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yuujispinkhair · 7 months ago

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Boxer!Sukuna Part 2 - Becoming a Dad

I got this lovely ask about how Boxer!Sukuna would react if Reader got pregnant, and I wanted to write a little something for it. Thank you so much for sending me that.

You can read Part 1 of my Boxer!Sukuna headcanons here

Pairing: Boxer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: 18+, fluff + mentions of smut. Pregnancy, mentions of boxing injuries, modern AU. Sukuna + Reader are engaged. You can read Part 1 for more general headcanons about Boxer!Sukuna, and his and Reader's relationship. But you don't need Part 1 to understand Part 2. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

++ Boxer!Sukuna feels as if one of his opponents punched him in the guts when you place the positive pregnancy test in his lap and look at him with big, worried eyes. He catches himself quickly, though, when he sees how anxious you are, and pulls you on his lap, and wraps you in his strong arms. One large hand cups your head and cradles it against Sukuna's broad chest. "Hey, princess. It's ok. You hear me, sweetheart? Everything is fine."

++ Boxer!Sukuna sure as hell won't let you be scared. He is man enough to comfort you when you need it, even though he is probably just as nervous as you are. If you listen closely, you can hear how fast his heart is beating, but Sukuna makes sure to distract you from that by pressing his lips against your temple and murmuring reassurance to you, followed by little kisses.

++ Boxer!Sukuna never thought he would have kids. But he also never thought he would find love. But you changed him. You taught him love. So he thinks that you can also teach him how to be a dad. And the thought of having a baby with you fills him with such warmth and pride that he just knows he wants this and will make it work.

++ Boxer!Sukuna's low voice is as sure and confident as ever when he tells you, "Take your time to decide what you want. I will be with you on every path you choose. I love you. I'm your man, always. I couldn't imagine having a screaming little brat with anyone else. But with you? Yeah, absolutely. And if you make me a daddy, then I will make damn sure to be a good one. I want to have that baby with you."

++ Boxer!Sukuna can't help but smile when you press your face into his defined pecs and tell him that you are scared but that you want to have a baby with him, too.

++ Boxer!Sukuna is already your fiancé anyway, but if he hadn't already asked you to marry him, he would have done so right now after finding out you carry his baby under your heart.

++ Boxer!Sukuna places a large hand on your belly, his long fingers sprawling gently over it. It's astounding that a strong, rough man like him can touch someone this tenderly. It surprises him, too, and he laughs softly, already knowing he will be such a menace during your pregnancy. Super protective and always taking the best care of his soon-to-be wife and mommy of his little brat.

++ Boxer!Sukuna catches himself being more careful in the ring as your pregnancy progresses. He used to let his opponents land a few hard punches to rile him up and give the crowd a good show. But now he doesn't want to risk an injury. He is going to be a dad soon. He will have such a big responsibility. He cannot afford to get injured and land himself in the hospital for several weeks, or worse, have a lifelong injury that keeps him from being the husband and father he wants to be.

++ Boxer!Sukuna changes his tactic, dropping the playful show and instead ending his fights earlier with merciless, hard punches, which are aimed precisely. The fans are still cheering like crazy and happy about the show he gives them when Sukuna wins every fight with a knockout.

++ Boxer!Sukuna feels even more motivated now that you are having his baby. He wants to win the championship and that new advertising deal with that big clothing line. The one he has turned down for years because he thought it was stupid. But now he will say yes because he wants to get more money so he can assure his beautiful wife and baby will always have a good life and never have to worry about money at all.

++ Boxer!Sukuna is a busy man with all the long hours he has to invest in training and in the preparation for his fights. But he always tells his personal assistant, Uraume, to make time in his busy schedule for your doctor appointments during the pregnancy. He wants to be by your side. Wants to drive you there and make sure you get there safely. He wants to hold your hand while the two of you look at the ultrasound of your tiny baby, letting you know that Sukuna will keep his word.

++ Boxer!Sukuna has always been a very caring boyfriend/fiancé, and now he is an even more caring husband and soon-to-be daddy. Seeing you with your big baby bump makes him want to wrap you in his strong arms at all times, ensuring you are safe and taken care of.

++ Boxer!Sukuna loves bonding with you and your baby that’s growing inside you. You laugh and tease him for being so clingy, but he knows you love it. Sukuna loves showering with you, standing behind you, so much taller than you, letting you lean against his strong body while he wraps his arms around you, holding you safely in his embrace, making sure you won't slip. His large hands sprawl over your swollen belly while his lips trail kisses from your neck to your shoulders, and he grins anytime he feels his little baby kick strongly against mommy's belly and daddy's hand.

++ Boxer!Sukuna is extremely protective of you and his little daughter once she is born. No pictures are allowed. The paparazzi don't even dare come to your street. They try it once when you get out of the hospital with your newborn baby, but Sukuna scares them off by punching one of them. He has a mad grin on his tattooed face, sneering at that guy and telling him, "If you or any of your colleagues come near my wife or child, I will do the same thing again, but this time I'll make sure to knock out some of your teeth."

++ Boxer!Sukuna has won so many fights, so many titles and yet nothing touched him like holding his little girl in his strong, tattooed arms, gently swaying her from side to side at 3 am, after Sukuna rolled over in bed and kissed your naked shoulder, telling you to get some more sleep, "I will take care of the little princess." And now he is gazing down at this tiny little baby. His and your baby. And somehow, his vision is so blurry, and his eyes feel so weirdly moist.

++ Boxer!Sukuna smiles, a real smile, as he blinks the tears that almost welled up away and tells his little daughter, "You are the most perfect baby ever, little one. Not like all those ugly brats I see everywhere." He laughs to himself, low and raspy, just when you come out of the bedroom, rolling your eyes as you walk up to him with a matching laugh falling from your lips. You get on your tiptoes to kiss the tattoos on Sukuna's cheek and tell him he is the worst, with a voice full of love, and Sukuna thinks he is the luckiest guy ever.

++ Boxer!Sukuna wraps one strong arm around you and pulls you against his tall, muscular body, hugging you gently while he carries your little baby in his other arm. Holding both of his girls, grinning because he knows this here is the best thing he ever had. Better than any title he has ever won and will ever win.

++ Boxer!Sukuna still needs you to kiss his boxing gloves before each fight. But now he also added a new ritual. Brushing over the soft hair of his little daughter with his boxing gloves before he leans down to press a kiss on her little forehead and tell her, "Daddy will win this fight. For you and mommy."

++ Boxer!Sukuna is mature enough to know that a boxing arena isn't the right place for a baby, so he would never ask you to sit in your usual spot but rather have you backstage, cuddling your daughter while you watch his fight on the screen without all the loud noises and the riled up atmosphere. But on the evenings, when you have a babysitter and you can sit in front of the boxing ring, Sukuna fights extra well, spurred on by the knowledge that you are there. Just like he fucks you extra good in his private locker room afterward, taking you hard and rough against the wall, loving that he and you can be as loud as you want here, making sure you squeal his name over and over again like a prayer.

++ Boxer!Sukuna still takes you on dinner dates on those nights when you have someone who looks after your daughter. Because he wants the two of you to always stay lovers, too, and not just mommy and daddy. He makes sure to savor those dates thoroughly, flirting with you, leaning across the table to kiss you and whisper dirty things in your ear, or complimenting you on how beautiful you look. He makes sure to not just fuck you all riled up after a fight but also make sweet slow love to you, telling you to look deeply into his maroon eyes as he rolls his hips against yours and lets you feel every inch of his long and thick cock.

++ Boxer!Sukuna is very passionate about his boxing career, but his little family always comes first. When you are sick, he cancels a big fight just so he can stay home and look after you and your daughter, and somehow, it makes him become even more popular because suddenly, the big, bad boxing champion seems a lot more human to everyone.

++ Boxer!Sukuna is adamant about teaching his little girl how to fight, just like her daddy. She gets her first boxing gloves on her third birthday. Pink ones with Hello Kitty on them, and Sukuna proudly shows her how to punch the little punching bag he bought for her and installed in the living room.

++ Boxer!Sukuna never wants his daughter to actually follow in his footsteps and become a boxer because he knows he won't be able to stand in front of the ring and watch his little princess get hit. But he is so proud of her when she punches her little punching bag.

++ Boxer!Sukuna tells his little girl to fight him, grinning his boyish grin as he circles around the living room doing a "boxing match" against his little one. He lets her land several punches on his abs, and Sukuna groans dramatically and sinks to his knees before he lets himself fall onto his side and lie there, holding back his laughter while you count to ten and declare your giggling daughter the winner.

++ Boxer!Sukuna is such a successful and feared boxer, always living up to his stage name, The King of Curses. So strong and intelligent, seemingly unbeatable. But the two of you are his big weakness. You brought Sukuna to his knees, and he loves every second of it.

Boxer!Sukuna never thought he would be a dad, but now that he is one, he can't even imagine how life was before the three of you became a family. His little family will always be his safe haven. His retreat after all the exhausting time in the boxing ring and in front of all those flashing cameras. This here is truly all he needs. His two girls. The two loves of his life. No matter how many titles Sukuna wins, the titles he will always be the most proud of are husband and daddy.

IT WAS SO NICE AND COMFORTING TO WRITE THIS 💗💗 He makes me so lovesick!! What a man!!

I hope this little story could give you comfort, too. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x you #sukuna x y/n #tw pregnancy

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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SOMETIMES I LONG TO EAT YOU UP ; RYŌMEN SUKUNA

synopsis; sukuna doesn’t tell you that he loves you. he cooks for you, instead.

word count; 6.0k

contents; ryōmen sukuna/reader, gn!reader, househusband!sukuna, no curses au, fluff fluff fluff!!, sukuna is Whipped bc i say so, (he bullies you a bit but he does so lovingly), lots of cooking and descriptions of food, implied reincarnation au if you reeaalllyyyyy squint (but feel free to ignore it if that’s not your thing!!), reader is a silly goose, sukuna vs human emotion (he loses), he’s ooc but he’s Free

a/n; >:3 is anyone shocked….. that’s right. ari is in fact capable of writing for characters who aren’t stsg….. this one has been in my wips for Many Months now but i finally finished it!! i just think being in a nice warm kitchen could fix him. (super cute dividers by @/enchanthings !!)

sukuna doesn’t tell you that he loves you.

throughout the years you've been together, it's something you've grown used to. words like love must feel foreign in his mouth — even more so when they slip into the air, voiced, manifested.

discomforting, if the crease between his brows is anything to go by.

he only says it under certain conditions, little moments here and there, all of them memorable; a particularly sentimental midnight drive, that time you broke down sobbing into his chest after a rough day, the night he proposed. and so on. little moments, precious moments, few and far between.

that’s just how sukuna is. unaccustomed to being loved, even more unaccustomed to being in love. swallowing the words down, afraid of what could happen if he spoke them aloud, through more than a mere whisper. as if they could burn you.

you don’t mind, because you know him. and you know that he loves you, even if he doesn’t say it nearly as often as you do.

sukuna shows his love for you in other ways. driving you wherever you need to be, holding you to his chest when you’re sleepy, watching reality shows with you even though he hates them; always watching over you, making sure you’re safe and happy, almost hunting for anything that could disturb your peace. you can feel that love, almost reach out and touch it — a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through large crowds, a bouquet of camellias waiting for you on the kitchen table as soon as you get home. it’s there. concrete.

but, above all else… sukuna translates his boundless love into food.

the sun rises outside the walls of your apartment, slow and steady, hazy sunlight flitting through the windows of your kitchen and dyeing the open space in a golden glow — like something out of a summery daydream. you rub the tender skin beneath your bleary eyes, as your feet move you forward. slowly, groggily.

stumbling towards your target.

sukuna doesn’t flinch when you wrap your arms around his waist, forehead bumping into his broad back, practically tackling him into a hug. he’s become attuned to the sound of your clumsy footsteps. he makes a tiny noise, acknowledging your presence, and that’s all.

the low purr of the espresso machine buzzes in the air, as he watches over the process, dutiful as ever. the same drawn out, thoughtful process he goes through every morning; picking out the beans himself, grinding them into grounds, and making a cup for you with his beloved, expensive coffee machine. making sure every setting is exactly as it should be. it gives him peace of mind.

and it needs to be perfect, in every possible way — so sukuna tries his best not to let you distract him.

(he never quite succeeds.)

a blissful little sigh slips from your lips, as you squeeze his waist. hands wandering, feeling him up, buzzing with the warmth the contact gives you. he’s always so cozy, like this. all you want is to smush your face into his plush chest. but sukuna clicks his tongue, and places a palm on your forearm. keeping it still.

his voice comes out raspy, excruciatingly deep. a gruff kind of tilt to it that makes you shiver.

”assaulting me first thing in the morning, are we?”

you’re a little too sleepy to respond, too out of it. still reeling with the hazy remnants of your deep sleep, stretching your limbs out groggily and making a little mrm sound that makes his lips twitch up. unwillingly, might he add.

the two of you do this every morning. it’s a ritual, of sorts, one that you need to function properly — he always makes you a morning cup of coffee, and you always cling to him through the process. he always huffs and puffs and clicks his tongue, but never actually pushes you off. all sukuna does is absently caress your arm, where it rests around his midsection, still watching over the slow brew of the coffee. attentive.

you try not to disturb him too much, you do. because you know he loves this, deep down; the morning sunlight kissing up his nape, the sense of peace sinking into his bones. the feeling of your chest against his back, your fingers fiddling with the strings of his apron. but eventually, you always give in to the temptation of speaking — of coaxing a response from that deep, raspy morning voice.

so you part your lips.

”did you have nice dreams?” is murmured into his back, your cheek smooshed against the soft, dark fabric of his tight turtleneck.

sukuna hums. listening, always, even when he pretends to tune you out. then comes his response.

”i never dream.”

a moment passes.

you bite down on your lip, struggling to withhold a giggle. it doesn’t really work — but you tactfully pretend not to hear his displeased grumble.

”right,” you smile. ”my bad.”

another soft silence washes over you. just for a couple of moments, as you drowsily blink, and sukuna puts two ceramic cups on the counter. blissful, until you break it again.

