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ghoulphile · 20 days

Text

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout smut #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x you #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout fanfic

2K notes · View notes

sttoru · 8 months

Note

dad!Toji losing megumi on his sight in a grocery store.

⟣ tags. dad!toji x female reader. fluff.

“where the hell did that brat go. . .” toji sighs in frustration as he makes his third trip around the numerous aisles, peeking through each gap between to see where his son could’ve possibly hid.

you had been gone for one minute to grab something you had forgotten in the car, leaving your husband and son alone at the grocery store. you thought toji would be more than capable of keeping an eye on megumi during the time you left.

he did succeed for a couple seconds, but then somehow lost sight of the little boy. it happened out of the blue—even for someone as quick as toji, his child seemed to have disappeared into thin air, without him noticing at all.

“tsk, just wait ‘til i catch ya..” toji scoffs and makes quick strides. the other customers seemed to scurry off to the sides as the dark-haired man passes them—the reason for this being his bulky and tall body and that cold yet pissed off expression on his face whilst walking forwards.

of course, toji was still secretly worried for megumi. he didn’t want to think of the worst case scenario at all. he needs to stay calm and collected in such situations. panicking will do him no good.

toji passes by a pit of plushies, paying it no mind until he hears a soft, muffled giggle from that same area. he stops in his tracks and turns his head to the right. that voice was one he could recognise from miles away.

“oh, y’re so done.” the dark-haired man mutters under his breath and digs through the many plushies, hands looking for the source of that giggle. there were a couple strands of dark blue hair sticking out from between the big stuffed animals and toji wasted no time, “c’mere, brat.”

he uses a bit of his strength and fishes out a child from under the pile of softness—his child.

“papa!” megumi squeals and was holding onto a plushie: a cute black dog one. it seems like he had waddled off and climbed onto the box to grab that specific plushie, but couldn’t get out afterwards, “papa, waf! waf!”

toji sighs and holds megumi up by the back of his shirt, walking back to your shopping cart. he gains some stares due to the obscure way he was carrying his son around, though megumi himself couldn’t care any less as he cuddles up to the plushie in his tiny arms.

toji puts the little boy in the baby seat and grabs onto the stuffed animal, tugging at it; “gimme that. ya can’t have it ‘cause ya ran off without tellin’ me.”

megumi whines and pulls the toy back in his arms, giving toji a pleading look. his lips formed a desperate pout and his eyes were starting to glisten with tears that appeared on his waterlines.

“yeah, stare at me all you want with those big bug eyes—y’re not gonna get that.” your husband shakes his head and grabs the plushie again, taking it away from his son to put it back.

megumi reacts to this by curling his chubby hand around toji’s index finger—still with that cute pout on his lips whilst trying to prevent his dad from stepping away. it’s specifically those shiny blue orbs that seem to mellow toji’s heart to the point he almost gives in.

“…”

you come back after five minutes and spot your family back in the candy aisle. the duo didn’t appear to have seen you yet since they were busy picking out some sweets for later.

“hi, my angels.” you creep up behind toji and tap his back. he instantly steps aside and your (surprisingly) super excited son comes into view.

megumi was smiling widely and that’s when your eyes land on something in his arms.

“oh, you got ‘gumi a dog plushie!” you gasp and seem to get excited for your child—megumi giggling right alongside you, “how nice!”

toji rolls his eyes, though wasn’t about to admit that he eventually did give in to megumi’s adorable tactics. he gently flicks the little boy’s forehead and looks back at you;

“didn’t get it for him out of my own free will.” your husband grumbles and then continues to squish megumi’s cheeks together using one hand, “this little brat threatened me.”

“i’m sure he did.” you chuckle and nudge toji’s side with your elbow. you knew just how much of a softie really is for his son.

“i’m not lyin’,” toji replies with a sigh and pushes the cart ahead, you following next to him with a smile, “he threatened me with those big eyes of his. i’m tellin’ ya, that stuff is dangerous.” —for my heart, he adds in his head.

you couldn’t contain your laughter as you hear your lover’s words. your gaze then lands on megumi, who was contentedly staring up at both his parents, cuddled up to the big stuffed animal.

“good job.” you gave megumi a thumbs up and ruffle his hair as a reward. the kid sticks his tongue out and almost looks proud of the fact that he got his way in the end.

toji really was just a big softie for his son. and for his wife as well, of course.

#ෆ : parenting 101.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #toji x you

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kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings · 1 year

Note

I just had the Idea, like Imagine, the S/o from Muzan, Koku, Douma and Akaza (seperate) finds a spider and is REALLY Scared of it. How would they react?

The mental image of the S/O shrieking in terror and one of these men just absolutely pegging it all the way from one side of the house to the other just to find out its a spider that scared the S/O amuses me greatly (≧▽≦)

Also I have arachnophobia and honestly spiders get my skin crawling in terror... they just give me the ick

Honestly thanks for sliding this into my askbox! It was fun to imagine and write what these men would think and do during such a scenario!

Muzan Kibutsuji, Kokushibo, Douma/Doma + Akaza reacting to their S/O being scared of a spider - Headcanons:

Muzan Kibutsuji:

He was just doing an experiment, just messing around with chemicals to get a reaction

When he hear's you scream

Fucking speed demon o'hoy as he speeds across the house to find you, nails hardening and lengthen and tentacles wanting to burst out from his skin to get rid of what's harmed you

And when he reaches where you are, hands cracking the foundations of the door with a snarl on his lips until his eyes land on you

Muzan stands there - his fear quells and is instead replaced with a thankful neutrality - breathing slowly reverting back to normal as he takes in your shaken form standing on one of the tables in the home's library

With a quirk of his brow his gaze drifts to where your shaking finger points and lands on the calm + poised form of a spider

Muzan stares at it

The spider stares back

Before it's promptly squished under a book

Your carried out of the room like a bride

"For scaring me you get to sit in my lab" Muzan says, going back to mixing chemicals "And if your good, it'll be me that makes you scream in ecstasy later"

Muzan knows spider's scare you so usually just kills them before you see one - although the odd few go get to live

Kokushibo:

Kokushibo was meditating - his usual activity after a long day

It's silent, the house in a state of stillness and the world outside holding it's breathe as Kokushibo breathes in...then out..

And its shattered by your scream of fear

His body moves quicker than his mind

Hand on his katana as he rushes to where you are and as see's you cowering in the hallway, eyes flicking to and fro to see where your fear is placed to see the 8-legged fiend

"It's a spider...." He states plainly, eyes blinking as his stance relaxes "......again?"

"Can you please make it go away!" You whisper-shout, eyes peaking through your fingers at him "It's really scary"

Kokushibo simply sighs

Moving silently to catch the spider with a drinking cup and a piece of parchment from the ceiling and releasing it outside

He picks you up and dusts you off with a small smile

"Next time just shout my name, I'll handle the spiders"

Douma/Doma:

Douma/Doma had just finished a sermon

Narrowly escaping his followers clutches from having to give more false kindness and advice that he probably didn't mean

Until he hears you scream

Fear flushes his insides cold and worry makes his chest ache as he runs to your shared quarters

First, he blinks - taking in the scene of your shaking form and the rather harmless spider on the wall

Then his brain starts working at a mile a minute before everything clicks into place

You (S/O) + Spider + Scream from you = Fear = New form of entertainment

Douma/Doma smirks - something filled with malice and a polite mock sympathy - before making his way across the room to soothe you

Before promptly catching the spider and chasing you with it...

Yes, this is funny for him and no, he won't stop until he's tired

After having his fun - for what felt like a millennia - Douma/Doma releases the spider outside

And with a chuckle, kisses your forehead and leaves you

Douma/Doma just doesn't understand why you're scared of spiders until you sit down with him before bed and tell him off for earlier

After that he orders his followers to either kill spiders on sight or move them into the garden

Akaza:

He was training in the garden when he heard you scream out in terror

Making record time to get to you by simply leaping from the garden through the bedroom's open window

Eyes moving wildly trying to find the source of your terror - his heart aching when seeing your eyes shimmering with tears and a scared wobble to your lip

Until landing on the black mass on the floor scuttling about... "a....a spider?" He says inquisitively, his head tilting in confusion

When he realizes that it was the spider that made you scream, Akaza kinda just stares at it for a little while before joining you on the bed to get away from it and soothe you

Then 5 minutes roll into 10 minutes and your both sat there, chilling on the bed in a hug and waiting for the spider to leave

"It's gone now...."

Accidentally stands on the spider

Yes, he screams

No, the spider doesn't make it

But you do get to laugh

Akaza now doesn't go near spiders....

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puckinghischier · 27 days

Text

Jersey Talk

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader finds herself engaging in a lot of jersey talk

notes: part 3 of my lil unnamed nico series!! i loved writing this part and hope you enjoy it as much as i do 🥹 also, i didn’t really proofread so ignore any mistakes. and just a disclaimer, i don’t claim to know everything there is to know about any of the players mentioned in my writing, so if there’s inaccuracies on timelines or personality traits, just ignore them and assume it’s for the plot 😌

p.s.!! i’m thinking about starting a tag list for this/any of my writing i post so if you want to be a part of that, let me know!!

part 1, part 2, part 4

[6.4k]

You absolutely love how foot travel friendly New Jersey is. Coming from an area where foot travel is virtually nonexistent, the change is a welcomed one. You appreciate being able to simply grab your favorite totes, your headphones, and make the fifteen-minute walk to the small corner store. Surely in the winter you’ll feel differently about the five-block trek, but hopefully you’ll have your car by then. For now, the comfortable Autumn air makes the walk enjoyable. The fresh air, the beautiful buildings, and the surprising friendliness of the strangers you pass on the street make you feel like you made the right decision in relocating your life to the garden state.

Luckily this grocery run was fairly light, only needing to pick up some essentials until one of the boys gives you a ride to the larger chain grocery store on one of their upcoming off days. You really just needed the ingredients to make dinner tonight, making good on your promise to be their personal shopper and occasional chef in exchange for a place to live. You even stopped in a small bakery about a block from your apartment and picked up a few assorted pastries for a sweet treat later, knowing how much Luke loves his dessert.

As you walk into the apartment, courtesy of your shiny new key Jack gave you last week, you see both him and Luke on the couch, each with one hand on an iPad held out so both could view the contents on the screen. You assume they’re watching game film, preparing for their game later in the week against the Rangers. Your assumption is confirmed when you hear the unmistakable sound of sticks slapping against pucks and ice coming from the iPad in question.

They’re both so engrossed in the game film on the screen that they have no clue that you’ve even walked through the door. You make your way to the kitchen to unload what’s in your hands, putting away what little groceries you bought. Once you’re finished in the kitchen, you make your way back out into the living room, wanting to catch up with your roommates on how their midday practice had gone. As you walk towards the living area, rounding the loveseat adjacent to the sectional where the boys sit, Luke catches your moving figure from the corner of his eye. His body jerks slightly, clearly startled until he notices its only you.

“Oh my god you just scared the shit out of me,” you hear him exhale, holding his hand to his chest.

You just chuckle as you see Jack whip his head up, confused as to what Luke was referring to until he saw you sitting down, tucking your feet up under your legs to get comfortable.

“When did you get home? Have you been here the whole time?” Jack asks, pausing the game film and sitting the iPad on the small coffee table in the center of the room.

“No, you two were just lost in hockey land when I came in. I went to the corner mart a few blocks down to get stuff to make dinner, then put it all away before coming in here. Thought I’d give you guys a few more minutes before I came in here and interrupted,” you replied, resting your chin on your hands that are placed on the arm of the loveseat.

“Well, you have our full attention now. What’s up?” Jack leans back into the couch once again, stretching his arms above his head.

“Just wanted to talk to my boys. See how practice went today. Figure out how you guys are going to fare against the Rags,” you throw in a small dig at their biggest rival team.

“The Rags? Since when do you participate in hockey talk?” Luke chimes into the conversation, laughing slightly at your attempt to assimilate into the world of hockey.

“Since I overheard a conversation at this cute little bakery down the street. While I was waiting in line there was a man in front of me with a Devils hat on and the guy working the counter was asking him about his thoughts on the game this week. He was talking about how much he wishes ‘the boys can pull their heads out of their asses and beat the damn Rags’ and I thought it was funny. Figured I should probably adopt the local vernacular if I want to fit in around here. You know, participate in the Jersey talk,” you recall with a shrug of your shoulders.

The two brothers let out a little chuckle at your story, amused at your attempt to insert yourself into their world. The two of them and Quinn taught you a lot about how hockey is played and the rules over the years, but their hope of you fully getting involved in all of the aspects of hockey and the fanbase quickly dissolved. They would sit and force you to watch reruns of games with them over the summer at the lake, and you would sit there and whine because of how badly you wanted to go out on the boat or drive the golf cart down to the local ice cream shop, not listening to a single word the trio would say to you. Once you made the decision to move in with the two youngest brothers, you figured you should probably put a little more effort into the whole hockey fan experience, considering you would likely be attending games on a regular basis.

“Well, we’ve been preparing for the Rags, so that old man in the bakery can rest easy knowing we’re working our asses off, which our heads aren’t in, by the way,” Jack speaks, correcting the stranger’s statement.

“Yeah, we’re doing really well, actually. We keep splitting the team up and forcing one half to mimic the Rangers and some of their techniques, so we’re actually getting really good at stopping them from getting the puck into our zone. Plus, our goalies are putting out some insane stops during practice, so I really think we’ve got this in the bag,” Luke adds, excited to showcase their hard work.

You’ve noticed that practices must have been hard for the boys this week. A lot of naps and ibuprofen consumed. You haven’t really seen much of them, if you’re being honest. They’re usually gone by the time you wake up in the mornings and so tired by the time they come home that they go straight to the couch or their bedrooms and fall asleep. By the time they wake up from their naps you’re usually already cooking dinner, at least getting to chat a bit while you cook. After finishing dinner they’re back to the couch, watching game film or heading back to the arena for various events and strategy meetings. They go to bed fairly early, considering all of their early morning starts, so evenings are usually spent in your room by yourself watching tv or catching up with your friends back home. You suppose you should get used to spending time by yourself, though, knowing you’ll be here by yourself more often than not during the season.

They had a game in Boston a few days prior, leaving you with your apartment to yourself for the first time in the two weeks you’ve lived with them. They were only gone for one night, but it was definitely lonely. You really haven’t been here long enough to have an abundance of people to call up anytime Jack and Luke were unavailable, so you had passed the time by exploring the area around your apartment complex a little, finding the perfect park to go sit at to soak up some much-needed sunshine. You couldn’t hide your excitement when the two brothers returned home the next evening, though. You got up from the couch and ran over to the door, ready to greet them and ask them all about the game (you had watched it on tv, but you really just wanted to talk to someone after a full day with no one’s company but your own), but you were greeted with tired eyes and frowns, despite their win the previous night. You simply gave each of them a hug and then sent them off to bed, knowing once they got some sleep they would be up for conversation.

This is why, right now, even though you have zero knowledge of what preparing for a rival hockey game consists of, you’re taking in every word the two have to offer about the subject. You’re just happy to have a few uninterrupted minutes to sit and talk with them.

“Good! That’s great! Really…good,” you say, giving a thumbs up and awkward smile after failing to come up with a better response to Luke’s statements.

Luke just laughs, appreciating your attempts at interest in their jobs.

“You’re coming to the game, right? We put back a ticket for you, but if you can’t make it that’s okay, too. Got you a pretty sick seat, though. Glass seat, right beside the net,” Jack reveals, raising his eyebrows a bit, as if trying to convince you.

“Of course I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you exclaim, a little offended at the mere thought you’d skip out on such a big game for them.

“You won’t be disappointed, I swear. We’re gonna kick some major Rags ass,” Luke adds, excitement showing at the idea of you being in the crowd.

“The real question here shouldn’t be if I’m coming to the game or not. It’s whose jersey am I going to wear?” you throw out, poking fun at the two.

