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pseudowho · 6 months

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Still got it

Artwork by Mmiyoart (2021)

The kids are teenagers, so you and Kento are just their boring parents...right?

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Imagine you and Nanami Kento as parents, but older now, in your forties, and the kids are teenagers at Jujutsu High (much to Kento's displeasure and concern).

The two of you always kept your work life separate to home; the kids knew what the two of you do of course, they all know Curses and Cursed techniques, your two daughters and a son being in possession of these talents themselves.

But you and Kento never come home in mission-wear. You're always patched up by Shoko, one of your oldest and dearest friends, before you walk through the door. Kento never winces as he cooks dinner in a fresh shirt, but behind your bedroom door at night, you gently push his shirt off his shoulders and bathe his wounds, gently kissing his bruises, his head resting back between your breasts as your arms curl round him from behind. You never discuss your kills in front of the kids, the evenings instead, full of talk of exams, arguments with best friends, chastising for using phones at dinner time.

You and Kento make sure you barely overlap at Jujutsu High, teaching students in the other years instead. Your daughters and your son know, in a vague way, that you're both respected First and Second Grade sorcerers in your own right, but to them you're just mum and dad.

Until, one day, that changes. Your three kids, all promising Second Grade sorcerers, and committed to the cause, get into trouble. The Curse they're sent to eliminate is so much stronger than they imagined. Your eldest daughter fights on bravely as your son carries their sister, wounded, to safety. All three are filled with terror as the Curse begins to overwhelm them, their short lives with you and Kento, their adoring parents, flashing in front of their eyes, wondering how the two of you would ever recover from their deaths.

Then, in a flash of black and red, Nanami Kento steps into the fight. A colossal wave of Cursed energy rolls over the children, stunned, breathless, eyes wide as their father, who does maths homework with them, who kisses them all goodnight at bedtime, who bakes at the weekends, instead now ruthlessly, effortlessly wipes the floor with the Curse that nearly killed his babies.

Kento is a demon in battle, tie ripped off, blunt blade whirling, his battle-hardened body just as imposing and lithe as it was in the years before the kids were born. The hands that held theirs when they were tiny, that threw them around ever-so-gently during play-fights, now wielded as weapons with murderous intent.

Even more alarmed are the children, when you appear beside Kento, and as the Curse staggers on its last legs, they hear you shout to Kento- "Throw me!" and, with not an ounce of hesitation, Kento tosses you like a rugby ball, for you to land the killing blow on the Curse.

You are smooth, meticulous, concentrated while making light work of a messy job. The children hear their father hum in approval of you as you take the Curse to task for its crimes against your babies.

Not even sparing the withering corpse a glance, you and Kento rush to your children. You hold your son and eldest daughter's faces, eyes full of tears as you check them all over for damage, their hearts swelling when you praise them for taking care of each other, for doing such a fantastic job holding out until you both arrived.

Kento drops to his knees beside his wounded youngest daughter, gripping her close to him, no less mighty and powerful after years of marriage and raising children. Nanami Kento manages the first and only reverse-cursed technique heal of his whole life, and repairs his daughter's wounds. He holds her to him and weeps quietly as she reassures him, wholly her mother's daughter. Kento grips his son gently around the back of the neck, pulling him down for a tight hug, his son almost breaking at Kento's familiar rumble praising him for prioritising his sister's safety, telling his son he's so proud of the man he's becoming.

Days later, and with the children now recovered, rumours of Nanami-sensei and Nanami-sensei's scathing criticism of and attack on the higher-ups is the talk of the Jujutsu High students. The children are silent throughout, still stunned by the overwhelming skill of their parents.

One of the other students jokingly raises the incident to your kids one day; "Oh man. I wouldn't like to have your parents mad at me. I'd never get over disappointing them."

"Are they...that much of a big deal?" your son asks his friend weakly. His friend raises his eyebrows, amazed, laughing.

"You mean the one and only legends, the Nanami-sensei's? Who the hell did you guys think raised you?"

You and Kento walk down the steps towards them, hands brushing together but not holding, keen to maintain professionalism at school. The children watch as your eyes meet his, love passing between you both, and wonder how they had thought of you as their boring mum and dad for all these years.

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boowritess · 8 days

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very mild 18+ simon riley x reader

lmaoo i can't breathe Simon Riley is just a man.

atleast to you.

when he's home, all he is to you is dry humor, a couple beers every night, sat in front of the tv on his spot on the couch, the game is playing - some soccor or rugby match. he doesn't wear his mask, his clothes are a simple t-shirt and some pair of shorts he just threw on.

he uses your shampoo and conditioner, as much as it pisses you off because it's expensive and for some reason he uses half the fucking bottle everytime he's home, but when he does the groceries he still comes home with '2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner' he would’ve got the '3 in 1' but the last time he did that he got no head for 3 weeks.

he'll go to the pub, take you out, pushes the trolley, holds your bag, let's you dress how you want it, belly gets a little soft because he eats food like he's never ate before, buy you anything you want even after the 'do you really need it though?' talk.

he's bit lazy on workouts only goes on the occasional run, but will fuck you whenever you want; always vanilla and only gets rough when you ask.

he will say he'll fix whatever appliance needs tending too but won't do it right away, starts the occasional handyman job at odd times.

it's just - he's so mundane and normal that you'd never know just how dangerous he is ???? like he so carefully hides that side from you. seriously. when he's home, he throws his gear in the bottom of his closet in a box, locking Ghost away and just existing as Simon.

even when the rest of the task force come around on the occasion. they're so normal and are just... men. yelling at the tv during a sport match. teasing each other. stealing snacks and helping with cleaning. they never speak about work and when you ask them, it's always a smile and shrug, "just another day really." "little boring and slow." "oh not too bad." their answers are so half-assed, that you don't even ask anymore; which is what they want.

but you really aren't missing anything. not when you don't even know what you're missing out on.

it's crazy, because he even keeps Ghost hidden when you're being harassed by men. whether that be when you're shopping or just going for a walk.

he'll loop an arm around your waist or over your shoulder, look at the guy with a grin - that's more of a sneer, "can i help you, mate?" he'll drawl. his stature and stare is enough to make the man who had been harassing you back off.

