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thetriumphantpanda · 5 months

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baby, it's cold outside | joel miller

Summary | Patrolling with Joel is always easy, he's your friend after all, but when a snow storm forces you to stop halfway, you're both faced with feelings that you'd both rather ignore, but with nothing but time, talking about them is your only option.

Word Count | 4.2k

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings | Explicit 18+. A snow storm and a cabin with a nice, warm fireplace. Unspecified age gap. Explicit smut - unprotected PiV (don't do this, pls be smart), oral sex (F), size kink if you squint, dirty talk, two idiots who love each other, some negative feelings towards the holidays but nothing else I can think of!

Authors Note | A huge thank you to the wonderful @hellishjoel for setting the 12 days of Pedro up and asking me to take part - this was so much fun to put together and I hope you all love it as much as I do!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Thank you to the wonderful @saradika for the divider!

Despite having lived in Wyoming for years now, the winters were still a surprise to you. Icy cold winds, frosted windows every morning, thick downfalls of snow almost daily and a struggle to get warm no matter how many layers you wore. Some would call it picturesque, and you suppose you could see it, everywhere you turned in Jackson at this time of year, even though it was against the backdrop of the end of the world, it looked like it could adorn the cover of any Christmas card or be the setting for any Christmas movie. It didn’t matter, because you hated it either way.

When the tree went up in the centre of town, and the lights got switched on, it only served to remind you how solitary you were. How you existed mainly entirely on your own. No family, barely any friends, always the talk of the gaggle of girls who would whisper to each other whenever you passed and start laughing to each other, or the boys who always wondered why instead of hanging around with people your own age, you opted to spend it alone, or with someone who was pushing sixty.

Because if there was a single person in this Godforsaken town that you could class as a friend, it was Joel Miller. Quiet, closed off, unapproachable until you chipped away at his hard exterior, just like you in so many ways, it was actually sickening really. You liked Joel, ever since Tommy had put you two together for patrols when Maria had given birth, it was like you’d found someone who finally understood your need to be alone.

Patrolling outside the walls gave you peace, let you leave your loneliness behind for a while, just you and the ground beneath your boots, the feeling that you were doing something wrong, were less of a person because of your lack of friends and relationships left behind at the gate. You’d proven yourself capable more than enough times for Tommy to realise you were an asset. You’d saved more than enough people with your good aim and quick trigger finger, been ruthless in getting rid of raiders who strayed too close to your safe haven, and he knew your need for solitude, which is why he trusted you on these longer routes, on the more complicated patrol rotations, the ones that would get you out of Jackson for a week.

You surmise that’s probably why he chose to pair you up with Joel. In the two years you’d patrolled together, you’d come to realise that he needed that solitude just as much as you did. A way to leave behind being a father at the gate and remind himself of exactly who he was before. Out here, walking side-by-side next to you, he wasn’t Ellie’s dad, he wasn’t the man who still woke up in cold sweats remembering the heavy weight of his dead daughter in his arms, or that man who had lost almost everyone he’d ever cared for along the way, he was just Joel. Joel, who was more comfortable cradling a rifle in his arms than he was his infant nephew. Joel, who preferred comfortable silence instead of filling the quiet with talk. Joel, who, even when you suspected he hated you at the start, would have protected you to the death no matter what.

You were similar, far more than you’d like to admit, and as the weeks and months had drawn on, and you’d moved into being more comfortable with each other, he really was one of those things you’d wanted for so long. A friend. Someone to rely on, someone to drink with at the end of a hard patrol route, someone who made sure you ate when it was the last thing on your mind, someone who fixed the hole in your roof and put new planks of wood on your porch when you almost fell through it one day, someone who confided in you about how hard he found being a parent again, someone who opened up to you when things started to sour with Ellie. A friend.

He was also someone, in the last six months, that you suspected wanted to be more than your friend. It had started small, with things any good friend would do. He would offer you his arm when you walked during the winter so you wouldn’t slip, started packing double lunch so he knew you’d eat when you’d go out together, but then it was the hand on the small of your back through town, or the way he’d sit close to you in the bar, knees knocking against yours just so he could put a hand on your knee to apologise for getting too close.

And it’s not like you didn’t see that in him either. For a man who was almost sixty, he was incredibly handsome, able to do unspeakable things on patrol that neither of you would talk about to anyone else, strong in a way you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. Sure, his hearing was shot in one ear, his middle soft with age, and his hair and beard peppered with grey hair, but Joel Miller was a sight.

But, what if you’d read his signals wrong? What if his kindness and that warm hand on your knee was just him being a Southern gentleman? You throw yourself at him and he doesn’t feel the same, what happens then? You lose one of the very few friends you’ve ever had, and that’s somehow worse than knowing you’ll never know what the feel of his skin is like under your touch or what it sounds like when he moans your name for you.

The patrol route is brutal this day, wind and snow making it hard to see anything in front of you. You and Joel had to shout loudly to each other in order to hear anything, so when you stumble across the cabin, halfway through the route, you both decide that it’s best to head inside, get warm and wait out the worst of the storm before carrying on. Safer that way, is what Joel said, but you think it’s got more to do with the cold on his joints than the safety. Even at your younger age, your bones were certainly aching.

The wind whips a flurry of snow into the abandoned cabin when Joel pushes the door open, ushering you inside quickly, shutting the door quickly behind the two of you before more snow can follow you in. He sets his rifle down near the door and his backpack on the worn, moth-eaten couch, kneeling in front of the fireplace.

This particular cabin is a regular stop on this patrol route, an agreement between the residents of Jackson who frequent it to keep it stocked with firewood during the cold season. You silently note to thank whoever had patrolled before you for stacking the fireplace so all Joel really needs to do is set fire to the scrunched paper dotted through the wood to get the warmth of the fire flooding the small front room.

“Reckon we’re here for the long run,” Joel grumbles, holding flat palms up to the flames to warm his hands, “Ain’t no way we’re walking anywhere in that.”

And he’s right, the light of the day is fading fast and even in daylight, the blizzard had been a nightmare to traverse. It’s not like you’re wanting to rush back though, you sometimes wish you could pack everything up and come out here for good, live in your solitude until the end of your days, but for now, just a few more nights away from the place that reminds you just how alone you are will do.

You settle down on the couch, trying to burrow further into the coat around your body, not bothering to take your gloves or your hat off until the flames of the fire are stronger.

“Come sit closer,” Joel murmurs, motioning with his hand for you to sit on the floor next to him, “Warm up a little.”

You slip down from the couch and scoot along the floor until you’re sat next to him. Joel reaches over and takes hold of your wrist, gently pulling off your glove, “They’re damp,” He states, reaching for your other hand to do the same, “Take your coat off too, you’ll get a chill otherwise.”

Working to unzip the front to pull it off, whilst Joel throws an extra few pieces of wood on the fire, you settle a little bit closer to the flames, feeling the warmth start to seep through your other layers. He stands, taking your coat and his, hanging them on either end of the fireplace to dry out a little, then he sits back down next to you, although a little closer than he had been before, so close that you can feel the heat of his body next to you.

You take a moment to steal a look up at him, his body larger than yours, towering a little next to you, but in the glow of the flames he’s fucking breathtaking. You get lost in tracing his jaw and the hook of his nose with your eyes that he’s turning his head to face you before you can turn away from him. He catches you with that small smile that is saved only for his family normally, Ellie, Tommy, sometimes Maria, and now, more often, you. So you smile back at him, let the warmth lick through your body, and before you realise it, he’s leaning his, broad shoulders bumping yours as his face gets closer, and God, it would be so easy to let him do it, move your face towards him, press your lips to his and burn it all to hell, but as he inches closer, that pit is opening in your stomach, bubbling anxiety and dread, so as he inches closer, you have to stop him.

You bring one of your fingers up to press against his lips gently, watching as he purses them against your touch a little, but then his eyes open when you speak, so softly, so quietly that he almost missed your plea, “Please don’t.”

It’s like you’ve burnt him with the way he not only drags his face from you, but his whole body, putting so much distance between the two of you that you almost cry. He clears his throat, running his hand over his face, “Right,” He mumbles, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” You insist, not meeting his eyes though, “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Stupid of me,” He shakes his head, “Just thought-” He sucks in a breath and pushes it out on a sigh, “Thought maybe you’d feel the same, but it was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid, Joel,” You sigh, finally turning to him, “It’s okay.”

“Makes sense,” He shrugs, eyes boring holes into the flames in front of you, “I’m old, too old for you to want me.”

“It has nothing to do with you being too old for me Joel, I couldn’t give less of a fuck about that.”

You expect him to drop it, like he often does with these kinds of conversation, the ones that involve feelings, but he doesn’t.

“Then what is it?”

“Well, it has nothing to do with your grey hairs or your creaky fucking knees, that’s for sure.”

He’s looking at you with a look that says to get fucked, hurry up, tell him the real reason for all this.

“I could be shit in bed for all you know.”

“Well that’s easy to rectify, just need a little practice.”

It makes you snort, “Can we be fucking serious for a minute, Miller?”

“You’re the one who said it first.”

“What happens when it goes tits up?” You ask, “When you get bored of me, or realise I’m not what you thought I was, what happens then?” He opens his mouth to respond to you, but you beat him to it, “I lose my best friend, that’s what happens, the only person in this Godforsaken world that I have, and I don’t want that, I don’t want a world where I’m without you.”

“Who says it’s going to go tits up?” He counters, “Baby, I’m old, I ain’t gonna go running off, I just want somethin’ good, somethin’ happy, and I want that with you,” Just like you had done before, he starts talking again before you can add something, “Put your faith in somethin’, darlin’,” He’s moving back towards you now, shifting closer, “Put your faith in, me.”

It sounds so easy when he says it like that, because you had once before, without even realising. Let him in, let him get close, to know everything you’d been through, share everything he’d been through. You let him sit with you late at night in the summer, strumming his guitar on your porch, he lets you share his whiskey when you need it.

“I’m still gonna be your best friend,” He urges, that warm palm resting on your knee, “That ain’t gonna change, we’re just gonna add to it.”

And for some reason, it snaps, all of your good judgement and everything that was holding you back. His face is cradled in your palms before you know it, your body straddling his lap as your mouth slants over his, a surprised gasp swallowed by your mouth as his lips open against yours, his hands coming to rest on the globes of your ass through your jeans, pulling you closer, chest flush to chest as you soak this in.

Hands dropping to the collar of his shirt, you start to slowly unbutton it, mouth still against his, tongue tasting him as your fingers push button after button through their holes until you can push it from his shoulders, drag his arms from it, drag his undershirt from it’s place tucked into his jeans.

Joel gasps when your hands make contact with the skin under it, fingers still slightly icy from the cold, but that too is swallowed by your mouth, as is the moan that drags from your throat when he bucks his hips into yours.

He pulls away from your lips, forehead pressed to yours as you both breathe deeply, “Don’t seem shit in bed so far.” He chuckles.

“I was fucking with you Joel,” You smile, punctuating it with a roll of your hips into his, “I’m a delight in bed.”

“Prove it.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“This is the floor Joel,” Which earns you a squeeze to your ass, “I’ve never fucked someone on the floor before.”

Before you know what’s happening, he’s flipped you over, your back pressed to the dusty wooden floor, his body looming over yours, fingers picking the button of your jeans apart, pulling the zipper down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down your legs, underwear along with them too, before they’re thrown behind him somewhere, forgotten as he parts your knees, legs spread, exposed to him, and you think you might die from the way he looks at you. You bury your head into your shoulder, trying to escape his gaze as he drags his thumb along your folds, growling when he feels how wet you are just from his mouth on yours.

You’re vaguely aware of the sounds of his feet hitting one of the armchairs behind him as he lowers his chest to the floor, hands pulling at your hips, your back dragging across the wooden floor as his mouth presses a single, feather-light kiss to your clit. The smallest of touches to your body has your back arching into him.

How long has it been? Not since you fucked someone, because in the grand scheme of things that hasn’t been too long. No, how long has it been since someone actually made you feel good? Years, you think. Too long. Too long since sex was anything more than just stress relief, pressed against the brick wall by the Tipsy Bison, letting someone fuck you so you could feel something, giving them the bragging rights of fucking the town outcast in return.

This is different. So different. Joel is slow with it, parting you in front of his face with his thumbs, tongue swirling through the slick you’re not even embarrassed about now, tasting you, drinking you in, before he drags his perfect mouth up, lapping gently at your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Taste so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He coos against your skin, his praise making you preen, hips chasing the feeling of his mouth on you, he chuckles at your desperation, “How long’s it been since someone made you feel good, huh?”

Your fingers tangle in the curls on his head, dragging him back down to your cunt to silence him, “Too long.” Is all you offer as he feasts on you.

Tongue swirling, lips suckling, fingers digging into the skin of your hips, dragging you slowly but surely to the edge, the fire in your blood no match for the fire against your skin. He’s fucking good at this, knows exactly how to listen to your moans, the way you pull at his hair when he does something you like, collecting the little gasps and hip movements until he’s working a pattern on your pussy that makes you feeling like you’re going to explode, combust, maybe even die a little.

“Don’t stop,” You urge, breathless, sheen of sweat settling across what skin of yours is exposed to the flames near to you, “Gonna - fuck Joel - gonna cum.”

That’s when he pushes two of his fingers into you. Hooking them up inside of your cunt, your legs dropping open further than you thought possible as he works you and works you. You’ve gone quiet, letting out only short breathes when holding them in makes your head light, fingers so tight in his hair that you think it’s probably hurting.

Then, you think you find God, right there on the dirty, dusty floor, when the coil snaps inside of you. Your back arches off the floor, thighs clenched around Joel’s head as his tongue continues the flicks against your clit, ignoring the high-pitches whines of too much, Joel listening instead to the movement of your legs, the way your entire body convulses until you truly are spent for him.

Joel pushes himself up onto his knees, dragging his undershirt over his head, pulling his belt through its loops as you’re sitting up, dragging the upper portion of your clothes off, naked on the floor for him, the flames from the fire keeping you warm, even if your nipples do pebble and peak against the cold.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel breathes out as your hand settles on your pussy, fingers dragging through the slick to lazily move over your clit, “I wish you could see yourself right now, baby,” He crones, pushing down his jeans, cock springing free, immediately clasped in his fist, movements slow as he watches you touch yourself, “Pretty as a fuckin’ picture.”

