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aeyumicore · 30 days ago

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caleb finds your prenatal gummies

how does caleb react when he finds the bottle of prenatal vitamins you’ve been taking—but not because you're pregnant?

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab) ━ ✧.˖ WORD COUNT: 1.9k ━ .ᐟ✧ WARNINGS: none really , pure fluff, but vague mentions of unprotected sex, talks of of pregnancy and having children, use of 'pip-squeak' ━ ✧.˖ LINKS: ao3 | twt

got inspired to write this as i was taking my supplements yesterday :') non-smut for a change ahhhh. enjoy!

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

”Always so messy.��

Caleb speaks to himself, voice a low amused mutter as he deftly clears off the kitchen counter. You were staying the weekend in Skyhaven, evident by the random items strewn about his massive home.

Yet, Caleb can’t help but smile as he eyes your belongings carelessly discarded all over his kitchen and living room. Your favorite fuzzy blanket draped over the couch’s armrest, grazing the floor. Your shoes haphazardly taken off by the front door, right next to, but not on, the dedicated shoe rack. Coasters left behind on the kitchen bar, still sticky with dripped apple soda.

You were a menace. But he wouldn’t trade your specific brand of chaos for anything in the entire universe.

You were the one that made this lonely empty house a home, after all.

His grin widens as he remembers just how clean your own apartment in Linkon always is. Naturally, he comes to the conclusion that you only act like this when you know he’s there to pick up after you. To take care of you.

The most important job he’s ever had.

The sound of the shower continues to run upstairs while Caleb tidies up the living spaces. He quickly returns ingredients back to their designated cabinets, abandoned after you so thoughtfully cooked dinner for him last night. As he shuts the cabinet, he sighs, eyes catching sight of the various vitamin bottles you’d left on the counter, nearly hidden by the rice cooker.

He gathers them up in his large palms, finding a spot for them in his own cabinet of medicine and supplements.

One by one, he meticulously puts them onto the shelf.

Omega-3, vitamin C, collagen, creatine, prenatal gummies, vitamin B-12—

Wait.

Prenatal gummies?

Caleb’s violet eyes widen, his breath stuck in his throat, as he reads those red words over and over.

Prenatal gummies for pregnant or nursing women. With folic acid and DHA. Whatever that meant.

His heartbeat quickens as his mind races a mile a minute, his thoughts landing abruptly on the only plausible explanation.

Were you really…pregnant?

Was it possible? Yes.

On more than one occasion, definitely way more times than he could count on two hands, he hadn’t been…careful. You’d begged for it, but he should have known better. It was his job to protect you.

But it’d always been on non-fertile days, or that’s what your little period-tracking calendar had always said.

No, Caleb thinks in a sheer panic. Please no. I can’t be a dad. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

He’d barely been able to protect you at the lab. He couldn’t possibly let down someone else—a child, a baby. Your baby. That you’d made together.

He would not survive failing your child. Through heaven and hell, that is something he’d never be able to recover from.

Caleb runs a shaky hand through his dark brown hair, his normally controlled and collected Colonel’s mask completely and utterly shattered at his feet.

Right now, he was just Caleb, the man who dedicated his entire life, who’d give up anything and everything, to protect you—and would do so until his last breath.

And this Caleb had never been more terrified in his entire life. Through an entire life of experimentation, through traveling the Deepspace Tunnel, through an explosion that nearly claimed his life, he’d never been more scared than he was right now.

Fatherhood.

The world felt like it was closing in on him—every time he’d failed you replaying in the ever expanding black hole that was his mind.

The lab. Losing you during the Chronorift Disaster. Every bully, every knee scraped. Ever. The Toring chip. The list goes on and on.

His chest tightened until he could hardly breathe, his knuckles white with the force at which he gripped the bottle of prenatals.

He wasn’t equipped for this.

And yet…he couldn’t deny how many times he’d thought about this life, with you. A life of mundane and blissful domesticity. No Fleet politics, no Wanderers, no imminent danger at every fucking corner.

A life you’d created together. When he’d grown up thinking there was no such thing. That there would never be a world that the two of you could truly call yours.

“Caleb?”

Your voice pulls him out of his all-consuming thoughts. His head snaps up to see you coming down the stairs, your hair wet, body swimming in one of his big shirts. Your face, beautiful as ever, is laced with concern as you see how uncharacteristically pale he is.

When his eyes meet yours, you can’t help but smile, always so happy to see his face and sparkling nebulous eyes—even when he looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Your smile doesn’t fade as you approach him, palms instinctively coming to rest on his chest when you reach him.

And just like that, he wasn’t so scared anymore.

The thought of a little you running around. With that smile?

A mini version of the most precious thing in his life. One that’d undoubtedly drive him insane with that same attitude he loved so dearly.

That had your laugh as he pointed out different types of planes soaring through the sky. Or your mischievous curiosity as he taught him how to fly his very first jet.

Yeah. He could get used to the idea of that.

“Did something happen? You look like you’re about to be sick,” you raise an eyebrow at him. It’s then he finally releases the plastic bottle of supplements, setting it down on the counter with a soft ‘clack’.

Your eyes immediately drift to the source of the intrusive sound, widening when they see what he was so fixated on.

”Caleb it’s—”

You’re cut off by your own squeal, Caleb’s big palms gently but firmly gripping either side of your waist, pulling you so close you could hear his pounding heart.

“Am I—I mean are we actually…Are you pregnant?”

You can’t help but giggle at his frantic words, stumbling over himself with none of the usual poise and polish of the Farspace Fleet’s revered colonel.

