#no one man should have that much flour

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing. 

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you? 

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room. 

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him. 

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?” 

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?” 

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?” 

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—” 

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—” 

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?” 

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,” 

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,” 

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different. 

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence. 

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?” 

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,” Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead. 

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too. 

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself. 

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough. 

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.” 

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,” 

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened. 

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,” 

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs. 

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna. 

But far from your last.  

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open. 

“You want another drink, Choso?” 

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small. 

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips. 

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Uh—“ 

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence. 

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face. 

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?” 

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?” 

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna. 

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either. 

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him. 

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to. 

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,” 

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?” 

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?” 

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down. 

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“ 

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves. 

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.” 

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it,  “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone. 

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,” 

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,” 

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing. 

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort. 

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?” 

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?” 

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,” 

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?” 

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms. 

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you. 

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?” 

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna. 

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso. 

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?” 

And now he had visited you in your dreams too. 

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?” 

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants. 

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan. 

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“ 

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,” 

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles. 

“Now you’re getting it, baby.” 

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream. 

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” 

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now. 

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in? 

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out. 

“Had” being the operative word. 

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep. 

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you). 

“What are you talking about?” 

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked. 

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door. 

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke. 

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real. 

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer. 

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed. 

No, it was more of a curse. 

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass. 

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,” 

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his. 

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM! 

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you. 

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,” 

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?” 

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word. 

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning. 

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while. 

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—” 

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?” 

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,” 

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,” 

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much? 

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful. 

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?” 

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet. 

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle. 

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers. 

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts. 

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?” 

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself. 

So you don’t.  

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,” 

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here. 

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much. 

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh. 

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?” 

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,” 

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,” 

Wait. What? 

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still. 

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind. 

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own. 

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close. 

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,” 

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?” 

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts. 

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits. 

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl. 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together. 

But you couldn’t. Not without him. 

“Sukuna—“ 

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“ 

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them. 

And he smiles all the same. 

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,” 

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets. 

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,” 

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“ 

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants. 

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,” 

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue. 

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt. 

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can’t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb. 

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,” 

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek. 

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers. 

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open. 

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“ 

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,” 

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit. 

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy. 

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet. 

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,” 

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open. 

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside. 

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“ 

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,” 

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit. 

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt. 

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth. 

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together. 

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.  

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“ 

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in. 

God, fuck. 

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt. 

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you. 

It was only the first. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy. 

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning. 

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,” 

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear. 

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,” 

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant. 

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit,  “I’m—” 

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load. 

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in. 

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you. 

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.” 

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?” 

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but 

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick. 

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you. 

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around. 

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips. 

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg. 

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,” 

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence. 

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna. 

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night. 

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line,  “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,” 

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder. 

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,” 

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you. 

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all. 

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place. 

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?” 

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?” 

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh. 

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful. 

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.” 

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle. 

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.” 

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt. 

“Want me to prove it?” 

And oh, he would. Again and again. 

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

[minart-was-taken]

The wild references to Finland in Honkai Star Rail

Hello, in this post I'm going to go over the various references to Finland in Honkai Star Rail (Also touching a little on HI3) and explaining them the best I can so that non-finns can understand how hilariously delightful they are.

_

Starting with a funny one: Welt Yang.

The man is canonically 1/2 finnish, 1/4th chinese and 1/4th german according to sources I dont understand.

The way this is represented in Honkai Star Rail comes in one intentional form and one that may be an accident but I love it anyway:

1.

Welt's given name is Joachim Nokianvirtanen, a name that is utterly hilarious to a finn like me. Why? Well Nokianvirtanen is not a surname anyone here would ever have. Virtanen is a real surname, but for some reason Mihoyo decided slap Nokia in the front of it??

The name translates to "Nokia's rapids." Which adds to the funniness because yes Nokia is an actual place in Finland and not just the brand, but it is also very much the brand.

(Also Joachim is not a finnish name even if many finns are christian.)

This is the equivalant of naming an american character Jesus McDonaldslake.

2.

Welt's hair colour! A lot of people imagine blond and blue eyes when imagining a finn, but that's not actually accurate to the statistics. The most common hair colour here is in fact "Maantien harmaa." Translating to country road grey. Sometimes they leave out the word grey or replace it with blond. The colour is known as dirty blond or pale brown in english speaking countries 👍 This is less funny and just a cute detail.

_

Secondly we'll be going over Sampo Koski, a man many know to have a very finnish name.

BUT FIRST Fun backround info: I didn't know Sampo was in this game when I first started playing, so when he showed up and suddenly dropped finnish words at me I was utterly jumpscared.

Finland is very rarely referenced in media outside of our country, so most of us are NOT used to hearing anything about our home in media.

Furthermore there's actually a meme about this very thing that everyone in the country knows: Torilla Tavataan. This translates to "Lets meet at the marketplace" which is referring to the idea that when something massively cool happens we should gather together and celebrate.

The finns REALLY want to be acknowledged by the wider world lol

Anyway back to Sampo. His name is actually something I could totally see a real finn having, although his first name is a little out there.

Sampo is an item from finnish* mythology that was forged by a super capable smith with the help of his whole village. The item is golden with multiple spouts that produce valuable things like flour, gold and I believe... salt? You can find more about the item online.

Koski meanwhile means a river rapid. Uhm, lotsa water themed names here, huh!

Nothing that funny going on with his references to be honest. I can even say the voice actor did an amazing job pronouncing his name correctly.

_

Yunli's companion quest!

This is the newest batch of references I've ran into, but if I or anyone else finds more I'll be updating this list :]

In Yunli's companion quest we meet... Paavo. His name is Paavo--

This NPC introduces himself as a traveler from far away who's come to deliver a sword from his homeland back to the Xianzhou where it was originally forged. Here's why he made me giggle uncontrollably every moment he was on screen.

1.

Paavo is considered kind of a joke name, very comparable to naming someone Bob in america. The way NPC's referred to him sounded like "Mr. Bob" to me. It was so funny

2.

He is from the PLANET KALEVALA?? SAFlJ LJ ???

Kalevala is the national epic of Finland* and tells stories such as the one of Sampo's creation. The title does refer to setting of the story, but it is still weird to hear it as a name of a planet lol.

3.

Our food is really repetitive u right Mr. Paavo

4.

Paavo explains the sword he has come to deliver is called Miekka Kivessä. This is the finnish translations of "The sword in the stone." he proceeds to then explain the legend of the sword in the stone, which. It's not a finnish legend. We've never had a king, yet alone chosen them with a sword-- Not even in myths. Kalevala's highest ranking guy in the mortal realm is Väinämöinen who's an old wise man.

Also he says Miekka Kivessä wrong but that's to be expected, very funny, and also I admire the effort to at least try and make it sound natural.

5.

Finally, he later reveals his last name-- Which, why are we refering to him as Mr. Paavo if he has a last name...? Oh well! Mr. Paavo's last name is Kalastaja, which translates to Fisher. This is not a real last name in Finland. The english equivalent of this man's goddang name would be something like Mr. Bob Employee.

_

Since you've made it this far I assume you won't mind me rambling a bit more. I'm personally psyched to see Finland mentioned in non-finnish media and love the wonky but genuine attempts to include us!

I think considering how many weebs there are in Finland who've come up with illogical "Asian names" to sound cool online, it's only fair we got the same treatment back :P I hope they'll keep delivering and I'd love to visit planet Kalevala one day.

_

*It's worth noting Finland is a colonizer of the Sami people, and a lot of their culture has been annexed without any care or respect towards them.

Finland was also under colonialism itself for hundreds of years, and our myths have been largely lost to time with only some information left. It's super difficult to tell what is finnish mythology and whats the Sami people's mythology.

That's a fact that's deeply important to remember when discussing things like this, and I hope that the people reading this consider looking into how to help the indigenous people of the nordic region. Thank you.

[laroserie]

— Various x-men characters, baking with reader

— characters ; Scott Summers. Rogue. Logan Howlett.

— warning ; no particular tw. author is not great at baking but he had a baking phase so. very sweet / fluff and self-indulgent. can be seen as platonic or romantic. reminder that author has not read the comics (only saw the films + is watching the animated series, xmen evolution and 97) and doesn't know much about some characters ( ex Rogue ) so author is doing his best to characterise them. author has favorite and it's shows. author says a cake count as a pastry and a pastry is basically any baked goods (if you do not agree. soryr that suck)

– Scott Summers.

Scott seems to be the kind of guy to be very open to baking, depending on what you want to bake.

Simple things like, cookies or a chocolate cake ? Sure. He is your man, he will be very happy to bake with you.

Now if you want to do something more complicated like, macarons or hell a pie, he will pat your shoulder and say 'Good luck with that' and walk out of the room. He is not even attempting to bake things that are too hard.

Why should he, when he can make simple things that taste good. There is no need to try some extravagant bakeries that most likely won't end up being very tasty the first time.

But with enough coercion and 'begging' (which you could call 'annoying him to no end') he will concede, but don't get him wrong - he is not at fault nor taking responsibility if it end up being disgusting.

Scott is the type to be very commending even in the kitchen, he is still the 'leader', here he will give you instructions and let you do it - until he does it himself because 'you aren't doing it properly' (he is trying to fix this habit up, don't get too angry at him).

He is also the type to follow the recipe and measurements extremely close, but if he's, for example, measuring flour and there is a bit too much but you have your back turned, he'll just let it be, let it slide, because no one else but him is aware of it, so it's fine !

He is still fun to bake around with, of course, but, he is still very, ... himself while doing so.

Once you are done, Scott is most likely to let you have the first bite - he is staring you down waiting to hear if you like it or not before trying for himself.

If the outcome isn't exactly the greatest - Scott will make it his personal mission to master it. He will not be beaten by something as simple as a pastry.

– Rogue.

If you have Rogue to bake with you, she will be overjoyed. She could be so happy that you want to bake with her, baking is an activity you usually do with people you are close to, so in her eyes you wanting to bake with her, show that you see her as someone you are close to in the very least.

She'll tell you to wait a few seconds, be gone and come back with a binder with handwritten families recipes and ask you if you wanna try one of them.

Unlike Scott, she is the type to not really care about measurements, she try to follow the ones from the recipes but if there is a bit too much flour, she won't scoop some out of it, because after all, that shouldn't change the outcome right ?

But that is, if you follow a recipe, if you don't ... let's just say there will be enough cakes - or whatever you both made - for weeks. She isn't really great at guessing how much is too much or how much is not enough.

She is absolutely the type to tease you while baking, if you are making something that requires meringues, she will do the meringue test (the meringue test is that if you take the bowl it's in and flip it upside down and nothing drop - it good, if it drop it's not) but not take any precautions, like doing it over the sink or counter. She will give you small heart attack.

Even if you don't really follow the recipes and have to change a few ingredients in the middle of the process because there isn't enough or because you didn't have it, the outcome will taste quite good most of the time. Rogue, will go and make everyone in the manor have a taste - because everyone should have a bit of what you both spend time on.

– Logan Howlett

Okay, now, baking with Logan is something that could only happen once in a blue moon. If you ask him to bake with you, he won't answer you and just give you a look that scream 'do i look like a fucking baker to you ?'.

Now that said, if you do go on your plan of baking - without him - there is a high chance that he will watch you do so, he will lean on a counter and watch you go about your baking.

He will comments on what you are doing and says snarky remarks about what you are doing - that's in his opinion - wrong.

Logan may help you when you are struggling - you are supposed to mix something together but it's a bit too hard for you, he will extend his hand and tell you to give it to him. But that's as far as he will go - and giving you the sugar that's in the cabinet next to him.

If you are making something like cookies, he will take one without asking, because after all he 'assisted' you (told you, you really sucked at mixing eggs and flour and telling you to be more organised when you bake because you are making one hell of a mess).