"what a freak..." you mutter with a roll of your eyes, letting Simon guide you away as he presses a kiss to your temple, a deep chuckle leaving him.

around midnight you wake up to Simon in the laundry room washing his hands. he doesn't blink or hesitate when you wonder in and wrap your arms around his waist. "what're you doing?" you mumble, sleepy eyss dropping to the sink.

Simon's hands are red, and you would be alarmed, should be alarmed. but how could you when Simon hums softly, a sound that rumbles deep from his throat, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. he's so warm and casual that you don't even do a touble take seeing the blood.

"caught a rat. right pest they are. the trap i set snapped it clean in half." Simon's mutters, he raises a bloodied hand to you, sniggering when you crinkle your nose up in disgust and step away from him.

"ew, i'm going back to bed." you huff, yawning and leaving him to what he was doing.

Simon laughs softly as you head off. "just be a sec, love." he says as you go. all he receives is a yawn and a tired 'mhm'.

he cleans his hands and then his phone chimes. he pulls it out and it's a private message.

'getting rid of your pest now, LT.'

image attached

Simon opens the picture and sure enough there's the man from earlier in the boot of a car. all bloodied like Ghost left him.

Simon heads back upstairs to your shared room, you quietly snoozing away. you don't steer or wake as the closet door opens and Simon's putting his mask back in with his gear. No. Ghost is too quiet to let you wake from such a warm and sweet sleep.

he turns from the closet after putting everything away and changing clothes. he crawls into his side of the bed and wraps his arms around you. letting your body nestle back into his side. limbs tangling together.

just you and your simon.

a/n: inspired by a tik tok video on how he is just a man lmaooo

#my post #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mwii

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luveline · 1 year

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would you ever consider writing poly!marauders? or even more of the luna reader with platonic (or romantic) marauders?

if u have more poly!m requests please send them (to clarify this is romantic) fem!reader tw cut

"You should be more careful," Remus says, "really, dove."

You lean back against the kitchen counter and try not to wince as he finishes with the dressing on your arm.

"I am careful," you say.

He laughs softly. It's a rare sound, kind that has you smiling immediately. You wrap your arms around his neck, careful not to press down on your injury, and kiss his neck quickly.

"Thanks for fixing me, handsome," you say.

Remus pats your back. "That's never something you have to thank me for… You might like me less when the boys come home."

You pull away. "You texted them?" you ask, already resigned to your fate.

He looks gorgeous even when you're mad at him, pale skinned but dark in his way, dark eyes and dark brows and his amazingly handsome nose that makes you wanna lean over and kiss him.

"Afraid so." Remus squeezes a path up your arm to your shoulder. "You know the lashing they'd give me if I didn't."

"Well," you murmur, "I suppose you did patch me up."

He kissed your forehead as the sound of the front door opening echoes down the hall. "That's the spirit."

"Angel?"

You relax. It's James, which means you aren't in for a loving telling off, just a loving. You stay by Remus' side until James is in view, a shock of green rugby uniform stark against brown skin. He sheds his bag and you practically throw yourself into his open arms, 'cause usually that's exactly what he wants.

"Wait wait wait!" he says, holding out his hand, his wrist brace scratchy against your arm. "Don't hurt yourself worse! What happened?"

You fight him, trying to hug him and laughing when he holds you back like you're nothing. He's strong. "James, come on. I cut it on the garden fence."

He makes a sound like he feels super sorry for you and finally lets you hug him, your face in his solid chest, your hands at the small of his back. You settle in for as long as you want, James and you both suckers for a good hug, and sigh as his cheek kisses the top of your head.

"You okay, Moons? You look tired." James voice rumbles through your hear, low and warm.

"Fine. She just shocked me, running in the house with blood dripping down to her elbow."

"Give us a hug."

"I'll make tea."

James turns his lips to your forehead, "How come he'll hug me when we're alone, and he'll hug you all day long when you're together, but he's totally allergic to affection when we're together?"

"He's shy," you mumble, "ask him again in an hour and he'll say yes."

The door opens a second time and you'd hide your face pretty much in James' armpit, laughing through the horror. "Hide me."

"No, I don't think so."

James works your face away from his chest, hands held over the soft slopes of your shoulders. He looks you in the eye, all melty brown and sweetness. "Sure you're okay?" he asks.

You hum. He kisses your cheek.

"Okay, I'm gonna go harass Remus for a hug then, before he boils the kettle and threatens me with a scalding. Love you."

"I don't love you, you're leaving me for the wolves."

"I'm hardly a wolf," comes Sirius' amused drawl.

James raises his eyebrows at you in a silent gesture for Good luck, angel, and disappears around the corner to the kitchen.

You sigh and spin on your heel, finding your arch nemesis (concerned boyfriend) propped against the wall. He's in casual work attire, which for Sirius is a smart pair of trousers and a dark button down with the sleeves rolled up. His tan seems to have waned in the winter, leaving him pale. Though he often claims in a joking manner that it's a consequence of loving you, he's always so worried it steals the colour from his skin.

I like to worry, he'd assured you once.

"You might not believe me, but you look very handsome today," you say.

He raises a dark brow. "You say that every day."

"Emphasis on 'very,'" you say.

He pulls his weight off of the wall and holds out his hand as he approaches. You let him take your arm, let him assess the small dressing bandage Remus has applied over your cut.

"It was deep," you admit, "but not very long."

