#suds the baby

[andruudibuja]

:B

[infant-no-finances]

bbno$ - Meta

[2nd-mushroom-circle]

gonna think about suds’ level in cleric and scenda’s celestial hand in his for a long fucking time

[apropositodime]

Mi è venuta voglia di Pantelleria. 🌊

Voglia di profondo sud.

[swimmingback]

happy pride from my JB guitar strap belt 2 yours

[starrynight29]

Look at this baby suds 🤏🏼

[mushuw]

Swann from Realize 

[andruudibuja]

I'm offering you a enemies ( competing for Johnny's love and attention ) to reluctant allies to loving father | bestest baby girl arc in this Penguins AU. >:3

.

[blackcastille]

OP THE TAGS

i know he ate a cheese

[cleaningitemsblogs]

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For a powerful, yet gentle clean, A Clean Home Company’s All-Purpose Cleaner is the best choice for maintaining the beauty of your home.

[pier-carlo-universe]

Alessandria: Festa del Cristo con Ronn Moss e Angela Melillo tra Celebrità e Spettacolo

: Ronn Moss e Angela Melillo ospiti d'onore alla Festa del Cristo 2024: tributo a Raffaella Carrà e un week-end di eventi imperdibili.

Ronn Moss e Angela Melillo ospiti d’onore alla Festa del Cristo 2024: tributo a Raffaella Carrà e un week-end di eventi imperdibili. Il Quartiere Cristo di Alessandria si prepara ad accogliere grandi nomi dello spettacolo per la sua Festa Patronale del 13 ottobre 2024. Tra gli ospiti d’onore spiccano Ronn Moss, celebre attore statunitense conosciuto in tutto il mondo per il ruolo di Ridge…

[extrarosie]

[gojonanami]

“ A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME ”

pairing: satoru gojo x reader

summary: you come home after a long day of work unable to find the person you call home anywhere — until you reach the bedroom.

warnings: 18+ suggestive, fluff, comfort, some angst, implications of the shinjuku showdown arc, implied gojo is no longer a sorcerer, gojo is your househusband, taking a bath together, taking care of him, copium really, satoru being a silly man

w/c: 1,184

“I’m home!”

You call into your home, the clatter of your keys and shoes as you shedded the things that chained you to the outside to submerge yourself in your oasis and into his arms. But as you got no reply, you stepped into your living room, scanning over the kitchen, to find no one.

Now where was your home?

“Satoru?” you called, heart skipping a slight beat, he was always waiting for you when you got home, usually on the couch or maybe in the kitchen the clank of the knife as he chopped away. Or even the many times that he was waiting by the door to only ambush you with kisses. But this time, nothing.

You rounded the corner to the hallway and peeked into your bedroom to find him asleep. You crept closer, careful not to wake him, and yup, he was fast asleep. His pretty snow white lashes resting against his cheeks, his chest slowly rising and falling as the soft sounds of his breaths parted his lovely lips.

You could watch him sleep for hours. You knew he never did enough of it before, and you’d argue he still didn’t do enough of it now. He always said he was fine sleeping 6 hours since it was twice as much as he usually got — and now he was working at home, so he could be ease.

But even so, you know he needed more.

As if he senses your thought, he stirs, starry blue eyes finding yours as he flutters sleep from his gaze, “sweetheart?” He’s murmuring, voice still beautifully raspy from sleep, “when did you get home?” He’s shifting to get up, but you use gentle hands to ease him back, “I haven’t started on dinner yet, sweets—“

“I got it, Toru,” you’re running your fingers through his hair, “just rest, baby,” and a protest is already on his lips, “let me guess what you did today — cleaned the house from roof to floor, stocked us on groceries, cooked lunch for me for the week, and probably a million other things,” you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, “I think I can handle dinner for one night at least,”

He’s pouting now, “but you just got home from work, Princess, what kind of househusband would I be—“ and you can’t help but laugh, he loved his self appointed title of househusband, especially since it was one he had chosen for himself, and he took any opportunity — even now to call himself that.

