, hm? That’s a dangerous game, cara mia.”

You don’t respond, instead dipping your finger into the container and dotting it on your cheeks.

“Come down from that sink so we can see who really has your attention right now.” Wednesday taunts you. After a couple seconds, you give in, closing up the product and carefully setting it down before jumping back down onto the floor. Within seconds, Wednesday takes a step and sits on the edge of the bathtub, grabbing your hands and gently tugging you along at the same time. Before you know it, you’re sat on his lap, a smirk on his face and a shocked look on yours.

“Attention still on skincare, love?” Wednesday teases.

You give up on the facade. “No,” You breathe, leaning in. “But what if I share my attention with it?”

Wednesday’s eyebrows furrow as you get up, reaching into the bottom drawer of the counter and coming back to him with a small package. You sit back down, ripping it open and tossing the top in the trash.

“Want a face mask?” You ask.

“Is that one of those grotesque concoctions that spreads all over your face? The one that looks like a death mask?” Wednesday questions, but you’re already reaching into the package.

“Exactly, baby. Want one?”

“...Sure.” What’s the worst that could happen?

Twenty minutes later, and Wednesday is set up on your bed with no intention of moving. A green substance covers the majority of his face, making him question why he doesn’t let you do this more often. He feels more relaxed than he has in weeks, settled in amongst your many pink throw pillows and cherry blossom sheets. You’re settled in too, resting your head on his chest while trying to sync your breaths with the steady thumps of his heart. Your manicured fingers etch random shapes into his skin, tracing the hard lines of muscle and adding a heart or two every so often.

Eventually, though, the both of you become restless.

‘Wanna start a movie?” Wednesday asks, looking down at your comfy self with adoration.

You look up, meeting his eyes with the same love. “Can I choose?”

“Of course, Y/n. Anything for you.”

An hour later, and Wednesday is ready to commit homicide. Of all the movies you could have picked, you went with Mean Girls. Your defense? “It’s the feminist movement at its finest, Wednesday.”

“It’s… very pink.”

“Yeah, that’s the best part! All the decorations and outfits are amazing. They were actually part of what inspired this room’s decor.”

Wednesday looks around at the brightly colored walls, the pastel curtains, the cute pillows, and even the pink pens scattered across your desk. “I never would’ve guessed, my love.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous.”

Wednesday chuckles. “Yes, very.” He agrees sarcastically. You don’t dignify him with a response, instead choosing to lay back down on his chest and go back to watching the movie. You don’t get to stay there for very long, though, because a minute later, the timer on your phone goes off.

“Mkay. Time to take this off, babe.” You poke his face mask. Wednesday rises without complaint, heading to the bathroom while you grab some water and a cloth. Internally, though, he’s begging you not to. It feels so nice, and having you apply it was one of the best feelings in the world.

As you start working through the layers of the mask with water and a gentle hand, though, Wednesday revises his thoughts—never mind the application. This was the best feeling in the world.

As you work, Wednesday leans into your hands. He would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for your whispered promises of comfy beds and pillows and cuddles.

*****

The next morning, Wednesday gets up much earlier than usual. The sun is just barely up, peeking through your pastel curtains and coating the bed in a buttery yellow. You’re burrowed into his arms, tucked safely into his chest with the messy blankets surrounding you. He takes a minute to absorb your cuteness, smiling down at you as he slowly wakes up.

“Good morning, Y/n.” He whispers, not yet wanting to wake you. You’ve reminded him time and time again that the blinking digits on the clock right now are not digits you ever want to be awake to see, and he’s taken that to heart. But he still has to kill time until you wake–maybe a run? He could drop by the gym just down the street that he really likes. Or maybe a chore? The dishwasher still needs to be unloaded.

But those all sound like too much work for this early in the day, so Wednesday settles on just getting you a coffee. A nice five-minute walk and your drowsy smile to greet him when he gets back. Perfect.

Within minutes, Wednesday is up and out. He strolls down the street, taking his time to enjoy the soft sunlight. That’s new, he suddenly realizes–and probably your doing, as well. You’re a fan of tilting your face to the sun, soaking in the warmth, and claiming the rays cheer you up. Maybe you’ve passed that onto him.