”i think i dreamt of you.”

sukuna stills. only barely, just for a second, a brief twitch of his fingers; waiting. for tiny crumbs of love, ones you give out like candy, almost absentminded. like you don’t even have to try. ones he never fails to pick up, tuck into his pockets, chew between his teeth.

(sometimes, he envies how freely affection seems to spill from your lips.)

it’s touching, in a way. the idea that he never quite leaves your mind. that he’s there, always, even in your dreams. it’s… sweet. he supposes.

a little yawn leaves your lips, as you stretch your limbs out, akin to a sleepy cat — and he strains his ears to hear what you’ll say next.

”you were a cashier at the mcdonalds i went to.”

…

a click of his tongue — his hand slipping from its position on your forearm. ”get out of my kitchen.”

and just like that, a burst of giggles bubble up inside your throat. muffled into the cotton of his sweater, a sound that makes his heart feel a little too big for his body. ”noooo…” you whine, nails digging into the fabric so he can’t shake you off. clinging to him tighter when he tries, no real intent behind it. ”’m sorry. don’t get mad!”

”i would never work there,” he scoffs. ”frankly, the thought is insulting.”

you quirk a brow. ”what kind of beef do you have with mcdonalds?”

”don't ask me stupid questions,” he huffs, clicking his tongue, a bitter lilt to his voice. ”they don’t make food. it’s practically contaminated — poisonous. i don’t want you eating that plastic.”

(why would you want to, when you have me to make you anything you want?)

you bite down on your lip, trying to hide a teasing smile. endeared, by how grumpy he’s getting. ”aw. i like it, though...”

sukuna sighs.

”alright, then.” his voice is controlled, hiding every single tinge of his carefully concealed frustration. he must have been an actor in a past life, to sound so effortlessly unbothered. ”go buy yourself one of those cheap, awful, bland cappuccinos you love so much. i’ll pay.”

your lips twitch upward. he’s just being snarky, you know he is, but you still bundle up his sweater with your fists. shaking your head. ”i’m just kidding,” you purr, biting back another yawn. ”only want yours.”

sukuna stills. silent, once more. trying not to acknowledge how your words tug at his heartstrings, chew at the bones of his ribcage. something like pride sprouts in his chest, and it’s enough to get him to smooth his thumb over your knuckle again. content. finally, the kitchen falls silent, only the low purring of the coffee machine to fill your ears — until that dwindles out too.

a kind of peace settles in the air. something holy, sukuna thinks.

something that makes him feel human.

he moves his hands delicately, tenderly. attentive, as he pours hot espresso into your cup, slowly and gracefully, a delicate rhythm to his steady hands. just thinking of how warm you feel, like this, how you touch him like he’s harmless, like he could do no wrong in your eyes. how your voice sounds so pretty in the wake of a new morning, when it’s just a little raspy, unguarded in a way that makes him feel like he’s cradling a wounded bird in his arms. something fragile and majestic. he pretends not to like the sound of it, the way it distracts him from his extensive brewing process; but sukuna thinks he’d do just about anything to hear it once more.

absolutely anything.

”what are you thinking about, sukuna?”

”nothing,” he’s quick to hum. maybe a little too quick, but before you can question it, he scoffs. ”are you gonna cling to me all day, you little brat?”

”… can i?”

sukuna clicks his tongue.

(he’s awfully lucky you don’t look up to see the cherry red tint of his pierced ears.)

three little words begin to crawl up his throat. he can feel them, ticklish, heavy, and gulps them down before they get too far. busying himself with the clinking of coffee cups and stirring of silver spoons. then he’s turning around, to face you properly. blowing on the cup, a fragrance of espresso spreading throughout the kitchen, blending with the blooming flowers by the windowsill.

he hands you a cup of coffee, made just the way you like it. glancing at your forehead; wondering if he should pair it with a kiss.

(maybe later.)

”careful. it’s hot,” he hums. then he’s turning around to prepare his own cup, while you murmur your thanks, squeezing affectionately at his waist. taking a sip of the bitter brew. a warm cup of coffee, thoughtfully crafted, only to be passed into your awaiting hands. the same transaction you repeat every single morning.

the same act, conveying the same sentiment; those three little unspoken words.

you take another sip, and a smile blooms on your lips.

your stomach is growling.

it’s been ten minutes since it started. ten minutes since you noticed the pit of hunger in your gut, growing more and more for every passing second; and you’re trying to ignore it, valiantly, sitting in your cubicle and mentally cursing yourself for being so scatterbrained.

how on earth could you forget your own lunch?

a pang of ache bubbles up in your stomach, and you curl into yourself. sitting on a not-so-comfy chair, doing your best to survive, staring at the clock on the wall and watching the minutes tick down. only twenty minutes left of your lunch break.

in hindsight, it was inevitable. inevitable that you’d burn yourself out, eventually, that it’d make you lose sleep, that your fatigued brain would forget something so important. so fundamental to your peace of mind. you need your lunch to focus properly — there’s no way in hell that you’ll make it through the work day otherwise.

you could accept your fate and go buy a sandwich and a can of coffee, but…

(dammit.)

sukuna always makes your lunches himself. tailored to suit your tastes, to give you the nutrients and energy you need not to lose your mind or set the building on fire, with all the hours you spend staring into your computer screen and writing until your brain turns to mush. they’re always delicious, always lovingly made, and you think you might break down and cry if you have to settle for a cheap sandwich instead. you’d rather swallow crushed glass.

a sigh slips from your lips.

your coworker shoots you a sympathetic glance, hearing yet another of your stomach’s agonized growls. she taps at your desk, to get your attention, and you look up to meet her kind eyes. ”my offer still stands, you know?”

you give her a smile. ”no, it’s fine,” you murmur, rubbing the back of your neck. ”eating someone else’s handmade food just wouldn’t feel right…”

”… he spoils you, huh?”

a huff. you pout a little, and she chuckles, going back to eating from her bento. it’s hard not to feel jealous. it’s even harder not to think of the bento still waiting for you in your fridge.

finally, you resign yourself to your tragic fate. putting both palms on your desk, ready to lift yourself up; doomed to survive on a cheaply made sandwich and a too-sweet can of coffee. it’s not ideal, not at all. but it is what it is.

(if only you hadn’t forgotten it…)

”you’re a klutz.”

something is placed directly in front of you. two boxes, stacked on top of each other, wrapped up in a pink cloth — neatly tied, smelling just slightly of food. tantalizing.

you raise your head.

sukuna has one eyebrow raised, a mild expression of disbelief painted on his face. unimpressed, as he gazes down at you, hair tousled and slicked back. wearing a leather jacket, black like the tattoos etched into his skin, on his face, a larger one running in streams of ink from his shoulder down to his forearm. you can see a tiny bit of it, crawling towards his collarbone. equally tantalizing.

a click of his tongue breaks you out of your stupor — stuck in place, staring at him silently. like he just fell out of the sky.

”sukuna,” you sputter, finally, glancing down at the bento and then back up at him. ”you —”

”you’re lucky i noticed,” he cuts you off. ”almost didn't make it in time.” one glance at the clock on the wall, and he’s placing a can of peach tea on your desk; it’s still covered in condensation, his fingers leaving prints on the aluminium. ”i should go. doubt your bosses will be very thrilled to have a motorcycle parked outside.”

”ah.” you fall silent. looking down at your lap, wearing a weak smile, a little too ashamed for his liking. ”… sorry, ’kuna. i know you’re busy.”

he gazes down at you, slumped in your chair, bags beneath your weary eyes. an apologetic smile on your lips, a little dejected. like you’re being scolded.

(his eyes soften.)

sukuna shakes his head. only slightly, by a hair, but enough to put you at ease — to let you know he isn’t upset, that grumpy is simply his default state. his voice shifts into a lower, softer tone. ”just don’t forget it next time.”

then he flicks your forehead. gently, not enough force behind it to even sting.

”klutz,” he says, again, and you know it’s a term of endearment. a smile sprouts on your lips.

you sit up straight, eyes crinkling as you look at him, before falling down on the bento in front of you — practically drooling as you think about the meal you’re about to have. ”thank you,” you coo, a sweet grin on your lips as you meet his gaze. voice tingling with barely contained fondness, expression and posture brightening as you tap your feet beneath your desk. ”i love you.”

something smooths over sukuna’s face; something you can’t quite put your finger on. his lips are pursed, and his amber eyes simmer with something awfully fond. swirling like the spots of sunlight on the wall just behind him. it’s brief, easy to miss — a single tug of his lips. the tiniest little smile.

his hand reaches out, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he brushes through your bangs; adjusting them. and you know it’s just an excuse to touch you, that he’d let himself be greedy and ruffle your hair if you weren’t in public. he doesn’t like having an audience, small as it may be. but he can’t really control himself, when it comes to you.

”make sure to eat all of it,” he hums, glancing out the window, towards the motorcycle parked outside. ”i’ll come pick you up later.”

you smile, and sukuna leaves. elegant, even in the way he moves, collected and confident. languid, long legs and a broad back. the warmth of his palm on your head remains, as you wave after him with a cheery see you soon!

and it’s finally time.

with an eager kind of giddiness, you unwrap your bento — ignoring your still growling stomach, the jealous mutters of your coworker, the ticking of the clock on the wall. from outside the window comes a ray of sunshine, a streak of gold falling across the floorboards. it illuminates the contents of your lunch, and you swallow down a gulp. the presentation is lovely, as always. the top layer carries a mouth-watering cutlet, a wide array of little vegetables, fresh and clean, while the bottom one has a couple perfectly formed onigiri; they’re awfully cute, shaped into little pandas, decorated with dried seaweed and sesame seeds.

you pick one up, holding it in the light of the glittering sun. it’s so cute you almost don’t want to eat it at all.

”did he really make that..?” your coworker mumbles, still chewing on her own food. you’re too hungry to respond.

you fish out a tiny note, tucked between the boxes. that’s where he usually puts them. you don’t remember when it started, but you know he enjoys it; writing down little reminders or words of encouragement. his handwriting is beautiful, clear and concise. your eyes trail over every little word, every letter, the little smudged scribble in the middle. it makes you smile.

you’ve been working hard lately. don’t overdo it. the company won’t fall apart if you slack off every once in a while. i lo we can watch that show you like when you get home.

a warmth spreads throughout your body, from the pit of your stomach down to the tips of your fingers; your heart constricting to make room for the love that blooms between your ribs. you barely even notice the wide smile on your lips, leaning forward to leave a little kiss on the paper. it’ll have to do, since he isn’t here to receive it himself.

and as you dig in, savouring every piece of food he made, you’re almost certain you can feel it. that burst of emotion he always tries to contain, the three little words that always sputter out on the tip of his tongue. the cutlet is perfectly crispy, juicy on the inside, practically melting on your tongue. seasoned thoroughly, cooked to completion, so tasty it makes your mouth water. the onigiri are stuffed with a wide array of fillings, fluffy rice blending nicely together with the contents, little grains sticking to the corners of your mouth. and the veggies are cut into cute little star shapes, light and refreshing, balancing the meal and making you wolf everything down with a bright smile.

there’s love, in this. in every meal he makes for you. there’s love in the way he’s picked out your favorite ingredients, all the seasonings you like, love in the way he’s put so much effort into the presentation alone. love, love, love. you can practically taste it on your tongue. the peach tea tastes sweet and fruity, and you gulp it down eagerly, bento left empty.

there are only five minutes left until you have to start working again, but you feel nowhere near as spent as before. you think of his hands, his eyes.

his love.

(god, you can’t wait to get home.)

a soft, orange glow simmers in the kitchen — an atmosphere too sweet not to savour.

your dining room table is covered in a white cloth, burdened by the weight of one burning candle and an expensive vase; stuffed with camellias in all hues, jasmine buds and pretty bluebells, floral scents mingling with the cinnamon-like one of the scented candle. every inhale fills your senses with pure bliss.

not to mention the food.

you’re drooling. you’re sure of it. eyes darting from plate to plate, dish to dish, overwhelmed by the delicacies; trays of sushi, perfect cuts of salmon and tuna cushioned by soft rice, maki rolls stuffed with all your favorite toppings, plenty of soy sauce in tiny cups. fried shrimp, a golden colour, fluffy and crispy, and miso soup topped with garlic and cubes of tofu, steam rising from the ceramic bowls.

and then, of course, his infamous dumplings, grilled on both sides — a perfect golden brown.

all your favorites.

sukuna takes hold of a teapot. made of glass, stuffed with a blooming chrysanthemum, petals stretching out like rays of sunlight in the golden water. he pours it into two ceramic cups, and then promptly drags a chair out for you; a silent beckoning.

but all you can do is stare.

”sukuna…”

he quirks a brow, meeting your astonished stare, eyes round and confused like a puppy’s; painfully cute. he could eat you up. ”what?”

you open your mouth, then close it again. silent, furrowing your brows as if in deep contemplation. ”our anniversary is in august, right?” something panicked smooths over your face. ”i didn’t forget?”

a sigh spills from his lips. ”don’t be dumb,” he clicks his tongue, glancing away for no more than a moment. ”we haven’t had much time to eat together, lately. that’s all.”

(he missed you. he wanted to spoil you, a bit.

he could say it out loud; but he chooses not to.)

either way, he knows you get the message. because suddenly your eyes glimmer, and a full smile blooms on your pretty lips. you waste no time in plopping down on the seat in front of you, right across from sukuna. ”hehe. thank you, baby.”

he huffs. tiny, more of a shy little breath. ”alright, already. eat. before it gets cold.”

”okay, okay!”

he watches as you grab your chopsticks, hungrily eyeing all the dishes on display. listening to his own heartbeat; thrumming, softly, just behind his ribs. pulsating like a fish gasping for air.

”gosh. when did you even do all this?” you ask, soaking in the intimate atmosphere, as he runs an absent hand through his hair. still smelling lightly of coconut oil from the shower he barely had time to take — but he’d rather die than soil this moment with the smell of his cooking-induced sweat.