“I think even the absolute best househusbands need a break, and should listen to their wives, since I’m the one you want to pamper so much,” and his lips party in protest, but you’re leaning down to kiss them and his pout away, “let me take care of you, Toru,”

He’s sighing, as he leans up to press his forehead to yours, “and does your offer include a bath, sweetheart?”

~~~

“Y’know sometimes I feel guilty,” and you pause in your massage of his head, fingers tangled in his hair, suds from the bath you’d drawn for him covering both of your bodies as he leans against you in your tub, back pressed flush to yours.

“Guilty about what?” you ask, holding your tongue on the million reasons why he shouldn’t.

“For so long, I was the strongest,” he gives a small chuckle, “and it was fun, sometimes. But it was mostly lonely,” he leans back to look up at you, a small grin on his lips, “except when I was with you,” your lips curl, “and now I get to be with you, and I get to stay home — and the worst thing I have to do are the dishes,” and you snort.

“I told you I’d do them if you hate them so much,”

But he’s shaking his head, “Sometimes I think trying to deal with our cast iron is worse than fighting Sukuna—“ and you roll your eyes, “but there’s always this urgency that I have to be doing more. Telling me to keep going, moving, fighting—“

“You’ve done enough, Toru, more than enough,” your fingers cup his cheek, “too much, honestly. It’s okay to rest now. You’ve done your part—“

“But—“

“Didn’t you or someone say jujutsu is like a marathon, a baton pass?” Your fingers run through his white locks, before you shift yourself to sit in his lap instead, “the marathon is over, racers have packed up and gone home, and the finish line has been crossed,” your fingers rest on the back of his neck, tracing his undercut, “and that’s because of you and all you did to fight and raise up the next generation,” you say softly, and he’s pressing his head to your forehead.

“Is it okay for me to rest now?” and you’re pulling him into your arms, hoping your touch conveys what your words can’t.

“Yes, it is, Satoru,” you’re pressing soft kisses to his neck, “you don’t need to be the strongest. You’re Satoru Gojo, and that’s all I want,” and he leans back, “you’re all I want,”

“Is that a proposal?” And you snort.

“We’re already married, weirdo—“ and his lips find yours, as they always did, his arms around your bare waist, as the water shifted and splashed, but you could barely feel anything except his lips against yours and the circle of his thumb against the small of your back.

He finally pulls away, a genuine smile on his lips, “And you married this weirdo,” and you chuckle, tracing his jaw with your finger, “you’re stuck with me for life,”

“Promise?” And he’s kissing you again in an instant, stealing your breath like he did the first time you met him all those years ago at jujutsu tech. And you knew you’d never love anyone else — not like him.

“Promise.”

Bonus:

Satoru’s arms wrap around you from behind as the two of you towel off after your bath, “what are we having for dinner?”

“Well someone insisted on me being in here with him, so I had to order out,” and he’s grinning, as he nuzzles your neck.

“Whoopsie, hehe,” and he’s humming, as he tugs your hips against his, the friction drawing a gasp from your lips, “can we have dessert first?”

“It is dessert. We’re having ice cream for dinner—“ and he’s kissing you again, but this time it’s languid and messy — all tongue and teeth, until he’s pulling away with a smirk at your breathless face.

“I want something sweeter, wife,” and you smile.

“Think you can finish before the delivery gets here?” And he’s already picking you up with ease in his arms, pinned under him in a moment, as his ocean blues flash with mischief from between your thighs.

“I can, but I don’t know if you’ll be done by then.” He says cheekily, as you only sigh.

If there was one thing that would always be true is that you would always be weak to Satoru Gojo — but not his abilities, but who he is.

Your husband.

“Let’s see, hm?”

a/n: I’m real upset about the leaks and this is my coping. I needed this.

taglist: @staryukis, @cloverlilies, @asgoodasdead666, @strawmariee, @chuuyasboots, @forest-fruits-jam, @catsgomurp, @rat-loves, @hanlay, @risuola, @spider-fan72, @sunamatic, @difficultdomains

[bawdabaw]

[luveline]

Hotch request w Jack and new baby!!! Coming back from the hospital and reader is in bed with new baby and Jack while Aaron is in another part of the house (maybe making food in the kitchen) and reader starts crying because she’s in pain and jack is all concerned and sweet and goes to get Aaron??

