strawberryrnilk

[strawberryrnilk]

simon riley has the worst laugh you've ever heard, sounds like you told someone to laugh and they'd only ever read about what laughter is. that deep spoken "heh heh heh" that he lets out in response to his own jokes is so insincere that you hesitate to even all it laughter but he is so clearly enjoying himself that it gives you pause. you ask around but whenever you ask gaz or soap to imitate ghost's laugh you get the same results. so you live with it. you live with the spoken word poem of laughter that spills out of him.

until you're sitting on the patio of a nice little seafood place trying to decide between the paella and the scampi and look up just in time to watch a child fall sideways off a bicycle. and simon Laughs like a lawnmower starting up. a deep revving of unused motors that climbs out of his throat with a wheeze of breath. the ugliest thing you've ever heard in your life accompanying tears that burst from simon's eyes as he struggles to find composure. there's a snort here and there, as the engine dies into silent shudders, bracketing attempts to heave in the air he's so rapidly pushing out with some sound. it isn't until he finally manages to pull himself together that he clears his throat and goes:

"kids fallin' off things," a sniff, "always funny."

"you've got a nice laugh." you tell him.

"always thought it sounded like a strangled goose."

"yeah, but it's nice." it's more sincere than he likes, and you can tell he's going to be grumbling about it later by the pink that tinges his ears. you're treated to a half mumbled "fuck off" and later, when you tell a particularly horrible joke, the same lawn mower chain rattles its way through your flat.

[strawberryrnilk]

Reader having to share a sleeping bag with soap for reasons, idk maybe some of the supplies got lost dont ask me.

Anyways hes...shockingly polite about it. Keeps the crude jokes to a minimum and his hands to himself (as much as he can when ur stuffed chest to chest lol)

Its well into the night when you feel it, soaps hard cock grinding against you. Ur not all that shocked, given the fact youve woken up in the night to see him jerking off before. Have even helped him a few times.

What does shock you is how he seems to be dead asleep still, snoring away as two arms encircle you and press you close. Should you....wake him up? Would that be worse than just hoping he moves on?

When his hand sneaks beneath ur waistband you decide, yeah, wake him up. A small whisper of his name and soaps blinking awake. You watch in real time as he takes stock of himself and realizes the situation. "Ah, fuck. Sorry-" he mumbles, but makes no move to pull away. If anything he only settles more firmly on top of you. "You wouldnt mind uh- letting me finish, yeah? Can't sleep like this."

At ur nod, you feel soap grin into ur neck, hips rutting again. His hands pull down ur pants just enough for him to slip out his dick and push in between ur thighs, the top of it grinding against ur groin. "Hmmm, knew you'd let me." He rumbles happily. "Such a good soldier, know just how to please a sergeant, aye? Yknow ur bodies a perfect tool for me."

He growls when you shift ur hips, hands bruising where they grip ur waist "dont move. You just lay there and fuckin' take it. Take what i give and be happy for it."

His hips stutter at the whimper you make, and a few strokes later hes spilling all over ur underwear. "Fuck- hmmm. That hit the spot." He pulls ur pants back up, cum sticking obscenely between ur legs and into the fabric.

"Maybe ill make use of you more often. Damn good toy."

[strawberryrnilk]

𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐭𝟐

John Price x Fem!Reader

Part 1 here!

An: Ts is about the early 1800s/early 1900s post with John I made on my other profile @everlong0girl! Have fun^

Warnings: small fight, age gap (early20s/late30s) making up.

^^

It had been a long while since you saw them. Your beloved parents whom you thought cared enough to even try and find you, reach out to you..

You wanted to send a letter or a few, but you knew better. John was your family now.

You settled into a sweet stone house just at the edge of town, just a train ride away from John's work base

Two bedrooms, bathroom, a slightly bigger kitchen and a sweet looking lounging room. Library for all of your books and your studies, along with his office and a sweet looking balcony that overlooked your small garden.

Life was simple. He made a house, and you made a home. He brought home money, and you'd make use of it.

But as months went by, for some reason you became slightly distant. Resenting him for, in a way, breaking you away from your family. It came suddenly, irrationally, and you didn't even know how those thoughts started.

He noticed it right away. How you'd shy away from his touch, and how you'd lean away from him at night when he'd try to nuzzle or hold you.

Tonight he came home from work, few days passed while he was gone, which was not an unusual occurrence. He was a Captain after all. You were in the kitchen stirring some sweet stew you made, liking the thought of eating hot stew on a winter night.

He came up behind you and hugged you around your waist gently. Immediately feeling the way you tensed up when under his hands. His gruff voice filling the room besides the sound of the boiling liquid atop the stove. "Are you alright my love?"

Sometimes when the irrational thoughts would get to you, he'd remind you just why you loved him. All these small touches and simple gestures of want and need were there to remind you, he was yours. Your husband.

You sighed. "I'm alright honey.. Just have a lot on my mind lately."

You knew you were being weird. But sometimes the thoughts of your mother's words came back to your head. "Think about your future"

But then you reminded yourself that they were ready to marry you off to some stranger for the rest of your life, just for the sake of money and favor.

"I think about my mother.. a lot lately." You cooed.

As his hands just slightly tightened on your waist.

"Your mother you say? My love they're past.. They aren't in our lives anymore." He muttered under his mustache.

"I miss my family, John." You said, though not realizing how it might have come off to him.