”when you were away.” he reaches for the cup in front of him, tracing the tips of his fingers against the ceramic. ”jin helped. not with the cooking, obviously, thank god. but…” he raises it to his lips, before taking a sip. ”the ambience. i suppose.”

a hum. you raise your hand, reaching for the bouquet of flowers. ”did he bring these, too?” a curt nod is all you get; it’s enough to have your lips raising up into a smile, fingertips brushing against the petals, pink and yellow, cupping the flowers like they’re made of glass. ”no wonder. do you know what bluebells symbolize?”

sukuna stills. he meets your gaze, eyes trailing towards your knuckles, your fingers, how they blend together with the petals. how he could almost mistake them for stalks. he leans back in his chair, and mutters under his breath;

”… why else would i ask him to buy them?”

you blink. not in surprise, but realization. the sweet kind, like a splash of citrus blooming on your tongue, refreshing.

(he’s always been a bit of a sap, hasn’t he.)

”… that’s true,” your lips split into a sheepish smile, hoping he won’t feel the heat of your cheeks from this distance. ”they’re pretty. thank you.”

another little furrow of his brows. ”enough of that,” comes a sigh. ”if you really want to thank me, make sure the food doesn’t go to waste.”

you stifle a giggle, reaching for the bowl of miso soup. following his advice. sukuna watches you dig in with a certain look in his eyes, something alert and attentive, soft in the corners. resting his chin on the heel of his palm, waiting patiently for those little blissful sighs to start spilling from your lips. wallowing in the finely crafted atmosphere, pleasant scents and soft lighting, the air brimming with something tender and raw.

he spent all day preparing this. planning out every single meal, waiting for jin to arrive with the scented candles and flowers, cleaning the kitchen until not a single speck of dust remained. cathartic, to immerse himself into cooking for you, cutting tofu and vegetables into little cubes and slices, fiddling with the temperature settings and watching blue flames lick at the stove like hungry snakes. gutting the fish he bought fresh from the market, dipping large shrimps into boiling oil. there’s something powerful about it, something he can’t quite put his finger on. something that makes him feel at ease.

and it’s tender — the act of creation, of feeding someone you care for. he didn’t appreciate that part of the process until you came into his life. he didn’t truly love cooking, either.

(he doubts he’ll ever tell you, but he won’t ever stop being grateful for that.)

you continue to eat, sipping from the soup, dipping sushi into soy sauce, munching at the tempura, humming happily to yourself. you look so pleased, so content, like the cat that got the cream. sukuna watches. his eyes stay glued to your fingers, the way you hold your chopsticks, the grain of rice that sticks to the corner of your lip after a particularly big bite. his ears stay keen, intent on picking up on every little joyous hum behind your teeth. even while eating, he’s feeding off your reactions; every expression you bless him with.

he fell in love with the way you eat many years ago.

”so good,” you moan, closing your eyes in pure bliss, and he has to take a sip of his tea to cover the smug smile on his face.

”make sure to finish what’s on your plate,” is all he says, but the honeyed note in his voice gives his satisfaction away. awfully pleased by your approval. ”i made dessert, too.”

at that, your eyes light up even further, swirling with something excited and sweet, and he fails to hold back an amused little huff.

the evening continues. you eat your fill, warm soup and fried food and sugary ice cream, and promptly fall asleep on the couch in the middle of a romcom he only watches for your commentary. snoozing on his shoulder, all tuckered out. always so sleepy after eating. he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, the tips of his fingers gliding across your soft skin. he spares a moment to admire you, under the soft glow of the living room lights — unable to shake away that greedy vein beneath his skin. if it was possible, he’d admire you forever.

but there’s no way you’d ever manage to sit still for so long, so he carries you to bed instead. big, strong, tattooed arms, lifting you up with ease, like a baby bird in the maw of a rottweiler. handling you with the utmost care, tucking you in under the covers, leaning forward to press a single kiss between your brows —

and then you smile.

…

sukuna stills. he watches you, watches you, watches you, every single miniscule motion of your stiff facial features.

then he pinches your cheek.

”owww!”

your eyes flutter open, flashing with betrayal, and sukuna only gives you that signature click of his tongue. ”did you really think you could trick me so easily?”

”i did! you carried me here!” your lips fall into a petulant frown, as you scramble to sit up straight against the fluffy pillows. he only rolls his eyes.

”i wanted to appease you,” he says, and you almost fall for it because it’s not quite a lie. ”such a brat. can’t even walk on your own, huh?”

”well, pardon me for wanting my sweet fiancé to hold me.”

”i hold you all the time.”

”it’s not the same,” you sigh, two little shakes of your head. ”whatever. you wouldn't get it.”

sukuna quirks a brow, but doesn’t push it. instead, he releases the slightest exhale, eyes blooming with amusement, his palm finding its way to your tousled hair. smoothing down your skull.

”go back to sleep,” he beckons, softly, almost hypnotically. his voice is at its most tender when it’s late at night; a little too exhausted to sharpen his syllables properly. ”i’ll hold you later.”

”… you’re not joining me?” you ask, eyes filling with confusion, and he feels a slight tug at his heart — a little string that ties him to you.

”i need to plan next week’s meals,” he mutters, watching as you furrow your brows, meeting his gaze with a pair of disappointed puppy dog eyes.

you know he’s weak to them.

”don’t pout,” he scoffs, looking away for the briefest little moment. weak. ”i'll do it quickly.”

”you always say that,” comes a heavy sigh. you bundle up the covers with your fists, shooting him a bitter little glance. ”but it always takes forever.”

”don’t complain,” he tuts. tilting his head, pink locks falling across his forehead, his maroon eyes. ”haven’t i pampered you enough tonight?”

at that, you fall silent. still pouting.

he tries not to feel bad. he wants to sleep with you; but he can’t. sunday nights are for meal planning. they have been since you first moved in together, and he’s not planning to put a fork in the road of his carefully nurtured routine anytime soon. he needs to make sure you eat balanced meals, get all the vitamins you need — it’s practically life and death.

still, it itches at him. the way you gnaw at your bottom lip, curl in on yourself. you look sleepy and disappointed, and the bed looks empty, which only makes you look smaller in comparison. you look small and lonely and sad. it makes him wish he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole; keep you tucked between his ribs, where you'll be warm and safe.

(he brushes the thought away.)

for a moment, he’s entirely still. then his pinkie twitches, beckoning him to you. there it goes, again — that invisible string. he takes a step forward, crouching down to meet you at eye level.

”… sorry,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. the word feels foreign on his tongue, but he swallows the discomfort. ”i’ll hurry. you have my word.”

you blink.

then you’re smiling, again. flipping to your side, sluggishly, just to face him fully. ”’kay.” you reach out for his hand. ”don’t complain if i’m knocked out when you get back, though.”

he looks at your intertwined fingers, brushing his thumb across your skin, a hum buzzing in his throat. affectionate, despite his teasing. ”i wont have to listen to your nightly tangents, then.”

”you love my nightly tangents!”

a snort pushes past his lips. ”sure,” he smirks, ever so slightly, snarky enough to make it sound like a lie. because he does love them. he loves hearing your voice turn delirious, all sleepy and dreamy with fatigue, loves your stupid questions and even stupider answers. he loves being kept awake on nights when he feels too stiff to sleep, when he knows he’s going to have that dream again; a dream of crumbling buildings and burning flesh, of moonlight on asphalt and blood underneath a young boy’s fingernails. a dream where he looks at you and feels nothing but apathy.

(far more grueling than any of the bloodshed.)

sukuna does love your nightly tangents. they chase those ghosts away, ground him back to a sweetened life, one that smells of cinnamon and sunlight and ripe fruit. but you don’t need to know that. so he doesn’t say it — he keeps it locked behind his teeth, under his tongue.

he squeezes your palm.

and then he’s rising to his feet. you follow him with your eyes, blinking drowsily, cheek smooshed against the soft mattress. he resists an uncharacteristic coo.

you muster up a sweetened grin, teeth shining like stars. ”g’night, honey. don’t stay up too late, okay?”

he hums. a silent i won’t. there are some things he won’t speak aloud, because he knows you’ll hear them anyway. ”pleasant sleep,” he murmurs, raising a hand up to card through his hair. blinking away the fatigue — until a soft bout of laughter spills from out your throat.

”pleasant sleep?” you echo, grin teetering on something mischievous, a sleepy snort pushing past your lips. ”what are you, a fucking vampire?”

sukuna blinks.

then he’s clicking his tongue, that familiar sound, and pushing your face into the fluffy pillow on your bed — muffling your little giggles. gentle, his large palm on the back of your head. affectionate. ”behave,” he tuts, but he’s grinning. your giggles don’t fade away, even when he’s turning on his heel and walking out of your bedroom.

”sweet dreams, count dracula!”

”you’re not getting any breakfast tomorrow.”

ignoring your muffled, distressed whine, sukuna hides a fond smile behind his palm. biting down on his bottom lip to keep it at bay — absently deciding what to make for your breakfast tomorrow. pancakes or waffles? maybe he’ll skip the vanilla ice cream, this time. just to teach you a lesson.

when he returns, forty minutes later, you’re fast asleep. curled up under the covers, drool slipping down your bottom lip. he tucks you into his neck, and mouths them into your ear — three little words, always those same little words, never quite spoken in more than a whisper, as if he fears his voice would break under their pressure. but his breath fans against the shell of your ear, and you absently nuzzle into your arms. as if you understand. that silent language between you.

he wonders if you realize, if you’ll ever realize, just how much you mean to him.

sukuna doesn’t tell you that he loves you, but you know. you know, because it’s in everything he does.

you know that he loves you because he actually allows you into his kitchen, when anyone else would be chased out with a pitchfork. because he doesn’t push you away when you wrap your arms around his waist, over his cream-coloured apron, even though you know it distracts him while he’s cooking dinner — only ever clicking his tongue or making a noise of disapproval, placing a palm over your forearm. muttering little harmless grumbles of it’s like you want to get first degree oil burns.

you know that he loves you because you’re always the first to taste his food, without fail, the first person he goes to when he tries a new recipe. and you appreciate it, even when you joke about how honoured you are to test your king’s meals for poison. he quirks a brow and threatens to take the food away, sure, but then there’s always that one flicker of amusement in the amber of his eyes.

you know because he grills his dumplings extra on both sides, just how you like it, because he forms his onigiri into pandas just to see you smile. because he knows how to make your perfect cup of coffee by heart, and refuses to use anything less than an absurdly expensive coffee machine, beans he grinded into powder with his own two hands. because he believes you deserve nothing but the best, nothing less than the finest delicacies this world has to offer. wholeheartedly.

you know that he loves you because it’s there. you can feel it, in every stolen glance, every slight smile when you finally dig in. in the way the cutlet melts on your tongue, the way the bitter espresso runs down your throat, the warmth that blossoms in your chest when you catch him watching you with the faintest glimmer of a content smile.

a silent declaration, a hymn you can always hear if you strain your ears enough —

i love you, i love you, i love you.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader

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ghcstao3 · 7 months ago

Text

AU where ghost is a relatively famous voice actor—by name, anyway. he’s never shown his face in those ‘behind-the-scenes’ videos, doesn’t do red carpets for the bigger productions, always leaves the press junkets to his colleagues. he loves his job, don’t get him wrong, it’s fun and creative and he’s met some really great people, he just… has never wanted to be in the limelight. that’s not for him.

and it’s easy to get away with, because all of the voices he uses are not really his. there’s elements of him, sure, but nothing someone in person could necessarily place, unless they really listened close and were some kind of super fan. in real life, ghost is soft spoken, and maybe his voice is a little rough from the years before he learned how to properly take care of his vocal cords, but it’s still completely separate from all his characters. that was a rule he stuck with throughout his career—no using his real voice.

soap likes to consider himself a fan of simon riley.

(of his work, obviously. just his work. he definitely isn’t intrigued or anything by the mystery that is the voice actor. nuh uh. not at all.)

he’s seen just about every film and show that features one of the actor’s many voices, knows what little trivia is known of him, and, ultimately, he really respects the guy. his younger sister had finally landed herself a sizeable role in voice acting pretty recently after years of odds and ends, and soap knows how difficult it is to make it in the industry. so what if he may also have a little bit of a crush on the unknown man’s talent?

and so what if that little crush has presently brought him to a bookstore, because soap had heard simon would be voicing a character in some adaptation and soap wanted to get himself caught up? it’s fine. it’s normal. totally normal.

it’s in search of the book when soap accidentally stumbles into an absolute brick-wall of a man as he rounds the corner. soap mutters out apologies, goes to move past him, but then looks up and melts, just a little. because it’s then that soap discovers the prettiest set of brown eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. and when his gaze briefly flicks down—he sees that the man is holding the book he’d been looking for.

soap grins, does his best to look charming in spite of the fact that he’d just run into this poor, beautiful bastard. “was lookin’ for that one, too.”

the man’s brow furrows in confusion before he realizes what soap had been referring to. his eyes fall almost self-consciously to the book.

“oh, yeah. it’s a good book. gave my nephew my other copy, so i’m just…” the man lifts the book in some helpless gesture.

“hm.” soap nods. he can’t help but notice how soothing the man’s voice is, low and rough around the edges, but completely soft in the middle. “y’hear they’re making a movie?”

the man perks up, and for a moment soap wonders if that’s panic he sees flash in his eyes. he clears his throat. “yes, that’s actually why i’m, well. i owned it before, but because i’m doing the—because of the movie, i had to…” the man sighs, shoulders slumping. it’s endearing, the way he’s gotten so easily flustered, like he isn’t used to small talk. “never mind. i’ll let you… i hope you enjoy it. the book. and movie too, i guess.”

soap laughs, not unkindly. “the book, we’ll see. favourite actor’s in the movie, so i’ll probably like it either way.”

“yeah?” the man cocks his head, curious. “who’s that?”

unashamedly, soap replies, “simon riley.”

it’s not unnoticeable, the way the man’s face blossoms a faint pink before he coughs and ducks his head. “he’s, uh. heard he’s good,” he says. “so others say.”

for a moment, it looks like the man is preparing to bolt, so soap sticks out his hand as a last-minute resort to keep him around just a little longer. “i’m john. friends call me soap. long story, but if you maybe let me take you out for some coffee, i could tell you?”

apprehension lines the man’s posture, but he eventually tucks the book under one arm and shakes soap’s hand. “friends call me ghost. and i’d like that.”

ghost’s hand is warm, his grip firm. soap tries not to let himself linger in the touch.

