#they would make the most wholesome family ever

[strulobitch]

I'm reading your thoughts on the Formula 1 omegaverse and I'm so touched 🥹

It makes me laugh to think that at some point we get a baby boom on the grid, which is why the FIA has to introduce new rules in order not to lose drivers who suddenly go on maternity leave instead of racing 😁

Because children are great, of course, but it's hard to race when a third of your riders are pregnant, the second third are on parental leave, and the third are their worried partners.

I think that Nando would definitely have tried to castrate Nico when he found out that he had given his son triplets. Lance would have played with the situation, but just in case, he would have kept all sharp objects away from his husband when Gaby and her husband visited them.

I don't know why, but I think of the Albon-Russell family as a small family of cute otters. You know, holding hands in a dream, bragging about your cute baby, and so on 🥹

Simi, who only have children in retirement 🥺 so that kids always know that their parents are around and ready to take care of them 🥺 Kimi kisses her babies a million times every day because she adores them, a small continuation of his and Sebastian's love 🥺 Seb is even a little jealous of his own puppies 🫣

I'd also like to know if you have any thoughts about the other newbies? 👀

Oh for sureeee

After drivers start being more open about their omega status and babies start popping out left and right, the FIA figure that they have to do something about it

I don't think they legally could require drivers to be on suppressants/birth control, but I do think they'd monitor their drivers closely, maybe even hiring specific staff to monitor and take care of the drivers' reproductive health

Also if the omega drivers do choose to go on suppressants/birth control, they would have their personal FIA mandated doctors who monitor it

The FIA would also make sure that the teams have stand-in drivers who can step in if the drivers do get pregnant

And yeah, Nando would def be OUTRAGED lmfao

Not only has this alpha gotten his son pregnant, he's pregnant with THREE pups and it's only his first time being a parent

He'd be a mess from going between worrying over Gabi so much and being absolutely pissed at Nico

Lance does his best to support everyone in the situation

And you're sooo right! Albon-Russel family is so otter-coded<3

And Simi would be the most wholesome family ever🥺

Making sure that both parents are present for their kids when they grow up, not having to fly all over the world for most of the year for races and working a dangerous career

Kimi would be so affectionate with the babies😭 Everyone assumes that because he's not big on affection that it would be the same with the kids, but it seems like Kimi has saved up all his affection over the years just for the kida with how much he cuddles and kisses and fusses over them

Seb would maybe be a bit jealous sometimes, but also so so so so happy that his omega is finally comfortable with touch

And ofc Seb is allowed in the nest for family cuddles too🫶

And I've already talked about all the rookies except for Bearnelli, soooo

I feel like they'd be the most responsible out of all the rookies, so focused on their careers that they choose to not have any pups until they're older and can devote more time to them

They'd maybe have one to start, figure how it is and how they like it, and then choose if they want to have any more

I feel like they'd come to the conclusion that they do want more, and have one or two others as well, and then that's it

[scarletsxnss]

vincent looks in the unused room. it's a SWEET little space. clearly marked away for a young girl. and he's happy he's finally found one for it. he checks the bed and opens the closet for skimpy pajamas. the entire wardrobe in the room had outfits curated by him—outfits that he found attractive. he picks out the most revealing set. simply a t-shirt and shorts but the t-shirt practically cut so that it would only ever cover half of her chest and leave everything else EXPOSED. 

next he checks the cameras in the room. making sure they were all functional. now that she belongs to him, he reserves the right to MONITOR her. further more, he's running a business. men will pay top dollar to spy on a cute girl like her. there were a handful of cameras, not letting a single corner go unchecked. the cameras were what kept his business running. and carmen was going to make him a lot of money. that money was going to support him, her, and her family. all she had to do was give in. and he knew she's good at that. 

after all is checked and her clothes were selected, with no underwear of course, he makes his way back to her. the sound of running water is soothing and he hums as he makes his way over. when he sees her he smiles. the smile itself is as WHOLESOME as a heathen like him can get, as he admires the mess he's made of her before they wash it off together. "so pretty." he comments. "i remember finding you, seeing they you were this poor girl who needed a break... now look at you. a powerful woman who knows her place. and your entire family can finally relax in LUXURY thanks to you." 

vincent steps towards her and hugs her sweetly. "i knew you'd make the right choice. being MINE is the thing you're best at." he says before placing the towels and clothes to the side and moving them towards the warm bath. when his body feels the water, he instantly feels the relaxation kick in. pulling her with him adds to that. his new girl, solidified ownership, and this warm bath, was what life was about. "how are you feeling?" he asks, casually making sure she feels his cock GROWING again, practically instructing her to warm his dick while they lay there. his hand gently raises water over her hair, washing some of the dried cum off.

"seriously? your FAVORITE?" hazel hues widen in surprise, a warmth seeping through carmen's body as she stares up at him. honestly she thought she would need to put in more effort to be rewarded so heavily, to have that title and parade it around like the giddy girl she was. there were so many other girls he employed, heavier chested girls and slimmer girls, curvier girls and angelic girls — but carmen had become his number ONE?

she didn't care how she looks right now, how his cum glues to her hair and his tangy urine still sits on her tongue, she's happy. carmen can't remember the last time she's felt this way. "of course sir, i really want to feel you inside me", the femme jumps to agree, pressing open mouthed kisses against his dick. he had let her lick his ass and suck his balls for what seemed like HOURS and carmen was trying not to be overly greedy but what she craves most right now is a hot bath and vincent’s cock stretching her.

a gentle sigh escapes as his sticky shaft brushes her cheek, a soft nod as she slowly rises to her feet. "thank you, sir." her legs are slightly unsteady after so much time spent kneeling and yet carmen beelines for the bathroom, eagerly plugging the bath and getting the water temperature just RIGHT.

[ihatetheinternetandeveryoneonit]

Karlach and Dammon fixing her engine and getting married and having tons of strong babies and starting a family business of being soldiers for justice.

[lovecla]

STUCK WITH YOU ; QUINN HUGHES.

❄︎ pair: quinn hughes x y/n.

❄︎ synopsis: of all the things y/n thought she was going to do on christmas eve, being stuck with her sister’s brother-in-law, quinn hughes, wasn't one of them.

❄︎ word count: 5.6k

❄︎ chapter warnings: unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, use of the word slut (once), softdom!quinn, dirty talk.

💌 from me to you: merry christmas, babies 🩶 i hope all of you had a great time and lots of delicious food. 1st of all, i’d like to apologise bc i got carried away with the word count! 2nd of all, i’m sorry about how dirty this is… this was supposed to be wholesome and cute but i don’t know what happened 😭 sorry…. anyways, as always, forgive me for this poorly written smut and share with me your thoughts! i love you! ♡

𖧷

Ever Since your sister started dating one of the most known hockey players, Luke Hughes, your life changed— for the better, that is. It’s not like you’re used to all the attention, but it’s nice to attend parties and meet your favorite hockey players for free.

But, the only issue you didn’t see coming when she announced that she was, in fact, very much in love with the youngest of the Hughes brothers is that now you have to constantly coexist with your long time celebrity crush, Quinn Hughes.

It’s an old thing, your situation with Quinn Hughes. You first started noticing him during his time in college, when he was just eighteen.

None of your friends understood what was so special about him but you just told them they didn’t have to: Quinn Hughes is one of the most attractive men you have ever seen, and you’ll stand by that until the end of your days.

When your sister decided that she would make Luke Hughes hers, you remember laughing and saying: He’ll be yours when Quinn Hughes’s mine.

Turns out, Luke is your sister’s.

And, well. Quinn’s not yours.

When you’re around him, during dinners and parties, you almost don’t even acknowledge him. It’s just because you don’t know how to be around him without immediately blushing and cringing at your own words.

It’s like you’re a teenager all over again, but what else can you do, really. He’s attractive, he’s funny and he cares about the people he loves; you cannot not be in love with someone like him.

But now you’re his brother’s sister in law and have been for the past year. You have been doing a great job at not staying in the same room as him for too long, and even if you can come off as rude or mean, it’s better than to get caught while watching him with lovey eyes.

It’s December 24th, and you’re on your way to your sister’s house, where you’d spend Christmas with her— and since she’s only arriving later that night because of work, you’ll be there earlier to arrange things for her.

You’re annoyed by the fact that she has to work until late during Christmas time but at least you’ll get to spend the night with at least one of your family members, since your parents are out of town.

What’s also annoying is the fact that it’s cold and snowing. Not just normal, winter type of snow but North-Pole type of snow. You’re shivering inside your car, because your heater is broken and you stupidly decided that it’d be a great idea to wear just leggings and a sweatshirt.

You park in front of her house, sighing and trying to move as fast as your frozen limbs could. You’re also carrying a hundred bags with you, because decorating is your favorite part of Christmas and knowing your sister and her workaholic personality, you know that she probably doesn’t even have her tree out of her attic yet— so you’ll have to do the whole decorating thing by yourself.

Which you silently prefer because there’s nothing you hate more when people try to dictate where your ornaments should go.

You ring her doorbell first, before dumbly realizing that she’s probably at work already, so you just start looking for the spare key she gave you when the door opens, making you lift your head up with a smile, only to drop it two seconds later.

“Oh.”

Quinn’s looking back at you with a polite smile, and you’re not sure that what you’re seeing is actually real because why the hell would Quinn Hughes be at your sister’s house during Christmas?

“Hi, Y/n.” He says, leaning against the door frame.

You frown without even noticing it. Why didn’t she warn you that he would be at her house?

You’ve been staring at him for what feels to be hours, when he speaks again: “Aren’t you… cold?”

You realize that he’s right and you are cold. Cold and tired because you’re still holding the heavy bags, so you just nod and watch as he opens the door more and reaches for the bags in your hand, picking all four of them up like they’re not heavy at all and letting you in.

You’re still in shock and shivering when you close the door behind you, welcoming the warm air inside the house, thankful for your sister’s amazing heating system.

Quinn walks back to the living room and you grab your phone, dialing your sister’s number and putting the phone against your ear.

“Y/n? Are you—”

“Why didn’t you tell me he would be at your place?!” You shout slash whisper, hiding behind her clothes rack.

“Who’s he? Why are you whispering?”

“What do you mean who’s he?” You hiss. “I’m talking about him!”

“Who’s… Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

Her laugh makes you blush. “I didn’t think he’d arrive so soon. I told him he could come later because you’d be the only one there so I just guessed… well. Nevermind.”

“What do I do?!” you sound so desperate it’s almost funny. “I can’t be here! You know I—”

“Y/n, stop freaking out. It’s just Quinn,” you can almost hear her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Go decorate and do all that stuff you like to do during Christmas. I’ll pick up the food goodies when I leave work, so please just… be normal.”

“What do you mean be normal I can’t—”

“I gotta go. I love you. Bye.”

She hangs up the call and leaves you staring at your phone screen, contemplating how you would scape when it was so cold outside and Quinn’s already seen you so—

“Y/n? Are you playing hide and seek?”

You immediately get out of your sister’s clothes and smile awkwardly, almost opening the front door and standing in the middle of the road, waiting for someone to run you over.

“No, I—” you stutter, looking everywhere but him. “I was just… talking to my sister…”

“I see,” he says. “Is she okay? It’s snowing outside, and you’re still shivering.”

How the hell did he notice that?, you ask yourself, before nodding.

“She is, yeah. She’s working.”

You step further inside the house, walking past Quinn like he’s some type of virus. Besides the huge tree sitting in the corner by the TV, your sister’s house is poorly decorated, just like you predicted, so at least you’ll have something to busy yourself with until she arrives.

“She told me she’d work until late and she said I could come and help you out with your decorations until she and Luke arrive.” He explains, and you turn around, raising your eyebrow at him, confused.

“Luke’s coming?” You ask.

“He is, yes.”

“I thought… I thought you guys would spend Christmas with your parents.” You say, because that’s what you heard your sister saying.

“Well, they’re coming too,” he chuckles, putting his hand inside his front pockets. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you anything?”

“No, I thought—” you start, but then you bite your lips, giving up mid-sentence. You didn’t want to sound rude by saying I thought it’d be the two of us only so you just stay quiet. “Nevermind. It’s nice that you all get to spend Christmas together.”

Quinn stares at you for a few seconds before nodding. “I’m sorry if you’re upset.”

You frown, shaking your head.

“I’m not, I promise. I just wasn’t expecting all of you,” you reply, embarrassed. “I brought my Grinch sweater…”

He laughs, and you have to stop yourself from smiling too.

“It’s okay. I’ll wear my Cindy Lou one.”

You want to yell at him and tell him to stop being nice, but you already know that’s just how he is. That’s one of the reasons you like him so much.

You look outside your sister’s big window and frown, noticing that the snow is only falling faster, and the street is white everywhere now. Even your car is barely visible.

“It’s getting ugly,” you say, pressing your lips into a line. “I hope it stops soon.”

“I don’t know about that…” he comments, sitting on the couch next to your bags. “I did see a blizzard warning in my weather app today.”

“What?” you almost shout. “Are you sure it was for today?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s why I came earlier. I thought it was dangerous for you to stay here alone.”

You want to ask him what one thing has to do with the other but you’re too busy blushing over his sentence to do anything else.