Caleb’s hand moves from your waist to your tummy, his thumb stroking softly against the fabric of his ratty shirt. His palm cups against your naval without thinking, already instinctively providing a protective barrier between the most important things to him and the rest of the world.

”I…I don’t know if I’d be any good at this,” he whispers, nebulous eyes bright with emotion, “I don’t know if I’d be a good dad.”

Your eyes widen at his vulnerable admission, not expecting it in the least. You’d never expressly discussed starting a family that extended beyond the two of you, but it’d always felt like something Caleb wanted. A stark contrast to his words, you always knew Caleb would be an amazing dad, if that was what the two of you decided you wanted.

Before you can interrupt, Caleb continues, “But—God help me…I will never let anything happen to you. Either of you.”

Your heart flutters at the sincerity of his solemn vow, and you find yourself unable to form the words you should say.

”Caleb…you….” you trail off with a gulp, unsure how to verbalize the torrent of emotions you have for this unbelievably incredible man.

“You’d be the best father.” Your quiet whisper rings whole-heartedly, voice thick with adoration and a bubbling anticipation for your future with him.

Caleb watches you with rapt attention, his heartbeat still hammering like the thrum of a hummingbird’s wings amidst the silence between you two. You’re about to open your mouth again—tell him you’re not pregnant, when he picks you up and backs away from the kitchen counter so he can spin you around. His strong hands are secure under your armpits, the smile on his face so effortlessly Caleb.

Behind the thin mist of fear in his eyes, this was the brightest you’d ever seen Caleb.

You can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, clutching his muscled shoulders.

“Caleb, put me down!” you demand through your unabashed laugh of delight.

”No,” Caleb grins, “You’re never walking anywhere ever again—never lifting a single finger. Not while you’re carrying our baby.” He suddenly swings you so that his arm is hooked under your knees, carrying you like a prince would a princess.

You smile so wide your cheeks hurt, but you know you have to tell him the truth. You couldn’t bear to disappoint him, but what’s worse was giving him false hope.

Reaching up to tenderly cup his face with your hands, your voice shakes, “Caleb…”

Caleb smiles warmly at you, his cheeks leaning into your touch, “Yeah, princess?”

You bite your lip at how adorably he resembles a happy puppy, his earlier fear seeming to have evaporated into pure excitement.

You find tears inexplicably forming in your eyes, grieving a pregnancy that was never even there to begin with. Blinking them back, you rip off the bandaid.

“I’m not pregnant.”

Seeing the befuddled expression in his features, his amethyst eyes squinting with unanswered questions, you continue, “The prenatals aren’t for that. A friend recommended them for my skin. Since work’s been a little stressful and I’ve been breaking out.”

You clutch his jacket, staring at his chest—waiting for him to speak. To express disappointment. Maybe even scold you for letting him believe, even if only for a minute.

“You’re stressed? How come you didn’t tell me? What’s going on at work?”

Caleb only stares at you with genuine concern, still not setting you down, holding you tighter. Your heart hammers at the worry laced in his voice, drowning in emotions that that was what he was most concerned about.

Your troubles.

“N-Nothing serious, it’s just workplace politics—anyways! The point is I’m not pregnant, okay? I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”

You can’t stop the apology from tumbling out, even when you know you have nothing to be sorry for. But just seeing how excited he’d been is enough to make you feel like a monster for being the one to squash it.

Caleb sets you down so that you’re sitting on the counter, his thick body positioned between your thighs. Your heart can’t help but sink at the simple action that felt like it signified so much more. That he was disappointed with you.

But suddenly Caleb flicks your forehead with his index finger.

“Hey!”

“Dummy,” he mutters, thumb soothing the area he’d flicked, “Why are you sorry?”

“I—you were so excited,” you say sheepishly, “I probably should’ve mentioned I started taking them before you found them yourself.”

Caleb chuckles, almost in disbelief, hooking your hair behind your ear. Before he can respond, you whisper, “You’re really not mad?”

“How could I be mad?”

His hand abandons the edge of the counter, once again coming to rest over your stomach. His thumb strokes you reassuringly.

“Just knowing that you think I…” he trails off, his own voice murky with emotions.

“That I’d be worthy of being the father of your children.”

You place your hand over his, squeezing gently. It felt almost comical—the two of you in the kitchen, hands pressed over your stomach like there was anything there.

“Besides, I’m not in a rush,” he smiles gently, taking your chin into his fingers and brushing his lips against yours.

“We have a whole lifetime to make our own little pip-squeak.”

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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missdynamighttt · 5 months ago

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AGHHH sitting on bf! katsuki's shoulders while he cooks to make up for skipping the gym.

katsuki was supposed to hit the gym today. he really was. but the moment you wrapped yourself around him in bed, all thoughts of training went out the window.

“shit,” he muttered, stretching his arms above his head. “didn’t even work out today.”

you, still groggy but entirely unrepentant, grinned and nuzzled into his neck. “you worked out your patience.”

"yeah? and you worked out my ability to say no.”

you grinned wider. “exactly.”

even after every time he tried to move to adjust himself, you clung to him like a koala, nuzzling into his chest, whining about how warm and comfortable he was. and damn it, how was he supposed to leave when you looked so damn cute?

so yeah, gym? skipped. gains? delayed. but cuddles? so fucking worth it.

now, in the kitchen, katsuki is making up for it. sort of. with you sitting comfortably on his broad shoulders.

he'd already deadlifted you a few times while waiting for the pancake to cook, grumbling half-heartedly when you cheered like he was performing in the olympics.