"I'm your family love.. Me." He answered. His voice just a tinge possessive. He was a bad man in people's eyes, but in your eyes he was a good man who did "bad things". That was because the others only saw those things, and you were the only one who felt that gentle, loving man. He only showed himself to you, opening up to you and being able to fall apart, knowing you'd put him back together.

And lately when he'd feel that tension in you, he felt like that ability to open himself up was diminishing with every small flinch you'd make.

"Love, they didn't care about you, nor your feelings.. I do."

"I know, i know.. I just can't get them out of my head." You said tentatively. As if feeling him also get more and more rigid behind you.

"No, you don't know." He bit back in a slightly more agitated voice.

"We're married, you're my wife. You're not their daughter anymore, you said that."

"I know i did, i.. I just miss them.. You got to understand John." You stuttered out, before hearing him argue back. "Sweetheart. I can't. They hurt you, and you.. You continue missing them and call them family, as if I'm some kind of man that took you away from them. Do you even know how that makes me feel?"

"I know, I-" He cut you off, as if needing to say. "No. I work.. And i break my back, to make sure You're comfortable, fed, happy. I buy you new dresses, shoes, everything. And i can't even have you care enough to stop saying something because it hurts my feelings?" He said in a biting remark. "Lately, when i touch you, you act like I'm sick contagious."

"No. No John no.. Thats not true. I appreciate you so much, i'm just having a lot on my mind lately."

"Yeah and i do too."

Then you realized how selfish you had been. Almost two months, you've been plagued by guilt and worry, simply because your parents programmed you that way, whenever you did something against them. And you had been disregarding his feelings for quite a while.

You sighed and turned around to face him, when you saw the thing you least expected. His manly sweet eyes had little sparkles at the corners. Shaking your head immediately, your hands went up to cup his face. Whispering. "I'm so sorry honey.. I'm so sorry.."

Before you know it, his hands were looser around you, and he leaned down into your neck with a shaky exhale of relief. He was so worried you'd think this was a mistake, which you even started doing. But he snapped you out of it. Feeling that same care and need for him, he knew he was welcome in your arms again.

You kissed over his head and held his hair, making him gently hum against your skin.

"Come on.. Dinner should be done soon, you must be hungry."

Few days later, it was a usual night before bedtime, you were getting ready to sleep. Sitting on the small wooden chair in front of the mirror. Eventually seeing him in the back, walking in wearing a simple cotton shirt and some sleeping pantaloons. Giving you a small glance in the mirror, and a small smile.

You were brushing your hair and gave him a smile back. It was one of those nights. You knew simply from the little hopeful look in his eye.

John was in his mid thirties, and he had been wanting a family for a long time. He even voiced to you, how he wished you'd conceive and have a baby, since you had been married for a good year now.

You stood up, your night gown fluttering against your ankles, as you walked over to him, sitting by him on the edge of the bed.

Hearing him say. "Good evening missus.."

"Evening Mister." You muttered back. Over your time together, you've learned the things he liked, and seemed to like them yourself just as much.

His hand went around your waist, scooting closer, as he asked. "May i?"

You just let him. Like you always let him. As afterwards, you laid down on his chest, your fingers gently going through his chest hair with small affectionate movements. He loved it. He loved you, and the fact that you two were back on track.

His hand atop your belly, as he was like a hopeful kid, wondering if you could maybe conceive tonight even. Muttering. "Do you think we did it love?"

"Maybe, maybe not.. i sure hope so."

Then he nuzzled into your temple and cheek a bit. His beard scratching at your skin as you chuckled. Saying gruffly. "I hope so too.. but i don't mind the process neither, sweet pea.. I love lovin' you.."

You grinned at him. Always getting a bit timid when he'd make such blunt comments. Simply answering playfully. "You fool.."

"Oh If it means i'm a fool for wanting ya, then im a bloody fool Darling.."

────────────

@ohdrey89 your part two delivered !!

[strawberryrnilk]

Soap gives gaz shit for his nicotine addiction, so ofc gaz says "well what do you do then? Surely youve got something to deal with the stress."

And soap, with his full chest, says "Aye. Eating pussy."

Gaz thinks hes joking, but you get a text no less than five times a week that basically amounts to "baby can I please eat u out? Im so stressed I just wanna taste ye. :(" from soap. Hes not shy or simple abt it either. Bc when this man eats, he eats. Cum and slick dripping down his chin, beard soaked. Soap fucking nuzzles his face against ur cunt like hes a cat, absolutely zero shame.

When hes done he just pats you on the thigh and stands up, acts like he didnt just realign ur world for the past hour. (He would've preferred four hours at least but alas he has obligations).

[strawberryrnilk]

continuing off this

lumberjack!price who now keeps the pair of panties he found mixed up in his laundry in the chest pocket of his flannel almost everyday. he figured it was the best place to hide it now since he was too far gone to admit it got mixed in his wash.

and when he’s horny and frustrated? you nearly jolt as you can hear his truck door slam outside before the engine comes. the tires reversing out of the driveway against the gravel, and quickly followed by silence once he’s driven off.

you aren’t entirely sure where he drives off to when he’s in a mood like this, because to you it’s just him being pissed off and needing space.

but the reality is, he’s parked near a lake almost 20 minutes away. his hand wrapped around his cock as the pair of panties are fisted in his other hand, head leaned back against the headrest. his imagination having to picture you on his lap instead of having you actually there, because the last thing he wanted to do was make a move on you and make you uncomfortable. so, his hand, your pair of panties and his imagination would have to suffice for now.

the groan that fills the car as he comes slowly turns into heavy breathing as he comes down from his release. the hand that has the panties gently wipes himself clean with them before he’s shoves it back into his flannel pocket.

and when he returns home later that night, you’re sat there on the recliner in your pajamas like a worried mother.