“I’d be just fine, but thank you,” you mumble. Sighing, you look down at your clothes. “I’m going to change and then start decorating.” You announce, not even sure why.

“You should probably put on something warmer,” he looks down at your clothes before running his fingers through his hair. “It’d be a shame if you caught a cold.”

You don’t say anything, just nod and make your way to your sister’s bedroom, happy that you’re both the same size. Once you find a comfort, two piece set wool outfit, you grab it and change, immediately welcoming the warmth it brings.

You also spend more time in your sister’s bedroom than you should, sitting on her bed and contemplating what you should do.

It’s not like Quinn’s a bad person or someone difficult to be around, but you get shy really easily and he happens to master the art of making you embarrassed, even if it’s not in a bad way.

He’s probably not even aware of it, too, because he’s just a really kind person and that’s just how he treats everyone he likes.

He doesn’t like us, your brain reminds you, he’s just polite.

Whatever.

You get back to the living room and find him still sitting on the couch, watching some random, Christmas movie. You reach for your bags, trying to open them as silently as you could, not wanting to disturb him.

You remove the plastic boxes full of ornaments and distribute them around you, separating them by color and size. It’s therapeutic to you, and it helps to calm your brain down.

Soon, the fact that Quinn’s in the same room as you, alone, doesn’t even cross your mind. You’re having fun decorating your sister’s empty tree, making it beautifully decorated and ready for the night.

After what’s probably thirty minutes, you reach for the last item inside your boxes, which is a bright, yellow star, heavily bedazzled. It’s been yours since you and your sister moved out of your parents’ house and you love it more than all of your other Christmas decorations combined.

The only issue is that it should sit on top of the tree, and usually it wouldn’t be a problem, because your sister had been letting you decorate her tiny tree for the past years, and you’ve been able to reach it just fine. But this year she decided that she wanted to challenge you and she bought a tall one, so now you can’t really reach the top, and you only realize it after jumping for a few minutes and not even touching the top once.

“Do you need any help?”

Quinn’s calm voice startles you, and you hold back a scream. You had forgotten that he was sitting just behind you, and probably had been watching you embarrassing yourself for the past three minutes.

You’re feeling your cheeks warm when you answer: “No, I… well. Maybe?”

He chuckles, getting up. “Does your sister have a ladder?”

“No, she doesn’t,” you roll your eyes. “She says someone as tall as her should do just fine without one.”

“I don’t understand,” he laughs. “She’s just a few inches taller than you. There’s barely a difference.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her.” You say, annoyed. “I can just grab a chair—”

“No, let me help you.” He walks towards you, and when you’re just about to tell him he’s not going to reach the top by himself either he does something that sends you to another world.

He picks you up effortlessly, putting you down on his left shoulder, and hands you the star like he wasn’t holding another human on one of his shoulders.

You put the star on the top of the tree, moving automatically because your brain hasn't been working properly ever since you stepped into your sister’s house.

“Are you done?” he asks, and he doesn’t even sound tired. “Do you need me to hand you anything else or—”

“No, you can… put me down, please.” You mumble, blushing as he grabs your waist and slowly pulls you down until your feet are touching the floor.

He’s standing behind you, chest glued to your back, and you hold back a yelp, stepping away like his touch is deadly.

“Uh, thanks?” It sounds like a question, but you don’t repeat it again. You turn around, watching as he smiles and nods.

“It looks great, Y/n.”

You also smile, because you always do it whenever people compliment your decorations skills. “Thanks. Again.”

“Well,” he shrugs, looking around. “What do you want to do now?”

You mimic his move, looking around your sister’s living room.

“I mean, I don’t know,” you hum. “Maybe set the table? I know it’s early but—”

“Yeah. We can definitely do that.” He starts walking towards the kitchen and you freak out.

“What!” you yell, and he stops, turning back around and looking at you with confused, pretty eyes. “I mean— what do you mean we?”

“Oh,” he shrugs. “I thought I could help.”

“Are you… like… serious?” You frown.

He frowns back. “I was, yes… are you one of those people who don’t like when people try to help because you’re afraid they’ll end up messing up with your arrangements?”

“Well, yes and no,” you laugh, only to shake your head after. “But it’s not that. I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never seen a man get up to help before. Especially during Christmas.”

He seems to take a while to process what you had just said, but then he laughs, beautifully you’d say.

“They weren’t raised by Ellen Hughes, Y/n. I was.”

You smile, realizing you were utterly fucked. And not in a good way.

You and Quinn worked in silence, and even though you almost dropped the plates twice with how nervous you were, this moment will probably keep repeating itself forever inside your head, from the moment you wake up to the moment you'll go to sleep.

He’s calm and he listens to each one of your orders without hesitation, just nodding and doing as you say. He carries the heavy stuff and just lets you busy yourself with making everything pretty, which you do.

You’re about to tell him that you’re done when the TV catches your attention.

“Good evening, and Merry Christmas Eve, everyone. This is Nicholas Edwards reporting live with an urgent weather alert. It’s shaping up to be a Christmas Eve like no other—because we are in the midst of a blizzard that shows no signs of letting up anytime soon.”

“Oh my God,” you hear someone saying, and realize that it was you. You move until you’re standing in front of the TV, covering your mouth with your right hand.

“Right now, snow is coming down at an incredible rate, with visibility dropping rapidly. Winds are gusting up to 40 miles per hour, creating near whiteout conditions in many areas. And the latest forecast? The snow isn’t expected to stop until early tomorrow morning—Christmas Day! That means we’re looking at significant snowfall totals, possibly more than 18 inches in some spots.”

“Oh my God,” you repeat, looking at Quinn before looking back at the TV again.

“Officials are urging everyone to stay indoors tonight. If you don’t absolutely need to be out, don’t risk it. Roads are treacherous, power outages are a real possibility, and emergency crews are working hard to keep up.”

“What about my sister and your family?” you ask, almost rhetorically, because you know Quinn knows just as much as you. “They can’t come now because it’s dangerous.”

“I’ll try to call my parents,” he says, reaching for his phone already. “Can you call your sister, please?”

“Already doing it.” You say, dialing your sister’s number.

“So… you saw the news.” Is the first thing she says after picking up and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, Quinn and I did,” you say. “What are we going to do? It’s not safe for you to drive around and you’re definitely not driving thirty minutes back to your house in this weather.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighs. “Luke and I are together, though. He saw the news before I did and drove me to his and Jack’s apartment since it’s closer to my workplace…”

“So, you’ll stay at their place?” You frown.

“What else can I do, right?” she chuckles, but you can tell she’s just as upset as you. “At least you’re stuck with the sibling that knows how to cook.”

“Hey!” You hear one of Quinn’s brothers, probably Jack, yelling in the back.

“You’re probably right,” you mumble. “Well. We’ll see each other tomorrow then?”

“‘Course we will, bubba,” she sounds joyful again. “Merry Christmas, Y/n. I love you. Tell Quinn I said Merry Christmas to him too!”

“I will,” you nod, even though you know she can’t see you. “I love you too. Bye.”

“Bye.”

You stare at your phone screen until it turns black, and sigh. Quinn finishes his phone call and stares at you, blue, fond eyes looking at you with care.

“I guess you heard the same thing as me.” He says and you nod.

“They’re not coming.”

“And neither are my parents,” he sighs. “They’re stuck in their hotel. They’re not letting people leave.”

“God, this sucks,” you grunt, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “We don’t even have food. My sister was supposed to pick it up after she finished her shift but…”

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” Quinn says and you can tell he’s trying to sound positive. “Come on, stop pouting.”

You frown. “I wasn’t pouting.”

“Yes, you were,” he smiles. “You do that whenever something doesn’t go your way.”

“I— how do you even know that?” You ask, genuinely amused. He just shrugs and walks back to the kitchen, leaving you and your one hundred thoughts about him alone. “Quinn!”

Dinner goes well. It’s silent and calm, but not in an embarrassing, awkward way. Quinn knows how to cook really well, and his food makes you hold yourself back so you won’t kiss him.

His lips probably taste amazing, just like the rest of him. Sometimes, when your thoughts about how Quinn could make you feel good are too much, you slip your hands under your covers and touch yourself, while imagining your hands are his.

You always feel so deeply embarrassed afterwards, and it takes you a while to convince yourself that you’re not a maniac and getting horny after thinking of your sister’s boyfriend's incredibly hot brother is lowkey expected, because he looks like a God.

You both returned to your bedrooms after the clock hit midnight and you both called your families, with you sleeping in your sister’s room and Quinn sleeping in the spare bedroom.

Although, you haven’t even thought about closing your eyes and going to sleep, because you know you won’t be able to— not when Quinn has been nothing but kind to you the entire night and definitely not when he’s only two doors away from you.

You can feel your body starting to get hot, and you want to shout at it, telling yourself to let it go, because you and Quinn won’t ever be a thing.

You look at the clock sitting on your sister’s bedside table and sigh, reading the late hours. Two thirty-six a.m. and you’re nowhere near Dreamland.

Even though you’re basically at the entrance of Hornyland.

Shaking your head, you get up, deciding to brew some chamomile tea for you, since it always helps you feel sleepier and, hopefully, less horny.

The lukewarm air hits your bare thighs and you’re reminded that you’re not wearing any pants— just one of your sister’s oversized sweaters and panties.

You look around the dark house, watching as snow continues to fall outside, and make your way to the kitchen, walking past Quinn’s closed door and trying not to make any sound.

And you would’ve been successful with your task, if it weren’t for the one plastic cup that fell out of the cupboard when you tried to grab your sister’s kettle.

It fell on the floor and bounced three times before you managed to grab it again. You waited to see if you would hear Quinn’s door open, but since you didn’t, you moved on with your task. While you waited for your water to boil, you leaned against your sister’s island, resting your chin in your hand.

“I thought you were asleep.”

This time, you don’t hold back the yelp that comes out of your mouth. You were so worried about waking Quinn up that you hadn’t considered the fact that he, just like you, might as well not have been able to sleep.

He’s sitting on your sister’s couch, wearing sweatpants and nothing else, looking at you with an indecipherable expression. His entire body is illuminated by the moonlight, and he looks gorgeous.

“Quinn. You scared me,” you put your hand over your heart, feeling your cheeks warm when you realize the movement made your sweater go up, and now Quinn probably saw your underwear. “Uh—”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he gets up, and he does look apologetic. He gets closer to where you were standing and you can help but take a take back. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “No. You?”

“I can’t either,” he says. “Too many thoughts.”

You desperately want to ask him what kind of thoughts are keeping him away from his bed, but you remember that it isn’t your place. And the best thing you can do for yourself right now is stay away from him.

“I— I’ll leave you to it then—”

“Why are you always running away from me?”

His serious tone makes you stop. You look up and stare at his eyes, looking like a child who had just been caught eating sweets before dinner.

Your answer is only natural: “I’m not?”

“Yes, you are,” he steps closer, and the distance between the two of you is now shorter. “Did I do something?”

“What?” you gasp. “No, of course not!”

“Then, you just don’t like me?”

“Gosh, why is it with the Hughes that you’re always so straightforward?” you mumble, frustrated. “I promise you, nothing’s wrong.”

“Is it because you want me to fuck you?” He raises his brow and you almost drop dead in front of him.

“What.”

It’s almost comical how your eyes double in size and how your mouth opens, just like in the cartoons. You’re trying really hard not to pack your things and leave, because you’re sure something possessed Quinn.

“I’m not dumb, y’know,” he starts. “I can tell when someone’s interested in me, and you aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Quinn—”

“At first,” he continues, paying you no mind. “I thought you were just shy. Then, I realized you only acted that way with me, but I thought you just didn’t like me. But…”

He lifts his hand up and caresses your cheek, the touch making you shiver instantly.

“Would someone who doesn’t like me stare at me like you do?” He keeps touching your face, the light feather touches barely there, but keeping you restless anyway. “It’s so sweet when you blush like that.”

“Quinn…” you try, once again. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I—”

“Uncomfortable?” he chuckles, like the word alone is enough to make him laugh. “No, sweetheart, you made me hard.”

You blush, thankful that the moonlight isn’t enough to show your red cheeks. “O-Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” he smiles, lifting your face just slightly with his thumb on your chin. “Can I kiss you, Y/n?”

I thought you’d never ask, you think. “Yes,” is what you say.

His lips taste like peppermint and his touch on your skin feels like fire. He presses your body against the counter, the cold marble hitting the back of your naked thighs and making you shiver.

It was a pleasant contrast, though: the warmth of his hands holding you close with the coldness of the stone making you shiver.

He kissed you fervently and you moaned inside his mouth, forgetting your shyness and running your fingers through his silky, soft hair. It was like opening presents on Christmas morning, because ever since you were a teenager you’ve been wanting to get your hands on him and now—

“You were right,” you say, breathless. Quinn tilts his head to the side, confused. “I want you to f-fuck me.”

He smirks, mischievously, and it’s probably one of the hottest things you have ever seen.

“Here?” he asks, chuckling.

“No,” you laugh. “My sister would kill me.”

“Mhm.” It’s all he says before picking you up once again, manhandling you however he wanted for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

His bed is untouched when he lays you on it, a clear signal that he hadn’t even laid on it yet. Your sweater rode up, leaving your belly and your panties exposed.