“sounds like a date.” soap smiles up at ghost. “did you want to do that today, or…?”

ghost shakes his head. “can’t today. but i can give you my number?”

soap agrees, but as he reaches for his phone he’s met with an empty pocket and the realization that he’d left it on the counter at home. he sighs, feeling disheartened, readying an excuse when he gets an idea. “d’you have a pen?”

ghost does, in fact, have a pen, though soap supposes he could’ve just gone and bought one from the bookstore just as well. soap tells him to stay put a minute, goes to retrieve his own copy of the book, and comes back with it opened to the first page.

“i’m buying it, anyway,” soap says. and it’s commemorative, he doesn’t add, of the day and reason we met. because he’s hopeful this may actually go somewhere.

ghost writes his phone number inside, deliberately hands the book back to soap with the cover pressed closed by his thumb, and they head to the register together.

it’s only when soap gets home and finally goes to type ghost’s number into his phone that he sees, above the digits, a small simon :) inscribed on the paper.

#(spoiler alert ghost is plenty used to small talk)#(he’s just been blindsided by soap’s face card)#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe

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writeriguess · 4 months ago

Note

I just found out you write for Dabi!!! I thought you only write for Kats and Kiri from MHA haha.

Soooo a request. A few days ago, I requested a fic where reader has had a daughter with her asshole ex, who's abusive, and Kats has tried to bond with readers daughter and her daughter finally calls him dad for the first time. Could you do that same scenario with villain Dabi? I just need to see how would she react to an innocent child caring about him and thinking of him as her dad 😭

Father of the Year

The quiet hum of the television filled the small apartment as you stood in the kitchen, washing the last of the dinner plates. The rhythmic clinking of ceramic against metal was almost soothing, a mundane task that kept your mind occupied. Your daughter had long since abandoned her coloring book at the kitchen table, trailing after Dabi as she so often did. You didn’t mind. In fact, you welcomed it.

It was a strange thing, watching the man you knew as Dabi—scarred, sharp-tongued, and always carrying an undercurrent of danger—morph into something else in your daughter’s presence. He was still himself, still cynical, still detached in his own way, but there was something softer around the edges when it came to her. He didn’t coddle, didn’t talk in baby voices or change himself to fit some traditional idea of a parental figure, but he was there. And that alone was more than she’d ever had before.

You hadn’t realized you were eavesdropping until the conversation between them shifted, the usual back-and-forth about cartoons and villains taking on a different weight.

“You know, I think you’re my real dad,” your daughter said, her voice matter-of-fact in that way only kids could manage.

You froze, heart hammering in your chest. The water kept running over your hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Dabi snorted, a rough, disbelieving sound. “Yeah? What makes you say that, kid?”

“Because,” she huffed, as if it were obvious. “You don’t yell. You don’t make Mommy cry. You don’t hit her.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. You turned the faucet off, careful not to make a sound as you moved toward the doorway, peeking around the corner. Your daughter sat cross-legged on the couch, her small hands gripping the hem of her oversized sweater. Dabi sat next to her, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable.

“That’s a pretty low bar for ‘real dad,’ kid,” he muttered, gaze flicking toward the television.

She shrugged. “Maybe. But you do other stuff, too.”

Dabi arched a brow. “Yeah? Like what?”

“You make Mommy laugh,” she said simply, tilting her head as if thinking hard. “She never laughed before. Not really. When he was here, she was always sad or scared. But now she smiles more. And you make me laugh too.”

Dabi exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his mouth as if hiding a smirk. “I make you laugh, huh?”

She nodded eagerly. “You tell me funny stories, and you do that thing where you roll your eyes at Mommy when she’s not looking.”

You nearly snorted, pressing a hand to your mouth to keep from laughing. So she noticed that, huh?

“You also make me eat my veggies,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “Even though I don’t wanna.”

“Damn right,” Dabi muttered. “Can’t have you turning into a gremlin.”

She giggled. “You tuck me in, too.”

Dabi stiffened slightly, as if uncomfortable with the observation. “You don’t need tucking in, you’re not a baby.”

She shook her head. “I know. But you still do it.”

Another stretch of silence. Dabi shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re also really strong,” she continued. “Like, super strong. You made the bad kids stop being mean to me at school.”

Your grip tightened on the doorframe. That had been a mess. Your daughter had come home in tears one day, whispering about how some older kids had been bullying her. You hadn’t even had to ask Dabi to do something about it—he just disappeared for a few hours and returned with an air of satisfaction. The next day, the bullying stopped entirely.

Dabi scoffed. “I just had a chat with ‘em.”

She beamed. “A scary chat.”

He snorted. “I don’t do ‘scary chats.’”

“Yes, you do. You just look at people, and they get scared.”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “That ain’t my fault. I just got one of those faces.”

She giggled again, then grew quiet, fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater. “And you don’t let anybody hurt us.”

Dabi’s face twitched, something unspoken lingering beneath his expression. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, voice quieter than before, “not a high bar there either, kid.”

She looked up at him, eyes big and solemn. “I don’t care. You’re still my dad.”

Dabi exhaled slowly, leaning back against the couch. “You really think that?”

She nodded without hesitation. “Yup.”

“…Guess that makes me stuck with you, then.”

She grinned. “Yup!”

Then, after a moment, her voice softened. “I know you do bad stuff.”

Dabi’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the way his fingers flexed against his knee. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded. “You’re a villain. You’re wanted. Mommy has to hide you. And everyone’s scared of you.”

Dabi was quiet, watching her carefully. “And you’re not scared of me?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“…Why not?”

She tilted her head, thinking. “Because you never hurt me. Or Mommy. And even though you scared those kids away, you did it for me.”

Dabi smirked. “You don’t even know what I told ‘em.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have to. They were really, really scared. Someone said you told them you’d burn their houses down if they ever looked at me wrong again.”

You nearly choked on air. So that’s what he did.

Dabi sighed, rubbing his temples. “Brats talk too much.”

Your daughter only smiled. “I think it’s kinda funny.”

Dabi blinked, then huffed out a dry laugh. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

She leaned against his side, small hands gripping his sleeve. “I don’t care if other people are scared of you. You’re my dad. And you take care of us.”

Dabi didn’t say anything for a long time. Just sat there, staring at the television as if he could ignore the weight of her words. Then, finally, he draped an arm over the back of the couch, nudging her head lightly with his knuckles.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting sappy on me, kid.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, blinking rapidly to fight back the sting of tears. You’d been so afraid—so afraid that your daughter would grow up never knowing what real love felt like. But now, listening to her, watching the way Dabi responded to her in his own way, you realized she already knew. She had learned it from him.

And maybe, just maybe, you had too.

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #todoroki #touya x reader #todoroki x reader #touya #touya todoroki #dabi #x reader #x you #x y/n #my hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader

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l0v3-qu4rtz · 1 month ago

Text

Ribbons 𝜗𝜚

Summary: trying out a harmless prank on your boyfriend backfires on you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Model!Reader

Warning: SMUT :0 SMUTTY !!! MDNI 18+ | silly prank alert ! Starts silly, ends spicy. Gentle dom! Reid, Sweet?sub reader, bondage (with pink ribbons), cutesy nicknames (angel, baby) spanking, praise kink, oral (f receiving), messy making out, a lil spit play, cliffhanger because i wanna

A/N: HEY GUYS😭😭 im back after a year hiatus basically.. life got super hectic and ebaybsbsjja, anyway I'm back and here with my coquettish freak shenanigans

Giggles and the sound of silk material sliding against itself filled the room. Being a model, specifically a lingerie model, meant you were often in lace and ribbon. Being a lingerie model also meant it transferred into your personal style, pink, ribbons, lace, bows. And being a lingerie model meant your boyfriend dealt with all your feminine silliness, gladly.

Your boyfriend fell asleep at his desk, arms to his side and head rested on his desk. Which meant, it was pranking time. You tip-toed around in his home office, a cardboard roll on ribbon in your hands and hanging slightly. You loosely wrapped the material around his body then took two ends behind his back. You giggled and pulled, pinning his arms to his side.

He jolted awake as the sudden constriction, head swinging side to side trying to find the source. It wasn't until he heard the mischievous sounds of your laughter that he looked down and saw the constraints on himself. He looked back over his shoulder just in time to see you take a step away after you just tied a bow behind his back. You're giddy and you take a few steps back to observe his reaction.

"Are you serious ?" He asks with a smirk and his voice is groggy.

You nod enthusiastically. He lets out a quiet chuckle, standing up and almost falling in the midst (him being his clumsy self). He quickly regains his balance though and basically towers over you, looking down at you and the bows he finds himself trapped in.

"You like ribbons huh ?"

And that's how you ended up on your stomach, chin resting against the soft sheets of your shared bed and silk material being wrapped around your wrist, twice, thrice. They were so secure, you could squirm and pull but you were completely at the mercy of Spencer. You felt his hands softly trailing up the back of your thighs and his other hand dipped the bed beside you.

The skin of the inside of your lip in between your teeth. You let out a low whimper when you feel his hands glide through the air and his fingertips tuck behind your hair, moving it across your neck. His chest pressed against your back and his lips lightly graze the tip of your earlobe.

"You're all mine, babydoll. All mine"

You feel a weight lifted off your back then a sudden pull at your ankles, causing you to yelp. Your ass was displayed, knees bent and slightly hovering above the floor. You whimper and squirm slightly until you feel a smack against your skin, then another one and another one. You yelp and moan with each slap, feeling the sting of invisible needles after each one.

"Awe, my sweet girl. Wrapped up like a pretty present, all for me" He softly coos and teases as his big hands slide up on your sides. He lets his hands slide up and down, tucking his fingertips under your thin lacy shorts and pulling down. You perk up your hips to allow him to slide the shorts down easily. You feel the cold air conditioning of the room envelope your bare ass and sneak under the lacs of your panties.

"You're so beautiful" He praises you as he caresses your slightly red ass and your plush thighs. "My pretty little present, so soft and cute. Ready for me to untie all your knots and ruin you" he drops to his knees and begins placing soft kisses all over the back of your thighs, causing you to purr and whimper.

You loved the way Spencer was during sex. He built you up with words and sweet touches, then knocked you down with spanks and rough pounding. You whimper and squirm under his touch, pleading for him to touch you and stop teasing. You knew he wasn't gonna give in to your pleas til he thought you were properly prepared. He places a hand on the outside of your thighs as he places another kiss on the inner part, his nose lightly grazing the edge of your panties.

"please, Spencer, please.. please touch me.." you beg, your voice is breathy and vulnerable.

"Patience, angel.." he softly calms you, not enough to stop your whimpering but enough to stop your hips from bucking back in his direction. You're finally relatively released when you feel his slender fingertips against the rough lace material of your panties. You let out a soft drawn out moan at the feeling, the cold air against your core only makes you extremely aware of how wet you've become from just his words.

"Oh baby.." You mew, cheek pressed against the worn in material of your sheets.

"feel good, angel ?"

"uh-huh.." His praising session before he touches you only makes you moan and writhe with even the smallest touch. And your mind mushed some more when you felt the thin barrier between your arousal and the air being slid down your legs. He places your panties by you on the bed while admiring your glistening arousal.

"You're so beautiful, so gorgeous. You're an absolute god-sent.." He mermers as his eyes travel all over you, he leans in just enough to place a kiss on the skin right beside your lips. You moan helplessly at the action, desperate for him to just bury himself in you. You were practically begging whatever sex god there was to put you out of your lust-filled torture.

You finally feel a sense of relief and excitement boil in the bottom of your stomach when you feel Spencer's long fingers curl around the waist band of your panties and pull.

And your desires were filled when you finally felt his warm mouth on you. Softly pressing his lips against it before finally licking a stripe in between your folds, causing you to let out a small whine. Your whines quickly turned to mewls to moans as you felt him start to suckle on your clit. Soon the whole room is filled with your sweet, honey-like moans as he begins to undo all the knots in your body with just his mouth.. for now.

You feel the muscles in your thighs tighten and then you feel Spencer's big hands on the back of your thighs, squeezing almost like he's holding you up from sliding off the bed. At this point, his face is practically buried into your cunt, you wouldn't be surprised if his saliva plus all your juices were dripping down his cheeks from how good he was eating you. You're gasping, moaning gently, and biting your lip, closing your eyes in pleasure.

"Spencer, Oh my.." you moan, your body flexing and you pushing against the restraints.

He doesn't respond, instead he squeezes your thighs slightly as you grow more slick and you get closer. You feel heat start to build up in the pit of your stomach and the back of your neck. You push back against Spencer, only the front part of your feet touching the ground and practically about to slip and fall off the bed if he wasn't holding you up.

"Spencer, I'm close.. please yes, please..." You beg for.. you're not really sure, you just beg. A sound that comes out so naturally and so beautiful to his ears.

You feel like all the air was suddenly sucked out of your lungs and you arch your back as you feel that knot bust lose. Your mouth hangs out waiting for a moan that hangs in the air and your legs shake. You finally let out that loud moan that was so lewd and pretty, your whole face heating up. You hear Spencer moan, the vibrations only heightening the pleasure in the moment as he drinks you like you were fresh water in the middle of the desert.

He continues, but only for a few more seconds. Just enough to make you shake a couple more times from the overstimulation then he finally pulls away. You sigh from the cold air finally hitting your pussy. You raise your head to look behind you, just in time to meet Spencer as he gets close to connect your lips. You feel the weight of his hands beside you and his chest on top of you. You both kiss like you're equally ravenous, tongues harmoniously dancing together, tasting each other and enjoying every flavor.

He pulls away, your tongue still hanging out of your open mouth causing a string of saliva to connect. He uses the opportunity he has to collect some left over saliva he has in his mouth to spit back in your mouth, connecting your lips once again just to make sure the saliva doesn't drip and stays in your mouth. He pulls away for good, this time you close your lips and swallow the almost sweet-tasting saliva.

"you're so good, baby.. so good for me" you hear him say followed by the sound of his belt buckle clinking his zipper of his pants being opened. You bite your lip while smiling, gasping with excitement about how good he's gonna make you feel.

