#not really x reader but...

[foreverurs222]

'babysitting' the Kaulitz twins °. 2003

₊‧.°.⋆ fluff ⋆.°.‧₊

your mother and the twins' mother are friends. When Miss Kaulitz wants to go on a trip with her boyfriend for the weekend, you are asked to look after her sons.

You don't really feel like it. You know Bill and Tom and you are well aware that they can be quite mischievous and naughty and constantly get into some kind of trouble. But your mother sends you over and now you have to spend the weekend with the little twins.

When you arrive, you sit down on the sofa, annoyed, and turn on the TV. The twins instantly come running up to you. Tom grins cheekily “I heard you really wanted to spend the weekend with us”

You roll your eyes “I think you've misunderstood something, little buddy. I'm here to babysit”

Tom tilts his head a little “and that means…” you sigh as you try to concentrate on the TV “that means you are a baby and I am going to sit around”

Bill chuckles a little mischievously and gives his brother a punch in the side “did you hear that? you're a baby”

Tom furrows his eyebrows “I'm not a baby. I'm almost a man”.

You're still trying to concentrate on the TV while the twins tease each other. “I don't see no man here…” you mumble, a little annoyed. Tom looks back and forth between you and Bill. Bill grins “'Told you so”

Tom snorts in annoyance "ok, whatever" he turns towards the tv and turns it off "no tv. Mom said we have to save electricity"

You sigh and chew on your bottom lip "alright guys, what then? you wanna... I don't know, play outside?"

Tom acts all cocky "I got a bed. We can play in there"

You shake your head in disbelief and get off the sofa "careful little buddy, you're way too young to be talking about any of that"

Tom acts like he's sooo grown and tilts his head a little "hm? I'm almost 14. So I'm almost 16 and that means I'm almost 18, so I'm about your age"

You can't help but giggle at this logic. Awww, he's such a little cutie. You take a step forward and pat him encouragingly on the shoulder "yeah sure. And if you keep aging this fast in a matter of seconds, we might as well say you're almost 80 too and then Bill and I would have to start asking around to find a place for you in an old people's home"

Bill breaks out laughing as Tom shakes your hand off his shoulder and frowns at you "not funny..." he grumbles.

you smile at the twins "ok, serious now. What do you want to do? We gotta do something"

Bill grins: “You know, Tom and I have a band. We play real songs and are extremely popular. We have 10,000 fans”

Tom clears his throat and pokes his brother in the side: "more like 10 fans…" you raise an eyebrow. so these two kids have a band now? cute, but what does ‘real songs’ mean to Bill?

you shrug your shoulders ”so are you going to play me something or what?”

Bill grins again: “of course!” Tom, however, chews on his lower lip a little sheepishly: “uhhhh…. well, half the band is missing. And Bill isn't a particularly good singer, so don't expect too much now…”

Bill gasps in offense “hey, you sing then, Tom!”

Tom quickly acts as if he would ever dare to do that “well, so… we all know I sing best here. but out of … reasons… I can't sing at the moment. Um… I have to rest my golden voice”

Bill and you burst out laughing, Tom grins a little proudly.

After a while you remember that the twins probably have to do something for school "say, don't you two have any homework?"

Bill's eyes widen slightly and he quickly diverts from the topic: "Uhhh, I know what we're doing next. We're writing a new song for our band. It's really super important, we can't put it off”

Tom nods and makes a very innocent face: "Exactly. That has to be done. Super urgent. The fans… They're waiting. We can't leave them hanging” You look at the boys, a little confused: "all 10 fans are waiting? Huh? Do you have homework or not?” Bill distracts you again: “10 fans, 10,000 fans, what's the difference? They're eagerly waiting for a new hit. Come on” Bill takes you by the hand and you follow the twins to the kitchen table.

Tom gives you a pencil and Bill places a block in front you. Tom grins: "Well, get started then"

you look back and forth between the twins with a look of surprise "Me?" Bill smirks at his brother: "Not so easy, huh? Well, not everyone is a musical genius."

Tom grins back and the brothers give each other a big high five.

You smile, thinking the twins are adorable: "Ok you two, i'll write it down and you think about the lyrics. then the next hit should be ready in the next few minutes, riiiight?"