Even though you’re not the type of girl to get embarrassed while having sex, you can feel your cheeks getting warm under Quinn’s lustful gaze. You have imagined this situation so many times before but you never actually thought your dreams would come true, so all of this is still hard for you to take in.

“I can actually hear your brain thinking, Y/n,” Quinn chuckles, standing in front of you. The outline of his dick is so noticeable it has your mouth dry.

“It’s not everyday your crush of years take you to bed,” you let out, only realising what you had just said when you watch his eyebrow going up, and a malicious smile decorate his beautiful face. “I mean—”

“Trust me, Y/n, if I hadn’t spent the last year thinking you hated me, you would’ve ended up in my bed from the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

He leans forward, then starts to pull your panties down. It’s embarrassing to say the least because you know that the fabric which was once pearly, cotton white, is now transparent and ruined. Quinn doesn’t seem to mind that— in fact, the smirk on his face just continues to grow.

“You have such a pretty pussy, baby,” he says, and you almost choke on your own spit. “Been thinking about you for so long I’m half convinced this is just another dream.”

He drops your underwear somewhere, and places his index finger between your wet folds, the cold touch contrasting with your hotness. He rubs, up and down, slowly and steady. It has you biting your lips, hard.

“Was it like that with you too, Y/n?” he asks, tone one octave deeper. “Endless dreams of how I would fuck you senseless, leave you wet and whimpering in my sheets, pussy dripping with my cum.”

He kept getting closer to your clit each time he opened his mouth to talk, but he still wasn’t touching it, which was starting to frustrate you.

“Quinn—”

“I’d always wake up hard, with my dick throbbing inside my pants, and you know what I’d do?”

He places his finger on your engorged clit, but doesn’t do anything, just— waits.

“Ask me what I would do, Y/n.” He orders, and you moan before complying.

“What, ah, what would you do?” you ask, and he starts moving his finger again. “Ah.”

“I’d fuck my hand. Wrap my dick around them, holding it tightly, imagining it was your cunt squeezing me like that,” he confesses, opening your legs more, leaving you spread in front of him like you’re nothing but a cheap whore. “And I’d come so hard, imagining I was filling you up. In the next morning, I’d shake hands with you, watching you give me that sweet smile of yours, not even knowing that I had just used it to touch myself while imagining it was you.”

He pressed two fingers on your hole, making you clench around nothing while he seemed to be having fun with your struggle.

“Was it like that with you, too?” he asks again, but you can tell by his reaction that he wasn’t expecting you to answer. Yet, you do it anyway.

“N-not dreams,” you breathe, as he inserts two of his fingers inside you, blue eyes never leaving yours. “When I couldn’t sleep, I’d, ah, touch myself, and pretend it was you.”

“Yeah?” he hums, sinking his fingers deeper inside you, the wet sound of sex leaving you dizzy. “Such a naughty, little slut.”

You moan, and Quinn stops holding back as he starts finger fucking you, finding your sweet spot and curling his fingers up until he had you trashing under him. You took pride in knowing your body and mastering the art of touching yourself, but not even in your wildest dreams you’d imagine that having something inside you could feel this good.

You’re not even holding back your sounds, you just let Quinn hear how insane he drives you, and good you’re feeling. You have your eyes closed— because holding eye contact with Quinn might be too much for you to handle— and your boobs exposed, since your sweater rode all the way up.

You can feel your orgasm starting to build up and just when you’re about to warn Quinn about it, he pulls his fingers back, making you cry, loudly.

“Wha— why?” you sound needy and desperate but you pay it no mind.

Quinn smiles, so sweet and kind that you wouldn’t even imagine what came out of his mouth afterwards.

“You’ll come on my cock tonight, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it.”

The rest of what happens is basically history.

He removes his sweatpants and his dick hits his stomach, the tip almost purple with how red it was. The precum leaking from it made you lick your lips, imagining how good it would feel to have that in your mouth.

He throws the pants somewhere, and lays on top of you, right in the middle of your spread thighs. He looks down and holds his dick, rubbing it up and down on your folds, mixing your wetness with his, and just the view is almost enough to make you come.

He rubs the tip on your clit, and you watch as your swollen, needy button throbs under the nasty touch, and how your pussy leaves his dick glistening with how wet you were.

“I’ll fuck you now, okay?” His voice is calm, and soft, different from previously. You nod, smiling shyly. “Words, baby.”

“‘Mkay,” you answer, closing your eyes as he inserts himself inside you, slowly.

You can feel your walls opening up for him, and even though you’ve had sex before, nothing will ever top this. He’s thick, and you can feel him everywhere, deeper and deeper.

“Holy shit, Quinn,” you say, turning your hands into fists.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he hisses, putting his hands on each side of your face. “Squeezing me so good, fuck, Y/n, I might come in seconds if you keep squeezing me like that.”

He removes his dick from you, leaving just the tip, only to slam it back in you, fucking you senseless, just like he told you. The smell of sex and sweat filled the room almost as quick as the tears fell from your eyes, the feeling of finally getting what— or who— you wanted making you cry tears of joy.

He kept fucking you, and once his lips found yours once again, you knew you were done. You came on his dick, like he said you’d do, moaning inside his mouth and pulling his hair, harshly.

“Fuck, Quinn, uh,” you inhaled his scent as his naked body engulfed yours completely. “Fuck, fuck.”

“It’s like you were made to, uh, take my cock,” he grunts, his thrusts getting sloppier, a clear sign that he was about to come. “Say it, baby, tell me what you were made for.”

“Quinn—”

“Say it, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“I was made to take y-your cock,” you sob. “O-only yours.”

“Only mine?” you can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Only yours.”

“Good,” thrust, “Girl.” Thrust.

He takes his dick out of you just a few seconds before he comes, and the loss of it makes you whimper and hide your face in his neck. The warm feeling of his come against your used, swollen cunt is enough to get another orgasm out of you, even if a little bit weaker this time.

You both stay silent, only the sounds of your breaths filling up the room. The weight of his body on top of you is comforting, and even though you know he’s not putting all of his weight on top of you, you feel safe either way.

“Thank you,” you mumble, barely audible, since your face is still in his neck.

He chuckles, breathless. “What are you saying thank you for, baby? I should be the one saying thank you.”

“You just made all of my wet dreams come true,” you explain. “Even if we’re probably going to hell because no one should be having sex on Christmas.”

Quinn laughs and rolls to the side, resting his head on the pillow. “Touché, sweetheart, touché,” he turns his head to the side and looks at you. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Quinny.”

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist.

[moonstruckme]

poly!wolfstar x reader or whimsical!reader would be absolutely wholesome Maee!! Love and hugs 💖 have a lovely day 💫

(to clarify I'm not the anon who mentioned wolfstar previously. I'm just a lovesick of these two lol. hope the request is ok! Sending good vibes your way✨)

Awh I love them so much! Thanks for requesting sweetheart, hope you have a lovely day too <3

cw: squished snail :(

poly!wolfstar x whimsical!reader ♡ 900 words

Remus comes home, juggling his umbrella with three drinks from the coffee shop down the street, to find you and Sirius kneeling outside your front door. You seem to be placing dead leaves in a circle around a wet-looking smudge on the ground.

“Um.” He steps under the overhang of your roof, adjusting his hold on the drinks to set down his umbrella. “What’s going on?”

“We’re surrounding the snail with dead plants so it can be nourished in the next life,” Sirius says easily. Like this is something he does often. “Watch your step, handsome.” 

Remus heeds the warning, stepping carefully around the circle and behind the two of you. That’s when he notices your clothes. 

For Sirius, wearing black isn’t so unusual. He knows it sets off his tattoos and comparatively milky complexion, and he loves nothing more than a dramatic juxtaposition. But you, Remus didn’t even know you owned clothes this colorless. Your dress is loose and flowy, an inky black that’s more of a contrast against your generally lighthearted disposition than it’s ever been against Sirius’ coloring. You look lovely as always, but like a dulled version of your usual self. 

“Are we having a funeral?” Remus asks carefully.

Your posture is slumped, droopy as a weeping willow. “Yeah,” you reply glumly. “I went to take out the trash, and I couldn’t see in front of me. I crushed them.” Your voice seems to quiet further at the end, some mixture of shame and mourning clogging your throat. 

“Them?”

“The snail,” Sirius clarifies. He rubs between your shoulder blades. “It was an accident, sweetheart.” 

You nod, taking in a bolstering breath. “A funeral feels like the least I can do to try to honor them after cutting their life short.” 

“Oh, that’s very thoughtful of you.” Remus kneels on your other side, ignoring Sirius’ sharp look when he can’t help a little grunt at the ache in his joints. He sets your drinks where they won’t get knocked over. “Maybe this was a very old snail, and you found it at the end of its life.” 

“I just hope they didn’t leave a family behind,” you fret. 

“I’m sure even if they did,” he says, reaching for his most reassuring tone, “their family would appreciate what a nice resting place you’ve made for them.” He pets the back of your head. “And that you’ve dressed up so nicely to say goodbye.” 

You turn your face towards the ground, and Remus notices a soft pout to your bottom lip. Sirius seems to spot it at the same time. The other boy lifts your chin to kiss at it sweetly. 

“Do you want to say a few words, lovely?”

Remus smiles over the top of your head at his softhearted boyfriend. Were it anyone else, Sirius would be making endless fun of them for creating such a fuss over a snail’s death, but because it’s you he’s in all the way. (Evidently, he’s learned his lesson after the time he squashed a mosquito in cold blood. You would hardly look at him for days until he apologized.) 

You nod, clearing your throat. “I hope you’re going somewhere with tall grass,” you say, “and lots of soft, wet dirt. And I hope this food gives you sustenance for the journey.” 

You mean the dead leaves, Remus supposes. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m sure it appreciates that, darling.” 

“And if you want to reincarnate as an elephant to step on me, I completely understand.” 

“Oh.” Sirius coughs. “Don’t we think that’s a bit far?”

“Yeah,” Remus agrees. “You’ve put yourself through enough already, that’s probably not necessary.” 

You look between your boyfriends, bemused. “I’m only trying to make things fair. I killed them first.” 

“I just think we ought to have a bit more faith in this snail,” says Sirius. “I doubt they’re out for revenge; they strike me as the forgiving sort. No need to relinquish yourself to an untimely squishing.” 

You frown. “I suppose you’re right. Snails don’t have very long memories anyway, so as a group they might not be very inclined to hold grudges…” 

“Exactly.” He gives your shoulder a loving pat. “Now, it looks like Remus has brought us something. Haven't you, handsome?” 

Remus gives you both a small smile, reaching for your drinks. “Here’s a coffee, and a tea for you, dove. Let’s get out of the cold and drink them inside, yeah?” 

“Okay.” You give the snail one last, speaking look before starting to stand. 

Sirius hurries to Remus’ side, forcing him to use the other boy for support as he straightens up, knees protesting. 

“Your hair’s all wet,” he murmurs. 

“I know,” Sirius gripes under his breath, but Remus can hear the fondness hidden beneath his grousing. “I figured you’d be upset if I let her go out in the rain to find her ceremonial leaves alone.” 

Remus chuckles and kisses his part. “I’ll make some soup before you both catch cold.” 

“She’ll only think it’s karmic if we do.” 

“No, not really.” Sirius hasn’t kept his voice quiet enough to avoid your hearing, and now you’re looking at him with an earnest bemusement. “It would be karmic if I got sick, but you haven’t done anything wrong, Sirius.” 

Remus tsks. “I think you’ve repented enough already, dove,” he says. “Let’s get you both dried off.” 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

hi ms raven :D i was playing through vil's dream in book 7 and i was wondering if you could explain a little more about his character? i remember struggling to understand his motivs leading up to his overblot. the current understanding i have now is that vil wants to be the best or the most beautiful but is constantly getting blocked by neige probably because hes not perfect and it makes others lean towards him and want to support him while vil has reached a level where hes seemingly flawless on the outside making it hard for people to get close to him the way they do with neige? does he crave the validation from others and is that why there was an emphasis on him declaring that he himself is the most beautiful like in b6 and b7? i dont think i really understand him enough and its just been on my mind for a while now TT

I think Vil's got one of those backstories and motives that's easy to misunderstand if skimmed. This can lead to misinterpretations where fans assume he's vain and only seeking to take Neige down for shallow attention. It's a lot more complex than that!

The first thing to note about Vil is that he is a child star. His father, Eric Venue, is also a very successful celebrity, but the public does not know about their familial relationship. Vil has worked very hard to achieve his level of stardom all on his own, without relying on nepotism or riding on the coattails of his father. However, that also means that Vil was under an intense amount of pressure and scrutiny since a young age, and that can really mess with one's self-perception.

Since the start of his career, Vil has only ever been casted in villain roles. His post-OB flashback shows Vil asking his dad "Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?"

And though his father reassures him and calls him cute and charming, the vast majority of other people Vil interacts with judge him and assign labels to him. Children Vil's age "hold [him] accountable for work(s) of fiction", equating him playing villainous roles on TV to him actually being a villainous person off-set.

Similar things occur in his professional life. Film crew members praise Neige for his friendliness and wholesome vibe, but also express that Vil is just too perfect and hard for audiences to relate to, so Vil apparently isn't suitable to play the hero.