"Mm, Remus said," Sirius says, near murmuring as his thumb works into your wrist. He rubs over unbroken skin gently. "Does it hurt?"

You shake your head vehemently.

"Swear?"

"Why would I lie?" you ask. You smile at him. "You really do look handsome. And you didn't need to come home from work."

"It's my lunch break."

"Oh, good! Let me make you something, while everybody's home."

"Or I can make you something," he suggests.

You enter into a stare off. He faces you with little expression, a blank slate. A pretty blank slate. His lashes don't so much as flicker, while you struggle to keep a straight face under so much seriousness. Your lips twitch with a laugh and something about it must break him, because he takes your face into his two hands and presses your noses together.

"You make it very hard to be sensible about things," he says, and gives you a chaste kiss.

His lips are a warmth you savour, and he steals them back much too swiftly for your liking.

"Remus is the sensible one," you deny. "You're the overprotective one. And James is… James." You sigh, lovelorn. "And I'm the stupid one who cuts herself on chicken wire. You really didn't have to come home."

"I wanted to."

He leads you by the hand into the kitchen, where James and Remus stand in front of an unboiled kettle, Remus face smushed into James broad shoulder, a muscled arm locking him into place. He looks quite happy.

"Sorry, I'm still making tea," he says into James' sleeve.

"No, I'm gonna make dinner," you say, yanking Sirius to the lovefest.

You worm under James' other arm and Sirius strokes at the hair curling over Remus' forehead, mumbling, "Oh, god, she's killed you."

"Worse ways to go," Remus says.

#poly marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #the marauders #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #poly marauders x reader

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azsazz · 7 months

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Change Your Ticket

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,264

Notes: I'm overthinking this now, I don't think I like it

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There’s no better way to wake up than buttery morning light drifting through the curtains, songbirds chirping outside cracked windows, and the warmth of your significant other surrounding you.

Unfortunately, that isn’t how you wake.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm, blaring its cheerful tune much too early in the morning. The sun isn’t shining in through your windows, rousing you from a deep slumber. Instead, thunder cracks loudly, drowning out the grating chimes coming from your phone, only for a second, before it sounds louder, alerting you that you have places to be.

Namely, at the airport, and not in the lovely muscular arms of your boyfriend in bed.

His cozy hold makes you want to sigh, snuggle backwards into him and sleep for a few more hours, but the blaring of your phone makes that difficult, even with the taunt of his morning wood brushing up against your backside.

Groaning, you slide from his arms. It’s a struggle, because his muscular limbs are heavy, but you manage to shove yourself from under the thick arm covered in swirling ink, stretching as far as you can in hopes to turn your phone off.

Another bout of thunder rumbles in the sky and you startle, knocking your phone over the edge of the table. It clangs loudly and you cringe, peering over your shoulder at Cassian. His eyes are shut and his chest moves up and down rhythmically. You sigh, shoulders relaxing at the sight of his bare chest, gaze snaking down his strong body to where the cuts of his hips dip under the sheets. Your mouth waters a little, but before you can make the move to slide the blankets back and get a full look, your phone sends out another screeching knell and you nearly dive from the bed to shut it off.

The time mocks you when the sound no longer does. It’s an ungodly hour and you’re hardly coherent, eyes gritty with sleep and hair curling in tangled waves around your face. You shove it back, collapsing for a moment, half off of the bed.

Warm hands search blindly in the bed before latching onto your waist, tugging you back into his solid body. You squeal as you’re so easily maneuvered, and it makes butterflies stir in the pit of your stomach.

Cassian grunts softly, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck. It’s early and he’s just as disturbed by your phone as he is. Neither of you have slept much at all, and with the warmth of his body holding tightly to yours, you find yourself resting your head against his, shutting your eyes and breathing in the scent of him—a comforting freshness cut with an earthy pine—drifting back into a light slumber.

Your eyes snap open later, something rocking you to your core. Not just something, the flight you’re supposed to be on, at the airport you should be at, sitting in your window seat and missing the body of your boyfriend next to you.

Cursing, you throw the covers back, ignoring the grunt Cassian lets out as you accidentally elbow him in the chest. You lunge for your phone, but it’s not on the side table where you’d left it. Fuck, you remember knocking it off and having to lean over the side of the bed to turn off your goddamn alarm when you should’ve hit snooze. You’re going to pay now; your mind supplies drily.

Frantically searching, you find it in the pile of clothes you’d left on the floor. Lifting your jeans to tug them on, it slips, clattering against the hardwood floors again. You don’t have time to wince, wonder if the screen is cracked, snatching it up and checking the time.

Holy fuck, are you late.

Shoving the phone back into your pocket, you scramble to get ready, tugging a black t-shirt over your head from the mound at your feet. It’s pools around you but you’re in no mood to care, shoving it into the waistband of your pants and stuffing your feet into last night’s socks. You grimace as you do so, the feeling of dirty socks making your toes curl. Switching with Cassian would be better, though they’d be scrunched in your shoes and you’d be tripping over them at the airport.

The sky is still dark with cloud cover, but there is no longer frantic lighttight brightening the sky, nor rumbles of thunder that would have delayed your flight. You haven’t gotten an update about it being late due to the nature of the storm, so it must be on time.

Perfect.

The heap of blankets on the bed jostles, and Cassian’s sitting up. The fabric falls from his torso like a waterfall of white, striking against his tan skin. As much as you’d love to climb right up onto him and wake him properly, you’re in too much of a rush to allow the aroused side of your mind to take over.

“Sweetheart?” he asks sleepily. His hair is mused from where you’d had your hands buried in it last night, and he brushes it from his eyes roughly, using the hair tie around his wrist to tie it back haphazardly. Cassian blinks around the room, hazel eyes clearing as he meets your panic-stricken gaze. “Where are you going?”

“I’m late for my flight,” you reply breathlessly, hopping on one foot to slip your shoe on.