[a-killer-obsession]

Afab reader B number 19 please

Sweet Little Cream Donut

Prompt: Breeding

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her pronouns, established relationship (kinda?), body worship, size difference, oral (reader receiving), loss of virginity, squirting, creampie, cockwarming

WC: 2.5k

Event Masterlist

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

“I don't know what to do anymore, Brulee,” you sighed to your sister-in-law, blowing on your tea before taking a sip of the hot sweet liquid. You'd spent a great deal of time with her since your wedding to Katakuri three months ago, and you felt comfortable talking to her about anything and everything. She loved her brother and wanted him to be happy, just as much as she wanted you to be happy with him.

“Have you talked to him about it?” She asked, stirring sugar into her tea, making small clinks as the spoon rubbed against the edge of the porcelain cup.

“I mean, I mentioned a few times that Mama has been more than enthusiastic about grandchildren,” you placed your teacup back down on the gold rimmed plate, “but he just gives a huff and changes the subject. He barely even kisses me. Maybe I'm not pretty enough for him”

“That is certainly not the case!” Brulee exclaimed, “sister, you are beautiful! A woman truly worthy of my darling big brother! I think perhaps… perhaps he's scared of hurting you? Hes always been a gentle soul”

“Mama chose me for a reason,” you pouted, “my people are larger than most, stronger, and she knew how much I want children when she picked me, he should know I'm more than capable of holding my own. Mama isn't stupid, she didn't pick some flimsy human for a reason”

“Maybe it's time to lay it on thick then,” Brulee suggested with a mischievous smile, “buy some pretty new lingerie, sweet perfume, light some candles, seduce him”

“Brulee!” You giggled, not expecting the woman to be so forward, “shopping trip then?”

“Shopping trip!” She clapped excitedly.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆

Katakuri was due in at any moment. He often had a meeting with Mama after dinner, as a Sweet Commander and the Minister of Flour it was important that he and the other ministers and commanders meet a few times a week to keep up to date with the happenings in Totto Land. Tonight was one of those meetings, so you'd had time to prepare for your grand scheme of seduction. Shaving every hair from your body, applying perfumes and lotions that smelt like baked goods, putting on a pretty new set of pink lingerie - a lace trimmed mesh mini dress and matching thong - and setting the mood with vanilla candles and soft music. Everything was ready and you paced the room nervously before finally settling on the edge of the bed, waiting for the heavy footsteps in the hall that signalled the approach of your husband.

Your legs rubbed together in anticipation, losing your virginity to such a large man was no small event, but it should have happened months ago on your wedding night, and you were more than ready for him to finally claim you. Not to mention, you were eager to present Mama with a grandchild - you wanted to fit in here, but the longer you went without signs of pregnancy, the more she subconsciously frowned in your presence. She was an intimidating woman, you wanted to please her.

Heavy footsteps and the unlatching of the door alerted you to Katakuri's arrival, and you stood tall as he entered. Your kind were large, yourself standing at 9 feet tall, but Katakuri was a giant of a man, almost twice your size at 16 feet. You picked at the cuticles of your fingers nervously as you waited for him to latch the door and turn to you, his expression unreadable as he noticed you standing there and took in your appearance and the romantic atmosphere. He removed his scarf slowly, he'd shown you his true face before the wedding, not wanting to force you into a marriage if you were going to be scared of him, and his nose wiggled as he smelt the sweet scents in the air.

“What is this?” He asked nervously.

“This is… me… asking you to take me to bed,” you tried to feign confidence but it was hard to form a coherent sentence or keep his eye. He languidly closed the space between you and fiddled with the hem of your dress, rubbing the thin silky fabric between his thumb and index.

“I take you to bed every night,” he stated.

“Kat… you know that's not what I mean,” your hand laid against his bare chest where his vest lay open, tracing one of the bright pink tattooed stripes that ran down it. He shivered under your touch and quickly took a step back, your hand falling limp to your side.

“I can't,” he said softly.

“Why not?” You pouted, feeling hurt at his rejection, “am I not pretty enough? Do you not want to give me children? Are you… are you ashamed of me?” A tear formed and rolled down your cheek as you admitted to the insecurities.

He was back in front of you in a flash, wiping the tear gently with his thumb, his large hand easily encompassing the entire side of your face as you leaned into it and looked at him longingly. “That's not it! You're beautiful, so unbearably stunning,” he quickly assured you, “I… I can barely keep myself from you, night after night, but I… I can't… I don't want to hurt you”

You held his hand to your face and blinked up at him, his sad expression looking out of place on his strong features. “You won't hurt me Kat, you have to trust that I'd tell you if you were hurting me. I'm not glass, I'm strong, Mama chose me for a reason. You won't hurt me. I want you, Katakuri, please”

His breath hitched as you found a new wave of confidence, running your hand up his chest and up to his jaw, tracing one of his sharp teeth with your fingertip, showing him how unafraid you were. Your hand ran back down as you circled him, Katakuri turning with you as though it were a dance, till his back was to the bed. You pressed against his chest and he let you move him, falling to sit on the bed as you climbed into his lap to straddle it. Raised on your knees you could just barely reach his mouth, and you pressed a hot, desperate kiss onto him, a small whine escaping him as you forced your tongue past his sharp teeth, wet muscles meeting and crashing against each other for the first time. You pushed the vest from his shoulders, letting it fall to the bed, and ran your hands over his body, guiding his hands to your waist before pulling him down by his neck so you could lower yourself to grind against his forming erection.

Your tongue ran up the scar on the side of his face till your mouth met his ear, tugging on the lobe with your teeth before whispering to him. “Breed me, Katakuri”

He made a possessive growl before grabbing your waist and flipping you both so you laid underneath him. His strong hands made quick work of your pretty new lingerie, tearing them from your body and revealing your soft bare skin that prickled with goosebumps as the cool night air touched it. Cool air replaced by hot wet saliva, his thick tongue ran over you, eagerly tasting and devouring every inch of you, making you moan and writhe as he sucked and nipped at your more sensitive spots, leaving marks over your entire body. The only place he avoided was your needy centre, teasing you and working you up as he touched and licked at your arms and legs and torso and neck, till finally he ran his tongue up your thigh and pushed your legs apart, groaning as he ran a fat stripe up your dripping virgin cunt. This flavour was all for him, nobody else would ever taste such delights, he thought to himself as he devoured you greedily.

You moaned and tugged at his short purple hair as he lapped and sucked at your sensitive pussy, rolling your clit with his tongue, his breath hot and vibrating against you as he let out satisfied groans and held your thighs around his face. He looked up at you with hungry eyes that had your hips rolling on their own accord, unintentionally riding his tongue as he grinned against you, careful to control your movements so as not to catch your soft plush thighs against his sharp teeth. You practically screamed from pleasure as his tongue bullied its way inside you, head falling to the pillow with a string of unabashed moans and back arching as he thrust it in and out of your tight entrance, before you suddenly shook and came on his tongue without warning. Katakuri made a contented growl and cleaned your release with his tongue, savouring your taste on it, his eyes closed and face relaxed as he drank you.

“So sweet,” he sighed, running his tongue through your folds once more like he couldn't get enough, “you're not ready for me yet though, I'll have to stretch that sweet tight hole a little more”

You moaned and bucked as he slid two thick fingers inside you, pumping you and scissoring his fingers to stretch you out, taking his time to get you open enough for him. He added a third, his tongue returning to your clit and distracting you from the slight sting of the stretch as he added a forth, the lewd wet squelch of your pussy almost deafening over the soft romantic music as he finger fucked you with increasing speed. One last flick of your clit with his tongue, and you were gushing around his hand, his brows raising in surprise at the volatile release before quickly lapping at it, his hand wet against your thigh as he held you tight to his face and groaned against you.

You were shaking and panting as he finally let your legs go, licking his lips and watching while your hips rolled off the bed, desperate for him to fill you. “Kat, please,” you moaned, “I want you so bad”

“I know my sweet,” he stood at the end of the bed and unzipped his pants teasingly slowly, kicking off his shoes and sliding his pants down till his monstrous cock sprang free, your breath catching in your throat at the sheer size of it. Your thighs rubbed together anxiously, wondering if you could even fit him all inside you. “I can't wait to fill you with my seed,” he purred as he climbed back onto the bed, your eyes greedily scanning every taut muscle that formed his large body, every tight corded bulge and curve that you craved to run your tongue over. You couldn't help but reach between your bodies and take his cock in your hand, so hot and hard, your hand far too small to wrap around it. He groaned and bucked into your palm, precum dripping from the tip as you stroked him experimentally.

“So big,” you whined, “want you to fill me up”

“I will, my sweet,” removing your hand gently as he began to position himself between your legs. Your eyes rolled as his fat tip pressed against your soaked entrance, his precum beading against you and adding to the lubrication. “You're gonna look so good when you're fat and round with my babies,” he purred, pressing into you devastatingly slow, your nails sinking into his forearms to make deep half moons as your pussy stretched around him. “There's a good girl,” he groaned as he fit more and more of his cock inside you, “so tight, so desperate to milk me for all my seed, I'm gonna give it all to you sweet girl”

He grunted and breathed heavy against your shoulder as he bottomed out, feeling the bulge of his own cock inside you as his abdomen pressed against yours. Your thighs shook at the sheer fullness, his cock pressing against every sensitive part of your walls and stretching you impossibly wide, every tiny movement making you whine as he collected himself, trying his best to hold back from immediately slamming into your virgin pussy.

After an age he slowly slid back out, only his tip remaining inside you before penetrating you again. He set a slow, deep pace, your thighs wrapping as best you could around him, pressing your heels to his ass and urging him to go faster. “More,” you whined, “more, please, breed me”

He let out a low groan and nipped your shoulder with his sharp teeth before grabbing your hips and slamming into you. You let out a shrill pleasured scream with every thrust, the entire island would no doubt hear you as he fucked you hard, your smaller body jostling back and forth with every heavy pounding of his fat cock. You screamed as an orgasm ripped through you, Katakuri grabbing the headboard for support as he groaned at the added tightness, never letting up on his brutal pace.

“Yes yes yes yes,” you cried, seeing stars and making deep scratches on his back and chest, back arching of the bed as he growled down at you, watching your tits bounce with every deep thrust, watching the way the membrane around your entrance pushed pulled with every movement, refusing to let his cock go, begging for him to release inside you. He held himself pack, his sheer willpower keeping him on the precipice, determined to make you cum one more time before he would reward himself.

“Gonna- gonna cum again-” you whined, barely able to speak through your panting, eyes glazed over, expression pained with a goofy, fucked out smile as your husband fucked the coherence out of you. Having only ever expressed orgasms by your own hand, you were in absolute nirvana, body tingling with the effects of three orgasms and quickly feeling the approach of a forth. “Want- want your cum- hnng- fil-ll me up, p-please”

“Gonna breed you good baby,” Katakuri groaned, headboard creaking under the strain as his thrusts became erratic and desperate, “fuck, gonna cum too, fuck”

The tightening of your pussy as you came put him over the edge, headboard giving out and snapping violently as he let out a roar and spilled out inside you, the sheer volume of his pent up release combined with his thick cock making cum immediately drip from your hole, Katakuri making final thrusts as your orgasm settled. He stayed inside you as he stilled, pulling back only a little as his cock twitched and made one last deposit, keeping himself as a plug so you had no choice but to accept his cum. You panted hard, laying against the soft mattress, willing your body to open up and accept his seed, willing it to take and make you round with his child.

“I love you,” he finally stuttered through heavy breaths, throwing broken pieces of headboard to the floor, sweeping away wood fragments with his hand and laying beside you, pulling you with him, cock still warm deep inside your cunt. “So beautiful… so sweet for me..”

“I love you too Kat,” you panted, arms wrapping around his neck and face nestling against his while rouge beads of cum slid down your thighs. “But maybe we should invest in a stronger bed,” you giggled.

[koiifysh]

Caleb boyfriend hcs. Short! Reader

I can see the talkative x shy trope with Caleb, him obviously being the talkative one in the relationship while his s/o is a sweet shy girl.

Likes to tease A LOT. And not just in a suggestive way, in every way possible. You want a hug? Mm you have to say it out loud and clear, (even though deep down he knows what you want.)

You can't hide anything from him, he reads you like an open book

Flusters you 24/7. Random headpats, sudden kiss on the cheek and then pretending like nothing happened.