"you're way too happy about this," he muttered, flipping a pancake with precision despite your weight balanced on his shoulders.

"that's because you're my personal chef now," you teased, playing with the strands of his hair like you were styling them. "and i'm basically remy."

"tch... the rat from ratatouille?"

"yeah!"

he snorted, shaking his head slightly to mess up whatever you were doing. "the hell you are. you ain't cookin’ shit."

"excuse you! i am the mastermind behind this whole operation, thank you very much. you're just my hands."

katsuki rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the smirk tugging at his lips. "yeah? then where's my little chef hat, huh?"

you gasped dramatically. "oh my god, we need to get you one!"

"like hell we do," he scoffed, adjusting his grip on your legs as he effortlessly lifted you up again, just because he could. you let out a small squeak, gripping onto his hair, and he chuckled.

"okay, okay, you're strong, we get it," you laughed, ruffling his hair. "now, my strong, muscular, incredibly attractive boyfriend—flip that pancake before it burns."

“i ain't lettin’ you control me," katsuki clicked his tongue but did as you commanded, all while holding you up like you weighed nothing. he should’ve gone to the gym today, sure—but honestly? this was way better.

"i practically do," you tug lightly on his hair, and to your delight, his head moves slightly in the direction you pull.

katsuki freezes. “...did you just try to steer me like a damn car?”

you laugh. “maybe.”

“hmph, you’re lucky i love you,” he mutters, adjusting your weight like it’s nothing. “but if you try to puppet-master me again, i’m droppin’ your ass.”

you grin, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “i love you too. and no you won’t.”

katsuki sighs, but you feel his shoulders shake with a quiet chuckle. yeah, okay, maybe he won’t.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ saw this on twt but i cant find the video again☹️☹️ hope you enjoyed!!💜

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tetotrinsky2006 · 1 year ago

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hi!!! i made a cohost, seeing as tumblr is looking like its going to shit. i might post more on there, we'll see lol

#the place im most active on is discord..... and my personal twt but ehhhhh #i'll also be making a chip one and an art one and a homestuck one too but lemme just process all this first #harmony squeaks

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cinnasite · 12 days ago

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“now she’s running from this d*ck, i told her stay with it”

꩜ pairing: caitlyn kiramman x female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 908

꩜ synopsis: you slip up and call your girlfriend “mommy”. the rest is history.

☆ art cred: @/xjdkg89q on twt :3

You're not sure how many times Caitlyn has made you come already.

Reduced to tears and beyond wrecked, your hands move to push your pussydrunk girlfriend away while your core yells at you to let yourself be royally ruined. After all, you did sort of ask for it.

The sheets are damp, your thighs sticky with your glistening slick, and she’s still not done with you. The strap-on inside you is thick and curved just right, pushing in deep with every merciless thrust as her fingers rub tight, fast circles over your clit.

She’s above you, rutting into you hard—strong and controlled like normal, like she knows exactly how you fall apart and has no intention of letting you hold yourself together.

“Such a mess already,” Caitlyn tuts, utterly calm, as if this is another regular day. “But, you’re not satisfied yet, aren’t you? Gods, just look at you. Fucking gorgeous.”

You choke out a high-pitched whine, nails digging into her biceps, as you try to keep up—your head spinning, your body convulsing.

"C-Caitlyn," you breathe out, barely able to process anything. "Hah—don't stop."

“I won’t, baby,” she pecks your cheek, deceptively affectionate and almost ruthless. “You don’t get to run from this.”

She thrusts deep without warning, hard enough that your back arches off the bed. It’s ridiculously obscene that it rips a pathetic sound out of you—half-moan, half-plea.

"O-oh, fuck! Ngh, feels s’ good, m-mommy—!"

Immediately, time freezes.

Your blood runs cold when the haze in your mind clears and reality comes tumbling down.

No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening.

Caitlyn’s hips stutter, her body suddenly heavy above yours as she looms there and gapes at you. The room goes silent except for the rapid thud of your heartbeat.

You hadn't planned to say it. You swear.

It, quite frankly, slipped out, tangled in desperation—your brain too fuzzy, your mouth too loose. And now it flickers between you like something sinfully electric.

Your eyes widen, “I—I didn’t—”

Her hand grabs your jaw and tilts your face up, a squeak escaping you at the sudden movement.

Caitlyn's expression is surprisingly unreadable. Her mouth is slightly parted and her eyes blaze dangerously blue. Not angry, no, but… hungry.

“Say it again,” she whispers, her demand crackling with charged want.

You blink up at her, stunned.

“Caitlyn—”

“No,” she interjects, her words sharper than before. “That’s not what you called me, sweetheart. Say it again.”

Your pulse trips. You don’t even mean to obey, you’re embarrassed for heaven’s sake; it happens naturally.

“…Mommy.”

Once you let the title hang in the air, that’s it. Something inside her snaps.

She nearly growls, low in her throat, and then she’s moving, grabbing your wrists and pinning them hard to the mattress above your head with one hand. The other braces against your thigh as she fucks into you again, this time with real intent.

“That's my good girl,” Caitlyn pants, rough now, feral. “So, so needy you couldn’t help yourself.”

Your legs quiver as she pounds into you, the wet slap of her hips hitting yours echoing through the room. The tip drags hard against your sweet spot, her rhythm relentless.

“You wanted mommy to take care of you, didn’t you?” she hisses, dragging her mouth along your throat. “Wanted to be ruined by her cock, stuffed like a little slut.”