“Pshh, c’mon that one’s a no brainer. You’ll obviously wear mine, I’m your favorite,” Jack waves off your words, fully confident that you’ll agree with him.

“I don’t know, Rowdy. I feel like plenty of people will have 86 jerseys on. It is Moose’s rookie season, maybe I should wear his so he feels included.”

“Yeah, dickhead. You have a whole arena full of people wearing your number, she should wear mine. We all know it’s the better number anyways,” Luke retorts.

Jack rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to fire back an insult at Luke, but he’s cut off by a knock at the door. You look over at the two boys to see if they know who might be at the door, but both of their faces mirror your confused look. So much for your uninterrupted time with them.

“Did you guys invite someone over? Or should I be worried that there’s a murderer standing on the other side of our door right now,” you ask.

“Well first of all I don’t think a murderer would knock on the door. They would probably pick the lock or something. Isn’t the whole point of murdering someone to do it when they don’t see it coming?” Jack responds, standing up. “Second of all, it’s probably just Nico. I had mentioned watching game film together at practice earlier and he told me he’d see how he was feeling later. Kinda forgot about it, if I’m being honest, but this is around the time he wakes up from his post-practice nap.”

You sit up a little straighter when Jack mentions his teammate and captain. You hadn’t seen him since your first night in town about two weeks ago. You’d caught little bits of information about him in passing from both Jack and Luke, but tried to keep your questions about him to a minimum. The two of you were still practically strangers, not having had any reason to communicate after that night. You assume he’s been as busy as Jack and Luke, coming and going far more than you. Still, you’re surprised you haven’t even run into him once. You figure his captain duties keep him far busier than even Luke and Jack.

You hear the front door open and then two sets of voices making their way down the short hallway. You look over to see Nico in a hoodie and sweats, a hat hiding his long hair. You think back to that night at the bar when his hair was uncovered and he was having to push it out of his eyes for most of the night, wishing you could catch a glimpse of the brown locks right now. The two were continuing their short conversation from the door, so Nico had yet to acknowledge you or Luke yet. You look away, starting to pick at a loose thread on your socks, knowing you needed to avert your eyes before you were caught staring.

Unknown to you, Luke had already noticed your stare, observing how fixated you were on his captain. You look over to find Luke staring at you, an undecipherable expression on his face. You give him a puzzled look, as if to say ‘what?’ and he responds by simply shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“Oh, hey you two. How’s it going?” Nico’s voice pulls you from your silent conversation with Luke, noticing Jack was no longer next to him.

“Hey, man. How was your nap? Your shoulder okay?” Luke asks him, adjusting his body slightly on the couch to make room for Nico to sit down.

You turn your head to look at Nico once again, a small hint of worry surfacing. He doesn’t look injured? His arm isn’t in a sling or anything, and he’s not holding it in pain. You watch as he sits down to see if even the smallest wince makes its way across his face as his back comes to rest against the plush cushions. If he’s in any sort of pain, he’s not letting it show in his actions.

“Yeah, perfectly fine. Don’t give yourself that much credit, kid. You don’t hit nearly as hard as you think you do,” Nico chuckles, taking his hand and tapping Luke on the knee a few times.

“Trying to hurt your captain before a huge game, Luke?” you speak for the first time since Nico entered the apartment. “Maybe I should wear Jack’s jersey on Saturday.”

“I knew it! See, my jersey is clearly the better choice, Moose. Sucks to suck, huh?” Jack interjects with a grin, walking from the direction of the kitchen, glass of water in hand.

“Now c’mon, Y/N, that isn’t even fair. It was an accident!” Luke cries out. “We were running drills and I was trying to stop, but I misjudged and ran into Nico. He didn’t even hit the glass that hard, you heard him!”he argues, looking between you and his brother.

“All I’m saying is, it won’t look good if the rookie is the reason the captain can’t play against public enemy number one. Then you’ll become public enemy number one, and I can’t be caught at a game wearing the new public enemy’s jersey. I’m already a newcomer, I can’t tarnish my reputation this early,” you hold your hands up in defense.

“What have I just walked into?” Nico asks, eyes darting between the three of you.

“Well, right before you walked in, we were talking about which jersey Y/N was going to wear to the game on Saturday. I told her the obvious choice was mine, but she decided to spew some bullshit about there being too many 86 jerseys already, so she should wear Luke’s since he’s new and needs to feel included,” Jack uses finger quotes around the last part of his sentence.

“Well, she has a point.”

“See! Even Cap thinks so! That’s it, you’re wearing my jersey, Y/N. Cap’s word is final,” Luke leans back, taking in his assumed victory.

Your mind wanders back to Nico’s words he spoke to you at the bar a couple of weeks ago, wondering if Luke’s statement includes those words, too.

“Maybe I should be fair and not wear either jersey. Just go down the roster and pick a random name and then buy it,” you joke, watching the brothers widen their eyes like you just told them you ran over their childhood pet.

“That’s…not even funny. How dare you even joke about something so important,” Jack stares at you, seriousness painted on his features.

“C’mon, Y/N, that’s just…that’s just cruel,” Luke emphasizes the last word dramatically.

“I think you should do it. In fact, I have a spare jersey I think you can wear,” Nico adds, looking at you with mischievous eyes.

��Oh, well that actually sounds lovely, Nico, thank you! What better way to show my support at my first Devils game than sporting the captain’s jersey?”

Jack and Luke both turn their heads to glare at their captain sitting between them. If looks could kill, the poor Swiss man would be six feet under right now. The Hughes brothers don’t play around when it comes to their jerseys. You remember when you had gone to one of Luke’s games while he was playing for Michigan, wanting to buy a Michigan jersey in support, but the gift shop had run out of Luke’s number once he announced his contract with the Devils. You knew you could have simply asked him for a jersey, knowing he had several lying around his dorm room, but the trip was supposed to be a surprise.

You were forced to buy a random jersey with some lesser known last name on it, because you still wanted to show up in Michigan attire. You don’t even remember whose name and number it was, but you remember the look on Luke’s face when he saw you during warm ups, going from pure joy to disgust in seconds. He skated off, going to the locker room briefly before returning with a yellow Jersey that he then threw over the glass to your seat, motioning for you to put it on. You just laughed and did as you were told. You’ve had similar arguments with both Jack and Quinn over threatening to wear a teammates jersey over the years, but you just like to poke fun at how protective the three are over you. Jack explained to you that they want you to wear their jersey’s because it shows their teammates that you’re to be left alone, knowing the reputations of their fellow players.

“Cap, please don’t make me kick you out of this apartment right now,” Jack looks at Nico with complete seriousness.

“Maybe I need to work on my body checks in practice tomorrow, Cap,” Luke tries to threaten.

Nico simply laughs, shaking his head at the sudden unity between the two bickering brothers.

“Alright, chill out you two, all jokes. Unless…” You trail off, standing up.

“No, no unless. You’re wearing one of our jerseys, preferably mine. Hey! Where are you going, this is serious!” Jack yells after you as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Unless you want to starve tonight, someone has to start making dinner. Plus, I have some jersey shopping to do,” you say, hearing Nico’s laughter ringing out once more as you enter the kitchen.

———————————————————————————

“Hey, Nico! Are you staying for dinner? I need to know how much pasta to make!” you shout from your spot by the stove, having just sat down a large pot of water on the hot eye.

You walk over to the cabinet to grab the box of pasta and a couple jars of sauce, waiting for an answer from the living room. You decided to go with just simple spaghetti and salad tonight, not really in the mood for having to prep a ton of food and spend an hour and a half cooking. Jack will probably complain about the amount of carbs he’s consuming, but he’ll get over it. As if he doesn’t burn enough calories from practice and his personal workouts he does on a daily basis. Luke will just be happy to have something that isn’t chicken, seeing as that’s all you made for the first few days of your new living arrangement, trying to stick to the meal plan Jack had the nutritionist send you.

After the third night of some form of chicken and vegetables, Luke was quick to inform you that no one on the team follows the meal plan so strictly. You also learned that Jack is going through some phase of eating nothing but chicken or steak and brown rice, Luke revealing that’s what the two mostly lived on during the weeks leading up to your move. You had told Luke he should learn to cook for himself, and then he wouldn’t be forced to eat what Jack or you decide to make if he doesn’t like it, but he had rolled his eyes and told you “this was the agreement, right? We won’t let you pay rent, so you told us you would contribute by cooking. So really, I’m just helping you fulfill your roommate duties.”

You still don’t have an answer from the three in the living room. You figure they’re too busy with game film to hear you, so you decide to just make enough for Nico, too. You can always pack up the leftovers and have them for lunch the next few days if needed. You dump what you think to be the proper amount of pasta for four people into the pot once it reaches a boil, then work on pouring the sauce into a pan to let it heat up. You cheated on the salad, too, deciding to just buy two bags of salad mix, dumping the bag into a large bowl and adding the small packets of toppings. You’ve just dumped the now done pasta into the colander in the sink, turning to put the pot back onto the stove to cool off a bit when a voice causes you to nearly drop the hot pot in your hands.

“It smells delicious in here,” Nico announces his presence, walking through the doorway towards the fridge.

You settle yourself before setting the pot down safely on the stovetop before speaking. “You know, I really need to get on ordering those squeaky shoes if I want to avoid a heart attack by 25.”

Turning your body, you see Nico hunched over looking in the fridge, arm reaching towards a water bottle before raising up, flashing you a smile.

“Nah, even if you buy them I wouldn’t wear them. This is like, our thing now. Me sneaking up on you, you getting mad, me getting a good laugh out of it,” he stands back at his full height now.

“How comforting that you find enjoyment out of my jumpiness. Such an admirable trait to have,” you grumble, taking the pasta from the sink and transfer it into the pan filled with sauce. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, seeing as it looks like I made enough to feed the entire team, but I think I’ll just leave you to fend for yourself. See how funny that is.”

This earns another laugh, Nico moving to lean against the counter opposite of you, watching you try to combine the sauce and the pasta without making a giant mess.

“Why don’t you just put it back in the pot you cooked the pasta in. You’ll be able to mix it easier.”

“Because apparently that would have been too easy,” you step back and huff, wondering why you didn’t think of that before you created an overflowing mess of sauce and noodles.

Nico makes his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders to move you out of the way. He picks up the pan and dumps the contents into the pot sitting next to it, not spilling a single drop.

“There, now you can mix it easier and it won’t spill out over the sides and cause an even bigger mess,” he states, placing the dirty pan in the sink behind you.

“Okay, captain chef, next time you’re cooking dinner, since you clearly have more kitchen skills than me,” you tell him, making your way across the kitchen to collect plates to sit on the table.

Nico just chuckles as he watches you grab the plates, sitting one in front of each chair around the small dining table that sits in the kitchen.

“It smells so good in here, please tell me its almost done,” Jack enters the kitchen, Luke trailing behind him.

“It is, just finished actually,” you look up, Nico carrying the pot of steaming pasta from the stove to the table, careful not to drop it.

“Rowdy, grab the salad over there by the sink for me while I grab some forks for everyone,” you move towards the silverware drawer, walking around the Swiss man in your kitchen, having to turn your body slightly as he steps back from the table.

“Well, I better get going, my leftovers aren’t going to heat themselves up,” Nico announces, starting to make his way out of the kitchen.

“Cap, are you crazy? Do you not see how much food Bouy made?” Jack places the bowl of salad next to the pot of pasta, taking his seat at the table.

“Jack, I’m being so serious right now, if you keep using that stupid nickname for me I will sneak laxatives into your protein shakes.” You take the seat across from Jack, Luke falling into the seat to your left.

“Well, as long as it’s okay with Bouy, I’d love to stay.” Nico walks back over to the table, taking the seat next to Jack, smirking while avoiding eye contact with you.

“I know where you live, so the threat extends to you too, Cap” you glare at Nico.

The rest of the meal is mostly filled with talk between the three hockey players, you chiming in here and there, until Jack shifts the topic of conversation to you.

“So, what’s the update with your new job? You have everything lined up and ready to go?”

“Yeah, talked to them earlier today, actually. They said they’d have my office ready in about a week, so I should be starting not long after that.” You shrug, not wanting to bore them with the details of the corporate scene in New Jersey.

“Where are you going to be working?” Nico asks, genuine interest present in his tone, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“I got offered a position with a small publishing company not too far from here, actually. Mostly independent, up and coming authors, but still exciting,” you reveal, perking up a bit at the opportunity to talk about your passion.

“Was super worried I wasn’t going to be able to use my degree after college, seeing as the market for English lit degrees isn’t too wide unless you want to teach. At least, that’s how it is back home. After I graduated and Jack offered the spare room here, I applied to a few positions here in Jersey and a few in New York, willing to make the commute if needed. Only heard back from one place, though. And it just so happened to be a thirty-minute drive from here, so I accepted and started packing,” you explained.

“It was meant to be. The gang back together once again,” Jack beams.

“Well, the gang minus Quinn. The fucker just had to end up in Vancouver of all places,” Luke grumbles, still upset the oldest Hughes is so far away.

“Lucky for us I can work remotely if I ever need or want to, so this summer at the lake we can all be together again,” you try to cheer Luke up, knowing how much he wishes the three brothers could have played on the same team while making their dreams come true.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jack celebrates. “This is going to be the best summer at the lake house yet. We’re all grown, most of us legal drinking age, but don’t worry, we won’t tell if you won’t, Lukey,” Jack winks over at Luke, knowing the underage drinking rule has never really applied in the sacred space of the lake houses, “and we’ll all finally be there together again after, what, like 6 years?”

“It’s been awhile, at least that long,” you try to think back to the last time everyone was there together.

It was the summer before Quinn got drafted. Quinn had signed to play hockey at Michigan a few months before everyone was set to arrive at the summer oasis. You remember being so proud of him. You couldn’t wait to finally see him and congratulate him in person, knowing how hard he had worked for it. You figured things would stay the same for a few more years, expecting him to come home every summer for the next four years before moving on to the NHL. You had no clue that he would be drafted only a summer later and that it would be the beginning of the end for the summers of fun at the lake house.

“Nico, you should come up this summer! It’s always such a good time!” Jack pulls you from your reminiscing.

“I mean, maybe. I’ve been talking to my parents about flying home during the off season this year, since I didn’t make it over there last year. But I could probably come for a few days, at least,” he shrugs his shoulders.

You try to picture Nico at the lake house, hat covering his hair, swim trunks and a t-shirt covering his body. You picture him lounging on the boat in the sun while Jack takes everyone out for a midday ride, finding a secluded spot somewhere on the lake to stop and swim for a while. You picture him trying to wake surf, wondering if he’d be instantly good at it or if he would end up wiping out in the water. You picture him sitting around the fire at night, a light hoodie on to the mask the chill that never fails to make an appearance on Michigan summer nights, the glow from the fire illuminating his face just enough for you to admire him. You picture him with a slight sunburn on his nose, tan skin glowing from being in the sun so often.

You must have been lost in your thoughts for longer than you realized, because you came back to the conversation with several calls of your name from the seat next to you.

“Are you even listening to us anymore? Or do you really not want Cap coming to the lake house?” Luke looks over at you, slightly waving his hand in front of your face.

“What? No,” you say, looking around at the expectant faces surrounding you. “I mean, no I don’t care if he comes. It would be fun, yeah. If he can make it, of course. You heard him, I’m sure he’s excited to see his family.”

“I’m sure I can work something out. Have the best of both worlds. These two have talked about the infamous lake house so much I’m curious to see if it really lives up to all the hype,” Nico leans back, nodding his head towards both Jack and Luke.

“Then its settled! Cap is coming to Michigan this summer!” Jack cheers, throwing his arms up in celebration.

You laugh in response to Jack’s excitement, noticing that everyone seems to be done eating, plates clean and glasses empty. You stand up and start to take some of the dishes to the sink, setting them in there before walking back over to the table.