“everything alright?”

“fine, get some sleep,” is all he can say as he walks by, barely making eye contact because if he does he can’t promise he won’t sling you over his shoulder and have his way with you.

[strawberryrnilk]

sergeant?!

[strawberryrnilk]

Gaz, who teaches ghost what body washes to use and proper dental hygiene, bc simon was never really taught those things growing up. Sure, he knew vaguely what to do, but he never knew how often he should brush his teeth or that he needed to shower more than once a week.

Soap, who teaches ghost how to take care of his hair. He noticed simon has pretty blonde curls, and simon once admitted he liked having longer hair but he never knew what to do with it. His dad made sure it was kept short, and his mother never talked to him about that.

Price, who teaches ghost how to shave with a proper razor. Because he noticed simon looking sad while everyone else were sharing things their dad's thought them.

Idk man, ghost getting the family he deserves.

[strawberryrnilk]

john price x sweetheart!reader

summary: you get caught playing with price’s pistol, and he makes sure you learn your lesson

warnings: spanking, suggestive behavior, soft dom price, aftercare. wc: 1.2k

you were so not supposed to be touching that.

it was just laying there. on the dresser. totally unattended. just begging to be picked up.

so obviously… you did.

“pew pew,” you whispered, holding it with both hands like you’d seen him do a million times, trying to copy the serious look he always had when he aimed.

you stood in front of the mirror, turning a little to the side for the “cool angle,” feet planted, arms out.

“this is captain john price,” you said in a fake deep voice, lips twitching with a grin, “target’s in sight. i repeat. target’s in sight.”

you snorted.

“permission to shoot on sight, lads. wife’s being a real brat today.”

you cracked up at your own joke, shoulders shaking. you aimed again.

“nah, i’ll take the shot myself.”

you were still giggling when the door opened behind you.

you froze.

his voice came low. calm. serious. terrifying.

“sweetheart.”

you turned slowly. still holding the gun. eyes wide.

“…hi.”

price raised a brow. stepped further into the room. shut the door behind him with a soft click.

you panicked.

“i-it’s not loaded!”

he held out his hand.

you rushed over and gave it to him, placing it gently in his palm like you were returning something precious to a museum.

“i wasn’t gonna do anything, i swear, i was just being stupid—”

“on the bed.”

your mouth dropped open.

“john—”

“now, love.”

your legs moved before your brain could catch up. you went to the edge of the bed, face hot, eyes wide, heart hammering.

he sat down slowly behind you.

patted his thigh.

“over my knee.”

you whimpered.

“…but i was just playing—”

he gave you a look.

you folded instantly, crawling over his lap with a breathless little whine, laying yourself across him like you knew you deserved it.

his hand slid up your back. warm. steady. comforting.

then it slid lower—under your skirt—flipping it up to reveal your panties. he pulled them down just enough to bare you.

his hand smoothed over your skin.

“you don’t touch weapons without my permission,” he said softly.

you swallowed. nodded.

“could’ve hurt yourself. even if it wasn’t loaded”

“i know,” you whispered.

“what’s the rule?”

“no touching your things without asking.”

“good girl.”

and then he spanked you.

sharp and firm. not too rough—but enough to make your breath hitch, your toes curl, your hips squirm.

you whimpered.

he rubbed the sting out gently. then did it again.

and again.

and again.

your thighs trembled. tears started to well in your eyes.

he gave you a few more, a little faster now, each one landing just right—making your breath catch and your legs kick a little. you sniffled.

“john—” your voice cracked.

his hand didn’t stop.

“that’s what happens when you act out, sweetheart,” he said, still calm. still soft. like he was teaching you a lesson, not punishing you.

a sob bubbled up in your throat. the last few spanks were deep, full-handed, hot against your skin.

“hurts…”

“i know it does.”

he gave you one more—slow and deliberate—and then finally soothed it, rubbing over your burning skin with long, soft strokes.

you were sniffling now. blinking fast. face pressed into the sheets.

he leaned over you and kissed your shoulder.

“all done.”

he helped you up so gently, pulling your panties back up and tucking your skirt down. you winced a little as he settled you in his lap, your thighs draped over his.

his hands cradled your face instantly.

“shhh, i’ve got you,” he murmured, brushing your tears away with his thumbs, fingers cupping your cheeks.

you were still hiccuping soft little breaths, flushed and watery-eyed, clinging to his shirt like it was the only thing grounding you.

“m’sorry,” you whispered.

“i know, baby. i know you didn’t mean it.”

he kissed your cheek. then your temple. then your forehead.

“just scared me, yeah? don’t ever touch something like that again.”

you nodded fast.

“never.”

he gave you a little smile, stroking his thumb along your jaw.

“that’s my girl.”

you melted against him, still pouting a little, snuggled under his chin.

his hand slid down and gave your thigh a gentle tap—just a playful little smack to make you squeak.

“oi,” he teased. “don’t make that face. you earned every one of those.”