“Y-Yes—” you can’t think. You surrender to the pleasure, incoherently babbling, “I need it so bad, mommy. S-shit, please—”

“Oh, you need it?” she mocks, deliciously cruel. “Wasn’t even meant to come out, was it? But you can’t stop calling me that, can you?”

You shake beneath her, too gone, too broken, too everything.

“I bet you’ve been thinking about it,” Caitlyn continues, grinding into you even deeper, her physique commanding every inch of your skin. “Thinking about mommy tying you down and fucking you dumb. Claiming this pussy like it’s hers. Isn’t that right?”

You cry out, thighs trembling under her grip.

“It’s yours, mommy—mmf—a-always been yours—”

“Fuck.”

Her fingers dig into you harshly. She leans down and kisses you hard, biting your lower lip before pulling back. Her face is flushed and focused, hair an absolute mess, brow furrowed like she’s concentrating on every thrust.

“You want to come for mommy, princess?” she asks, and it’s so filthy the words punch straight through you.

“Yes,” you moan shamelessly, teetering on pornographic. “Please—please let me.”

“Then take it,” she groans. “Be a good girl and take it.”

Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave. You scream, legs jerking, as pleasure rips through you, abrupt and shattering. You don’t even realise you’re sobbing until Caitlyn finally stops moving, letting you breathe.

She stays buried to the hilt inside you, slowly rocking her hips enough to make your oversensitive body twitch and whimper.

Her expression softens to its usual protectiveness.

“There she is,” she coos at your beautifully fucked-out state. “That’s my girl. All spent. All mine.”

You nod, barely conscious, lips swollen and cheeks wet.

She finally lets go of your wrists and cradles your face in both palms, her thumbs brushing away the tears gently.

“You’re going to call me that again,” Caitlyn says in a tone that caresses like fine silk yet cuts like a vicious blade. “Next time, you’ll beg for it and I’ll show you what it really means to be mommy’s girl.”

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satoblue · 28 days ago

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“HOME SMELLS LIKE YOU” — gojo satoru

before your pregnancy, you couldn’t stand the stench of your husband’s sweat. but now that you’re six months pregnant and satoru’s away — you can’t help but become obsessed with it. | wc: 2.7k

MDNI, f!reader, pregnancy pervert satoru (?), established relationship (married), pregnancy, no p in v but f!receiving oral, pet names, lots and lots of banter, you like to smell his hairy sweaty pits, you also sniff his socks bc you miss him, satoru is stinky, he is so gross ugh (he’s a BOY), based on this talk post of mine. | dividers made by me (it’s the gojo head from the japanese gojo tag on twt/X)

You had always hated the smell of Satoru’s socks.

Loathed it — in fact.

The way they’d be flung around your home like stink bombs the second he walked through the door — once even in the kitchen — used to make your blood boil.

His bag would land on the floor with a thud, announcing his presence. His jacket would fall next to the coat rack (never on it).

And the socks? Oh, the socks would make an unwelcome appearance soon enough.

“Gojo Satoru!” You would hiss his full name, your hands on your hips. “I am not picking those up!”

To which he’d reply — smug grin intact — “But you do such a good job at it, babe.”

He’ll throw a sweaty arm around your shoulder, yanking you into a hug — all six sweaty, smug feet of him — and rub his chin into your shoulder like a big dumb cat.

You’d squirm and gag — slap at his back.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Disgustingly hot, right?” He’d grin, blowing a puff of hot air in your ear for good measure, making you shudder.

“Admit it, you like me filthy.”

The only time you ever tolerated his scent was when he was freshly showered and dripping in cologne. You liked him crisp — clean and citrusy, the husband who put forth his best effort for date nights and wined and dined you in rooftop restaurants.

Not the one who smelled like residual blood, sweat, and testosterone.

But now?

Well…

Now you were six months pregnant and found yourself nuzzling into his hairy armpit while he scrolled on his phone after a jog.

His shirt was still damp, his underarm was a literal swamp, and you... you had your nose pressed against it like it was the most comforting place on earth.

And you didn’t even care.

In fact, you inhaled — deeply.

And at first, you just didn’t mind his sweaty hugs.

You blamed fatigue. Pregnancy was exhausting. You just didn’t have the energy to fight him off.

Then came the subtle shift. You weren’t making him pick up his socks anymore. You’d see them on the floor and step over them. Like some kind of feral animal marking territory — and you let it happen.

Then came the kiss.

He’d gotten home from a particularly long day, clothes soaked through, and you’d leaned in.

Not just leaned in, you inhaled. Like a woman starved for her husband’s musk.

“Mm.” You hummed against his shirt.

“You smell like... you.”

Satoru blinked, surprised as he pulled back. “Is that… a compliment?”

You squeaked something about hormones and waddled away, mortified but… not that much.

And now… here you are.

Alone and standing barefoot on the cool tiles of the laundry room. Your belly is rounding out one of his old, white high school t-shirts.

And in your hand?

One of his filthy, balled up socks.

A crusty monstrosity from god knows which mission. It practically reeks of Satoru. Salty. Musky. Male.

You blink down at it.

God, this is a new low. Like — a type of thing Satoru would do type of low. You should throw it in the wash. You should burn it.

But instead…

You raise it to your nose and slowly and shamefully take a sniff.

When the notes hit your nose, you practically whimper like a pervert.

Because damn it. Damn it, it smells like Satoru. Not just the top layer of man stink, but the part underneath — that warm, grounding scent you have now come to associate with comfort and home and sex and love and—

You are going insane.