“Since you’re in such a good mood, I think now would be the best time to tell you that you and Luke have dish duty tonight.” You clear the last of the dishes off the table.

You watch Jack’s face fall, while Luke’s does a sharp turn in your direction. You turn your back to them to walk back over to the counter, opening the cabinet below you to find Tupperware to store the leftovers in.

“On that note, I better get going. Have some laundry I need to get done before practice in the morning,” Nico stands, bringing over a few stray pieces of silverware you seemed to have missed.

“Oh, no you don’t, Cap. You heard her, she cooked, we clean,” Jack turns to look at his captain as he makes his way to the sink.

“No, I said you and Luke have dish duty tonight. Nico’s name was never mentioned. Guests don’t do the dishes, Jack. I know Ellen raised you better than that.”

“Nico is hardly a guest. He’s over here all the time!” Luke chimes in, opening one of the drawers by the sink, grabbing a towel to dry dishes with.

“He doesn’t pay any rent for the apartment, therefore he’s a guest. Just accept your fate, you two. You’ll survive, I promise.” You hand the pot you just emptied to Jack, taking the food in your hands to the fridge a few steps away.

“You don’t pay any rent, and you’re not a guest,” Jack mumbles, hands covered in soapy suds.

“Exactly! That means I don’t do the dishes, either. I knew you’d catch on eventually! And they say you’re just a pretty face,” you shut the fridge door, looking over at Jack with an amused grin.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Jack whines.

“C’mon, man, you walked right into that one,” Nico adds, laughing at his teammate.

Jack glares at the taller man. “I thought you said you were leaving, that you had laundry to do or some shit.”

“I am, I am,” Nico throws his hands up in defense.

“I’ll walk you out, Nico. Leave the children to pout while doing their chores,” you jest, walking toward the kitchen’s exit.

“Thanks for dinner, Y/N. Ten times better than whatever I would’ve found in my fridge,” Nico says as you pass through the living room.

“Anytime, Cap,” you use his title, blaming Jack and Luke for the new habit. “After all, I owed you for rescuing me from sleeping in the hallway.”

This earns another one of those laughs you love to hear fall from his mouth, smiling to yourself as he follows you down the small hallway towards the front door.

“I feel like you definitely had to put in more effort on your end of that deal,” he steps through the door you’re holding open.

“I’ll just wait until you owe me a favor, then I’ll make sure to cash in some extravagant request,” you joke, leaning against the door as he stands in the hallway.

“I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”

Nico takes his apartment key from his pocket and unlocks his door, opening it and stepping inside, turning around to face you once again, his stance mirroring your own in his own doorway.

“So, I’ll see you at the game on Saturday, then?” He stalls a goodbye.

“Yep, I’ll be there. Still deciding which brother I’m going to piss off,” you reference the earlier argument over whose jersey you’ll wear.

“Oh, that reminds me-“ Nico says before propping his door open, leaving you alone in your doorway, confused as to where he could’ve gone.

After about a minute of you standing there, wondering if he was going to come back, he returns, holding a red jersey in his hand.

“Here, figured there’s no sense in you going out and buying one if you really wanted to mess with their heads.”

He hands you the jersey, stepping back into his doorway. You unfold the jersey and notice the big black C on the upper left corner of the jersey. It was a solid red jersey, the team’s symbol in the middle, two black stripes on the forearms of each sleeve, more black accents on the shoulders of the jersey. You look up at him, a little surprised.

“I- I can’t take one of your jerseys, Nico. What if I mess it up, or spill something on it? I’ll just wear one of the ones I have. This looks too nice to risk it,” you attempt to hand the jersey back across the hallway.

“No, I insist. I think it’ll be fun to mess around with them a little. Especially Jack, since he seemed so convinced you were going to wear his. They’ll never even see it coming,” Nico refuses.

You run the idea through your head for a second, thinking about how it would be a funny little dig at the boys. You also think about the implications of wearing a jersey that doesn’t belong to one of Hughes brothers. It’s harmless, though, right? Nico said it was just a fun way to get under their skin. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Y/N’ you think to yourself, trying to kick your habit of creative narratives in your head.

“Okay, but if I end up getting kicked out of my apartment I’m knocking on your door to sleep on your couch,” you finally agree.

“My door’s always open for you.”

You look back down to the jersey in your hands to hide the blush that appears on your face at his words. You know you’ve only known him for a short period of time, tonight being the first real chunk of time you’ve spent in his presence, but Nico is making it really hard for you to keep your feelings for him casual. You’ve always had a habit of getting a case of the heart eyes fast, but you’re trying to be normal, for once.

He’s likely just being his normal, personable self and you’re letting every smile and joke go to your head, placing more meaning on them than is warranted. There’s just something about him, though. He’s extremely attractive, for one. But it’s more than that. From all that you’ve learned about him through Jack and Luke, and the easy conversation that has flowed between the two of you from the moment you first spoke to him in the hallway, you can’t lie to yourself and say you’re not drawn to the Swiss captain.

Your mind circles back to the idea of wearing his jersey this weekend and what Jack and Luke will think. What if you seriously hurt their feelings? What if it affects how they play because they’re mad at you? What if they ignore you the whole game? You know the two brothers love you, but you also know how petty they can both be when mad.

“Stop overthinking it. I can see you getting lost up in that head of yours. It’s a harmless joke. They’re not going to freak out on the ice or anything. And if they do, I’m in more danger than you are,” Nico reassures you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“You better at least score a goal if I’m risking being homeless for you,” you tell him, looking back up at his face.

“How about I do you one better. If you promise to wear my jersey, I’ll score a hatty for your first ever New Jersey Devils hockey experience,” Nico offers, his eyes flashing with something you assume is delight at a challenge.

“Well then you better work on your slapshot tomorrow morning, Captain. I’ll be holding you to that Saturday night,” you take the bait, knowing how difficult a hat trick is to pull off.

“No need, I know I’ll have the right motivation night of to get it done,” he winks at you, causing your stomach to fill with butterflies. “And if I don’t, consider it your IOU for that extravagant request you might need one day,” He responds, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders, the nonchalance of his body language making you hope for his failure, just so you can think of some ridiculous task for him to perform.

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll get right to brainstorming,” you respond, trying to prevent your thoughts from spiraling yet again.

Nico lets out a small laugh, standing up straight and placing his hand on the handle of his door. “Think hard. Let me know what you come up with. Have a good night, Bouy, see you Saturday.” He shuts the door before you can berate him for using the nickname you hate.

You walk back into your apartment, door shutting behind you, going straight to your room to hide the jersey before either of the boys see it. You think back on the entire interaction, a smile on your face at the possibility of being able to have Nico do anything you ask him. As you’re walking past the kitchen you hear Jack’s voice.

“Luke, am I stupid or did Y/N call me stupid earlier?” he recalls your earlier comment about him being ‘just a pretty face’.

“Think about how you worded the first part of your question and you’ll have your answer,” you hear Luke respond as you make it past the kitchen unnoticed, making you stifle a giggle so you won’t be discovered.

Oh how you loved being back with your boys.

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sukunas-wife · 3 months

Note

the Dadkuna series is great!!! Sukuna isn’t my main character that I like in jjk but this series has me SAT and WAITING for the next upload! I’ve always wondered though what momkuna and dadkuna’s relationship dynamic is. We get that sort of in how they met but what about when their relationship is established? I get the sense that obviously dadkuna would quite literally do anything for her but what exactly goes through his mind when he thinks about her?

Oh? Guess whose back 😎🤧

Me- I’m sickly too 🤭 but! The blog is picking up 🥺 and I’ve been working on this for a good time so here you go 🤍🤍🤍

(Indentions are thoughts, things he didn’t actively say out loud 🥺🤍)

Lord Ryomen Sukuna, though emotionally stunted and constipated, loves his wife. Would level cities and kill men easily if she didn’t have such a strong hold in him.

But he’s a misogynist at heart to an extent. He wants you at home with his kids being his cute little wife that he knows he can always come home to. It was your overwhelming passion for helping women who couldn’t bear children that convinced him he could let you live your life, as long as he knew he had people there to look over you when he couldn’t.

He appreciates the fact that when he’s tired, covered in blood that’s not his own, and carrying the exhaustion of his war ridden day, there you are rushing to him when he enters his temple. Disregarding your fine silk robes and the blood partly way on his body. The way you cling to him, always so happy and relieved to see him come home.

The first time he came home after being gone for so long, he remembers how you cried and held on to him, your anguished filled cries when you cried about how you thought he was never coming back, how you were scared he’d left you alone. He remembers how his hands found your waits holding you a bit away, another hand coming to cup your face, thumb wiping away your tears when he looked at you with tired eyes, “It would take the militia of this land's greatest sorcerers to even consider preventing my way back to your embrace.” Your teary eyes softened before you buried your face in his chest again hugging him and clinging to him.

He longed for that feeling of your embrace whenever he would leave you behind, he could deny it but on his way home to you, his heart ached and longed to feel your embrace and hear your praises of how he had returned. You cried no more because you were filled with that confidence he would always return.

——————

He’s a traditional man with his one form of values, not once did he long for sexual pleasure or was he consumed with lust. Misery, pain and the screams of his victims fueled him and filled him with an immense pleasure no woman’s body could ever possibly offer him.

They were all the same, sultry, scandalous, attention seeking harlots, prostitutes and women. Thinking they could better their lives if they could slip into his bed. They were wrong, every woman who he allowed to enter his bed chamber under these pretences had walked in with starry eyes and ambition. Only to cry and scream for their life while he slowly dug his nails into their flesh tearing them all apart, slowly and agonisingly. That was until he saw you that one day, any girl of age would’ve started to present themselves to him in shy or subtle ways hoping to catch his eyes. There you were kneeling out of respect in his presence, scared you had offended your lord.

‘Oh? Is this little morsel afraid?’ Fear filled and humbling yourself before him. You couldn’t look at him, there wasn’t an ounce of “I want to sleep with this man.” And yet these feelings caused a sentiment in the depths of his chest, something stirred inside him, you head captured his interest (non sexual at this point). ‘Hmm?, this will be a fine pet to break.’

You were a phenomenon in the temple, one he wanted to study, to take into his clawed hands and mould, twist, stretch and push to the edge and then just over the point of breaking to see what would become of you. Yet, once he had you in hands reach, once you were close enough for him to graze your skin with his nails… he didn’t treat you like a common daisy or water Lilly, no he took you into his hands like a Lotus floating on the water's surface. Making elegant work and taking care of your delicate bloom. You would be his delicate lotus that no one else would ever take the joy in having.

——————

“My gratifying queen, My delicate lotus, My benevolent wife.” Words he doesn’t speak so freely, he whispers them against your skin whenever you’d sleep by his side.

Delicate words and honeyed names had never once crossed his mind in his existence. Yet here he was, allowing himself to indulge in the smallest amount of vulnerability with these words. The press of his feverish kisses against your neck and cheeks between every word.

‘My little beloved pet, so tired, sleeping away the wares of today. How could something so small and insignificant like you cause this shift in my existence hm?’

The back of his hand brushing hair away from your face, nails grazing the side of your face lightly, he held you in his embrace watching you. Two arms securely around you, one supporting his head, the other kept grazing your skin. You’d stir in your sleep when he shifted slightly away from you to lay on his back. You’d become so used to his body heat even on the hottest days you’d search him out half awake.

‘My little lotus,’ he closed the space between you, pulling you into his side again, ‘rest your weary head without worries of tomorrow, I’m here to hold you now.’

He wouldn’t admit it, he didn’t even know it at that moment, but he was absolutely smitten with you in ways he had yet to comprehend. But it showed in his subconscious movements. A hand on your lower back or waist guiding you, knowing you’re close and safe.

Bringing home little jewels and trinkets he’d usually never spare a second glance . That is until a stone sparkles in the light of his flames and he stops briefly to take a close look.

My queen would look Devine with these adorning her neck. These stones would make fine pieces for my wife.

It was a shock when he came home one night waking you when he sat on the bed. You sat up sleepily while he handed you a bag of precious stones and jewels telling you he had brought you a gift, a free hand of his brushing your hair back and bringing you closer by the back of your head so he could kiss your lips.

——————

It was your wedding, there you were standing beside him in the Ceremonial Robes. You stood on his right, his eyes looking down at you.

Hmm, What an enticing display, to have my little pet dressed up so exquisitely for all to see and admire.

Even more enticing to know soon you’ll be round with my child, what an ethereal sight you will be laid out in silk robes and swollen carrying my legacy

My delicate little lotus, my malevolent queen, my gratifying and honourable wife. Perhaps these thoughts never be spoken aloud with heavy sentiment. But I vow myself to you in this instant, that I will do all to assure our future, our health, our children and our endless lives.

I will assure your hand never be left cold nor alone as long as I can take it. nor will it ever be lifted in vain or to labour. Your stomach is never empty as I will assure you have the finest wine and a feast every night if it’s what your little human heart desires, your head will always have a place to rest even if it is only on my chest. Your nights will never be cold, your days will never be short, your loneliness will exist no longer, and your heart will be mine, and mine will be yours.

It wasn’t all he told himself, but it was in the moment you felt a warm sensation against your skin, on your chest below the centre of your collar bone but above your breast was the same mark you’d seen on his tongue very few times.

Ryomen Sukuna DID NOT enjoy the thought of staining your teeth black, instead he took your hand, as if vowing and brains you, the ring finger of your left hand, the base faded to a black band, above it a snark mark matching your chest and another thin black bank, just below your nail was another black band. That’s how your little husband decided to present you as his.

Tag List: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@bofadeezs

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

Broken :( @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @ilovemybabies378 @anyaswlrd @cyder-puff

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aphrogeneias · 4 months

Note

37 w Eddie 🫡

roommate!eddie munson x fem!reader + we always snuggle, and this shouldn’t be any different, but i’m trying not to press my lips to yours because they’re right there and i don’t want to pass up another chance, but you take initiative and do it yourself. oh.

warnings: fluff, a little suggestiveness, kissing. eddie being a soft boy.

There is no excuse, at this point.

The only excuse he could give himself, at first, was that he's a tactile person. His uncle used to tell him he had eyes in his hands, always picking things up in order to look at them. His hands are always fidgeting, reaching, touching.

Eddie’s friends are all used to it. He hugs, holds, and squeezes. Hands on their backs and arms, guiding, reassuring. Excitedly pulling and slapping when he's telling a story, or laughing.

This only grew tenfold when it came to you.

At first, he kept a safe distance. You weren't his friend, after all. Just Nancy’s friend from college, someone who needed a place to stay after your last roommate bailed on you. Coincidentally, Gareth had left their apartment to move in with his girlfriend not too long before.

Fate, it seemed — or just two broke young adults trying to make ends meet, which was, in a way, fateful too.

His caution was thrown out the window when he realized you were just like him in that aspect. It all started with small, delicate touches.

A hand on his back while you were sharing the kitchen space in the morning, too tired to get off each other's way. Messing his hair to tease him, kissing his cheek as a greeting anytime you got home. You'd put your feet on his lap during your self-appointed movie nights, and his hands would carefully land on your calves, rubbing your legs under his rough palms, and you wouldn't pull away.

The blue light of the television, the only source of light in the room, had him feeling light. Your soft skin on his hands, and the warmth under it, the fuzzy feeling of the hair there. He let them wander, squeezing your knee, massaging your feet, always keeping an eye for your reactions. It seemed as if you preened under his touch, leaning into it. As if, if he'd pull away, you'd ask for more.

After that, he grew bolder. Hungrier. It didn't help that you were always within his reach.

An arm around your waist while you bumped into each other in the hallway. Hovering over your back when you both had to use the bathroom in the morning, letting his chest graze your back. Pulling you closer on the couch, his arm over your shoulders, your head on his chest. Hands eagerly looking for your warmth, for your skin.

Hugs from behind in the kitchen, climbing into each other's beds at night. A habit that started because you simply didn't want to stop your late night conversations, so you'd drag yourselves from the dining table with mismatching chairs, or from the couch, and into each other's rooms.