His body falls forward, coverings yours, but this isn’t what you want. Hand on his chest, you’re pushing him back, “Wanna ride you, Joel.” You whine.

Like a kid on Christmas, he’s on his back in seconds, jeans and underwear pooled around his ankles because if you’re not sinking down on him in the next few seconds, he’s going to scream. You settle your thighs on either side of his hips, his cock, heavy and throbbing against his stomach. He’s watching you, as you take the base of him in your hand, line him up with that aching core of yours, head notching into you, where you just keep him for a moment, let him stretch you as you ground yourself with palms on his chest, sinking down, inch by inch until he’s fully buried inside you, warmth wrapping around him, just like the warmth from the fire against his skin.

You start moving your hips, his cock so deep in you he swears if he put a palm on your lower belly, he’d feel himself through your skin with the way you’re grinding against him, head thrown back, mouth dropped open. He wishes he could take a photo of this. He doesn’t think he’s seen a nicer sight in his life.

“It’s a lot, ain’t it baby?” He coos, hands on your hips, guiding your movements, he knows he’s big, been told enough times through his life, but the way you’re slow, getting used to him inside him, has him on the verge of spilling inside you already.

“So big, Joel.” You whine, leaning back now, hands on his knees which have moved up, his feet planted on the floor now, and God alive, if he thought you were a sight before, you’re a fucking masterpiece now as you start bouncing on his cock.

He can’t help himself, he is only a man after all, his hands trailing up the curves of your side, taking hold of your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers, listening to the way you sing for him. Somehow, he finds core strength from somewhere, pushes himself up, one hand behind him to prop him where he is, as his mouth sucks a nipple into his mouth, rolling that pebbled peak with his tongue, your arm wrapping around his shoulders to steady yourself against him, hips still working against his, finger tangling in the curls near his neck, keeping his mouth anchored right where it is.

Joel pulls off you, a wet smack from his lips as he looks up at you with those beautiful brown orbs, “Feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” He praises, “So tight around me, like you were made for me.”

“Wanna feel you,” You moan, head dropping against his shoulder, “Wanna feel you come for me.”

He’s wrapping his arms around your back, dragging you down with him as he rests himself back on the floor, your chest pressed to his as he finally takes control. Feet planted on the floor with your teeth digging into his shoulders, he fucks up into you, the cabin filled with nothing but breathy moans and a lewd smack of skin as he pounds himself into you. In an ideal world he’d focus on making you come again, feeling you clench around his cock as you fall apart would be incredible, but he thinks there will be time for that later.

He’s so fucking close, you can feel it, the way his fingers are gripping t every inch of skin they can reach, the way his hips are faltering and how your name is more of a feature on his lips. You let out a surprise squeal as he flips you both, your back now to the ground as his cock slips out of you, his fist replacing the wet heat of your cunt as the warmth of his cum splashes across your lower belly, a howl, not unlike an animal, falling from his mouth as he paints you, claims you as his own with those ropes of cum across your skin.

When all is said and done, and he’s taken in the sight of your skin splashed with his spend, the two of you lying in front of the fire, one blanket dragged from the bed on the floor to soften the harsh wood, another pooled around both your hips, this feels like home. Both you and Joel, led on your side, watching each other, and the flickering light of the fire bathes you both in orange, in warmth.

His hand traces your face, thumb dragging across your bottom lip as he leans in to kiss you. Hours later, with harsh wind and snow still swirling outside, he brushes a thumb across your nipple, your hand reaching down between you to find him hard again. He puts you on your back this time, creaky knees be damned, slides his cock into your aching cunt once more, fucks you slowly, the entirety of his weight pressed against you. That orange glow almost convincing you that this was before, when things were normal, romantic even, as his lips leaves tiny bruises across your skin.

When he’s marked you once more as his, cum splashed from your pussy to your tits, he lies back down, the broad expanse of his back to the dying embers of the fire, your back pressed to his front, his arm snaked under your neck, urging you to sleep, and as you drift off, Joel’s hot breath against the skin of your ear, his other arm draped loosely over your waist, you pray that the snow is just as bad in the morning, because if it were possible, you want to return even less now, want to remain huddled next to Joel, on the floor, for the rest of your life.

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radiance1 · 4 months

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Vlad Masters has died.

Or at the very least, that is what the upper class was lead to believe. Could you blame them? His death was wildly convincing, and the thing was.

No one knew who would inherit Vladco and his fortune.

As far as they knew, Masters never had any heirs to speak of at all. Not even an illegitimate child, or a foster care. He doesn't even have relatives that the fortune and company could go to.

So, safe to say, they were quite looking forwards to what would happen to the company. Would it sink, or stay afloat?

Now, normally, Damian wouldn't have cared a single bit about what would happen. But seeing as he is forced to go to an event held at the very dead Vlad Masters' mansion, he thinks he should have the right to see what'll happen.

The company's various stockholders were all gathered together, as well as Lex Luthor and other rich upper-class individuals. He knows that Vlad and Lex didn't like each other very well, so he thinks that Lex Luthor may or may not be backing the biggest current stockholder so that he'll have a say in the man's company when they take over.

Honestly, the event was pretty boring. He thought there would be... more, happening. Considering the context of this event.

So, he leaves. He's really just exploring to stave off his boredom, but if he found Vlad Masters' secrets before his death, well. Might as well, really.

He comes upon a room filled wall to wall with merchandise that screamed Masters was a packers fan before his death. Quite the large one at that as well. He picked up one item just to take a look at it, it wasn't something he was too interested in, but it was sort of impressive.

He turned when he heard the door open behind him, and saw a girl that was probably around his age staring at him with concern.

The thing is, she wasn't dressed like a guest. Or even a maid. She was dressed like a poor person.

So obviously he thought she was breaking in to find things to steal and sell off.

"I'm telling dad you tried stealing his packers merch." And with that, the girl was off, and Damian found himself running after her.

Why?

Boredom.

But also, father? He genuinely considers who she was talking about, clearly it couldn't have been anyone participating in the event, so was he also another thief that wanted to steal from Masters?

What sort of thief reveals they have another roaming around where they're stealing from? And their blood relation at that?

He realized that they were running towards where all the guests were gathered, and Damian thought that this girl was either lost, or genuinely didn't know what she was doing.

"Dad! Some kid is trying to steal your merchandise!" Said the girl, slamming open the doors and causing the attention of everyone present to fall directly on her as she paused.

Damian couldn't see it, but he thinks she's quite stupefied in that moment, paused on her pause. It was completely, and utterly quiet for a moment as the guests stared at her, and she stared back.

However, the next moment. The very detailed coffin laying in the center of the room suddenly swung itself open with a great pillar of green fire that reached the ceiling, causing his attention to switch over to it.

He saw lines on the floor around the coffin, lines that he previously ignored as some kind of design choice.

Lines that were filled with a liquid none to dissimilar to Lazarous Water.

A hand reached out of the coffin. "WHO DARES TO TOUCH MY PRECIOUS MERCHANDISE!?" And from beyond the grave the previously dead now arisen body of Vlad Masters pulled himself out of his own coffin, with inhumane red eyes.

So. Damian came to two conclusions that night.

One, Vlad Masters may or may not have had ties with the League of Assassins in some way, leading to his now ressurection.

Two, Vlad Masters has a daughter that was extremely well hidden from basically everyone present at the gathering and, maybe even the world at large.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover

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kzpearce · 1 year

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A LOST KID CALLED YOUR BOYFRIEND “ DADDY ” !!

ft. k. ayato, alhaitham, tartaglia, heizou, k. kazuha, scaramouche, tighnari, diluc, kaveh.

note. no pronouns mentioned (but quite focused with female reader. worry not, it's not obv tho hopefully). quite suggestive to childe and heizou.

your fav characs might be here in part two!

author's note. i posted this two or three days ago but i got shadow banned for some reason (maybe i had too tags?) i don't know how tumblr algorithm works because i'm quite new here ;( anyway i hope you enjoy this !! additional note; this was inspired from a specific event of tears of themis where this little girl was lost and called the four men their "daddy" !!

— kamisato ayato.

“hi sweetie,” the child opened her arms as she ran towards your boyfriend with a huge smile on her face. ayato hefted her with a sweet smile on his face (you were frowning, but you couldn’t help your stomach explode with butterflies).

“everything makes sense when a ‘single’ man is so hardworking.” you rolled your eyes as you whispered sarcastically (ayato managed to hear you though).

“this is our baby,” he whispered to you with a wink, planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

“are you lost, baby girl?” ayato asked the little girl like he didn’t do anything that made your face turn into a tomato.

your boyfriend can be a very great father to your future children one day.

— alhaitham.

both of your eyes widened when you saw the little girl hugging your boyfriend with a smile on her lips. the little girl kissed your boyfriend’s cheek multiple times, she looked very happy to see her dad.

you bit your lower lip, preventing yourself from laughing too hard when you saw alhaitham’s priceless look. however, it was becoming a hard task to do, hence you covered your mouth with your hand. “i’m not informed, alhaitham.”

“i’m not a big fan of kids unless it’s ours,” he remarked.

you laughed (ignoring the fact he might want to have kids with you), “help the child, haitham!”

— tartaglia.

ajax started hugging the little girl with love too. you rapidly blink at the sight, questioning if he was really the father of the child or someone close..?

“not mine, baby.” he grinned as if he read the thought running in your mind. “the guardian or parents must be here somewhere.”

you and ajax didn’t really think nor talk about it until the child’s mother was found not too long after. your eyebrows furrowed to childe, waiting for him to answer the questions you wanted to hear. however, he just shrugged yet with a mischievous smirk curved on his lips.

“too bad. it would be hot if you were the one who called me daddy though.”

“archons, ajax!”

— heizou.

“the kid must have had a traumatic experience, and it seemed like i looked like her father,” heizou thought thoroughly.

“yeah, yeah, hot detective.” you rolled your eyes with a grin. “what if it was really your child?”

heizou shrugged. “you haven’t even felt how big my-”

“okay, shut up, you dirty ass gross.”

he laughed his ass off.

— kaedehara kazuha.

“who would’ve thought that you’ll have a child, kazu.” you blinked while watching him. the child gave kazuha quite a lot of affection. she must have been missing her father to be this clingy to kazuha.

“impossible. i’ve never been in love before, until you.” kazuha sighed. his eyes stare at the girl who had been resting in his embrace with a smile on her lips. he made sure she’s comfortable, thus kazuha was swaying her gently.

you watched them; the sight of kazuha taking care of a kid made you feel assured. you somehow saw a future with him.

“i’ve also never been jealous of a kid until now.” you rolled your eyes playfully while pouting.

kazuha chuckled, “my sweet dove, take it easy. you’ll be spoiled later with my affection.”

oh, he’s such a sweet angel.

— scaramouche (wanderer).

he rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose after the kid ran to him with a smile on her face. you wanted to maintain your composure and tried not to laugh when he can’t disregard the poor girl off him.

“can she just get off me?” he whispered like praying to the gods.

“you’ll be a bad father for our future children, kuni.” you smirked.

“is this even our child?” scaramouche barked.

you shrugged, unable to wipe the grin off your face. “maybe?” you teased.

he glared at you.

“i’m just joking. but treat her like our child.” you winked.

scara had decided to give up with a sigh. he lowered himself until he reached the child’s height. “here,” scara said, handing a candy to her. you could see the happiness in the little girl’s eyes. “we’ll find your brother soon, okay?”

no words can explain how hard you fell in love with him after you saw what you saw.

— tighnari.

“we... don’t have a child, right?” tighnari asked, confused. he carried the child in his arms nonetheless.

you shake your head, “maybe you do have with someone else?”

“i can’t do that to you, (y/n).” he slightly frowned.

you grinned, “let’s help her then,” you kissed tighnari’s cheek.

“why not on the lips?” he questioned. “are you mad?”

“there’s a kid, tighnari.”

“kiss me,” he whispered as he covered the little girl’s eyes with his hand.

you obliged with a smile on your lips, pressing your lips on his.

— diluc.

“you have a child?” you tilt your head in confusion. “so unlikely of you.”

“i would stop running the dawn winery first before i shoot my sperm in someone else’s womb.”

your jaw dropped. ignoring his dirty mouth, you focused on his word someone else’s. “so there’s someone else?”

“no,” diluc shook his head, staring at you with a slight grin on his lips.

“how would i know you’re telling the truth?” you asked, challenging him.

“it’s going to be your choice to believe me or not,” he shrugged. “but just so you know, i would pass the ownership of dawn winery later tonight if you want me to.”

you kissed him, “of course i believe you.”

— kaveh.

“let’s adopt her?” kaveh grinned after he hugged the lost girl.

“you fool, that’s someone else’s child. unless it’s really your child?” you playfully glared at him.

“it’s not mine, but we can make it ours.” he smiled.

“kaveh, she’s lost.” kaveh grabbed her little hand. “would you hold their hand for me too, sweet girl?”

your eyes widened at his request to the little girl. the little girl nodded and held your hand together with his. she was between you and kaveh, holding your hands with hers. the three of you looked like a family.

“are you hesitating now?” kaveh smirked.

i'm sorry if this is quite short to some! i'll still think if i should decided to make another part for the other characters or make a new one!

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lundenloves · 4 months

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“ 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 ” ¹

≔ in which simon’s son enlists behind his back. ceramics are smashed, threats are thrown and feelings are hurt behind nonchalant expressions.

⤷ *return of the mac in the background* i wasn’t really sure which route to go down with this so i just blind wrote it. if you don’t agree with any of the following actions or words, keep it to yourself because i really do not care. it’s been a long hibernation, troops.

∷ warnings of abusive dynamics if you squint but mainly just unnerving silence and abrupt shouting | 2.3k

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | taglist | request info

Eight thirty.

Three hours into Simon’s habitually quiet morning routine with the rising sun pouring keenly through the kitchen window, and sparrows chirping a little too loud — the mail had slid through the door.