He’s been gone for three days. Three! And you miss him so much. His voice and his jokes and the stupid little dances he does behind you while brushing his teeth.

And the sock smells like him. Has that indescribable something your baby apparently adores.

“I am so weird,” you mutter aloud, laughing a little under your breath.

“I agree.”

You freeze, dropping the sock like it’s on fire.

No.

You turn slowly, cheeks going hot with mortification.

And there he is.

Standing in the doorway — hair slightly windblown, uniform clinging to his tall frame. Blindfold still on.

Gojo Satoru. Your husband. Six foot menace.

With that grin.

“You’re… home early,” you say weakly, unsure if you’re happy to see him at the moment considering.

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p,’ stepping closer into the room. He peels his blindfold up with one hand and rakes his snowy bangs back, revealing his bright blue eyes, already twinkling with mirth.

“Was gonna surprise you. Bring you some yakisoba, rub your feet, make you cry with how thoughtful I am. Real husband of the year stuff.”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

“Instead, I find my beautiful wife in the laundry room, looking like a snack and sniffing my sweaty sock like she can’t get enough.” Satoru’s smile widens.

You want to die.

But your lip wobbles instead.

Damn hormones.

“I— I wasn’t— it’s not—” You suck in a breath, voice cracking and face unbelievably hot. “You’ve been gone for days, and I miss you, and everything smells weird and right and you always smell like home now and I know it’s gross but I couldn’t help it—!”

Your voice breaks, eyes filling with tears. You’re pretty sure you’re not making any sense.

The silence is instant.

But before the first droplet can even hit the floor — he’s there.

Satoru’s in front of you in an instant — either teleporting or moving faster than physics allows, it doesn’t matter. You are suddenly in his arms, and he’s cradling you like you’re made of delicate glass.

“No, no, no, baby,” he murmurs gently into your hair. “Don’t cry. Shhh. It’s okay. I’m sorry. That was mean. You’re not weird. You’re not gross. You’re perfect. You’re so perfect.”

You hiccup into his chest.

“You’re sweaty,” you mumble.

Satoru chuckles, chin dipping and lips brushing your hairline. “You like that now, remember?”

You sniffle, nuzzling in despite yourself. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You pout adorably. “I should.”

“But you don’t.” He teases, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You love me. And you love my socks.”

“Stop talking.”

Satoru flashes you his classic sleazy, toothy grin paired with half lidded eyes that make your tummy flip, sliding a large hand down to cup your belly.

“I’m just saying — you’re allowed to be weird. You’re allowed to like whatever you like. I think it’s cute. Also— kinda hot?”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re weird.”

“So is love.” He winks, blue eyes twinkling with innocence.

You groan and swat at his chest — but your hand stills there, breathing him in deeply.

And you don’t pull away. His scent is calming. Like home, safety — and your stupid, beautiful husband. Despite your earlier humiliation, your body relaxes completely against his.

“Do you really think I’m not gross?”

He leans back, tilting his head just enough to see your face, his hands holding your cheeks like they are the most precious thing in the world, eyes impossibly soft.

“Hey. You’re growing a whole human being in there. You could roll in my dirty laundry and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Your eyes well up again — but this time they’re happy tears.

“Stop saying stuff like that,” you whisper, voice fragile. He always knows how to break you open and fix you back together in the same breath.

He kisses the corners of your eyes. “Don’t cry. You break my heart when you cry.”

You exhale shakily, melting into him.

“I missed you,” you mumble.

“I missed you more.” He tilts his head, lips ghosting over yours. “Let me make it up to you.”

“In the laundry room?”

“Hot.”

You swat him, but your grip stays firm on his shirt.

“Okay, okay,” he grins. “I’ll behave.”

But he won’t. Not really.

Satoru’s hands start to drift.

You bury your face in his neck, greedily breathing in sweat and coconut shampoo. Underneath it all is him — warm and just Satoru.

He shudders.

“Oh,” he gasps. “You are gone, huh?”

“I hate it,” you release a whiny moan, pressing kisses along his throat, and he swallows thickly — Adam’s apple bobbing. “I hate how good you smell. It’s like my body got possessed.”

He laughs, strained and rough, grip tightening around you as he tries to restrain himself from taking you like a primal animal. “Possessed by lust? I like that.”

“You’re not helping,” you breathe.

“I’m not trying to help.”

And then his hands are sliding lower — carefully — from your face, down the curve of your back — until both large, warm palms are cradling the underside of your belly.

“Shit,” he groans softly, more to himself than to you as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours.

His thumbs stroke over the stretched cotton of his shirt, over where the baby kicks softly beneath your skin. “You’re… so beautiful like this.”

“Satoru…”

He looks up, eyes half lidded, pupils dilated and blue eyes dark. His face is so close to your face it makes your heart jump.

Your cheeks heat once more under his stare, feeling a shiver run through you. Your cunt throbs. He hasn’t even fucked you and you can tell you’re already soaked.

“Every day,” he rasps. “I think I can’t love you more. And then you look like this — swollen with my baby, wrapped in my clothes, snorting my socks like some pervy little freak—”

You try to smack him but he catches your wrist, pecking your knuckles gently before smashing his lips roughly onto yours.

It’s a kiss of pure yearning in a way only the two of you have figured out. He kisses you like he’s been starving. Like three days away from you was three days too long.

It’s rushed. A mess of saliva combined with your whimpers and his growls as he tugs you even closer.

You gasp against his mouth.

“I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

He huffs. “Is that why you’re grinding on my thigh like that?”

And you are.