Masterlist

#spencer reid #criminal minds #i love spencer reid #mgg #dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencerreid #dr reid

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hauntedsavefile · 4 months ago

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my take on the strangetown premades!

base temp by @/mageofpanic

this took a lot longer than expected + some of these guys look a little more rough than desired but I'm pretty happy anyways!

keep in mind that these are *my* interpretations of the characters that i've curated over the many years ive been fixated on this game :,-)

some design notes below the cut since i put an ungodly amount of effort into the thought procress (its a lot of text, warning you now) ⬇️

- following the ts3 + ts2 genetics, my curious-smith family are darker skinned with less racially ambiguous features, fuller lips, larger noses, etc. (although not every person of that ethnicity is the same of course! these were purely observational looking at their family line). they are afro mestizo in my headcanon, with glarn being afro latino & kitty being mestizo.

- vidcund still has his mullet thing going on but it is a loc mullet!

- my curiouses are generally chubby. i don't have any exact reason for this. i know a lot of people headcanon pascal as being chubby but i think it could be cool if they all were. it also adds visual interest with different body types.

- erin & loki are scandinavian (like me!) so they're already very pale but i wanted to excaberbate that even further by making them albino. this isn't an accurate depiction of albinism as in real life, people with that condition often have health issues alongside that. (if i were to give that any thought, i like to think that loki initially became interested in inventing to benefit his own health issues but then his ambition took him down a darker, more mad sciencetist path). for erin as well, i just think it's cute considering her whole psychic thing, lookin a bit fairy-like + contrasts nicely with her pink colour scheme.

- nervous is darker skinned, exactly the same as his ma since grim doesn't have dna really. (some people have their own school of thought regarding why nerv being super pale, but this is my own). he has burn scars as electrocution causes scarring on skin + organ tissue, which he has gone through, a lot. he has various stitches, scars, and vitiligo marks across his face and body. the vitiligo on his face looks like a skull. this was originally going to be on the left side of his face, where theres no burns, but i figured it made symbolic sense + was a lot less cluttered if the burns covered up the skull vitiligo markings on his face.

- johnny, ripp, tank all have acne / acne scars - typical of teenagers.

- chloe + lola are of different skintones for storytelling purposes. in my little world, chloe and lola are very deeply close but also very affected by the abscence of their dad (him abandoning them), and being the only aliens they really knew of - basically being raised in isolation for most of their life. This is your typical cain & abel tale. Lola always felt inferior compared to Chloe, who had personality and charisma. She was always jealous of that, feeling like she’s always the awkward one + always will be in her sister’s shadow because of this. She tries her best to compensate for this through pouring herself into her work, in hopes that when she gets money, she’ll finally be accepted. This extends into their assimilation to humanness as well. Chloe is able to assimilate better whereas Lola feels like she cannot.

- Ripp is very different to canon.. I don't have a lot of an explanation for this but I just wanted to give him scene hair (also longer hair because I headcanon her as being a trans girl, but a very closeted one so she's in that awkward phase of growing out her hair but pretending like it's just shaggy + pulls it back into a low ponytail). The cleft lip is a bit of projection on my part, as I had a cleft palate when I was younger. Characters that I like will recieve some kind of disability that I have, for Nervous it's deafness + debilitating leg pain, for Ripp its this. I think it's also interesting narrative wise to compare how Buzz & the Beakers both handle disability. Buzz is a very 'tough it out' & 'you're just being sensitive' type whereas the Beakers uhh caused it, with their experimentation.

- I'm gonna be real, I hate Jill's design. It tells me nothing about her personality wise + I'm bummed out how human she looks. We need more weird little girl designs! Tried to find a middle ground.

- Buck has brown eyes like the corrupted version of Lyla. I chose to make him look like a carbon copy of Lyla (relatively speaking) for irony purposes. He has the least memories of her and yet looks exactly like her.

- Kristen is intended to look more like a typical masc lesbian because I am soo indulgent towards making the singles household just like a crazy lesbian situationship household (minus the curious sisters with eachother - of course).

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toonice113 · 6 months ago

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Disconnect ⋆ ★ N.Hischier

Pairings: Nico Hischier x Reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: After a rough start of the year for the devils Nico feels the pressure of being captain but when you feel him start to spiral you are there to catch him.

Warnings: Nico and reader share a shower, but no explicit content. not edited.

Word count: 734

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ just a little thing I wrote today after the game, Imma need for them to stop interviewing him after the losses he looks so sad pls(idk if they interviewed him today but all the other times), for the devils to give this man a win, and for whoever to give this man a long hug and just hold him for a while I swear. (If this sucks I'm sorry I'm sleepy and wrote it super quick)

You are in the family room having a conversation with Nicole while keeping your eyes on your phone waiting for the message to come through, After yesterday’s loss you boyfriend had told you not to wait for him and the only thing you had heard from him since then was a ‘thanks’ message as a reply to you wishing good luck in today's game. You had asked Timo to let you know when Nico was leaving so you could catch him on his way out not wanting him to be lonely right now feeling like you had given him some time for himself yesterday.

“It just sucks because they are really trying but it’s just not going their way” Nicole sighs and you nod, knowing all too well what she was saying and with Nico it seemed to be ten times worse since he kept blaming himself for the state of the team as he was their captain “Jesp was in bed by like seven last night, what about Nico?”

It's your turn to sigh “He wanted to be alone yesterday so he asked me not to wait for him I actually haven’t spoken to him yet” The blonde looks at you with sorry eyes “I think he just doesn’t want to vent because he feels like it would be a burden or something but he carries so much on his own and I know he thinks he can’t let it out because he’s the captain and is supposed to be the strong one for the team, I just wish he would take a day to disconnect but I know he won’t do that right now, I’ll still try to talk to him about it later though, this is not healthy for him”

As you finish your sentence your phone buzzes, it’s Timo letting you know that Nico has just finished his post match interview and is packing up to leave, you say a quick goodbye to Nicole and walk out ready to intercept him on his way out, you left your car home so you could drive with him after the game so that’s not a concern for you. Your heart breaks as he rounds the corner, his head low and shoulders slightly slouched not taking notice of anything around him, you walk towards him and hold his hand falling into step once you catch up, he doesn’t say anything, only squeezes your hand and you two walk to his car. When you arrive at his car you take his keys “I’ll drive us home you just rest” You tell him and he nods too tired to fight you giving you a quick peck before getting in.

The drive to his apartment is quiet, and although there’s a lot you want to say to him you let him enjoy the peace, when you get home he kicks his shoes off and as soon as the door clicks closed he pulls you into his arms and you feel him melt as you reach your hands into his hair “Why don’t you go take a warm shower while I order us some food” You tell him but he shakes his head and holds you tighter

“Don’t want to let go” He says, his voice deep and slightly slurred due to exhaustion even though it’s only 4pm

“Okay let’s go take that shower together then” You say and start walking towards his bathroom while he still holds onto you, only letting go as you two undress and pulling you back as soon as you get under the hot water. You help him wash his hair and he returns the favor and once you’re both clean, even though you already were since you had a full shower before the game, you walk back into the room getting dressed in warm sweatpants and sweatshirts, he lays his head on your stomach holding onto one of your thighs closing his eyes as you run your hands through his damp hair, you feel him fall asleep quickly and decide to let him rest for the rest of the day leaving the conversation you know you need to have with him for the next day when he is better rested opting for ordering food from your favorite chinese place a couple streets away from his apartment “You rest my love, you deserve it” You mumble leaning down to kiss his head.

#nj devils fic #nhl fic #nico hischier #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier fluff #nico hischier x reader

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crushedsweets · 6 months ago

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some old OCs from when i was in highschool (2019-2022)!

ok so i havent touched this universe in YEARS so i was struggling to even remember their names, but its basically a SUPER MESSY lesbian romance-drama...

SO the story is called Speakeasy. It's set in a coastal area with streets that are reminiscent of New Orleans and San Francisco. Main locations are The Bar, Maggie's basement, the Pier, Honey's cabin, Angie+Rue's apartment!

The main character is Rue, a vampire butch lesbian who runs away from home when she finds out the violent way her parents acquired blood for the family! She has a few really rough years before meeting an elderly vampire named Nana, who was taken care of by a witch named Honey. Nana helps Rue with blood. Nana takes Rue to a ballet recital, in which she meets Angie, a human ballerina. THEY FALL IN LOVE

Eventually, Nana passes and Rue has to find a job at Speakeasy, a Monster bar filled to the brim with. interesting critters. . .

She uses the bar as a guilt free blood supply because they have a whole donation thing going on with humans. It's a Low blood supply, but one none-the-less. THAT IS until there is a shortage.

In Rue's desperation, she meets Maggie, a ghoul grave robber that gets blood in Far Less Ethical ways. But it does the job.

Maggie ends up developing an absolutely unhinged obsession with Rue (as she does with several members, Sasha being one of them) and starts stalking her.

Things spiral until Rue loses her job, friends, girlfriend, and has to start working for Maggie to make a living.

of course other things occur in the meanwhile, but thats the gist of it... might post some more characters later!

#chatterbox #sweetart #oc art #original character #idk how to tag this .#sucker ocs

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mongoosingisme · 3 months ago

Note

Okay, hear me out, I'm sure this has probably been done a lot but, it's the 1st year of the flower dance and fem!farmer wooed shane up to 8 hearts. Farmer attends the festival in the proper attire (a pretty white dress and heels) and seeing shane all dressed up makes her all hot and flustered. She obviously asks Shane to dance and he begrudgingly agrees, but they instead sneak off into the forest for a little bit of "fun" instead. Protection? It wasn't planned soooo....oops. Pull out game? Weak. 🫣 They return to the festival afterwards for some sly comments from the others.

HELLO FRIEND!

I've tried to write this several different times, and then I got angst-pilled and wrote some other stuff and it all came together.

So... yes. A continuation of the couple other Shane fills I posted this week (here and here). Had to massage the ask a little bit (picturing it as being between 4 and 6 heart events), and it came out probably a little more dark/angsty than such a lighthearted ask would probably warrant so... uh, yeah.

(seriously, though, reach out if you want me to take another swing that isn't connected to other stuff and is maybe a little more light and bright).

Gonna be one more in this series that'll wrap it up.

Okay! No more housekeeping!

Title: (still don't know what to call these things - doc was named "Shane dance req")

Pairing: Shane x fem!farmer

Word Count: 4170

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only, if you would be so kind

Tags and fic under the cut!

Tags: Shane real real sad, alcoholism/depression stuff, blow jobs, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, super weak pullout game, not great examples of communication

When Shane was a kid Marnie had this dog. Ugly fucking thing, all drool and rough fur and this shit eating grin.

He loved that dog. He’d crawl into Shane’s bed at night, lay his head over his hip, all heavy and warm and stinking and love.

But then one summer the dog wasn’t there anymore. He had killed a chicken. Big teeth, thin neck, a mess of blood and feathers. You couldn’t have a dog that killed chickens around a farm, so he had to go live somewhere else.

Shane knew how that dog felt.

The farmer. He’d gotten a taste, and he wanted more.

Shane worked very hard not to want things.

Shane was failing.

It felt heavy. Everything felt heavy.

“Are we gonna talk about all that?” She’d asked it a few days later at the saloon, voice quiet and soft, making sure Emily was elsewhere.

“Nope.” It was all that needed to be said. All that he could possibly say.

“Okayyyyy…” Her mouth was in a flat line. Another kind of honest look. Then she looked away, rested her cheek in her hand.

He wanted to be her hand.

He could still taste her.

He wanted more. It nagged at him. Made it all heavier. An unfinished task. Like if he did it maybe he could finally find some relief. Check the last box.

He had a drink. It helped cover up the taste.

He should do with himself what Marnie did with the dog. Send himself off somewhere else, where there was less potential for pain.

That place didn’t exist, though. So he let himself sink.

Into drink, yes, of course, but also into the farmer. Because she was still there, somehow, still warm and real and honest and when he made her laugh he still felt like maybe there was a good reason for him to be on earth after all.

They spoke more. Sitting on the dock in the chilly early spring air. Or, most nights, at the Saloon. Slouching against the bar, lost in the way she managed to drag words out of him, circumventing the invisible boot that always felt like it was pressing into his throat. The teeth around his neck.

She saw more too. What he looked like when he was low. In his natural state, radiating spikes of pain that punctured the people closest to him.

It was okay. He had room for shame.

He didn’t have room for her, though, and the feelings she ignited in him. Feelings he could name (hope, joy, connection) but would not, would never, could never admit, because they were the feelings that didn’t stick around, and the holes they left behind were so much more painful than if they hadn’t been there at all.

The alcohol helped, for the most part.

It might be a problem.

———————

Shane was an atheist, but if he thought it would make the farmer stop showing up in dresses he could absolutely be convinced to pray.

Spring. Flower Dance. He was there. It made Jas and Marnie happy to see him there. He owed them that. Owed them the suit and the bow tie. Owed them the freshly shaved face and combed hair. Owed them the flask left at home.

Well. Two out of three wasn’t bad.

He spotted the farmer before she spotted him. This was a good thing - he’d probably have a stroke if he had to speak while processing what he was seeing. She was in a dress again. White this time. Light and floating around her knees. Pretty shoes that made her a little taller (his height exactly, if he figured correctly).

She looked radiant. That pure sun smile. Those warm, endless eyes. Hair done special and necklace on and bright and shining and kind and open and he wondered if he’d feel the same if she came up to him and took his hand in front of everyone and

(fuck no absolutely not, this was not what we are thinking about…)

Her shoes made her walk a little differently, back arched a bit, calves shapely. He could see the backs of her knees. She’d be soft and sensitive there. He could run his fingers back and forth over her skin, make her gasp and squirm.

(he knew what it sounded like when she gasped now, knew the sharpness of the intake, the gentle ‘hah’ that followed, knew a few ways to make her make that sound but there would be more, there would have to be more, so many ways to make her gasp that he hadn’t found yet…)

Her neckline wasn’t plunging, not exactly, but gathering, sleeves dropping off her shoulders in a way that insisted he trace his gaze across her chest.