A modest fall of envelopes, taking each one with a crease between his brows after sifting through them, eyes glossing over each addressee while walking to the kitchen table with the stack. He liked it this way. He liked the known, finding a specific comfort in knowing that the mail would come on the same dot every, single, day.

Not that there was ever anything special. Only the usual, clubcard points, screwfix leaflets, disgusting bank statements and various military envelopes on his current pension plan. Christ.

He sat down, pulling a lip upward to disregard more than half of his own mail, tossing it to the counter behind him for the bin. “What a load of shit.” Came a grumble, kissing his teeth at the mere £3.40 discount he had received for spending over £300 in Tesco.

Though the pending sigh was lost for a singular stand out letter. One he seemed to still over, chest dipping in regret. Regret for nothing in particular, only a sinking feeling for the familiar Be The Best motto cast upon the right side of one envelope — different to his Who Dares Wins slogan. The envelope wasn’t for him.

The birds hadn’t paused their songs, an ambient morning now fuelling a slow anger. An inter boiling one, but for now simmering with long breaths. In and out. His shoulders broke inward with large palms leant on the counter, craning his neck side to side to release placebo tension.

The letter mocked him. A bit of paper that had permanently strained something, “Fucking hell, son.” He picked it up, flipping it backward to frontward as if the writing would change. As if his son's name would disappear from under the window of the envelope. Though it didn’t, and the paper was slid to the depth of the counter, prompting Simon to rub at his bottom lip.

It took three minutes of silence before he was being followed downstairs by his son. Few words exchanged, and surprisingly fewer questions. They both knew, and tension had already built, bringing Simon’s anger to a heavier simmer. The prior efforts of calmness were obliterated at the sight of the kitchen once more, the pad of his foot tapping against the vinyl flooring.

“What the fuck is this?” The letter was slid across the counter, branded and bred in the British military with the familiar crest proud in the top right. It looked sinful, like something exposing, illegal even. The boy's stare was one of tiredness, palms flat on the kitchen counter to stare down at the envelope on the oak.

Fatigue hadn’t quite left his eyes, squinted in the bright dawn. “What’s what?”

Though his words were met with silence and the birds chirping outside seemed wrong. The moment had forced a thicker, uglier tension into the room, and his son rounded the counter to pick up the letter. Brash and pasted, once again, in military branding.

His eyes fell to his father.

A picture of disappointment, veiled with frustration through a glare, one so strong it almost felt off-putting. Stress seemed evident via the way his hand had pushed toward the back of his neck, running upward and down the front of his face.

“What is it?” The same question, though this time quiet and sincere. His eyes had regrettably softened for all of two seconds before a leg had begun bouncing in compromise after taking a seat in pre-ceasefire.

“Nothing.” A teenage mumble.

Simon laughed dryly, shaking his head with a palm flat on the counter. “This.” He raised his hand, now only the tips of his fingers on the letter. “This isn’t nothing.” Eyes catching his mirror image, a lanky eighteen year old with next to no muscle. It was devastating, really.

“It’s just mail.”

“Open it.” A stern command, standing up and boring his eyes further into the boy before him. His height and build was much more significant, effectively towering over the six foot kid with all of his broadness.

“It’s none of your business, like.” The croaked words of a voice just woken were ones Simon raised brows at.

“Anything with that crest is my business.”

The similarities between his younger self and the boy before him was something Simon internally hated. He hated that his son had genetically taken not only his originally scrawny, defenceless build but also his raging attitude and temper issues. Dark eyes and accompanying circles, a rare smile and sigh of laughter.

Though not one bone had been broken in his body, his nose wasn’t squinted from various punches and his skin hadn’t been plagued by scars of battle. Something Simon could always draw a line between, though, he no longer held that power.

The kid begrudgingly opened the letter, hunching shoulders inward as if to shield it from his father. A congratulatory letter, one addressed to his name in bold letters with an offer to train at the military academy for a reserved cadetship upon completion.

The silence was loud.

Simon knew what it was before it had been opened. His fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, and rubbed at his temples. “Fucking hell mate.” A deep breath was taken, chest puffing out with the inhale. “Fuck sake.”

His son felt like a child again, small and inwardly anxious for his fathers reaction. Not that Simon was ever violent, not ever, but he was a different kind of frightening. Silent. He gave you the option to take whatever you’d wanted from his step back, though fiery eyes only pushed you down one slope. Anxiety and paired overthinking, it came as part and parcel of the Riley name.

“I was goin’t tell you.”

Another laugh escaped Simon, “At what point?” The side of his lip curved upward, though there was no real amusement. “Look at me.”

There was a scoff from his son in response, shaking his head with eyes locking back to the letter. Ink printed in gratification. “Nothin’ to do with you though is it?” The second part came as a mumble for the internal struggle to hold back aggression. Though it slipped through, naturally.

“What did I say? Fuckin’ hell.” Simon growled, taking the envelope from the boy and skim-reading it. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “The fifth, next month, yeah?” Eyes flicking to his son who had shrugged, slinking off behind Simon to look through cupboards in evident dismissal.

“Dunno–”

“You’re out.”

They had spoken in unison, each person cancelling the other out to create a bout of eye contact. “What?” The quirk in his lip was a giveaway of building frustration, eyes cast directly across his father who stood just taller than him. “I’m out?”

“You’re out the house.” Simon slid the letter across the counter in finality, “As soon as you leave for that camp. You’re gone.”

“What the fuck.”

“Big enough to enlist?” His tone was venomous, something his son was unable to contest. “Big enough to fucking leave.” The letter had been picked up by the kid, eyes skimming it over, eyes darting across the page while familiar anger had slowly built.

“Fuck off.” He mumbled, brows pulled together in a foul mix of annoyance and evident upset over his fathers’ dismissal. “Any other dad would be proud of that.” The letter dropped to his abdomen, two shaky hands still clutching to the torn envelope. “Not you though, yeah, not fuckin’ you. ‘Course not.”

There was a pause before a crash.

A split decision of anger, one Simon mirrored at that age. A raging feeling of internal emotion that was only alleviated in bursts of aggression and breakage - punching holes in doors or smashing dishware. There was never a safe space to feel, therefore it came out unwillingly.

For his son, it was a failing on his behalf as a father. That space was never created for lack of recovery had never allowed real estate.

Multiple ceramics flown off the counter with one hand swoop, “Such a cunt.” His chest heaved and Simon’s eyes bore into his. Solemnity follows each and every moment with an unnerving silence, though it wasn’t continued when aggravated palms had landed on his chest, a teenage attempt to express.

“Don’t.” A bark, complete with snarling and a metaphorical showing of canines. A hand caught the boy's forearm, an admittedly tighter than required grip. “Don’t you fucking dare.” And for a moment, he feared he sounded like his father.

Though he did dare.

A rebellion as it was.

Again, a heavy palm had landed on his fathers’ chest - uncaught and if any stronger than the age of eighteen would’ve at least budged Simon. And, god, did he sound like his father with the promise of violence, a grip on his son’s shirt to hold him against the wall at the action alone.

A huff of air fell through his nose, head tilted, “If you enlist and you have this attitude,” The words were spoken through gritted teeth, eyes fixed to the wall he held the boy against to speak just above his ear. “They’ll send you right fucking back.” Though his son no longer recognised dad. This was someone else, someone he was never to meet. “Show some fucking respect.” A tone orchestrated of octaves reserved for Ghost.

You had come down with the crash of ceramics, fully aware that Simon was in knowing of your presence by the way his grip had rid, stepping back with hands to his head. “What the fuck is going on?” You scowled at your husband who was already lighting a cigarette.

After a short inhale, “He’s enlisting.” The smoke tumbled from his lip that turned upward to accommodate a low but amused chuckle. “He’s enlisting, lovie. Our boy.” The cigarette was then pointed to the teenager. “He’s enlisting so he can run around with a fucking rifle, kill one or two people because it's what? It’s a laugh is it? A fucking game?” Though the words were intensely directed to you, waving the smoke around before taking another inhale and shaking his head.

“It’s not that serious, fucking-”

The words were cut off by a harsh slap of the counter and a rumble of a scold. “Not that serious?” It could only have woken the whole house and Simon ditched the cigarette to lift his shirt up, various scars and burn marks stretched across his front and back. “What's this? Eh?”

“Calm down.” You warned, or at least attempted to.

“Calm down? He’s going to get himself fucking killed.” A bite, one without intention of ceasing.

“You’re not dead.” The kid provided.

“I died years ago, son.” His eyes were naturally narrowed in their frustration, slow on the look-up, and shoulders tense through chest heaving. Up and down, and up and down.

The kid mirrored his fathers’ lost expressions.

“Right.” You then interrupted, placing delicate hands on the shoulders of your boy to steer him out of the room, letter still in his hands.

“Coddle him. Tell him he’ll be fine,” The smoke from the cigarette danced around his hand, lifted back upward for a long, slow inhale, eyes burnt to your back. “That the world is a safe place and he won’t get hurt.” His voice had lowered.

But there was a mutual understanding of the lie, that nothing was fine and he wasn’t going to come out unscathed. Mentally, if not physically.

It had bled into an argument between the two of you after, pointed fingers of accusation and bursts of tears had split from your eyes. His frustration turned into ready anger, then dismissal, refusing to believe the reality.

“What’s your fucking issue?” Was the question you had barked once downstairs, four words that seemed obvious in their asking though Simon still quirked a brow. “There’s no need. No fucking need at all for that.”

He shook his head, looking down at you over his cigarette while you swept up smashed ceramics. “Don’t act like you don’t know.” His voice low, cigarette mumbling the words with an inhale.

You dropped arms to your sides, pointedly tapping the foot of the brush against the floor. “Like I don’t know what?” The accompanied scowl was one Simon’s eyes darted back and forth from, looking away out the window before tipping his cigarette. “It’s something he wants.”

“He’s going to get himself killed.”

“Ever the fucking pessimist.”

“Once he leaves,” The cigarette was acting as punctuation, pointed toward the door in far gesture. “He’s out.” Tone unnervingly quiet. One that warned any other argument off, though not yours.

“Do me a favour, yeah?” You continued to sweep the ceramics. “Realise this isn’t about you.” Looking up at the way he had shifted in his stance, arm now crossed over his chest to tuck under his opposing armpit.

“Fuck—“ He laughed. “It’s not about me.”

“You just kick off immediately.”

“Hardly.”

“The fucking state of the floor, Simon.” You scorned, raising your voice to take his attention from the mindless cigarette smoking. “He’s your son. Treat him like it.”

“When he learns respect-”

“He doesn’t respect you for that fucking attitude. It’s a battle, let it go.”

His eyes met yours to stand down, ditching the cigarette before nodding absently. His silence was telling of an awful mood, one he would carry for the next few days if uninterrupted.

Tension grew thicker than a rope knot dramatically fast in the Riley household, and whether granted or not, there was only the one man to blame. Walking on eggshells whenever he would come home from a bad deployment was only fit to last so long, and you couldn’t change him.

But he didn’t want to change himself either.

≔ unedited, and the tags probably won’t work. this is all i got and i’ll slam my fist on an ikea desk, this. is. all. i. got.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @hayleybarnesx

@bunthebunny23

song of the day (time of writing)

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw fanfiction #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw3 #cod mwiii #call of duty #ghost call of duty #Spotify

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thatoneweirdgirl17 · 6 days

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Okay I came up with this at work because I was left alone with my thoughts for 10 hrs.

Imagine a feyd x single mom reader except the baby is Paul’s. Reader used to be a servant in caladan and eventually her and Paul messed around, she approached lady Jessica in confidence for help but instead got sold off because Paul getting a servant girl pregnant was not part of her plan. Later feyd kinda saves reader from the a-hole who bought her but in reality he was there to kill the guy for betraying the baron and saw reader and decided he wanted her. He finds out she’s already pregnant but instead of killing her of getting rid of her he kinda hides her away so he can have his own secret lil family (maybe as a way to cope with the childhood that was stolen from him). Feyd has his harpies protect and hide her and the baby and over time the girls bond (baby is having the worlds most protective and feral aunties). Eventually reader tell feyd who the baby’s dad is and explains how she ended up at the a-holes house. Feyd finds the situation hilarious but still decides to protect reader and raise the baby as his own (not really out of love but more as a jab at Paul like haha I have your toys but they do eventually grow to care about each other, maybe not love but definitely a codependency). When the baby is born he immediately becomes attached to her (I must protect this tiny creature) which is a new emotion to him.For a couple of years baby girl grows up seeing feyd as her dad. Eventually the events of dune happen and right before Paul is about to stab him, feyd says something along the lines “ go ahead and kill me in front of your daughter”. Paul is understandingly confused until a lil 4-5 year old comes running out to feyd screaming daddy and using the voice to make Paul back off. Everyone can instantly see who her biological father is since she has his hair, eyes and is able to use the voice. Feyd would definitely have a shit eating grin when Paul learns that his mother is the reason his daughter grew up without him. Paul tries to approach her but she turns her head and says to feyd “daddy I wanna go home” and Paul’s heart just breaks at the realization that he lost his daughter before he even knew about her. Paul can’t kill Feyd since he would loose his daughter even more and they basically create a custody agreement where Paul can come and visit her every month.

Please if someone turns this into a fic tag me so I can read🙏

Edit: I am planning on writing this out but give me some time since it will be my first fanfic since high school

@dreamlandcreations @triluvial @austinbutlerslovers @sansaorgana @purejasmine @sebastianswallows

#austin butler x reader #feyd imagine #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #dune movie #timothee chalamet x reader #paul atreides x reader

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sporadicbeans82 · 1 month

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Reader’s dad has really high standards for her like impossibly high for just a 16 year old, and she overworks herself to the point she passes out and all the girls are really concerned and she’s just like no i have to keep going i have to be better i have to be enough and then they all press her for more info and then when she eventually tells them about how she’s feeling they all comfort her and tell her playing pro soccer at that young is amazing and that she’s enough]” Barcelona Femini (mainly Alexia Putellas) or Arsenal WFC

You 100% do not need to write this just would love to see your talented writing skills give this a shot🫶

Enough || Barcelona Femení x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, toxic family relationships, lack of self care from reader, Swearing (probably?)