Tom immediately backtracks a little: "Uh, it was mostly Bill's idea anyway. Don't look at me!" Bill rolls his eyes: “pff typical. What I wouldn't do to work with professionals for once” Tom snorts: “Yeah, me too!” You try to stifle a giggle at their little argument. Bill sighs. "Well, let me think for a moment. I'm only doing all this for our countless fans!" The three of you work on new songs, most of the ideas originate from Bill, and Tom and you only throw in a few words occasionally. The results are… ok. And the twins complain that your handwriting is soooo hard to read. As if.

You then make a few sandwiches together and have dinner. Later you put the twins to bed, although they whine that they're waaaay too old to be put to bed and they're not at aaaaall tired yet. They have to go to bed anyway. You sit down in the living room and read some tabloid you bought after school yesterday. After a while, you go back upstairs to see if the boys have fallen asleep.

You open the door to Tom's room a crack and are shocked to see that his bed is empty. Oh no, God please no! You get scared and start imagining the worst case scenarios in your head.

You can only hope that Bill is still there and can tell you where his brother might have gone in the middle of the night!

You go over to Bill's bedroom door and open it. Your heart skips a beat.

Relief fills your whole body. Tom is lying next to Bill in Bill's bed, back to back, eyes closed and breathing in sync. You can't help but smile

"Good night you little rascals" you whisper and close the door.

°. The End

[eraserbread]

pregnancy hormones don't stand a chance around your husband, nanami ✧

→ needy pregnant f!reader, whipped nanami, sexually explicit content

"hope that books not more interesting than me," you whisper, propped against the open bedroom door, dressed in nothing but a lacey babydoll lingerie set. your four-month pregnant belly peeks through the lace delicately, and your features are on fire.

kento gives you a little peek. "was wondering what took you so long." he's replying, flicking his book to the next page. you're standing, pouting in his presence.

"hello? i'm horny."

"and you do look very tantalizing in that outfit."

"so come take it off."

he gives you another look, this time lowering the leather-bound book enough to see his face. you pose, crossing your knees and jutting out your hip. you can feel those dark hazels fall over your jutting breasts, then to your widening hips, and finally to your swollen, pregnant belly. his little girl's home.

so, he sits up straight, shoving his book to the side table and ushering you over. "come on, love."

"needy girl..." kento is whispering against the back of your shoulder, pressing kisses there and letting them linger. you're hovering over his lap in reverse cowgirl, tongue pushed from your lips as you focus on staying steady.

"let me have it." you slur, cunt milking obsecnely over his bare lap. he's got a thick fist tight around his erection, making sure you're stable and comfortable before he lets you take him.

"i want you to, but i don't want you to hurt yourself... how about I be on top?"

"—no." you insist, shaking your head violently. he won't let the grip he has on your thighs loose, so all you can taste is the bulbous tip of his familiar, blushing cock.

"why do you insist on being so bratty?"

"I don't want to bottom, baby slides up and into my ribcage and ugh.." you're shivering, and if it wasn't for the abnormal influx of hormones, you'd be turned off just thinking about the pain.

the baby kento pressed into you all those months ago, was an active little girl. she kicked the hell out of you whenever you slept on your back, leading to long nights with little sleep. kento knows this, so why he's telling you to just lie there and take it, is lost on you.

though he's stubborn at times, kento is largely well-trained by you, so he lets you take him like this. his grip starts to loosen, and you can finally feel the stagnancy of his cock start to peek through your sticky folds and into you.

filled to the brim with need, you shiver instantaneously. "oh, please, pleaseplease. all the way—mmgh!!"

he's chuckling behind you—actually breathing a stupid laugh from his nose at your blatancy. "you're shaking already?"

to answer him —you're cumming, and it's a release you've never felt before. his fingers are pressing into your belly, keeping you strong and at his mercy as you cream helplessly all over him. your thighs are shaking, eyes rolling back into your skull as you cry and whine.

it feels like every single one of your nerve endings is being fanned and flamed, driving you absolutely apeshit like you've never been touched a day in your life.

"oh, baby... love."

"sh-shut up."