“You’re leaving already?” Cassian asks with a frown. His voice is groggy with the aftermath of sex and sleep. It sends shockwaves zipping down between your thighs. “It’s only been two days.”

You sigh, forcing your other foot into the shoe. You know it’s only been two days since you’ve gotten into town for Cassian’s match, but you have to get back to work tomorrow, there’s just too much to do.

It’s difficult when he’s in the middle of the rugby season and you have to work. It’s hard to find the time to chat or even text sometimes, but the both of you love your work and couldn’t imagine giving it up. You do what you can to be at Cassian’s games. He flies you in privately and you meet at the hotel or the pitch, cheering from the stands with the other fans of the Velairs Stars, Cassian’s rugby team. But then you have to fly back home, only to do it again the next weekend over.

It's draining, which is why you’ve overslept like a damn fool.

“I have to go,” you answer, picking up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Your carry-on sits packed by the door. “I have work in the morning.”

“Take that bag off of your shoulder,” Cassian pouts.

You groan, turning to look at him. “I can’t, Cass, I’m really late.”

Cassian slides from the bed. The duvet slips from his body, revealing the entirety of his naked body. He’s built like a Greek statue, minus the tiny cock. His tan body ripples with muscle and ink—broad shoulders to hard abs to his taut waist, down to thick thighs and a half-hard cock that twitches when your eyes roam over it.

Your cheeks heat and you turn your head away, gazing at the floor.

Cassian’s feet enter your line of vision and then his hands are on your cheeks, tilting your head up to face him.

You stare into those soft eyes, green and brown clashing like a tornado in the woods. His pink lips are turned down, the crease between his brow in concern something you never like to see on his face.

A strand of his hair tickles your cheek as he dips down, thumbs brushing soothing stripes across your skin.

“Please, don’t leave.”

Your heart cracks in your chest at the sincerity of his words. Your body slackens, tipping into his. You place a hand over his wrist, holding him just as he is you, and you let out a deep sigh. “I can’t. I really have to go.”

Cassian doesn’t respond, only tucks you tighter to his chest as if he may never let you go. You press up to the tips of your toes, catching him in a soft kiss. You can taste his yearning, missing you from miles away. The absence of him from your side, from your apartment, preferring your quaint place to his bachelor pad in the thick of the city. He’d disrupted your life in the best way, and it’s different to be by yourself in the place you’d spent so much time alone, before Cassian came rumbling in on a gust of autumn air with trophies the size of your head and rugby uniforms that never seemed to stay clean.

When you pull away you don’t stray far, placing your head on his chest. His heartbeat strums loudly, comfortingly as he places his chin onto you, hugging you tight.

And its bliss, the both of you tucked together like this. You don’t ever want to let him go but this is reality and you both have lives outside of each other, outside of this little bubble of heaven you’ve created for the two nights you were staying here. Cassian feels like coming home.

“At least let me walk you down,” he says finally.

You huff, pulling back to look up at him. He towers over you and you have to crane your neck back to meet his gaze. “As much as I would love that, you can’t. We can’t be seen together,” you remind him softly.

Cassian rolls his eyes, twining his fingers with yours as he leads you into the main room of the suite. It’s a lovely hotel, but eventually, all of the rooms start to blur together. There’s an empty bottle of victory champagne tipped over on the couch, your still half-full glass precariously perched on the edge of the coffee table from when Cassian could no longer control himself and your bubbly, giggly kisses turned into something hotter and heavier.

“I don’t care about any of that stuff, sweetheart. I just want to be able to show you off.”

“Well, I care,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not ready to tell the world yet.”

You spot your bra flung over the lampshade and grab for it, but Cassian’s quicker, taking it and hiding it behind his back with a cheeky grin.

“If you want it back, you’ll have to come get it. Two weeks, we’re playing the Sealions in Adirata.”

“Cassian,” you sigh, trying to reach around his thick torso for your bra. “I don’t know if I can make it—”

“You will,” he says, pecking you on the nose. You glare up at him but he’s grinning like a fool. “I need my best cheerleader there.”

You want to grumble that he never really can find you in the crowd. You don’t sit with the other players’ girlfriends or families because your relationship with the superstar athlete is your best kept secret. You aren’t ready for any of the drama that comes along with dating a public figure, and Cassian knows this, accepts it because he loves you.

“I’ll try,” you amend, and you don’t think his smile can get any bigger but it does. Cassian swoops down to kiss you on the lips. The eagerness takes your breath away and makes you clench your thighs together, his intrigued cock still seeking you out.

“Good,” he seems satisfied with your answer, unhooking the handle and raising it. He scoots your roller out of the way when you go to reach for it, tsking. “Let me help you with this, sweetheart.”

“Cass, we talked about this,” you repeat, “And you can’t go to the lobby buck ass naked.”

His grin is shit-eating.

“What? Afraid you might have to fight for my goods?” he wiggles his eyebrows as you wrench your luggage from his hand.

“Don’t start with this,” you answer, leaning up for one last kiss. “You and I both know that I’ll take anyone down who tries to get a look at what’s mine.”

Cassian hums against your lips, his large hands settling on your hips. “I like it when you act all possessive, sweetheart. Makes me so hard for you.”

You let out a breathless sigh, pressing even further into him, pinning his cock between your hips. Cassian bucks and you clench your thighs together, glaring up at him.

“I don’t have the time for this,” you say, sadly.

Cassian nips at the juncture of your shoulder and throat, already distracted by the sweet scent of the lingering perfume on your skin. He hums and the feeling rakes down your spine, rattling your senses.

“I’ll call you a car,” he says between open mouthed kisses that have you craning your neck to give him more room. “But please come back to bed until it comes.”

You bite your lip. This isn’t a good idea. You’re already late, and who knows how long the lines will be at security or how far your gate is. What if they’re moved up your flight?