Word count: 4.3k words

A/N: I lied, this was next. Feel free to make more requests. I hope that this is alright, anon! I kind of strayed from the plot.

“You should have scored more, you didn’t try hard enough,” Your father’s voice was flat, the comments made offhandedly as if he were talking about what you were having for dinner. As if he weren’t stabbing you in the back with his words, the comment digging deeper and deeper and cracking your heart open. “That header was yours, you disappointed your team by letting that one go.”

Growing up, you’d always dreamed of playing professional soccer, and so your parents had supported your dreams. They drove you to each of your games and training, and helped pay for you to go to an academy. They helped you get to your national camps, made and packed nutritious food for you, and supported you in each and every way that they could.

You stuck to your dreams and overcame so many challenges to get to where you were. You’d learned from the best, had run into injuries, had laughed with friends and had lost those friends as they’d given up the dreams that all of you had had. You’d thought about giving up, too, especially when your mother had been diagnosed with cancer.

She’d fought tooth and nail to stay alive, working hard to still help you become the best player that you could. She continued to support you with your father, up until the point where she was far too weak to continue doing so. She’d gone to every single one of your games, even when she felt sick or like she didn’t have the energy, and for that you were determined to make it worth it for her. Little did you know that watching you was your mother’s greatest pride, and she would not allow her sickness to keep her from supporting you.

And so you stuck to the sport, even when your friends did not, and it had all paid off in the end. In the summer, you’d signed for Barcelona Femení, the day after your sixteenth birthday. Your mother was there for your signing, beside your father. That day, she promised you that she would watch your first game with Barcelona no matter what.

She hadn’t made it that long, dying only a few days later. You’d taken the loss hard, but it was your father who had taken it the hardest. Your father had hardened in ways that you hadn’t anticipated, becoming cruel and harsh. He seemed to have given up hope, the bags beneath his eyes dark and puffy.

He was a shell on the man that he’d once been, and it showed in the way he now treated you. After the loss of your mother, he’d drawn into himself and away from you, and you found yourself so much lonelier than you had ever been.

The team had been there for you, allowing you to take time off and letting you know that they had psychologists and people to talk to if you had needed it. It took you a week to return.

When you were finally mentally ready to move on and begin participating in training sessions, it was now your captain, Alexia Putellas, who drove you to practices.

Your father no longer attended your matches, no longer worked hard to ensure that you got all the support that you deserved. Instead, he sat at home and mourned the loss of your mother. The truth was, you were both hurting, but you had to be strong in hopes that your father would soon bounce back.

He never did.

You hadn’t told any of your teammates, but the stress of the situation was getting to you. It showed in your performance and the way you trained in all of the worst ways. You were exhausted, emotionally and also physically as you had troubles sleeping at night. You wanted a hug from your mom, wished that she was there to tell you that everything would be alright.

But she wasn’t there, which was the entire problem, and she would never be able to do that again.

And so things continued as they were for several months. The pressure grew onto you, far too much for your young shoulders to carry on their own, but you forced yourself to remain strong. You worked harder than you ever had in your life, attempting to be enough for your father and to try to make your mother proud as you’d promised her.

Foolishly, you dreamed at night that you could bring your father out of the deep pit of depression he’d fallen into. Maybe, if you tried hard enough, he’d realize that you really were good at soccer. Maybe he’d wake up and realize that you needed him still, but the truth was that a part of him had died when your mother had, and you would never be getting him back.

You’d basically forced him to come to your match, begging him for weeks on end to come to at least one. Ironically, it was the first time you were being trusted to start for your team as well. It was supposed to be a special match, commemorating everything that you and your parents had ever worked for.

You’d hoped that he would come out of his shell if he returned to a little bit of his old life. You’d been wrong, as the second you’d stepped into his car, he was throwing insults and critiques at you.

He was nothing of the man you’d grown up with, and it hurt you like no other pain you’d felt in your life. Even breaking two bones in your leg at thirteen didn’t compare to the pain in your chest, hollowed out by month after month of loneliness and pain. You felt like your heart, once full of love, had been scraped empty of any positive emotion that it had once felt, and your father held the scalpel.

You tried arduously to tune your father out, trying to focus on the positives of the match as your father drove.

You’d won the game!

“You relied on the other defenders far too much to cover for your careless mistakes.”

You’d made an amazing tackle on a player who had skirted past Ingrid Engen! It had earned you a shower of applause from the watching fans and a proud peck to your forehead from Ingrid herself!

“You were too slow, you need to be faster, like Batlle.”

Alexia had told you that she was proud of you!

“You aren’t good enough for this team, God knows why they chose you.”

You weren’t aware of the tears which fell down your cheeks, and your father ignored them. You didn’t know why he was so intent on breaking you down after years spent building you up. You missed how life was before.

You missed your mom.

As your father pulled into the driveway of your childhood home, you hopped out. Before a sob could break free of your quivering lips, you were bounding up the steps to your room and closing the door behind you. You flopped down on the bed, all of the emotions which had bubbled beneath the surface coming out in ugly, whiny gasps and cries.

Your heart burned, as if scorched. You had never felt so empty, so dark, and so lonely. You wanted someone to hold you, and you didn’t know who to turn to anymore. You cried yourself to sleep, although you only managed to get a few meager hours of sleep before you were awoken by some recurring nightmare.

-----

You barely managed to drag yourself to training, exhausted. The dark bags beneath your eyes stood out starkly against your pale skin. You were dressed in a jumper and sweatpants, both of which used to be an appropriate size but which now hung off of your tired frame.

As Alexia picked you up, she noted your exhaustion with a small frown.

“Hola, chiqui. Estás bien?” Her voice held a certain concern which was almost enough to break down your walls. You yearned so badly for a sense of comfort, and the which Alexia looked seemed to offer that.

You forced yourself to turn towards the window, not wanting to break down in front of your captain. Your father’s words from the past few months wore heavy on your mind. You were a disappointment and a burden, and you didn’t want Alexia to tell Jona that the team didn’t need you and decide to release you. You wanted to be enough, and you had promised yourself every night that you would be better, you just needed a little bit more time.

Alexia frowned harsher, nearly locking the car and forcing you to talk to her, but deciding against it. She didn’t want to push you, but she’d noticed that you weren’t okay for a while.

She’d taken note of the way you always did extra laps and repetitions of each of their workouts. She watched you participate in extra opportunities to practice penalties and how you stood behind after each training for at least an hour to do more work. She knew you were exhausting yourself, could see it in the way you could barely stand.

She didn’t understand why you pushed yourself so hard, given how good you were. She tried to give you advice, to compliment you whenever she could and saw how you absolutely beamed under any sort of praise or compliment, as though you didn’t get it enough.

Over the last few months, she’d taken on almost a mentoring role to you. You looked up to her, and she could see how you held each of your teammates in such high regard. For whatever reason, however, it just didn’t seem to stick in your mind that you were of the same caliber as each excellent athlete within the team.

As she watched you turn away from her, she realized she would need to confront you soon. It was obvious that you weren’t taking care of yourself, but she didn’t want to do it now, not when you were blocking her out as hard as you could. She would need backup, probably from the other captains of the team, and made a promise to herself that she would do it later that day.

Instead of confronting you like she yearned to do, she stayed quiet and allowed you your peace. She watched as, ever so slowly, your shoulders sagged and your body untensed. You’d fallen asleep, and Alexia turned the music down a little bit to try to make the atmosphere easy to sleep in.

Alexia noticed how the harsh lines in your face relaxed as you slept. You looked more peaceful than she’d ever seen you. She hated that she had to wake you up as the two of you arrived at the training center.

She parked as gently as she could before reaching over and gently shaking you awake. You groaned as she did so, almost turning away in such a careless, teenage way that Alexia had never seen you do. You always seemed so much more grown up than you were supposed to be, even more so than Claudia or Pina or Vicky, all of whom were older than you.

“‘M not ready yet, Mom.” You rumbled, and Alexia froze, the frown on her face deepening. She’d tried to be there for you, having lost her own parental figure in her father. She knew the pain that you felt all too well.

So not to be mistaken for the woman who you’d just lost, Alexia spoke up this time as she shook at you again.

“Despiértate, nena. We are here.” You startled awake, the barriers which had dropped as you slept appearing once more as your face tightened again, a frown set upon your face which mirrored Alexia’s.

You thanked her quietly before climbing out of the car, purposefully walking ahead of Alexia so that she couldn’t ask you any questions about your slip up.

You entered the locker room near-silently, the hood of your jumper up to cover the vast majority of your face. You ignored the looks you got from each of your teammates in favor of quickly getting dressed for training.

As you went to tie your shoes, you realized you were, yet again, crying.

You’re too emotional. Words of your fathers’. Your teammates wouldn’t like you if you showed emotion in front of them. You pushed the fabric of your sleeve against your cheeks, leaving red marks behind with how harshly you rubbed at the salty tears.

Then, to try to remain inconspicuous, you bent over to tug your shoes on to your feet. You thought you were successful, but hadn’t anticipated how much you’d struggle with your laces. Your exhaustion mixed with your lack of breakfast had caused your hands to shake.

Each time you’d try to make a loop, your quaking fingers would pull too hard or drop the lace altogether.

All of your teammates noticed your struggle, but it was Paños who stepped in. The older woman knelt down at your feet, hands wrapping around your own and holding them for just a second. Her eyes looked up into yours, noting the tear stains on your cheeks and giving you a comforting smile.

Then, she refocused on your shoes and began to tie them for you. The rest of your teammates watched on anxiously, although they continued to prepare for training and tried not to stare. The truth was, everyone could see that something was going on with you and that you weren’t okay, but they were scared to upset you by saying anything. You already seemed too tiny and isolated and they walked on eggshells around you.

Each of your teammates yearned to be there for you, but they didn’t know you well enough to know how to be there for you.

Paños finished with your shoes before standing, holding both of her hands out for you to take. She tugged you to your feet easily, one arm wrapping around you in almost a motherly manner.

The woman was usually seen joking with the younger kids, but with you she had taken a different role, like Ale.

“Listos, nena?” The goalkeeper asked you, voice soft and comforting. Like Alexia, her voice nearly caused you to break down. You felt your shoulders shake beneath the weight of Sandra’s arm and resisted the urge to turn and hug her like you would have your mother.

You wanted comfort, but your father had convinced you time and time again that you didn’t need it and that you’d be a burden if you sought it out, and so you nodded and pulled away.

You walked out onto the field and began to stretch. You kept your head down, suddenly more numb than you’d felt in months. You ignored the way your stomach clenched with hunger and the way your head had begun to ache and sting from your lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and all of your crying.

You didn’t look up, even as more of your teammates filtered out to join you. Claudia and Patri stretched next to you, trying to provide jokes for you to laugh at. They didn’t stop even as you didn’t react, continuing to try to cheer you up in the only way they knew how at the moment.

When a whistle sounded to signal the beginning of warmups, you stood instantly. Too fast, however, as your world tilted and spun around you. It reminded you of the first time you’d ever tried alcohol on your fifteenth birthday.

An arm wrapped around your waist and you regained your balance against the firm body of one of your teammates.

“You okay?” You heard someone ask. Looking up, you caught the concerned glance of Ingrid Engen, who had also taken you under her wing when you’d joined the team. You nodded, pulling away from her, too.

So many people had touched you in the past hour, more than you’d had since your mother had passed away. You almost didn’t know how to react to all the comforting touches and glances, having not received them in so long.

Ingrid watched on sadly as you walked away from her, the concern which swirled within herself increasing as she watched you wobble away. Ingrid had noticed how out of it you were, how tiny you had been in the clothes which had fit you a month ago. You were pale, more than normal, and the way you’d nearly passed out showed Ingrid that you were not fit to practice.

The Norwegian caught Alexia’s gaze from across the yard, shaking her head at the Spanish captain to try to convey that you shouldn’t be training.

Sensing that something was wrong, Alexia began to make her way over to you. As she did so, however, your legs finally seemed to cave in from underneath you.

None of your teammates would ever be able to get the image of your crumpled figure on the turf as Alexia and Ingrid both ran to you. The rest of your teammates watched on as the medics were called over.

You were turned on your back by Alexia, one of her fingers touching at your throat as they attempted to find a pulse. It was thready and uneven, but there, and Alexia wanted to cry. She cursed herself for not confronting you sooner, more worried than she remembered ever being as the medical staff pushed her back to give your crumpled form more room.

Alexia had been the one to recommend you to the team, having attended one of your matches for Spain’s U17 match. You’d played up and had still outclassed so many of your teammates, a solid wall in the backline which your teammates depended upon. She’d seen the glimmer of excitement and determination in your eyes, one that you’d lost since the passing of your mother.

She felt like this was all her fault. If she had just spoken to you sooner and had investigated what was going on with you… then, maybe, you would have been okay. She felt as though she had failed you and her responsibilities as a captain to ensure your safety.

You’d become a skeleton of the incredible human that you’d once been, and had watched all the life drain from you while being unable to do anything about it. As you were placed upon a cart to be carried off the field, however, Alexia promised that she would be there for you.

You were wasting your life away, and Alexia was determined to figure out why.

-----

You awoke in a dimly illuminated room, your throat dry and your eyes feeling like they’d been doused with sand. You groaned, attempting to lift your hand as you slowly game through to try and brush at your forehead. You felt cold and sticky all at once– you didn’t feel well at all.

Your hand was caught on something, and you attempted to bat at it only to have your hand caught by something else. As the room slowly began to swim into your vision, you caught the familiar brown eyes of your captain.

“Hola, capi.” You rasped, and Alexia’s concerned face brightened ever so slightly, a small smile gently pulling her lips upward.

“Hola, chiqui. Como estás?” Alexia inquired, her voice far gentler than you’d ever felt.

“Not very good,” You whispered honestly, feeling like shit. You were tired of fighting, tired of feeling like you weren’t enough. You were ready to be honest about how you felt, no matter if the people around you would stop loving you as your dad promised that they would. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” This voice was different, coming from your left. Slowly, your head fell sideways and you caught the glance of Ingrid. The girl looked more worried than you ever had seen her, and you felt truly terrible for worrying the older woman.