So on one hand, you have Vil's peers, who assume that he must be an awful person, just like all the characters he plays. Then you have Vil's colleagues, who put him on a pedestal, calling him "special" but also saying he's not relatable. Both viewpoints isolate and dehumanize him. They indirectly tell Vil--a young, impressionable kid--that he's not capable of goodness or of being a normal person. You also have to keep in mind that because Vil always has eyes on him, he has to maintain a cool, mature, and perfectly curated public image. He has had to grow up extremely fast in order to handle himself in the entertainment industry. That's an INTENSE amount of pressure to be under. So how does Vil react to all this pressure? By pushing himself to work even harder to prove everyone wrong. "I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it." This is later repeated in the Tapis Rouge event: “[…] looking for the easy way out. Something I detest. […] I love to see someone with a lofty goal who’s not afraid to work for it.”

At this juncture, I'd like to point out a vital area where Vil's story and that of Snow White weave together. In Snow White, physical beauty is used as shorthand to indicate the goodness of a character. Snow White is pure, beautiful, and innocent because she has a good heart. The Evil Queen is more accurately depicted in her hag form because of how her jealousy twists her into something hideous. When Vil speaks of beauty, it's also in a similar context. He's using "beauty" as a metaphor for "goodness", hence why he fixates on Neige being the "fairest one of all". Neige is the one always playing the hero, and he is also the one the internet considers the most beautiful--so if Vil can become the most beautiful, then surely he, too, can be a hero.

If beauty = goodness, then the opposite is also true to book 5 Vil: ugliness = villainy. And if he is always assigned the villain again and again and again, then its telling Vil that he's “ugly”, that he is a bad person and can never be anything but that.

Not only that, but Vil's worries about permanently being labelled a villain relates back to how his peers and colleagues perceive him. "[...] villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. [...] All I want is to stay on stage until the end of the show." Vil wants what has always been denied to him: the ability to stand on stage and take a bow with the other actors, to be treated like a normal person that's a part of the group, to have that humanity handed back to him. Why should he be the only one languishing backstage while Neige and other heroes get to soak up that spotlight? He wants to be a part of it, too. He wants to be included.

Let's get back into book 5, present day, now. Vil spends much of this book driving his teammates VERY hard to achieve his vision. To this end, he is imposing harsh restrictions on them, such as new diets, new skincare, new practice routines, and more. This of course garners many protests, but Vil insists on having his way and admonishes those who complain. In these moments, Vil is very much acting like a "villain"--but to him, it's all worth it, because he wants to win against Neige fair and square, earning that victory through his own efforts. "[...] I have no interest in spells that fade when the clock chimes midnight. What I seek is genuine, authentic aesthetic perfection."

Recall that I said earlier that beauty is used as a shorthand for goodness. Because Vil is stating that he wants to win fairly, he is attempting to demonstrate his own beauty--his own goodness--in this bid to triumph over his rival.

But what ends up happening? Vil sees Neige's practice performance and realizes right away that NRC is destined to lose. He tries to take matters into his own hands by cursing a bottle of apple juice and offering it to Neige. While book 5 is vague about what the consequences of drinking that cursed juice would have been, book 7 implies the worst--that Vil had intended to kill Neige with it. Vil went against his own principles (which he stated earlier in book 5) and used a dirty tactic to get Neige out of his way. He can only win if he harms others in the process. I would argue that what triggers Vil to snap and OB isn't his failure to poison Neige (although that's certainly a part of it), but rather Vil realizing he just... proved what everyone has always said about him right. That he's rotten to the core (ie "ugly") and will never be anything else but a villain.

Vil fixates on the eyes of his teammates, perceiving them to be staring at him and judging the moral ugliness of his actions. Like in his childhood, he derives much of his image from public feedback--from the eyes on him. "Please. Don't look at me... Don't look at me with those eyes! Why? I wanted to be the fairest one of all, so why am I so... so... ugly? Ugly?! UGLY?!"

Kalim and Rook try to reassure Vil and remind him that Neige didn't get hurt, so it's okay. But Vil only gets more upset and continues to berate himself. "What does it matter who forgives me?! I can't... I can't forgive myself!" This makes sense for Vil, who is a character that has consistently held the people around him, as well as himself, to high standards. He has betrayed himself, and he is ashamed of how ugly his envy has made him.

After Vil's OB, Rook pretty succinctly states why Vil fails to be "beautiful": because he doesn't believe in himself. Throughout his entire life, Vil has been relying on the words of others to affirm his identity as someone "beautiful", as a "good" person. You can even argue that Vil being so strict with himself is to earn the approval of others, to be seen as the "most beautiful". But Vil never truly believed he was "beautiful" ("good"), and that lack of confidence is ironically what is keeping him from realizing his full potential. "Nobody should believe in your beauty more than you yourself [...] No amount of validation from the rest of the world will ever leave you fulfilled. Even if you wind up old, emaciated, grimy, and stooped over... If you were to truly believe that you are the fairest of all despite that, even the Magic Mirror of legend wouldn't contest your claim. The strength and pride to believe in yourself is what marks the true fairest one of all. Roi du Poison. Fair Vil. I implore you to believe in yourself more than anyone else. Beauty is always with you. At this exact moment, you are the fairest one of all."

In book 6, we get to see how far Vil's character has progressed. When Idia taunts Pomefiore, calling them "wannabe heroes", Vil responds with, "You know, I've always wanted to be cast as a hero, just once. But there are no heroes or villains here. This time I'll be the one who stays on stage till the very end!" He now disregards the notion of labels and is only committed to being the one that puts an end to Idia's machinations.

This point is even further driven home when we see old!Vil, the result of him diving into Tartarus to pull Idia out. Though his dorm members are shocked to see their glamourous leader in this state, Vil laughs it off and announces, without hesitation: "Even though I'm grimy, withered, and emaciated... At this exact moment, I am the fairest one of all." This parallels the words Rook imparted onto him at the end of book 5. ("Even if you wind up old, emaciated, grimy, and stooped over... [...] At this exact moment, you are the fairest one of all.")

It's a complete reversal of Vil OBing. Back in book 5, Vil went mad because he realized his jealous actions made him hideous (even if he still physically looks young and conventionally attractive). But now, in book 6, Vil is content in knowing that his heroic actions make him absolutely beautiful (even if he stands there, old and grey). It doesn't matter what he looks like on the outside, or what other people think of him--because Vil has learned to love himself and to stay true to his principles.

He is deserving of standing on that stage with everyone else. He is human, like everyone else. He’s not THE Vil Schoenheit anymore, he’s… just Vil. This also shows in vulnerable moments late game, like him squealing from excitement at the end of book 6 or screaming in fear in book 7. He still has the image of a celebrity to maintain, but he’s now allowing himself to be less of that “perfect” person, at least around his peers. I believe this is what Vil’s dream in book 7 reinforces. This is most exemplified when Vil faces his OB self and announces, “Oh… This is deplorable. I’m so steeped in envy and resentment there isn’t a trace of beauty to be found. But I won’t turn away from it any longer. I accept this nauseatingly ugly part part of myself. This is… the real me.” I won't get into the details of that dream, since I assume you've played it + it would just repeat what I've already gone over in this post. That’s honestly what most (if not all) of the book 7 dreams do, try to summarize their personal issues, how the dream attempts to placate them with convenient falsehoods, and then have the dreamers confront those falsehoods with what they’ve learned through their own arcs.

[eveningdawn222]

something about how "wholesome" batfam aus where jason and bruce have a good relationship inherently require jason to be portrayed as overreacting and hysterical when he returns. something about how the lazarus pit madness trope gives people an excuse to make this palatable. of course he wasn't in his right mind when he did those things, but he's all better now :) it's so silly how angry he was :)

something about how jason has to grovel for forgiveness at tims feet "oh im sooo sorry for trying to kill you (lmao) i was sooo crazy" and tim can then be magnanimous and forgive him because he wasn't in the right state of mind. tim is such a vulnerable little kid (at most 2 years younger than jason) and jason is a grown ass man (was in a comatose state for a couple of those years but who cares) so obviously tim is gonna be soooo traumatized and he's gonna flinch when the big bad man comes near him :( he's a badass vigilante who is smarter and better than everyone but he's also a traumatized little baby who everyone needs to be super nice to :(

something about how tim gets to be a kid, how tim gets to be a victim, how tim gets an apology and groveling and guilt and jason gets -

what? bruce telling him he loved him? a hug and a moment of vulnerability and jason having to split himself open to be dissected by the whole family. jason having to laugh at jokes about his death, jason having to be the one to reach out and admit he was wrong and crazy and totally out of his mind, while bruce can just grunt and give him a hug.

people want bruce to be a good dad because it doesn't feel good for him to be abusive. but by shoving him into these roles, jason's own story becomes unmoored. what would jason have to be angry about? bruce is trying his best! jason is being unreasonable, he's destroying this family, he just needs to realize that while bruce isn't always perfect, he's in the right and jason just needs to -

isn't it funny? how it's never your fathers fault? how it's always on the child when the relationship sours? isn't it funny, how you can slit your child's throat, and it'll be okay after you apologize?

something about how jason todd is a woman and a child and a victim and a son and a brother and a monster.

something about how the only thing jason todd ever did right was die. and how much it must fucking hurt to sit at a dinner table and laugh when someone makes a joke about it.

[quarterlifekitty]

cooking was mentioned but I kind of wonder how the cod men would react to reader bringing them cookies/some sort of pastry they know they like. Ive also had the idea of price getting turned on watching reader knead bread dough stuck in my head for some reason.. or ghost coming home to the smell of freshly baked pie (or something similarly wholesome) with blood still caked under his nails.... wrapping those large hands around my waist while i'm making the crust.. ughhh..sorry just- housewife reader who bakes treats and takes care of and dotes on a big military man and gets fucked senseless in return is so stuck in my head.

So I’m going to use this opportunity to speak gratuitously about Ghost’s relationship to food. Others have spoken of it at length before, but hopefully I will be able to add something new!

So we all know that Ghost did not have a happy childhood. He did not grow up in a secure home. He did not grow up with means. He was not nurtured, nor was he nourished. He enlisted at the first opportunity, and I think he nearly cried from being able to eat three, full meals a day that weren’t even that bad.

The next section of his life is a bit better in regards to eating, but not great. He knows where his next meal is coming from, and he doesn’t have to worry about there being enough to eat. He’s a grown man with a paycheck, he can buy food if he likes. But we all know the cafeteria food and MREs are demoralizing. They’re edible, but nothing more than that.

The first time he has leave, has to stare at the walls of his own empty studio and live for himself with the means to go grocery shopping as much as he likes— he’s at a total loss. No one ever taught him what he should be eating. No one ever showed him how to wash mushrooms. How to cut against the grain of a cut of beef. How to separate an egg yolk from the white. How to reduce a sauce. How to make sure scrambled eggs don’t overcook by taking the pan off of the heat.

So he starts very small. Eats like a college student. Lots of microwave shit. Works up to cooking himself some eggs. Almost moans at how good they are when it’s freshly cooked, on toast, and there’s no eggshell in it, and no one is yelling at him while he eats, he doesn’t have to hurry and get moving— it’s a really beautiful feeling he’s never gotten.

And maybe he had a neighbor at this time. Some older woman who noticed that the apartment that sat dormant most of the year had an occupant. One that still looked like a kid. Wore fatigues. Clearly didn’t have a family to go home to, if he was hanging around here on his shore time.

So she starts feeding him. Giving him a portion of what she makes for her own family. Casserole, cakes, stroganoff— anything. And Ghost will never forget that. The unparalleled joy of being given food from someone’s own home. Something they made. Something good. The food always tastes better when it isn’t mass produced. It always tastes better fresh. And it always tastes better when it was made by someone who cares.

The trajectory of his life and career don’t afford him much time. He spends most of his leave time cooking. Experimenting with recipes and learning. But that’s still such a small minority of his life.

When you, the fresh face in the 141 start bringing in food regularly, Gaz jokes that you’re buttering them up— trying to get in their good graces. You’re warned that Ghost is a hard won man. The truth is that no one has really tried home made lemon bars on him before. And they work like a charm.

Maybe a year or two later, you’ve gone on leave for maternity. You’re moved in together. It’s his first deployment without you working at his side. His first time coming home, and actually having someone to come home to.

And the house is alive. He can smell the currant and blueberry pie in the oven. You’re playing music in the kitchen. The house is so warm. There’s an unfolded blanket on the couch. The couch has a spaghetti stain on one of the arm rests.

And you. In loose pants and an even looser shirt with your bump visible. There’s blood under his nails. He smells like sweat and hot old dirt. But here you are, making the perfect nest for him. Not minding when he lays his head on your shoulder, embracing you from behind while you idly check the sauce simmering on the stove.

So are you getting fucked tonight? Baby, you’re getting fucked while that pie is on the cooling rack. You are getting railed after dinner and then you’re getting railed after dessert. And then you’re getting pounded in the shower and then he’s taking you in your fucking bed. And if you weren’t pregnant before, you definitely would be now.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

On the topic of Anidala as parents, I think the best and only way we’re supposed to imagine them was that they would’ve been the most loving and doting parents ever. They were so happy and excited upon the news of their pregnancy and were already making plans to raise them away from all the chaos and danger, discussing the gender, and Anakin being protective as he is would never let the Jedi take their babies way from them and of course neither would Padmé. They truly would’ve been the most wholesome family if they had the chance.