(he’d touched her there, once, just the once, just his hands, he should have used his mouth, could have marked her, it would have faded by now but he’d know the spot, could look at her and remember how it’d felt to press his mouth there, but all he could do now is imagine and stare and…)

Shit. He was starting.

He focused quickly on the table in front of him.

Food was something to do, at least.

Take her taste out of his mouth.

He grabbed a macaron.

“Is that a bow tie?” She’d sidled up to him.

He focused on the cookie, and the way his flask felt heavy in his pocket. “Don’t say a thing.”

She just smiled. “You look so perky! Like you’re about to round out a barbershop quartet!”

“Yoba’s Light, must you?”

“Or like you'll try to sell me a clarinet or something. Mr. Music Man!”

“Leave,” he said. “Go be somewhere else.”

“Only if you agree to dance with me!” Bright eyes. Sunshine smile.

“I would rather snort lead paint dust than dance at this thing,” he said. The cookie was dry in his mouth. Cloying and sweet.

The farmer’s sweetness was different.

If she asked him to dance again he was going to say yes.

He needed a drink.

“Hey kids!” Emily was there, sneaking the last macaron from under his fingers. “You dancing today?”

“Yes,” the farmer said.

“No,” Shane said.

Emily raised her eyebrows. “You two better get your stories straight.”

“Dance with me?” No bright eyes. No sunshine smile. Just her, sweet like a maple candy he’d had once, melting away on his tongue like it was never there in the first place, but the flavor remained.

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I say yes, are you?”

“Nope!” She waved to someone over his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Shane muttered, just to himself, then “fine.”

She smiled, small and controlled. There was a bit of impishness in her eyes. “Perfect. You’ll have to teach me the steps though.”

“Fuck,” he said, for her this time.

She laughed.

It all felt lighter, just for a moment. It made him feel like he was spinning up and up.

What goes up must come down.

“Show us how it’s done!” Emily was grinning over a madeleine.

Shane felt like he was losing control over the situation.

As if he had any to begin with.

“I am not giving you a dance lesson in front of all these people.” He grabbed a fistful of meringues, popped a couple in his mouth. They dissolved instantly.

Not like her. She melted but she lingered.

“So go find a quiet spot and teach her!” Fucking Emily. She always knew exactly what she was doing.

“Great idea! Come on!” And the farmer was holding his hand now, pulling on it, off towards the woods, and something was skipping in his mind, stuttering, trying to keep up because he absolutely felt the way he thought he would if he she did that, light shining through his body (hand to shoulder to heart to throat), a crushing weight lifted, and he could loosen if he wanted to, in the wake of it, but he tensed instead, because the holding of a hand implied a hand eventually letting go, and it all comes crashing back down so much harder when it gets lifted for a moment.

Emily winked, gave him a little wave as his feet moved without his approval.

The farmer’s hand was solid. Warm. Calloused. Strong.

He wondered what the callouses would feel like if they rubbed against his lips. If they trailed over his stomach. If they wrapped around his -

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in something that didn’t have the word ‘Joja’ on it.”

They were walking, just walking, hand in hand like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“How else am I supposed to feel like I’m thriving?”

The farmer snorted. Then, soft and sincere: “you look really good.”

What do you say to that?

“Thanks, you too,” he finally muttered.

“Don’t I?” She smiled at him. “Took me an hour to get my hair together. I used to take an hour on my hair every morning when I lived in the city. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to have that much free time now.”

Shane made a sound of acknowledgement.

One of the nice things about the farmer was that she rarely required him to have something to say.

“Think this spot is good?” They’d wandered off on a side trail, ended up in a little clearing.

Shane was struck by the fact that they were alone together. This was very rare.

Shane was struck by the fact that the farmer was absolutely beautiful, looking at him all gentle and at peace and like she was just where she wanted to be.

Shane was struck by the fact that he wanted her. He always wanted her, but it was suddenly so much more intense, so overwhelming, because she was right there, looking at him the way he looked at her, like she saw something she wanted, like she was looking at something worth wanting, and he wanted to drop to his knees.

“Yeah, this is fine,” he managed.

“So how does it go?” She was looking at him expectantly.

“Huh?”

“The dance. The one we’re supposed to be practicing. Is your tie restricting blood to your brain?” She reached out, fiddled with the bow.

Shane reached up and grabbed her wrists without thinking. They fit so nicely in his hands. “Don’t,” he said. “That took me twenty minutes to tie.”

He didn’t let go.

He could feel her pulse thrumming.

Her cheeks were a little flushed.

Her eyes dipped down to his mouth.

(It could happen it could happen he could check that box right now and be done with it and it would be fine, it would be okay, it was nothing to worry about because it’d be over and he’d know and the taste would be gone and he could finally finally move on…)

He rubbed his thumbs over her wrists. Slow.

“We’re going to have to talk about this at some point.” She sounded breathless.

“Yeah,” Shane lied. Then he moved her.

There was a simplicity to bodies that Shane appreciated. A kinetic intelligence that had always been with him. Move this way and that will happen. Apply pressure here and see results there. It had made him a monster on the gridball field, taking down larger players with ease and precision.

Shane knew where his strengths lay.

He knew how to move a body. So he didn’t need to think about how to angle his grip to make the farmer take a step backwards. And it was easy to crowd into her space, press his forehead against hers, make her shift and stumble where he wanted her to go - up against a boulder that he knew would support her just where she needed it, on her shoulders, her hips, the arch of her back as he pressed her against it.

His mouth was on her skin, her neck, but only for a second because her hand was in his hair, pulling him up, making him look at her.

Her eyes.

He tried not to groan.

“Promise me,” she said. “Promise me we’ll talk about this.”

“I promise,” Shane lied.

(it was okay, he had infinite…)

“Okay,” she said, fingers loosening.

He wished they wouldn’t. He wished they’d stay right there, strong and harsh and demanding and showing him exactly what she needed, exactly what he could give her that wasn't a lie.

“Okay,” she said again, and his mouth was falling.

Dresses. Fucking dresses. So different from flannel and denim. So easy to move. Those sloping sleeves that dropped with the slightest nudge, baring curved shoulders and long neck and mounded flesh and skin and skin and skin and skin and skin.

And there it was. That gasp. She made it as he raked his lips across her chest.

(soft and warm, always, every part of her so soft and warm…)

She smelled incredible, like cedar and lavender and soap and just a little bit of sweat, and her chest was moving, heaving up under his mouth as he kissed her, mouth open and lax, chin and cheeks sliding, smooth for once (though part of him craved the friction, the resistance, the reddened skin that proved he was there).

Dresses. Fucking dresses. With tiny zippers in the back that were a bitch to get a good grip on, but once you did they came down so easy, and fuck, the farmer, so put together with a pretty strapless bra that he could pull down like it was nothing.

Her breasts were warm and heavy as he cupped them. She sighed, pressed up into him.

A sigh was good.

A gasp was better.

He squeezed, observed the indentations his hands made in her flesh. She gasped, arching her back against the boulder.

“There you go.” He wasn’t sure if he said it or thought it.

Her nipples had tightened, two pebbled tips, and it felt right and good and needed to pinch at them, thumbs and the sides of his forefingers.

(fuck, just like he thought, just like he dreamed, those sounds, sounds like “yes,” like “more,” like his name all broken and gaspy because she loved it, loved his fingers and his hands and his voice…)

“There you go.” He was definitely saying it out loud, and she was whimpering in return.

His mouth wanted to say more.

He filled it with her instead. Sucked. Grabbed at her hips as she arched again. Memorized the way she moaned. The way she tasted. Felt her tremble as his teeth scraped over her. Tried not to groan as her hands made their way back to his hair.

He failed.

"That feels so good," she was whispering, and it went straight to his cock. “So fucking good, Shane.”

(His name his name his name his name…)

The other side now. Sucking and scraping and groaning, he couldn’t help it, the sound ripping out of his throat because her hands kept holding him there.

But then they were pulling, and he was letting her go, and she was saying “I owe you” with the cutest fucking little smile. He didn’t know what she meant until she lowered herself to her knees in front of him, and then he knew exactly what she meant.

Her hands. On his belt. His pants. Pulling. Tracing over his hips. Wrapping around his cock. She was gentle, looking up at him with eyes that were happy and present and just a little mischievous and she looked good, so fucking good down there

(So good, such a good fucking girl for him, down on her knees like that with her dress pulled down for anyone to walk by and see her, see her like that, all undone for him, all down on her knees with that smile that felt like a kiss, hot and dirty and intimate and he wanted to kiss her, drag her back up by her hair and…)

She flicked her tongue against the head of his cock, then took it into her mouth.

He groaned.

Her lips stretched around him, warm, hot, so hot he was dying.

He needed more.

He reached for her head, her hair, but she slapped his hands away, drew back to say “you mess up my hair and I’m ripping out your bow tie.”

Of course she’d make him laugh like that.

“Noted,” he said. He realized his voice sounded warm.

And then she was on him for real, mouth stretching down, enveloping him, soft and suction and heat and wet and perfect. So perfect. He wanted to tell her, to unlock his throat, to let the words fall out

(So good so good so fucking good for me sucking my cock like this out in the open, so pretty for me on your knees, fucking made for me aren’t you, fucking made for this…)

But he pressed his lips tight. Closed his eyes. Let the entirety of all that was him rest at the point where her mouth stroked his skin.

It felt like light. Like letting go.

He wanted to let go.

But not yet.

Now or never, he realized.

He had to see. Had to check that box. Put it behind him.

He grabbed her hair, pulled her face back. She went easily, looked up at him. Her lipstick was smudged, her eyes a little wet.

He was going to make a mess of her, wasn’t he?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” It was the hair, he realized.

Well. In for a penny, in for a pound. He kept one hand on her head, used the other to rip out his bow tie, and then he was pulling, something deep in him filling at the way she gasped, different this time, excited, anticipating, an edge of pain.

(Gonna make a mess of her, make a mess of this…)

She was easy to move, so pliant, goosebumps pricking up her arms as he settled her stomach and chest against the rock. He leaned against her, let her feel his weight. His mouth was by her ear. He let his lips touch it. Not a kiss, just a touch. Like his hand that had come around to cup her neck. Just a touch. Just a touch.

She was moving. Hips hitching back, rubbing against him. Throat flexing as she spoke: “Shane, fuck, I need you… Yoba, just fuck me, please.”

Her light. From her throat through his hand to his shoulder to his mouth. Filling it with her taste, too much, too full to keep the words inside, so as he reached up under her dress, pulled her underwear down, pressed his fingers against her he started to speak.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking wet for me, look at you.”

The words made her moan, or maybe it was his fingers working up inside of her.

“You’re gonna feel so good, aren’t you? Gonna be good for me?”

He barely knew what he was saying, but she was agreeing with it, nodding, whining, moving her hips.

“That’s my girl. That’s my fucking girl.” He had to let go of her neck to get his hand around his cock, to rub it against her, so wet and welcoming, so warm, so fucking warm, all the time, like sunlight, pulling him in, (“I’ll pull out” “fuck, just do it”) deep, deeper, and he could feel her shift around him, making room, making space with a whimper and a whine and a groan (though maybe that was him) and he was enveloped and it was all lifting, lifting off of him, the weight, and fuck if there was space, if there was room in his life for good he could enjoy it, live in this moment, let it fill him and brace him and fix him like some idiot part of his brain still thought was possible.

But there wasn’t space.

So this had to be it.

She was looking over her shoulder at him. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes soft and hazy. Beautiful. So beautiful she couldn’t possibly be for him. “You feel good,” she said.

If only there were space.

“Baby…” It fell out, looking in her eyes, and it made her smile, and it was fucked, it was all fucked, wasn’t it, because he couldn’t go back, couldn’t unfeel her, couldn’t unsee her, couldn’t let go of her taste.

There was nothing left to do but what his body was screaming for.

To move.

An arm around her waist. A hand around her neck. Lips fastened on her shoulder. Hips shifting, ears listening, and yes, a gasp, a tightening, and so he did it again, felt her groan reverberate through his hand (hand to shoulder to heart), and then there was rhythm, something to follow, to fall into, to finally finally shut his mind off for one damn minute and feel.

Cool stone seeping in through his elbow.

Soft skin so easy to mold and move.

The farmer. Tight around him. Squeezing and taking. Giving back movement and sound and if he weren’t so far gone, so caught up in her he’d worry that they might carry, that someone might hear, but there was nothing on his mind, a merciful blank, a space, there was space, space that he could fill with her, like he was filling her.

(fuck fuck fuck he was doing it he was doing it he was here and she was here and they were moving together and it was like floating it was like falling it was like waking up it was like going to sleep it was like climbing it was like slipping it was nothing and everything and)

He wanted her to want this like him. Remember this like he would. He dropped his hand from her throat, found her clit, all wet and swollen and (fuck fuck fuck) her sounds were changing, breathier, rising in tenor and tension and he needed it, needed her to feel it too, how the weight could lift.

“Yes,” she was saying, over and over. Voice tight and shaking, trembling under him, hitching and tightening in a way that made his stomach drop, his hips tighten, his mind go blank and

(oh shit oh shit oh shit too much too much can’t move can’t think can’t breathe can’t fucking…)

He was making a mess of her.

Like he made a mess of everything.

For a moment it all lifted.

In an instant it all came crashing back down.

“Fuck, did you…?” She was looking over her shoulder as he was pulling out, pulling away. Eyes (those eyes, those pretty pretty pretty eyes) still blown dark. Hair unkept. Lips swollen, like she’d been biting at them.

He wanted to push right back into her again.

He wanted to run.

“I… shit…” What the fuck do you say to that?

She was turning, rearranging her clothes, and there were things he was supposed to say, feelings he was supposed to be having, but there was no room for them, none, (only shame, infinite room for shame) but still she was there, and her hand was on his cheek. “We have to talk about this, Shane.”

“I know.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t a promise either.

“They’re going to miss us at the dance. We need to get back but…” She sighed. Stoked a thumb over his cheek.

(How? How? How did she have space for him, still, with all that was falling and all that was crushing and all that was him?)

The words were all caught up in his throat.

He needed a drink.