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You knew that you hadn’t been feeling very well for a long time, but you’d been too scared to mention it to anybody but your father. The man who was supposed to keep you safe had failed you in all ways possible, but you didn’t see it that way.

You felt like you weren’t enough and that it was you who had failed, and that you didn’t deserve comfort or love because of it.

Alexia sat up, the motion causing your gaze to come back to her.

“Do you want to tell me why you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” Alexia speaking English took you by surprise. You supposed that it shouldn’t have been that surprising, but you knew that the girl seemed to almost avoid speaking the language. Her voice was still low, comforting, and still worked at lowering your barriers ever more.

You had to resist the urge to throw yourself in her arms and blubber like a baby. You reminded yourself that they would remove you from the team, that they wouldn't accept you, that they would see you as weak.

However, the way Alexia held your hand, her grip comforting and sure, made you think that… maybe… your dad was wrong. Maybe they did care.

“I…” you hesitated, and felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. Glancing over, you realized that Paños was there, too. You caught her concerned gaze, the small smile on her face, and heard her tell you that it was okay.

It was then that you realized, all of the adults that you trusted most in the world, that made you feel better when you were at your worst, were there for you. They were here for you when you were lower than your lowest, and if they hadn’t left when you’d fallen on your face on the field, then they wouldn’t leave now.

That thought gave you the courage to tell the truth, and so you did.

The girls listened throughout your story. You told them how low you felt, how scared you were. You told them that you missed your mom, but so did your dad. You told them that he’d become a shell of the man he’d once been, that he’d become cruel and harsh– everything that your dad was not. The girls’ faces were stormy, but still they worked to comfort and reassure you in every way that they could.

By the end of your retelling, you were crying, but so were they.

You were utterly exhausted as a yawn broke through, revealing your exhaustion to the other girls. It was Alexia who spoke first, frowning at you.

“We are here for you, no matter what. We will fix this.” Her words were hard, but not harsh. They were a promise, one that you trusted. “Sleep, we will be here when you wake up.”

“I’m okay.” You retorted. Truthfully, you were terrified. You were scared that they would leave after trusting them with the information and words that had burdened you for months, just as your father had promised you.

Sensing your nervousness, Alexia gently slid up and onto the bed, taking her time and giving you plenty of room.

As soon as the older woman had sat herself up, careful of the IV in your hand, you moved. You buried yourself against her, an arm wrapping around her back as your face buried itself in her shoulder. Alexia, ever so carefully, wrapped her arms around you in return.

She pressed a warm, careful kiss against your forehead, and allowed you to cry into her shirt. She did not care about the way your tears wet the material, reassuring you in a spattering of both English and Spanish words. Ingrid and Sandra stepped out to give the two of you privacy, although they would be back for you. They would never leave your side, not now that they knew what you’d been going through.

Alexia continued to hold and comfort you in the ways that you’d yearned for months, her touch gentle.

That was how you fell asleep, and how you woke up hours later. Despite the amount of time you’d spent in the spare room of the training center, Alexia had stayed. She had not allowed anybody to wake you up, having come to the conclusion that she would never allow your father to speak to you ever again.

That night, she took you to her home, which she shared with her girlfriend, Olga. There, they cared for you.

Alexia made sure that you spoke to a therapist, and that you never saw your father again. She supported you in the ways that you deserved, and in the ways that you'd lacked since your mother had passed away.

Slowly but surely, Alexia saw you return to the kid that you’d once been: determined, carefree, and stronger than you’d ever been.

Freed from the confines of your father’s sorrow, you were able to soar. You rose to levels of success that you’d only ever been able to dream of, and you stayed true to your promise.

You made your mother proud.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #harper writes

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luvyeni · 1 month

Text

❛LITTLE PINK BOOK❜ ( p. jongsong )

p. schoolmate!jay x fem!reader w. 2.7k

warnings? — 𖦹 ( jay finding your book, your little secret pink book ) !

authors note. first full fic in a minute finally back after week, also thank you for 14k , i appreciate it🫶🏾 🤙🏾🤍

You were the spitting image of girl next door — your dad a business man; your mother a stay at home wife, your family went to church every single sunday, greeted all the older church ladies, smiling when the pinched your cheeks, telling you you’d make a honest wife.

You upheld the same image; getting good grades, having no friends — you kept to yourself , never getting in trouble; boring goody-two shoes if you’d asked other students in your class. So when you dropped your little pink book in front of park jongsong— not noticing as you kept walking, he wasn’t even gonna bother picking it up, but he decided to do something good and return it. “hey!” you didn’t hear him, continuing on down the hall.

he hadn’t seen you for the rest of the day, so he ended up taking the book home with him, tossing it on the table, it opened wide. He didn’t expect to find anything, but he was still curious— what did a girl like you; a little church mouse write about?

Sitting on the edge of the desk, opening the book; reading off a random page — he was so shocked by the contents that he had to read the name over, making sure it was actually yours, he flipped through the pages in awe. Pages upon pages of straight porn is what jay would call it — your every dirty fantasy written down, things you did to yourself, things you want to do to other people, it was a lot — even a confession of the lost of the virginity; god he wished it was him who was the to defile you first.

“fuck.” He curse, getting hard at the words, it was so dirty — then he turned the page, and the first thing he saw just made him harder, his name, he adjusted himself , but it didn’t help as he read the page — ‘I do anything he asked me to’. You were saying that about him , you wrote about what you wanted him to do.

His hands traveled down to his pants, just has his door opened — he quickly tossed the book leaning over to cover up his hard on, his mother walking in; just in time. “you’re home?” he nodded , trying to catch his breath. “yes.”

“why do you look so nice?” he questioned. “get dressed for dinner, we’re meeting your dads new business partner for dinner at their home.” He sighed, he hated these things. “really? do I have to come?” his mom nodded. “yes you do, the y/ln’s are good people, we need to get in their good graces.” He froze at the last name. “y/ln?”

“yeah.” His mom hummed. “they have a daughter, sweet girl she does to your school, do you know her?” he shrugged, trying to keep his cool; yeah he knew you — well he thought he did. “big school probably passed her a couple times.” He said. “well she’s gonna be there tonight so dress nice.” He nodded, she walked out , closing the door leaving him alone.

He picked the book up, sitting it down on the table — finding a outfit for the night. “jay be quick we leave 5!” his mom yelled from the steps. “okay!” he stuffed the book in his pocket with a smirk on his face. “you look nice baby.” He thanked his mom. “be on your best behavior son, your father needs this deal.” He couldn’t promise anything, he definitely had other things in mind. “I promise.”

You sat on your bed, going through your homework; your door opening making you look up. “you wearing that?” your mother said, making you look down at your outfit. “well it’s just dinner with daddy’s co worker.” you said, your mother nodding opting to not fight with you. “I guess so, did you finish your homework? They should be here soon?”

“yes, im just finishing up now.” You said. “good, I’ll call you when you they get here.” She left you, closing the door. You began to put your stuff in your bag — noticing something; your little pink book, it was missing. “oh no.” you said, searching through your bag, dumping everything out — gone, it was gone. “shit.” You couldn’t even remember where you last saw it, you always kept it tight with you.

You began pacing, if anyone found out what you wrote in that book you’d be in trouble — who could even have it? Did anyone have is? If so who? All these thoughts raced through your mind, just as your mother called out for you. “dinner!” you sighed, smoothing out your skirt, you couldn’t let your parents see you shaken up, blowing out a breathe before leaving out your room.

You made your way down the steps — your mother and waiting at the bottom. “there she is, come here baby.” Your mom pulled you to her side, kissing your forehead. “mom.” You whined, the couple in front of you laughing. “these are the parks.” You held your hand out shaking both of them. “nice to meet you.”

“nice to meet you as well young lady.” The older man said. “such a pretty daughter, much prettier than you described her.” You smiled, nodding your head. “thank you ma’am.” She smiled. “our son jay is in the car, getting the gift he’ll be in soon.”

Jay? As in park jongsong? You knew him all too well, he was the subject of just about everything recently you wrote about in your journal — if he was the one to find it, you’d die.

“ah! There he is.” Mr.park called for the boy as he walked in the room, holding the bottle of wine. “sorry it took so long.” He bowed to your parents, his eyes honing in on you. “I do know you.” Your breath caught in your throat, how did he know you? He hardly paid attention to anybody else but his friends. “h-how?”

“you’re in my history class, you sit in the back quite as little mouse.” He smiled, you didn’t even notice the look in his eyes — full of hunger. “head always in a book.” Your mom slapped your arm. “I told you about that.” You hissed. “im sorry.”

“lets take a seat.” Your father guided everyone to the eating area; jay took a seat across from you— you can feel his eyes on you. You looked up, eyes locking on you— did he know? You squinted your eyes in confusion and he smiled, before turning to your father. “may i use the restroom?”

“sure son, yn could you show him?” you looked up from the empty plate. “m-me?” you said. “yes you.” You dad laughed along with the parks. “oh ye-yeah sure.” You stood up, jay mimicking you. “fo-follow me.” You walked up the steps, he followed behind you, book in his pocket — like a predator stalking his prey.

You walked to the end of the hall where the bathroom was, pushing the door open. “here you go.” You went to walk away, until he spoke up. “you really don’t know who I am?” you stopped , heart racing. “we-well we do go to the same school.” You said. “that’s it?” he said, reaching in his pocket — revealing the pink book, your heart dropping. “really?”

“h-how do you have that?” you stuttered. “oh this, you dropped it.” He said. “see I was gonna leave it, then i decided to give it back.” He said, stepping closer to you, making you take a step back. “but you didn’t answer, so I took it home — and then I got a little curious.” He said; so he did read it. “for such a cute and innocent face, you surely write about a lot of dirty thing in this notebook.”

He was now pressing you against the wall. “I also no, daddys little girl has been lying about being a virgin, seems like somebody already popped that little cherry of yours.” He smirked. “jay— princess and the things you said about me, damn.” He dry laughed. “for someone who’s never said a word to me, you surely want me to do a lot of things to you.” His hand came up to your face, caressing it. “what was it?” he teased. “let me do whatever I want to you.”

He was pressing against you, you could feel his hard on your stomach. “seems like our little church mouse is hiding many secrets.” You couldn’t get a word out, but the way his hands traveled down your body, his hand burning your exposed skin made your body tingle. “we-we have to go back down stairs.”

He smiled, stepping to the side, letting you walk past. “yeah we do, don’t want daddy to think im doing anything to his precious little girl right.?” You tried to gather yourself, panties sticking uncomfortable to your cunt as— he walked past you, whispering in your ear. “this isn’t over baby.”

You made it back to your seat before jay did, sitting down. “he’ll be down soon.” You sat down, your mom finally bringing the food from the kitchen — jay finally returning, sitting down in his seat, his eyes on you, you looked down at your plate, secretly fanning your warm face.

He didn’t make dinner easier either , using his foot to toy with you, starring at you so intensely that you would stumble over your words every time his parents would ask you a question.

“dinner was lovely, Mrs. yln.” Jay said. “thank you jay such a sweet boy.” If only she knew the thoughts he was having about her sweet daughter. “it was lovely dear, but I believe there is business to disgust.” Your dad said. “mr.park?” your dad stood. “my office?”

“Mrs. park while the men discuss business would you like some wine?” your mother asked. “sure why not, you kids can go play amongst yourselves right.” Jay laughed. “we aren’t 5.” His mom glared at him. “but im sure we can find something to do.” He turned to you, you could see his eyes full of lust. “right?”

They dismissed you both, sending you both upstairs, putting enough trust in both of you— they were wrong; the moment the door closed to your bedroom, he was grabbing your arm, pulling you close to him, pressing his forehead against yours. “j-jay.”

“so pretty.” He whispered, holding his hands in your hand. “what do you want?” your mind went blank. “an-anything.” You whimpered. “yeah, let me do whatever I want?” his other hand coming up to his collar, undoing the tie. “yes, please ” He could see the look in your blown out eyes— you wanted this just as bad as he did. “okay little mouse.”

Taking the tie — you looked so confused. “give me your hands.” you held your hand out. “I believe this was in that little fuck book of yours.” Your ears were hot from embarrassment. “what was it? Ah I believe it said you wanted me to tie your hands behind your back and have my way with you.” He smirked, turned you around, tying your hands. “what else did you write?”

“yo-you read it didn’t you?” you whimpered, just wanting him to touch you. “yeah, but I want to hear you say it.” He said. “so, tell me baby, what did you write.” He pressed his cock against your ass. You whimpered, he left little kisses down your neck. “i-i sa-said i wanted you to fuck my face.” He smirked. “yeah you did.”

“get on your knees.” He commanded, you compiled immediately. “oh baby , it's like you’re used to this.” He tease. “almost like you’ve done this before.” Truth be told, you haven’t — you weren’t a virgin anymore, losing your virginity to you secret boyfriend months prior, but that’s it.

“i-i haven’t.” hearing that made his cock twitch. “so you were writing all those dirty things without having done any of them.” He laughed furthering your embarrassment. “don’t worry, baby I got you.” He undid his belt, letting his pants fall to his ankles, along with his underwear, his cock slapping against his stomach, it was much bigger than the ones you seen, wanting to touch but you couldn’t due to the restrictions. “give it a kiss pretty girl.”

He hissed as he felt the shortness of your lips. “fuck, now open up.” You slowly opened your mouth, letting him slide his cock into your wet cavern. “fuck, there we go.” He sighed, slowly pushing himself inside. “just be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth.”

He started off slow, just to ease you into it — speeding up his movements gradually, his tip kissing the back of your throat. “fuck your little throat is sucking me like crazy.” You began to gag around him, unable to grab his thighs, he grabbed your head to steady you. “go-gonna fuck your face.”

Using your throat, throwing his head back. “fuck , gonna cum.” groaned, pushing himself fully down your throat, groaning in pleasure as he came, filling your throat with his warm seed. “oh fuck.” He let your hair go , releasing your head — you coughed, lips swollen and wet. “so nasty.” He tapped his cock on your lips. “looked so fuck out just from sucking cock.”