Stares at you while you ramble to him about things that happened throughout your day. Loves when he sees you light up while talking about your favorite show, game, book or anything. He tries to listen, he really does but you are such a distraction.

"Gosh you're cute." He mumbles to himself. "Hm? Did you say something?" You look at him. He puts a strand of hair behind your ear, slowly leans in and lightly kisses your cheek.

If you're short, get ready to be bullied by this man because he will hold things high above your head and tease the life out of you.

You once couldn't get the jam jar because it was on the top shelf. Caleb saw this and came to your way. You thought it was to help you, how naive. Man's picked up the jar and put it on the shelf above it and walked away. You were flabbergasted.

Of course seeing your slightly pouting face, he apologizes and gets you the jar. Gives you kisses on the cheek as extra apology.

Greenest flag ever. Strictly follows the sidewalk rule. Even if you unintentionally happen to be close to the streets, he would exchange places while talking. You wouldn't even notice sometimes.

Gives the best care during periods. If you're on your period, he will bring you to his place, you can't say no to him no matter what. “I can't leave you alone when you're on your period like this. Stay with me for the week, I promise I'll take good care of you."

Has everything ready for you. Pads, pain meds, comfort food. Name anything and he will bring it to you without hesitation.

Will cuddle from behind and rub your abdomen as to soothe the pain.

And if you cry from pain, he will hold you and wipe your tears away. He hates seeing you cry and hates that he can't do more than give you your meds.

Will cook for you all the time. He secretly has a cooking plan made just for you. He loves cooking for you, especially when you compliment his cooking skills and praise him. Hides his face so that you don't see the slight blush on his face.

Baking together? He's all in for it. He lets you take the lead while baking since he knows how much you love it. Will be playful and smudge flour on your face for fun and then laugh.

Is great at comfort and encouraging words. He believes in you more than you believe in yourself sometimes.

100% gamer bf.

Owns a PS5 and also a PC. I can see Caleb playing games like Final Fantasy and Resident Evil.

If you're into cozy games he will definitely check those out too. You wanna play animal crossing together with him? Done. Y'all gonna keep playing and won't even notice the time. He secretly loves playing cozy games. He didn't even himself know until he met you. Never makes fun of you for you taste in game. Games are for fun and comfort. No one should be shamed for that.

You wanna play on his PS5? Uh-uh not so easily. This cheeky guy would let you play on one condition. He sits with his legs crossed and pats on his lap. If you deny, you can say goodbye to the PS5. But, if you obey and sit on his lap, he will literally give you his PS5. You can take it. All yours. He just wants you.

Given your height and size, it's easy and comfy for you to sit on his lap and get hugged while playing. He watches you, placing a kiss on your head every now and then.

Overall, Caleb is a 10/10 boyfriend. He loves you a lot and will always support you no matter what.

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 16:63 ⏤BABY FEVER

SUM. : you and remus meet an adorable baby while grocery shopping

TAGS. : husband remus ; wife reader ; modern au ; muggle au ; married au ; baby fever ; mentions of birth control ; honeymoon phase ; domestic fluff

LENGTH : 0.6k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

You and Remus were doing your weekly shop, list in hand as he pushed the shopping cart beside you. It’s a peaceful routine the two of you got into after making it official and moving in together. Every Friday, after the two of you got off work, he’d pick you up and you’d both go grocery shopping for the upcoming week.  

“Should we buy welsh cakes or make them ourselves?” you mutter aloud as Remus chuckles beside you. 

“You mean ‘or you make them’, you know I’m useless around ovens,” he presses an affectionate kiss against your temple and smiles at the giggle it draws from your pretty lips — music to his ears. People said it was impossible to stay in the honeymoon phase of your relationship for so long but you and Remus debunked all of that. From a distance, the two of you still looked like newlyweds. 

“I suppose I have some time to make a few batches after we get home today,” you smile at your husband, “we can have some before tea,” 

“Sounds like a plan, dove,” Remus agrees and, as you add a small bag of self-raising flour to your cart, you hear a cry to your right and turn to see a baby perched in the cart seat, reaching its small pudgy hands down for a small dog plush they must have dropped. To the left of the baby, you saw, who you assumed was the child’s mother softly ask what the matter was, her brows furrowed from worry. It appears as though she didn’t see that her child had dropped their toy. 

Before you could take action, Remus was already handing the small plush back to the child, “here you go,” he whispers softly, “no more tears now,”

The mother flashed a smile at your husband, “Thank you so much,” she then turned to her child, “let’s say thank you to the kind man, darling,” she took the child’s small wrist and made them wave at you and Remus, who moved to stand beside you with an adoring smile on his face. Seeming to understand what their mother was asking of them, the baby gives a gummy grin with the few teeth they had as their eyes disappear behind their pudgy, flushed cheeks. At this, the mother gave one final grateful smile before moving on with her shopping, her baby hugging their beloved plush to their chest. 

“How cute,” Remus mutters, smiling and waving a final goodbye at the baby as he gradually begins to realise how quiet you’ve been. 

“Remus…” he looks at you with soft eyes as yours become rounded when looking up at him, they sparkled with want as you push your bottom lip out into a pout. It’s a look he’s familiar with; it’s the one you always pulled when you wanted something so he’s quick to anticipate any request you wanted to make.

“Yes, dove?”

“I want a baby,” 

“A–...” speechless, Remus stares at you with his jaw slackened and his eyes wide. A heat crawls up his neck and floods his cheeks as he stiffens in the hopes that the tightening of his pants weren’t just his imagination, “a…a baby?...”

“Yeah…” your whining voice makes a heat pool in his lower abdomen and, just when he thought you couldn’t make things worse, your arms wrap around his torso to squeeze him close. He looks down with red cheeks as you place your chin on his chest and continue pouting, “I want a baby now!”

“D-Dove— we can’t–”

“Why not?” 

“..y-you’re on birth control–!”

“I’ll get off it,” you quickly reply, grinning up at him like the little minx you are. He knows that you can see the profound effect your statement has on him, “please, honey~” like all of your requests before, Remus can’t say no to you. 

He’ll give you a baby and he’s not going to wait for you to get off birth control. 

NAVI.

A/N : i'm dying from a horrible flu and fever but i had to write this before i lost the inspiration to, again, this was inspired by tiktok XD i hope you darlings enjoy! i'll try to get better as soon as possible so i can get back to writing again ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

TAGLIST : @rosalyn-s @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @neeezza101 @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @chullu-bhar-paani

[white-poppie]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 ⎯⎯⎯ Part II of the '𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇' series

SYNOPSIS: In the bleakest times of your life, there kindled a little ember in you. Tsukiko, moon child, you were coping, one way or another. But dark clouds claw at the litte light of hope in your life as you come face to face with Suguru again.

TW: crying, teen-pregnancy, panic attacks, lactation, depression-like symptoms, post-partum, adoption,, self-loathing, su!c!dal ideation, jealousy, mentions of suguru's twisted ideals of a perfect jujutsu society, big sad :(

A/N: Thank you for all the support to this series!! Ps! look out for the symbolism in objects, i used big brain power lol. Plus I am sooooo sorry for delaying this so much

NOTE: reader is in her last year so she'd be around 17-19 :) This big sad will build up to happiest happy in the last part so bear with me.

WC: 4k lmaooo

Series masterlist Pt1: 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 ⏮ ⏸ ⏭ Part 3 Now playing: Part 2

The child, a baby girl, lay giggling and cooing in your arms as you look down at her with warmth in your eyes. She's the spitting image of an angel with her wide and expressive eyes, her small nose, a sharp arch exactly like her father, pink flushed cheeks and a tuft of soft dark black hair on her head…She looks exactly like Suguru.

She is a talkative baby, her little pink lips opening and closing wit soft 'pops', thats quite literally talking, what even is the difference when you are holding a squishy 2 month old? Her hands and movements are disoriented, jerky, flailing her chubby little arms and legs without care.

Her tiny hand reaching up to grab at your strands of hair, her big eyes looking curiously at your hair, observing how it moves with her tiny wrist.

"Come on, sweetheart, let mama do shopping for you." you whisper to the tiny baby strapped to your chest as you go around picking the essentials

She looks up at your voice, her lips almost forming a little pout and you can't help but coo lightly at her cuteness. You resist the urge to snap another photo and send it to Shoko to which she would always reply with a boring thumbs up emoji, but you know well how she smiles after seeing her god-child.

"Let's see what we have... we got the diapers, baby oil, flour, we got the veggies and other stuff...ah pear, we should get some pears." you say to the baby. It was difficult to think singularly in singular pronouns, it was the two of you-- it was 'us', 'our' through and through.

You walk down to the fruit isle, looking for some pears. Eventually you find the last pack in the thin mesh. Your hands reach forward to grip it and so does another. Your heart ceases. There is no way you wouldn't recognise that hand. The faint tan under which lie a constellation of protruding green veins. Fingers with a naturally large nail bed, the skin around it slightly discoloured. Suguru. There was no doubt it was him, you didn't even need to look up or rather you didn't have the strength to.

You suddenly wanted to laugh. You felt like a tragic greek hero, comung across your beloved, a bit too late. Orpheus and Eurydice, Hyacinthus and Apollo. Achilles and Patroclus. But the real tragedy was, as the poets said, "I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

"Suguru..." You whisper out breathlessly as you finally dare and look him in the eye.

His name leaving your lips like a plea tears straight through his chest, his heart aching at the sound of his beloved's voice again. He can't help but feel his heart racing as he looks at your face, drinking in the sight of your tired but radiant face. "Y/N," he murmurs out.

He feels sick, how instantly his sleep-deprived body finds solitude at the sight of you. Relief flooding into his lungs, spreading throughout his veins like a chasm. Its shattering, he feels like a man who was lost in a desert after having left his paradise for a mirage of an oasis.

His body is on fire, his muscles searing to envelop you, to somehow make you melt into him and never let go. His vision blurs, watery, and then suddenly, his breath stills, when his eyes fall onto the soft bundle safely strapped to you chest. An appearance uncanny similar to his, its alive, living. His ears buzz in trepidation. On one hand you stand in front of him and he wants to fall on his knees and tell you how miserable and lonely he was, how being the villain in everyone's story, including yours doesn't bother him anymore, but that child...

"Is that.." he murmurs, but his voice trembles more that he would have liked it to.

Your eyebrows etch into a small frown, you almost want to scream at him for even asking this question. "Obviously." You reply your eyes darting to the aisles in the mart.

His breath stutters and his palms turn cold. No, no, no, no, no. A soft gasp leaves his mouth. The revelation tumbling down him. he had thought of everything. He was ready to face anything, and every consequence, and yet somehow some way he had forgotten to calculate a variable. A variable that was a variable that you, a variable was his child.

He killed his parents without hesitation, left the walls of the quaint house he grew up in all sullied with but somehow the sight of you with his child brings him to his knees. He wants to sob, rest his head on your knee and shakily kiss you and the baby in forgiveness.

"That's my child..." he says, but it sounds more like a statement than a question. With his silken black hair and nose bridge, the same bright black eyes he had as a kid....that's his

You take in a deep breath and nod, your heart pounds in your chest till it aches. "Tsukiko." You whisper out, your voice hoarse as you look at the little girl

Suguru has to bite his lip just to keep himself sane, memories of that bittersweet night flooding in and he feels he would topple over the pear rack.

"Tsukiko...she's named Tsukiko..." He says out and his hand shakes. That's his blood, his daughter and yet he is the farthest thing from a father. Seeing her so close to you, the way you are fussing over her, it has his throat run dry by the intensity of a ground marred from rain, a rain that fell always but now doesn't fall in the courtyard of his heart, leaving all the plants of humane emotions, wilting and dry.

He can't help but murmur out, "A pretty name. It suits her." He whispers out softly, gently reaching out a hand towards the small child. "May I?"

You look at him as a strange anger wells up within. You want to refuse, yet you want to cry in his sturdy arms, for him to envelope you so hard that you can't breathe. You want to beg him to come back, and yet you want to slap him and tell him to never show his face.