thank you for requesting, sorry I messed up where everyone was! fem, 1.3k

“He’s gonna stab him!” 

You blink from the spot you’d been staring at, pain momentarily forgotten. “What! Where’d you learn that word?” you ask in surprise. 

Jack leans back against his big velvet pillow, blue with silver stars, looking as though he’s in the lap of luxury. “At school.” 

The cartoon mouse on the TV raises his fencing sword high in the air. 

“He’s not stabbing anyone, they’re fencing,” you say, reaching for his hand to hold. “Stabbing… that’s pretty scary. How did that make you feel?” 

“Well, I’m not gonna stab anyone,” Jack says. 

He’s confused that you’re making a fuss, just old enough to realise you’re poking around for his feelings. You worry lately that you aren’t paying him enough attention because of his new brother, and the word stab isn’t exactly age appropriate. 

But maybe that’s what the boys his age are talking about? You frown more, your hand slipping along his arm to curl behind him. You pull him toward you. “Come on, handsome. Cuddle me.” 

You’re too sore to move, so Jack has to come to you. He crawls across the couch until his arms can wrap around you and his cheek can rest against your chest. Stab is an apt word for the feeling in your stomach. Jack’s arm squeezes at you and the pain worsens, so you move it up your front and curl your arm around him. 

“Is it a bad word?” he asks. 

“No, it’s just like hit or slap, I guess. And I know you’re not gonna do any of that to anyone. You’re too gentle.” 

“Gentle is a good word.” 

“Yeah.” You kiss his forehead, a moment of self indulgence. You love your stepson, and he is oh so kissable. “Oh no, look at the mouse.” 

Charlie sleeps in his swing seat, the soft whirring of its constant motion almost as comforting as the sound of his soft breaths. You watch him for a while, Jack climbing up at your side to press his face to your neck, leg on your thigh, slowly pressing against the tenderness that is your abdomen. “Uh, Jack,” you breathe, trying to pick him up, “you’re gonna have to climb off of me, my tummy hurts too much.” 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, slipping off of you and onto the couch cushion. His foot kicks out as he rights himself, a jamming of his toes against the pain like a spike. 

You take a deep breath. Ouch. 

“It’s okay,” you say, groaning softly as the pain thrums, hand on your stomach as though your touch can make it stop, “just a tummy ache. I– I’m okay.” 

“You got little tears?” he says, his voice going wobbly. You try to blink away tears and end up with a straggler curving down the slope of your cheek. “I’ll go get dad!” 

“Jack, I’m okay,” you say. 

Too late. Jack scrambles from the couch and away from you, up the stairs to find his father. You’re not sure what Aaron’s up to, he’d only said, “I’ll be right back,” twenty minutes ago. You’d guessed laundry. 

You’re glad Jack’s run upstairs when you realise the pain isn’t going away. It’s not bad, not half as bad as your contractions had been, but the whole labour process has sapped you, and you feel weak as a willow branch in bad weather. You shift heavily onto one leg and cross them, uncross them when the pain spikes again, letting out a weird and breathless whine as it turns to a full blown cramp. 

Jack returns with Aaron in tow. His hair is dripping wet, soap suds on his neck and his shirt stuck to his chest. He’s rushed out of the shower to see you. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he rounds the couch. “Jack told me you’re not feeling well.” 

You hold your arms out for a hug. He doesn’t falter, simply does as you want, his hair wringing wet and dripping onto your shoulder as he gathers you in his arms. 

You hold onto him like a lifeline. The cramp curls, and tightens, has you seizing up against him. 

“What is it?” he asks softly. “Stomach pains again?” 

The nurse said it’s your uterus shrinking. Whatever it is, it’s sudden agony. You shudder into Aaron’s shoulder until the pain pangs and fades, leaving your stomach a tense mess. It hurts to move, so you stay clinging to your husband and let him hover over you. 

“Are you okay?” Jack asks.

You sniff. 

Aaron pulls away to take your face into his hands. He holds you with care, his thumbs under your jaw, index fingers running diagonally under each eye, tips at your brows. Just a stolen few seconds for him to check you over. No tears to be wiped away. 