[lovesickhughes]

💌 lovebug girldad!jack <3

a/n: thank you for requesting! it's a day late, but what better than to post for mother’s day 💞 i hope you like this! (not edited!)

warnings: mentions of pregnancy!

When you found out you were pregnant, you were beyond ecstatic, it was the best gift you could have ever been given. You couldn't wait to receive ultrasound pictures of the little one growing inside you, or pick out furniture for the nursery Jack and you would soon spend endless hours in, and even though you hadn't met the little bean growing inside you- you were already obsessed.

But, Jack took you by surprise. From the moment you shared the news with him through a thoughtful and wholesome pregnancy announcement, his entire world shifted to being revolved around you.

Whether it was pampering you as your body began to adjust to the growing little one from within, or making your life as easy as possible in unnecessary ways you only scolded Jack for; he had one thing in mind and that was to love you and his child that you were carrying.

So when May came around, Jack's birthday slowly but surely approaching, you slowly began hinting at the fact and trying to see what he wanted as gifts. By this time, you were just past the sixth month mark of your journey carrying your little bean, and the effects of your pregnancy were in full force.

There were times where your head would spin, leaving you disoriented or when your cravings for food felt endless, your hunger being insatiable and what got you the most; the body aches. The added weight of your growing bean weighing stress on your body to limits you thought were non-existent.

But despite all, Jack was your rock. He was the one that grounded you, eased you— supported you in ways you only wish you could repay him for.

The Mother's Day weekend consisted of time being spent in Michigan alongside the Hughes family. Luke spending time with his college friends, Quinn beginning his summer conditioning and training, all the while Jack stayed glued to your side.

You had entered the lake house with Jack's hand never leaving the small of your back or your hip. He was hot on your tail and every chance he could take, he'd be tending to you to ensure you were at maximum comfort.

"Jack, baby, just relax for the night, 'kay? I'm all good." You assured as you ran your hand through his brown curls, pushing them away from his forehead.

Jack leaned down to place a kiss to your temple, throwing an arm across the back of the couch to rest behind your frame before shifting in his spot to become more comfortable.

"I know, I know. Just wanna make sure you're comfortable."

It was a rainy evening, which meant the night would be spent indoors watching movies with the fireplace on while the sound of the rain hitting the glass window echoed through the house.

You were spread along the length of the couch, tucked into Jack's side with a soft, fluffy blanket rested over your legs to give you the extra warmth. Jack's other hand— not around your shoulder— found its way to your bump, slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of your shirt and drew endless shapes with his fingertips along your skin.

It was his way of talking to his little girl, who didn't know it yet, but absolutely rocked his world.

When you found out the baby was going to be a girl— celebrated with a group of close friends and family— the memory of Jack screaming of joy and immediately enveloping you into his embrace would forever be etched into your mind.

The feeling of Jack's hands against your bump sent shivers through your system. It was enough to excite you while also relax you and lull you into a trance that you never wanted to leave.

The movie played lowly on the TV planted on the wall, all the while you felt your eyes begin to grow heavy, the warmth being emitted between Jack's and your bodies causing you to feel sleep creeping upon you.

Suddenly, as if a lightbulb had switched in your mind, you turned your head to look at Jack, his eyes meeting yours as you shifted against him— sitting straighter.

"What do you want for your birthday? I know you've been kinda brushing it off, but I wanna do something for you." You urged, your hand reaching to rest on his forearm of the arm that was rested against your stomach.

He shook his head, closing his eyes and sliding his hand to the side of your torso, caressing the skin. "Baby, I told you, I don't need anything. I'm perfectly content just spending the day with you."

You groan, rolling your eyes playfully, "You're such a sweetheart, but c'mon. You've been doing so much for me lately, I wanna return the favour— pay you back." You press, trying to urge your favourite brunette to hint at some of the things he'd want for his special day.

As if it were instinct, his hand reached to cup your jaw, pulling you into a sweet, warm and slow kiss, his hand pushing to interlock between the strands of your hair.

When he pulled away, he only softly smiled, eyes tired and cheeks rosy with warmth. He then looked down to your bump that separated you from being chest to chest against him, his smile growing wider as he pushed the fabric of your top away to expose the soft skin of your belly where your little bean resided.

"Y/n, you carrying my daughter— my first-born daughter— is all I could ever wish for for my birthday. You being our little bean's mother is what I want." He admitted, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

"Jack—” You tried to protest, only to be interrupted.

"I know you think I'm going overboard, but I just want things to be as easy as they can for you. I can only imagine what it's like for you, to be caring our child. You're my only birthday wish because you're gifting me with the greatest thing to ever happen to us," He said, gesturing to your stomach, his hand splaying across the expanse of your stomach.

As if on queue, the fluttering feeling you had started to notice not long ago, sparked again and you watched as your stomach moved against Jack's hand. Your little bean letting both of you know she could hear you.

Immediately, Jack's gaze lightened, his eyes widened, mouth slowly agape as he inhaled sharply at the sensation.

"Did you feel that?" Jack asked eagerly, sliding his hand across your skin to search for more areas where he could feel bean kicking.

You let out a chuckle, your own hand reaching to cup Jack's jaw, "Yes, honey, I did." You smiled sweetly.

Jack kissed you feverishly, his excitement radiating off of his bones.

"That's our little girl in there." He said softly as he pulled away from your lips. He squirmed against your body, shifting so that he was laying across the cushion of the couch to have his face opposite your stomach.

He peppered kisses against your torso as you watched him intently, so enamoured with the way he treated you and bean.

"If you can hear me, bean— you are the best thing that's ever happened to me," He whispered against your skin, his voice vibrating the surface of your skin.

You lightly tapped his head, silently shunning him, "That, and your mom are the best things."

[bks-writing-adventures]

Little Dancer (Aemond Targaryen X Lannister! Reader)

Summary: A wholesome little journey between the first time Aemond met his wife to the birth of their children.

Warnings: Mentions of childbirth, brief mentions of sex.

Aemond never thought he would be a father. He never even thought he would get married, until you came around at a ball. He forgot what it was, a name day of his nephews? Some celebration for his parents marriage? None of it mattered, because he sat still at his family table, watching the room dance and watching lords get drunk and stupid. And all of a sudden you had blocked his view, your hands on either side of his plate. 

“Do all Princes sit pouting at balls?” You asked. The question flustered him, his one eye meeting yours. It was like you were challenging him, and the thought made his heart spin in his chest. 

“Only when he has no one to dance with.” He answered. The words magically came to him, and he held his breath as he had waited for you to respond. 

“It is a good thing I am here then, is it not? Or would you rather sit here, eating scraps and wishing to be elsewhere?” You were so teasing- so confident, and before he knew it, his hand was wrapped around yours, and you were walking backward as you dragged him to the dancefloor. He did not have the time to be self conscious, and he could no longer let his eye wander as his hands landed on yours, spinning you, watching how your skirts swished and your hair got fluffy and frizzed. 

“So who are you, my little dancer?” He asked softly, holding you closer to him. You were warm, and he couldn’t tell what was making his heart pound. Your presence or the wine, or maybe an intoxicating blend of both.

 “(Y/N) Lannister,” You answered, licking your lips as the song ended. “If you wish to get to know me, we should move somewhere quieter,” You said gently, and he smiled as his eye wandered. 

“I know a place,” He said softly, his arm linked with yours as he carefully lead you out and into the gardens. It was quite the scandalous thing, he was well aware- but he didn’t care enough to stop. His brother was far from proper, he was a criminal and a disappointment. Speaking to a pretty girl in the garden would not be the worst crime. The garden hiccuped with the sounds of grasshoppers and frogs, and you smiled at the sound. 

“Do you know what that sound is?” You asked softly, and he gave you a curious look as you walked further into the great land of flowers. 

“Frogs,” He said simply, to which you nodded. 

“Mating frogs. Do you know how many eggs a frog can lay at once?” You asked.

 “Do you tell everyone your favorite amphibians facts, or am I special?” He smiled a little, trying not to let his interest show on his face. 

“There are facts much more interesting than that,” You answered, and for a few minutes, the two of you simply walked in the quiet. 

“How many eggs can a dragon lay?” You asked. 

“You take an interest in dragons, My Lady?” He asked in return, to which you nodded. He quietly sat on a bench, pulling you down to sit beside him. The moonlight did not do much to guide either of you, but he could make out the bridge of your nose and the slight shine of your eyes in the darkness. “Well, they can lay five, at most.” He responded, wondering if that would be enough for you.

 “Why is that? And what are they like?” You asked, resting your chin on your hand. You had always liked to learn about science, and this was your way in. Into the world of infinite books and knowledge. And he just had such a pretty face, which definitely helped the case. 

“The eggs? They’re hard and large and scaly,” He responded, reaching over to touch your hand. It was a daring move, but he wanted to feel you. In the darkness, touch the soft skin of your hand and wrist, and you didn’t move away.

 “Why is that? Are they not reptiles?” You asked quietly, and he had to lean closer to hear you.

 “Dragons cannot be put into a box, My Lady. They are everything and nothing. No mortal could ever learn to understand them,” He murmured, gently guiding your hand to his mouth so he could kiss it. He wasn’t sure what it was about you that attracted him so. You were just so unconventional, untrained. It was fascinating. 

“Not even Targaryens?” You asked softly as his breath tickled your fingers.

 “Certainly not. We only shout commands and hope they listen,” He chuckled softly. He was about to speak again when a loud shout suddenly broke the walls of intimacy around them. For the love of Gods, this did not look good. He wasn’t sure if he pushed your hand away, or if you pulled it back, but all contact was quickly broken as the two of you rushed to stand up. 

“Aemond, what is the meaning of this?” His mother sounded rather angry. She always was, whenever something like this happened. This was the worst possible time for her to wander over. 

“Mother, I was simply conversing with the Lady Lannister, and-” She cut him off, making his lips purse. 

“Without a chaperone, in the darkness, away from the sights of others? Do you understand how scandalous this is?” As you both shrunk under her lecture, neither of you argued back. And soon enough you and Aemond were sat before his mother and your own as they discussed. 

“We did nothing unholy. We were only speaking of the anatomy of dragons,” You frowned, to which your mother quickly shook her head.

 “Is that what they call it nowadays? This is out of control, and now your honor is ruined,” She huffed, and you stared down boredly at your hands. This is not how you thought your night would go, and the next sentence only made things more bizarre. 

“Her honor is not ruined, and I will ensure it. I intend to make (Y/N) my wife.” Aemond spoke, making your head quickly turn. All arguments died out like a flame without air, his eye soft and apologetic as he looked at you. But neither of you could claim to be mad about it. It was only the Gods’ odd way of making a match, and the next days were full of shy conversation and blushing cheeks, loomed over by your parents as they dissected every interaction.  

“I have a gift for you,” he said softly, pulling out a large book from his bag. It was bigger than your head, and the spine as so thick it could easily be mistaken for a brick. 

“Wow,” You mumbled, trying to read the front cover, but it is not in Common. Your eyes looked to his face, a curious look taking over your own.

 “It is in High Valyrian, its one of the oldest books in our library- well, not that one, that is a copy. The original would crumble like sand in your palms. But the language will be important for you to learn, I thought we could practice together,” He spoke, getting a little shy. It was a sweet sight, and you nodded as he explained. 

“Then you should allow me to teach you some Nyvia.” You responded. His brows scrunched a little. He had never heard of the language in his life.

 “And what is that?” He asked gently, intrigued. He didn’t realize you were bilingual, too.Your children would be an interesting batch. 

“My mothers first language. It is dying out, not many speak it anymore. Are you familiar with the island of Nyav?” You asked, and he nodded slowly. He had read about it in history books. It had been a brilliant place of beautiful plants and even more beautiful people. The stories said that it was lost to the sea, or to conquering, no one was sure. You were like a God of the old world, sitting right before him. 

“She lived there as a young girl, escaped before it disappeared, when she was betrothed to my father. I will admit that my own speaking is messy, but at least it is alive,” You spoke, slowly opening the book he had given you. You squinted a little. The letters were familiar, but the order was unlike anything you had ever seen. The longer he looked at you, the more questions formed in his head. 

“Do you think you have any Valyrian in you?” He asked. Nyvia had belonged to no one at all, no one knew where the people came from, only that they had not been there all along. Perhaps it had begun with Targaryen’s fleeing the Doom, or other Valyrians that escaped to the sea and washed upon its shores. 

“I do not think so. I do not look the part,” You reminded him, watching as his hand inched closer to yours, your fingertips brushing. It was perhaps the most touch you would be allowed until after you were married.

 “White hair does not make a Valyrian. It was only a thought,” He said, gently shrugging. His mind wandered to your children, the ones he would have with you. How many there would be. If they would have hair like yours, or hair like his own. How they would look on dragonback, and if you could all fly together as a family. Vhagar was more than big enough for two. You could hold his waist, and he would fly ahead of the children, and they would follow him like ducklings. Maybe you would have 12 children, one for every moon of the year. He cleared his throat as his mother called for him. Your meeting was done for the day. And when two more moons passed, it was finally your wedding day. Your dress clung to every part of your body, and your hair was covered with a heavy veil, beaded with pearls and gems big enough to pay off an entire house. 