“meanie,” you mumbled, still cuddled up to him.

he chuckled low in his chest, kissed the top of your head, and pulled you tighter into him like he wasn’t ever letting go.

“yeah, yeah. but i’m your meanie.”

[strawberryrnilk]

My brain says tender Simon Riley hours.

Simon Riley with his mask off, unabashed by the way his skin stretches and thins in areas where his past had injured it, in the privacy of his room. Notebook open, blue ballpoint pen cradled in the well worn spine of the open pages and words poured between the lines for the past hour and a half. Electric kettle on standby, two spent teabags sitting on a discard saucer and donating the last notes of lapsang touched with coconut into the room. A third cup steaming beside him, noticeably pale with cream and anointed with sugar. A platter of biccies, bowl of near black cherries to balance it all out.

It’s raining outside, the cracked window allowing notes of ozone, wet concrete and petrichor waft and intertwine with the domestic notes in the scents of overall comfort. No gunmetal, boot black polish, cleaner, or gunpowder fragrances to be found. Work had no place in his fortitude today, the lock engaged on the knob solidifying this to be true.

The only thing vying for his attention was the dog curled in the nook of his desk, an occasional wuffle of breath from his maw and the nuzzle of a cold nose to Simon’s ankle. This, this was as close as he could get to a semblance of domestic bliss.

[strawberryrnilk]

simon riley who’s never spent the night with a women before (friends with benefits kinda vibe)

he sucks, wetting at his bottom lip gently. eyes fixated on the way your thumbs dip, dip into the soft edges of your panties, slipping them down your legs gently. you leave them, tethered to the ground as you climb into bed, and poor simon. he tries to remain neutral, respectful but his mind wonders, and his boxers tighten.

and it’s when you kick a leg over his, he stumbles out a slow breath, focusing in on sleep, and how the fuck he is supposed to? and as his hand slides down your back, he feels the way your shirt’s risen, riding up as you get yourself comfortable.

you fingers wrap around the soft flesh protective of his ribs, noticing the weight of his heart beat, noticing the way his muscles flutter tense. you can’t help but lift onto an elbow, tilting your head slowly to look up at his screwed face. his eyebrows are tilted, furrowed tight, eyes disassocitive on the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the way your eyes ponder and settle on the harsh lines.

“you okay, si?” you murmur softly, placing a sweet hand to his cheek to regather his attention. and his pupils melt back into place, irises flickering down to your pretty face. its then when you notice the gaping black, the soft, sugary brown has been lost to the darkness that is of his pupils.

“i’m good, baby,” he whispers, but his eyes lower, losing himself in the way you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, lashes fluttering as he regains consciousness. “go to sleep, love.”

“what if i don’t want to?” you smile, cocking a brow. and his lips part, breath shallow across your face. he doesn’t want you to, no. but he breathes past his conflicting emotions, or the way his cock conflicts with himself as he presses a hand to the back of your head.

“go to sleep,” he whispers slowly, applying a feathering pressure at the back of your head to push your cheek back to his chest. and you allow him, sucking your lip between your teeth to hide the grin that flares tight in your chest before cracking at your lips. “just been a long day…”

and he’s lying, his day was bland. boring at that until you’d invited him over for a dinner and few drinks. and he’s jumping at that, blaming his bodily reactions on the few glasses he’d shared with you hours earlier. you asked him to spend the night, and he was doing his damn best to be a gentlemen, to keep his fingers from spanning at the bare flesh of your ass, to let his fingers slip between the warmth between your legs. he was a gentleman.

“mmm, i bet,” his chest tightens at your warm breath fanning across his skin like smoke. and it’s shameful the way his fuckin nipples tighten, hardening up at the way your lips brush right over them. it’s even worse the way his lungs shudder, stuttering as your hand dips beneath the sheet, smoothing its way down over his stomach.

“let me finish your day off with something sweet, then?” and you’re practically mouthing at his chest, tongue ever so slightly flicking across the span of his dulled, pink nipple. and it all catches up to him as the tip of your middle finger snags beneath the waistband of his boxers, his breath catches and his eyes flutter, throat seizing in a gasping mess of consent.

[strawberryrnilk]

not that this man would ever take a vacation but you can't convince me this isn't john price on leave somewhere on the coast. his belly's softer because he's been eating whatever he wants lately. he bought short shorts to wear and invites you to ride out onto the water in the boat he rented. he calls you bunny and rubs sunscreen on you and invites you spend the night in his cottage a few ticks down from yours.

he lets you drink his whiskey and likes the way your nose twitches at the smell of cigar smoke he purposefully blows into your face. helps you ride his thigh after getting tipsy and then fucks you raw until you can't see straight.

the next morning, he wakes you with a tongue in your hole. then pops over to the shop to buy you a shit ton of pastries before hurrying back to feed it to you in the bed. hushing your sleepy whines with a peck on your mouth and nuzzle of your cheek in between each bite of the breakfast.

gotta eat up, bunny. he's got a day full of upcoming activities for the two of you...

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[strawberryrnilk]

⛥ﾟ・。 pocus

synopsis: when you're a no-show for your scheduled merienda, katakuri begins to worry. little does he know you're right in the middle of a Big Mom hunger pang, and she seems to be craving your specialty...

cw: fluff, comfort, angst if you squint, katakuri is katakuri, katakuri DOES NOT PLAY ABT YOU, you have six children together, you're relative to his height, you're a baker.

a/n: i know katakuri's not part of my usual content but i'm rewatching wci and i'm inspired sue me <3 besides the man is FIONE

"Patissiers!"