But his eyes are just too eager, filled with the promise of one last good dicking down until he sees you again, in two weeks.

“Fine,” you give in. It’s early, maybe Cassian can get you on the next flight instead. He’s already helping you from your clothes, as much as he loves seeing you in them, they look much better on the floor. “But we have to make it quick.”

#cassian #cassian x reader #modern cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #modern!cassian #rugby!cassian #cassian au #change your ticket

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choujinx · 2 months

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SAIKYOU NO UTA (2023-?) by miyata daisuke

#saikyou no uta #rugby rumble #yamada kinzan #myoraku motoi #fysportsanime #shounenedit #*nikki

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shysheeperz · 7 months

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Mangaplus-

Saikyo no Uta "Rugby Rumble" seems like a fun series but the fact that an AI company's involved with it...feels icky :/

looks like after the awful lettering debacle in the first chapter they got someone to fix it but there are still words literally hitting the edge of some of the panels or speech bubbles.

I hope people continue to complain about it in the comments bc if people are gonna be paying for the newly overhauled service they deserve good quality content not AI crap.

#rugby rumble #saikyo no uta #manga #manga plus #mangaplus #felt an ickiness while reading the two chapters available #please use real people #looks like a stupid fun series but not sure if i'll continue with it unless they get their act together

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 4 months

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Happy new year! Hope you had a good time! Here’s a cute idea for toddler! -adult Reader,the family finds out reader has a crush, the boy like any other toddler does the whole “cooties” thing and does his own thing. This doesn’t stop reader and she blows him a kiss while leaving kindergarten annoying the boy. The whole family thinks it won’t last long but they grow up together and end up getting married and have a child

(reader is smug as hell when she managed to make the boy whipped for them and boasts to her family about achieving a real life slow burn. Aphrodite taught her well)

-Oh, gods no- he couldn’t believe it- he didn’t want to believe it! Watching you, his precious little angel, the light of his life, blowing a kiss to a boy in your class, bidding him goodbye with a bright smile while the boy looked repulsed by your actions.

-You held the hand of (Favorite) who was the one picking you up from school today, as he had turned pure white, turning into a shell of himself from shock.

-When you arrived home you greeted everyone with a huge smile, beaming as they returned it before they noticed (Favorite) there, looking lost and defeated.

-You went to Eve in the kitchen, who had your after-school snack waiting for you, thanking her and she sat with you, talking about your day.

-A deep rumbling was heard in the living room, where everyone else was, you looked around, confused as to what was going on before Brunnhilde walked in, amused, “Y/N- is there a boy at school you have a crush on?”

-You looked proud of yourself, your little fists on your hips, “I do- B/N is really nice to me and teaches me about dinosaurs! But he doesn’t like sitting to close- says I have cooties.” The two women were instantly laughing, thinking it was hysterical, while the men in the other room were planning several different ways to deal with B/N if he were to ever hurt you.

-Your family watched you, year by year, blossoming into a beautiful young lady, but they also watched your love for B/N grow- every dance you went with him, you cheered him on at his rugby games, despite not dating.

-B/N was a fighter, not wanting anything to do with girls, but when you finally started leaving him alone, he was the one who came after you, asking you to come to his games.

-He was your date for prom and after the biggest dance of high school, he finally asked you out- which was surprising to all of your friends and classmates, who had believed the two of you had been dating for years now.

-Watching you go out on actual dates, not just friend-dates, as you had been calling them, your family couldn’t help but… follow you, as they wanted to make sure that you were safe. It was rather comical, seeing you and B/N passing by, then a large group of people, badly disguised, following from a distance.

-When you brought B/N over to meet your family officially, all of them and not just a few here and a few there- B/N was a little intimidated, seeing so many people, but he was quick to win a few of them over, smiling at you, “You have so much love, Y/N.” which made you beam brightly at him.

-Your wedding was rather eventful, as there were some of your family members trying to convince you to run away and others were trying to convince him to run (chase him off).

-When you walked down the aisle, your family was elated, cheering loudly for you which made you smile, while B/N was stunned stiff, staring with huge wide eyes which made you grin.

-The wedding was lovely as well as the reception, but you put Brunnhilde on guard duty- not letting certain people get to say speeches unless you were right there with them, as you knew better.

-When you got a turn, you looked so smug, looking at B/N, “I remember when I first told you that I liked you, you said I had cooties and you ran off, saying you would never be with me. I win!”

-The reception hall filled with laughter, including B/N’s who knew that you were right before you thanked your family and your friends, thanking them for being there for you and B/N.

-You then lifted your glass to one last person, “Lastly, I would like to thank Aphrodite- you were right, a slow burn romance tastes so much sweeter!”

-Cheers went around the room as Aphrodite looked smug herself, enjoying the shoutout before you led everyone in a toast.

-A month later, you were pouting in your family home, being doted on by Shiva’s wives and Eve, after you and B/N came by to tell them that you were pregnant. You were pouting because the men all chase B/N down the street, throwing threats at him for touching you in such a way.

-Looks like it was only going to get more wild from here!

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader

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onsunnyside · 1 year

Note

rugby player!ari lovingly beating the sh!t out of readers plushies while also taking care of them like they’d be his babies may be my favorite concept you’ve come up with this far it’s so cuteee and ari 🥹

-🫒

MINE TOO BESTIE !! bc c'mon, he's the type of bf to smack them across the room but also swaddle them like babies !!

you can never predict how he's going to treat them, sometimes he'll punch them before your very eyes bc "they were looking at me weirdly" or he'll use them to get your attention, "oh what's that, Mr. London? cub should stop being a nerd and come cuddle? I know, she's always studying when I'm here, it's like I don't even matter" and if you still don't give in, he pulls out the big guns, "and you all agree too? Yeah, it hurts but I'm used to it. she didn't even kiss me yet. I guess I'm unkissable."

you turn around in your desk chair to see your beefy 6'8 rugby player bf surrounded by all your plushies, absolutely dwarfing your twin bed: "are you done?"