The maids had tried to get you to agree to having pinned hair, or a more tradition style, but you declined. You never liked having too much on you, weighing you down. The air was stuffy with the breath of hundreds, and you tried not to look at the crowd as Aemond stood before you. “Kessa sagon sȳz.  Laesi va nyke.” He murmured softly, and you nodded as your eyes studied his face. He was wearing his fanciest eyepatch. You wondered how many were in his collection, and if you would ever see him without it. If he slept with it on. As you both repeated the words of the Septon, and it came time for the kiss- you stared at each other for a long, awkward few seconds, trying to figure out which one of you would lean in first. You may have been brave enough to approach him that first night, when he was just a sulking stranger. But now things were so much bigger. You had an audience. 

Finally, once he accepted you would not be the one to do it, he leaned down to press a brief, awkward kiss on your mouth, and you both parted with small, sheepish smiles. Once you were at your table, you both let out deep breaths from your lungs, and finally,you could curl up together, your arms looped around his as you giggled into his sleeve. “That was unbearable,” Your words were light, but the hit was strong, and he chuckled awkwardly. He had hoped the kiss was not that bad. But he felt a wave of uncertainty rushing into him. The first kiss was supposed to be magical, like you were bathing in fire and pureness and all that was good. But it felt like a child smushing two dolls together. 

He only hoped that with time, things would get better. And oh, how they certainly did. The bedchamber was full of soft sounds, and for every moan came ten laughs and raised brows. “Mm.. you sound like you are being murdered,” He murmured into your shoulder, and you smiled as you squeeze his hand. 

“And you sound like you’ve run 30 miles,” You responded as he panted onto your skin. 

“Oh, hush,” He smiled, gently biting your neck. 

“Little vampire,” You mumbled before he gently guided your face down to a pillow. He did not expect anything to come of your night of teasing and touch, but when six weeks had passed, he woke in the morning to you squirming from his arms. 

“It is too early for you to wake.” He grumbled. He had been an early bird before your marriage, before he was up into the early hours of dawn inside you, kissing you, teaching you High Valyrian as you tried to teach him Nyvia. 

“Yoane,” He spoke, and you shook your head. 

“Yo-awn-ee.” You repeated, and he tried once more.

 “Yoane,” He nodded, and you groaned into your hands.You were trying to teach him the words for love, your face pink with laughter. But as you rushed to the bathroom, your face took on an almost gray hue, and he found himself holding your hair in a big bundle as you spittled into the chamberpot, your belly soft and your nose sensitive. You were with child, or perhaps three or four, for when you reached your second trimester, you were a giant.

 “Mmm… you are like a dragon,” He mumbled as he kissed upon your stretched skin. 

“How so?” You asked softly, caressing his hair as his cheek pressed onto your belly. 

“You are going to lay a whole clutch. You must have three or four in here,” He marveled at the size of you, and you rolled your eyes.

 “I am telling your mother that you said that,” You responded, making his brows scrunch together.

 “You would not dare.” In the months of your marriage, Queen Alicent had grown quite attached to you. While she loved her son, she had always found him to be rather an intense man. She wasn’t afraid of him, no, but she never thought he would find marriage. Find joy. She thought he would grow old and become a knight or a philosopher, and she was quite pleased with you for bringing out these new parts of him. And so, if she learned of his comments of your size, she would beat him messy with a sock. When you were finally about to burst at the seams, you learned that there were things far more stressful than a wedding day. It was like everyone wanted to see your baby plop out, Alicent walking the room as they propped your legs off. 

“Would you mind leaving the room? This is a rather private matter,” Aemond spoke to his mother in a hushed voice, to which she gently shook her head.

 “And I am to be the grandmother of this child. I am close family, am I not? This is a huge deal for you, my youngest son having his first child!!” She gushed, and you shifted uncomfortably.

 “It may be hours before the baby arrives,” You groaned quietly, pushing the small wooden tools away from your legs. “I do not wish for too many to see my blood and my mess,” Your eyes held a certain fire, and your jaw clenched, and slowly her face filled with an understanding, nodding slowly. You were no Rhaenyra, and you were no enemy. You were her daughter in law, the wife of her youngest son. And so quietly, she left the room, leaving you to the midwives, the maesters, and your husband.

 “Perhaps you would like to leave, My Prince. It is not necessary for the husband to stay,” One of the Maesters spoke, to which you quickly shouted. 

“If you leave me I will ensure that you never get to hold the baby.” You said quickly. 

“I would not dream of it, my dearest,” He responded, coming closer so you could hold his hand. Several hours passed of loud noises and angry shouts, little crescent moons cut into his hand from your grasp. Child after child escaped your womb, until a whole batch of seven was swaddled. The midwives had to call for backup to tend to all the children, each of them around five pounds. It was a concerning miracle, and Aemond’s eye widened as he stared at all the squirming infants.

 “By the seven..” He murmured, quite literally. A child for every god. What a miracle it was. His heart fluttered with fear as he reached out to one of the infants, the only girl, her hand slowly curling around his finger. It was beautiful and scary all at once, like a comet scratching the sky. It was all so very real all of a sudden, his breath catching in his throat as his eye watered.

 “Are they all healthy?” You asked softly, sitting up slowly, your hands curling up. “Yes,” One of your handmaids quickly told you. 

“Small but mighty, they are all warm and crying,” She spoke, wiping sweat from your face. You smiled, taking a deep breath, your eyes slightly puffy as two of the babies were placed on your chest. Two of the boys, one with hair like your own, and the other with a head of snow, little curls still damp from birth. “Look at his little swirly wirlies.” You mumbled, and Aemond chuckled as he leaned over, two of the babies in his own arms. One with gingery Hightower hair, the other with hair like his own. What the litter you had. “How many girls?” You asked softly, reaching to gently take the blankets off, but Aemond answered you before you had to use your energy. 

“Just the one,” He said softly, placing her on your belly. The two of you laid in the bed for hours, covered in babies on every limb and surface. It was a mess, a loud swarm of little coos and crying. But neither of you had ever been happier. Aemond never thought he’d be a good father, but he sure could do his best.

Thank you to everyone who reads!! Feel free to send in requests :)

-BK ♡

[bbokicidal]

Marriage? Marriage. | Maknae Line! SKZ [OT8]

Genre : Fluff Warnings : None Pairing : Maknae Line SKZ x Fem!Reader

Notes : Ever wondered what your wedding would be like with SKZ? How they would propose? What their tux/outfit would look like? Your ring? The venue? Well I've got it all right here! (Completely w/ photo references!)

Other Notes : This is just how i picture things going down/looking. If you disagree or have other opinions, that's totally fine! But please don't go in the comments complaining it isn't how you pictured it. If you don't like it, scroll past. Thank you!

Jisung

The Proposal : Jisung is the one to make a big spectacle of it, creating an entire song to ask you to marry him in front of the guys. He does it at the venue for their concert during soundcheck so it's a little more personal, wanting you to be there for what he's calling 'practice' so you can hear and critique his new song. Or that's what he says - it's really just a massive proposal. He even gets Chan and Minho to run down the stage throwing flower petals in the air while he sings.

The Venue : Nothing too fancy. He wants it to be personal between just your families (and the guys, of course.) So he chooses a smaller venue with plenty of floral decorations to satisfy the both of you. He lets you pick out the colors however, agreeing that a nice muted purple would be a good mix between casual and elegant.

First Look : Oh, he bawls. He's on his knees the moment he turns around, tears streaking down round cheeks and hands covering his mouth in admiration. You have to cup his face and pull him up - but the photographer gets a perfect picture of you two kissing while Jisung bawls his eyeballs out at how beautiful you look.

His Best Man : Minho. (We all saw that coming.)

Felix

The Proposal : Felix takes you to his childhood home to do it. It's bigger than expected (because he came from a pretty well off family,) and still as wonderful as he remembers growing up. His family tags along to witness it all, but they aren't even aware of the proposal and his sisters are screaming before you are when they see him get down on one knee. Very romantic, very wholesome - biggest ring you've ever seen.

The Venue : Massive venue, very fairytale-esque. He wants it to be grand, as perfect as you are. He falls in love with the ballroom feel of the venue and his mind is made up the moment he steps inside to check it out for the first time. "It's perfect," He'll nod, later admiring how it looks with all of the decorations the two of you had picked out. The theme comes out to a soft pale blue and white.

First Look : He doesn't want to do a first look, but he lets the guys go and see you. His heart slams in his chest the moment Chris comes back with rosy cheeks, exclaiming how beautiful you looked and how Felix had gotten oh-so lucky to be with you. Of course, he tears up a bit and maybe bawls a little when he sees you walking down the aisle.

His Best Man : Jisung.

Seungmin

The Proposal : He's the one to do it on stage. Unexpected, right? He wants to make it memorable for everyone - especially you. He'll ask you to come out, take your hand the moment you enter the stage and then walk with you to the middle to give the most heartwarming and sincere speak you've heard since their Maniac tour. "I said once that I didn't believe in the word 'forever,' but... in this moment, I want to believe I'll be with you for eternity."

The Venue : Also something bigger. Plenty of room to hold many guests but not as grand of a venue as Felix's pick. It's outdoors, for one, the theme of the wedding a warm green with pale pinks and roses speckled in for accent. He lets you do most of the decorating because he trusts you with it, but he will give you his input if you ask for it. However, his favorite thing about the venue has to be the archway he'll marry you under.

First Look : Oh he's getting a first look. He's a bit impatient the day of and asks to see you as soon as possible, only to be met with your arms wrapping around him from behind. He'll sink into your embrace before turning to look at you, backing away only so he can take in the full view. He'll even ask you to do a little spin, holding your hand with care and smiling at how beautiful you are.

His Best Man : Jeongin.

Jeongin

The Proposal : It just sort of... falls out of his mouth. You're having dinner with the group out at a nicer restaurant and he's sitting at your side, seeming a bit distracted and distant. Lost in thought, he snaps back into his own mind before murmuring a soft, "Do you want to get married?" as he looks over. It catches you by surprise, especially when he pulls a velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring. He couldn't find the perfect way to do it, and he grew impatient with himself - so he just asked.

The Venue : He lets you pick it out, with you settling on a smaller church that gave the most basic, traditional wedding possible - which is how he preferred it, if he were honest. He liked how it felt normal, like he was just another person existing in the universe. Nothing too special, nothing too grand. Just... normal and perfect for you two.

First Look : His first look is during pictures, and as he sees you coming up to him he's all full of giggles and bouncy excitement. He turns away to whisper to Seungmin how he's not sure how he bagged such a baddie, before turning back to gather himself and hold your hands while telling you how beautiful you are. Absolute menace even during his own wedding but he's doing his best.

His Best Man : Technically? Seungmin. But he gives each member of the group a special Boutonniere because in his mind, they're all the best. He wants all of his hyungs involved in his wedding.

[winningmymind]

(wholesome twinyard, Andrew brotherly jealous)

Bee can tell that Andrew's upset. He hasn't touched his hot cocoa, even when she added jumbo marshmallows and whipped cream with chocolate syrup drizzle to sweeten his increasingly bitter mood. Whatever happened to him earlier today, concerned Andrew enough to text Bee for an emergency session.

One without Aaron involved. Although it seems Aaron is the cause for Andrew needing to speak to her immediately in private.

"Are you feeling alright, Andrew?" Bee's voice is professional with a hint of sincerity that Andrew respects and is endeared to.

"No."

His arms are crossed and his lips are the closest they've ever been to a pout. Bee thinks this is the most child-like Andrew's looked since she's known him and if Neil were here, they'd both agree that the Foxes goalie appears rather cute at current.

"Why aren't you alright, Andrew?"

It takes ten solid minutes of silence before Bee's given an answer.

"Some guy in the cafeteria called Aaron his brother." Andrew sounds borderline disdainful at the recollection.

Bee's eyebrows shoot up at the tone and her hand scribbles on a blank notepad page.

"Some guy? Do you know his name?"

"Andy Mathers. Senior. Pre-med. Hockey team. Tall. Filthy rich. Fratboy." Andrew curtly rattles off, really showcasing his criminal justice major skills.

"I see you've done your research." Bee curves her lips into a fond smile. She digs a little deeper at the reveal. "This Andy is in a fraternity, you said?"

"Wants Aaron to exclusively join his cult of uppity scholars. Something about med and pre-med students with high GPAs getting connections and resources to help them in fancy pants doctor land. Blah blah blah. Boring."

Andrew's stellar memory can't stop replaying how it all went down in the cafeteria a few short hours ago. The Monsters met up for lunch. Aaron arrived at the table last with this damn Andy (short for Andrew as well, gross) following behind him like a devoted puppy.

Andy kept praising Aaron for passing an infamously difficult exam from an equally vile professor with flying colors and how he's just the man they've been looking for to represent their frat's ethics and image. Started mentioning how if Aaron pledged, he could be the "little brother" to Andy's "big brother", and they'd have this unbreakable forever bond that no one would understand but them. Planned to take Aaron under his wing and care for him just like family.

"Clearly Andy bothers you a great deal," Bee's voice pauses the loop in Andrew's traitorous brain. "Why does Andy potentially forming an academic relationship with Aaron bother you?"