A couple more minutes tick by, and Wednesday reaches your regular coffee shop. He enters the place with a little jingle as the door opens, and is immediately greeted with the scent of dark coffee and light chatter.

“What can I get for you this morning, sir?” A too-happy employee asks him as he walks up to the counter.

Damn, what was that drink you really liked? Something with pink in it, he’s sure of it.

“Just two medium coffees, one black and one with that pink flavor, please.” Manners with normies–that’s another thing you’ve unknowingly reinforced with him.

“Our pink velvet flavoring?” That sounds right.

“Yes, that’s it. Thanks.” Wednesday pulls out his card, handing it to the guy.

“Awesome. Name?”

“Addams.”

“We’ll have those coffees right out for you, sir.”

“Brilliant.” With that, Wednesday finds an isolated corner to haunt until his name is called, quickly grabbing the coffees and exiting the building. It’s an even quicker walk back with the warm drinks providing some heat on this chilly morning.

It’s a bit of a struggle, but Wednesday manages to buzz into the building, climb the stairs to your apartment, and work the keys until your door clicks open, all with his hands full. He’s greeted with the sight of you half-asleep on the couch, the news playing softly in the background.

“What are you doing up, love?” He questions, setting the coffees down on the coffee table and kneeling on the floor.

“Wanted to see you,” you mumble, grabbing for his hand and interlocking it with yours. “Was cold in the bed without you.”

Wednesday practically melts. How can one girl be so sweet and caring? So happy?

“I’m sorry, my love. But look, I got you that coffee you like to make up for it.” He gestures to the beverages with his free hand before resting it on your head. He goes about stroking your hair, lulling you back into a dreamlike state.

“Don’t do that, I’ll fall back asleep,” you bat at his hand, trying to get it out of your hair. You were up to see him, not to fall asleep on him.

“And I will still be here when you wake up, cara mia. Go back to sleep. You’re safe here. I love you.”

[mlmxreader]

Scary Dog Privilege | Rodolfo Parra x m!reader

@guardkeywolf asked: “You're so tense today”

SAS!Male Reader X Rudy where a certain recurit gets on Rudy's nerves during training and Male Reader gets pissed and goes to find this recruit and scares the shit out of them

summary: Rudy has what the kids call ‘scary dog privilege’ thanks to his husband being in the SAS. 

tws: swearing, smoking, mild violence 

From your spot on the bench, you could easily watch as your husband, Rodolfo, began to put the new recruits through the ringer and make sure that they had what it took to be part of the Los Vaqueros, a proud smile on your face as you leaned back, sparking up a cigarette and taking a long drag; you were really proud of him, always had been and always would be, and told him frequently when you could. Even though your job in the SAS took you away from him throughout the year and, often, when you least expected it, that didn’t stop you from telling him how proud of him you were, how much you loved him, how you adored him and admired him. Besides, you liked to watch him work up a sweat, you liked to watch him go all strict and stoic, hands clasped behind his back as he shouted orders at the new guys; but then again, you knew he liked it just as much when you were doing it for the SAS. 

Still, you watched as the same recruit came up to him time and time again, and you could see that he was getting rather tense and frustrated; at first, you figured that it was just little more than the fact that they kept pestering him, but when he decided to allow them to take a break, and he sat beside you on the bench, you couldn’t help but to frown, your hands going to his shoulders immediately.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. “You’re so tense today.”

Rodolfo huffed as he glared out towards the training fields, watching the recruits file out towards the cantine as he ran a hand down his face, hunching over slightly as he rested his forearms on his knees, his jaw clenched slightly. “These kids, cariño… ellos me molestan.”

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment as you kept your cigarette dangled between your lips, daring to hold his hand tightly as you sighed and tutted softly. “I know they do, baby.” 