She was fixing his tie. Smoothing her hair. Swiping at her lips. Undoing the mess he made.

He wanted to fall to his knees.

“Come on.” She held onto his hand, led him back to the festival.

She had an infinite capacity for love, he realized. He could bask in it. Photosynthesize. Wrap that vine around her and let it grow and grow and grow until eventually it choked out everything around it. Thick and thorny and invasive, winding around her neck, impossible to remove once those roots got deep.

“Your bow tie’s a little crooked.” Emily. Back at the dance. The farmer was off making her rounds.

He wondered if she could still feel him inside of her.

“Did you two have fun dancing? You missed the big show.” Em was futzing with his tie, and his arms felt too heavy to bat her away.

“Fucking hate this festival,” he said.

“There’s always next year.” She ruffled his hair.

Shane said nothing. Watched the farmer. Tried to decide if her walk was different. If her shoulders sloped. If she could feel his weight.

He could feel it.

What he carried.

What pressed in on him.

Like a boulder on his back.

Like teeth sharp on a throat.

Her taste was still there.

It wouldn’t go away.

And Shane had to decide if he could live with the consequences.

You can find a part four here if you're interested. Totally cool if you're not tho.

Masterlist

#remember when I was like 'I'll take requests because I'm busy with work' and then this took over my life and I'm so far behind on my stuff?#Shoulda seen it coming #sdv fanfic #sdv shane #sdv smut #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley shane #pepper problems

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therealsquiddo · 2 months ago

Note

I was rewatching one of your videos for the 10 bajillionth time and I only just now realized that I could literally just ask you this, in one of your scary videos you mentioned that you edited out yourself talking about the farlands in other videos and that you find them interesting,

can you talk more about them?

Cuz I'm really interested in them but I've never really found anything that explained them in a comprehensive way besides oh it's a bug oh it's a terrain generation error,

Same thing goes for the bedrock farlands cuz one time when I was younger I messed around with commands a bit and accidentally teleported way too far and teleported all the way to the stripe lands not knowing what it was and after watching your video it made me realize that I had gotten stuck in an area similar to where you were in that one video being stuck in between the blocks!

Do you have any cool science/programming fun facts about the bedrock farlands?

(sorry if this is really long I'm just interested in the far lands and it kind of just clicked in my brain that you probably know a lot about it! Tldr: you seem to have a lot of knowledge on how Minecraft works on a more fundamental level than me and I want to learn more about the far lands and why/how they generate)

Oh gosh ahaha it's been years since I was super interested in the farlands so my knowledge is extremely spotty now but I can give you a rough outline. The Farlands generate at +-12550821 because in Minecraft each block is 171.1 big- so from one end of the map to the other you can only have [the 32 bit integer limit] / 171.1 which leaves you with approximately 25101642 blocks on any given axis. If you were to start in the centre of that, at 0,0, you could walk 12550821 blocks in either direction left or right before you ran out of space.

Also you need to know what the 32-bit integer limit means. It's basically the biggest number Minecraft could store. Like imagine you had 3 boxes and you could put one number in each box, the biggest number you could make would be 999. Minecraft had 32 boxes and understands numbers differently to how we do, so the biggest number it could make was the 32 bit integer limit. (Minecraft has 64 boxes nowadays)

Why do they look like that? Minecraft's terrain is dictated by randomly generated noise maps. Imagine you closed your eyes and scribbled with pencil on some paper. If that paper is the map of the world, the darkest parts of pencil would be the highest mountains on the map, lighter marks of pencil would be smaller hills, and plain white paper would be flat low down terrain. But when you go +-12550821 blocks out, the noise maps freaks out and returns NaN ("Not a number") since it literally cannot process numbers that big. The result is that terrain has infinite height, but it's capped at the world height limit of 128. As for why it stretches outward endlessly like that, I dunno ahaha. Probably for a very similar reason that it stretches up forever.

#ask

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rippanasworld · 4 days ago

Text

Home without warning

Jason Todd x Black! Reader

You are Jason’s safe place, his home.

Warning: ABSOLUTE CUTENESS AND FLUFF

Word count: 817

AN: I haven’t written anything in so long. I recently got my spark back by signing up for creative writing classes. Since then I’ve been super motivated to write. I have big plans for my tumblr blog so stay tuned. Requests are close but not for long. I want to get into the rhythm of writing again. Writing this was a good start. Feel free to reblog and comment. Any feedback please dm me.

Thank you, I hope y’all enjoy.

You and Jason had decided to have a movie night in.

After everything he’d been through lately—late nights on patrol, bruises he wouldn’t talk about, shadows beneath his eyes that never seemed to lift—you figured he needed a break from being a vigilante. It was his turn to pick the movie tonight, since you’d chosen last time.

He scrolled through options for nearly thirty minutes, eyes flicking over titles with growing disinterest. But nothing seemed to stick. His taste in movies wasn’t exactly your taste. He leaned toward gritty mafia dramas and slow, brooding war films—meanwhile, you preferred action, comedy, and a little romance. Something with heart. Something that made you feel.

Eventually, with an exasperated sigh, Jason gave up and tossed the remote on the couch. “You pick,” he mumbled. “You always pick something better anyway.” So you chose Jaws. A classic. Before pressing play, Jason reached for you, effortlessly pulling you on top of him like it was second nature. His arms wrapped around you, and the warmth radiating from his body seeped into your skin, making you melt against him. What you felt was bliss. Touching him felt like floating—like sinking into clouds spun from honey and dreams. Moments later, he grabbed a blanket and tossed it over both of you, wrapping his strong arms around your body with a tenderness that always caught you off guard.

Thirty minutes into the movie, your eyelids were heavy, blinking slowly as you fought to stay awake. Jason’s hand was absentmindedly stroking your hair, fingertips brushing the nape of your neck. The slow, gentle rhythm of his other hand rubbing behind your back didn’t help your struggle to stay conscious—it only made sleep pull at you harder. Jason glanced down, feeling the subtle weight of your body slackening against his.

You were fighting it. He could see it in the way your brows twitched slightly, in how you blinked harder each time. “Babe,” he whispered, voice low and warm against your ear, “stop trying to fight sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” You mumbled something soft, barely coherent through your sleepy haze. “Goodnight… love you…” Jason smiled, something soft and almost broken in it. He leaned down and pressed a few light kisses across your forehead. “Love you too, babe.”

He stayed awake to finish the movie—at least, that was the plan. But his attention was never really on the screen. It was on you. On the way your cheek was squished against his chest, your mouth slightly parted, warm breath fanning across his skin. A small line of drool escaped from the corner of your lips, and without waking, you wiped it away with your hand in a sleepy daze. Jason chuckled under his breath, the sound quiet and full of affection. A ghost of a smile touched his face.

But beneath that smile, something deeper stirred. Your steady breathing calmed something wild in him. Something restless. Something violent. The kind of chaos that had lived in his chest for years—since before the pit, before the blood, before Gotham taught him what pain really looked like. But here you were. Breathing softly against him, your body trusting his without question.

And it shattered him.

Because deep down, Jason didn’t believe he deserved this. He didn’t believe he deserved you. Not after everything he’d done. Not after the things he’d seen. The world had turned him into something rough and hard and unlovable. But you… you were untouched by all of that. You were light in a world that had long stopped shining for him. And yet—you loved him.

You trusted him.

He didn’t know what he’d done to earn that kind of grace, but he wasn’t letting it go. He couldn’t. He was selfish when it came to you. He knew that. But if keeping you close made him selfish, he’d gladly wear that title forever. You were his exception. The one soul he’d die for, come back to life for, and do it all over again without hesitation. His only constant in a life full of chaos. The calm in his war. The hand that steadied his shaking.

You were his one and only.

And even in your sleep, you had no idea how deeply, how completely, he belonged to you.

#fanfiction #y/n #dc x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #dc fanfic #batboys #poc reader #dc x poc reader #dc universe #x reader

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haveihitanerve · 9 months ago

Note

I request Bruce chasing his children down to put on scarves and gloves in the cold ass winter of New Jersey because despite being some of the strongest people (martial arts wise) on earth, they refuse to believe in cold temperatures and keep getting sick.

refuse to believe in cold temperatures is my new favorite sentence

anyway your wish is my command-

Kevin did not know what he was expecting to see on a Friday night at three am, but it was certainly not Nightwing and the fucking Red Hood running as fast as their legs could possibly carry them as the Batman chased after them, holding scarves and gloves in his hands.

He reached them just before they could round the corner and Kevin watched in amazement as Batman forced the gloves onto the two grown men who squirmed like five year olds.

"Don't-! wanna!" Red Hood screamed petulantly, trying very hard to escape the Bats grasp. "Your brother already has a cold!" Batman snarled back, winding a scarf around his head like he was trying to choke him.

"He doesn't have a spleen!" Nightwing argued, attempting to pull off the gloves that seemed to have some sort of suctioning power and would not budge. "They come off when its not cold. So finish patrol with them." Batman offered them both a sweet smile before grappling away before they could hit him with snowballs.

It was, probably, most arguably, the craziest shit he'd ever seen, and he lived in Gotham and got robbed by dudes wearing purple and green and asked questions before ordering their coffee.

And then it happened again. This time he was staying with his brother on the other side of town, when Orphan and Spoiler showed up. Neither seemed to be particularly cold, but Kevin remembered vividly how he and his siblings used to pretend "no its not cold!" to their mother because they had made such a fuss before but it really super was cold.

And then Batman showed up. Orphan melted into the shadows and Spoiler made eye contact with Kevin, flying across the street in an instant and pushing past him inside the apartment. His brother, wide eyed on the couch, looked between them.

"I'm not here." Spoiler hissed, forming an X with her arms. "I'm not here!" She ducked behind the couch just as Batman landed on the balcony and Kevin, he was raised in Gotham man, but he still flinched.

"Sorry," Batman grumbled, voice rough and low and also a little pouty. "I know she's inside. This won't take long." He stepped off the railing onto the balcony, but Kevin, telling his fear and survival instinct to fuck off, stepped in his way.

"She's uh- she? There's no she in our building sir. Believe me, we've tried." He swallowed, looking up into those endless white slits. The slits narrowed, and he turned to look inside. Brad was pale, but his brother, bless his heart, lifted his beer in a salute at the bat, before turning back to face the TV.

Batman looked about two seconds away from not being apologetic and screaming, but he finally gave a nod to Kevin and hopped off the balcony. Kevin didn't even bother to watch him hit the ground, because he knew he wouldn't, and cracked open the door instead.

"He's gone-" Spoiler poked her head over the couch hissing, "NO!" but it was too late. Batman appeared, one hand flinging him back up onto the balcony, and he was past Kevin before he even had a chance to scream, tackling Spoiler to the ground.

"I! Don't! Need it!!!" She screamed, struggling against him as he pinned her down, panting, legs trapping her lower body as his hands snagged her hands. "It's... for- your.. own good!" He grunted, pinning her hands down with one finally.

And as Kevin watched her buck, fruitlessly, and watched Batman slide gloves onto her hands and wrap a scarf around her neck, not effortlessly, he realized just how much of a threat Batman truly was. Sure, he had seen the Bats in action, and everyone knew the Bats were trained and raised by Batman, but he had never actually seen Batman work.

Old friends, goons, told him how he skilled, how efficient, how brutal he could be. But Kevin had laughed it off as propaganda, as some more bolstering of the Bats ego's. But now...

Batman's work wasn't effortless. Spoiler was fighting him every step of the way. But he wasn't struggling either, moving quickly, but also carefully, his hips pressing down enough to keep her still but not enough to hurt, hands pinning hers down but not enough to bruise....

Kevin knew Batman didn't kill. But he had never considered the amount of strength, precision, capability, it required. Not killing over killing had always seemed, to him, to be the easier thing. Not anymore.

Batman finished his work, standing and lifting Spoiler in one swift movement, and hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She had stopped struggling at this point, and Kevin was fairly certain she was just hitting him because she could. Because she wanted to. The look on Batman's face revealed he was aware of it too.

"Thank you for protecting her." He growled, voice low but not hard. At that, Spoiler finally stilled. Kevin blinked in surprise. That was not what he had been expecting. He didn't know what, exactly, he had been, but a thank you was nowhere on his bingo card.

"N-no problem." Brad stuttered out when it was clear Kevin couldn't answer. Batman nodded to the both and left, setting Spoiler down on the balcony next to him, and wrapped his cape around her shoulders, murmuring something in her ear. She laughed, then stuck her tongue out at him, but Kevin noted how she leaned closer, wrapped herself in the warmth he provided.

Orphan materialized at their side and Batman tugged her to his side too, muttering something that sounded like admitting defeat, and Spoiler fist pumped, high fiving her. Orphan grinned and Batman rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around both of their shoulders and jumping. This time, Kevin watched until they disappeared.

#batfam #batman #batman and robin #nightwing #red hood #spoiler #orphan #idk #i hope you liked #it seems like something theyd do #wonderful idea #good dad bruce wayne

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reijisteacup · 2 months ago

Note

(To subaru) "PLS FUCK ME🙏"

Subaru Sakamaki Headcanon Alphabet

NSFW Headcanon Alphabet

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Subaru doesn’t know how to do aftercare properly at first, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care—he really does. The moment things wind down, he’s fighting the urge to bolt from the room just from how vulnerable it makes him feel, but instead, he awkwardly pulls you into his chest, mumbling curses under his breath about how “it’s not like I wanted to cuddle or anything.” He’s surprisingly gentle when tending to bruises or bite marks, touching your skin like it might shatter. Eventually, he gets the hang of more attentive care: wiping you down with a warm towel, gruffly offering water, or insisting you “don’t move” while he fetches something. And while he’ll never say it, holding you afterward is one of his favorite things. Your steady breathing reassures him in ways he’ll never admit aloud.

B - Body Part (their favorite body part on themselves and their partner) On you, he’s obsessed with your neck. Maybe it’s cliché for a vampire, but something about the intimacy of biting into it, leaving visible marks, or just resting his hand there makes him feel connected and possessive in the rawest way. He’s also got a thing for your eyes—especially when they’re hazy and unfocused because of him.