Andrew narrows his eyes. If it weren't Bee he was directly looking at and if Bee wasn't comfortable around him, one would think his visage promised violence.

"Aaron doesn't need anymore brothers. He has me. Just me." Andrew states matter of fact.

"Oh. Hmm. I see."

Bee observes Andrew finally pop a marshmallow into his mouth. By now the hot cocoa's gone lukewarm and the whipped cream looks less glamorous. She runs through some ideas in her head for Andrew to process this situation better. This is a first that Andrew is claiming Aaron as his brother only and no one else's. A far cry from calling Aaron, along with the rest of the Monsters, as his in a possessive manner.

He obviously values the title Aaron has as his brother and identical twin, maybe demands the same in return, and in Bee's opinion Andrew most likely feels insulted that an outsider thinks they can walk in uninvited to forge a cherry picked siblingship.

"Even if it's fraternity brothers? In spirit? That's no good?"

Andrew shakes his head. "Andy and whoever the fuck else doesn't meet the requirements."

"Requirements? Care to explain?"

Andrew lists off his fingers.

"We share the same blood, same pathetic birth giver, and same annoying cousin. If your last name isn't Minyard, it won't ever count. Makes it pointless to be brothers. Bonus that we share the same face too."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"No room for exceptions?"

"None."

"Tell me, Andrew. Have you ever felt jealousy?"

He grows awfully quiet. Which isn't abnormal for him. She can tell he's contemplating.

"I believe you're experiencing that right now."

Andrew slightly tilts his head.

"Explain."

"Well, you called for an emergency session. You expressed that you don't like the idea of Andy gaining Aaron's affection as a frat brother. You made up excuses to reject Andy on Aaron's unknowing behalf."

Bee let's her words settle in before picking back up at Andrew's insistent, "Keep talking."

"At any point when you first saw Aaron and Andy together, did Aaron ever give off signs that he is seriously considering Andy's offer? To become brothers in a sense? Any open body language or words humoring Andy even?"

Andrew doesn't speak for five minutes. Then, he slowly answers, "No. Aaron told him to fuck off."

"Interesting." Bee smiles at the almost pleased and smug tone Andrew has about Aaron's blatant refusal. "So, we are to assume that Aaron could care less about becoming a fratbro, in particular, Andy's pledging little brother."

Andrew leans back in his chair, not up to talking at the moment, only up for listening, and Bee freely gives her perspective.

"You're being irrational, Andrew, and that's due to feeling insecure, which is a normal reaction people have about those they see as loved ones potentially slipping away. Initially, Aaron was the one who reached out to you, chose you, wanted you both to be brothers regardless of circumstances. He easily could've went about his business, knowing your existence, never once trying to get you in his life and you'd be nonethewiser. Instead, he made a deal to keep you by his side, Andrew. It was a choice. His choice. You were wanted. A family member wanted you."

Bee watches Andrew for any minute change of expression before continuing.

"Now, this random Andy Mathers comes into the picture. Offering brotherhood much like Aaron did for you. And Aaron's in your former position all those years ago, having the option to choose Andy back, like how you chose Aaron back. The Minyard twins sticking together through college. Except..."

Andrew waits for Bee to assess him some more.

"This is different than what you and Aaron have. Andy toying with the idea of adopting Aaron into his fold. They share a common goal to become doctors, and that means they could have more similar interests, the kind that binds people together perhaps closer than those they share blood with. Am I striking a nerve?"

"Several." Andrew's blunt about it.

She can always put his conflicted thoughts and sentiments into words he can't say. Bee sets aside her notepad.

"All you need to do is remember that no matter what, you and Aaron will always be brothers. No one can take that from you two. Here, Andrew. I have some exercises for you to do that'll reinforce how Aaron won't replace you with Andy Mathers, or that Andy Mathers won't take Aaron from you."

And so, much to his chagrin, Andrew obliges Bee if it means he can stay in control of his emotions.

-----

Aaron finds it very weird that Andrew is more present in his life than usual. He thought joint therapy with Bee, mandatory Exy practice with the Foxes, and the weekly trip to Columbia would be it for them as far as acknowledging the other exists. Now, whenever Aaron’s done with his last class of the day, Andrew’s there waiting across the lecture hall or lab doorway leaning on the wall, and they'll walk to the dorms together.

It takes Aaron by surprise every single time. Mostly because of Andrew's clear, direct commands the moment he's aware Aaron notices him from the throng of rushing pre-med students.

“Hang out with me.” Words Aaron least expected to hear from his twin.

Feels like Aaron's being hunted, how well Andrew can catch him off guard with unforced honesty that Aaron didn't have to pull teeth to get. In his own Andrew way, Aaron supposes, his twin is specifically seeking his attention and it freaks him out so much he internally copes by viewing Andrew as a science experiment, thinking it'll ease the new tension developing between them.

“Video game.” Andrew would say after ambushing Aaron yet again at the end of the day and Aaron quickly deciphered the non-descriptive meanings in due time.

When Andrew simply says “video game” it means he and Aaron are to solve a horror puzzle game all night until completion. Sleep be damned and junk food their only nutrition. Nicky is not to participate, it must solely be a twin activity.

When Andrew says “nap” it means he is ordering a fatigued Aaron to take a break from studying and come nap with him. Basically letting the other Monsters know that the Minyard twins have commandeered the bean bags and that they will be murdered gruesomely if their nap time is disturbed.

When Andrew says “ice cream” it means Aaron is driven off campus to the recently opened ice cream shop where they eat so much they get sick and it's only them enjoying the array of flavors. They deem it worth the hassle, sharing petty amusement at Nicky whining about the rise of blatant favoritism within their circle while Kevin scolds the twins’ poor diet, and Neil is hilariously stressed at Aaron lording over knowing a secret place that Andrew refuses to take his junkie to.

A few weeks later of this routine, Aaron dares to assume that he and Andrew are… bonding? Getting closer? They're something, alright.

“Back from Twin Time already?” Neil and Nicky have evilly coined Andrew and Aaron's hanging out. If they weren't invited, then they'd be bitchy about it.

“Shut up!” Aaron stomps off, hurrying to his dorm room, avoiding Neil and Nicky's teasing.

Andrew doesn't seem bothered by it, even getting in on the joke by texting or telling Aaron “twin time” so he knows to drop everything and look at his twin's face. Like a bat signal summoning Aaron.

Aaron gets more confused by the day, though he can't say he's not pleased at their improving relationship.

Then Andy shows up again begging that Aaron re-considers about pledging the frat.

“It'll be worthwhile! I promise you that.” Andy has no idea he's on a landmine.

The cousins, Kevin, and Neil are on their way to Columbia when Andy approaches them in the parking lot.

“No means no.” Aaron rolls his eyes.

Kevin and Neil keep walking to the car. Nicky and Andrew come to a stop, sizing Andy up. Since Aaron first brought him around, Nicky has let all the Foxes know of his lust towards Andy and how it's a shame Aaron doesn't swing.

“I wouldn't mind being in a house full of men!” Nicky proposes with a flirty smile.

“Hello to you, too, Nicky.” Andy nods politely.

Andrew takes a step closer to be side by side with Aaron. He darkens his eyes, coldly gazing.

“Aren't frats known to drug people and be shady? They get away with more crime, too, right?” Andrew tilts his head at Andy, enjoying making the older man squirm at the scrutiny.

Aaron scoffs. Pot calling kettle black. The Monsters have the same reputation, it's just among the Foxes gossip.

“If you're worried about Aaron's safety, don't. I'm a pretty big deal. I'll protect him.” Andy tries to schmooze, putting on a charming smile that'd woo donors and win parents over, hoping Nicky and Andrew are the same saps and can convince Aaron to change his mind.

Andrew subtly does some breathing techniques, part of the exercises Bee taught him, because he has the urge to reach for his knife and carve Andy like a pumpkin.

“Aaron doesn't need you to protect him.”

And Andrew really wants to claim that he is Aaron's protector. That he's kept Aaron alive even from his own self-destruction. That only he is his brother's keeper. But Bee would call that regression so instead Andrew claws his way to maturity despite making his skin crawl.

“Aaron can protect himself just fine. He doesn't need anyone like you watching his back.”

Probably the first genuine compliment Andrew says aloud about Aaron's capabilities. Nicky is shocked, a bit teary eyed and sentimental and honored to be a witness to this. Aaron's eyes widen and his jaw drops, looking at Andrew like he grew a second head.

Andy awkwardly clears his throat being on the receiving end of Andrew's mild aggression.

“Y-Yes, Aaron is popular among the biochem department for his resilience.” Andy barges on. “Did you know he has a fan club?”

“He does?!” Nicky squeals.

“I do?” Aaron can't keep having whiplash or he'll hurt his neck.

“They do?!” Nicky snaps his head to Andrew along with Aaron.

“Of course I know.”

Andrew always knows what type of people Aaron attracts, murder case or not. His twin's useless at recognizing that people admire him from afar (having Andrew in proximity fuels the distance also).

“We look alike. Sometimes his fan club mistakes me for him.”

Andrew looks bored. “Yeah. They're not that smart for future doctors. Thinking I'm Aaron and confessing their undying love or whatever. I'm constantly reminding them that the only pre-med I tolerate dating Aaron is the cheerleader. Anyone else can go six feet under.”

“You threatened my classmates?” Aaron can't believe this, smacking a hand to his forehead.

“The real question is why are your classmates wannabe homewreckers? Aren't you in a supposedly happy relationship? Unless you and the cheerleader are finally breaking up.” Andrew is unapologetic as ever.

Andy watches the back and forth. He dons a strange expression. Aaron comes to realize later that Andy looked resigned.

“Well, I'm here if you decide frat life is for you Aaron. Just figured since you go clubbing religiously, you'd like to host the parties of the year too. I'll let you get back to your family. See you in class.”

Andrew feels accomplished observing Andy getting the hell away from them. Nicky's saddened that he's lost another pretty face to gawk at. They resume walking to the car. Nicky merrily climbs in, but Andrew halts Aaron, leaning in to whisper in his twin's ear.

“You really wanna be Andy's little brother? He can get you a lot farther with his support?”

Aaron is startled for a third time tonight and his brain clicks it together when he glances at Andrew's face.

Oh. So it's like that then. Aaron's science experiment of a clone has revealed stunning test results.

“You're already a pain in the ass, Andrew. Why the fuck would I want more brothers? One is enough.”

Andrew relaxes a bit knowing what Aaron means instantly. Man, he simultaneously loves and hates when Bee's right on the money.

Nicky, Kevin, and Neil (all nosy) peer out from the cracked car window.

“Thank fuck we're only children.”

[nonbinarypirat]

physical affection and how it relates to iruma: part 1, parental touch

iruma reads as someone who is touch starved and doesn't like/understand touch until he now has affectionate people in his life. His parents have probably never touched him besides the required amount when he was a baby and maybe a headpat or quick hug (which would more than likely just be a manipulation tactic to get him to do their crazy schemes). They left him alone for days on end, there's no way they even could have been affectionate with him. And it's not like he ever went to school, his "friends" at school couldn't even remember him because of how many days he missed.

Overall, Iruma reads as touch starved but doesn't know he's missing it since he never had it to begin with. Here comes the love trio, the misfit class, Balam and more. Suddenly he has a lot of people in his life who are comfortable with touching him, even want to as a sign of how close they are. And we can see iruma very much becomes happy with it in turn.

That's why Balam and iruma's relationship is important, a parental type person he trusts is actively choosing to be affectionate with him, not to manipulate him but just because he cares about iruma. He even told him the reason is just to bond and get to know iruma, not some sort of underhanded method. This is just Balam's way of connecting. And they are close to each other enough to be comfortable in each other's spaces. Whether Iruma reads balam as a parent or not, balam is very much like a momma bird, keeping him close and safe in his arms. And Iruma becomes more open to it as time goes on with them knowing more about the other.

This is also a great dynamic because balam gives him the affection that he doesn't recieve from kalego, someone he clearly holds in high regard. Almost every time iruma reflects on the people that matter the most to him, kalego is there. which i find fascinating because what is kalego to iruma? on a subconscious level, i think he views kalego as a parental figure to him as well, one of the first to give him clear and concise rules to follow. his parents were just a fucking mess, they barely parented. never really taught him life lessons besides "just say yes" and "run." Kalego clearly cares a lot while also helping iruma navigate the netherworld making it easy for him to project a father role onto kalego

But kalego isn't an affectionate man from what we have seen. And even if he was, he is his instructor first and foremost so he may not feel comfortable being so with iruma (and also imagine the fucking annoying comments about favoritism from the other misfits LOL). Any touching has been fairly limited to him picking up Iruma like during the teacher dorm visits and Kalego's final hours as a familiar. Which honestly make these few scenes even more precious. Because he is actively choosing to be like this with Iruma. Affection does not come easy to Kalego like it does Balam. More than likely because of his upbringing and family beliefs (always needing to remain vigilant, dignified) and him as a person. So while he doesn't touch Iruma often, his one on one moments with him are extremely personal and parental in nature. And when he does interact with Iruma physically, the rarity adds to the specialness.