"that feel good?"

"keep—just keep going." you're begging, drool dripping from your lips as his cock massages that sticky, spongy bunch of nerves at an angle only his cock could hit. he's circling his hips under you, tongue tracing licks across your neck.

your pretty lace panties are ripped and disregarded as the night goes on, and your teddy is busting at the seams, sticking to sweat and dipping off your shoulders. kento's big hand reaches to cradle your swollen breasts, growling in your ear as he fucks you just right... so perfectly and deep that you can feel the slick cervix kisses every time he bottoms out.

you're crazy, and fucked off of five orgasms that night.

thank god for pregnancy hormones—thank god for your husband and all his raw talent. sure, he'll bicker softly just to ignite your needy fires, then he'd give you what you want, exactly how you want, until you're sick with it.

what a thoughtful husband.

[kkusuka]

pt. 2

your roommate was a strange man.

can you even really call him a roommate if he's only home for one week every few months? but when he is home, simon riley is a pretty good roommate.

he fixes the heater that's been broken for two months, he replaces the faucet after it drenches you for turning it on too quick, he even takes a look at your car when you mention how your breaks have been squeaking. but other than his penchant for whiskey and the color black, you really don't know much about the man you've been living with for more than a year.

he's in the military, you know that for sure. he works with a team because he tells you that you have a striking resemblance to a man names "soap"? you take that as a compliment even if he didn't really mean it to be one. he wears combat boots even when he's off, you buy him a pair for his birthday that he doesn't take off until soles wear out. but all of these are merely observations, you don't actually know anything about him.

and it's not like you don't try to find out more things about him. you search his name on google- nothing. you ask him about his social media- 'don't got any'. you never ask about family because he never brings them up. all you have is a phone number and the license plate on his beat up dodge charger.

so, getting a call in the middle of the night, three months after you'd last seen simon, about a mission taking a bad turn and simon taking a bullet for an american private. all you really manage to catch after that was the hospital's address and a room number to ask for.

you feel like you're in a trance as you pack yourself an overnight bag, then move to simon's room and just start grabbing the softest clothes you can find and a bunch of snacks from his side of the pantry, then you're off.

you didn't want to see desperate or overly worried about a man whose favorite song you don't know but you're pushing into the high 90s on your way down. and your mind isn't clear until you're standing in front of a tired looking nurse in sanrio scrubs.

"um, i need to get into room 1206?" you barely choke the words out before she's getting up to lead you, "oh! mrs. riley, they told me you were on your way."

"oh-i'm, well" and if you hadn't watch so many hospital shows where they don't let anyone but family into the room you would have just told her the truth, but you just shut your mouth, give her a tight smile, and follow her down the hallway.

the room doesn’t take long to get to, but the door is shut and you can hear the people inside talking. but the nurse doesn't even hesitate to swing the door wide open, "mr. riley, your wife is here."

and then there are four sets of eyes trained on you, but all you can look at is the hulking figure of your roommate sat up in his comically small hospital bed. and all you can muster up is a slight smile and a small wave in his direction before the bags you're holding fly straight onto the floor.

"oh, shoot- i'm sorry. i didn't know if you needed anything so i just grabbed some things from your dresser- and some of those granola bars you like, and there should be a gatorade somewhere in there. and, oh my god, i'm sorry, how are you? i came as soon as they called, and they said you got shot, and-"

"calm down, sweetheart, or yer gonna be the one that needs a hospital bed." ok, simon could still speak that was good, and he was conscious and remembered you.

"i'm sorry. i just got worried, and-" simon knew you well enough to know that you'll worry yourself to death if he lets you keep going, "nothin' to worry about, sweetheart, pull up a chair, you've 'ad stressful few hours."

you practically fell back into the chair that the man with the kindest brown eyes you've ever seen pushed towards you. and for the first time since you arrived, you took a deep, long breath. hand clasped in your lap as you take simon in.

"feeling any better, mrs. riley?"

"she's fine, garrick." 

'garrick' seems utterly unphased by your roommate's- husband's? you can address that later- tone and just continues to smile at you.