You want him to stay, to apologise for letting some as young as you go through pregnancy alone. You want him to apologise for leaving you in a state where the shadows around you seemed to warp in oddly threatening shapes, where intrusive thoughts had you so scared you had to call Shoko or Satoru just to listen to their voice, so that you feel real and don't end up doing anything stupid.

You want him to go back to your dorm room in jujutsu high, where all of his belongings are untouched like the day he left.

You gently unclasp her from the carrier. “Support her neck, she’s only two months old.”

He swallows the lump in his throat as he gently takes the child into his arms, watching as you gently unclasp her from the carrier and gently place her into his arms. His heart hammers in his chest as he carefully and gently supports her small, fragile neck, feeling her small frame in his arms. Tsukiko blinks her wide eyes in confusion, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.

You feel anguished, thinking of what life could have been if Suguru had never left for his goals. What if you hadn’t lost half of your soul that day.

His heart aches as he holds the small baby in his arms, thinking of all the moments he will lose out on seeing now. Never seeing her first steps, her first words, never reading her bedtime stories, never having her call him ‘daddy’. He will never get to see her experience the feeling of pure and unbridled joy for the first time, or seeing her face light up at all the small, everyday things that make children happy. He knows he has missed so much already, and the thought of missing more...

His heart aches and his breath catches in his throat as he feels the small child’s bottom lip tremble slightly, her head turning up to look at you with a conflicted look in her eyes. He can feel her small frame quiver slightly in his arms, probably still confused by the fact that she is in a stranger’s arms, but she isn’t crying to get away from him. The fact that she’s not crying to get back into your arms makes him want to laugh and sob all at the same time.

"Tsuki." You whisper out as you gently brush your fingers on her face. For some odd reason you don't want her to cry in his arms. After all the pain he has inflicted on me, Iyou still don't want him to be hurt by his girl crying to get away from him.

You take a sudden breath as my fingers brush against his arm accidentally, and suddenly you feel so small, so alone. With Tsuki away from your chest, even though she is right in front of you, you feel a strange fear of abandonment.

His heart races as he feels your fingers brush against his arm accidentally, your fingers leaving a scorching heat in their wake even though you’re only brushing against his arm. Your fingers are icy cold, and it’s just then that he realizes that you have tears streaming down your face, the droplets running down your chin and dripping onto the linoleum flooring of the grocery store. Your shoulders are trembling and you’re trying to hold back your sobs, but he can hear your strangled breaths.

"Give her back to me and leave." You whisper out as you bite your lips. Its not fair, It hurts so much. You have been so strong until now, taking care of everything, but now he is here and everything is rushing back like a riptide, knocking you off your feet, making you fall face-first onto the sand

He can feel his eyes widening in shock as your strangled words reach his ears, his heart aching painfully as he holds back the urge to cry out. He watches you struggle to stop tears from streaming down your face, watching the way your shoulders tremble as you try to hold back your sobs, watching as you fight back the urge to just hold the baby and run back to his arms.

"Geto." You murmur. Not Sugu, not Suguru. "Give me my child back," You whisper as you look at him, your hand clutching your chest as it aches so painfully. "Are you having fun seeing me make a spectacle of myself in the middle of a mart?" You croak out, but your voice doesn't waver.

His heart breaks as you call him ‘Geto’ in such a cold, detached voice. He gulps and hand the baby to you, his hands immediately feeling so empty, thats his daughter, his little girl. He wants to hold her, kiss her head, kiss the beautiful woman who brought her to life, but he is going to make a new world, and when all that is done, you would all be a family....

You gently tuck Tsukiko back in the carrier as he hands her to you and walk out of the mart, towards the exit. The groceries forgotten. You will buy them some other day. Each step is so difficult.

You wanna go back to him, cry in his arms, sob and hit his chest. Standing underneath a stop as you dial your phone to Satoru and he answers. "Satoru...can you pick us up?" I murmur tiredly, my voice hoarse

The moment he heard your voice over the phone, Satoru felt his heart dropping to his stomach. He can hear the way your voice is strained and hoarse, and he can sense the way that you are on the verge of tears. Satoru swallows the lump in his throat as he stands up from his desk and grabs the keys off his desk. “I’m on my way.”

You nod and cut the call, staring blankly at the clouds. You hear the automated door of the mart open and look at Suguru exiting the mart, three polybags in his hands as he walks up to you and keeps two of them on the ground. You look at the bag...its all the things in my cart and the pears.

Your lip trembles as I look up at him, eyes bleary. Tsukiko is now peacefully asleep against your chest. Her faint smell, that of baby powder and milk...It lingers from Suguru too, your head pounds.

He faintly smells like her too now and the way he looks at her, like he is aching, his eyes begging--- they are peading in the same way as they were on the night which lead to Tsuki. I wish I can have what I love, but to protect what I love, I must make a society where those I love ⎯ sorcerers: you, Tsuki, Satoru, Shoko ⎯ are safe

"Go, it's about to rain soon. You'll catch a cold if you get wet." You whisper out tiredly.

His heart aches as he watches you whisper out your words, the exhaustion plain on your face. He can’t bear to see you struggling and forcing yourself to be strong when he is the sole reason for your pain. And as he hears your tired voice, he just can’t help the way his hand reaches out to gently brush the tear away from your cheek. “Y/N…don’t cry,” he whispers.

You look at his hand caressing your cheek before a soft sob escapes your mouth. His touch making goosebumps rise all over your body. “Don’t do that, you have no right to when you decided to leave….” You say as you weakly push his hand away, but it’s so feeble and weary that it’s like a gentle nudge.

A fresh wave of tears builds in your eyes, and all he wants to do is draw you into his arms and hold you until your sobs fade away. It kills him how weak you are, how weak his leaving has made you. He wants to hold you and never let you suffer like this ever again. But how could he after he’s the one that caused this pain to begin with?

His phone rings, an unfamiliar contact name flashes on his screen. Mimiko with a little childish flower emoji next to it.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach; to the point that you feel as if you are having morning sickness all over again.

"That's your girlfriend?" you ask with a soft chuckle, as you don't feel this ugly cold wave wash over you, you feel my limbs stiffen, your teeth chattering at how cold I feel.

Its as if your heart has closed off, putting up a barrier around it and locking away all those painful emotion that he has inflicted on you. He looks down at his phone, seeing a picture of Mimiko and Nanako, the little girls he rescued and adopted 11 months ago, smiling in the caller ID. "Y/N..no..."

"You don't have to defend yourself y'know." you say with a fake breathy laugh as your hand supports Tsumiko's sleeping head to your chest. "Not that it matters anymore."

He bites his lip as he stares at your expression, his heart being "I’m not gonna defend myself but...those are my kids, not my girlfriends," he says softly.

Your eyebrows furrow as your grip on Tsukiko tightens instinctively. "...What?" Its too much. Its way too much for you to handle, your ears ring uncomfortably, yet you try to stand firm.

"Mimiko and Nanako..." He swallows nervously, trying to figure out the right words to say. "I-I found them, when I left you. They are sisters. Their parents were murdered, and they were in such horrendous conditions that I just had to rescue them," he stutters, feeling a sudden uncomfortable rush of warmth on his cheeks from his heart racing.

"I see, uhm thats very nice of you." You mutter with a little smile. "Having two daughters, must be nice. something positive amongst all that you are doing..." You say, but your throat runs dry. He has two daughters. That’s basically a family. He is raising them out of goodwill and love, it’s optimistic.

Your heart aches as you think about Tsukiko. Her mother still stuck to her past, clinging to her lover.

Most of the days you can't tell the date from start to finish. You blankly do all the work, function normally but trapped in this surreal dream that you can't snap out from, until your back hits the bed and you stare at a picture of you and Suguru on the bedside. Finally crying, showing some humane emotion after acting like a non-sentient being.

He has two daughters. Who first had happy lives with their parents until they tragically died, and were taken in by an equally loving caretaker.

Your expression turns from shock to something a little more painful, a sad half-smile that looks like it’s masking the emotional turmoil that he can see building up beneath it. He can see the way that your shoulders droop a little, your head bowing just a fraction more towards your chest. He can see your fingers tightening just slightly around Tsukiko, "Yeah..it is...” he murmurs out weakly.

“I am glad…every child deserves a home.” You mutter genuinely, but you feel so so terrible, like the worst person on earth that you am jealous of those little girls. Those little kids who get to live with their adoptive dad, a happy life. Full of joys and laughter. While Tsukiko was born in such despair. So much pain. Her mother, her godparents; everyone suffering in the tumultuous Jujutsu society. But what about Tsukiko, who's only fault was being born, why does she have to experience this tragedy?

Suguru's heart shatters as he watches you silently struggle and hold back your tears. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He did this to you. He did this to you, and now his two adopted children are getting the life that he ripped from you. That he denied you. There’s so much you already hear from people, about your character. When your only crime was being in love

“I won’t tell her that you have kids when she grows up.” You say with smile. “Wouldn’t want her to think she’s not a good kid and that’s why her dad left her for other children who are better than her. She’ll think her daddy didn’t like her.” You mumur. “Kids can be particularly fragile…who would know better than a mother who’s a kid herself?”

His heart drops at your cold, quiet words, his breath catching in his throat, tears building in his eyes at the pure agony that he can feel in your words. The way you’re already resigning yourself to being a single parent all alone. The way you can only do this because you’re still a damn kid yourself. Suguru heaves breathlessly as he gulps, his bottom lip trembling. The words don't leave his mouth. He should just ask you to come with him, to live with him, to be together as a family, a big family.

“At least raise them well Suguru…the two of them should get a safe environment. You look down at Tsukiko, your fingers gently brushing the little hair on her hair. She’s so tiny, hasn’t even gotten hair on her head fully.

Suguru's hands shakes as he takes a step closer, just basking in the sight of his beloved and his daughter. "Yeah," he mutters. "They are good kids, my girls..." he says in a faint whisper as a soft smile graces his face at the sight of Tsukiko's pudgy cheeks.

What a mighty child, she can stop world wars, she has him stopped and he is the closest thing to be a cause of a war in near future.

My girls? Your knees buckle at the words. “Ah I see… they are your girls.” You can't help but be bitter at his phrasing as you look at our little Tsukiko. She looks so much like her daddy. From her eyes, nose, hair, skin…she is a replica of him and yet he’s never had the chance to call her his child. It’s so cruel.

He feels a sharp spike of pain shoot through his heart at your words. His girls…not our girls. His girls. He doesn’t have the right to have you call them our girls. They’re just his. All because of him.

“Will she ever be your daughter Suguru…?” You can’t help but mutter so shakily, your voice quivering like a child’s as tears roll down your eyes…you feel so small it’s embarrassing.

A soft breathy sob leaves Suguru, he can't do this, he is goddamn monster. The sound almost makes you flinch as you look up at him. He sucks in a deep breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling. “How could I...she’s…” he struggles to get the words out. “She’s ours. She’s ours and she’ll always be ours.”

Suguru sakes his head as he runs his fingers through his hair, he so goddamn dizzy. "She is my daughter, Nanako and Mimiko are my kids." he says, the change of a synonym making such a huge difference in the meaning.

"And you- you are mine, you have no- no idea who difficult it has been, I can't even try to compare, but I've missed you so goddamn much." his voice cracks. "And its so lonely, the girls they see me staring at your picture everyday and I tell them that's their mother. When they ask where you are, I tell them how I messed up- left to protect you, because you do not agree with my ideas, I thought you would be better off without me, that you'd move on slowly. But there's my daughter and I feel so guilty. You cannot move on, not when she is a reminder of me, of us. Of our youth."

The tears don't drop, but they pain is etched on his face, deep frown and upturned brows. You breathe out and shake your head. "I can't-" you murmur and he bites his lip, his index finger lightly running on Tsukiko's palm.

"I know." he says, "I just wish- I just wish I had more time, with you and Tsukiko." he whispers in the same soft tone as he conflicted eyes look into yours as if to say. Come with me, leave the jujutsu society, just us, our family.

But leaving with Suguru meant betraying everyone. Satoru, Shoko, Yaga sensei and the entirety of the sorcerers who work day and night for the future. A safe future from people like Suguru. Who heedlessly killed thousands of innocents.