Talking about the latest book you finished reading, the last band he got obsessed with, your hopes, your fears, whatever silly conspiracy theory he read about and couldn't stop thinking of. Sharing the same blanket, hands touching, legs too.

It doesn't take long until you're in each other's arms more often than not. There is no excuse. Eddie is a tactile person, and he longs for your touch. He'll seek it until you turn him away, but that doesn't seem like it's something you'd want either.

Tonight, your faces are almost touching. You're sharing the same pillow, the one that smells just like your hair. Vanilla and coconut, sweet like you. He chases the shadows on your face, dancing with the lamp light that comes from the opened window. You're speaking, but he's not entirely listening — until you stop.

“What is it?” He whispers. The silence feels sacred.

“Nothing.”

It's not nothing, not when you lean in, neither when your lips touch his. Softly, and slowly, testing the waters. You catch his upper lip between yours, and kiss it. It makes his stomach flutter, like the wings of a moth, searching for the light. It's over too soon, and he almost whimpers with the loss.

He's learning forward, trying to catch your lips again. You giggle, putting a finger to his aching lips.

“I'm sorry. Is that okay?” You're whispering too. Neither of you know why.

“Depends. Is it okay if I tell you that I've wanted to do this since the first time I saw you?” Eddie is honest. There's no excuse not to be.

You kiss him again, firmer this time. Your mouth lingers on his, and it tastes like sunlight. “Me too.”

#hope i made justice to your request my witch queen🫶🏼#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic

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dmitriene · 4 months

Text

THOUGHTS ABOUT SIMON NOT SHYING TO SHOW YOU OFF.

cw: fluff, comfort, nsfw, smut, established relationship, brief mentions of simons past, possesive behavior, mentions of another task force characters, kisses, pet names, public sex, passionate sex, unprotected p in v, marking, creampie pairing: bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

you and simon have been in a relationship for a relatively long time so that the man behind the balaclava of the skull and the nickname of the ghost, a man whose hands are stained with blood up to the elbows and dark circles have sunk under the dark pools of his eyes has become more than his dark image, his past, blossoming with your help.

his soul was no longer tormented by memories flashing like annoying flies and sleepless nights, cursed by the three cursed obscenity under his breath when he looked at the white shabby ceiling, now he fell asleep under the softness of your body near his chest, watching your chest heave and eyelashes flutter, soft sighs slide from your lips, now he was no longer tormented by memories, now he no longer was faced by faceless corpses.

if he could put all his gratitude into his words, he would not be silent for a minute, but instead of words, his eyes and actions spoke, warm brown ones always secretly accompanied you and stuck to your back until the moment you disappeared from his field of vision, calloused hands carefully held yours or lay with a landing weight on the very bottom of your back, he accompanied you, drove you, saw you off, and perhaps very rarely expressed his affection verbally, but when a languid baritone sounded like lightning through the sky in three words over your ear — «i love you», you knew that he was attached to you.

therefore, simon was not afraid to show you as his most precious treasure to everyone around him, he was not afraid to hold your hand, intertwining his fingers almost in a knot, he was not afraid to kiss you in public, raising his mask only to his nose and maybe covering the two of you with his palm, muffling your meek protests with a brief but deep kiss, licking your bottom lip hot and wet, searching for an entry, before pulling back and straightening himself out, narrowing his eyes in a smile at your embarrassment and slight frown in your brows.

from time to time you could catch him openly praising you, be it within the walls of your house, where he would stand in the aisle to the room or sit on the bed while you were changing clothes, endlessly repeating in a grump, but truly loving manner that — «you're so beautiful like that, fuck, my gorgeous love», or in public, sitting in a bar with his comrades from the task force, to whom he had no problem showing you off, trusting them like family, trusting them with you, almost all the time watching you sit and communicate with them, giggling, forcing him at a certain moment to squeeze your cheeks and lean over to kiss you, causing you to squeak in dismay, squeezing his shirt on his chest into fists while he released your lips with wet pop, noticing out of the corner of his eye how some of the boys were embarrassed by such a display of intimacy, but this didn't stop him from purring — «sorry, you just so lovely while giggling all like that, doll»

and he, as if unexpectedly, had no problem letting the others hear how lucky he was, taking you away from the table in the process, only humming at your giggling and slightly interested — «where are we going, simon? baby?? are we going home?» which he may have been rude, but ignored, and the rest of the task force either guessed or simply got away with it, but one way or another you find yourself in a narrow hallway on the way to the toilets, pressed against the wall in a darkened corner, when his lips press against yours with heat and wetness, licking into your mouth.

he only brought you two here because he couldn’t contain his arousal while looking at you, relaxed, cheerful, and yet incredibly beautiful — and he would have been glad to let you talk to his mates longer, but he simply couldn’t stop himself from pinning you against the wall, pulling his hands under your cute, loose dress that you wore especially for this meeting, and running his thick fingers along the edges of your panties and right along your clothed slit, pressing teasingly before starting to gradually lower them, making you let an impatient, albeit an embarrassed whine — «si.. there's people..»

simon just grunts as always, taking a moment to lower your slightly drenched panties, his touch gentle, always so, but yet impatient.

he then swiftly unzips his pants, his cock springing free from the confines of his boxers, throbbing, meaty length with dark red tip that leaks precum and gets him all wet and sticky as he pumps himself couple of times, guiding himself between your slightly parted legs, teasing your slick slit and lightly brushing against your clenched cunt, eliciting a moan from you, sweet, shyly and almost chocked from embarrassment sound.

pressing his broad chest against your back, he pins you against the cold wall of small hallway corner, his body heat radiating against your skin as anticipation hangs heavy in the air as he positions himself, ready to stuff himself full in your wet heat, resting his head on your frail shoulder and muttering in your ear, deeply, as if growling, holding all his pent up arousal so as not to overwhelm you and peppering the side of your face — «s'pretty, just.. gonna be real quick, lovie, couldn't help myself»

unable to refuse, you silently arch, ducking your head slightly under your arm that are braced on the wall, when simon nothing but growls appreciatively at the sight of your plush ass pressed against his pubic bone and arch of your spine, his desire intensifying.

thick, warm palm squeezes your butt with his free hand, relishing in the softness and warmth beneath his touch, albeit possessively, letting his fingers sink into the warm skin and leave scarlet imprints from the touch.

with a firm grip, he pulls your asscheek slightly, allowing him to guide his throbbing cock inside your cunt, your folds flutter around him as he eases inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the slight stretch.

he can feel his bulbous head leaking, the slickness making it easier for him to slide into you until he is fully buried inside your warm depths, bottoming out fully till he's balls deep, you squeeze and clench around him till your hole relaxes and he can move a tad bit, looking behind his shoulder just to see the dim lit bar hallway still missing of people, and it gives him more openness to action without the fear of you being uncomfortable.

and you don’t even feel it no more when simon starts with a few slow, testing thrusts, his hands resting on top of yours on the wall, he squeezes your hands gently, intertwining his fingers with yours, providing a comforting touch amidst the growing intensity and strokes your knuckles, his lips leaving quick kisses on your cheek and the sides of your face, distracting you from the increasing speed of his thrusts.

his hips roll and snap, driving his thick cock deeper with each movement, the strain of pleasure causes moans to escape your lips, muffled by the fear that someone going to hear you both, or he's friends that will try to find you, but still, unable to muffle them fully.

your eyes roll back in pleasure, losing yourself to the sensations coursing through your body, your cunt clenches around him, coating his thick cock in slickness, heightening the friction and pleasure for both of you as he thrust deeper, brushing against your spongy spots and finally finding the right place, hitting rapidly.

he knows this place inside you better than you yourself, thrusting his dick rapidly with just the right amount of force, the pleasure is overwhelming, causing your legs to tremble beneath you, knees buckling as if branches.

simon grunts right below your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin, as he presses you further into the wall, his bulky form squishing against your body, creating an intimate shield, he can let people hear, but not look at how you melt against him and become a beautiful, fucking pretty mess, it's just for his eyes.

his balls slap against the swell of your ass with each powerful thrust, the sound echoing in the room, as his hands squeezes yours tightly, ensuring you have no way to muffle the throaty mewls that escape your lips, full of desperate mewls of his name and unintelligible babbling — «si! si-simon, yes, s-s' deep! hmnn!» the sounds of your pleasure reverberate, unabashedly reaching the ears of anyone passing by, leaving no doubt to the passionate encounter taking place between you in this small, narrow corner.

simon's ears perk up as he hears your desperate babbles, and it's only serves to fuel his desire, and he growls in response — «f-fuck.., what ya doing to me, doll» and increasing the pace of his thrusts.

he presses his face into your neck, kissing softly and moving against your skin with his teeth, scratching, alternating between gentle bites and leaving marks in the form of hickeys, let them bloom on your skin like pinkish purple flowers, the one's he's happy to pepper your flesh with.

his hips snap against your ass with greater force, his cock driving deeper in your slickness and hitting your g-spot with each powerful thrust, simon shows no signs of slowing down, his determination evident as he continues to ravish you from the inside, each vein on his shaft rub against your gummy walls, fucking your brains out.

your grumbles and throaty moans intensify, fueling his hunger even more, as well when you arch deeper, pressing yourself against his fast and desperate thrusts, seeking even greater pleasure, the sound of your voice and the way you respond to him cause his cock to throb, aching for release, leaking without stopping as his head plunge against your spongy spot, aching to fill you, as he relishes in your clenching and spasming.

as his cock continues to leak inside you, the slickness adding to the intensity of your pleasure, he relentlessly hits all the soft spots inside you, not giving you a moment to catch your breath, knocking it from your lungs, rhe burning sensation in his hips matches the sensation in your ass from his forceful snaps, heightening the pleasure for both of you.

as you feel the familiar, lava hot feeling in your lower stomach coiling tighter with each passing minute, simon senses that he's reaching his own limit as well, he buries his face in your shoulder, not letting himself kiss you, allowing you to sob against the wall from the overwhelming ecstasy, as your body shudders uncontrollably, pressing against him tighter as you struggle to find any relief from the impending climax that looms just here.

simon is completely lost in his own primal desires, fucking into you with relentless fervor, he shushes your babbled mewls, with lazy kisses on your chin, trying to provide some comfort amidst the overwhelming pleasure, as your words die on your heavy tongue and everything you let out is just — «close, i'm close, simon, hhmn, ah, yes!» as you press against his body, taking every harsh thrust with a mix of pleasure and pain.

your walls and folds spasm and clamp around his slick cock, signaling your impending climax, and then it hits you like a tidal wave.

your face lowers, your eyes rolling back until all you see is darkness, your body goes limp, shuddering uncontrollably as your cunt pulses and releases slick and cum, coating his shaft in your essence, letting it drip from your puffy lips and make a mess.

meanwhile, simon's tip curls and bumps against your g-spot more slowly and smoothly, prolonging his own pleasure, he throbs inside you, releasing warm, thick milky cum, painting your insides with his potent seed, filling you just as nice while panting in your ear and pepper you with soft kisses, finally releasing one of his hands to touch your chin, tipping it as you lift your head dazedly, letting him kiss your lips tenderly, murmuring gently — «thank you darling, did so good, such a good girl, just take it, yeah? t-take it» as he pump his cum in you.

he clearly ensures that his cum is thoroughly buried in your loose, wet hole before easing himself out with a quiet, slick noise, simon looks down at the white ring on the base of his shaft and the sticky mess that now coats your cunny, his eyes heavy lidded with satisfaction.

a deep, contented growl rumbles in his chest as he observes how his seed slightly seeps from your throbbing cunt, trailing along your thighs and dripping onto your panties, so he gathers some of the cum with his fingers, rubbing it against your sensitive folds, stuffing it back inside you, eliciting sobs from you as you remain too sensitive from the intense pleasure.

— «i know, love, i know, took it so good, just relax» he coos softly, his voice filled with a mixture of tenderness and dominance, as he fumbles with his pants and boxers, quickly hiding his now soft cock back inside his pants.

with a nonchalant disregard for the wet mess, he puts your panties back on you, not minding the mixture of his cum and your slickness that clings to the fabric, before spinning you around gently and picking you up in his arms, letting your limp legs wrap around his waist as he helped you, holding gently with one arm, while he adjusted the hem of your dress into place with other, hiding everything intimate from prying eyes, at lough not from everyone.

as soon as he turns and begins to carry you back towards the very inside of the bar, away from the dark corner, he bewitches around the corner and meets a well familiar scott, johnny, taking in a familiar dark mop of hair, arranged in mohawk, blue eyes that look with a certain taken aback when he immediately breaks through the silence in his usual barely intelligible speech — «eh, here you are, everyone was worried where you two been» but immediately shuts up when he takes in a situation better.

johnny is not stupid, he perfectly notices such details as the slight liddenes in brown eyes and your absolutely fatigued figure, which led you to bury yourself in simon's shoulder, almost sleepily, and he catches a glimpse of the bite marks and hickeys on your skin, simon's carelessly buttoned pants and your slightly wrinkled dress, causing his lips to break into a grin, and his eyes squint slyly, understandingly, and simon already feels where this will lead to.

but instead of further words, johnny pats him on his free shoulder, a little weaker than usual, out of sincere concern not to disturb you, before looking over his shoulder at the rest of the boys, to their table in a quieter corner, before looking back at simon, tilting his head, and pronouncing with slight humor, but no less valuable for this — «alright, i see, away with ye, take the bonnie home, i'll tell the boys that you two had to go, it was nice to see ya that happy around her»

simon's eyes flutter with clear respect, a fragile tenderness for a person who seems to be lending him a helping hand, albeit in such a small way, before he nods and they shake hands hastily, rather rudely, after which johnny leaves back to the table, and he, kissing the top of your head gently, gently strokes the curve of your back and whispers — «let's get back home, yeah, sweetheart?»

and you can only nod weakly, burying yourself in his shoulder more actively, before allowing him to take everything into his own hands and, squeezing you more possessively, head towards the exit.