"c'mon simon, we just wannae ken 'bout the bonnie lass yer hidin' from yer pals. ye 'aven't even introduced us." you're glad the scot waited until you'd calmed down to start speaking because it took you at least 30 seconds to realize he was even talking about you.

"sweetheart these are the boys, boys this is sweetheart, now fuck off before you scare 'er away"

they didn’t seem like they were going to leave until the older man practically dragged them out saying something about the heaping loads of paperwork they had to do. so will a little wave and a cheeky smile, they were gone.

"so, um, ho-how are you feeling? they, uh, said that you got shot?"

" 'm fine, sweetheart, better knowing i've got a bird at home who'll come runnin' cause she thinks 'm hurt, yeah wife?"

yeah, maybe you'll let the mrs. riley thing go on for a little bit longer.

idk i just really like the idea of simon just picking someone random and being like 'yeah this is it, you're mine now' and they have literally no idea

[elvinapandra]

POV : you have been scrolling for the past hour and all you see is SMUT

Please...life is lot more than fucking🙏🏻

[bibbysstuff]

His favorite spot

[that1nerd-20]

When a fanfic writer puts a nickname you think Is icky in their smut fic

[readwritealldayallnight]

“Since you’re always stealing my water bottle, I got you your own. Look, even got it in your favourite colour!” You announce proudly, setting his new bottle down on the counter.

“S’not my favourite…” he murmurs barely loud enough for you to hear, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s saying it aloud.

“What’s that, Si?”

“Black’s not my favourite colour.” He replies more steadily this time, surprising you with his answer.

“Oh. Really?” You clarify, to which he gives you a single curt nod. “I just thought- I mean everything you wear is black.”

“S’true.” He agrees, tilting his head to one side, as though he’s considering this for the first time himself. “Never really thought ‘bout it, but suppose it was, ‘til recently.”

“Why? What’s your favourite colour now?” You ask, curious to know what changed for him to have a new favourite colour all of a sudden.

Simon comes around closer to where you’re standing, leaning down enough to be face to face, gazing straight into your eyes as he holds a single finger up and points towards your eyes saying:

“Those right there, love. Most beautiful colour there is.”

“Also I’m probably still jus’ gonna drink from your bottle.”

“Simon, NO.”

[theorphicangel]

sukuna doesn't get anxious. not at all.

but when you haven't come home in hours, long after your friend's dinner was supposed to end that's when he gets a little antsy.

you'd left him to his own devices, a quick kiss on the cheek and you were out of the door in that pretty little dress. you said you'd be back by 11pm the latest.

sukuna stares at the kitchen clock on the wall. it reads 12:44.

but he doesn't get anxiety over you. you were probably chatting away to your friends and getting carried away like you always do with your yapping. but maybe he should have made you share your location with him the other day.

another thirty minutes pass and there's no sign of your return.

he's beginning to get restless. sukuna's already wiped down the counter three times, sorted out the cushions on the couch, watched an episode of whatever on netflix (but he wasn't paying attention to a single word that was said)

instead he keeps looking at his phone, waiting for it to ring - good news or bad news coming his way soon.

his stomach drops at the thought of you in trouble with no one around you to help. what if you did need his help? what if--

his thoughts are interrupted at the sound of the key entering the front door. you enter, soaked top to bottom, evidence that you clearly ignored the weather app before you left.

'where have you been?' his tone is impatient and snappy.

'jeez lemme get through the door first.' you stumble, soaked and uncomfortable as the door shuts behind you with a quiet slam.

'it's late.'

'and you're still up.'

'don't change the subject.'

'I lost track of time, we went back to a friend's house and my phone died.'

'and this friend doesn't have charging cables?'

'I was too deep into the conversation to know it died until I was about to leave.'

sukuna sits in silence, mulling over your words. you don't hear him correctly but if you could guess the words that left his mouth it was the curse of 'you damn women.'

'did you miss me?' you walk over to him and attempt to trap him in a hug. he pulls you off him, disgust at how cold and wet you are.

'go shower, I'll wait for you in bed.'

your face lights up, ready to make fun of him before his palm opens up to you.

'phone.'

you pass over your dead phone for him to charge.

'and i'm making you share your location with me.'