And then there's Opera. Opera has been especially more affectionate in the latest volumes with hand holding and hugs and all sort of touching. Which is very wholesome to see because Opera wasn't a character that had much of a strong relationship with Iruma at the beginning besides guarding him. I always got the impression that Opera didn't know how to feel about him, not to say they wouldn't protect him with everything they have. But the feelings and affection started up after the battler/batra Party when Iruma grabbed both Sullivan and Opera (though the care for him had been growing steadily before that). I have seen two main headcannons for their relationship, some see it more as a big sibling relationship while others see it as a parental one as well. For the sake of this post, I will be using it as a parent and child one.

Opera has been right there with Sullivan watching Iruma grow more and more confident as time goes on. And through Iruma growing up, we see how proud of him Opera is. From a scared child to a more bold child, Opera has helped cultivate this in him. I also love that whenever Sullivan isn't around, Opera takes over for taking care of him, allowing the two to have solo family time. Obviously their relationship is more of a weird dynamic seeing as how Opera is a security devil, but that doesn't stop the story from developing their relationship. The physical affection for the two is started from both sides, Iruma hugging Opera or Opera holding out their hand to hold as they walk home. In this case, their relationship is the most parent like as the story progresses.

And finally, we have Sullivan who is the most affectionate of the four. Come on, you can't beat grandpa when it comes to love and devotion to Iruma. He is the first one to introduce Iruma to physical affection in the first place. Now granted, in a slightly overbearing way at first because Iruma is not used to this and Sullivan is too happy to have a grandson. But now, we can see the genuineness behind each of his interactions with Iruma. He very much acts like a doting grandfather, and he really does love him too. Touching clearly comes more naturally to him so it's his way of showing Iruma love which opened the doors for more people in Iruma's life to show this too. When Iruma first started touching Sullivan back at the battler/batra party, it highlighted that Iruma is now more comfortable with Sullivan to do so back. He has been taught by Sullivan this way of caring and cares about him in the same way too. There's a lot of mutual love.

They have come a long way as a family unit. Sure, grandpa has always been Iruma's number one supporter, but at the beginning of the story it felt way too over the top? As the audience we were right there besides Iruma in feeling overwhelmed by Sullivan. This far into the story though, the emotional trust they have in each other is beautiful. They are no longer just two individuals thrown together by fate, they are two people who care about the other and their weird little family. And its even more wonderous when we think about Sullivan's past, having lost someone deeply close to him and has no way of knowing if he'll ever return (aka Delkira). From what we know, it seemed that Sullivan truly loved him like a son/grandson/family member and loosing him is still something he's grappling over. And yet, he was still able to create this, push through his pain to make a family with Iruma. He's not a replacement for what he lost, but somone he allows himself to care about in a similar way in the past. By pushing through the trauma, he has been able to give Iruma what he never had in his past life.

I see both Balam, Kalego, and Opera as parents who provide him with different styles of parenting (with grandpa also providing that but also being a "ill give you anything you want" guardian hehe). Through this, he can learn varied viewpoints and, more importantly to this post, the affection he never had as a child. Does it make up for never having grown up with it? No, it never could. But it's not about making up for what it lost, rather its about making new connections and love with what you have now. And displaying that love in small and bigger ways with touch.

[silvercoloredskiess]

Yandere Front Man/In-Ho x Reader (Platonic)

Note: I believe this is my first time writing anything yandere, like ever :P. So I apologize if this is bad. In-Ho struck me as a father-like person and after watching season 2 last month I wanted to write a oneshot about this. I was lightly inspired by some others I saw on here so I don't intend to straight-up copy. Have fun :-)

Reader doesn't have an assumed gender

Warning: Obviously yandere front man as your father, mentions of killing and blood since this is the squid game after all.

Word count: 968 (5,210 characters)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since you were born, your life has never been normal. Not even the slightest. Though your father tried very hard to disguise this as normal, but you knew it wasn't right. From a young age you had been locked up in some strange place you called home. It wasn't exactly the wholesome neighborhood homes full of warmth and smiling families like what you saw on TV; how you wished that was true. It sounded like a dream to be able to go to school, make lifelong friends, potentially find a lover (if that's your thing), and bask in innocence.

Instead you woke up everyday to the same room. Your bedroom was very different from all the other rooms. It was very nicely decorated by your father himself. It was his attempt to make you comfortable when in reality you never fell for his tricks.

Life inside this place wasn't fun at all. You never knew if it even had an exit. You weren't allowed to use any device because you would try to escape. So your days were spent lazing around in your room constantly feeling lonely. You couldn't roam around much around the place, and there were too many restricted areas for you to count. You always had to have meals served to your room and you weren't allowed outside your room past 7 pm.

But those boring and dreary days were nothing compared to the most dreaded times of the year; the annual Squid Games. It was when your 'home' was suddenly added with 456 people, all in green tracksuits. They all looked scared. And it was painful to see what was going to happen to all but one of them. From your room you could hear screaming, gunshots, and the arguing of players between who voted to end the games and those that voted to continue them.

Sometimes your father made you watch these moments, so you constantly flinched or closed your eyes.

"Dad.. why do you make me watch these games? Why do you keep facilitating them year after year!?" You yelled at him.

But your father calmly replied, "Do you think we force all these folks to join the games? They do this on their own. 45.6 billion won won't come by its own. Don't you see they still voted to continue the games despite the consequences? Don't feel bad for them when they wanted this.."

Your eyes widened. "B-but... that doesn't matter! Why don't we give them all some money and they can start living a good life?"

"You're cute" Your father grinned at you. "You've seen how desperate they all get for that prize money. They're all filled with greed and selfishness. Nothing will change that. They all have huge debts to pay and only this amount can guarantee them a stable life to start over on."

"I guess so...."

You stared at the floor in silence. You knew what was happening next, though; the lights out game you had to witness. And you knew the only thing coming out of it was when the lights turned back on to reveal the blood-stained walls and floors.

You thought of a way to stop the game, and tried to sneak to the control room, which was accessed through the iconic colorful room. However, you had caught the eye of a player since you they were trying to sneak out of the game. You tried to walk past him since he looked very crazy, but he grabbed your arm.

"WHAT ARE YOU D-" you yelled, but got cut off by the man.

"Ssssh. Be quiet, little one. Show me the way out, and you're free."

You got very shaky but tried to show him the way with him gripping your arm still. You were practically whimpering. But suddenly, you heard a gunshot and the man was spewing out blood, collapsing to the ground. It appeared he had been shot in the head from behind.

That was when you panicked even more, thinking you were next. But before you could run too far, a hand gripped you still. You recognized it was your father's instantly.

"Those who break the rules are punished." Your father said, glancing at the dead player. "Looks like it's time for clean up. I'll organize the guards."

You couldn't believe what just happened. The player was dangerous, but shooting him in the head wasn't necessary. Furthermore, you never knew your father was this possessive of you. But it all made sense as to why he controlled almost everything you did.

The guards, all with circles on their masks and their bright pink costumes, walked by you to put the body in a black box with a pretty pink bow holding it together. You didn't see the scene for too long since a certain guard with a square on its mask guided you back to your room, where you always were. There your father was sitting there, his legs crossed.

"Why would you sneak out like that!? You foolish child. Don't you know how to obey the rules?"

You sat there in silence, shaking.

"I..... I just wanted to.. to uh.. make the lights out game stop by going to the control room. I'm sorry."

Your father sighed.

"You're lucky we have cameras all across this place. But I never want you to disobey me again. Your punishment is, you will be staying right here for this entire week. You have everything you need right in your bedroom."

You were going to reply to that, but you decided to just not deal with it and do as he says. You were still trying to clear your mind of what happened ten minutes ago. The thought of him killing anyone who dared to touch you was haunting you the whole night

BTW, EDIT: PART 2 IS UP :) https://www.tumblr.com/silvercoloredskiess/773335237345312768/yandere-front-manin-ho-x-reader-platonic-part?source=share

[kxsagi]

Omg hi I love you work so so so much and this is my first time asking so I’m sorry if it comes off a bit weird!! I’ve just been recently thinking of Isagi’s Ahoge!! It’s so cute. Like would you mind writing Dad Isagi with a kid that’s inherited it too 😭😭 if not would you mind writing just like always playing with his ahoge whenever playing with his hair

“𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐠𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝’𝐬”

a/n: awww thank you lovely! 🤍

i genuinely LOVE this request, i love writing about my faves as dads it's just so wholesome!

tw: baby hair-pulling (i freaking hate when babies do this, like i love kids but come on, pull at my clothes or smth instead PLS)

you sat at your vanity, carefully applying a swipe of blush as you looked over at your lock screen. you had a lunch date planned with a friend in just under an hour, and the makeup had to be perfect. you had your usual routine down, but you couldn’t help but smile as you heard your husband, isagi, in the next room, trying (and clearly failing) to entertain your 12-month-old son. 

"hey, buddy, how about we –" you heard isagi’s voice falter, followed by the sound of a toy clattering to the floor. "no, no, no, don’t eat that –” 

you couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up. he had zero clue how to keep your son entertained with toys, but it was always good for some laughs. you peeked around the corner to find isagi sitting on the floor, looking utterly defeated. your son, in the meantime, had grabbed a hold of the hem of his father’s shirt and was attempting to eat it, clearly unimpressed with the teething toy isagi had handed him. 

"looks like he’s got you wrapped around his finger," you teased, leaning against the doorframe. "maybe if you’d give him that shirt, he’ll leave the toy alone." 

"is this my life now?" isagi sighed, dramatically falling back against the couch, clearly exhausted from the battle. "he’s obsessed with my clothes, not the toys. every time i try to play with him, i just get my shirt tugged on to the point where i have to take it off." 

your son looked up at you, smiling innocently, completely oblivious to the situation he was creating. his tiny hand still clutched the end of isagi’s shirt, and he let out a little giggle. 

you snickered as you walked into the room, bending down to scoop your son into your arms. "you two are a mess," you said, your lips curling into a grin. you glanced at isagi’s head – his signature ahoge was standing tall as usual, but your son had his own little version of it now. it wasn’t as tall as his father’s yet, but there it was, an adorable spike of hair that made him look like a mini isagi. 

"well, looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree," you said, amused. "he’s got the hair spike already." 

"i know," isagi grinned, adjusting his own ahoge as he leaned forward to get closer to your son. "you’re going to have to get used to that. if you want to make it in this family, you’ve got to be able to rock the ahoge like a pro." 

you laughed, your son’s tiny hands reaching up to grab at isagi’s hair, clearly fascinated by the spiky little tuft on his head all of a sudden. isagi’s ahoge wobbled slightly as your son tugged on it. 

"is he trying to copy me?" isagi asked, a playful smirk spreading across his face as he leaned in closer, nudging your son’s hand gently. 

your son, however, wasn’t content just touching his dad’s ahoge, oh no. now, he was yanking on it, his tiny fist closing around the hair, and he wasn’t letting go. isagi’s eyes widened in mild panic. 

"hey, hey! not so hard, buddy!" isagi laughed nervously, trying to pull his hair away, but the baby was holding on for dear life, as though it was some kind of precious treasure. you couldn’t stop laughing at the sight. 

"looks like he’s already going for the full family experience, huh?" you teased, watching your son tug on isagi’s hair like it was the most fun thing he’d ever discovered. "he’s getting the hang of it, but maybe a little gentler next time?" 

"is he trying to rip it out of my head?!" isagi asked with horror, as he tried to pry his son’s hand away from his ahoge. "i’ve trained my whole life to maintain this perfect spiky mess, and now he’s just... pulling on it like it’s a toy!" 

your son giggled as if he knew exactly what he was doing. his little hands tugged harder, and you could see even more panic creeping into isagi’s face as he frantically tried to release his hair from the baby’s grip. 

"oh nooo," you teased, "this is going to be a long day for you. maybe your son’s going to outdo you in the hair game." 

"is this how it begins?" isagi sighed dramatically, defeated by his baby’s mighty grip. "i thought i had more time before i had to hand over the crown of 'best ahoge' to the next generation. but here we are." 

you could hardly contain your laughter. your son wasn’t letting go. he was completely enthralled by his dad’s hair, yanking on it as if it were the best game ever. isagi gave up, letting his son have his fun as he gave you a dramatic side-eye. 

"well, at least one of us is having a good time," isagi said, turning to you with a rueful grin. "i guess i’m going to need to start teaching him how to maintain a proper ahoge. none of this chaotic pulling nonsense." 

your son, clearly satisfied with his new toy, finally let go of isagi’s ahoge and reached up to touch your hair, his tiny hand brushing the soft strands. you felt a little proud of your own hair as your son gave it a curious tug, just like he had with isagi. 

"is he going to start on mine now?" you asked, pretending to look worried. "we’re going to have a troublemaker on our hands if he keeps this up." 

"is it really so bad?" isagi asked, leaning forward and giving his son’s hair a playful tug, causing your son to giggle uncontrollably. "maybe it’s a sign that he’s ready to join the ahoge club." 

"well, if he’s anything like you, i’m in for a lifetime of messy hair," you said with a grin, brushing your son’s hair back into place. "but for now, he needs a nap before he rips any more of your hair out, okay?" 

"is that so?" isagi laughed, ruffling his son’s hair. "guess i’m just going to have to keep my hair in check from now on... or at least until he’s old enough to figure out how to style his own." 

you chuckled, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you. this, this little chaos, was your family. and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