Leaning into your touch, Rodolfo sighed again, not really sure how he was supposed to act; he was frustrated, he was stressed, he was fucking pissed off, too, but he couldn’t do anything about it - these were new recruits, they weren’t an officer or anything like that, and it wasn’t his place to reprimand them. He was told that he was supposed to train them, to see if they had what it took to actually be part of the Los Vaqueros, he had been told that if he had any problem students, he was supposed to send them to Alejandro - but Alejandro was currently in an important meeting with high command, and there was no way that Rodolfo could get away with interrupting that meeting just because a few of the recruits were, quite frankly, being little bastards. He was at a loss, but at least he could feel you against him, and he knew he wasn’t totally alone.

“Ayúdame, corazón, por favor,” he pleaded, looking at you with those brown puppy dog eyes that you just could not deny, could not say no to and he knew it.

You nodded, biting at your bottom lip for a second. “Alright, I’ll help you - but no more puppy dog eyes! You know I can’t say no when you do it.”

Rodolfo smiled, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “Gracias.”

“Tell me what happened,” you told him, “before they come back, fill me in on who said what, and why.”

Rodolfo explained, and as he did so, you couldn’t help but to feel your blood boil; jaw clenching and your hands turning to fists as you nodded slowly, waiting for him to finish talking before you stormed off to find the private who had said all those things.

The second that he was within reach, just walking back to the training fields, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him behind you; when you knew that Rodolfo could see, you tossed the recruit onto the ground. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, private?” Your voice was booming, a snarling thunder as you stared down at him. 

He cowered, bringing his arms to his head as he whimpered and flinched. 

“I asked you a fucking question!” You raised your voice a little more, bending down so that he really knew he had to answer you.

The private still didn’t answer, though, sobbing quietly as he brought his knees to his stomach. 

“So you can fucking bully my husband, but you can’t answer a single fucking question?!” You gently kicked him in the shins. “What kinda fucking coward are you?! You think you’ll pass training if you can’t even talk to an SAS officer?!” 

“Sergeant Major Parra, surely you can make him stop?” A different private asked. “He’s shitting himself because of your husband!”

Rodolfo sat back, and shook his head. “No, I'm not in control of my husband’s actions.”

“You fucking piece of shit!” You used your foot to turn the private onto his back, planting your boot firmly on his chest. “You fucking maggot! You fucking stupid, weak, cowardly fucking cunt!”

The private was still sobbing, shaking his head as he weakly tried to defend himself from a non-existent attack; holding his hands over his face as he whimpered and trembled. 

“You fucking wanna be in the Los Vaqueros,” you scoffed, shaking your head as you bent down and dragged him to his feet by the scruff of his neck. “You see this, lads?!”

The other recruits nodded, eyes wide with fear and their postures slightly hunched, most of them trembling. 

“This is what happens when you fuck with the SAS,” you told them, roughly shoving the sobbing mess of a private forward, laughing when he fell to his knees. “If Sergeant Major Parra tells me, one more fucking time, that one of you snot-nosed little sodding cunts had a go at him - I will personally see to it that you are punished! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir!” They called, hesitantly standing to attention.

“Who do you leave the fuck alone?” You asked. 

“Sergeant Major Parra!” They screamed. “Sir!”

“I want twenty laps!” You yelled. “Now!”

You dusted your hands off, quite confident that they wouldn’t pull such a stunt again as you returned to Rodolfo’s side, watching as the recruits started to run around the training fields; gently, you kissed his forehead, and smiled when he rested his head on your shoulder, holding tightly onto your arm as he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you…”

You shrugged, resting your hand on his knee as you watched the recruits. “It’s not a big deal, baby. At least they won’t say that kinda claptrap again, eh?”

“Yeah,” Rodolfo agreed quietly. “You know, you’re fucking muy espantoso when you get like that.”

You laughed softly. “Well, that’s why they say you got scary dog privilege, innit? C’mon, they won’t be done for a while - fancy some dinner?”

“Pensé que nunca preguntarías!” He breathed out, eagerly holding onto your hand as you lead the way, a grin on his face. 

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don’t wanna reblog, then you’ll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM.

[pix3lplays]

Hello I wasn't sure if requests were open but I just had big brain idea. The readers father is super toxic and nearly succeeded in tearing apart the readers marriage with Dan Feng by trying to scare the reader into running away but Dan Feng managed to stop them.