[specsthesecond]

Imagine how hard it must be getting out of bed in the morning with your massive orc husband passed tf out on top of you.

Snoring in your ear, arms slung over you to pull your back into his chest, his leg over yours too. You're not going anywhere lmao.

Feeling all his dead weight on you makes you realise how gentle he is with you when he's awake.

You have to shuffle around quite a bit before stirring him, even then he only digs his tusks into the crook of your neck and mumbles some sleepy gibberish.

Asking him to let you get up will get you nothing but a grumble as he brings the sheets up over your shoulders and traps you in a cozy prison.

The only possibilities for escape are:

1. Telling him you have to pee, in which he'll begrudgingly let you go. He follows you to the bathroom door, blanket around his shoulders, waiting for you to do your business. He'll then snatch you up the second you open the door and carry you back to bed so you can make up for lost cuddle time.

2. Waking him up with a morning fuck. Just grind back on him and he'll hum lowly, kissing up your neck, his cock waking up as he grinds back on you. Emptying his balls in your hole seems to be the best way to get him up and going for the day. Afterwards, you'll be fucked out in bed while he walks around the bedroom, all awake and cheery while getting dressed, making the bed, asking you what you want for breakfast and what the plans are for the day.

[satoblue]

a/n : pregnancy, children mention, suggestive, could be seen as a little side headcanon to this talk post

everyone assumes clan head satoru (who never left his clan to be a student at jujutsu tech) leads a boring intimate life. he has always been reserved ever since he was a child — stoic, sharp, and straight forward. he is a man of little words, adding to the impression that he is emotionally and physically distant. possibly cold towards everyone — even you.

but then, people start to notice something strange which contradicts the idea altogether.

you, his wife, are always pregnant.

it is quite bizarre. satoru has never once shown an ounce of affection towards you in public. not a fleeting touch, not even a single glance that lasts too long. and yet, you’ve been married for less than five years, and somehow — you’ve already given him multiple children.

the notion is amusing to many, especially the servants. whispers begin to spread amongst them as it does; that behind closed doors, the composed clan head they all know must be anything but cold… given that he clearly can’t seem to keep his hands off of his wife.

[deathofacupid]

gojo's relationship with sleep was… complicated. he seemed to view it as an optional activity, like flossing or paying taxes. you, on the other hand, considered sleep a sacred ritual, and dragging him to bed felt like trying to convince a hyperactive hummingbird to take a nap.

"psst," he whispered, loud enough to be heard in the next apartment. "hey."

you groaned, pretending to be a particularly heavy sleeper.

"hey," he repeated, poking your shoulder. you swatted his hand away, a silent leave me alone conveyed through the power of sleepy aggression.

"sweetheart. darling. my bestest friend. my favorite person in the entire universe. sugar-plum. chickadee. kitten-kins. schnukapussy."

"what?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

"do you want to play a game? like, a card game or something?"

"what?" you repeated, your brain still trying to process the concept of coherent sentences. "it's the middle of the night. why are you awake?"

"i'm bored. my brain won't shut up. it's like a radio stuck between stations."

"and you thought waking me up would fix that? now we're both going to be miserable," you grumbled, turning over.

"…so, about that game?" he asked, sounding genuinely hopeful.

you stared at him, resisting the urge to express your frustration with a well-placed pillow. "this is what happens when you eat a whole bag of candy before bed. you turn into a nocturnal gremlin."

he shrugged. "oops."

"don't 'oops' me. i'm trying to sleep."

"but you're awake now," he pointed out, with infuriating logic.

"that's not the point!" you sighed, pulling the covers over your head.

he gave you a look that said, "please? with a cherry on top?" and, against your better judgment, you caved. you sighed, pulling him closer. "fine. no games. but i'll do the hair thing. the one that makes you sleepy."

he settled against you, all warm and impossibly comfortable. "until i'm asleep?"

"yes," you said, keeping you eyes trained on him. "until you're asleep."

as you ran your hands through his white locks, he was out in minutes, snoring softly. you smiled, finally feeling yourself drift off.

then, just as you were about to fall asleep, your brain decided to stage a revolt. wide awake. you stared at the ceiling, wondering if you could convince gojo to share his ability to function on zero sleep. to say the least, this would be a long night.