"Yes, sir! We're on our way!" the patissiers bellowed, running at full speed with their large doughnut cart in tow. "We come with your treat for the day!"

Shifting his weight on his legs, the Sweet Commander crossed his arms over his broad chest, watching intently as the small men scurried toward him, the three of them a dark blue blur against the checkered pink of Brûlée's Mirro-World.

"Our selection today is truly special! Lady (y/n) said so herself!"

"I think you'll find it most appropriate!"

"For a man as perfect as you, each treat is made from the perfect ingredients!"

The first one hoisted a huge chocolate-frosted doughnut over his head, beaming proudly.

"We purchased the finest Corioli cacao we could find on the black market and combined it with milk from a cow grazed on a Sky Island whose life was free from stress and woe! The resulting chocolate is rich and ideal to dollop atop this giant doughnut!"

The second one lifted up a chocolate doughnut with strawberry cream, smiling widely.

"And for this one, we whipped the highest grade cream, which we received fresh from the great Minister Opera himself. The icing is meticulously decorated and topped with a strawberry to make this masterpiece a feast for the eyes, before it becomes entombed within your grateful belly!"

The third one raised a yellow doughnut, topped with decadent powdered sugar, slightly wobbling.

"We also prepared a doughnut topped with a sugar favored by Celestial Dragons, which brings out the spiciness of the Meylon Cinnamon baked into its dough, along with this and that and the other thing, too, of course!"

Together they twirled, utterly elated by the fine work you curated.

"And it is all thanks to Lady (y/n)'s unparalleled baking prowess! It is a true honor and privilege to work alongside her in the kitchen! So please enjoy this sublime sweetness!"

But, sadly, Katakuri had completely tuned them out.

Their entire explanation went completely unheard, the Sweet Commander more concerned with your absence than anything else.

Brows furrowing, his eyes quickly flicked around the cart, failing to sense your presence anywhere remotely nearby.

'(y/n)...'

It was routine that you join him for his merienda's everyday, rain or shine.

The patissiers would roll you in along with his ginormous bushel of doughnuts, your smile blinding as you greeted and joined him inside his mochi shrine.

There, you would feed him your sweet treats and whisper sweet nothings as he recounted his day to you, and you yours, resting in each other's embrace as you relished the little time together you two were able to make within your busy lives.

It was the only time of the day the man looked forward to.

And it was being tampered with.

"Where is she?"

His voice was like a wave of ice extinguishing any sort of jovial mood the chefs had established, replace their joy with potent fear.

Instantly, a frigid shiver rolled down their spines, their little bodies going rigid with terror.

"W-Well, you see—!"

"We are sworn to secrecy by the Lady herself!"

"She ordered us to remain silent about her whereabouts as not to disrupt your merienda!"

"We—!"

Abruptly lunging forward, Katakuri yolked up the first chef by the collar of his uniform, the man letting out a fearful yelp as the Sweet Commander pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He allowed his Conqueror's haki to flow freely from his body, blanketing the entire space under an immense and overwhelming pressure—so much so that it knocked the other two chefs out cold.

His tone was deadly serious, and leaving no room for argument.

"Where. Is. My. Wife?"

"Mocha, honey, keep stirring that curd!" you instructed, frantically, as you added the yeast to the second batch of doughnut scald. "Don't stop 'til it's nice and fluffy!"

"Yes, mama!" your young daughter nodded, expression determined as she fervently mixed the large vat of lemon filling, despite the growing weakness in her arms.

She had been stirring vigorously for the past thirty minutes straight, and there was only so much an eight year-old girl could take.

"We're running out of time!" Soda exclaimed, worried, as he peeked out the window, the rumblings coming from outside shaking the foundation of your large bakery. "Grandma's gonna be here any second!"

"We're working as fast as we can!" Cocoa grunted, finally finishing the third batch of dough.

"I don't understand!" Latte squealed, running to assist her little sister in stirring the curd.

"She was all the way on the north side five minutes ago! How did she get here so fast?!" Frappe added, following after.

"Anything's possible for your grandmother when it comes to dessert," you huffed, finishing up the fourth batch of dough. "I've learned that the hard way."

"Well, we're losing ground fast! Daifuku just got sent flying!" Chai exclaimed, his little eyes wide with horror as he watched his uncle soar through three buildings.

"That's it. I gotta go help," Soda quickly turned, storming toward the door.

"Absolutely not!" you shut down, instantly. "Nothing can stop your grandmother during one of her hunger pangs! You'd be needlessly putting yourself in danger!"

"I have to do something! I'm a minister!"

Soda was your firstborn son, the eldest of your six children and the pride and joy of the Big Mom pirates.

He was a prodigy, his power already nearing that of a Sweet Commander at the young age of twenty-one—he happened across the Fizz-Fizz fruit at a very young age, turning himself into a Carbonation-Man

With a bounty of 850 million, he was powerful enough to be asked out on his own solo missions, as well as join his countless aunts and uncles on their expeditions.

And to put the icing on the cake, he had set the record for youngest minister, having been appointed as the Minister of Fizz two years prior.

Your son was progressing in leaps and bounds, his dream of taking after his father coming to fruition more and more with each passing day.

But... where he took after Katakuri in prowess, he also took after him in his all-encompassing sense of duty.