"Are you done?" He asks in a rumbly English accent, holding up a little plushie wearing glasses. "Because you aren't treating your boyfriend how he deserves." He puts the stuffie down, "Oh, cub, I think Mr. London has had enough of you neglecting me."

#sonny drabbles #thick frat boy ari #AHHH I LOVE HIM #he punch he love #🫒 anon #thick!ari levinson #beefy!ari levinson #frat boy!ari levinson #rugby player!ari levinson

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he-cate · 7 months

Text

#rugby rumble #saikyou no uta #yamada kinzan #colored manga #type: manga

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 2 days

Text

First Time Footie Fan (John Price x Escort!Reader)

Part of the "Purchase Your Time" Series

Summary: Talking stage has been complete and at last you get John in his comfort zone, not where he thinks yours is, and progress is made.

Content warning: Minors DNI, 18+ only. Reader is gender neutral and a sex worker, but no smut/sex in this chapter.

First Meeting and First "Meeting" // AO3 Version // Masterlist

“Oh, I saw he’s retiring,” You pointed to a massive electric screen, somehow immune to the rain and spray of the motorway, that boasted the pride and joy of Liverpool, Jürgen Klopp, “And everyone in the city is going into mourning.”

“More like half the country,” John’s eyes briefly acknowledged the advert before zeroing back on the road, “One of the greatest football coaches ever.”

“Greater than Ted Lasso?”

“Who?”

Eager to spew about the new show you’d binged between your last meeting and now, but wanting to remain as cool as possible, you said in best attempt at a casual affect: “It’s a show about an American soccer coach becoming the coach of a British football team. All I know about football is from that show.”

John shook his head with a sarcastic chuckle, “Soccer, it’s bloody football.”

You nodded in agreement, “’Course, they call rugby ‘football’ even though-”

“They use their hands!”

“And they wear helmets and shoulder pads. Wusses.”

“You into rugby then?” John caught your eye quickly before returning it to the road ahead.

You grinned, “Not at all.”

That got you a proper laugh from deep in John’s chest, puffing out under his coat.

You stuck your hands beneath your lap, restraining the anticipation for your first proper date. Yes, you’d been for dinners and stayed at hotels together. But now you were both past the talking phase and John wasn’t like a deer in the headlights every-time he was allowed to do something that could be construed as intimate. You’d shushed his apologies for jumping straight to the bedroom – even when there was no sex – and insisted that this “partner package” he asked for meant he could treat you like an actual spouse. Besides, you wanted to engage with something he liked, and he did promise you a football match.

His black truck was parked amidst a hoard of other vehicles, half a mile from the stadium – “so we’re not stuck in traffic later”, John had said. You were ready to rumble. But, when you reached for the car handle, John touched your arm. He already had his gloves on; the moulded leather almost tricked you into thinking it was hisbare callouses.

“I got something for you.” Then he pointed to the glovebox in front of you, his keenness hidden behind a carefully constructed expression of neutrality. You popped the glovebox open to reveal a black tissue-paper parcel.

As you sat it in your lap with your hands curved around it as if to safeguard it from waddling off you, you said cheekily, “If it’s lingerie, it’s too late for me to change.”

Rolling his eyes with an air of fondness, not a sting of derision, John dodged your gaze as he corrected your assumption: “Another time, perhaps.”

Unable to hold back, you sliced through the paper. A scarf of burning red fell out in a bundle. Liverpool Football Club’s insignia sat bold on both ends with snow white frills, a proper scarf to wear to the stadium.

You freed it from the rest of the tissue paper and immediately wrapped it around your neck, “I’m like a good luck charm!”

“Certainly lucky to have you here,” John replied.

As he still had yet to let you near his lips, you leant over the centre console and kissed John’s cheek. “Thank you. Now c’mon, I wanna get food before we watch the match.” As you stepped out of the car, you allowed yourself a little smirk at the smile lines forged on John’s face from your kiss.

Brewing eagerness echoed around the concrete walls of the stadium from everyone you walked past. Faces painted, shirts as bright as your scarf, you and John appeared quite casual by comparison. Content, you jostled and edged your way to purchase your overpriced fried food before you made your way to your seat. No dainty way to eat it, the condiments spurted out the opposite side with every bite and the napkin fell apart as soon as it came into contact with the viscous foodstuffs. It was only made more awkward when you had to stand up twice to allow other fans scooch on past.

“How was work, by the way? Good?” It was all you could ask John, and it was all you could presume since he called you a week earlier than his final text had alluded to.

“Fine. Nothing we haven’t done before,” John wiped his mouth clean of ketchup, “And you?”

Now you knew how he felt being asked. Your job was hardly as normal as his.

“All normal too,” You said. There was a lull between you. Perhaps you could market that as the real domesticity he was missing out on: not so comfortable silences on a date.

But John had to be the smooth operator he was, his knees slanted slightly towards you to share a secret: “You know, I got my job at a football match.”

You perked up, “Yeah?”

“Hmm, my colleague and I met in this stadium,” And he pointed across the pitch where you could see a family holding up a banner in the stands. “That section there.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t a coincidence.”

“How’d you guess?”

“Your secrecy levels imply there’s not such in thing in that line of work.”

John cracked a smile, “She spent the whole time calling it ‘soccer’, until I corrected her. Then we got talking and she dropped the offer five minutes later.”

“So she annoyed you into taking the bait?”

“Pretty much.”

You flattened your lips together, impressed. “She sounds cool.”