[tobeholyistobeempty]

giggling at the thought of you moving into ghosts house - barely furnished, almost looks like no one has lived in the damn place for years. he just shrugs, saying something about how he’s a minimalist when you call him on it. you beg him to atleast let you buy him some fucking decor, maybe a painting or two, maybe some damn curtains?

again, he just shrugs. telling you it’s a waste of money.

but his mind changes, if only a little, when a few months later the neighbour across the street approaches you as you’re getting in his truck.

“uh, hey, simon? do you think i could talk to you a minute?”

the guy is half scared to death to approach, and simon quirks a brow only for the fact that this is easily the first time he ever has. and so he nods, assuming it’s probably something rather important, gesturing for you to get in the car.

“i uh, dunno how to say this but. maybe you could, uh, get some curtains? i uh, ive looked out my window to see you two fucking far too many times. i’m not complaining but, i mean—“

simon blinks, then blinks again. before he bursts out laughing. “glad y’ve enjoyed the show.”

and when he gets back in the car, he just gives you a lopsided, boyish smile.

“mayb’ s’time for those curtains, love.”

[keypostos]

caleb is the biggest advocate of happy wife = happy life.

in the morning, he waits for you to wake up so he can attack your face with kisses. he starts by smoothing out your hair, poking at your cheeks, and running his fingers across your lips.

your giggles are worth missing that extra hour of sleep anyway.

he plants kisses on your cheeks, forehead, nose, and finalizes with a brief kiss on your lips, leaving you to rush in for one more. and who is he to deny his wife?

okay—technically—his girlfriend. but still.

after your slow morning, caleb decides to take you out for lunch. he holds you close when you walk; his arm is wrapped around your shoulder the entire time. when he feels you lean into him for more (of his body warmth, but he doesn’t have to know that), caleb explodes. he probably runs hotter after that too.

he leads you through grocery stores (“do you think we need this for the fridge?”), flower shops (“caleb, i think this would look great on our dresser”), and the tire shop (“pipsqueak, you really need to get these tires fixed. good thing you can always rely on me, though!”).

you browse for things to make his apartment more homey. he looks for items to stock your (our—as caleb likes to say) fridge with. you joke and bicker and hide your heads when you get stares from older ladies for being too loud. you’ll laugh about this when you get home.

later, for dinner, caleb decides he’ll cook for you at home with the groceries he bought today. he made a new special tonight: some kind of pasta with chicken.

and no matter how many times you insisted on helping, caleb used his evol to push you back onto the couch. but, when you snuck over to him and grabbed his waist, he surrendered. any reasonable man would. how could he not surrender when you nuzzled into him, begging him to let you do something.

at dinner, he cut up your chicken and fed you until you started making pregnancy jokes. what a dream that would be, caleb thought.

then, at night (probably 10pm), you two start heading to bed. caleb hops in the shower with you (“could this be my reward for cooking for you today?”) and runs his hand through your hair; shampoos and conditions it; rubs body wash all over you; and rinses you off.

you repeat the same actions to him, except you like to mess with him ten times more. you rub soap everywhere, but you paid special attention to his abs. and biceps.

though, caleb didn’t say a single thing. he had to fight back the urge to smirk when your hands rubbed up and down his arms. this might’ve been heaven for him.

when you got out, you asked (begged) if you could shave for him. caleb had been growing a bit of stubble, and you’ve always expressed your interest in shaving him since he started growing hair.

so he props you up on the bathroom sink, standing in between your legs while you carefully run the razor up and down his jaw. you’re so gentle with him—much gentler than he usually is when shaving himself.

your fingers prod all over his jawline and cheeks. your featherlight touch sends sparks all over his face, and he can’t help but break out into a smile (even when you scold him). scratch what he said before—this is heaven to him.

when you’re done, you analyze his face as if he’s a sculpture. you trace your fingertips down the slope of his jaw; the high rise of his cheekbones, and over his lips for fun. he playfully tries to bite your finger before you swat at him.

the two of you brush your teeth, and you already know caleb will be bumping hips with you throughout the whole process. what should take two minutes turns into ten—with both you and caleb messing with each other by tickling, pinching, or hugging.