"Stay here! Keep working on the doughnut!" he exclaimed, rushing out of the bakery. "I'll try and slow her down!"

"Soda!"

"Big brother!"

But he was already gone, leaping into the air to assist Smoothie.

"Mama, mama! The curd is finished!" Mocha reported, running over to tug at your dress.

"Good job, honey," you nodded, patting her on the head. "All right, kids, this is the moment of truth! Your brother's buying us some time so we've gotta hurry!"

"Right!"

"Chai, go get the other two batches of dough out the chiller!"

He nodded, quickly running to the back to go retrieve it.

"Latte! Frappe! Start combining the dough we have out here!"

The twins rushed toward the large bowls, already starting to dump them out onto the flour-covered counter.

"Mocha, go make sure the fryers are hot, then come back and help your brother combine the first batch!"

"You got it, mama!"

She turned and sprinted to the back room, running as fast as her little legs would carry her.

"Cocoa, you're with me! We're gonna finish up the glaze you started earlier!"

"Got it!" Cocoa nodded, running over to the bowl of half-finished glaze she had set aside.

"(y/n)!" Brûlée frantically exclaimed, popping her head out of a mirror in the kitchen. "It's getting bad! Mama's heading right this way!"

"I know! I know! We're moving as fast as we can!" you huffed, frantically stirring the second bowl of glaze.

"Well, it's not fast enough! Mont-d'Or wants to know how much longer this is going to take! This whole island is about to get leveled!"

"If Mama gets a mediocre doughnut then this island really will get leveled!" you scoffed, brows furrowed. "This is my specialty! Just let me handle this and everything'll be—"

"MAMA! GRANDMA'S HERE!" Mocha shrieked, trembling with terror as she stared out the window.

The Yonko's footfalls began to thoroughly shake the bakery, knocking over sacks of flour, breaking tables, and completely destroying shelves.

"No! It's too soon!" you gasped, quickly putting down the bowl and rushing toward the door. "Cocoa, take over! You know what to do!"

"Wha—?! Mom!"

"Don't stop working!"

Frantically, you burst out of the bakery, eyes wide to see that Big Mom was—in fact—right at your doorstep.

"I WANT MY DOUGHNUT! BRING ME MY LEMON DOUGHNUT NOW!"

"Mama!" you shouted, protectively extending your arms out in front of your beloved bakery. "Your doughnut is almost ready! Just give us a little bit more time!"

"WHERE IS MY DOUGHNUT, GIRL! BECAUSE ALL I WANT IS MY DOUGHNUT!"

"We're making it as fast as we can! We just need a few more minutes to get it just right! You have my word!"

"Mom, no!" Soda called, eyes wide with fear as he watched from a distance. "Get out of the way!"

"(y/n), forget it! It's no use!" Smoothie exclaimed. "Run!"

"No! I will not let her destroy everything we've worked for!"

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

In an instant, you were encompassed by an ominous aura, the feeling not at all foreign as you had witnessed the power countless times before.

'Soul Pocus...'

"IS IT LIFE?! OR TREAT?!"

"NO!" Soda shouted, about to rush toward you before Oven and Smoothie grabbed him up, holding him back.

"Not life or treat!" Opera winced.

"She's gonna steal her lifespan away!" Galette cried

"Mama, you can't! She's family! You'll get your dessert soon enough, just hold on!" Mont-d'Or attempted to reason.

"Mama, have mercy!" Smoothie exclaimed.

Brows furrowing, you stood strong, not budging an inch as she stared you down.

"I'm sorry, Mama! But it's just not ready yet!" you stated, cooly.

"Oh, you're gonna be sorry!" she bellowed, her glare intensifying. "I SAID... LIFE OR TREAT!"

Now, on any other day—where it was just you and your troop of bakers—you would have certainly had your soul ripped right out, the fear of your mother-in-law too great to fight off.

But this day was different.

This day... your children were thrown into the mix.

If Big Mom killed you before they finished the doughnut, then they would certainly be slaughtered right alongside.

And with your husband away on the outermost islands of Totto Land, and Soda held back by his uncles, there was no one else left to protect them in that outcome.

So... it didn't matter if it was Kaido, or Big Mom, or whoever.

You were willing to fight off all the emperors at once if it meant keeping your babies safe.

Your brows furrowed, all your fear seeming to dissipate into nothing, molding itself in the shape of pure, unwavering determination.

She wouldn't lay a finger on your children.

Not if you had anything to say about it.

Lunging forward, she attempted to grab your soul, but was thoroughly shocked to find that nothing had appeared in her grasp.

Your soul was perfectly intact.

"Your grandchildren are working diligently to bring the doughnut to perfection! If you could only wait just a little while longer!"

"Not necessary!" a familiar voice cut through the tense air, putting you at ease almost instantly.

"Look! Up there!"

"It can't be!"

"But it is!"

"It's...! It's...!"

"IT'S KATAKURI!"

As he soared through the air—humongous doughnut in hand—everyone watched with awe and relief, your husband a marvel to watch as he valiantly swooped in to save the day.

"Mama! Open wide!"

Using his Mochi-Mochi power, he launched his hand forward, harshly shoving the decadent doughnut into his mother's mouth, effectively halting her Soul Pocus.

For a moment... there was a pause.

The entirety of Whole Cake Island stood still, waiting with bated breath for Big Mom's reaction.

"Mama mama! How delicious! This is the best doughnut I've ever tasted!"