Oooh, okay, okay I’ll see what I can do~

Tw! Toxic father, I guess a little bit suggestive(?), sharing a bed

-Dan Feng: Stay with me-

It was HARD to deal with that kind of pressure. Sure you were nervous to marry Dan Feng already, but with your father’s pressure you were feeling even more nervous. You don’t know why your father was like this. You almost wondered if he even knew what he was saying when he talked about how a high elder like him would never love a commoner like you. How he’d probably hate you. Be sick and tired of you within a week. Well. It scared you. It scared you so badly, to think that your husband-to-be would hate you. So the night before your wedding, you pack your bags. With packed bags, you begin your letter for Dan Feng, explaining how sorry you were that he even had to THINK about marrying you. And you arrive at Dan Feng’s manor, with your packed bags at the ready, so you could leave as soon as you delivered the letter. And to your surprise, the high elder instead answered the door, instead of a servant. He’s so pretty, especially in the moonlight, and in his evening clothes. “A moment, please,” he says when you hand him the letter and turn around immediately, with your bags in your hands. You have to watch with shame as he opens your letter and begins reading it in front of you. Finally, after what feels like agonizingly too long, he looks up at you with those pretty eyes, at first not saying anything, and now you’re wondering if you’re supposed to speak first. “Dan Feng, I-“ “Do you really mean this? You intend to run away because you believe I hate you?” the tone in his voice is hard to identify, the way it’s always been, and you’re biting back tears. “I-I mean…don’t you?” you bubble out, your throat burning. He hesitates, but then his lips part to enter, and before he can you begin to move away again, and to stop you he surprises you by doing something he’s never done to you before. He reaches out, and touches your arm. Then he gently wraps his fingers around your wrist, to keep you in place. “No, y/n…I could never hate you…where did you get such an idea?” You shake your head, blinking away tears. You don’t want to say. You don’t want to say what your father has been saying to you. You don’t want to upset him even further than you already have. “No, it doesn’t matter to me,” he says when you don’t respond. You’re just…staring at his lips with a distant look in your eyes. “I don’t hate you, y/n. Please, trust me, I’m so very happy to have the privilege to marry you…” he pulls you a little closer, spreading out his other arm to indicate he wants you to press yourself to his chest. You hesitantly comply, leaning against his chest, snaking your arms around his back, and his arms come to wrap around your waist. He leans down. Kisses your shoulder, murmurs something into your ear. “I love you…please…don’t leave me. Come inside for a little while…” You can’t reply. You rest your head against his chest and he begins to guide you inside, quietly ordering someone to prepare you some tea, and he gently pries the suitcases from your hands. And a moment later, you’re sitting in his lavish lounge. He’s sitting across from you, watching you while he’s sipping his tea. You haven’t brought your own teacup to your lips yet, and he’s becoming concerned. “Are you feeling…uncomfortable?” This WAS the first time the two of you had ever actually had alone time like this, in his own home no less. “Hm? No…” you say. “Just…thinking.” To prove your point, you drink a tiny bit of tea, and smile at him. “Delightful, thank you…” He tilts his head at you, and you watch his long, dark hair move with the motion. “You’re very welcome, I’m pleased that you like it.” You nod, try focusing on drinking the tea to put his mind at ease, and after another moment, Dan Feng clears his throat, trying to get your attention. “Do you wish to spend the night? It is getting late…We could prepare a room for you.” Your eyes widen. Staying the night? The thought hadn’t even occurred to you. You had kind of planned on never seeing him again.

And now here you were sleeping over at his house.

How you ended up in Dan Feng’s own plush bed, with his arms wrapped around you and his face buried in your shoulder, you’re not sure. You had sort of forgotten you had fallen asleep at his house, and you had had a nightmare, and you aimlessly wandered the halls until you found his room, and even though he knew such a thing was frowned upon for a High Elder, he invited you into his own room for the night. Nobody needed to know. You could sneak out through the window tomorrow morning, if need be. He lets out a gentle noise, one indicating to you that he really was asleep, and you feel the fears of your nightmares fading away, and your eyelids getting heavier as you fall back asleep in your husband-to-be’s arms.