"Go," you whisper out. "the girls must be waiting." You pause, your fingers shakily finding his and his eyes widen. He firmly squeezes your hand, the warmth of his hand against yours rouses and inexplicable pain and fondness in you.

"Satoru must be arriving." you mutter.

He nods his head slowly as he steps away, his voice thick. “I love you." he whispers out. The same words he had denied you the privilege of last time as he leaves...

Moments later a panicked Gojo pulls over, alarmed by your call before his eyes widen as he senses the remnants of Suguru’s cursed energy. His best friend, the strongest along him. Gojo can feel a cold shudder wash down his spine as he senses the remnants of Suguru’s cursed energy in the air, his breath catching in his throat as recognition hits him instantly, realising what may have happened.

You are sitting on the seats on the bus-stand as he comes close.He steps closer to you, his heart breaking upon seeing the dried tear tracks that are on your cheeks and the look of brokenness and despair in your eyes. He kneels down in front of you and gently rests his hand on your knee, his eyes gentle as he looks at you. “Y/N....” he whispers.

“Satoru…” You whimper softly, your voice cracking out of desperation and relief.

He quickly reaches up to pull you into a tight hug, his heart aching at the small, whimpering whisper of his name from your lips and the way your breathing hitches and a choked sob escapes your lips, the rest of your body quivering in his arms from the force of your tears. His arms are locked tightly against your body, keeping you pulled firm against his chest as you cry into your hands and he gently strokes a hand up and down your back. “Hey…shh..it’s okay…I’m here.”

He mutters as he winces, closing his eyes while the remnants of his best friend's cursed energy remains...

A/N: I sincerely apologise for the pain, but I don't have enough money for everyone's therapy.

EXP: Pear symbolism: In Chinese, the word li means both pear and separation, so it's said that to avoid a separation, friends and lovers should not divide pears between themselves.

[after-witch]

Biological Function [Yandere Knives x Reader]

Title: Biological Function [Yandere Knives x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period. At least it means you're getting enough to get. Trigun Maximum-verse.

Word count: 2082

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader gets their period, mentions of starvation and murder

The red smear on your underwear that greets you in the morning, a wisp of deep red against the simple white linen, is not entirely an unwelcome sight.

After all, on Gunsmoke, menstruation means that you’re actually getting enough food to eat. It wasn’t uncommon for women to skip periods or see them come and go so half-heartedly that they might as well have never been there. Deprivation does awful things to the body, and you--like most--had your fair share of it. 

Yet here it was now, in all its horrible glory. A sign that you were healthy enough to bleed, a sign that your body was functioning, a sign that you were functioning. 

Physically, at least. It seems your body did not account for the fact that you were only getting enough food to eat because of the inhuman being keeping you captive.

Being, yes, that’s what he was. Not a man, not a human; and if you ever said so, he might just kill you for it.

Should you tell him about this? The thought made you feel sick, on top of the low cramps aching in your guts. You didn’t tell him anything unless he asked--he rarely did--and even then, it wasn’t like you told him anything important. Anything personal. 

The redness in your underwear was definitely personal. It was your body, wasn’t it? You should be allowed to keep something to yourself, if you couldn’t have your freedom. 

The thought comes, unbidden: did your mother ever tell your father about her monthlies?

Perhaps he knew when she withdrew from him in bed. Your memories of them both are fuzzy, vague; he drank himself sick one night and never came home from the bar (a fight, your mother said, that ended with a gunshot) and she wasted away some years later from a disease no one bothered to diagnose.

You couldn’t afford a proper doctor, even if one might have helped, and the local woman called upon when people had fevers simply tsked and gave her something to sleep away the pain. 

But on the subject of periods, your mother hadn’t spoken much outside of that first frenzied conversation when you’d told her that something was wrong with you, you were bleeding, you were dying, you were--

And her eyebrows had raised and then a slow, dimpled smile had crossed her lips, and she pulled you aside for a conversation about how you were a woman now and what to do and how to ease the pain and how you must never ever let a man touch you unless he was your husband.

She didn’t say if that husband would share in the knowledge of this red secret between your thighs.

Not that Knives was your husband. Perish the thought. Or that he’d ever touched you like one, or touched you at all. Except when you were thrown over his shoulder like a sack of coveted flour or on the rare occasions that he gripped your wrist with an unrelenting strength and dragged you somewhere. 

He would probably find menstruation disgusting. He found anything human disgusting. It would be a sign of your base nature, or something as ridiculous as that. The thought of dealing with more insults made you want to curl up--perhaps that was the cramps, too--and so, yes. You would keep it a secret from him, then. For as long as you could, however you could. 

But you didn’t have much privacy, here or anywhere that he took you. The airships, the bases, the abandoned houses. Sometimes, they had to be emptied of any occupants first--it was worse, when they had to be emptied. 

Mornings are the exception, which is why it is an unwelcome surprise when Knives saunters into the sparse space serving as your bedroom, eyebrows furrowed, no doubt some command on his lips--

Only to spot you staring down at your underwear, nightgown hawked up above your thighs. Your eyes meet for a fraction before you yank the underwear up and shove your gown down, but it’s too late. He’s seen you--he’s seen the red mess--and something awful and static seems to hover between you.

A moment or two or three. Your fingers clench into the fabric of your night dress. Humiliation burns but dread burns hotter, and it’s dread that makes you tremble. 

“Clean yourself up,” he says, finally, with an air of quiet, low disdain.

He pivots, whatever he had come to say earlier forgotten or unimportant, and leaves the room.

The cramps in your stomach feel hollow. It could have gone worse. It could have gone better--if he hadn’t come in at all--but there’s no fixing it now.

Clean yourself up.

A command to be obeyed, but how? 

Easy enough to head into the bathroom and wash up for the moment. (Access to clean running water, to hot showers and baths, is another benefit of your captive life.) But afterwards? 

You don’t suppose he has any sanitary napkins on hand--or one of those complicated contraptions your mother wore now and then, with a belt to hold everything in place. It’s not something you’ll be asking him about. If you must--if the bleeding continues every month, well-fed captive that you are--you’ll ask the doctor that Knives has at his beck and call.  

For now, you’ll have to settle for finding some rags to stuff into your underwear and hope for the best.

--

Knives does not typically sit down for meals. Certainly not with you, although you sometimes wonder if he and the doctor drink wine and discuss the doctor’s findings together.

Yet here he is, sitting at the table in this abandoned house, drinking a glass of water and actually eating the simple meal the doctor prepared that afternoon. Some kind of meat, vegetables, grains, all mixed together for a fortifying meal that you might have eaten up heartily yesterday. 

But today it makes you feel sick. The smell, maybe, or just the fact that your insides felt like they were rearranging themselves in the most awful way.

Nausea claws its way up your throat, and you set the fork down. Another bite would be impossible.

“Finish your meal.” Knives speaks to you for the first time since this morning. It is no more pleasant than his earlier clipped command, and no less authoritative. 

Your hands instinctively pick up the fork--obedience has been drilled into you--but your stomach rebels. 

“I can’t,” you say, clearing your throat. “My stomach hurts.” 

No flicker of sympathy or understanding in his face, but it doesn’t surprise you. He had no sympathy for the countless people he’s killed, or had killed with a simple word, so why should something as miniscule as your stomach pains bother him? 

"Be grateful,” he says, low, “that you have something to eat at all.” 

“I am grateful,” you spit, and it’s the truth, however bitterly said. You hate being here, you hate him, but it’s been so long since you’ve been hungry that the memories of half-starvation are simply that--memories. The body appreciates what the mind doesn’t, at least. 

His eyebrows raise a bit at that and you regret speaking at all. A little too much honesty, from your end. You don’t want him to know that your mind sometimes fights over enjoying the comforts of your captivity. Food, water, knowing that bandits won’t come in the night to plunder, knowing you won’t wind up in some shootout at your lunch break at the bar. 

If only it didn’t take being the restricted--pet? Captive? Whatever you are to him--of a plant to get those things. 

But as quick as the moment comes, it’s over, and there’s no insight to be given on how he took your words. His gaze slides away from you, and he gestures his chin at Conrad. “She needs more iron,” he says, simply. “On account of her menstruation.”

You choke on your spit, and Conrad chokes on his meal.

Is it possible to die from embarrassment? 

“Do you have supplements?” Knives asks casually. 

Conrad swallows, clears his throat, and dabs at his mouth with a napkin with a delicate gesture. Before Knives had taken him, he’d been living a comfortable life in some mansion, squirreled away with trinkets and good food. Or so Elendira had told you, and you could never be sure if she was telling you the truth. 

“No,” Conrad says, slowly. “But they aren’t too difficult to come by. We can pick them up in the next city.”

The words come, muttered, without thought.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Knives doesn’t acknowledge it, nor does Conrad. Your part in the conversation is done.

"I'd also like you to monitor her menstrual periods," Knives continues, and if there was a way to sink into the floor, you would do it into a heartbeat. "To make sure they're regular."

Stomach rolling back and forth, you pick up a forkful of food and force it down. 

--

“I’ve had to delay my plans for an entire day.”

Curled up on your bed, a pillow shoved against your aching lower body, you don’t respond. You merely squeeze your eyes shut and will the pain--and Knives--away.

Neither leaves. 

“You’re incredibly inconvenient. A nuisance.”

Yes, yes, yes, I know, and I don’t give a damn. It takes every ounce of self-preservation left in your body not to snap these words at him. Your fingers dig hard into the pillow as another wave of cramps rolls through you. 

Dinner had been hastily shoved down to no avail; it was currently resting in the trash can of the bathroom. You had been on the toilet, willing your awful cramps to disappear, when the nausea came again with such force that you had no choice but to heave it all back up into the bin.

Now, the cramps throb and squeeze and you curl up tighter, but it doesn’t help.

Fuck. Were they always this bad?

They’re awful enough that you make a noise, despite Knives hovering next to your bed, admonishing you like a child for daring to be sick. A whimper, pitiful, low, stupid.

You hear him huff. You expect to hear the sound of him turning around, his boots against the hard floor as he leaves you to your mistery.

Instead--

His hand is on your stomach, slightly cool to the touch, and you jerk, eyes wide and afraid as the words stutter out--

“What are you--”

There’s no time to finish the words before a strange feeling surges through you. Something humming and light, almost like a low tickle. It’s--pleasant. A word you had never associated with Knives before, and certainly not a word you ever expected to associate with his touch. 

“I’m making you less of a burden,” he murmurs, and it’s a wonder venom doesn’t actually drip from his lips. “I won’t be delayed again tomorrow.”

If you were stronger, you might argue back. You might tell him that you’ll delay him as much as you want, that he can go fuck himself.

But you’re not any of those things. You’re bleeding and tired and the awful nausea-inducing cramps that were keeping you bedridden are gone, eased away by that blossoming feeling induced by his fingertips.

Is this what plants could do, when they weren’t trapped in those bulbs? Heal? (And hurt--and kill?) 

Knives’ hand is still resting on your stomach, pressing lightly into the flesh. When you glance up at him, he doesn’t match your gaze. Instead, he stares down at his hand, quiet, clearly thinking. But of what? 

It’s hard to care, now that you don’t feel like your body wants to tear itself apart from the inside. You could sleep, now. Rest easily and wake up ready to take on another day of this strange life you’ve been forced into; it’s enough to make you close your eyes, exhausted, fluttering.

Knives’ fingers remove themselves from your stomach slowly. He doesn’t leave yet. He’s still there, and part of you wants to open your eyes and take a guess at what he’s thinking; to see if he’s staring at you, or through you, or if he’s not even bothering to watch you curled up on the bed. The other part of you is terrified of finding out. 

Just when you might actually open your eyes, you hear him scoff. It’s a surprisingly comforting sound. Familiar territory once again. 

“Ungrateful,” he murmurs. “I should kill you to spare myself this annoyance.”

He could kill you. Easily. In a second. Without mercy or compassion or regret, you think, considering how many have fallen under his orders. 

Instead, he lets you fall asleep without another word.

You don’t hear him walk away before sleep takes you.

[whateveriwant]

could i request sumn real quick..