Shamelessly.

You let out a whimper as he shifts, guiding you onto the laundry counter like you weigh nothing at all.

He buries his face into the slope of your neck, taking an absurd, dramatic inhale — and lets out an exaggerated groan.

Like, obnoxiously.

“Mm. You smell good too. Sweet. Like baby powder.”

You want to laugh, but it catches in your throat when his hand slides beneath the oversized t-shirt you stole from him, caressing your bare skin until you shiver. His palm slides and finds your bare thigh, then under your swollen belly — then lower.

He pauses.

You’re absolutely soaked through your panties.

Satoru raises his eyebrows. “Baby…”

“Don’t,” you whisper, cheeks hot. “Don’t say it.”

He leans in, breath tickling your ear.

“You got this wet from sniffing my sock?”

You slap his shoulder, your voice a half laugh, half groan of embarrassment. “Shut up.”

But he just grins — filthy and boyish. The type that makes your heart skip a beat like a girl with a high school crush.

Your breath stutters in your throat, hands fisting his shirt. “Satoru…”

“I missed you,” he grunts, voice raw. “So much it made me crazy.”

You squirm, impatient. “Satoru—”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he whispers, soothing. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod dumbly and feverishly, dazed.

He exhales, hard and ragged, like you just punched the air out of his lungs from simply agreeing so easily like that — so willingly.

Then his mouth is everywhere.

Trailing wet, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, the upper swell of your swollen breasts.

You can feel the heat pooling between your thighs, the tight ache building higher with each hot touch.

And then he’s sinking lower.

He gets on his knees like it’s instinct — like worship — and presses his cheek to the inside of your thigh with a soft sigh.

“Hi, little troublemaker,” he speaks to the baby first, voice quiet but still cheeky. “Hope you’re not listening too closely, ‘cause Daddy’s about to be very inappropriate with Mommy.”

“Satoru!”, you scold, cheeks heating before you gasp, scandalized, as he starts lewdly sniffing the air around your clothed cunt. You try to shut your legs out of embarrassment but it’s no use against his strong grip keeping them wide open.

“You always smell this good when you miss me?” he murmurs, voice low and drunk.

You whimper, thighs twitching. “Don’t be gross.”

“You love it,” he smirks lazily, mouth brushing right against your clothed cunt. You’re soaked. He hasn’t even touched you properly and you’re already trembling for it.

He presses a gentle kiss over your panties, tongue just barely teasing through the soaked cotton and you gasp softly.

Then he peels it to the side and groans at the sight of your sticky, messy hole.

“Oh, baby…”

His blue eyes go so dark with lust they’re nearly black, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs to hold you open for him.

“I forgot how pretty your pussy gets when you’re pregnant,” he groans, voice a little bit awed. “All puffy and wet for me. Fuck. Can I taste you?”

You nod — your voice long gone — and then he’s on you. Tongue dragging a long, lazy stripe through your folds, savoring you.

You cry out, head thrown back, fingers fisting in his hair. He moans against you — deep and guttural — and the vibrations shoot straight through your core making you clench and your eyes roll back.

“Satoru—” you whimper, thighs tightening around his shoulders, and he growls in approval, arms wrapping around your hips to pull you even closer. He devours you like he’s starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that can keep him alive.

Tongue flicking against your clit in steady, practiced circles, suckling softly, then harder — until your legs are shaking and you’re grinding against his mouth with zero shame, bump hitting his head repeatedly with every motion.

Satoru shifts his angle slightly, lips sealing over your clit again while two fingers slide inside you — slow, thick, filling you perfectly.

You nearly scream.

“Oh my— fuck— Satoru—!”

“That’s it,” he coos, voice muffled by your pussy, “Just let go, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.”

Your hands are everywhere — grabbing at his hair, his shoulders, the counter edge — anything to keep yourself grounded as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. It’s overwhelming, the kind that leaves your whole body buzzing.

You’re choking on a gasp, crying out his name, back arching and thighs locked around his head like a vice.

He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation — only then easing his mouth away with final kisses to your clit and then the underside of your bump.

Your panties are barely hanging on one leg, and your swollen belly rises and falls with every shaky breath you take.

Satoru wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, standing and cradling your face gently. He strokes your cheeks, brushes your hair back behind your ears, kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“You okay?” he whispers, wiping a tear away with his thumb.

You nod, still dazed. “Better than okay.”

His forehead presses to yours.

“I’ll give you a hundred foot rubs,” he promises. “Ten thousand. Just don’t ever cry because you missed me again. I’ll lose it.”

“You’re such a softie.”

“Only for you.”

“You’re still disgusting.”

He grins. “And you still love me.”

His hands return to your body like they belong there — palming your hips, your waist, your belly — like he can’t get enough of touching you.

And you can’t get enough of the man who drives you crazy and pieces you back together with the same hands that leave his socks on the floor.

Because he’s home. He’s yours.

And you love the way he smells.

Even his socks.

p.s — from that day on, satoru becomes more attentive. he starts leaving his worn shirts on your pillow, knowing it helps you sleep better. he even jokes about bottling his sweat as a perfume. you might just kill him.

#᠙𑣱 — aomi writes #tw pregnancy #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #satoru x you #jjk satoru #gojo x y/n #gojo headcanons #jjk drabbles #gojo smut

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phoneygnomey · 6 months ago

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STEB NATION.

how do we feel about a lil plush of our favorite lil fish guy???