“Well, don’t tell her that, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Kick-off at quarter past eight met with a comfortable end to your conversation. You spent half the time on your feet. Players on the pitch were relentless with Liverpool constantly pinging the ball back towards their goal. Felt unfair to the other team, but you didn’t feel bad at all. In fact, the energy had transmitted into you and John. Up and down like Jack in the boxes, you felt it in your stomach’s pit each time an attempted goal missed, tapping your face in John’s arm like a door knocker with another missed opportunity.

John often let out roars in accordance with the intensity of his disappointment. He’d pat your shoulder to help recover you both as fast as the team whose scarf you wore.

But by half-time, the score was 2-0 to your new (only) favourite football team.

“I’ve got a goddamn stitch from all that!” You gasped, slumping a little in your seat. Your hands became sore with the amount you were clapping. “Is it always this nuts?”

“I will say this one is a bit of a spectacle.”

No wonder he liked it: harmless entertainment to take his mind off his job, whatever it was. It was the same reason you had binged Ted Lasso over the span of last week. You decided to link your fingers in his and squeezed tightly, and he accepted this with a kiss on your temple in return. Score. Literally. He was getting acceleratingly more comfortable with you than he had in all those restaurant floors and hotel beds.

Your hand only left his when the match was off again, rejuvenated and ready to amplify your cheers.

When Chelsea managed to get a goal in, your inch of self-control got away from you, loudly booing with everyone else. Chanting their demise and that everyone on their team’s mother was a slag no longer seemed mean. You were too invested with Liverpool’s two goal lead and were another Chelsea score away from praying to a God you weren’t sure you believed in. Once or twice, you caught John smiling at you – a cross between sly and pride over how he’d indoctrinated you into the cult of football.

At last, after a blocked attempt, the fourth goal smashed into the bottom right corner. Jumping on the spot, you used one hand on John’s bicep for balance in case your footing did not land square on the tiny section of concrete your seat granted. You almost knocked his beanie off as you joined the Mexican wave rippling around the stadium.

As the crowds started to dispel, you and John remained in your seats as you both recounted your favourite parts. John seemed a bit unawares at first, and you remembered he usually came to these alone. So you had to lead with your highlights, John chipping in with previous games he’d seen to add to your newfound interest.

Eventually, you were made to leave the stadium, with only fond memories and your scarf, without the adrenaline.Your energy levels plummeted through the ground with each metre you moved away from the pitch and your feet were complaining loudly. Crowds filtered into Premier Inns and Travelodges and car parks, you amongst them with your hand tight in John’s until you were at his car, where he held the door open for you, a task you were glad to avoid at the end of a fifteen minute walk. Radio hosts gushing about the amazing match became your lullaby while you snuggled into your scarf.

Time passed like water down a slide and it wasn’t long before John squeezed your knee. “We’re here.”

Thank god you’d already dropped your bags off at the hotel earlier. Eyes were drooping as John led you into the elevator of your hotel for the night, him letting you attach yourself to his side like a limpet while he yet again opened your door.

“Thank you,” You mumbled hoarsely, dropping onto the side of the bed you designated your own.

John caught you by the arm just before you could curl up on the bed, using it to lift and seat you, “Oh, you don’t.”

“I want to,” you whined.

A minor success was barely celebrated as John released you, only to capture your left foot and remove your shoe. It was a pair you regretted wearing and the source of that regret was revealed to John as he peeled off your sock to reveal a blister, formed from all your jubilation during the match. You winced, tempted to yank your sweaty foot from his loose grip.

“Behave,” John said as he checked the blister, your ankle trapped in his curved grip. His voice had been teasing you, just a light-hearted reproach at your attempted resistance, keeping you in a good mood, but you felt your chest full with flustered feelings that you should store away when you were more capable of dealing with it.

From his overnight bag, that you hadn’t seen him collect, he withdrew an antiseptic wipe and a small plaster, one that fit perfectly over your wound.

“You always carry plasters around?” You asked sheepishly.

“Never know when you need an emergency plaster,” John replied, smoothing it over before swapping to your other foot, “Crisis averted.”

A far-away internal dialogue reminded you that you shouldn’t find your customer picking a bit of sock fluff out of your open blister attractive. You failed to hear it over the blood flooding beneath your cheeks whilst he unwound the scarf from your neck.

“I guess it’s that cool-under-pressure quick-thinking and ready-for-anything attitude that got you poached at that match.”

“Among other things.” And John took your paired shoes over to the door.

You could appreciate that John was trying to connect with you whilst keeping sturdy those walls of his. But he couldn’t help it. His personality was a reflection of his ideology, therefore his job. He was telling you more than he wanted, and you were craving a little more each time.

From the bed, you watched him hang up his coat and beanie beside your scarf, his hair sticking up at the back on ends. An idea struck you like a slap and woke you up a little.

Knelt onto the bed, you beckoned him over as he finished removing his boots. As he sauntered over to you, he began smiling. It only grew as you drew him in to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands, guided by your incentive, found themselves behind your back.

“Thank you for today,” You whispered into the space between you.

“Of course.” There. You caught him, shamelessly looking at your lips. You took the plunge and leant in. At the final split second, John did too.

The second his lips touched yours, it stole any thoughts from your mind, as if the volume of the city was turned down. A slight tickle from his moustache, not bristly but smooth and trimmed, that was not the main reason behind your smile. It was how his paw of a hand hugged under your jaw, turning your head so that he could slot your body up against his and still slip his charming tongue into your mouth.

He pulled away first. You always let them pull away first. Rarely did you feel like you had to leave it, and this was one of those kisses you wouldn’t have minded continuing. By the rosiness on his cheeks and how loudly you could hear him taking controlled breaths, you hypothesised that he felt the same. Yet again, his gentleman-like nature getting in the way of what he wanted. Never mind, there was always more chances you could create next time to get him more into his comfort zone.

“Just wanted a goodnight kiss,” You said as you released him with an innocent smile.