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dante-mightdie · 10 months

Text

mafia!simon x female!assistant pt. 2

notes: sorry if the smut is not very good! I haven’t written smut in a long time… enjoy!

warnings: smut, swearing, degrading names (slut etc.), dirty talk, oral (m and f), fingering, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, rough sex, spanking…

pt. 1 here!

the room was filled with a tense silence, even simon had to admit he was nervous as he awaited your response…

“still with me, pet?” he’d ask in his usual gruff tone…

you nod your head, looking up at him with a look that’s slowly ruining him…

your glossy doe eyes, your long lashes, and pouty lips…

“words.” is all he says…

your thighs clench together, panties slowly dampening and you hope he doesn’t notice but he does…

of course he does…

simon notices every little thing you do…

simon notices how you always sit with your legs crossed in his direction… just like you are now…

simon notices how clumsy and bashful you get when he lightly touches or praises you at work…

one time he called you a good girl in an innocent manner and he never saw someone drop what they were holding faster…

“i’m still here, sir…”

“good… you ready to apologise for your behaviour, lovie?”

your hands grip the fabric of your tight black pencil skirt and you bite your lip softly…

“yes, sir…” you say breathlessly…

“good girl… now, unbuckle my belt and take my cock out…” he says, taking one hand to cup the side of your face. he gently pinches your cheek before pulling his hand away…

your hands swiftly move to begin unbuckling his belt before unzipping his neatly pressed black slacks and pulling his hard cock out…

“hands behind your back. that mouth of yours needs to be put to work…” he grunts, gripping his cock and smacking it against your cheek…

and every time his tip bounces off your skin, there’s a string of his precum connecting you both…

your panties are uncomfortably sticky now and you’re using every ounce of self control that you have to not reach down and touch yourself…

touch yourself the same way you do every night…

with a big thick toy plunged deep inside your soaking pussy whilst you cry out your bosses’ name…

he smears more of his cum across your lips before slowly pushing the head of his cock past them…

“get to work, lovie…” he says with a hint of a smile in his tone. meanwhile, his hands and move to cup both sides of your face before sliding them into your hair and gripping it like a ponytail…

you start to bob your head up and down his thick cock, taking a bit more each time…

you hollow your cheeks but only slightly, teasing him which gets a warning buck of his hips, making you gag…

“don’t tease or I’ll fuck your throat so hard you won’t be able to speak for a week…” he says, sharply…

he uses his grip on your hair to help guide your head up and down on his cock at a pace that he likes…

you look up at him through your lashes to see him already looking down at you. his eyes, which you always found so pretty, we’re looking at you with a fondness you’ve never seen simon express…

he throws his head back with a hiss, cussing under his breath when you swirl your tongue around his tip…

he uses your mouth for a few more minutes until he pulls your mouth off of him. he pulls his mask up slightly to lean down and catch your lips in a sloppy kiss…

“been wondering what your pretty mouth would feel like since the day I met you…” he mumbles against your lips before gripping your elbow and pulling you to stand with him…

“take off your skirt and bend over the back of the sofa…” he orders, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt and tearing it open…

“mr riley!” you gasp in surprise, “what am I supposed to wear home?!”

he lets out a laugh, a deep rumble comes from him that you feel against your own skin…

“it’s sweet that you think you’re going home tonight…” he says, before gently pushing you towards the sofa…

but not before his hand lands a sharp slap to your ass…

you hurry to follow his orders, tugging your skirt down with impressive speed…

simon fights the urge not to smile at how even in your desperate state, you still follow his orders perfectly…

you wiggle your hips at simon once you’re bent over, whining at how empty and unsatisfied you are…

“please, simon…” you whine, pouting…

“what a familiar thing to call your boss…” simon says once he’s stood behind you…

you can’t see him but you can hear the slick sounds of him stroking his cock whilst his other hand teases two fingers over your clothed slit…

“beg for it, pretty…” he orders and you push your hips back against his fingers…

“please, sir… I need it so bad. I-“ you whimper out, pathetically…

“what do you need? be specific or you get nothing…” he grunts, tugging your panties down your legs…

“need your cock, sir… need it so bad. think about it every night… think about how good it would stretch me…” you whine, hips bucking against the cool air…

“good girl…” he coos and watches your pussy clench around nothing with a smug smile on his face…

you feel slick drip down your thighs when simon speaks again, “here’s what’s gonna happen, lovely… ‘m gonna fuck your pussy until you forget all about that wanker johnny… and since you like using your mouth to act like a slut, ‘m gonna stuff your panties in your mouth…”

you watch as he walks so he’s in front of you, your soaked panties in his hand…

your eyes never leave his as he spits in the soaked crotch of your panties before shoving them in your mouth, the taste of your pussy and simon’s spit combining on your tongue…

he moves back so he’s stood behind you again, one hand resting on your ass cheek, spreading it…

and then he’s kneeling down so he’s face to face with your aching cunt…

“you’re so lucky to have a boss as nice as me, dearie… even after the way you acted ‘m still gonna lick your pussy…” he said with his husky voice…

he lets out a groan before diving in, his tongue licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit…

his lips wrap around the sensitive bud and suck harshly and you moan around your ‘gag’…

“taste fuckin’ heavenly, sugar…” he groans, his hand delivering a swift slap to your ass…

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when slides a long and thick finger inside of you whilst he sucks on your clit like a man starved…

you push your hips back against his hand when he slides a second finger in, the only noises you can make are incoherent babbling at this point…

he scissors his fingers inside you, stretching your walls to accommodate him…

he can feel your walls clenching around his fingers and he knows if he keeps this up, you’ll be coming around his fingers in no time…

but simon doesn’t want that…

he didn’t spend so many nights fucking his hand to the image of you just to not feel you come around his cock…

he slips his fingers out of you and you let out a wail around the fabric which you are now drooling all over…

“need to fuck you now, sweetheart… can’t wait any longer…”

you feel his tip pressing against your entrance and then seconds later, he’s pushing inside you…

your nails dig into the expensive fabric of the couch as he slowly pushes in, one of his hands sliding up from your ass cheek to your back and eventually to your hair which he gripped tightly…

you soon feel him bottom out inside of you, his hips pressed against the supple flesh of your ass, his grip on your hair holds you still as he grinds his cock into you…

you try to speak but the gag makes it so you simon can’t make out anything you say…

“what’s that, petal? want me to go slow? How can I say no?” he teases, knowing damn well that’s not what you want…

you sob and wail around the fabric, pussy clenching tightly as he drags his cock out of your agonisingly slow…

“so good for me, pet… want you to remember how good my cock stretches you the next time you think about flirting with another man… you’re mine…” he growls…

you nod your head in agreement, salty tears dripping down your cheeks and sweet slick dripping down your thighs…

“fuck this… waited too long to fuck this perfect cunt… ready for me to fuck you dumb, sweetheart?” he coos but you know he’s not trying to be sweet…

before you can even nod, he’s slamming his cock back into you sharply, knocking the air out of your lungs…

you drool and moan around your panties as he fucks you roughly, his expensive penthouse filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin…

“do you know what you fuckin’ do to me, lovie? can’t ever fucking concentrate when you’re around… walking around in those little skirts and tight shirts… little cocktease, aren’t you?” He grunts…

your scalp is burning from the tight grip that simon has on your hair but it’s nothing compared to the delicious burn of simon’s cock splitting you open…

His hand reaches around to pull the soaked panties from your mouth and then he’s leaning over you to kiss you sloppily…

He moans against your spit covered lips, “gonna come for me, pet?”

you nod your head rapidly, “yes! fuck… ‘m gonna cum. please, lemme cum…” you whine and beg, not caring how cockdumb you sound…

“go on, love. soak my cock whilst I fill your pussy up…” he grunts, his thrusts become sloppy and erratic…

“fuck! simon!” you cry loudly as your pussy tightly clamps around Simon’s cock repeatedly…

you feel wave after wave of euphoria wash over you as simon fucks you through your orgasm…

eventually, you lose the strength to hold yourself up so simon grips your forearms and pulls you so you’re standing…

you lean your head back against his shoulder, a soft gasp leaving your lips when you feel simon finally reach his own orgasm…

you feel rope after rope of hot cum painting your sensitive walls…

you both stand like that for a while, basking in your post-coital bliss whilst simon holds your tired body up…

“I thought you were calling me here to fire me…” you mumble, breaking the silence in the room…

“course not… I’d never get anything done without you here to keep my head on straight…” he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder…

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #mw2 #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #cod x reader

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moonstruckme · 4 months

Note

hi! could i get james potter fluff where they’re both just taking a stroll or they’re ice skating and reader suddenly slips and lands on their knee and gets a huge scab on their knee. reader plays it off saying she’s fine but she doesn’t notice that her knee is slowly bleeding and james freaks out? 😭

aka me, I SLIPPED ON ICE AND MY KNEE STARTED BLEEDING TODAY

Ahh sorry babe! Here's some Jamie to heal you <3 (I have no idea how this got so long sorry)

cw: mentions of blood

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

“Whoa, you okay?” James skids to a stop beside you, ice shavings flying.

You grin at him, embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m good.” You ignore the burning in your knee, wobbling back to your feet. James sets a tentative hand under your forearm to steady you. “Sorry.”

He makes a face. You know him well enough by now to know it means he doesn’t want you to apologize, but he knows you well enough to know that saying it is pointless. The two of you set off again. You’ve got one arm in James’ hold and the other extended cautiously to the side for balance, but James Good-At-Everything Potter doesn’t even need to look in front of him as he skates. He glides along smoothly, maneuvering you both around kids with little plastic helpers and other inexperienced skaters like yourself with little effort. If he weren’t so himself, it’d be pretty irksome.

“What were we talking about?” you ask, laughing awkwardly.

“You were telling me about the cat outside your work,” James reminds you.

“Oh, yeah.” You shake your head at yourself a little, looking down at your skates just like James had warned you not to. They start to slip out from under you, but he holds you up until your right yourself. “Sorry, I’ve been going on about that forever.”

“No, it’s cute,” he says. “Don’t hold out on me, what happened to her? Did she get a name?”

“She did.” You glance at him, and he’s smiling encouragingly. James is always smiling at you. It’s incentive to keep talking.

You tell him more about the cat, and then he tells you about the puppy his parents adopted when he moved out, which he felt rather cheated about because he’d always wanted one when he lived at home. You tell him about the slew of fish you’d had as a child, which sparks a conversation about odd pets, which is how you learn about his friend’s pet toad. James seems to have a lot of friends. You’re starting to keep track of a few names, but sometimes they swirl together and you can’t remember who’s who. He doesn’t hold it against you.

You’ve only been on a few dates with James, but this is typically how they go. You show up all self-conscious and tense, and then he gives you one of his easy smiles and suddenly it’s like you’ve no reason to be nervous at all. James loves to talk, and you, oddly, seem to love talking with him as well. You enjoy the talking a lot more than the skating, and when your time slot on the rink is up you have to feign a bit more disappointment than you feel. As far as you’re concerned, the main event is going to be the hot chocolate you plan to have after this.

“Let me get that,” James says when he’s undone the laces to both his skates and you’re still struggling with your first one. He kneels in front of you, deft fingers easing apart the knot and then whipping the laces skillfully out of each of their little hooks. He starts to pull the skate off your foot, but pauses when his eyes flit up, catching on your knee.

He hisses through his teeth. “Sweetheart, what happened here?”

“Hm?” You bend over so your head is closer to his, trying to see what he’s talking about. Your leggings are wet through with blood, a giant ugly splotch around your knee. “Oh,” you say quietly.

“Oh,” James agrees, teasing tone at odds with the uncharacteristic frown pinching his features. “That looks rough. Do you think it happened when you fell?”

“Which time?” you joke.

His laugh is half-hearted. A diligent effort. He starts pulling up the one side of your leggings, working them up your calf. He hisses again, sympathy mingled with concern, when the bloody mess of your knee is unveiled. It’s almost impossible to tell where the cut is with the skin around it stained so thoroughly. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound as James peels the fabric of your legging away carefully, but when his thumb presses on the skin next to the wound you wince.

He inhales softly, seemingly as startled as you are, and gives you an remorseful look. “Sorry, lovely. How badly does it hurt?”

“Not bad,” you fib, though exposed to the cold air, the burning is starting to get to you.

James looks like he knows, mouth pulling to the side compassionately. His eyebrows come down behind his glasses as he tries to get a look at the wound. You try to ignore the tingling that results from him gripping the back of your knee the way he is. Tenderly, with more care than you’re used to.

“Alright.” He gives the side of your calf a little pat, rising to his feet. “I’m going to go find someone who works here.”

“Oh, James,” you protest as he walks away, “it’s really not that bad. I’ll take care of it at home!”

“Stay put!” he calls over his shoulder.

As if you’d ever leave without him.

You try not to fidget while he’s gone, feeling awkward and pathetic sitting all bloody and alone while other groups taking off their skates chat around you. James returns a short time later with a sullen-looking employee in tow. You give them a tight smile, and James returns it with twice the gusto, talking up the teen worker who looks like they’d rather be anywhere else. He’ll come around. You doubt anyone can resist the James Potter charm.

“Such excellent service they have here,” James says lightly, sitting beside you on the metal bench. He sets a casual hand on your knee, putting a stop to the bouncing you didn’t realize you’d started. “I asked for a first aid kit and they gave me a whole Martin.”

Martin declines to comment. He unpackages a tiny antiseptic wipe, going after your bloody knee with unfeeling determination.

You bite down on your lip, and James’ dark brows lower, his eyes flickering between you and Martin indecisively. You give him a small smile that you hope says Please don’t say anything to this poor kid on my behalf, even if I potentially start crying. James seems to get the general idea, returning your smile and intertwining his fingers with yours consolingly.

One benefit of Martin’s vicious treatment is that it’s over quickly. Before long, he’s slapping a plaster on your cut and telling you both to let someone (not him, presumably) know if you need anything else. A man of few words to the last.

James takes his place before you can move, kneeling in front of you again.

“Is that really it?” he asks disbelievingly, delicately stroking the edge of the small plaster with his thumb.

“I told you it wasn’t bad,” you tease softly.

He blows out a big breath, blinking up at you. “I thought for sure it was going to need stitches. How do you bleed so much? You scared the shit out of me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry.”

The look he shoots you is about as stern as he ever gets, disapproval buried beneath a heap of fondness. “Don’t,” he says.

You fail to hide a smile, and he fails to hide his reciprocation, dropping his chin back towards your knee. It really looks now like you’ve both been quite dramatic, the blood all cleaned up and a tiny plaster covering what turned out to be only a small scrape. From the feel of it you know it’ll be horribly bruised in the morning, but it really was never anything too dire.

“Do you think you can straighten it?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I think I’ll probably need crutches, actually.”

James looks up, startled and delighted by your joking. “Yeah?” There’s a breathless sort of laughter in his tone. “What do you think, ten days’ bed rest?”

“Oh, at least.”

“Mm, and I suppose someone will have to bring you all your meals as well. Feed you chocolates and pastries and all that, keep you company, serenade you from time to time.”

Your lips twitch. You can feel your face warming faintly. “Seems best.”

James nods, aiming for serious but missing by a mile with that ever-present curve in his lips. “Well, I guess we’d better get you home, then,” he says, worming his arm under your knees.

You don’t realize what he’s up to until the other one wraps securely around your back, and by then it’s too late.

“James!” you gasp as he hoists you up, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Put me down.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll still stop for hot chocolate. I’d never deprive you of that.”

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andypantsx3 · 11 months

Text

fruit first (ask questions later) | k. bakugou

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Gender Neutral Reader

length: 3.6k

summary: When the grocery store you’re in becomes collateral in a villain attack, pro hero Dynamight comes to your rescue. When you become armed with a handful of oranges, however, someone may need to come to his rescue…

A short, mostly fluffy nothing for the prompt Bakugou + oranges. Part of the Willow’s House server Meet Fruit collab, where I took “meet fruit” extremely literally. Thank you @willowser for letting me in even though my dumb ass signed up late!!

tags/warnings: sfw, fluff, sexual tension, gender neutral reader

You were in the produce section when it happened.

The season was creeping into summertime now, the weather outside hot and humid and perfect for fresh produce–stalks of crunchy asparagus, fat ruby-red tomatoes, and tiny little berries nestled in their containers like a fistful of jewels.

You had admittedly been getting a little over-indulgent, your basket already straining against the skin of your forearm, heavy with more fruits and vegetables than a single person might feasibly consume before they went bad. But you were heady with visions of summer salads and fancy grain bowls, cool and leafy and refreshing, a balm against the sweltering city heat.

You’d just been adding a couple oranges to your basket when the first sign came.

It started as a rumble from far off, like the sound of slow-rolling thunder.

It echoed through the store, the bass buzzing through the shelves, making them hum. The lights flickered for a moment, their fluorescence dimming. A few of the people around you glanced up curiously, but nothing else in the interior of the store changed—no screaming, no crying, no running.

At first there was nothing to indicate that you might need to abandon your groceries in a pique of terror.

That was, until another boom sounded just overhead. And then the ceiling was suddenly ripped open with violent force.

A hunk of the steel frame was pulled back like the tab on a sardine can, the caging screaming in protest, and a shower of plaster rained down around you, breaking apart in slabs. An enormous, hulking figure peered through the hole, then dropped into the aisles before you, shaking the floor with his heavy landing.

Behind him, several other figures skittered into the building, one woman climbing down the wall like a lizard as a few others dropped in through the hole. A man suddenly popped into existence a few feet away from the orange stand with a crack like a gunshot. You startled, stumbling backwards, knocking into the oranges and sending a wave of them plopping to the floor.

There was no mistaking who these people were.

Villains. An entire crew of them.