Thing’s escalated from there, he pulled you up. “what else was is?” you felt him reach under your skirt. “what else did you want me to baby?” your voice was sore, legs wobbly as he pushed you on to the bed, arms still behind your back. “i-i wanted you to fuck me.”

“good girl.” he maneuvered your body into his desired position, your ass up in the air — pulling your panties down, the air hitting your cunt, you whined. “look how wet you are.” He tease your cunt with his fingers. “such a slutty pussy baby, little church mouse wants me to use her.” He slapped your ass, you yelped. “be quite unless you want mommy and daddy to hear how much of a slut you are.”

You felt him shuffling behind you, wiggling your hips. “stay still.” You felt another slap on your ass, you bit down on your plushie, moaning as you felt the warmth of his cock. “daddy would be so disappointed.” He slapped his cock on your cunt, teasing the tip of his cock into your hole. “seeing his daughter tied up — fuck!” he groaned as he fully seethed himself inside you. “j-jay.”

He was much thicker than the guy before, filling you up; moving his hips. “fuck this cunt is so fucking tight.” He squeezed your ass. “fuck!” you squealed, “jay please.” He began to move faster, grabbing your arms as he fucked into you, your shoulders were going to hurt in the morning, but you couldn’t care less with the way he was fucking you. “I should’ve known this innocent church girl was disguise.” He groaned. “that you really were a slut.”

He lifted you up by your wrist, roughly fucking into faster. “something else I read in that book.” He moaned. “you want me to make you squirt.” He cursed, his hand coming around to your clit, rubbing it. “if that’s what you want, then I want you to squirt for me.” He slapped at your cunt. “cum for me.” He whispered into your ear, your eyes rolled to the back of the head, as you came, he released your arms, letting you face plant into your pillows as he continued to plow into you.

“fuck, fuck im gonna cum, where do you want it?” he groaned. “i-inside.” Your voice muffled in the pillow. “please.” He grunted, thrusting a few more times, feeling the warmth of his cum filling you up. “fuck.” He stopped moving, his cock twitching.

He finally undid his tie from your hands, gently laying your lower body down. “good girl.” He said softly. “let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”

“jay!” you heard his mom yelling down the steps. “time to go.” He pulled the covers over your body , still holding the book in his hands. “gonna keep this pretty girl.” He smirked. “got a lot of reading to do.” He said , walking out, forgetting his tie — knowing you’d have to walk up and give it back to him, he could see your shy red face as you approach him, nervously giving him the tie back, almost made him horny again. he was determined to do everything you wanted him to do in the book.

He was gonna turn you into his perfect little slut.

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x female reader #enhypen scenarios #jay park smut #jay park x reader #jay park scenarios #jay x reader #jay smut #jay hard thoughts #jay hard hours

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celestie0 · 1 month

Note

Some headcanons about Kickoff college!Gojo, please!

hellooo my love i’m so sorry this took me a while i wanted to post ch9 first!

kickoff!gojo headcanons pt.1 unserious & fluffy edition lol

ᰔ these headcanons are based off of my fanfic “kickoff” which is about popular frat boy soccer college athlete gojo lol & there are spoilers below ᰔ for my kickoff readers: most of these are so unserious and/or fluffy (not rly much nsfw) hope u enjoy!!

kickoff!gojo who almost got arrested once for running away from the cops. he wasn’t even in trouble for anything they just started chasing him bc he started running 😭

kickoff!gojo whose primary love language is physical touch and so all of the times he’s had to NOT touch you has driven him absolutely fuckin nuts. positively BONKERS he’s practically been lobotomized by the restraint he’s had to exercise to not touch you

kickoff!gojo whose frat once hosted a date auction to raise money for rush and gojo singlehandedly raised $20k in one night from the bidding bachelorettes (and bachelors)🧍🏻‍♀️he has yet to go on all of those dates he owes them 😅 he runs away anytime his frat president tries to bring it up LOL

kickoff!gojo who is actually a pretty decent student, i mean he’s a business major so womp womp ofc he’s getting by just fine. i think his favorite class he’s ever taken was freshman year econ bc him and todo got into sm shit in that class and it's some of his fondest memories

kickoff!gojo who was literally picturing a life with you on the italian countryside when you were telling him about it. self inserted to the MAX

kickoff!gojo who is always the first to like all of your film photography slideshows on instagram because he has your post notifs on :”) you and messi are the only ppl he’s got post notifs on for 🤣

kickoff!gojo who thought he would be okay with watching your life from afar, through small pictures on his phone, but the thought devastated him more n more w every waking minute

kickoff!gojo who realized that having you wrapped in his arms at the end of ch9 was the closest thing he’s felt to peace since before the night his father passed away

kickoff!gojo who hasn’t really kept too much memoribilia of his father since a lot of the memories are painful for him, but he’s kept that old soccer ball w his dad’s signature n word of love for his mom on it

kickoff!gojo who wouldnt have been able to get through the trauma of losing his father if suguru wasn’t there by his side. he would’ve really lost himself, and would’ve given up on soccer if not for suguru's support. he's truly really grateful for him

kickoff!gojo who knows what his sun, moon & rising signs are because he’s been ran through 🙄 smh. WHORE

kickoff!gojo who plays for charity soccer tournaments on the weekends whenever he can 🫶🏼💕 he loves it bc there’s less pressure to play super well & also he loves getting to meet the people that the events are helping out

kickoff!gojo who has a massive sex drive (he got that athlete testosterone 😔🤚🏼) esp around someone he genuinely likes AHEM YOU so beware that if you start dating him he’s gonna beg you to put it on him at least 15 times a day and you’ll have to reject him 13.5 times

kickoff!gojo who is not ready to be a father at ALL at this point in his life but he’s thought ab how nice it would be to teach his kids how to play soccer someday :”) he’s givin me girl dad vibes tho, and you just KNOW he’s gonna be cheering on his lil girls when they’re tearing through the little league w their sparkly princess tiaras & tutus on 😤 he’d be the little league coach for sure LMAO

also little league coach!gojo would 100% promise to let the kiddos shave his head if they win the championship game 😭 i can just imagine you yelling at him when he randomly comes home bald one day

kickoff!nanami&choso&suguru who would be such protective soccer uncles to yours and gojo's duaghters. not a single boy would ever get NEAR those girls i'm telling youuu. pls pray for them haha

kickoff!gojo who figured out you were mina’s roommate through a little bit of facebook stalking. and yes, he scrolled all the way down to your embarrassing middle school photos. and yes, he still likes you despite seeing them. more, even, when he thinks about it. also, he’s pissed you had a digimon themed 9th birthday party and you didn’t invite him 😒 what’s up w that

kickoff!gojo & kickoff!choso who once illegally played an off-season tourney abroad in spain for a lump sum lmfaoo and it was a pretty decent cut of cash. but shhhh dont tell the NCAA ab that pls or else they’re fucked 💀

this is all i could think of rn haha thank you anon for the ask and hope you enjoyed them <333

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bonny-kookoo · 2 months

Text

Jungkook

Green | Part 2

"I don't jump around like that!"

Tags/Warnings: Bunny hybrid! Single dad!Jungkook, Fox hybrid!Reader, strangers to lovers, Fluff, romance, major fluff, crayons and frogs

Length: 2.5k Words

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“Is it bad timing?” You ask over the phone, whine Jungkook can be heard fighting a fierce battle against his little toddler, who’s clearly currently winning.

“No- Minji-“ he starts, before he addresses you. “Not- not No towards you, you never call during a bad time, I promise, I always want to talk to yo- Minji come on now!” He sighs, little girl having escaped his lap again- refusing to bend to her father’s only wish. “I promise I want to talk to you. Minji is just..”

“Having one of those days?” You giggle, and he smiles to himself.

“I guess so.” He admits. “She wants to go out and play, but I can’t get her into her outdoor clothes.” He sighs, before he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, you called because you wanted to chat and all I do is complain-“

“no, no no its fine, really.” You dismiss, truly not offended at all. “I uh.. I’ll let you battle your daughter for now. You can.. uhm, we can.. I don’t know. Talk later maybe.” You offer, and he looks at the phone a bit upset.

“I..” Well, there’s nothing there to apologize for. He’s not sorry he’s in his situation, neither is he sorry who he is or what his daughter is- it’s just an unfortunate situation you’re both in. “..yeah. let’s talk later.” He agrees, and you quietly say your goodbyes, making his heart hurt quite a bit.

Just because he’s not sorry, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel guilty.

Minji seems to notice his shift in emotions quite quickly, quietly reaching for her outdoor pants again that he’s been trying to put on her these past twenty minutes or so- now obediently trying to put them on herself, though she does reach for his hands to get him to help her quite quickly. And even while dressing her, jungkook can’t help but think.

Will you ever be able to accompany him and his daughter out like that? Push the swing she sits on, hold her hand when he’s got his full? Maybe.

Maybe not.

All he knows is that once he’s at the playground, sitting on the bench alone again to watch the little toddler play in the sand with another prey hybrid kid, he feels as if he could be the one to throw a tantrum any second now.

Crying out, begging for the world to just let him have you.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Minji is happily walking through the mall with her dad, holding his hand tightly as to not get lost, when suddenly, as Jungkook has stopped to look at an interesting discounted product in the shelf, he can feel her tug a little as she seems interested in something as well now. “Hm?” Jungkook wonders without taking his eyes off the value pack of baby wipes, before he looks down at his daughter, who’s staring somewhere, one hand prodding at her mouth absentmindedly. “What’re you looking at, hm?” He wonders, looking into the direction she does, when he spots it.

Or rather, you.

You’re wearing simple clothes, clearly not out to impress anyone but just to get what you need, but he can’t deny that you’re still appealing like this, even though you’re not even wearing makeup from what he can see. Your fluffy tail is slightly swaying from side to side as you put something into your shopping cart, unaware of being watched.

Jungkook is curious. It seems like you must’ve made an impression on his daughter- because she appears to recognize you, most likely by your striking features. And while she’s still clinging to him, her interest in you is obvious.

As if you can feel eyes on you, you turn a little to lock eyes with Jungkook- who waves a little, before urging Minji to do the same- but at the obvious sign of being spotted, she instead hides behind his legs, as if that would protect her from the danger of you- even though there is nothing to fear. You wave back, and Jungkook can see that you’re masking your disappointment over the little girl still clearly feeling some form of natural fear.

“Come, let’s go say hi.” Jungkook tells his daughter, who looks visibly troubled by that proposal, torn between natural fearful instincts, and her inner curiosity. Suddenly however, it seems that her decision has been made- as she makes a sound of protest, slipping around his legs to attempt to walk off, if it wasn’t for Jungkook grabbing the back of her wintercoat in the last second. But she’s eager, whining in complaint- and only now does he realize, you’ve walked off, probably thinking that would be for the best.

But not for Minji.

Remembering the dinner, Jungkook has an idea on how to maybe solve this clearly frustrating issue for his daughter- picking her up easily, to walk after you as you’re now standing in front of a large collection of different tubs of ice cream. “One might think you’re the prey trying to escape.” Jungkook jokes, and the second you look at him, clearly worried, he feels his heart jump.

Because his plan is working.

The fact that Minji is now in close contact with her father gives her an intense boost of confidence- hands reaching out for you now, curious eyes fixated on your actual face now, no longer avoiding eye contact. It makes you both a bit intimidated but also hopeful that maybe, this is a sign that with a bit more work at familiarizing yourself with her, there might be a chance.

“Hello.” You greet, careful not to move too quickly, though the little hybrid girl is clearly not that jumpy anymore, giggling happily when she notices your tail wag behind you, hitting the metal shopping cart- pointing to it to show her father, who’s smiling just as much about it. “I didn’t mean to run off- just.. Thought, I don’t know.” You stumble over your words a little, but Jungkook reassures you.

“It’s fine, really. I don’t wanna.. Stall your shopping trip either. Just.. We both wanted to just.. See you, I guess.” He says, while his daughter becomes a bit fidgety, wanting to get down again. “Minji baby if I put you down you gotta stay close though.” He gently scolds her, simply receiving a sound of protest.

You’ve noticed this as well- the fact that she pretty much doesn’t talk, whenever she’s aware that people are watching. She only ever babbles with her father, but that’s to be expected. Most prey hybrids are very withdrawn and shy, so its already surprising she appears to be very much okay with you so close already. And the second he puts her down, she’s already running off-

Though not very far, as she instead happily holds onto your tail, even laughing when you look at her with eyes wide open, completely surprised.

“I’m so sorry-” Jungkook starts, but you shake your head, smiling, and waving him off.

“No, no-” You reassure. “I’m.. Happy.” You nod, carefully looking at Minji who’s running her hands through the fur of your tail, shyly grinning up at you before she lifts your tail to hide herself, making both you and Jungkook laugh.

Maybe she’s just not that scared of predators?

But that suspicion is instantly debunked as two wolf hybrids casually walk past you both to get to pay for their things, making the little bunny hybrid instantly jump back to her father, clinging to the fabric of his pants.

So why is she alright with you?

“Would you.. Like to come over sometime?” You ask Jungkook, fidgeting with your hands a little nervously. “I.. You know. Just for some.. Casual chatting. Maybe cake? I can bake pretty well.” You rant, and Jungkook looks at Minji.

“You wanna visit Dad’s friend with him?” He asks her, and she looks at you, thinking- before she nods, reaching for something in Jungkook’s shopping basket, before she drops it in your cart- and on closer inspection, it’s a small pack of frog-themed hairclips. “Oh? You don’t want them anymore?” He wonders, but his daughter shakes her head.

“..for me?” You ask, and she nods, smiling before she runs behind her father again, curiously poking her head around his body as if to play hide and seek with you. “Well.. Not what I’d usually go for, but they might look nice. What do you think?” You ask Jungkook, who’s caught off guard for a second, having to look away a bit bashful, nodding.

“Y-yeah! I mean, anything would suit you, since you’re really pretty..” He rants, nervously licking his lips before his tongue plays with the piercings of his bottom lip, unsure how to act. This isn’t exactly what he expected- but it’s also a surprising turn of events that makes him happy.