Together, everyone let out a unanimous sigh of relief, some even falling out on the floor.

"Mama is successfully subdued! I repeat! Mama is successfully subdued!" Mont-d'Or announced into his transponder snail. "Let's switch gears toward repairing damage. Toot sweet!"

"Lady (y/n) did it!"

"The island is saved!"

"That's our (y/n) for you!"

"Perfect as ever!"

"Oh, thank, God," you exhaled, breathless, as Big Mom's aura finally released you, allowing your legs to buckle.

"(y/n)!" Katakuri quickly landed next to you, catching your limp body before you could fall. "Are you all right?! What happened?!"

"Your mother happened," you sighed, allowing your head to drop against his chest. "One of her hunger pangs."

His eyes widened, a future where things could've gone very wrong flashing through his mind.

"And you didn't call me? I told you to make me aware when a situation like this occurs," he asked, tone rising—more out of fear of what could've been than actual frustration.

"It was time for your merienda... and you've been working so hard lately," you muttered. "I thought you deserved a break from all this."

"Not when it comes to your safety... or the children's," he shook his head. "You all are my utmost priority. More than my merienda."

Realizing your miscalculation, your cheeks warmed, suddenly feeling foolish.

"Sorry, Kuri," you sighed, allowing yourself to melt into his touch. "I dropped the ball, didn't I?"

At the nickname, Katakuri flushed under his scarf, eyes averting from your adorably apologetic expression before he turned even more red.

"I'm just glad you're all right," he caved, all will to chide effectively oozing from his body. "Rest for now."

"Mom!" Soda exclaimed running toward you both. "Are you all right?! That was insane! I've never seen anyone withstand Soul Pocus before!"

You scoffed, shaking your head.

"I assure you, I wouldn't be able to do that again in a million years."

"Soda, ensure your sisters and Chai are all right. Then send for cleanup within a bakery," Katakuri ordered, starting off in the opposite direction. "Assist Mont-d'Or in heading the repair efforts. I'm leaving this mess in your hands."

"You got it!" he nodded, turning around to join the Minister of Cheese in his work.

"Wait... Kuri, I have to help, too," you started, attempting to sit up.

"You have done enough," he denied, tightening his hold on you. "They can take things from here."

"But—"

"No buts... You'll be joining me for the rest of the day."

Confused, you raised a brow, unsure of what he was talking about.

"Joining you? ...For what?"

Knowingly, he glanced down at you, heart pounding against his chest once again at the sight of your perfect face.

How he got so lucky, he would never know.

"We still have time for our merienda. If... you're all right with cold tea?"

Warmed by his shy kindness, you were unable to fight the smile rising to your lips, his ears burning with embarrassment in the adorable way you loved.

He was cute when he wasn't acting all tough.

"Iced tea's perfect... Lead the way."

[strawberryrnilk]

I actually prefer it when artists make Simon a wee bit ugly. Like, I can't just picture him as too handsome...

Give him a crooked nose and yellowy teeth from consuming way too much tea and ciggies, a patchy 5 o'clock shadow, cauliflower ears, mean scars and bags under his sad, soft brown puppy–dog eyes.

Allow him to look like a 34 year old soldier who's been through hell fourteen times over. Man's got that special season pass for night terrors and insomnia. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like a wet mongrel with half its tail missing.

AND WE ARE OBSESSED.

[strawberryrnilk]

“Folded, Faded, Hidden” 

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

He carries your picture. Carries you in silence.

You’d never seen it.

Not once.

Not taped to the wall of his bunk, not tucked inside his wallet, not swiped through on his phone. You used to wonder – just briefly – if he even kept something of you when he left for missions.

But you never asked. Not because you didn’t want to know. But because he didn’t want to say.

So when he tells you – months later, after coming home with bruised ribs and a stitched-up shoulder – it’s not during a moment of vulnerability.

It’s when you’re folding laundry. Quiet, routine, domestic. That’s when he says it.

“I carry your photo,” he murmurs, like it’s an afterthought.

You pause, hands still on the fabric.

“What?”

“Printed. Small. Folded. Sewn into the inside of my vest, right over my heart.”

A beat. Then, “So no one could find it. No one could use it against me.”

There’s no softness in his voice. Just steel.

You realize then – he’s kept you close, closer than you ever imagined.

Not as a comfort token, but as something sacred.

Something worth hiding. Something worth surviving for.

────⊱♡⊰────

Then another night, somewhere miles away —

The mission goes bad.

Extraction late.

Too fast. Too many. Blood seeps down his side, thick and hot. Leaking through the tactical fabric like black water. He’s behind cover, vision graying at the edges. No one’s answering comms. He knows he’s alone.

He doesn’t panic.

Simon Riley doesn’t panic.

But he does press one trembling hand against his chest – right over the hidden seam, the tiny flap of cloth hand-stitched shut by his own needle and thread.

And beneath it: a small picture.

Crinkled from wear. The ink faded. Folded into fourths until your face is barely visible, but it’s you all the same.

You, smiling. Head tilted. Unaware he ever took the shot.

He presses his palm harder. Breathes deep.

“Still with me.”

That’s what he thinks, right before the darkness takes him.

────⊱♡⊰────

When he wakes in the med bay, broken but alive, the first thing he checks is that vest. That hidden seam.

It’s still there.

You’re still there.

Always. First and last.