On himself, it’s hard for Subaru to see his body in any positive light, but if pressed, he might admit he thinks his hands are decent. They’re rough, calloused from years of punching stone walls, but the way you react when he uses them on you might’ve convinced him they’re good for something.

C - Cum (where they like to cum) Subaru’s a sucker for intimacy, even if he pretends otherwise. He prefers to cum inside—your mouth, your pussy, anywhere that feels personal. He doesn't like making a mess unless it's one that means something. When he finishes inside you, he watches with this unreadable stare, like he’s trying to burn the sight into memory. Bonus if you’re shaking and breathless from it—he’ll press his forehead against yours, whispering “mine” low and reverently.

D - Dirty Secret (a dirty secret they have) He has a serious degradation kink—but only when it’s paired with praise. He doesn’t feel worthy of softness, so he gets off on you calling him a monster or saying he’s rough or dangerous, only to follow it with something like “but I still love you” or “only you can make me feel this good.” It makes him spiral. Also? He likes the idea of being tied down and rendered powerless, but he would die before telling you that out loud.

E - Experience (what experience do they have) Subaru isn’t a virgin, but he hasn’t been with many people. His experiences are few and scattered—impulsive moments with women who didn't want more than just a night. Emotional intimacy was always too risky for him. So while he knows the basics, everything he learns about your body is through instinct and obsession. Once he gets comfortable, he becomes hyper-focused on what makes you tick. Expect a fast learner with a lot of pent-up frustration to let out.

F - Favorite Position (what position they like) Subaru loves any position where he can feel skin-on-skin contact and look you in the eye. Missionary with your legs hooked over his shoulders is a go-to—he can thrust deep, see your every expression, and whisper all the filthy, possessive thoughts running through his head. He’s also a fan of spooning, especially for slower, more emotionally charged sessions. It makes him feel closer and more protective.

G - Goofy (how goofy they are during the act) He wants to be serious, but his inexperience sometimes makes him clumsy. If something awkward happens, he’ll get super flustered and bark out a “shut up!” if you laugh. That said, once he’s emotionally secure with you, he softens and might roll his eyes or nudge your shoulder if you tease him. He’s not goofy per se, but he does loosen up the more you love him.

H - Hair (are they well groomed?) Subaru keeps things tidy. He doesn’t obsess over grooming, but he doesn’t like feeling gross, so he keeps himself neatly trimmed. It’s more about hygiene than vanity for him. He doesn't mind if you’re completely bare or natural—he just likes you, however you are.

I - Intimacy (Are they affectionate during these moments?) When he lets his walls down, Subaru is incredibly affectionate during sex—but only if he truly loves you. Expect soft kisses between rough thrusts, hands that tremble as they explore you, and growled-out confessions of how much he needs you. In the beginning, it’s hard for him to express himself, but once trust is built, he uses sex as a way to show everything he can’t say with words. Every touch says: don’t leave me. He whispers in your hair, and I see Subaru as a gentle dom honestly with a little bit of edge.

J - Jack off (Masturbation) He does it—but rarely. Usually when the need becomes unbearable and he’s angry or frustrated. But once you’re together? You are his outlet. If he does touch himself, it’s always while imagining your voice or the way you moan his name. He’d be so embarrassed if you ever caught him though, growling at you to “get out” even though his cock twitches at the idea of you staying.

K - Kink (what are they into) Subaru’s kinks revolve around control and vulnerability. He likes biting (obviously), power dynamics, light bondage (especially when you restrain him), praise and degradation, and rough sex that borders on desperate. He also likes overstimulation—especially making you cum over and over until you’re whimpering for him to stop. Not out of cruelty, but because he wants to be the one to undo you. Saying things like, "Thats it, keep going pretty girl"

L - Location (where they would like it) Subaru is private to a fault. Bedroom, locked doors, no interruptions—that’s his ideal setting. But if the mood hits him hard enough? He’s had you up against a wall in a shadowy hallway before. His self-control snaps when it comes to you, especially if you’re being bold. Still, he’ll never be fully comfortable with public sex—it makes him too paranoid and protective.

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) You turning to him for anything gets him going. Trust, vulnerability, soft affection—it’s a huge turn-on. But if we’re talking raw lust? Neck kisses, submissive glances, or the sight of you wearing his clothes will have his cock hard in seconds. He also has a strong reaction to you begging—he acts annoyed, but secretly it drives him feral.

N - NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) Subaru has a strict “no sharing” rule. The idea of a threesome or letting anyone else touch you? Absolutely not. He also wouldn’t be into heavy humiliation or anything that truly degrades you. He might play a little rough or say dirty things, but if you ever looked hurt by them, he’d immediately stop and panic.

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) He loves giving—loves having you fall apart on his tongue, clawing at the sheets while he pins your hips down. He doesn't stop until you’re shaking and overstimulated.

Receiving? He likes it, but he gets embarrassed. If you initiate, he’ll mutter a quiet “tch, fine, whatever,” but the second your mouth touches him, his hands are gripping the sheets and he’s groaning through clenched teeth.

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?) Both. He can be slow and sensual when the mood calls for it—especially if you’ve had a bad day or he’s feeling clingy. But if he’s been pent up or emotionally overwhelmed, it’s all teeth, growls, and hips slamming into you until the bed shakes. His pace reflects his emotional state more than anything.

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) He pretends to hate them, but sometimes his hunger for you is so overwhelming he gives in—grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you somewhere private. He’ll make it fast but intense, and then scowl after like it was your idea. But don’t be fooled—he’ll definitely crave more later.

R - Risk (Are they open to experimenting, do they take risks, etc?) He’s cautious by nature, but he is open to experimenting—as long as it’s private and with you. He draws the line at public exposure or anything too extreme. But if you want to try light bondage, roleplay, sensory play? He’s in. Just don’t laugh if he blushes while trying something new.

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) Subaru can go for a solid few rounds, especially if he’s emotionally overwhelmed or feeding off your reactions. He tries to hold back but fails more often than he admits. His recovery time is fast, especially when you're wrapped around him, begging for more.

T - Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) He doesn’t have a huge collection, but once he gets more confident, he starts experimenting with toys—mostly vibrators, handcuffs, blindfolds. He uses them to drive you crazy, loving the way you squirm. He’d never use them on himself though—too much vulnerability.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease) He's more accidentally unfair. He doesn’t realize how much teasing you when he's angry or flustered gets you riled up. When he does tease on purpose, it’s subtle—hovering kisses, murmured threats, fingers ghosting over your soaked panties while he smirks.

V - Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) He tries so hard to stay quiet, but he can’t help the guttural growls and broken gasps that slip out when he’s close. You might hear him hiss through his teeth or bite back a moan. He tries to keep control, but you always break it eventually.

W - Wild Card (random headcanon) He’s incredibly possessive of your scent. After sex, he won’t let you change the sheets for days. He’ll bury his face in the pillow you slept on or nuzzle against your neck to inhale your scent. He might even give you one of his shirts to wear just so he can mix your scents together.

X - X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants) Subaru is thick. Not absurdly long, but definitely girthy and curved slightly upward. It matches him—intense and a little intimidating, but once you get used to him? You’ll be ruined for anyone else. Veiny, too, especially when he’s turned on.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Subaru’s drive is insanely high—he just suppresses it out of guilt and fear of losing control. But the more he trusts you, the more it shows. He thinks about you constantly and has very vivid dreams. He’ll never say it, but he gets hard just thinking about your voice.

Z - ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward) He fights sleep. Not because he’s not tired, but because he wants to stay awake and listen to your heartbeat, watch the rise and fall of your chest. Eventually, when he feels like you're truly safe in his arms, he'll drift off with his forehead resting against yours.

RTC note: (Whew lord Subaru would tear me limb from limb)

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fanfiction #x reader #ask me anything #relationship #ask response #diabolik lovers subaru

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kingqueensoobscene · 6 months ago

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hear me out hear me out Lil’ Pootis BLU Scout but with like a nice partner, someone who’s like really nice and sweet and it’s a personality difference for the two but they get along so well!!

WOOO YOUR GIRL IS BACK!!!!!!! I’ve been so busy, but now I’m slowly getting back to it. Don’t guarantee anything ;3 this was such a cute ask!!

LIL POOTIS!BLU!SCOUT X A KIND READER

-Ok, so, Spy is definitely going to say to his son how he can’t make fun of his marriage to Engineer because Scout just found someone who is the total opposite of him as well. You two are pretty much like Spy and Engineer, Scout just hates to admit it.

-You are a rock to Scout. Being on the Blu team is rough in the first place since they’re on the short end of the stick and they get roughed up more than they win. Even if you are apart of this mess as a fellow mercenary, it is a shock how you managed to find a balance with your emotions. None of them have had a good day since they got assigned to payloads for the week, so you’re a good presence to have around. Always helping out, making jokes, distracting the others.

-Which is why they were shocked when you started dating the Scout. It wasn’t an issue, you were on the same team. It was just a surprise to everyone else. Sure, you stood out in the cold with him when he was told to quit smoking indoors (though, him and Sniper still did on occasion), he gave you pointers on that rifle of yours and he was always asking where you were. But it didn’t seem that serious. No one really cared, everyone does their own thing. It’s still a shock though.

-It’s best when you two are on the field together. He runs through the line of sight so you can sneak your way to the control point without even a cut. He doesn’t ever want you to get needlessly hurt on the field, even though you are a trained killer. So, he just goes before you get the chance. He was always taught you look out for those you care about (Thanks Spy). If you’re quicker than him, he will just run past you. Either way, you’re not getting shot. You will respawn either way, but he does not care.

-Spy and Engineer are happy about your relationship. More Engineer than Spy. Del wants Scout to be closer with him, so he comes extra supportive. Even before you and Scout dated, Engie was always kind back to you. He is always waving at you with a smile after his entry shot the enemy Demoman. Spy will always remind Scout to treat your kindness back and to not take advantage of it. To always take you out to a nice place or buy you that thing you have been talking about as your birthday gets closer. Scout is not a very selfish guy, he has proven that to you before, though Spy worries.

-Speaking of, any time you two go out, Scout will assume you want to do something fancy. If there is anything his dad has taught him, it’s that you do overly romantic things. If you hate going out to eat or you don’t have anything nice to wear, just tell him. He’s fine with just going to the corner store and getting some snacks. At least, he cleans up well and owns at least 2 two-pieces. He hates slicking his hair back though because you can see how far back his hairline has become.

-If you tell him straightforwardly how handsome you think he is, he gets super cocky. Like the “I know, thank you.” kind of way. Especially if you compliment his form. He has been working out for a couple years since joining his dad, he knows the progress he has made and how in shape he is. You do not even have to tell him, he knows you do. But once in a while, he will do something stupid like do a pull up on a random, low hanging pipe in the hallway to impress you. If you’re the type of person to go crazy with compliments, he looks like he does not care. That is until he can’t help but smirk and say, “You’re alright.” before laughing and giving you a kiss on your hand to apologize.

-By the way, he loves hand kisses. Not even in the romantic way. He will shake your hand limply and then kiss you with a big “Mwah!” and start laughing at how cringe that was.

-Since the days rotate on who is going out on the missions, you two have days where you don’t see each other. He will get home with his nose red and his clothes damp from the blowing, snowy winds outside and he just lays next to you on your shared bed, reading until you hug him at his side and kiss his shoulder. PDA isn’t a big thing to him. I mean, you’re with him, aren’t you? Everyone knows you two are in a established relationship that does not violate the Administrator’s rules, so why not show off a little? An arm will be wrapped around your back and the magazine on his lap.

-Sometimes, he likes the silence when he comes back into the base. Of course, you know this too. As previously mentioned in my other post with the Lil Pootis Scouts, Blu Scout likes to go to the boiler room where the heaters and generators lie to get some privacy and warm up. It’s sort of hard to hide that you two cuddle in there, not that anyone goes there anyways, so eventually everyone found out. Though, if you are a girl, I would say Miss Pauling would allow you your own private room as a courtesy, so the others would only notice Scout’s absence and assume he disappeared to have a smoke.

-If you’re a persistent person who will do anything for someone, you have absolutely gone outside with Scout while he was smoking. Spy has scolded him more than once, so now he has to make a habit of it. He hates when you come with him as he does not want you to get cold, but he knows you are stubborn. It’s not the company he minds, rather that you are withstanding the cold and the smell of cigarettes to be with him. He thinks you are the most thoughtful person ever for even bringing his lighter that he forgot or brought him some hot chocolate. Often, the other mercenaries catch you two chatting by the water tunnel while you rambled on to Scout about your day.

Wafting against the cold, the flame kissed the tip of the cigarette and burned bright. The silver box shut at the pressure of your thumb and you put away his lighter. Grey puffs floated across the frozen air and danced with the deep shades of a painted blue and speckles of white. Your head against his falling shoulder. His hand at your right side, rubbing along your coat. He dragged his cigarette and blew away from you. Then he smiled. A soft smile that few could see. Sure, he was always smiling, but not like this. You are the person he wants to smile this way to. Because you are the person that melts him down, that makes him warm to the touch and wear down the usual tense. Overwhelmed, he did not like you when you first met as trainees. You would not last, he thought. You were too much. You did not shut up, you were too nice, you would be knocked before you could speak another word in no time. Sometimes, he looks back at his young self and wants smack him silly. Someone compassionate, someone who balanced out his mellow wanted to be his friend. Before he was good at what he did, before he got stronger and better at everything, you liked him.

Now, you are out in the cold with your shivering spine and twitching head. Eyes rolled and he’s off the boulder. It was freezing for you, you should warm up. But you had his lighter. And you kept your hands in your pockets. Unamused eyes looked at you as he prodded you to hand it over. You only backed up and smiled. He only got more demanding and he moved closer. You shook your head and giggled. A sigh comes from him. Then he pulls off his scarf and moves up to wrap it around.

Now you felt a little bad. Smoke blew again. He smirked. A hand on your chin and your lips on his. Something sweet, then bitter. Ash was not a pleasant taste. And he knew it.

#lil pootis x reader #tf2 scout #team fortress scout #scout x reader #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout x reader #blu scout #lil pootis #lil pootis scout #lil Pootis Blu scout

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