“..thank you..” You respond, before you wave at the little girl, moving to do the same towards her father-

But Jungkook instead hugs you goodbye, unable to help himself in that moment.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you open the door to your apartment, Minji is very wary.

It’s to be expected- it's not just a new environment, but it also smells entirely of you- a predator hybrid, her natural enemy of sorts, at least in instinct. So it doesn’t shock him, and neither you, that she’s clinging to her father, stuffed animal in her arm while the other one clings to her father’s pantleg. But one look at you does seem to make her perk up- ears suddenly standing tall and turned towards you, shy smile on her lips while she grins into her dark green frog-plushy. “Hey. We’re a bit late-” Jungkook apologizes, but you just wave him off, letting them both inside with a smile.

“No bother, you texted me after all, so I was prepared.” You tell him, inviting them both into your living space that’s fairly small, but clearly yours. It’s vibrant, a bit chaotic, but overall a home, and not just a place you exist in. The little girl looks around already, most likely having her attention caught by all the decoration, pictures on the walls and colorful interior design you have. Jungkook also notices two awards hung up on the wall near the TV in the living room- and he’s reminded of your profession again, giving him an idea on how to coax his little girl out of her shell again.

“Hey, do you wanna know something cool?” Jungkook asks, squatting down in front of his daughter who looks at him, ears pointing towards him in curiosity. “Dad’s friend can draw really well. Maybe if you ask her nicely, she can show you?” He proposes, and at that, Minji looks over at you, who seems caught off guard- but you instantly walk to open a small room- an office that looks pretty chaotic, obviously the place where you work.

The shelves are full of books of all sizes and colors, but what seems to catch Minji’s attention the most, is a familiar bookcover- the same she has had for quite a while now, green frog family something she remembers very easily.

“Wait- you’re the author?” Jungkook wonders, holding one of the multiple little picture-books in his hands, the specific one Minji is looking at a new one she’s not seen before.

You nod. “I didn’t know she read that one.” You giggle. “This uh.. It's the new one that’ll be published next month. You can look at it if you like.” you tell her, well aware that she most likely can’t read it yet, but probably enjoys looking at the pictures anyways.

“Well, she doesn’t read, really..” jungkook chuckles, watching his daughter carefully stare you down while she picks up the book, something brewing in her brain with the way her ears move so distinctively. “she mostly looks at the pictures, and makes up her own story.” He explains.

“it trains her creativity.” You tell him, as you walk out the room with her hot on your heels, eyes still burning Luke little lasers on the back of your head. “which is important, you know? Many parents.. just leave their kids with the TV or something and call it a day.” You sigh, closing the door behind you before you watch Minji jump on your couch, eager to look at the little book.

“minji, don’t jump like that!” Jungkook scolds, and you can’t help but smile to yourself at the almost challenging glimmer in his daughter’s eyes, as if she’s quietly sending a message- one that’s so obvious, even you receive the signal clear as day.

“But Dad does it!” she suddenly chirps at you. “All’the time!” she mumbles into the backrest of the couch. Jungkook gasps at both the sheer audacity of his daughter airing out his bad habits like this- and the fact that she actually spoke directly towards you.

“Well, I’d love for you both to feel right at home.” You say gently. “So I don’t mind if you jump a little, bunny.” You tell her- and at the nickname she grows shy, hiding away to instead bury her head into her book.

Jungkook smiles at the interaction, and follows you into your kitchen to make some tea, enjoying the moment with you to its fullest. “…I really don’t jump around like that, by the way.” He suddenly tells you with such a serious tone that you can’t help but laugh at him. “Hey, I’m serious!”

“serious? Maybe, but not honest!” You giggle, making him smile as well, unable to really do anything else but. This whole situation feels like a dream really, with you at his side and his daughter warming up to you. He’s sure there will be hurdles, it won’t be a smooth ride just because right now things are looking up- but he also has found a new unique feeling.

A feeling that this might actually work.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Back home, Jungkook has busied his daughter with her coloring book and favorite crayons, while he himself prepares some dinner in the kitchen. And all is calm and well, until his daughter calls out to him from her room, a whine in her tone signaling that she needs his help urgently.

“What’s up?” He wonders towards her, before she holds out two crayons she’s never used- one red, and one orange. “What’s with them?” He asks, while she pouts to herself, thinking seriously about something.

“which is dad’s friend?” she asks, and Jungkook laughs.

“I don’t know? Maybe both of them, hm?” He wonders, and she nods- suddenly determined as she runs back to her coloring book, occupying herself again while he smiles and shakes his head, directing his attention back to the pan on the stove.

It’s only later, when he cleans up the table and finishes putting away the dishes, that she stands in front of him again, this time with a neatly ripped out page of her coloring book. “Wanna put that on the fridge?” He asks, and his daughter nods.

The picture showing three frogs, two green and one thats colored in orange and red.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fanfic

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hazbinwhoree · 3 months

Note

May I request a scenario where Adam and reader are in a marriage and domestic life, like how he is with reader being pregnant, gave birth, and what he is like as a parent?

Is the request OK? This the first time I make a request so please correct me if I made a mistake here.

Domestic Life

A/N: It was easiest to do this in headcanon format.

Adam is far from the perfect husband

But he’s trying, he really is

He has a breeding kink, so it’s not long into your marriage before you got pregnant

When you tell him, he thinks you’re joking

“HAH! Good one, babe.”

You literally have to convince him

Once he believes you, he’s incredibly nervous

Yeah he had a breeding kink but he never really planned on kids

Eventually he comes around

Is actually really doting during your pregnancy

The way he looks at it, you’re sacrificing your body for nine months to bring his spawn into the world so of course he was going to dote on you

You’re incredibly nervous about your due date, knowing child birth was the worst pain a woman could naturally experience, but Adam didn’t really understand your fear

“Think of it like you’re taking a shit but it’s from your vagina.”

Thanks Adam, very helpful

Always comes up behind you later in the pregnancy and locks his hands under your stomach, lifting slightly, taking the weight off your back

The first time he did it you teared up in relief

Adam made a point to do it a lot more after that

When it comes time to deliver the baby, Adam is shocked at the process

There’s so much blood and screaming and Adam is almost one of those dads who pass out

Feels like a dick for not taking your fear seriously

Holds your hand the whole time and stays up near your head

He gets sick if he looks at what’s going on between your legs

Tries to be comforting and encouraging but he’s so bad at it

Eventually shuts up and just lets you squeeze the life out of his hand

He brushed your hair back and off of your sweaty forehead with his free hand

There are complications with your delivery, you lost a lot of blood

You start losing color and becoming sluggish and Adam yells at the doctors

They try to escort him out but he straight up refuses

Adam is terrified not only of losing you, but of being a single parent

He knew without you he would fuck your child up

Luckily for everyone, you pulled through

Adam is more concerned about you than he is his child

Doesn’t leave your side even to cut the umbilical cord

Leaves that to the doctors

But once you’re lucid again you’re asking about your baby and Adam doesn’t have any answers because he was too concerned with you

He doesn’t even know the gender

The doctors bring you your baby and when Adam sees him, your son, in your arms, he falls in love with him too

That doesn’t help the looming thought that he’d be a terrible father though

As soon as he finds out it’s a son, he wants to name him Adam

You allow it

Adam wants to be an active father, he does, but he really is bad at it

If you want him to take any night shifts, you have to wake him up because the baby’s crying won’t

He makes pervy comments when you breastfeed

“Me next?”

Adam is very happy and proud that he has a son

You catch him baby talking sometimes but he’ll always deny it

He doesn’t have too much trouble bonding with your son

He learns to love him as much as he loves you

Almost cries at your son’s first steps

Also denies this

Your son’s first word is “fuck”

You really try to get Adam to clean up his language after that but Adam thinks it’s hilarious

Your baby’s second word is “bitch”

He may not be the best father but he is a loving one

#hazbin adam #adam x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #x reader #headcanons #headcanon #hazbin lucifer #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin niffty

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fizzyorange-v2 · 1 year

Text

just talking to my friend in dms about how at first when q!charlie started calming down from his rampage i was kinda upset cause i WANTED a full villain arc i wanted blood and rage and a massacre but then I kept watching and realised how much of a fucking idiot I was to underestimate charlie slimecicle’s rp skills like that. because charlie isn’t just playing a character hell bent on righteous revenge for his daughter, he’s playing a character actually grieving that daughter.

it’s obvious now that i think about it that the initial revenge plot to kill all the eggs and his repeated self affirmations that juanaflippa isn’t gone and that it can all just be reset are clearly just him entering the denial and anger stages. and that later scenes after the rest of the server finally backed him into a corner and calmed him down and he had that heart wrenching scene looking at juanaflippa’s photo, asking for a literal trial for her life and soul back and then that whooooole bar scene, that he has then entered the bargaining and depression stages.

Because the truth is, q!charlie doesn’t actually want to kill anyone (except Mariana lolll), he especially doesn’t want to kill any of the eggs! All he wanted was to be a good dad. And I think that that’s part of the reason he as a character failed so hard to actually tangibly hurt anyone during this stream. He was a mess, crying screaming yelling clawing trying to do something, anything to save his daughter. Anything to fix it all. That scene of him failing to break into Phil’s house haunts me.

But I think there’s something especially tragic that before Juanaflippa, q!charlie probably was the kind of character to hurt others without caring, he seemed to have no idea about empathy or healthy relationships before her thats for sure. He’s literally already killed TWO eggs before this, so causally and with such ease. But his love for his daughter improved him, and it changed him, and it made him just enough of a better person that when that daughter was taken from him, suddenly even to save her he can’t fucking do it anymore.

I also really appreciate how everyone else on the server reacted to him too. They didn’t at all treat him like some big bad scary villain like I originally would I’ve expected. Sure they were understandably wary and protective, but every single one of them weren’t so much angry at him as… WORRIED for him. And it really helped put it in perspective that this isn’t some guy going on a hashtag villain arc, but immersed me in oh fuck. This is a guy that just lost his daughter. And all his friends and fellow parents know. And they aren’t scared of him, they’re concerned for him. They aren’t full of fear… but pity. Because they know. They know what he’s just lost. And they understand. And they’re trying to be there for him.

And Charlie despite all the grand speeches and diabolical plots and not so carefully placed land mines… doesn’t really care how he gets Juanaflippa back, as long as she’s with him again.

Just man,,,, the way Charlie performed this character’s grief is so fucking stellar and SO fucking excruciating. The part that genuinely broke me was in that photo scene when he said: “i'm sorry flippa... i thought i could change something- i thought i could undo it, thought i could make it right... now i see that there's no way this can be made right...” which already fucking ow ow OW and clearly him finally exiting denial/anger straight into depression but then he whispers THIS FUCKING BIT: “it wasnt even on purpose… i know that... it doesnt make it better… what do i do juanaflippa?” LIKE FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!! OKAY!!!!!

Anyway massive props to everyone for the rp today but ESPECIALLY charlie for this agonisingly accurate and visceral depiction of grief that I somehow was NOT expecting. I thought we were going to get villain arc egg massacre angst and instead we got father mourning his daughter trying futilely to do anything to bring her back angst. I’m never fucking recovering from this one.

#qsmp #q!charlie #q!slimecicle #qsmp slimecicle #qsmp analysis #fizz character thoughts #juanaflippa #el mariana #qsmp spoilers

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

Note

Congratulations on hitting over 5k followers, you deserve them all and so much more! I got so excited when I realised you're taking requests for short drabbles so I was thinking along the lines of a meet the parents sort of situation with Captain MacTavish. Maybe they're both on the same team or whatever and are now engaged but Soap still hasn't had the time to officially introduce her to the family so he does so when they're both on leave and she's just the complete opposite to him but they just fit (like a puzzle piece) and the family notices and absolutely adores it. Bonus Points if Soap is just completely whipped (cause he totally would be)

—I Can See It In Your Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [It's finally time to meet the family.] ❞

Blue eyes watch silently as you speak to his father, an easy and honest smile on your lips. John blinks at the ring on your finger as you move your hand in a display of the story you were telling—the OP in Brazil, John thinks he overheard minutes earlier—a matching band to his that had been there only a single month now. You both only ever wore them on leave, otherwise, they were stuck to the chain of your dog tags; hidden away until they could be brought back to life once more.

Truthfully, this had been a long time coming.

“She’s lively,” his mother comments, and John hums, bringing the beer in his hand up to his lips for a tiny sip from where he rests against the far wall. “Your father likes her, no doubt. Never seen him smile that much at any of the ones from the younger years.”

“Those weren’t serious,” John scoffs, scar over his eye pulling as he spares his Mum a glance through a smirk. “If they were, it’d be different, eh?”

“No,” the woman grabs at his ear, pulling it as he flinches and hides a snap of his teeth at her. “A mother can tell. They weren’t good for you—didn’t make you watch ‘em like that, least.”

A reddish sheen comes to the Scot’s cheeks, avoiding the digging smugness of his matriarch as he shifts his legs.

“Stop doin’ that, Woman,” John grumbles.

“You’re doin’ it to yourself, ya little devil.” Growling, the mighty Captain out in the field is brought low easily by his mum’s own intelligence—but it wasn’t a secret. Everyone in the family could see how he looked at you, how when you spoke, his head snapped over to hear the sound of your voice like it was a call from sea and he a vessel lost to the curtain of mist.

Even now, amid a conversation, those blue eyes couldn’t help but move back as you and his aging father bent over in laughter—a small flicker on John’s lips that usually held a cold smirk or nothing at all.

His mum hums to him, watching you.

“I like ‘er.”

“Good, else this might have been awkward.” He pushes out casually, one arm going to cross his chest to rest on his shirt collar. “There’s always eloping, aye?”

Before his mother can grab at his ear again, you call out, and, like the dog he is, John’s head swivels and his expression settles down easily.

“John, come and tell your part from Brazil! I only have my half, and I always forget the piece from—”

“From the time I catch the HVT on to the time the spider bit my fuckin’ arse, yeah, Bonnie, I know.” He smirks, waltzing over to the chair you sit in, and firmly moves you over with a grab at your arm. You hum in confusion, but it’s not long before John takes your seat and drags you atop his lap. Blinking quickly, you humph and look down at him with a raised brow.