once you two are in bed, your face is pressed into caleb’s chest. he rests his chin on top of your head, and you feel his breaths coming down on you. when you look up at him with glowing, love-sick eyes, caleb presses kisses all over the top of your head.

you angle yourself up slightly, and caleb perks up eyebrow in suspicion. even in the dark, caleb can tell you’re smiling when you push yourself up and kiss him on the lips. it’s a deep kiss: one where you’re thanking him, trying to please him, and loving him all at once.

caleb is on you instantly, with one hand holding your face and the other cradling the small of your back. he puts all of the energy he has left into the kiss, before pulling away and slumping his head on the pillow like a love-starved dog.

“thank you. for today,” you murmur, inching yourself closer to him. “i appreciate everything you do for me,” you press one more kiss onto his lips before you fall into the hands of sleep, “i love you, caleb.”

oh yeah, caleb thinks, happy wife, happy life.

i wrote this in 30 mins can u tell

also idk what’s up w my borders im writing this on my phone so they’re a bit janky loll sorry

[kkusuka]

this is in the "141 and john price's wife" universe. still gn pronouns. i also don't think price texts that much- old man syndrome.

the 141 absolutely have a group chat dedicated to pictures and information (porn) about their little wife.

it starts, as many silly things do, with johnny and a picture of you asleep on the couch. cuddled into the armrest covered in the tortilla blanket he'd gotten you as a gag gift, and it was just too good not to share. (although he only sent one of the thirty he actually took, he's gotta keep as much of you to himself as he can.)

then it was kyle with you in the yard, laying in the grass after cutting down branches in the sweltering heat (something john would never let you do if he'd know about it, but he appreciates the flush of your cheeks and the angle of the photo makes it seem as if you were under him doing another strenuous activity.)

and it continues like that for months, cute little pictures of you gardening with price, walking with simon, watching tv between kyle and johnny- just sharing the daily life of their pretty bird.

but the real nature of the group chat doesn’t start until simon sends a picture of you bent over, putting something in the oven, in the tiny, red daisy duke shorts that are only just long enough to be considered inappropriate for the public.

sr: fuckin' lucky that shit only takes 10 minutes to cook or we'd be in the kitchen all day.

soap: fuuuuuuuuckin' hell

kyle: don't rub it in simon, we'll be home in two days

sr: don't worry, i'll warm 'em up for you

price: Behave yourselves.

and it all just unravels from there.

john's the next culprit. he has loads and loads of less than decent pictures of you, perks of being the first husband, but he's not reaching into the stash for this one. he has a point to make: if anyone's getting off to pictures of his wife, he's gonna be the one sending them.

it's barely two hours after the other three left that something is sent into the chat. face down, ass up, cunt dripping with cum as price uses his thumb to keep your pussy open to the camera, the rest of his hand palm down on your ass, the ring on his finger glistening in the flash.

sr: fuckin' filthy captain

soap: BRING ME BACK, PUT ME IN CAPTAIN

kyle: tell 'em i said thank you

it's not surprising that the minute he comes back, johnny's on you. methodically placing the camera, making sure it captures all of you and his face buried between your thighs. it wasn't the first video sent into the chat but it's definitely one of the best ones.

your head thrown back, hands in his hair, gripping what you can so you can grind your pussy on his tongue. his phone is just close enough to hear your small pants and groans as he sucks on your swollen clit.

soap: i could spend the rest of my life right there

sr: you let 'em fuck yer face like that?

soap: lt i'd let 'em gag me

soap: then step on my dick

soap: then leave me on the floor to rot

*kyle, price, and sr disliked three messages*

soap: like you fuckers wouldn't

and kyle is not a man to be left out, but he is also not as keen on sharing his private time with you as johnny is. so there aren't videos coming from him, instead he has 4k close ups of your tits after he spent almost an hour sucking hickeys into every part of your chest he could reach.

and kyle is like an artist, he makes sure your hair is splayed out perfectly, and that you're just fucked out enough to give him a bright smile. he also makes sure that the locket they gave you, the one that's has their names engraved on the inside, sits perfectly above the swell of your boobs. and goddamn is he proud of his pictures. (it's not hard for you to look pretty in pictures because you're already pretty but kyle thinks he's the best at actually capturing it).