“Still hurting?” 

You shake your head, eyebrows pulled down in a bad frown. 

“Okay. Alright. Motrin?” he asks. 

“No,” you whisper, “can you just stay here?” 

Jack says your name. 

You peek past Aaron’s body. “Jack, sorry.” 

“Are you okay now?” 

You grimace, “I’m gonna be fine, it just hurts sometimes and I didn’t have any medicine today. That’s all. Sorry, I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me,” he denies. 

You can’t help smiling, then. “Okay, I didn’t. Thanks for getting dad for me.” 

“He’s our hero,” Aaron says. He sits down beside you carefully, his voice quiet and his hand gentle as he holds your thigh. “I’m glad he did.” 

Jack climbs into his dad’s lap. Aaron wraps an arm around him, the other at your side, fingers tapping at you. 

You rub your forehead. Tip your head back and take a deep breath. 

“Jack,” you whisper, breathing out, “I’m sorry if I startled you. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

“It wasn’t scary, I said that already.” 

“Oh, you did?” Aaron teases. 

“It was okay, I just don’t want you to hurt.” 

“Only baby pains,” you say. 

For a few minutes, you and your small family sit there in silence. Aaron works a hand behind your back to hug you, Jack snuggles into his chest, and Charlie stirs in his swing seat. The quiet calms him, and he goes back to his soft snoring seconds later. 

“I’m sorry about your shower,” you whisper. 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry about my baby,” Aaron whispers back, drawing circles into your lower back, “he didn’t mean to chew you up.” 

“Ugh, I know.” 

Jack raises his nose. “What? Chew? Do babies bite?” 

“It’s an expression, babe.” 

“Oh.” He looks at his baby brother with suspicion anyways. “He doesn’t even have teeth?” 

“Buddy, it’s just a joke,” Aaron says, laughing as Jack slips out of his lap to go and look at Charlie in the seat. 

“Maybe he did have teeth,” you say. 

Aaron ushers you toward him, rests his cheek on your forehead. “It’ll feel better soon. You need to rest, that’s all.” 

“Your hair is so wet.” 

“I was in the shower.” 

“Sorry…” 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Don’t be.” 

You reach up to tousle his wet hair. “Miss showering with you.” 

“We showered last night.” 

“No, I stood there and you helped me wash my back, that’s not the same.” 

“Well, I enjoyed it.” 

“I bet you did.” 

Your fondness attracts many, many kisses, his nose nuzzling your cheek. You settle under the weight of him and watch Jack where he frowns at Charlie, big brown eyes squinted, waiting for a show of teeth that won’t happen. Aaron brings a hand to your tense stomach, waiting for you to lean back before he begins massaging the tensed muscle there with a slowness that borders unmoving. 

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he says. 

“You can go finish your shower.” 

“I was finished. M’gonna start pressing in, okay?” 

You wince as Aaron begins, but slowly, slowly, the tenseness from your cramp softens. It still hurts, but he makes it manageable. Jack delivered your rescuer, and your rescuer loves a soft touch.

[twilghtkoo]

oh how you love longhair!jungkook . . .

pairings. jungkook x reader (f)

genres/aus. fluff, smut, established relationship

warnings. long hair jungkook, oral (f receiving), minor cum play, hair pulling, fingering, squirting, finger sucking

notes. wrote something about long hair haechan awhile ago, it’s only fair i write about long hair kook too 🙇🏻‍♀️ likes and reblogs appreciated !! stay safe and healthy <33

masterlist

—

"ahh, this is annoying." you hear jungkook from the kitchen, not really talking to you but voicing his thoughts aloud. you turn your head away from the laptop in your lap towards the man fighting the hair in his face as he towers over the kitchen sink.

you laugh to yourself, focus back on your laptop screen.

"yah, are you laughing? help meee," he pointedly stares at you while you fake innocence.

you sigh, placing your laptop on the coffee table in front of you before marching to the kitchen. jungkook is attempting to move the hair out of his face with his shoulder as he scrubs a plate clean. his bare wrists missing his usual black hair tie that would suit his wrist, so you just use on yours that was meant for you.

"girlfriend here fulfilling girlfriend duties sir!" you jokingly say in a deep voice and saluting as the cherry on top. the corner of his lips lift slightly as he scoffs.