────⊱♡⊰────

Later on, you find the vest. He doesn’t let anyone else patch it.

You stumble upon the pocket by accident – fingers brushing a seam that feels thicker than the others.

And when you tug the thread free and unfold the tiny square, the photo slips into your hand. Your face. Smudged. The colors faded to warm sepia. Corners worn nearly to tissue.

It’s been kissed. Or clutched. Maybe both.

Simon doesn’t say anything when he sees you holding it.

But he watches you like you’re the only anchor in a storm-ripped sea. Like if he speaks, the weight of that tenderness might crush him.

And still — no “I love you.”

Just this,

“You don’t go in my phone. You go with me.”

────⊹⊱⊱♡⊰⊰⊹────

“The first thing that steadies his breath.

The last thing he thinks about before the dark close in.

It's you.”

[strawberryrnilk]

Just thinking about how weird it is to realize Ghost is just a human.

Yes he's a big scary soldier who could snap your neck without flinching, but he's not some super human. He radiates inhuman vibes, for lack of better words, but he's just a guy doing his job.

Ghost can be hurt, he can be killed, he can be weak, and I don't know if we really think much about it. He's not a brick wall, but he's not emotionless either.

And I'm not saying, oh let's see baby being a soft little bottom getting all teary when he's sucked off so good, none of that. I'm saying he's just a guy, a very serious and definitely traumatized guy, but a guy.

He gets colds, he bangs his pinky toe on the corner of a shelf, he sits and watches TV, he cooks himself dinner (even if it's just mac and cheese or toast), he does his laundry, he ties his shoes! He's just a guy.

Idk where I'm going with this or if I'm conveying my thoughts right, but basically I'm trying to say that he's a person, fictional yes, but still a person. I mean yeah I've also been like, omg hot big boy fuck me, I just think we should really also think about how he's got more to him than just the basic view of him.

[strawberryrnilk]

ghost who thinks soap and gaz are dating since the two sergeants are so close to each other. always joking and touching.

one night, ghost and soap drunkenly kiss- ghost panics. He finds gaz and profusely apologizes.

Gaz starts cackling 💀

[strawberryrnilk]

simon riley x female reader // pregnancy

do y'all think simon would unironically name his child something stupid bcs he's in a full panic mode. Like u delivered his baby and r out cold unconscious bcs it was a complicated pregnancy. And the nurse asks him, "Sir, what name should we put down for the baby?"

And this 6'4 wall of muscle jusr blinks at her, absolutely fried bcs his fucking wife is unconscious.

“...Name?"

"Yeah. The baby's name, you can ofcourse, change it later."

Simon's brain is empty and static, nothing but a loud buzzing and the echo of your voice in his head saying, "Francis? What about Eugene? No, that sounds like an old man. Simon, come on, help me choose!"

But he can't remember a single one. Not even one syllable.

So he just glances up at the whiteboard in the corner of the room that says August 18th, and goes,

"...August. His name's August."

AND PLEASE IMAGINE WHEN YOU WAKE UP.

Like you’re groggy as hell, throat dry, limbs heavy and all that. It takes you a minute to register where you are—bright lights, the machines, and Simon’s voice.

“Hey. Hey, love—fuckin’ hell, you’re awake—nurse! Nurse, she’s up—”

He’s right there, hovering close, hand clutching yours, “You alright? Yeah? Need water? You want—Jesus, they said there were some complications, I nearly lost my fuckin’ mind—”

You’re half-dazed, trying to nod and whisper something—water, maybe, or is the baby okay?

And then the nurse comes in, all calm and chipper, does a quick check and says, “You’ve got one very healthy baby boy, sweetheart. Born at 8:46 PM.”

You look over—and there he is. In the bassinet. Your son.

So Simon gently, so carefully, lifts him into your arms. "Careful now," he murmurs, helping you hold him. “He’s heavy as a brick, this one.”

And he is. He’s huge. Warm and heavy and so heartbreakingly perfect. You press your cheek to his little fuzzy head, overwhelmed.

Then Simon, still sitting on the edge of the bed, goes, “…Don’t be mad, yeah?”

You blink at him. “Why?”

He looks so awkward like he’s almost expecting to be smacked.

“I, uh… might’ve named him.”

“Yeah? What did you choose?”

“I—look, I forgot everything, alright?” he says, in full-on panic. “‘Cause you were out cold, not respondin’, bleedin’ everywhere—I was shittin’ it. The nurse asked me what we’d decided and I blanked. Didn’t even remember the lad’s bloody gender for a second.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “So I… I said ‘August.’ ‘Cause. Y’know. It is August.”

You just keep looking at him blank faced. What?

Simon shifts, looking nervous. “You can change it later, she told me. I’ll do all the paperwork, swear on me life.”

You narrow your eyes. “You named our child after the month.”

He shrugs helplessly. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been ‘Thursday.’”

And you do pretend to be mad. You give him a full mum-stare, lips pressed together, shaking your head like I cannot believe you.

“You mean to tell me we spent months arguing about names and you went with August ‘cause it was on the fuckin’ calendar?”

And Simon is just sitting there looking like a kicked puppy 🥺

You try to stay mad but it’s no use. He looks so sheepish, so genuinely worried you’d hate it.

So you sigh, lean your head back, and whisper “…Well. Good thing it suits him.”

idk much about baby naming... I googled it but apparently each hospitals have it different so pls pretend this is how it goes 🧎‍♂️