TF141 with a s/o who does archery, with those Japanese longbows (they’re called yumis, i think😭) ??

This was completely foreign to me so I hope I at least kinda did it justice 😭

Gaz

When you first told him about your hobby of choice, admittedly, he was unfamiliar with it

Archery as a whole was nothing new to him, but knowledge about your discipline in particular had entirely evaded him up until now

However, after learning more about it from you as well as researching on his own, he's now become your biggest cheerleader, literally and figuratively cheering you on from the sidelines

Whether you do it just for recreation or you do it for competition, he's always there to support you with 110% enthusiasm

He's like a proud dad whenever he gets to watch you in your element, always pulling out his phone to record you so he can show off to his mates later

Major cheeseball that he is, he's even gotten custom decals on his car to brag of your accomplishments, so that everyone can know about you and your unique skill

Soap

His interest was immediately piqued when you first brought up your incredibly specialized sport

You see, he used to do a little archery himself back in secondary school, and (not to brag) but he was actually pretty good at it

Of course, that confession gets your interest piqued, so you invite him to take some shots with your bow, which he readily accepts

He's positively preening as he nocks an arrow, confidence oozing from him as he takes aim… only to turn a shade of red just shy of tomato as he misses his shot by about 10 feet

He tries again and again, somehow getting worse with each shot, the frustration and embarrassment coming from him clearly palpable

Though you try to encourage him to keep going (after all, no one’s good at anything their first try), eventually, he timidly hands the bow back, saying he thinks he’s better off just leaving it to you

Price

He's a very physically active man himself, so learning that you're involved in a martial art was a major turn on for him

And him being in the military and thus heavily trained in all sorts of weaponry, the fact that it's a weapons-focused discipline was doubly appealing to him

From the first moment you brought your hobby up, he was practically begging to watch you shoot

It didn't matter if you had all the bells and whistles ready or not; hell, you could’ve been dressed in a flour sack aiming at tin cans in his backyard and he’d have still been over the moon

Wanting some privacy though, he took you to a range where you could show off your skills without distraction or disruption

And when he saw you take that first shot, hitting your target dead center, he would never tell you, but his pants got a little tighter after that

Ghost

While he finds what you do very intriguing, he wishes there was a more “real life” application to your sport

He knows how dismissive that might sound, but just think about it. In an emergency, are you going to whip out your two meter long bow to defend yourself? Exactly.

Ideally, he'd like to teach you how to use a gun. And you'll agree to let him… only if you can teach him how to use a bow

You might have some lighthearted bickering where he stubbornly insists that a gun is much more useful when it comes to personal protection

But well wouldn't you know it when one night he's awoken by the sound of someone trying to break into your flat, and what object should his fingers find in the dark? Yeah, I think you know

To you, your bow seemed like a perfectly good weapon when he used it to whack the would-be thief over the head…

Yeesh, now that earned you the side-eye of the century. But alright, he eventually conceded, maybe it does have its merits

[captain-hawks]

Hoshina and the color green!

soshiro hoshina x reader

c: fluff, established relationship, suggestive

Soshiro knows he should be paying attention.

“And then after you stir in the baking soda, you just have to add a bit of lime…”

The sleek surface of the knife clasped in your hand glints in the golden afternoon light pouring in through the kitchen window as you place the citrus fruit on the cutting board.

He’s completely forgotten the last three steps already.

The tough, green skin gives easily under the pressure of the blade, the lime shuddering momentarily before it stills atop the wooden surface, now split in two. 

“I know it’s easier to just use one of those little containers of juice, but it tastes so much better like this.”

You hold up one half with two fingers, wiggling it slightly with a smile on your face as you show him the lighter green shade of its soft, fleshy interior. 

He can hardly even remember what the name of this recipe is right now.

Face pinched in concentration, you squeeze the lime into a small container before pouring the liquid into the mixing bowl.

He knows you’re going to teasingly quiz him on this later, but as he watches you bring your sticky, wet fingers to your lips, tongue darting out to lick off the remaining juice—

With blades in his hands and an enemy on his heels, the Vice-Captain of the Third Division is a strong man. 

“It’s so sour,” you laugh, eyes scrunched close as you bite your tongue. 

But for you—standing barefoot in the kitchen of your tiny apartment wearing one of his old t-shirts with a smudge of flour streaked across your cheek and eyes sparkling with mischief—for you, Soshiro Hoshina is weak. 

“Is it?” he asks

“You haven’t been paying attention at all, have you?” you ask, shaking your head with a grin as he backs you up into the edge of the countertop.

“Bit hard to focus,” he shrugs, reaching behind you to lift the porcelain lid off of the sugar bowl, swiping a finger through its granulated contents.

“The recipe didn’t call for sugar,” you tell him with a raised brow. 

He brings his finger to your mouth, slowly swiping it along your bottom lip. “Sugar balances out the acidity, right?”

The hitch in your breath is audible as the crystals cling to the tacky layer of lime juice still coating your lips, and you close them around his finger, taking the digit into your mouth.

Soshiro is a weak, weak man.

“Did it work?” he asks.

You nod.

He picks up the remnants of the squeezed half and places them to his lips, letting the bitter taste coat his tongue.

“Show me,” he rasps, sliding his finger out of your mouth as he cups the side of your jaw and brings his lips to yours.

[pomefioredove]

Your flirty prompt event fics are giving me life!

If you're still taking requests, how about "Let me distract you" with Trey?

And if not, that's cool. You're amazing!

TREY SWEEP! someone give this poor man a break fr

summary: "let me distract you" type of post: short fic characters: trey additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu

"Let me distract you," is a sentiment often repeated with Trey, and one often ignored.

He dislikes how you can see through his reassurance; he's come to know that look of disbelief you give him when he tells you he's okay, he's busy, he doesn't need a break, so on, so forth.

The others will tell you he's fine.

This is Trey, after all. He's dealt with screaming kids and early mornings his whole life, and he's never complained about it.

Out loud, at least.

"What's this?"

There you are, sitting on the counter, swinging your legs back and forth, not unlike how you do when you watch him bake on warm, vanilla-scented golden afternoons.

But this is four in the morning.

"How much are you sleeping?"

Trey crosses his arms. He doesn't want to be stern with you; he hates having to treat you the way he does everyone else.

There's something you're not telling him.

"Enough," he says. "Why?"

"Cater told me you've been getting up at four every morning this week for baking,"

You pause for dramatic effect.

"And going to bed past midnight to finish your homework. That's four hours, Trey!"

He sighs. Not this again. "I'm fine. This is a busy time of year."

"You're not going to see next year if you keep this up,"

"You're being dramatic,"

He slides his hands under your knees and around your shoulders, lifts you off the counter with ease, and sets you on the floor beneath him.

"And you're being stubborn," you say.

Trey opens a cabinet beside you. "Mind your head,"

"Are you even listening?"

He hums, covering the counter space in bowls and porcelain measuring cups, the fancy ones people give as gifts when they don't know what else to get him.

"You should go back to bed," he says, taking out the eggs and milk. "I'll just bore you, and-"

Trey pauses at the pantry door. Then he turns, slowly, to look at you and that scowl on your face.

"Where is the flour?"

"I moved it,"

"You... moved it," he repeats. "...How? Those bags are a hundred pounds each."

You cross your arms. "I have my ways. Now you have to take a break,"

Trey sighs. He's not getting out of this, is he?

He resigns to his fate and sits down across from you on the cold floor. "Okay, then. What do you want to do instead?"

At least the victorious smile on your face is cute.

[xxmrs-waynexx]

Young Again

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x wife!reader (batmom)

Warnings: Fluff, comfort, Bruce is slightly OOC but it's for the plot.

Ever since Bruce came back from his latest mission, you tried your best to help him relax. He was always on edge and very clearly tense. This man was not doing okay this time around and it was stressing you out too. No matter how hard you tried, all the noises, movement, and whatever else happening in the manor was just too much for him. You assumed that whatever had happened with Scarecrow must’ve had something to do with fear toxin. 

So, you confided in Alfred. Who else would know your husband better than yourself? The two of you sat outside drinking tea and chatting.

“I just don’t know what else to do. He can’t stay in the cave all day planning and checking every news source for trouble, but he also isn’t able to help with the chaos of all the kids,” you explained.

Alfred thought for a moment before sighing, “Why don’t you two stay home tomorrow? I will go out with the young ones and be back by dinner time.” The older man gave you a kind and reassuring smile. “He will be back to himself before we know it. I have learned that sometimes the best way to make any progress is to take a break. Especially for master Bruce.”

And so you did. The next morning, you were sure to let Bruce sleep in. You didn’t mind being held for a bit longer than usual. By lunchtime, you two had finally pulled yourselves out of bed. It had been months since you’d last cooked. Usually, you helped Alfred but being on the PTA for your kids’ school was getting very busy as it neared winter break.

Cooking was something you used to do with Bruce in college. It used to be a fun bonding activity for you two in the communal kitchen in your dorm building. You’d avoided asking him if he wanted to since you knew he had a lifetime ban, courtesy of Alfred.

As you looked in the pantry, Bruce came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I just had the greatest idea on earth,” he mumbled in his deep, sleepy voice.

“Listen, if this is about your plan for Penguin, I already told you that it was good and that-”

“No,” he chuckled softly. “I think we should cook dinner for the family. They’ve probably had a long day and it’s the least we can do.”

His smile is what made you agree. You knew the reasoning was far beyond what he said. He wanted to relive the ‘good old days.’ And if Alfred wasn’t home to tell him no?

____

The kitchen was an absolute disaster. Dishes and ingredients were scattered all over the countertops. You did your best to help keep things in order, but you did have a little enjoyment for the chaos. Your combined laughter filled the kitchen and it was like you two were young and new to each other again.

“Okay, Bruce, now the flour. Not too much. Just use what’s left of the bag in there,” you said, back turned to his figure looking into the pantry.

“There’s just the unopened sack,” he said gruffly, pulling it out of the pantry and slamming it on the counter.

“...Alfred would buy the biggest bag known to man,” you let out a soft chuckle. However, upon turning around, you saw that perhaps slamming a bag of flour onto the counter was not quite the best idea. “Bruce!” Your eyes were wide with both amusement and shock.

Bruce stood in front of you, eyes squeezed shut, covered in flour. “I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t,” you laughed. You grabbed a wet cloth and began wiping off his face.

He wrapped his arms around you and you screamed, “NO! Bruce!” 

He chased you around the kitchen with flour in his hands, ready to throw when close enough. “Why do you get to stay clean and I don’t?” He asked, grinning like a madman. This was done with the same amount of energy as your yearly snowball fights- though usually you were on his side.

Once you realized the kitchen was too small to stay away from him, you bolted to the family room. “Bruce! Stop!” your laughs clouded your shouts. “You’re crazy!”

“Yeah?” he stalked you through the living room, the flour in his hands getting everywhere.

“Alfred is going to kill us- No, you,” you laughed.

“Who cares? It was fun. I feel young again,” he told you finally reaching you. He had you cornered between a bust of who-knows-who-that-guy-was and the wall.

Dinner was going to be fun.

[nicka-nell]

A rainy Sunday

Pairing: Osamu x. Atsumu x, Bokuto x, Akaashi x, Iwaizumi x reader

Warning: fluff, comedy

Osamu is busy all week, keeping his store running. So he’s happy if you don’t do much on Sundays.

Lying on the sofa, doing nothing or cooking something simple together is his perfect Sunday.

So Osamu doesn’t really care whether it’s raining outside or not.

You’re both in the kitchen wanting to make a simple meal. Since you wanted to eat bao buns again, Osamu prepared the meat and started chopping the vegetables. In the meantime, you have put all the dry ingredients such as flour, yeast, sugar and salt into a bowl, which you have placed on the top edge of the kitchen board before putting a coconut in the middle of the cutting board. “What are ya doing with the coconut?” Osamu asks you, somewhat confused, as he cuts the carrots into small, thin strips.