soap: another two things i would put my face between until i suffocate

*sr, price, and kyle disliked a message*

soap: go fuck urselves

and simon is just mean, fingers peaking under your panties, finding your clit just to sit there, finger pressed on your bud, only moving for a few seconds before falling still again; his other hand hold your hips down so you can't do anything but wait for him to move again. and he does it the entire length of the manchester game until your panties are completely soaked through.

soap: stone cold, lt. stone cold.

but before he can do anything, he has to take his picture so the other fools can remember what a whore you are for him. and because it's between games he'll let you sit on his dick and grind into him during commercial breaks. maybe he'll even film in and send it to the guys, let them see you drip all over his lap whole stretching to fit him in your cunt.

but whether his team loses or wins, he'll flip you over and fuck you into the couch cushions, so at least you get that!

then they're all away on a mission, and you know about their little chat (it's hard not to when suddenly they have a camera out every time you're in their vicinity.) so you take it upon yourself to give them their fix. and why not play around with them well you're ar it?

it starts when you go shopping merely three days after they left. they tear up your bras and underwear so obviously you would need to buy more eventually. but usually when you go shopping one of them is with you to share their opinions, but since they're away, you just have to send pictures instead!

a whole catalog, in facts. you've got angles, dressing room lighting, and a whole lot of time on your hands.

*you sent 22 photos to 'the bird house'*

you: i can't choose :(((

you: help me out?

kyle: give me 6 hours to fly home and i'll help you with anything

price: Looks great. But I can't tell from the pictures, you'll have to try them all on again when I get home.

soap: licking the screen isn't working, captain i think i need to go home.

*sr saved 22 photos to Camera Roll*

kyle: smooth riley, real smooth.

and of course it doesn't end there. you have a chance to torture them a little bit with zero consequences and you're going to take it.

but it takes a while for you to send videos, usually you send  your outfits, or the tiny bathing suit top you wear while tanning, even one of you in the kitchen in nothing but your tiny apron. (it's the only one that john does not appreciate, popping a boner between briefings as a captain is not hie proudest moment.)

but as the months go longer and longer, you get more and more desperate. your toys are reserved for times like this, a small bullet vibrator and a thick 8-inch dildo. it's nowhere near as nice as fucking your men but it'll have to do for the time being.

and you know them being away is not their fault and they'd be home in an instant if they could choose to be; but if you have to deal with your pent-upness, so do they.

so you set up your phone, leaning it on the lamp that sits on your bedside table, so it captures your entire body, covered only by sheer light-blue lingerie and your locket, as you sink down the length of your dildo, vibrator pressed to your clit. you send four different videos, one for each of them, in the order they came into your life (you think it's cute, they're one picture away from firebombing the whole country they're in and flying home).

you: just something to hold you over until you get back!

kyle: so good for us babe.

soap: yer evil bonnie.

soap: my arm can't keep up with this

sr: birdie thinks it's real funny now

you: i do

sr: not gonna be so funny when we get home, yeah? might have to give you a refresher about what happens teasing birds.

price: 6:30am tomorrow, get everything you need in order because you aren't moving for the foreseeable future.

*you loved a message*

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento who, when asked what his sexual orientation is, simply responds "my wife".

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon with an anxious little lovie who needs help calming down sometimes. And he can do it, he can settle your nerves when nothing else can. He can slow your racing thoughts, get you out of your head and back to him, where you belong.

And he's so PROUD of it too. He loves that his rough, calloused hands can soothe you that well. You feel safe enough with him to let him take care of you in the moments where you feel completely out of control, and it means the world to him. It means more than he ever thought anything could.

The feeling of your own hands, reaching up his body, your palms pressed flat against the broad, muscled planes of his chest, is something he'll always treasure. He breathes steady, trying to get you to do the same, and he knows his heartbeat is strong and solid, because it always is with you.

And if giving him a little grope there helps at all? If your worried little hands want to use his pecs like stress balls? Do whatever you need, love. He's a big boy, he can take it.