All at once, the shoppers around you scrambled for cover, letting out a cacophony of shrieks and screams. You backed away, only for your foot to catch on an orange, rolling your ankle.

A bright stab of pain lanced through the joint, and you went down, hard, banging your elbow on a nearby display. You caught the floor with your rib cage, crushing an orange under your hip, your basket screeching across the floor next to you.

It knocked the breath right out of you, and you gasped, just as a blade of energy went singing overhead, slicing through the shelves and sending explosions of fruits and metal into the air. They rained down around you, a chunk of shelf framing tipping over and slamming down on your leg, fruits and vegetables slapping across every inch of your body.

Screams went up from the far side of the store, and you bit back a yelp of pain, tears forming in your eyes.

“Grab as many civvies as you can!” a deep voice barked out. “Hold ‘em like a shield and get moving to the next location!”

Your whole body iced over in fear, your ankle and leg screaming in protest as your limbs locked up. Footsteps echoed in every direction as the group of villains split up, hunting down their civilian targets. You hoped wildly, desperately that no one had seen you go down behind the citrus display.

Your hopes were in vain, however. Bootsteps rounded the corner, and the man who had appeared from thin air bent over the shelving pinning you down.

He was tall and wiry, with a face like a weasel and a thinning crop of dark hair. A malicious grin split the sides of his face as he took you in, yellow eyes flickering over you. “Hello sweet thing,” he cooed.

Your stomach flipped in despair as he prowled closer, oranges rolling away from his boots. Your hands scrambled at your sides, fingernails digging into the floor, as you tried to drag yourself backwards, away from him.

He cackled, high, reedy and excited, stalking down the aisle between two fruit stands. Two steps brought him right to you, and he leaned in, smiling widely. He reached out his long, straggly fingers, grasping for you—

And then he promptly blinked out of existence as a furious explosion crackled into life right where he had been. The brightness seared your eyes, blinding you, and a scorching heat scalded your face as a deafening boom rattled your teeth.

You snapped your eyes shut reflexively, but the light and heat was gone as soon as it came. The pad of boots approached you over the ringing in your ears, and you blinked open your eyes. Behind the spots that dotted your vision was a familiar face—one you’d seen on TV dozens, if not hundreds of times.

Bakugou Katsuki, alias pro hero Dynamight.

The first, wild, reeling, nonsense thought you had was that he was so much more handsome in person.

Red eyes glowed like scarlet embers through the dark of his black domino mask, and a scowl sat angrily but prettily on his plush mouth. He had scratches raked across one high cheekbone and down the line of his strong jaw, and his hero uniform had endured something worse, torn in several places, baring the bulge of one enormous bicep, and the trim line of his waist at one side.

The sight dazed you almost more than the flash of his explosion had, and Bakugou turned his scowl down on you, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling across his forehead as he did.

“You break anything, extra?” He rasped. His voice was lower, too, gravelly in a way that apparently didn’t translate well over TV airwaves.

You gaped for a moment, then quickly corralled yourself as his scowl deepened. You tried shifting your leg under the shelving, a fresh wave of pain lancing through you. “Um, my ankle I think is no good—I’m not sure if it’s broken—”

You were interrupted by a sound like a gunshot, splitting the air right in front of you, and then the teleport villain appeared just in front of you. He lunged for Bakugou, and you caught the flash of a blade in the fluorescent lighting. A reflexive scream tore out of you, trying to warn Bakugou—

But Bakugou was faster. He whipped around, a terrifying smile splitting his mouth, an explosion already crackling in his palm.

The teleport villain flickered out of sight again, just in time for Bakugou’s explosion to rip apart the air where he had been, splintering several of the displays around you and blasting a shelf of crackers and jelly apart. You could hear the glass and cracker bits raining down like chunks of hail.

Bakugou quickly turned back to you, eyeing you evaluatively. “Stay down, extra, and don’t fuckin’ move. I’ll take care of this asshole.”

You nodded hurriedly, shifting under the shelving that had you pinned. You managed to wedge yourself into the rough wood of the citrus display at your side, as if you could disappear into it if only you pressed hard enough.

Bakugou turned his back to you, one arm out as if to block anyone’s line of sight to you. The lines of his broad shoulders were tense under the white-hot glare of the store lights, and you noticed another gash in his uniform along one shoulder blade, exposing a peek of his back muscles.

Bakugou was moving almost before you even heard the next teleportation crackle, spinning to aim an explosion to his right. He launched himself after it with a vengeance, only to blow right through another display as the villain winked out of existence again. It seemed like he was fast, possibly too fast…

And then that gunshot noise again–and the villain was right next to you. In one impossibly fast movement Bakugou rerouted himself with a searing blast that ripped the tile right off the floor. In less than a second he was screaming down on the villain with all the speed and fiery fury of a falling comet. He aimed another shot right where the villain was standing—

But the villain disappeared again.

Bakugou neatly dodged you with another explosion aimed at the ground, the hot wind of it throwing you back against the orange crate. He somersaulted over the display just as another crack sounded behind it, and you could hear another explosion tearing through yet more of the produce.

And then another growled swear from Bakugou told you the villain had vanished again.

Your heart beat double time, wondering anxiously how bad this match up was. Bakugou was the number two hero, and you’d always assumed he’d be well-matched against any type of quirk. You’d seen a million broadcasts of his takedowns, quick and purposeful and scarily precise, with one of the fastest takedown averages on record.

But it was clear this villain was slippery and all together too quick. You didn’t know how Bakugou was supposed to catch someone who could disappear within milliseconds.

You thought probably the only chance could be to unleash his full power. On the news, you’d seen him send entire buildings crumbling. If he wanted to, he could tear this entire storefront down, set the entire inside on fire and catch the villain no matter where he teleported to in this space.

But instead you were in the middle of things. Bakugou had to aim, had to hold back lest any debris hit you, had to angle himself around you to protect you, all while the teleport villain had no such qualms.

It was possible Bakugou wouldn’t be able to catch this guy under these conditions–and you were the impediment to blame.

You heard Bakugou’s explosion rip apart another display in the distance, and that gunfire crack of the villain disappearing. Heart in your mouth, you cast around you for something, anything that could help him.

If only there was something to even the odds…

And then you found it. Your gaze landed on the spill of oranges at your feet. Fat, round, heavy and hard. Perfectly projectile shaped.

Now that…that was something.

You quickly gathered as many of them as you could, your ankle twinging in protest when you leaned across the shelving that had trapped it. You scooped the oranges up in an armful, depositing them in your lap, grabbing the largest and hefting it aloft just as another gunshot sound echoed in front of you.

The villain flickered into view right in front of you. You drew your arm back, whipping the orange at him with all of your might. But then like a lightning strike, Bakugou was there, explosion in hand. The villain flashed back out of sight, flames raking the store behind him, nearly blinding in their brilliance.

In another millisecond, the orange caught Bakugou on the thigh. You could hear the hard thump of it against the muscle even over the crackle of Bakugou’s explosion. It sent Bakugou slightly off course, and he had to aim another shot at the ground to catch himself before landing on his feet.

Instantly he whipped around to glare at you, smoke rising off his hands. “Oi, brat, what the fuck’re you throwing shit at me for?”

Your mouth dropped open belatedly, shocked that you’d just beaned the number two hero with a navel orange.

“Oh shit—” you gasped out. “I didn’t mean—it was for him—”

Bakugou’s mouth opened, but then another crack sounded across the store, the teleport villain undoubtedly in sight again. Bakugou threw a shot at him again, but you could tell it had missed by the way the villain materialized again just behind Bakugou.

Before you knew what you’d done, another orange was already in flight. Instead of turning to hit the villain, Bakugou was forced to duck before the orange went right through where his head had been. You heard it hit the floor as the villain was gone again, bouncing into a roll.

“Fucking—! Brat, knock it the hell off!” Bakugou growled, his red-hot glare searing your skin. “Or I will cram those things so far up your—”

Another teleportation crack cut him off, and he launched an attack over your head. The heat scalded the top of your head, blowing a flurry of fruits off of the citrus display.

Good. More ammo, regardless of what Bakugou said.

Except, well, this time you would try to aim better.

It was another few heart-pounding minutes before you got your redemption shot, Bakugou and the teleport villain chasing one another all over the grocery store in the most anxiety-inducing game of cat and mouse you had ever witnessed. You could hear entire sections of the store becoming victim to Bakugou’s quirk, hear the sharp cackle of the villain’s laughter and Bakugou’s angry swearing.

And then came the moment.

The gunshot noise that heralded the teleport villain’s quirk exploded in the air right in front of you again, and it was then that you unleashed a volley of fruits–whipping one as hard as you could as you unleashed several more across the floor. A heel materialized just over a rolling orange, and then the rest of the villain—and you watched with malicious pleasure as his ankle buckled and he went to the floor just as hard as you had.

That moment of stunned surprise was all Bakugou needed. He was there in a single second, an explosion catching the villain and blowing him straight across the floor. He hit the side of another display with a sickening thud. Lettuce spattered him in a shower of leaves, plastic bagging fluttering in the aftershocks of Bakugou’s explosion.

Bakugou was on the villain again instantly, and you caught the silver flash of quirk suppressing cuffs as Bakugou buckled him to the shelves, snarling a victorious stream of swear-laden insults. The villain was unresponsive, clearly knocked unconscious by the force of Bakugou’s blow.

In under a minute, Bakugou was striding back over to you, his boots echoing heavily on the tile.

“Watch where the fuck you’re throwing shit next time, brat,” he snipped at you, even as he bent down, hands going under the shelving that had you pinned. His bicep corded with effort, and the metal screeched as it was lifted, clanging to the tile as Bakugou threw it off of you.

You watched it fall, dazed. Bakugou squatted down next to you, catching your ankle and pulling it carefully to him.

You blinked, surprised by the gentle touch, eyes following Bakugou as he leaned over your injury, poking and prodding carefully. His eyelashes dusted the tops of his cheekbones, long and golden and a little too pretty for a man.

“I–ouch–I got him though,” you said defensively.

Bakugou’s scarlet gaze flicked up to your face, and a weird zing went down your spine. He really was so gorgeous in person, you had to admit, even beat to hell like he was now.

“Got me too, you fuckin’ brat,” Bakugou said. Strangely, his expression went clearer as he spoke, however, like he wasn’t even that mad about it. His fingers pressed delicately at the inside of your ankle, just beneath the jut of bone.

“Well you were in the way,” you groused, though you knew your second throw really had been a little poorly aimed. Bakugou snorted.

“...Got a good fucking arm on you though,” he allowed after a few more seconds of prodding.

It startled a laugh out of you, and a surprising hint of a grin cut across Bakugou’s own mouth, white and straight and viciously pleased.

“I—thanks,” you said, strangely flattered. “I think.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bakugou said, red eyes wandering over you. Then he went back to poking around your ankle, and you tried not to watch his arm flex as he shifted through the motions. “‘S fractured but not broken, I think,” he declared when he was finally satisfied.

“Oh,” you said, “Well that’s better than I thought.”

You shifted uneasily, wondering what the process was now that you’d been diagnosed. You’d never been in an attack before. Did you just sit here and wait for a paramedic to come to you? Or, could you ask Bakugou to help get you up to hobble out of the store?

You’d just decided to sit tight when Bakugou decided for you. A strong hand wormed its way under your thighs as another swept around your back, and then you were being hefted into Bakugou’s arms in one smooth, upsettingly easy movement.

Embarrassingly, your thighs clenched, even as your arms reflexively went around Bakugou’s neck.

You could feel a prickle of heat flaming across your face as he looked down at you, those scarlet eyes picking across your features. “Gonna get you to the paramedics, brat, they’ll fix your shit right up,” he said, so close now that you could feel his exhalation on your collarbone.

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “I—yes, that sounds good—thanks.”

Bakugou nodded, shifting you more securely against him, and then picked his way across the rubble, holding you tight. You tried not to revel in the feeling of his arms around you, aware this was an entirely inappropriate train of thought to have during a rescue. Especially when you’d hit the man with an orange.

It was a disappointingly short journey—you were outside in nearly a minute, and it was only another few seconds before Bakugou set you down on the back of an ambulance. A young, friendly paramedic bustled over and Bakugou relayed your condition in a brusque growl.

Surprisingly, however, he lingered close as the paramedic assessed the condition of your ankle and applied his quirk—a green light that made every nerve in your leg hum in response, but instantly took away the pain in your ankle. Then the paramedic wrapped you in compression bandages to keep it set straight.

“Ice it when you get home and keep it elevated when you sleep,” he advised you in his spritely tone. “I’ve got a regeneration quirk so you should be all healed up by the time you wake up, but you’ll want to keep off of it as much as you can in the meantime.”

You thanked him, and were surprised when Bakugou thanked him too, although much more briskly.

Then Bakugou turned back to you, red eyes catching yours again. You found you couldn’t look away from him, as shy as you were suddenly feeling out in the daylight. A few seconds ticked by, and you could feel your ears going hot as Bakugou looked you over.

“So. You want dinner or what?” Bakugou asked finally, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes got momentarily stuck on the tear in his sleeve, the way the divot of muscle peeked through in the afternoon light.

Then you gaped up at him when you caught up with what he’d said. “Do I—dinner—with you?”

Bakugou looked down at you, a smirk curling his lip as if he’d just realized where your attention had been. “Yeah. ‘M off shift after I give this report. Thought you might want a thanks for the assist or whatever. But if you’re gonna be fuckin’ squirrely about it, then—”

“Yes!” You gasped out, almost before you even realized you’d spoken. A thrill like lightning sang down your spine, electrifying all your nerve endings. Bakugou Katsuki—pro hero Dynamight—had just asked you to dinner?

Of fucking course you were gonna say yes.

Your brain swam, still unsure you’d heard him correctly, but then he leaned in, an arm coming up to catch the side of the ambulance van just beside your face.

“Good,” he said, another viciously pleased smile cutting across his mouth. Something hot crawled into your stomach, and you suddenly realized dinner might be only the tip of the iceberg Bakugou was steering your ship towards. “Gonna have to have a word about your aim, though,” he said, his gaze searing. “Don’t think you’ve gotten out of it just because I like you and you got that teleport asshole too.”

The low, raspy way he spoke was heavier with promise more than reprimand—and it sent another swarm of shivers over your skin.

Bakugou’s eyes caught it, a reply even clearer than if you had spoken. He grinned victoriously, pushing off of the ambulance to stalk over the police presence that had started to amass just beyond the sidewalk, presumably to give his report.

“Stay right here, brat, I’ll be back for you,” he promised, and you grew roots in your seat.

And then you watched him stalk off, staring in disbelief after his broad back. You couldn’t believe the number two hero had just asked you to dinner. And after you’d accidentally beaned him with an orange!

All you’d done was go to the grocery store in anticipation of produce, and you’d walked out with the promise of a date instead.

A ridiculous loop of orange you glad you decided to go grocery shopping? echoed wildly in your brain, a sign of the sheer ridiculousness of your situation. But yeah, you thought, as Bakugou leaned in to speak to a police officer, those scarlet eyes cutting unmistakably back towards you.

You really, really were.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo fluff #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #meet fruit collab

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disneyprincemuke · 4 months

Text

god bless america

alternatively: our love language is making fun of you

in which it's everyone's favourite american's birthday and they can't help but take the piss out of him

(series masterlist)

the wind is knocked out from his chest as something lands on logan's back. he slowly opens his eyes, face still nuzzled into the pillow with his hands tucked under and the blanket pulled up to cover half his back.

"good morning, birthday boy!" she beams, her face sliding into his vision. "oscar and i have got a surprise for you downstairs."

"babe, just stay in bed with me," he says, voice raspy as he turns to wrap an arm around her waist. she squeaks when he yanks her under the blankets with him, pulling her into his chest.

"but babe, we were up all night thinking of how to celebrate your birthday so far from home," she whines, giggling as she scrambles to turn around and face him. she puts a hand on his chest and looks up, holding the blanket away from her face. "happy birthday, lo."

a sweet smile stretches his lips as his eyes adjust to the bright lights that shine into the room. "thank you. that's how many birthdays together?"