“I’ve heard that the dough tastes better if you use coconut water. I wanna try it out,” you say and try to cut open the coconut with a knife. Skeptically Osamu observes you. His heart is bleeding as he watches you pushing the knife back and forth on the hard coconut shell, as if you were holding a saw in your hand. “You’ll make the knife blunt like this,” he says, receiving a sharp look from you before you try to use more force to open the coconut.

“Do ya need... help?” Osamu asks, but you just shake your head and press your weight against the knife when suddenly the kitchen board starts to sway and fly towards you. With the bowl containing the dry ingredients for the buns, of course… You hadn’t noticed that one edge of the board was hanging over the kitchen worktop.

The coconut and chopping board fall to the floor before you place the knife on the worktop, taking a deep breath as you turn towards Osamu. You’re covered in flour from your hairline to your pants. Your face, your top, everything. Osamu has to pull himself together not to laugh and your evil expression doesn’t make this funny picture of the little flour-minion which is standing in front of him any better. He opens his mouth and raises his finger, closes his mouth again before opening it again to say something, but you stop him directly.

“Don’t... even think about saying anything!” you say in a tense voice. But Osamu can’t hold back any longer. “Why are ya so flour-ious?” he says, bursting into laughter and smacking his hand on the worktop, still bawling his eyes out. “Osamu Miya, you’re a dead man,” you say and take a few steps towards him, but Osamu is quicker as he runs out of the kitchen and away from you.

Atsumu doesn’t like rainy days. Especially when he has a day off, he would like to meet up with you and his friends or simply go out with you.

In your apartment you can relax all day, and sometimes such a lazy day is nice. But it doesn’t have to be like this every day.

Today he had been looking forward to playing Viking chess outside in the park, but the rain canceled the little trip. 

“Babe, should we throw the football back and forth?” asks Atsumu as he looks at the collection of balls lying in a basket in the living room. You’ve come out of the bathroom, just shaking your head. You may have a large apartment, but playing with a ball in an apartment is never a good idea. 

“Come on, let’s go into the hallway and throw the ball to each other carefully and lightly,” he almost grumbles. In the end, you give in, just sigh and go with him into your long hallway to throw the ball back and forth a few times. “Did I tell ya that my mom wanted to invite us to a barbecue next weekend?” He asks as he catches the ball and throws it towards you with little force. With a soft huff, you catch it, adjust it in your hand and throw it back. “No, you didn’t. Should we bring something?”

“Just a salad, if it’s in our time,” he says, before throwing the ball again and, as expected, exactly what you always see in every damn commercial happens. Atsumu throws past you and hits the sculpture his mother had given you before it wobbles, falls to the ground, and breaks. A seagull or something that actually looks like it, with a muscular chest. However, its chest looks like two breasts, and then the seagull is wearing wide heart pants and is standing on a melted ice cream. The thing is actually really ugly, but it came from Atsumu’s mom. Eyes wide and mouth open, you look over at Atsumu, who just grimaces and mumbles “oops”.

“The next time your mother is here, she’ll immediately notice that the sculpture is missing. Ah damn, I knew that would happen... she’ll be so sad…” you sigh and run to the sculpture to see if there’s anything you can do to fix it. But no chance.

“Uh, I’ll just tell my mom it was yer clumsiness. After all, she likes her cute daughter-in-law. Anyway, I want to stay the kid she likes more. Don’t wanna see Samu as her fav kid,” Atsumu says and is about to take his phone out of his pocket when you run up to him and take it out of his hand. “Oh dare you, Atsumu Miya! You foul snake!”

We all know that Atsumu broke this ugly sculpture on purpose.

If the weather was nice, Bokuto and you would meet up outside with Akaashi or take your dog for a walk.

But today it’s really stormy. So you’re only going for a short walk today, using the rest of the time on the stress-free day to spend time together.

“Shall we do a spa day today? I’ll mix up a quick face mask and make us each a Gin Tonic with cucumber and lime and we’ll lie down on the sofa and continue watching our series?” You ask Bokuto, who nods with a broad grin and looks at you disappear into the bathroom. Bokuto loves it when you smear your face cream on his face. He doesn’t even know why. Well, maybe it’s because of his two older sisters, who always used him as a little make-up doll back then. Yet he liked it because these soft make-up brushes were just so soft and nice on his skin.

You come out of the bathroom, the masks already mixed in a small bowl, as you go into the kitchen to get your drinks ready. But then you hear a strange clicking sound coming from the living room. With the drinks and the bowl with the scrub in it on a tray, you walk into the living room, only to see Bokuto sitting on the floor with your dog. You have to hold back your laughter when you see him. 

“Koutarou baby, what are you doing?” you ask him as you walk towards him and put the tray down on the living room table. Bokuto has wrapped cling film around his forehead, smeared peanut butter on it and is currently trimming your dog’s claws while the dog calmly licks the peanut butter off Bokuto’s forehead.

“You said we were having a spa day. So our cute pookie here must have a spa day too. And the peanut butter makes it much easier to cut his claws. A great idea, isn’t it?” Bokuto says quite proud of himself as he trims the last of your dog’s claws and pushes the cling film off his forehead. 

So after your dog has had his claws trimmed, you throw yourselves onto the sofa with your masks on your faces and your dog between you, before you toast with your drinks and enjoy the series on the TV.

Akaashi doesn’t let rainy days spoil his mood.

He actually likes these days, and even more so when it’s a Sunday.

These are days when he can simply be quiet and relaxed at home, without stress at work or any other unnecessary events.

Akaashi is lying on the sofa, enjoying the patter of raindrops on your windows while reading a book on his Kindle. You’re also busy listening to music on your headphones while you fold the laundry in the bathroom and clean the apartment a bit. Nothing exciting, just the things you don’t usually get to do during the week. For Akaashi and you, you’ve already prepared a lunchbox for work tomorrow as you put your headphones away and join him in the living room.

Completely engrossed in his book, Akaashi lies there. His body stretched out on the sofa, the Kindle in front of him in his hands, while he rests his head on a pillow. You don’t want to disturb him by turning on the TV. So you tiptoe around him before crawling over to him on the sofa and slipping your head under his arms, which he is using to hold up his Kindle. With a tired smile, you look up at him briefly. He returns your smile with a soft “sleepy?” before you drop your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

Your hands nestle around his upper body as you close your eyes. Akaashi readjusts the Kindle, puts it in one hand while he strokes your head with the other, giving you a kiss on the top of your head, before he moves his hand down to your back, holding you in his arms. Just like him, you are now enjoying the silence. The raindrops on your window and the storm outside.

Iwaizumi usually enjoys spending time with you. Whether it’s raining or not.

After all, some stores are also open on Sundays. Besides, you can also meet up with friends. 

You actually wanted to go to a gravel pit today to go swimming, but the weather ruined your plans. Because just as you’re about to go out the door, Iwaizumi in his swimming trunks, a shirt and flip-flops, and you in sandals and a summer dress, it starts to pour big raindrops. He clicks his tongue and disappointedly realizes that it’s supposed to rain all day from now on, so swimming outdoors is a thing of the past.

“Oh boy... I was really looking forward to going out with you again and having fun. After the last few exhausting weeks we’ve had, this would have been really great...” you sigh and look at the weather outside your open front door. Iwaizumi doesn’t miss your sad look. He had been happy about the trip, too.

He sighs in frustration, but then he takes a step outside, grabs you by the hand, before lifting it in a gentlemen style and pulling you towards him in the rain. “We can also have fun like this. The weather doesn’t have to dictate that, does it?” Says Iwaizumi and spins you around before he starts dancing with you in the rain.

At first you shriek as you feel the rain on your skin. Notice how your clothes get wet and stick to your body. But somehow this cold summer rain, on this incredibly warm day, is so refreshing on your skin, the whole situation so funny and somehow romantic, that you lean against him and continue dancing for several more minutes.

You don’t let the cars that drive past you on the main road next to your house bother you. Some even slow down and watch you briefly before driving on. But that doesn’t interrupt your dance. You have fun, enjoy the time together until it starts to thunder and, for your own safety, you go back into the house and end the day with a warm bath together.

Did you catch a cold because you were out in the rain and soaking wet? Yes, you did. But it was worth it.

here you can vote for the topic of the next haikyu smau -> vote here

[softpascalito]

Christmas Baking for Three - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You're tired, pregnant, angry and you mess up the cookies meant for Joel. He gets a full blast of your hormones - and still manages to surprise you.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 1800 Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Baking, Christmas Cookies, Christmas, Pregnancy, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Fights, Mention of normal pregnancy struggles, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Nicknames, Kissing, Crying, Joel Miller in an apron Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: another lil calendar piece that is also dedicated to steph's winter writing challenge (@toomanystoriessolittletime) with the trope baking <3 i also wanted to mention a very short but very lovely pregnancy piece by SwiggitySwagNightmareStag with peña that i found really inspiring in regards to p characters and how they handle pregnancy. you can read it here! <3

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You swore under your breath as you opened the oven door, only to be met with a gush of heat and the smell of burnt dough. The cookies that you had so carefully prepared, cut out in the shapes of christmas trees and hearts, had taken on a dark brown color, the furthest row from you already smoking slightly.

“Fuck-” With a quick move, you maneuvered the try of burnt cookies onto the sink to let them cool off. Looking at them in broad daylight, it was clear that they were barely edible and in no way as enjoyable as they should be.

You ignored the surge of anger inside of yourself, anger at the oven for being so damn unreliable, at the timer that you’d meant to replace ages ago, at yourself. You’d been too distracted with cleaning up, then being forced to take a quick trip to the bathroom upstairs and getting sidetracked with laundry.

A groan left you at the realization. The laundry was still soaking in the bathtub, abandoned the second you’d caught a glimpse of the clock and realized how long the cookies had been baking for.

Angry tears shot into your eyes. It felt like a never-ending battle between you and your ever-growing list of things to do, to prepare, to keep track of. And this had been the one thing you’d wanted to do for him, to thank him for taking over so many of said things now that you were in your third trimester. Maybe you could start over, hide the failed cookies, to spare your another embarrassment in front of-

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door of the small mudroom bordering the kitchen opened with a creak. Merely a second later and clearly alarmed by the smell, he was hurrying into the room, eyes raking through the kitchen until they landed on you. His shoulders slumped slightly as he took in your form, checking you from top to bottom.

“Are you okay?” Joel's voice was soft, despite him being a little out of breath. You could see the basket filled with firewood behind him. Another task that used to be yours before your stomach had grown too big.

He watched your reaction, carefully making his way around the counter, glancing at the burnt cookies in passing. It was enough to make the tears finally spill from your eyes, rolling down your face and landing on the shirt that was already stained with flour. And the anger inside of you? It had finally found an outlet.

The poor man didn't even have time to brace himself before you started yelling.

“You arent supposed to be home, what the fuck are you doing here?!” He looked taken aback, but only for a moment. Then his face seemed to relax. You didn't want him to relax. You wanted him to be as angry as you were and in as much pain and misery. You knew it was a horrible, horrible thought, but you couldn't help it. You wanted him to have to run to the toilet upwards of twenty times a day, to have him woken up by a human kicking inside of him at the most ungodly hours.

“You said you'd be at work until five! You're not-” Another sob escaped you as the knot in your chest seemed to grow exponentially, “You're not supposed to be here yet and-”

You couldn't find a single trace of anger on his face. Not in the crease between his brows, not in the corners of his mouth, not even in his eyes. All you could find was concern.

“Hey-” Joel whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks. They were cold but you leaned into the touch regardless, “What's going on, darlin? Talk to me, please.”

You hiccuped slightly as you tried to speak, the words fighting hard to not get outside. As far as your body was concerned, there was no point in telling him, in making him a bigger part of your currently miserable experience than he already had to be.

“Burned- I burned the cookies-” You mumbled, “I wanted- wanted to surprise you.”

Your arms finally wrapped around him, your body fitting snug against his, even with your baby bump between you. Joel pulled you closer, one hand supporting your back while the other gently stroked your hair, “Shhh, it's okay. You're okay.”

He held you like that for a while, occasionally whispering words of gentle encouragement into your ear until the sobs had stopped. Then, he nudged you towards the living room, guiding you to sit down on one of the armchairs next to the window. He stayed by your side, kneeling down in front of you as he kept his hands on your legs, gently rubbing your thigh.