“We’re at your parents’, John,” your face is heated, voice hushed as you slap at his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Holdin’ my future wife, Dearie, isn’t it obvious?” The man’s lips twitch. “Ah, it’s fine. Settle back and let me speak now, eh?”

You fake glare, rolling your eyes, but your legs shift nonetheless to a more comfortable position as John’s mum and dad share a soft look with one another. They really couldn’t have asked for a better match—you evened out his hard slyness, the wrinkles on his forehead, and the age that lies under John’s beard. And in turn, you seemed to beam and be about as easy a person to get along with as any.

Even from the rare letters that the two would get, they had known you were something special because you’d been mentioned in the first place. John rarely told of his work, even less so about people.

As John gets on with his side of the humorous and mostly dumbed-down tale of one of your shared operations together, they see you watch him; take in every word. The smile that peels your lips as you shake your head and say, ‘I never tripped, MacTavish, get that out of your head. You made that up—he made that up.’

“I didn’t,” John huffs, glaring at you. “You went down and got covered head t’ foot in mud, then I told you to get your arse in gear and ya cursed at me like a sailor.”

“Bullshit,” you raise your brows, pointing into his face. “You’re losing it!”

“Oh, we’ve been past that bend a long time ago, Bonnie, c’mon now.”

The parents watch on, smiling.

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #call of duty x you #captain mactavish x reader #captain mactavish #captain john mactavish #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #x fem!reader #john mactavish

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fawnpires · 1 year

Text

SEEKING HEAVEN. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: with two kids and a drained father's responsibility, he wasn't completely certain on the idea of becoming a father again; until you brought it up.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: single dad!ghost, afab reader (afab anatomy, femme petnames), daddy kink, dirty talk, spit kink, creampie, age difference, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, possessive!ghost, rough sex, multiple orgasms, belly bulge, neck biting & kissing, overstimulation.

Ghost wasn't the one to be a father, a parental figure to any child at that. He thought of himself as too brutal — too much violence and the blood of men tainting his hands to take on a role of a more softer, paternal nature. Although, once in a relationship with you, he had already had two girls of his own and all of those second-thoughts were pushed into a consideration that he thought would've never crossed his own perspective.

The thought of giving you a family, which had been brought up by yourself a couple times on occasion, was a constant thought in his head; even if he wasn't fit for it. He loved it — the concept of bending you over any kind of surface or even up against the wall to breed you, your cunt so full and stuffed around his big cock that was enough to put you under a trance of euphoria. How your moans and noises of pleasure would be so soft and beautiful to his ears, a symphony of angelic sounds that spill without shame. On his end, instead grunts would fall from his lips and twist with your own noises like a distorted harmony.

He didn't care if he didn't want it — to be a father again, to have a few more children. He would be on his best behavior to teach himself on how to put himself in that right position, mastering it overtime just to have that abstraction of a perfect, little family with his most beloved girl.

The clustered up thoughts made him act like a teenage boy again. His throat dried, drool pooling inside his mouth, eyes blankly boring into the nearest wall to project these thoughts into a mindful image.

"Simon?" your voice speaks like an echo, like an out-of-bound tune while your arm grasps and shakes his forearm a little as you settle on his lap, "Did you hear me?"

He would surge from the state of distraction, blinking slowly at the aimed wall before he rests his sights on you. His hand rests at the lower section of your back, the lids of his eyes half-lidded with a touch of his darkened pupils behind them. You slope your head to the right of your shoulder, the skin around your eyes creasing with the small grin perched on your lips. A faint laugh hushes at the back of your throat as the hand at his forearm loosens up, fingers brushing at his tattooed flesh.

"I'm sorry, angel, what were you saying?"

"I want a baby, Simon." you near-whisper, "Your baby."

Through that mask, concealed and veiled, you knew and it was clearly obvious; the way the fading black pigment alluded to pale skin complimented his dim eyes with an assumed hidden grin. The hand at your lower back starts in circles, gentle and careful.

"You really want that, lovie?" he asked, the globes of his eyes examining over you. For a while, you're too lost in him to answer — putting thought into the reply. He's patient and only handles you like porcelain on his firm lap, cradling at your body with a single arm at your back.

You close the last gap of space between you and him. "I really do," you said with a tone of half-desperation, "I really want this."

In hesitation, he clenches his jaw and bites the skin of his inner-cheek. As much as he was lacking the confidence to step into the role as a father yet again despite being low of the built-up responsibility, that doe look in your eyes was hard to deny or even ignore past right in front of him. Abandoning his life of barbarity and military could be easing, he thought, something to distract him. Easily, he gives in with a heavy huff under his breath and pulls you right against him.

"If that's what you want, doll..." he said, "Then be it. I'd do anything to make my sweet girl happy."

With the open expanse of where you two previously resided, it was just no good for the privacy of trying for a baby, so it brought you comfort that Ghost practically manhandled you from his lap and into his arms to the bedroom. He didn't waste time anytime throughout this; hence your clothes practically being ripped off of your laid posture at the center of the mattress. The next couple of hours are immersed in a room clouding in the atmosphere of sex; sweat, that fulfilled symphony of pretty moans and grunts, and the intoxicated high of lost-counted orgasms.

Your legs have gone sore and completely influenced with a numbness from being mantled on his shoulders for some leverage. His bruising fingers needled into your sides each time he pumped his cock up into your sensitive, soaked cunt along with a low grunt.

"You still doing okay, love?" he grunts while eyeing your bare figure through his half-lids. One of his hands move up to your lifted leg and strokes the skin gently, his head slanting forwards, the fingers from his other hand coming to lift the bottom of his mask to the tip of his nose before resting back at your side. An amount of spit dribbles from his puckered lips and right at your already-drenched, puffy lips. You whimper at the sensation, your noises ultimately evolving into a whine while he pulls out and uses the head of his cock to smear the spit that rests at your cunt.

After a few moments of smearing and whimpering, he finally plunges himself back into the warmth of your walls yet again. You're tight again, squeezing around him and savoring each vein and pulse when he's inside. His head slightly rests at your leg, gathering the chance to leave a trail of kisses at the sweat-sheen skin.

"Always so welcoming for me, so tight and ready for me to fill this sweet pussy up. Is that all you want, yeah? For me to stuff this pussy and give you my babies? You want me to stuff this cunt all full of me, doll?" he questions with a heavy accent, almost taunting. "Tell me, use your big words, honey."

"Yes! Daddy... please, want your baby so bad." you drag out your words with a followed whine. "...wanna be your girl forever."

His slower, subtle thrusts advance into more aggressive and ones full of brutality at your pleads. Your fingers grip at the crumpled sheets below while pushing your head back up into the cotton of the pillows. He hunches over you and blankets your entire structure, his lips meeting yours into a sloppy and vile manner.

"Yeah, angel?" You wanna be my girl forever?" he asks and you nod fervently with a hum, "That's right, I know you do. Going to be such a good mommy, so pretty all round for me."

He straightens himself back up and adjusts your legs that hold up at his shoulders. Heaven was the perfect word to describe the ongoing situation at your thighs; his moans right to your ears, the scent of his cigarette smoke and cologne all around, and the absolute condition of ecstasy he has you sent into for this time. A cuss is heard under his muffled breaths when his cock is felt and inched deeper into you, prodding at your cervix and suffocating in the comfort of your walls.

Through the aligning tears and blurred vision, you manage to glance down your body and make out the bulge that swells with each of his hostile thrusts. Shakily, you extend out a hand and press against the center of your stomach where that bulge is most visible. He pushes your hand away and does all the work for you — both pressing on the outline of his cock at your stomach and pounding right into your sensitive cunt. Your arms go limp to your sides, nails etching into your palms.

“You look so pretty like this,” he breathes, “All for me. Just for me.”

A whine comes into response, since it was all that you could give — that, or it was a moan or a whimper. Your insides feel raw, battered with each harsh pump of his cock up into you. There’s an ache but soon subsides with the rest of the euphoric waves that you fuel on. Your hands find purchase around his torso, practically forcing him to hunch back down over you while you dragged your nails down the naked skin of his scarred back. Marks that almost gleam of blood adorn him. In return, he tilts his head to your neck and kisses the skin before baring his teeth into the skin and gently lapping over the marks with the muscle of his tongue.

“You wanna come for me, sweetheart?” he said, eyes to yours while his palms were flat at each side of your head, “I know you can, I’ll fill you up and you’ll carry my most perfect babies. The perfect mother to my kids already, our kids.”

Your cunt squeezes around him like support, lines of moans falling from your tongue. His muscles are tensed, hips smacking against yours in an aggressive manner which happens to stimulate your clit all at the same time.

You breathe. “Simon, daddy… fuck,” you quiver, “Please fill me up, want that so bad. Fuck me full of your babies, please…”

“Is that it, angel? You want this?”

“Please!”

His hands move to grope at your breasts, then moving up to your face where he caresses the skin lovingly. A chorus of skin-on-skin, his entire upper-half bowed over you, your face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as the fabric of his balaclava rubbed into the side of your face while his exposed mouth kissed at your neck. Every short of a thrust into your cunt only caused your fingers at his back to tear into the muscles of his back.

"Keep your eyes on me, sweetie." He hoists himself back up to give a better perspective of you underneath, your legs frail on his shoulders while your head blurs of bliss and a faint dizziness, persistent gasps streaming from your mouth. Your body stutters every so often with his own. "Just like that, want you to look at me when I fill this pretty pussy all up, put a baby in you-"

Your stomach spasms at his praise, his words of promise. There's a sensation of fragility at your cunt once your orgasm is brought down upon your body, only managing a mere noise that is ripped from your throat — something between a loud gasp and a whine. Your cunt compresses around his rapid, pulsating cock as your legs seem to go stiff. A burst of liquid is aimed, flooding your walls and extends to an area much deeper, his load is thick and gives warmth to the inside of your cunt. It feels at your womb, that scorching and sticky caressing every crevice.

His leftover breaths stroke at your ears. Ghost gives you a few more rams into you, the combination of your arousal and his load leaking at your inner sides. He soon pulls out and sits back on his heels, allowing your legs to collapse from the cliffs of his shoulders and rest at each sides of his hips. For a second, he examines over you with an admiration; you were truly an angel to him, holy and glowing with the remnants of your orgasm still intact. With your eyes in half-lids and mouth agape accompanying quiet breaths, chest hauling with each of those puffs — he throws his head back and brings in back into position before stretching out a hand to pet at your hair.

You submit into the touch, humming a little while you whimper at the feeling of his load leaking out from your cunt. He eyes this, trailing the hand at your hair down your chest, then your stomach, and between that sensitive area between your thighs. His fingers toy with the fluids and run them at your puffy lips, pushing the two digits into your cunt that had been stretched by a few after his cock had pounded into you for a long duration of time.

"Mmph," you hum, "Too sensitive, daddy... can't do more." Your weak hand drags down to your thighs, where his hand and two fingers were stimulating your cunt, wrapping trembling fingers around his wrist in an attempt of a puny clutch.

He chuckles, deep and rough from his chest. "I know it hurts, honey, but you can do it." Ghost uses his free hand and rubs circles into your hip. "You're my big girl, you can handle it."

Before you can give response, he shuts you up with his thumb pressed to your swollen clit. You arch your back off the mattress a little and whine into the air, eyes nearly rolling back into the region of your skull. He watches over you, then fixes back to your cunt where he pumps the residues of his heavy load back into the interior of your cunt. His fingers are no comparison to his cock — pulsing, enhanced of veins which pump into your tight walls — but it gives you the right amount of pleasure that both stings and forces you back into a euphoric state. (No wonder he already had two children of his own with this authority to bring so much pleasure down onto someone.)

The pace of his pumping fingers speed up and another is added in addition. Through all this time, his eyes linger on you and fixate permanently on your whole being. With your bare anatomy laid out in front of him like this; he had no doubts on you being the mother of his children, certain that you were going to bear his children and be that maternal figure. He was obsessed with you — and you were as haunted with his genuine allure.

You gape at the ceiling through a languid-like stare, eyes twitching and your body arching in an impossible curve when he not only uses three of his fingers to restore that feeling of rapture — but the muscle of his tongue lapping at your cunt, swiping at your puffy lips and clit where his thumb presses in circular motions. Once again, your stomach tightens in a knot and your head pulses. His eyes peer at your through the holes of his balaclava and observe with adoration.

"I'm gonna come, Simon, fuck!-" you gasp, thighs squeezing around his head, legs spreading apart and welcoming more of him to please you.

"That's it," he breathes, continuing his overstimulating ministrations, "Come one more time for me, bunny, show me who gave you a baby — who never fails to satisfy you."

On his command, there's a strike of white and a dimmed perspective of the room's ceiling. The knot in your stomach unbinds itself and a rush of fluids gush out between your legs — soaking onto his tongue and working fingers. Your arousal stains the fabric of his mask and the naked section of his mouth, prior to it being pushed back inside of you with his stored load. His tongue laps up a few more times up your lips, withdrawing back from you and putting in some time to catch his breath and build-up some stamina.

You feel bloated. Full and stuffed with all of him, his palm splays out across your stomach sticky of sweat and he moves up your body. He settles at the headboard and you rest your head at his chest where he pets at your hair in soft strokes. The waves of his breathing patterns cause your head to raise up and down, heartbeat smacking through the skin of his torso in vibrations.

With your single index finger, and some following eyes, you trace the outlines of his glistening abs and then dangle down to the tattoos of his left forearm. He presses his lips to your scalp and proceeds with the fondles at your strands of hair. You take the wrist of his hand that was used at your cunt, taking two of his used fingers and tasting the combination of his and your arousal. Ghost grunts a muffled noise at the back of his throat, his stroking hand becoming more firm.

"God, you're a fuckin' minx, you know that, bunny?" he utters, "Such a perfect girl for daddy."

He moves his fingers around your mouth, pressing on your tongue as your hand is tugging at his wrist, muffled moans around his digits. "My pretty girl, soon-to-be-mother of my children."

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