"nine as friends, and that's three as my trophy boyfriend," she teases, scooting to get closer to him.

"ah, your trophy boyfriend!" logan laughs, squeezing her waist as he yanks her into his body. he presses a kiss to her cheek, letting it linger before he pulls away. "i like the sound of that. don't forget to credit me when you win a championship, okay?"

"cute." she pulls her head back. "but, seriously. we spent all sunrise preparing something for you downstairs. i even got you a surprise."

"you put in the effort to prepare something for me, babe?"

"of course!" she beams, pulling the blankets down to sit up. she puts a hand on his chest and tilts her head. "i promise we can stay in bed all night. but right now, oscar and lily are waiting downstairs for us."

"yep, and the longer you stay inside the room, the more suspicious this gets!" they hear oscar shout from the other side of the door, followed by loud footsteps running down the stairs.

logan smiles up at her, rolling his eyes at what their best friend's just said to them. "okay, fine, i'll get up," he sighs. "but only because i love you. and i know that he won't shut up if i don't go downstairs right now."

"yeah," she hums with a small smile, puckering her lips to ask for a kiss. so he puckers his lips and leans into his girlfriend for a chaste kiss.

until she jumps into his lap, grabbing both of his cheeks and catching his lips between hers. he giggles against her lips, his hands coming up to grab her waist as she places her legs on either side of his hips.

"oscar's waiting for us," logan whispers, pulling away to take a quick breath. but he doesn't initiate breaking up their intimate moment, diving back down for another kiss.

"i know," she whispers. "but i couldn't help myself. it's your birthday."

"we should really go before oscar kicks that door down," logan smiles, hanging his legs from the edge of the bed. he keeps a protective hand on her lower back, smiling up at her.

she throws her head back and slowly climbs off his body. "alright, fine. but i'm not done with you yet, alright?"

she jabs a finger into his chest, smiling as she hops to the other side of the room. she grabs a shirt from logan's opened suitcase in the corner and tosses it at him. "i love you."

he smiles, bending down again to press a chaste kiss to her lips. "i love you too."

he pulls the shirt over his head and beams at her. "okay, let's go."

he grabs her hand before he reaches for the door, swinging it open and intertwining their fingers before he starts to make his way down the stairs.

"oh, look who decided to stop sucking faces and finally came to greet his friends for his birthday!" oscar exclaims sarcastically, arms folded on the table he's leaning on with a small grin. "happy birthday, mate!"

"happy birthday," lily greets softly with a small smile.

logan has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes at the sight of oscar's kitchen. there's a flag of the united states hanging right over the piastri family portrait they've got hung in the hallway leading up to the kitchen, an eagle helium balloon tied down to the chair and his picture badly photoshopped against a flag with a kilometre joke.

he drops her hand and he takes a step away from her. "are you kidding me?"

"you don't like it?" she frowns, looking up at him with innocent bright eyes.

logan's frown slowly grows into a smile that he can no longer bite back. a giggle erupts from his throat and a hand comes up to cover his mouth. "you guys can't be serious even if my life depended on it."

"i tried to fight them against this idea, trust me," lily sighs, running a hand through her hair tiredly as she looks around the ridiculously decorated kitchen. "but i did have the pleasure of making you breakfast. so best believe that's at least not done with the intention of making fun of you for being an american. i did it because i value the fact that you were brought into this world on new year's eve."

"hey, you know i love how american you are," she teases, poking his shoulder. she swiftly lifts his arm and wraps it around her shoulder, slinging an arm around his waist. "even if it's kinda weird sometimes - you really did make it your personality when we were racing with prema."

"you guys are just hating because you don't like the countries you're from," logan scoffs, wrapping another arm around his girlfriend.

"there's not much to like about my country," she shrugs, resting her head on logan. "no, but you have to see the cake!"

"if it's got an america joke on it," logan sighs, shaking his head and he takes a step forward.

at the same time, oscar's nudging the cake towards the side logan is standing on. "who are you, the america joke police?" oscar scoffs. "we spent a really long time thinking about this! come on!"

"i really did try to stop them," lily sighs.

"aw, the date format's seriously not even my fault," he whines, throwing his arms into the air. "but at least it makes for a good date, right? 123123!"

she presses her lips together. "sure, logan! and lily made hamburgers for breakfast. the american way."

"there's an american way to cook hamburgers?" logan raises an eyebrow.

"the way you typically prefer your hamburgers," lily mutters. "we just call it the american way amongst ourselves to poke fun at you."

"i really feel like today is going to be a great day," logan smiles.

"you bet. we're taking you fishing, mate!" oscar cheers.

logan looks at his girlfriend with a teasing smile. "oh, you're joining me for fishing, babe? really?"

"don't push it. i'm only coming along because i'm afraid that the voices in my head will win when i see that one bird oscar was talking about the other day," she presses her lips together. she looks at oscar curiously. "i really think i could take one of them."

"a cassowary?" oscar snorts. "yeah, good luck, mate. i'll see you in hell."

she looks at logan. "i look like i could take one of them, right?"

logan shrugs. "really? that’s what you wanna do my birthday? you wanna fight?"

“yeah, okay,” she shrugs, dropping her arms. “happy birthday, and god bless america!”

kidy/n

🎵 all time low - if these sheets were the states

liked by lilyzneimer, oscarpiastri and 76,481 others

kidy/n do u guys know what logan and nice guys have in common?

view all 7,429 comments…

user1 NOT HER USING A SCREENSHOT OF HIM IN THE GRASS DURING HIS ZANDVOORT CRASH

user2 idk it was kinda iconic of her

user3 idk how to feel about this one chief

oscarpiastri interesting choice of pictures

alex_albon wow thats logan through the years

kidy/n glow up or glow down, be honest

alex_albon glow DOWN because i need him to have that flag on his suit again for research purposes

kidy/n u heard him williamsracing

williamsracing on it boss kidy/n

maxverstappen1 wasn’t expecting to see me but alright, happy birthday logan i guess

user4 YES GOD BLESS AMERICAAAA

user5 HARD LAUNCH WHENNN HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOGAN 🦅🦅🦅

logansargeant i rly wanna know what went thru ur mind when u were picking what to include in this birthday shoutout?

kidy/n ur best pictures of course 💙

logansargeant wrong, try again

logansargeant also, what do i have in common with nice guys?

kidy/n they finish last 🤝

kidy/n happy new year’s eve everyone!

user4 WAIT Y/N HUH

oscarpiastri personally i wouldnt take that

andrettiracing we’re bulk ordering a bunch of aloe vera

user5 WAAAAIT THERES NO WAY SHE SAID THAT ABOUT HER OWN BEST FRIEND LMFAOOO

logansargeant i’m blocking you

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #female driver #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #f1 #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke ial

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wordsbyrian · 2 months

Text

Bad Days and Zoo Trips - HarderssonKid!R x Niamh and Jessie

Summary: sometimes all it takes to make a bad day a little bit better is going to see your favorite animals at the zoo. (the request was more hardersson x kid!r)

A/N: who wants to guess how many different ideas this started as before it landed on this?

You are having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

It all started this morning when Morsa told you that you had to go to nursery because your babysitter got sick and they couldn’t take you to practice because they had grown up things to do afterwards. Then when you were getting dressed Momma wouldn’t let you wear your Barcelona jersey with Moster Frido’s name on the back (because it's dirty) so you have to settle for wearing one of Tante Simone’s Hammarby shirt’s.

The terrible horrible no goodness continues at breakfast when you have to eat pancakes instead of waffles because there are none. And Morsa doesn’t even put any fruit in it like normally does when you have waffles.

You cry the whole way to nursery, where things do not get any better.

When you get there, a little boy that you don’t recognize is sitting in your normal spot on the rug and Miss makes you sit somewhere else when you ask him to move.

That little boy, Zac, continues to make your day worse at every possible turn.

After the rug incident, he takes the last seat at the lego table even though your friend Jamie had been saving it for you. When your class goes outside, he refuses to let you play football and then when the teachers make him, he keeps shoving you over. But, of course, Miss only notices when you shove him back and so you get put in timeout.

When you get back inside, after naptime, Miss tells the class a story about Vikings from Sweden, and the day improves for all of about 2 minutes when she lets you tell everyone about the Viking museum you went to the last time you visited Stockholm. But it goes sour again when Zac keeps cutting you off and even says that girls weren’t allowed to be vikings, which is just completely untrue.

That unfortunately, is your breaking point and before you even realize it, you’re across the room shoving the boy over. And just as quickly, Miss has grabbed you around the waist and is hauling you over to the timeout stool.

After 5 minutes, she comes back and brings you over to say sorry to Zac, except you don’t. Instead you start a rant in Swedish about Vikings, and well both your refusal to apologize and the Swedish (something you’ve been warned about in the past) land you back in the timeout where you stay for the rest of the day.

You’re not sure how long it really is but it feels like forever before the sound of two familiar voices have you turning around to face the rest of the classroom.

You only need to catch a glimpse of them before you're off the stool and barrelling towards them at fool speed barely dodging the other kids who are still waiting to get picked up.

“Jessie, Niamh,” you all but shout, slamming directly into the Englishwoman's legs, “Why are you here? Where’s my Momma and Morsa?”

Before either of the athletes have a chance to answer, Miss speaks instead.

“Y/N, I know you’re very excited to see your friends but that’s no excuse for running or shouting indoors.”

“Sorry, Miss.” Even to your own ears you don’t sound very sorry. “I’m going to get my things.”

You dart back off across the classroom, only slowing down slightly when Miss calls out after you.

It takes you less than a minute to grab your things and come back, immediately shoving your jumper and backpack into Niamh’s hands.

“No way, kid, we’re under strict instructions to make sure that you wear this,” the defender says.

“No thank you, bye Miss,” you say, taking Jessie’s hand and leading her out of the classroom and the building.

You can hear Niamh laughing as she follows behind, still holding your jumper, and complaining about it, until Jessie eventually stops you halfway down the block.

“Y/N/N, I know you don’t want to but you really need to wear your sweater,” the Canadian says.

“No thank you.”

That earns you a hard stare from the older girl, “I wasn’t really asking you.”

“No.”

“Yes, Y/N.”

With the two of you locked in a very intense stare down, Niamh takes the opportunity to take you by surprise, forcing the jumper over your head. She manages to get it down past your shoulders, making it so you can do nothing but whine as you struggle to get your arms free and through the appropriate holes.

“Not fair,” you say with a stomp of your foot and the slightest pout, once you manage to free yourself.

“Isn’t it crazy how life is rarely fair,” Niamh asks sarcastically. “But since it isn’t fair, I guess that means that you don’t want to come to the zoo with Jessie and I?”

Wide-eyed you look over at the Canadian, who just nods at you very seriously before speaking, “Niamh and I would just have to go by ourselves and it won’t be as much fun without our favorite little girl there to tell us about all the reptiles and amphibians.”

You pretend to take a moment to think about it but anyone watching from the outside, specifically Jessie and Niamh, can see the way you’re practically shaking with excitement.

“Well, I suppose that we can still go,” you say as calmly as a kid your age can, “the two of you need someone to help you see the differences in all the salamanders and newts.”

The two footballers exchange a knowing smirk over the top of your head as you allow Niamh to take you by the hand.

The trip to the zoo takes too long in your humble opinion but you do your best to not bounce up and down in your seat. Once you reach the zoo, all sense of pretense is lost and you just barely agree to see some of the other animals before you attach your face to the glass in the reptile exhibit.

You allow yourself to be dragged to the different primates (where you do your best not to make faces back at them), then to the big cats (where you happily explain that lions aren’t kings of the jungle because they live in the savannah) and finally to the giraffes (where you crack jokes about them being even taller than Millie).

Eventually though, you do make it to the reptile exhibit just in time to see one of the handlers taking a baby alligator out of its habitat.

Immediately, you rush forward with the other kids, getting as close as possible to the zookeeper.

“Hello, I’m zookeeper Jack and this here is my friend Billy, he’s visiting us from America.”

From the second the zookeeper starts talking, you’re hooked, staring in silent wonder as the animal is held on display. The only movement you make is to raise your hand in an attempt to answer almost every question.

Near the end, Jack asks if anyone would like to hold Billy and your hand is the only one that goes up.

“We’ve got a brave one. What’s your name,” he asks, while showing you where to put your hands.

“Y/N.”

“And who brought you to the zoo today?”

“Niamh and Jessie,” you say, slowly point Billy’s head towards them. “They promised to let me show them the newts and salamanders.”

“Niamh and Jessie are your sisters?”

“Yea.”

You’ve completely returned your attention to Billy the gator, so you’re not even aware of the shock that your words have given the two athletes.

“One more question for you, Y/N, and then we’ll let you and your sisters take a photo with our friends here,” Jack says. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A herpetologist,” you say. Then after a moment, “Or maybe a viking, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, if you’re as gentle with all animals as you were with Billy, I think you have a pretty good chance at it,” he says, choosing to ignore the bit about becoming a viking, not wanting to break your little kid heart.

Jack the zookeeper then quickly ushers both of the footballers to the front to take a photo. He tries to make them stand next to you only for both of them to stand behind you and as far away from Billy’s teeth as they could.

When he takes the alligator back, you thank him before dragging Niamh and Jessie over to one of the vivariums you noticed on your way in. The large glass habitat is set up to resemble the ecosystem of the rivers and creeks in the pacific northwest and there, peeking out from underneath a rock, is the very animal you’ve been wanting to show them, the rough skin newt.

“Look,” you say, pointing the black and orange creature out, “That little guy is one of the most toxic animals in all of America. Just one of them contains enough toxin to kill 12 adults.”

“That’s scary, why do you know that,” Niamh asks.

“It’s not scary, it's cute,” you tell her. “And cool! There’s only one animal that can safely eat them and most of the time that snake decides it isn’t worth the hassle.”

The smile on your face only grows as you continue to gush about the tiny amphibians and its cousins. It doesn’t go away until well after you return home.

When you do get back home, now armed with a stuffed Smooth Newt and your face still sticky with the ice cream you had leaving the zoo, you excitedly tell your mothers about Billy, completely missing the look Momma sends the two younger players.

What you don’t miss is the way Morsa quickly ushers you out of the room under the guise of helping you find a spot for your new friend, affectionately dubbed Bäcken (She goes right next to Älg in your bed obviously.) And you definitely don’t miss the way Niamh tries to hide behind Jessie to avoid Momma’s wrath as you walk away.

But in the end, you decide not to pay it too much attention because you’re far too busy telling your Morsa the names of all the different reptiles and amphibians you saw at the zoo as she helps you get cleaned up before dinner.

She's not very impressed with the amount of dirt you're covered in, so she makes you change while asking you about it. And she's even less impressed when you tell her about your day at nursery but you immediately change the subject back to the zoo, so she let's it go.

When your clothes are changed and the dirt and ice cream are wiped from your skin, the two of you head out to the dining room joining the others.

Where you realize that you have to start your story telling all over again because Momma didn't hear the part about the snakes and everyone else realizes that this is all you'll be talking about for weeks.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #hardersson x reader #hardersson imagine #pernille harder x reader #magdalena eriksson x reader #jessie fleming x reader #niamh charles x reader

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luveline · 2 years

Note

sharing idea time! Eddie being the lovable menace likes to tease or "be a meanie" as reader would say to Roan, so one day he's being playful and Roan decides to "defend" reader by "standing up" to her dad. like on the couch to try making eye contact and lecture him with such a glare he's worried her face will get stuck.

omg yes nothing so romantic as some light bullying (I say this genuinely) fem!reader

Eddie does this thing with his hands that is completely, unmitigatedly cruel. He might take your hand, and you settle into his side expecting to be loved on. When he's in an especially good mood he pulls your arm to his chest and runs the tips of his fingers over your bare skin slowly. It's a sweet tickling sensation that could lull you to sleep.