you stand behind him as he pauses what he's doing to lean his head back so you can reach. you strategically use your fingers to comb through his hair as you carefully gather a fistful and quickly tie it up. made sure to not tie it too tight because he gets headaches if they're too tight. you step back and admire your work.

"better?" you ask.

"much, thank you." he exhales. with that you were going to turn around but he stops you.

"wait, kiss!" he urged.

—

"is that my headband?" you tilt your head at the sight in front of you.

jungkook washing his face with—pretty sure it's yours— a cute tiger headband pushing back his hair. soap suds coating his entire face.

he squints his eyes at you. "perhaps?" he says questioningly.

"what do you mean perhaps, that is mine." you snickered, walking past him to do what you originally came in the bathroom for.

"sorry baby, i don't know where mine went."

you flush the toilet and stand beside him to use the other sink to wash your hands. "it's okay, i'll buy you another one."

next day . . .

"really? a cooky headband?" he doesn't even look surprised, yet slowly a smile is creeping it's way onto his face. you just looked so excited when you came back from the store.

"it's fitting! it's literally you." you shoot your arms out, gesturing to him. "plus, now we can do face masks together."

—

"oh, fuck," you cried out, fingers harshly pulling his head into your center as he greedily licks into your cunt.

your stomach moving up and down from the uncontrollable breaths you're taking in and letting out. the pads of your fingers dig into his scalp and the feeling only urges him on more as he grinds into the bed. he's sure he looks pathetic humping the mattress, but your sounds and touch made him desperate and he did not give a fuck.

"taste so fucking good..."

"smell so fucking good..." he curses out in between munching on your juicy pussy.

you let out a strangled cry as his tongue leaves your hole and moves onto your clit, sucking at it. gripping frantically for anything and finding a pillow, you buck your hips, wanting more. needing more. the noises he makes as he eats you out were ungodly. whining, groaning, short breaths as he presses into your folds.

he did not want to stop, he was pussy drunk. his hands slowly drag its way up from your ankle to your leg then where you were needily craving. two of his fingers brush against your hole.

"hmph, kookie," god that nickname. the way it sounds coming out of your lips. the way it sounds in this extremely lewd situation. the way it's just you.

he huffs out. "shit," his fingers pumping into you fast and relentless.

his free hand moves to hold your hips down, licking and sucking on the sensitive bud harder. he felt you tighten around his fingers, your walls fluttering.

"i can't, i can't- oh fuuuck!"

"mmh," he groans out as you both cum. his warm cum coating the inside of his briefs leaving a sticky, uncomfortable mess. your juices are creating a pool from the dip in the bed created from the weight of your ass.

he pulls out his fingers, leisurely, as he sits up on the back of his shins, his thigh muscles become prominent and you clench around nothing from the sight. but you seriously cannot take a fourth orgasm. his face glistening from the meal he just had and hairs sticking out from his once neat man bun.

your body begins to calm down, with shaky legs you slide your feet up and open your legs to make room for him. holding out your hand for him to take he lets you pull him down, at your mercy, his arms on either side of your head. you reach up to pull his hair free from the ponytail, his thick waves cascading down from his neck.

taking a moment to admire the bare beauty in front of you. his cheeks painted a faint red from the previous rounds in here, his baby hairs stringy and sticking to his forehead and sideburns from sweat. the beauty marks that makeup and cameras cannot capture and only people close up can see. your hand comes up to gently cup his face and you almost cry when you can see him physically melt into your hand, his eyes fluttering shut while your thumb makes soft strokes.

you blindly reach for his hand that was penetrating you minutes before and take them in your mouth. your tongue lapping around his digits, humming at the taste of yourself.

he’s getting lost at the sight of you.

finally opening your eyes, he slowly pulls his fingers out from your mouth. the tips of his fingers dragging down slowly from your bottom lip, watching it bounce back. his eyes zone in on the wet streak he’s leaving down to your collarbone.

“we made a mess.” he mumbles, smirking.

“oops,” you shrug, smiling.