(also first time posting here, so hihihihi!!!!!)

his head also squeaks when you squish him TEHEHE 💞💞💞

(credits to @/LavendrD0ve on twt for the plush template! also @/tomimatsu2101 on twt for the idea to put a squeaker in the head :])

#steb arcane #steb #arcane #plushies #sewing #chewing at the bars of my enclosure #TEHE HE LOOKS SO SILLY!!!!

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mtcloudsworld · 5 months ago

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choso.k

photo by: einruji (twt/instagram)

warning: +18 ` mdni ` black!fem!reader ` bf!choso ` baby, doll, dolly ` cowgirl ` edited but if you see any errors pls ignore, ty. Enjoy!! :) choso kamo masterlist | here

He sat at the end of your bed with ease. Dressed in a white button up, loose black slacks with his black blazer wide open. His tie was loose around his neck. A button or two undone to see his inked skin, two buns and a few short strands fell into place. He had a couple of rings on both hands with his nails painted black for the occasion, a dinner date for two to be exact.

He was waiting patiently for you to get done dolling up for the night.

He observed you from head to toe. Forest green hoodie with the word "chicago" in bold white lettering, a black tennis skirt reached mid thigh and white socks just below your calves.

Your lemonade braids were pulled back into a low pony with your edges swept. Diamond studs and a singular diamond necklance. Mascara, black eyeliner and dark chocolate gloss. You sprayed on a bit of coconut and pineapple scented perfume, examined yourself in the body mirror one last time before turning to Choso.

He was sat oh-so-very nonchalantly, while he bobbed his head to the music. Eyes trained on your physique, they gradually glower up when he notices you smirking and waving the black eyeliner in your hand.

Cotton sheets beneath his fingerprints, he nonchalantly leaned back on his veiny ring clad, hands. Man spreading, with his feet planted firmly on the wooden floor, they tapped away at the beat of the song playing through the flat screen tv. It was light but not distracting. Soothing but not overwhelming.

As you approached him, he was caught off by your bold choice of action. Bottom lip caught between his teeth. He felt the space in his lower region grow tight. Aroused, excited and anxiously waiting, he sat there painfully hard. When you proceeded to straddle him, you felt him freeze in place.

He was tense at the weight of you. Not that you were heavy or anything like that, but...the pressure you applied was not helping his case. Rocking back and forth to readjust your hips, he was sure you could feel him, but you reacted as if nothing was there. "Let's do the right one first. Look up for me." You instructed gently, reaching for his face and starting to outline his eye.

Throughout this entire process, he sat still. Still as a rock, internally freaking out while you moved against him. His fingers started to curl in fists as he tried to restrain himself from rocking up against you.

Loving how your warmth veiled around the pronounced area. Creating just enough friction to make his jaw tighten and his adams apple bob.

When you officially finished the black liner around his eyes and pulled away, you let out a soft chuckle. "Tch, you good?" You asked, getting a good view of the light blush across his cheeks. His eyes fluttering a little, rolling them before looking at you with fake confusion.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

You smirked, not saying anything.

He watches you place the cap onto the liner before placing it back in your make up bag, turning to him you fix a few strands before looking into his eyes.

"Because... you're hard as a rock." You snickered.

"Wow, didn't know you could tell." He states sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Oh I can tell alright." You amused teasingly.

The bed suddenly squeaks from your sudden rocking back and forth.

A hiss is emitted when you grind on his erection. Immediately his hands grab at your hips and stop you completely.

He frowns. "Really?"

"What?" Feign innocence and a shrug, "I'm just saying baby you're not that hard to notice." You state confidently zipping up the bag and tossing it perfectly onto the dresser.

You turn to him, your arms dangle at his shoulders when you lean forward to bump your nose against his. He scoffs, turning away.

Choso feels you kiss the side of his face delicately, leaving traces of your gloss onto his skin. You giggled at his childish behavior when you heard him start to grumble underneath his breath. Giving you his undivided attention again, only this time he had a pout of his own.

Your eyes are hooded, admiring how your lips gently pressed to his with no hesitation. You kissed deliberately slowly with needy intent, his head tilts a little as he presses his lips further into yours, applying just enough pressure to kiss you deeper.

With every parted moment you could hear him exhale, inhaling that taste of you along his tongue. He could feel your nails scraping gently across his neck, careful not to ruin his hair. You suddenly felt a shiver when his large hand slid up your skirt to grope at your thick, chocolate thigh, his thumb started to caress at your flesh gently. Effortlessly encouraging your arousal to soak your panties, gingerly you could feel the thin material start to stick against your pussy lips as you started to wind your hips.

Internally you were starting to grow antsy, breaking the kiss to let your lips travel towards his jaw. He whines your name at the feeling of your teeth grazing and nibbling at his skin. As you leave love bites at his neck, you mumble, "Want me to make you feel better? We still got time to kill." You reassure, voice hush but still audible.

Choso nearly whimpers, feeling his long digits apply pressure to your pillowy fleshy, to the point they turn white. Choso guides for you to steadily rock against him. His breathing grows heavy, your gazes lock, he gulps down his hesitation, pleas for you with a lustful glare. "Please."

Sticky, wet, sounds filled the four white walls as you ride him. Inch by inch, his dick slid inside your creamy, leaking hole. To the point he could feel your cervix press at his tip. While one arm was wrapped around your waist holding you tightly against him and the other held himself up, he continued to pound into you with persistence.