When he's in a better mood than that, he gets mean. He teases with the callused hands of both a mechanic and a guitarist, built for precision and brute force. His hand follows down to your palm and he holds your hand in his in a simple gesture, and then he gathers your fingers and squeezes until all your bones ache.

It always makes you laugh, a panicked braying as you try to pull your hand back and fend off his horrible attack. Eddie only grows more eager, rolling your fingers together until you gasp and beg to be let go of.

This time, he's done not only a number on your hand but your thigh. You're too sensitive for his pinching, and he gets right in there and squeezes until you can't breathe.

"Eddie," you squeal, totally dissolved, limp and gasping and flat on your back across the couch. "Please stop."

He tickles up the inside of your thigh but doesn't do any further damage. "You're laughing, aren't you? I think you like it more than you admit."

"Laughing isn't the word I'd use."

He grabs at your doughy thigh until you're pleasing for mercy and says, "No? You wouldn't? What word would you use, baby?"

His voice raises in volume with each new question as to be heard over your keening.

"Eddie, please, would you-"

"Stop!" Roan cries, climbing up onto the couch with impressive speed and dexterity.

You raise your chest and legs as she lands straight into the pouch of your stomach with an "Oof!" that whipes you out completely. Roan defends your limp state with two hands outstretched and a darling, dramatic scowl.

"Stay away, dad!"

His turn to frown. "That's daddy to you, short stuff. What's your damage?"

"You are my damage!" she shouts. It's hilarious and lovely in her baby voice and clumsy pronunciation.

You giggle under her weight and smile so wide it infects him. He catches Roan's furious gaze and it swiftly falls away.

"Baby, what's wrong? We're just playing."

"You're being the meanie!"

"A meanie," you correct mildly, hands coming to rest on Roan's hips.

"A meanie," she says crossly.

Eddie can't understand how he got here, why her favouritism tips so strongly to your side. You giggle again, to yourself more than either of them, and he remembers. The sound is pretty as your lackadaisical grin, your face tipped to the side to see him from around Roan's commanding pose.

"I'm sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry, "I'm not trying to be mean. It's just to make her laugh, Roan. Don't you like laughing?"

Roan looks him straight in his face, real upset between her pinched brows. How many times has he seen that expression on his own face? A furious kind of injustice.

"You have to be nice!" Roan declares.

"I am nice."

"No, you're mean. You squish too hard."

He supposes that's true.

Eddie dips his chin toward his chest and pouts at her apologetically. "I'm sorry..." He holds out his hand, hoping to hold her small palm against his own. She gives it to him with enough reluctance to break a dad's heart.

"You're mean."

"I'm only playing," he stresses.

He rubs the back of her hand and lays it down thickly. Affection has always worked against her moods, ever since she was a baby. Half the time she'd cried and Eddie could fix it with a hug and a kiss.

"You have to play nicer," she chides gently, sounding a lot like he does when he has to explain things to her. It's so close and so genuine he finds himself wanting to kiss every bit of soft skin on her face.

"I will, I promise. No more squeezing. Alright? Does that make you feel better?"

"Not me, Y/N!" she says.

"Oh." Eddie manoeuvres his daughter so she's in his lap and then pulls you up by your hand, bringing it to his lips in a princess kiss. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I won't be doing anymore squeezing."

You grin at him. "Damn straight you won't. Or you can answer to my lovely protector. Isn't that right, Roan?"

Roan has melted into her dad's arm like butter in the sun, but she has enough wits about her to say, "Right!"

Eddie kisses the top of her head, careful not to crush her freshly washed curls. He can't find it in himself to be mad that his girls have ganged up on him now. He likes having you both be on the same team. He only wants to be on that team with you.

"I'm sorry," he tries again pathetically, dropping his cheek into the couch cushion to look pitiful.

You do take pity on him, dropping your own cheek close enough to meet his eyes. "That's okay, handsome. You're forgiven."

He tries not to make it too obvious that he's looking down at Roan.

You bite with a pleased little smile. "Roan, would you forgive daddy? He's sorry."

She pats Eddie's thigh. "Okay."

Her forgiveness isn't grand, but it does feel good. Good enough to celebrate.

"Thank you, baby..." He toys with a ringlet of hair behind her ear until she shivers. "How about we go out for dinner, huh? The three of us."

"Where?" you ask.

"For cake?" Roan asks.

"I'm sure they'll have cake," he assures her.

You both seem remarkably, impossibly lively after that, a stark contrast to your sleepy states. He can't believe how quickly you abandon him, or how quickly you pull on your shoes.

more eddie and roan

#eddie and roan #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader #dad!eddie munson

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dirtyvulture · 7 months

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by an imposter anon: My birthday is tomorrow august 26 and I was wondering if you could do a sub!gp!reader dom!Natasha having passionate sex in the shower then as the get dressed in their room they get caught up in a make out session and things escalate on the bed 😖

-🐀 (AN: NOT ACTUALLY 🐀 ANON)

AN: I can't believe I was conned into writing this thinking it was for my 🐀 anon. :(

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

You're caught in a trance watching the droplets of water slide down Natasha's perfect body. She laughs at your ogling, leaning forward to press her lips against yours. Her wet breasts brush against your chest and you can't help moaning into her mouth, nervously pushing some of your weight against her until she backs under the spray of the shower again.

"Come and take me, baby," Natasha whispers, peering up at you with her green eyes dark and swirling with lust. You grip her right thigh in your hand, hitching it up and around your waist, bumping your hips forward until your cock makes contact with her center.

"I love you so much, Nat," you tell her for the thousandth time. But it's the truth and you always want her to know how much she means to you. Your heart is pounding against your chest as you rub your cock through her soaking folds, feeling the heat of her center against you.

"I love you too," she responds, her hands resting on your lower back and pulling you towards you. "Now come on and make me see stars."

You eagerly line your cock up with her opening and push inside, pausing to enjoy the tightness and warmth of her wrapped around you. With some reserve, you thrust your hips back and forth, clenching your abs to keep the both of you steady. Natasha's nails dig into your back and her moans echo in the shower stall.

"Right there, baby. Harder. Just like that," she instructs, and you are hopelessly devoted to pleasuring her exactly as she wants. You angle your hips to piston into her sensitive spot, practically salivating as you watch her come undone against you. Her walls are spastic around you, purposely clenching and squeezing until you feel like you can't breathe.

"Don't cum," she warns. "This is for me, remember?"

"Yes, ma'am," you respond, your stomach burning with disappointment. It takes a few more deep strokes before Natasha is cumming around you, and you have to bite your lip to hold back your own orgasm.

Natasha pulls you out of of her and doesn't say anything as the two of you finish your shower. Your cock is still completely hard and standing at full attention, making it difficult to ignore as you step out and towel off. You follow Natasha into the bedroom, grudgingly reaching for your boxers and slipping them on, sighing internally at the massive tent at your front, when Natasha suddenly turns and jumps into your arms.

You catch her easily and stagger back to land on the bed, her lips firmly attached to yours as she practically devours you.

"I want another," she demands, tearing your boxers back off and gripping your cock in her hand, stroking it roughly but you're already so close to release you almost spill right there.

"Okay," you say dumbly, still too afraid to ask if she'll reward you for your good behavior. Instinctively, you part your legs in a V to let Natasha lie between them and her stomach purposely brushes against the tip of your cock, causing a fire to stoke in your belly again.

Her lips trail down your neck, sucking hard bruises on your skin. Your hand tangles in her hair, your hips bucking up as she grips you even tighter, the stimulation from earlier and now almost more than you can handle. Natasha sits back on your thighs, smiling at the marks she left on you.

"Please Nat," you beg, "Can I cum?"

"Inside of me," she says, and before you even have a chance to comprehend her words, she slips you inside of her and slams down against your thighs. Your back arches off the bed and you scrabble at her waist desperately, your cock milked once more in her velvet warmth.

"Oh God--Nat--I--" you stammer out, your hips moving pathetically out of rhythm. Natasha strokes your stomach to calm you, but it's a lost cause as you're too worked up from earlier to exercise much control. You blow in a few hard spurts, your muscles clenching as you release inside of her, only after wondering if she's upset because you didn't warn her.

Natasha pulls you out of her in a sticky mess and your cheeks heat up as you stutter out a weak apology.

"I think you'll need another shower," she says, taking your hand and pulling you back up.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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bandgie · 5 months

Note

Hey I saw your requests were open so I figured I’d shoot my shot. Can I request a fic Where Hyunjin really needs to pee and reader is joking around with him while straddling his lap and he keeps warning her that he needs to go but she thinks he’s kidding and he ends up peeing a bit and he feels kinda shy about it so reader tells him it’s okay to just let go while she’s on his lap. Then she starts grinding on him and he gets turned on and they fuck raw for the first time 😁

a/n: oh you're siicckk I love it

warnings: just read the ask man, MDNI 18+, established relationship, under the influence, fem!reader, dom-ish reader, soft dick hyunjin (lets fucken go), fluff mostly, PIV, no protection, come on you should know me by now!

1.4k words

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Maybe drinking wasn't the best idea. You could only imagine the pounding headache that would come in the morning. However, you couldn't manage to care enough as you sat on Hyunjin's warm lap. His hands were lazily placed on your hips, softly rocking them against his crotch.

Another bad idea in getting wasted was that neither you nor Hyunjin had explored each other much. The relationship was still new, but that didn't stop either of you from grinding up against each other late into the night.

Hyunjin could feel the excitement bubbling in his stomach. The feeling of your plush thighs on his, how your chest was pressed in his face. It sent a thrill down his spine to be this close to you, but there was a familiar pressure in his bladder that ruined the mood.

"Babe," his voice was velvety soft as he spoke. "I gotta piss."

You looked down at your lover. A confused look on your face as you replied, "Now?" He nods, looking at you like a dog who got his bone taken away. "Yes, now."

Rather than getting up, you grab the back of his head and force him between your breasts. He makes a mmf! sound then giggles at your behavior. "Babbeee," he drawls. "I really need to go." His hands tap your ass as an encouragement to get up, but you aren't having it.

"You just don't want to touch me," you pout. The alcohol must be getting to your head. You're not one to deny someone of relieving their bladder. Hyunjin, however, is too drunk to catch onto the playfulness of your tone. "Of course I want to touch you! I'll just go to the bathroom real quick and-"

Hyujin's cut off with a moan as you grind your hips down on him. You rock back and forth, trying to create some friction between the layers of clothes. "You can hold it." It's not a request, but a demand from you.

He shakes his head, "I really can't. We drank a lot. I'mma piss myself."

This makes you giggle, "Big boys don't pee their pants." You ignore Hyunjin's whines as you lift your hips just enough to remove your skirt. With your white underwear exposed, he can see the small patch of wetness that's accumulated.

"If you do wanna piss that bad, you can go here," you look down to your bare thighs. Your hands move from the back of his head to the front of his pants. He doesn't protest when you unbuckle his belt, zip down his zipper to pull out his soft cock.

You coo at the sight, grabbing ahold of his dick and running your thumb along the slight. "You really are drunk," you mumble. "Can't even get hard." Hyunjin looks both horrified and aroused. It's your first time seeing his cock, and he's flaccid. You, on the other hand, are beyond ecstatic to see it.

The warmth of your hand makes his hips jerk upwards. He groans. "Fuck, I'm gonna pee on you."

No matter how many times Hyunjin's warned you, you're still shocked to see a yellow stream emit from his tip. He tried to cover his cock, but you quickly slap his hands away. His piss lands on his jeans, leaking into the material. The warmth seeps onto your thighs, all the way down until your white underwear is stained with a yellow hue.

He moans. Moans when he sees you covered in his pee, his fifth. Hyunjin expects you to jump off his lap and run to the bathroom. He's waiting for your disgusted expression, but he's surprised to see a wide smile on your face.

You pump his wet cock, drooling. "Fuck it's everywhere. Peed on me like a dog, you're so hot." Some piss leaks from his cock as you stroke him faster. Your underwear sticks to your cunt, but you're certain it's more of his own fluid than yours.

Hyunjin whimpers, "I...You think it's hot?"

The uncertainty in his voice pulls at your heartstrings. Your boyfriend could do anything, and you'd find it endearing. He has you wrapped around his finger, and he doesn't even know it. "I think you're hot," you emphasize. "I need you in me now. I really wanna fuck you."

If Hyunjin was more sober, he would be horrified at the thought of having sex with you like this. He wanted your first time to be romantic. He wanted to take things slow and feel your body on his, completely nude. Still, he can't ignore the delight in how you pull your soaked underwear to the side.

His cock twitches in your hand. After his tinkle, Hyunjin feels himself getting hard in your soft palms. He helps you over his dick with his hands on your waist, slowly lowering you to his length.

Everything is so easy, so perfect when his tip breaches your walls. There's not an ounce of pain as he fills you up. You shiver and place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. "Mmm so good," you moan. "Deeper."

Hyunjin complies eagerly, shoving the remaining inches of his cock. It nestles snugly in your cunt, the head kissing your cervix. As much as you would like to bounce on him, you stay sitting fully on his dick. You want to feel how the curve of him hits every spot within you. How your walls tighten and squeeze around his unfamiliar girth.

It's only when you've begun dripping that you move upwards. A few inches of Hyunjin's length slip out before you slide back down. He slides effortlessly in you, stretching you wonderfully.

Hyunjin can't decide whether he wants to look at your face or where your bodies connect. He loves watching his cock disappear in you as you ride him, but he also loves your fucked out expression. How your mouth hangs open to moan uncontrollably, the way your nose scrunches when he thrusts his hips upwards, how your eyes look into his so dreamily.

"Fuck," Hyunjin groans. This might not have been the ideal way he wanted to make love, but he'll forever save the image in his mind. Imprint the feeling of your body on his. He'll immortalize this moment in a painting.

Both of you are too tipsy to properly fuck into each other. Your thrusts are sloppy and they don't match. Sometimes you have to stay hovering while he grinds upwards to you. The sounds of his thighs clapping against the back of yours echo in the house.

You throw back your head when he decides to use you to his liking. He bounces you on his cock like a fleshlight, eyes crazed. With your throat exposed to him, he can't help but lean forward to bury his face into your neck.

Without warning, he bites down. You cry out from the sensation, feeling his teeth pierce your flesh. The saltiness of your skin settles on his tongue and the primal taste makes his hips move rougher.

A warm sensation builds quickly in your stomach, and you find yourself flooding before you can comprehend it. The familiar pale yellow liquid spurt from your cunt, and sprays all over his lower stomach.

Hyunjin laughs tiredly upon feeling the liquid stream out of you. He pulls his head back and looks down, seeing the mess. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who needed to go."

You babble incoherently, jumble 'sorrys' and 'don't stop.'

He chuckles again and focuses his attention back on your dripping cunt. The extra warmth and wetness only push Hyunjin closer to the edge. His grip tightens on your hips and he drives into you. His balls tense and his cock twitches, and for a moment he thinks about pulling out.

But the way you're helplessly letting him use you and looking at him so endearing makes it seem as though you might get upset if he pulls out. So he doesn't, and he buries his cock to the base as he cums inside.

You thought it was impossible for you to feel wetter, but you're proven wrong. Hyunjin's cum shoots itself deep inside to claim you. You feel gravity pull his arousal down and out of your pussy, dripping onto his thighs and the couch.

Tiredly, you collapse on his chest. His arms wrap around you and pull you close, peppering your neck and cheek with kisses. Both of you find solace in each other's embrace, giggling and giving open mouth kisses carelessly. It doesn't take long for the cum and piss to get uncomfortable.

Both of you decide a thorough shower is much needed... and maybe another round.

a/n: this was pretty fun to write! little secret for ya'll, men can't piss during sex (unless they have a medical condition) so that's why I had him soft to pee. but tbh we need more skz soft penis appreciation. if you're with me say 'i'

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