“There we are,” Joel mumbled softly, producing a handkerchief from nearby and wiping the last of your tears from your cheeks. He gave you a few more moments of silence before he spoke.

“Wanna talk about it?” You opened your mouth to decline, to push him away and deal with it yourself. It's what you would have done a few months ago. But, as he kept reminding you, you were a team now. No, not just a team. Parents. Soon-to-be-parents. He-was-once-before-but-you-were-new-to-all-this-parents.

“It's just been a lot,” you mumbled, watching as Joel nodded along, soft brown eyes radiating understanding. “And I'm already putting so much work on you on top of your normal duties so I thought- I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel hummed quietly, his thumb pressing into your thigh a little, “You do nice things for me all the time, darlin’.”

“I don't. Not with-” You helplessly gestured to your stomach. You could practically see Joel's expression getting a little more serious at that, “Baby, I promise you do. You're here when I come home, right? You fall asleep next to me. You kiss me when you wake up in the morning. Don't need more than that, baby.”

Almost instantly, the tears were back. A thick one rolled down your cheek and Joel reached up just in time to catch it.

“I appreciate you wanting to bake for me, godda-” He stopped himself from cursing, a habit he’d picked up in the last few weeks, with the due date coming ever closer and him insisting that you should at least try to bring up a civilized child. You had a feeling it had less to do with your child and more with the amount of curse words Ellie dropped on a daily basis, but if it made Joel happy, you wouldn't argue against it.

He sighed, “I really do appreciate it. And you know I think your cookin’ is nothing short of magic,” he mumbled quietly. Then he shook his head, his hand wandering to gently rest on your round stomach, “But it's not why I'm with you.”

“Besides, you're already doin’ a whole lot of baking in here,” he added with a small smile, gently patting your stomach and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

“I wouldn't exactly call it baking.”

Joel raised a brow, “No, ‘m pretty sure it is. I made a real nice dough, put it right in here, turned up the heat and now I just gotta wait for it to be done.”

“You're such an idiot, Miller,” you offered weakly as you leaned down towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He smirked against your lips, “If being an idiot gets you to stop crying, I'll do it more often.”

The kiss barely had time to get more heated before you gently pushed back against Joel's chest, “Gotta finish the laundry upstairs.” A small frown built on his face, “We agreed I'd do that. Ain't good for your back, baby.”

“I told you, I've been-” He actually cut you off this time, squeezing your thigh a little to make you fall silent, “Remember what I said? When you told me you were pregnant?”

You raised a brow, “Before or after you almost fainted?” Joel sent you a playful glare at that, causing you to sigh, “You said we were in this together. That you- that you'd be here for it all.”

“That's right,” he mused softly, his thumb still absent-mindedly caressing your thigh. 

“Now, let me go take care of the laundry and you take a nap, yeah? You look-” He paused for a moment, clearly trying to find a nice way to say it, “You look real tired, darlin’.”

You drifted off to the sound of clothes being washed in the bathtub in the next room and to Joel's soft humming of a lullaby he’d been practicing. If this works just half as good on our baby, you thought right before falling asleep, we’re not going to half a single sleepless night.

When you wake up, the rays of afternoon sun are filtering through the windows, giving the house the warm glow you like it so much for. Stumbling into the kitchen, you're met with a sight that you've never seen before.

Joel Miller, an apron tied around his front, kneading away on a piece of dough. Your small laughter alerts him to your presence and you swear you can spot the faintest blush on his cheeks as you practically skip towards him.

“If you wanted an excuse to wear that, you could've just said so,” you tease, leaning against the counter as you watch him. Joel grumbles softly but the small smile on his face isn't lost on you, “ ‘bout time you wake up. Wanna help?”

You frown slightly- and then you realize what he’s doing. Baking bread is something you do often, but this isn't that. The cookie recipe you'd been using earlier is placed next to him, the dough looks exactly the same yours had before you’d burned it.

“Figured we both like cookies. Plus it doubles as a Christmas activity and, well.”

You kiss him. Once, twice, only stopping when he forces you to. He's perfect.

You bake together this time, with you showing him how to get the cut-outs just right, him sneaking a few pieces of the dough into his mouth when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s cozy and relaxing and for the first time in weeks, you seem to forget all about the struggles of being a pregnant woman.

You both sit in front of the oven afterwards, you in Joels lap, your bodies intertwined, both watching eagerly as the cookies slowly turn golden. He kisses your head, his nose nuzzling your hair a few times.

“Next time you’re overwhelmed like that?” He mumbles quietly, “Just let me know, yeah? You know I'm here. For you and the little one”

You nod softly, resting your head against his chest, “I know.”

notes: as always, thank you for reading. i adore each and every one of you. if you enjoyed this, feel free to give me an early christmas present by leaving a comment or reblogging <3

[thebisexualdogdad]

Headcanons for dating Felicia Hardy without knowing she's the notorious thief Black Cat.

Felicia Hardy x Male!reader

● you're just a normal guy living in new york city, with a normal job and a normal girlfriend

● (well, at least you think you have a normal girlfriend, you've seen plenty of headlines about the notorious thief Black Cat but never could you possibly imagine that her and your girlfriend Felicia Hardy were one and the same)

● Felicia doesn't talk about her “finance” job much, she says she doesn't want to bore you and prefers to separate business from pleasure anyways

● but you know it's gotta pay well by her luxurious apartment that overlooks the city along with her closets full of expensive clothes and jewelry

● she goes on “work” trips a lot

● most of the time she's still in New york but after you showed up at her apartment one night to surprise her with dinner and wine as she was climbing back through her balcony nearly catching her in her black cat suit she thought telling you she was going out of town for a couple days was safer

● but sometimes she actually does go on trips for heists to change things up and you get pictures from her hotel room saying ‘wish you were here’

● no matter how long you've been together she still flirts with you like it's the first time you met

● and it's become a bit of a game that when you go out she tries to pick you up like you're strangers

● it's how you discovered she is very much a fan of roleplay

● Felicia enjoys romance

● she loves when you plan spontaneous dates around the city

● or bring her flowers for no reason

● but cooking together is her absolute favorite thing

● the kitchen always ends up a mess because she'll toss flour at your shirt to start a food fight

● or put sauce on your lips to lick it off (which usually ends with you making out on the kitchen counter)

● you're out to dinner with Felicia when you notice a guy at another table staring at her

● “do you know that guy? He hasn't stopped staring at you since we got here”

● she looks over her shoulder and knows exactly who it is, “oh that's Peter, he's an old friend and that's his girlfriend MJ”

● “really? We should invite them to join us”

● Peter is super awkward when they do and is trying to figure out if you know about his and Felicia's alter egos or not

● “so Peter how do you and Felicia know each other?”

● “Oh uh- we… you know-” he rambles and Felicia has to save him

● “we used to work together back in the day”

● and MJ kicks him under the table to get it together

● at the end of the night you're walking Felicia home, “Peter and MJ were nice, we should go out with them again sometime, it would be fun to have more couple friends”

● “I'm sure they would love that too” she laughs

● you're watching tv on the couch one lazy afternoon, her legs thrown over your lap when a breaking news story comes on about a priceless jewel going missing with the number one suspect being the black cat

● “it's impressive”

● “what is?”

● “that after all these years spider-man still can't catch black cat, I mean it's not like she's causing any real harm to the city like green goblin or doctor octopus but still, it's impressive”

● she smiles to herself and puts her head on your shoulder

● she wishes she could tell you the truth but for now it's safer for you to not know that the black cat was sitting right next to you

[josnhoes]

Platonic!Yan batfam with young adult reader. Part 3

[Part 2]

Note: Reader is 18-22 years old. Gn reader

Content warning: being treated like a child, being looked down on, stalking, obsessions, soft yandere but still a yandere, reader has memory issues and it's ambiguous as to why, drugging, mentioned abduction, delusional batfam, batfam as a whole basically view you as a child younger then Damien despite you being older, cursing, violence by reader!

Focus on Jason

---

You never liked working the night shift, the walk home was always creepy. A constant impending doom on your shoulder. Sure lately you had the Bats watching you, but tonight they seemed to be missing. You debated on calling a taxi yet you knew at night alone a taxi could be more dangerous then walking. At least when you walk if need be you can try and run.

You passed by a store with TVs in the windows, the news on several of the screens warning of an escape at Arkham. No wonder the bats were missing and the street was empty. You pulled out and gripped the taser your friend had given you tightly in your hand. It was a high voltage one, strong enough to drop a large man, maybe even killer croc the issue was you had to be close by. Still the protection or the hint of it soothed some of your nerves as you sprinted home.

Coming up to your apartment door and without incident had you nearly crying in relief. You began to unlock your door quickly when you felt a hand on your shoulder. It was definitely the paranoia from the news and the late night that made you whip around and jab the taser into whoever it was.

They dropped like a sack of wet flour to your feet unconscious, and you realized who you just tazed. "Oh God...oh God! I just tazed the Redhood, oh fuck oh fuck..." So much for getting home without incident.

Jason came to a faded tingling in his limbs and... his mask on his face? He sat up ready to go on the attack until he saw you. Then he remembered you had tazed him. His sweet little sibling had *tazed* him. He didn't know if he should be proud or worried you had a taser so strong.

You were asleep on the old recliner while he had been laid on the sofa. He recognized some aches, you must have dragged him in. He was impressed you managed to move him on your own. But he'd have to talk to you about not bringing strays into the house. This time it was him but what if it hadn't been him?

Jason groaned because he knew the family would see this whole incident. If not from his mask footage, then from the many cameras Replacement had placed around the apartment and outside it. "Fuck..." He was never going to hear the end of it.

At the sound of a foreign voice you jolted awake and looked at him scared. "Please don't be mad?" Your voice was small, and if he hadn't been paying attention to you he would have missed it.

"Normally folks start with a sorry. But I'll let it slide this time." He was doing his best not to show his softness to you. He wanted to scoup you up and praise you for defending yourself. But another part of him *hated* the fact you had had to do it at all.

"I'm sorry! I... I saw the news about the Arkham break out on the way home and when someone...you touched me I panicked."

He couldn't tell if you were feeling guilty for hurting him or scared he'd hurt you in return. "You got good reaction time kid. What the fuck were you doing out though?" Most employers had safe rooms or an office in the back that employees could hide in during a break out. Usually it was just an at night situation since the day time was usually safe to travel.

"I had to get home. I didn't know about the break out until halfway home, and I was already closer to home than work. It was smarter for me to run home than double back." It was a logical choice on your end, but he still didn't like it.

"Normally I'd be pissed at this," No he wouldn't have not with them his baby sibling. "But given the situation and the fact you brought me inside and left my helmet on I'll let it slide."

He knew he didn't have the usual clean record the bat brood had. Publicly, he was an anti-hero and crime lord. Sure, he hadn't killed anyone recently, but the civilians were always wary because they knew it was on the table for him. It wasn't. He was *trying* to be better, but most didn't see it that way.

"Really?" The hopeful and pathetic look on your face made him chuckle. An action that he knew with the voice modulator was intimidating.

"Really. I'm not even going to tell you to be more careful next time. You need reactions like that in Gotham." They didn't need them, not much longer. The family would keep them safe. He wouldn't fail them like the family had him. In fact... "But, since I *am* the injured party. You're going to let me stay here tonight."

"What? Shouldn't you be out fighting?" You almost seemed desperate to get him out. That was okay he knew you were just scared and shaken from tonight's events.

"That taser did a bit more damage than I expected. I go out now, I would be a liability." That was a lie not that he'd ever let you find that out. "Besides wouldn't it be better to have someone here with you?" He knew you were scared, more scared of the rogues than him.

"But... fine! You get the sofa tonight." You tried so hard to keep some semblance of control in this, that was cute.

"You got it, Sparky." He laughed as you bristled at the nickname. He'd keep you safe, and even if Bruce wanted to, Jason would be free from any scolding. After all, he had been tasked with playing gaurd tonight, from a distance... but this was far more effective. He wouldn't let you die, not like he had, Jason would burn Gotham before he let that happen.