Addicted to your warmth and walls puckering around him. "Fucking shit just look at you, doll. All small and pathetic, God your fucking shaking baby." He chuckles hauntingly. "I might actually like you in this state, just begging me to fuck you so well. Mm, I can feel you clenching around me baby, you like that don't you? Huh?" He kisses at your cheek, towards your jaw and neck, till he reaches your shoulder blade where he plants his nose and inhales your scent. You wail into his shoulder when his pace starts to grow fast and his thrust feels more rough. Your fingers curl around his blazer for dear life. Lips gaping and eyes clenching. Your sounds grew careless as you whimpered and moan into his shoulder as loudly as you could.

At some point you felt yourself grow tense, breathe shakey and voice cracking. You start to fuck him back when you tell him you're close.

Laying on his back now, his hands held you by the hips with the skirt hunched up. Excited eyes observe his dick fucking into you ten times quicker. To hear you holler and scream his name in shock, your hands gripped at his forearms for leverage.

Becoming a whimpering moaning mess, your mouth parted trying to catch your breath. Your walls start to tighten, squealing like an injured dog as your nails are embedded into his skin, cursing loudly "Shit, baby there...yes, right there!" You cry, toes curling and head lulled back. Shared intense sounds of an oncoming orgasm is heard from down the hall.

"Fuckfuckfuck, fucking...shit!" He grunts, head pressing back into the mattress, his eyes clenched when feels his seeds erupt in your cervix.

There was a moment of stillness between you

Overwhelmed by the intense climax you both shared. You took a deep breathe in to then exhale at the impact of your body falling on top of him.

"Fucking hell, doll." He groans, brushing his hands past your skirt. Warm calloused hands groping at your ass, he chuckles when he feels you start to move again. "Tch, just can't get enough can you dolly?" His gaze snaps down to your mischievous eyes glaring into his.

"No, never." A devilish smirk curls onto your lips.

You moan as your hips bounce back on his pulsating dick, loving the sticky, squelching effect at your center, allowing your shared juices to gush from out your entrance and trace and travel down the length of his dick.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

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lcvemiyuki · 1 year ago

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"close to his heart" | hinata, hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: you attend an intense and crucial match for the jackals and discover a certain wing spiker wears his promise ring in secret to give him good luck during a game

warnings: fluff, established relationship, timeskip!msby hinata

character(s): hinata

word count: 590

a/n: i saw a fanart of this exact scenario and just HAD to write something about it because ughhhhhhh. like that was me fr in the stands. (if i find out who the artist is i will add it in the future!). also, i know jewelry is prohibited to wear during matches, i don’t know what the protocols are, but for the sake of this writing lets just pretend if anything🤗

art creds: @/sunfluff on ig @/ah_e0k on twt (inspired this scenario)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

'wham!'

the ball ricocheted off the ground, sending the crowd into a frenzied uproar.

the match was a nail-biter, with each team clinging to the game with pure willpower. the players' shoes squeaked in protest against the polished floor; their faces glistened with the sheen of sweat, a tangible testament to their craving for victory.

in the midst of all this, you knew that every match held a special significance for the orange-haired decoy—every single point, every last serve, it all mattered.

as the jackals were nearing the final set of the match, it was apparent that hinata was exhausted, his energy nearly depleted. but adrenaline forced his legs to move just a bit longer, his thigh muscles searing and flexing with every strenuous movement.

all of his senses were heightened.

he became intensely aware of a certain necklace he had tucked under his jersey as well.

the realization of its presence served to slow his fast-beating heart just enough to keep him grounded.

the closest, tangible thing to him wasn't his teammates or the high-speed ball whirling toward him.

it was you.

wearing his promise to you on a silver chain around his neck was a risky move, but it was the only thing that seemed to calm his nerves.

the game demanded his attention once again as the blond setter lofted a perfect set in his direction. with a sudden burst of renewed energy, hinata leaped for the quick attack, his hand connecting with the ball with infallible precision and force.

the resulting smack echoed ominously through the gym. before anyone could fully comprehend what had happened, the match was over.

the crowd was only a few seconds late in reacting, their cheers filling the stadium as the realization dawned. the shrill sound of the whistle signaled the winning point, initiating a wave of exhilaration that swept through the stands.

"yeah!" hinata yelled, triumphantly balling a fist into the air. his teammates, brimming with uncontained excitement, rushed over with their hands delivering congratulatory slaps on his back.

as the match drew to a close, you finally allowed yourself to release the breath you'd been holding. next to you, the younger, orange-haired girl—her face glowing with pride for her older brother—jumped up and down with joy.

both of you were clad in jackal merch, his number visible on your jerseys. despite blending in with the sea of fans, a pair of keen eyes found you anyway.

after sharing a celebratory hug with natsu, you turned your gaze back down the stadium. you were searching for the mvp of the night—only to find that he was already staring up at you.

at that moment, the deafening noise levels of the stadium seemed to fade into insignificance. it felt as if only you two were there— as if, he was telepathically communicating with you. a loving smile spread across his face as his hand reached for his neck. slowly, he removed the skin-toned bandages to reveal the shiny, silver-chained necklace and his promise ring to you dangling on it.

you gasped, the sound getting caught in your throat and leaving you speechless.

"he was wearing his ring this whole time?" your fingers immediately touch your own, fiddling with it.

as if he could read your mind, hinata’s smile grew larger. he brought the silver ring to his lips in a tender gesture—a small peck that resonated in your heart.

this ring was his good luck charm, the one thing he wanted close to his heart. and for that, he was willing to break a few rules.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

#𓇼—haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq #hq fluff #hinata x reader #hinata shoyo #hinata haikyuu #hinata x you #hq shoyo #hinata x y/n #haikyuu x y/n

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