John raised an eyebrow, though his lips were still smirking at you, “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” And you bounced off the bed to get changed into your pyjamas, leaving the bathroom door open.

Your skin prickled with goosebumps each time it felt him stealing glances at you. Therefore it felt only necessary that you take a peek too. The two seconds leaning over to the ajar door confirmed what you’d felt during your nights together: a firm body that slightly softened the touch of his muscles yet without masking the power beneath it. A few scars, a trim waist and the blur of a tattoo were on show before his sleep shirt was yanked over his body. That was when you retreated back to brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face.

Even as you tucked yourself into bed, John was still pottering around. You were already halfway off to dreamland by the time he slid beneath the covers on his side. Maybe that was why you asked:

“One more?” Cherry on top, you pouted with your eyes closed up at him like you were Sleeping Beauty. A gentle chuckle and a peck upon your lips was well received and you were greeted by the lights switched off and John looking younger as he rested his head on his pillow but close to you.

“Goodnight,” He said with a sigh.

You wriggled a bit deeper into the bedclothes, smothering the butterflies in your stomach until the fluttering stopped. “Sleep well, John.”

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #john price fanfic #cod fanfic #cod x you #cod x reader #captain john price #my writing #series #r: gn

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catierambles · 5 months

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Alternate Instincts Ch.2

No, you didn't miss one. Chapter 1 is here, it just wasn't labeled because it was a what-if drabble that snowballed. Like the drabble that kicked off Feral Instincts

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 877

Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, and some steamy bathroom shenanigans

It was a couple hours before Geralt showed up again, his shoulders tense, his dark shirt even darker with blood from a gash across his chest.

“He a stain?” Sy asked as he walked into the cabin but Geralt shook his head with a grunt.

“Lost him at an access road.” He said, heading up the stairs after a brief look at Stephanie who had jumped up from the couch when he walked in.

“Are you okay?” She asked and he nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond. She hesitated a moment before she followed him, finding him in the bathroom, his shirt off and thrown into the wastebasket by the sink. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He asked, examining the long cut on his chest in the mirror.

“This is my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Jordan is--”

“A Feral.” Geralt said, “They’re violent and unpredictable. If it hadn’t been me, it might have been you. He handled the knife like he knew what he was doing.” She was quiet for a long moment.

“How bad is it?”

“Looks worse than it is.” He said and she walked further into the bathroom.

“Sit.” She said and he looked at her, “Let me take a look at it.”

“You don’t--”

“Sit. Down.” She said and he blinked at her quickly before sitting on the closed toilet lid, watching as she opened the cabinet above the sink, finding the first aid kit in there. Rifling through the plastic box, she dug out the alcohol wipes, gauze, medical tape, and antibiotic ointment. “Washcloths?”

“Under the sink.” She bent slightly, grabbing one and turning the tap on hot, soaking the rag and wringing it out. Going over to him, he watched her evenly as she wiped the blood from his skin gently, trying the best she could to clean it from his chest hair.

“You won’t need stitches.”

“I know.” He said simply, keeping his hands on his thighs lest he did anything stupid like touch her. “You deal with injuries often?”

“Played rugby in high school and college.” She said simply, “Mom wasn’t the greatest and dad wasn’t around for most of it, so whenever I got minor injuries, I treated them myself. Cuts, scrapes, those kinds of things.” He just hummed at her. “It’s stopped bleeding, but I won’t be able to bandage it without you shaving the hair from around it, unless you want to deal with medical tape ripping the hair out of your chest.”

“I’ll deal.” He said, the corner of his lips perking up slightly. He hadn’t taken his eyes from her as she worked, even as she swiped the alcohol wipe over the cut to clean it, the muscle of his chest jumping slightly at the sting. “Never got your name.”

“Oh, yeah, you weren’t here when introductions were made.” Stephanie said, “Stephanie.” She finally met his eyes and there was a moment before she looked away, a slight blush tinting her cheeks.

“Stephanie.” He said and she looked at him again. Something moved behind his eyes and she blinked slightly in surprise. He stood, making her back up a step, almost towering over her. His eyes moved over her slowly and he reached up, his hand sliding over her jaw and back into her hair making her gasp gently. An odd feeling, like fur sliding over her mind made her shudder and he hummed again, his head tilting to the side as a slight furrow creased his brow.

“What…” She asked, her eyes closing and she felt him lean into her, could hear him scent the air around her before he angled her head to the side and buried his face in the bend of her neck, breathing in deep. A strangle rumble made his chest shake and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him tight as he took her scent in again deep into his lungs. Her hands wrapped around his biceps and she whimpered slightly as his palm flattened against her back, keeping them flush together.

“Stephanie.” He whispered, his lips pressing against her skin and if it wasn’t for his arm around her waist, her legs would have given out from under her. “Fuck.” His hand slipped under her t-shirt, smoothing along her skin and she breathed in, his scent filling her nose, making her fingers curl against his biceps. He smelled like trees and earth, but also like the air right before a heavy snowfall, cold and clean. That feeling of fur slid over her mind again, heavier this time, and a lightning quick image of a massive white wolf flashed over her mind’s eye.

Geralt pulled away from her neck, resting his forehead against hers and she could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“My wolf knows you, Stephanie.” He said, “It wants you. I want you. Can I have you?”

“Y--”

“You two look cozy.” Sy’s voice from the doorway snapped them back to reality and he stepped back as she pushed, watching her flee the bathroom, moving around Sy. “Expected somethin’ like that from Mikey, not you. He’s been givin’ her heart eyes since they met.”

“She’s my Mate.” Geralt said, his hands flat against the cold stone of the countertop.

“What?”

“She’s my Mate.”

#henry cavill #captain syverson #walter marshall #august walker #hellraiser mike #geralt of rivia #alternate instincts

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