#skull diaper

[back2bluesidex]

Darling, can I be your favorite? - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT, Infidelity au

Wordcount: 1.4k+

Summary: Your close friend bagged a hot boyfriend. And that said boyfriend is more interested in you than her.

Warnings: Infidelity, Jungkook cheats on his girlfriend with the reader, mild flirting, make out, protected sex, oral (f. receiving), morally wrong. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: been long since I have written an unhinged smut.

This is the third time you are meeting Jungkook. 

First time was when Nayeon introduced him as they started dating officially. 

You and Nayeon have known each other since you were in diapers. You can’t call her your best friend but she has been there for as long as you can remember. Even though you haven’t shared all of your miseries with her (she hasn’t either), you two have understood that the other one is having a tough time and have been there silently. 

So, it’s not wrong to say that you know her and how good of a human being she is. You guys are alike in more ways than you would like to admit. 

But when she introduced Jungkook as ‘the person she is seeing’, you were shocked to say the least. 

You don’t wanna be a bitch about it but Jungkook deserves better than her. He is everything a woman would want in a man. 

Jeon Jungkook is handsome, has a stable job as a graphics designer, has tattoos and piercings and is incredibly panty-dropping hot. He is respectful, sweet and doesn’t talk loudly. In other words, he is your ideal type of man. 

So, even when you were happy for your friend, you were a little bit jealous too. 

The second time was on Nayeon’s birthday.

She bragged about him all night to whoever decided to show up. You enjoyed the scene staying afar. 

The similarities between these two meets? Well, both of the times things were awkward. 

Especially because yours and Jungkook’s eyes met a lot more times than is socially acceptable. While you have hardly exchanged any words, you just knew things are going to be tense if you ever get to meet one-on-one. 

And that’s what is happening currently. 

“I- uh, hi.” you mutter awkwardly standing at the doorway of your friend’s home. 

“Hi, Y/N” your name rolls out of Jungkook’s tongue, sounding better than ever. The corner of his lips turn upwards into a charming smile and you suddenly feel jealous of Nayeon’s luck, yet again. 

“Is Nayeon home?” You try to take a look inside her apartment. In the meantime you feel Jungkook’s eyes boring into your skull and slowly dipping down, racking your figure.   

You want nothing more than to just hand the kimchi to your friend and run home. 

“No. She got called at work for some emergency. It’s just me.” Jungkook’s voice dips down a little and when you look at him, his eyes are full of mirth. 

“Oh. alright. I was actually visiting my mom and she packed some kimchi for Nayeon. Here.” you extend your hand for him to take the box. 

As he holds the small handle, his fingers overlap yours. You had to gulp once to resist the improper expression that was about to take over your face. 

“Thanks.” Jungkook whispers. 

“Not a big deal. I will take my leave now.” You turn your heels to leave the place only to be stopped by him. 

Jungkook’s hand wraps around your wrist a little too protectively, “why don’t you come in? Nayeon will be back in an hour or so.” 

His doe eyes turn bigger, as if he is pleading you to stay. 

Contemplating for a moment (and liking the way his hand feels on your skin), you voice, “should I?” 

“You know this place better than me.” Jungkook lets his remark sit in the tense air of the apartment. You chuckle at it while transferring the kimchi to Nayeon’s containers. 

“Yeah. I have been here for uncountable times already.” You add lightheartedly. Jungkook’s eyes stay focused on your figure as you work inside your friend’s kitchen so domestically.  

“But now that you have moved in, I will visit less. Don’t worry.” You speak again, finding him way too quiet. 

“What? No. I didn’t move in.” he chuckles, “We were just hanging out since it's the weekend but she got called.” 

“Oh. That’s bad.” 

“But I’m glad. Glad that you came.” again. Again that mischievous raspy voice that sends sparks through your body. 

You look up at Jungkook, finding him staring at you with a serious and somewhat dark expression. Not knowing what to do, you smile at him. 

“So.. are you seeing anyone currently?” He speaks with the same raspy voice. 

“Uh- no. not at this moment.” You reply, keeping the box of kimchi in the refrigerator. 

“That’s such a waste.” he says, taking tentative steps towards you. Eyes focusing on yours. 

“Waste? Of what?” you try to sound normal but your heart starts beating fast when Jungkook reaches close to you, gradually backing you up against the fridge. 

“Of this beautiful face. This- ” his eyes drop on your chest, “alluring body of yours.” 

“Jungkook-” 

“Honestly, I couldn’t take my eyes off you since the first day we met. I know it’s not morally right but I am a man after all. I DMed you on insta but you haven’t responded yet.” 

“Oh, I- I didn’t notice.” what the fuck! He dmmed you on insta??

“I was about to ghost your friend right after she introduced me to her friends but I stayed… because of you.” Jungkook’s mouth hovers right above your ear. His chest, now, touching yours. 

You lose your mind. All the sense of morals and rationals leave through the window of wants and needs. 

Your throat gets dry but you talk anyway, “why is that?” 

“Because I want you to be my favorite.” and then his lips are crashing into yours. You dive down into the feeling forgetting that you are making out with your friend’s boyfriend. 

“Fuck! How do you taste so good?” Jungkook moans into your cunt as he laps up every drop of arousal. 

“Jungko-” You groan in pleasure, finding it hard to keep your eyes open anymore. Your orgasm is only one step away. 

Jungkook presses the fat of his tongue on your clit as he forks two of his fingers inside your hole. Pressing down on one particular spot, he reaps out your orgasm from you. 

You let out a scream. 

“Shhh, baby. Do you want the neighbors to hear us even when the owner of the house is absent?” he teases you. 

But you are too gone to react to that.  

Jungkook sits on his knees on the bed, unbuckles his belt, pulls down his jeans and boxers at once and reveals his rock hard length. 

He pumps it twice using the lubrication of his spit before reaching for his discarded pants and fishing out a condom from it. 

When he is done with wrapping up his cock, he positions it on your already fucked out hole. 

“Can I enter?” he asks politely. 

Even though you know you will be overstimulated, you are greedy to have your friend’s hot boyfriend inside of you. So you nod a yes. 

And with that Jungkook enters you. 

He slides in smoothly at once. Giving you a little time to adjust, he starts moving. 

At first his pace is careful and mediocre but then it starts increasing bit by bit. One of Jungkook’s hands reaches for your throat, holding you there, not quite choking just yet. 

His other hand is busy playing with your clit to distract you from the inhumane pace he has adopted already. 

The bed starts creaking violently. Your moans know no bounds. Jungkook ain’t doing better as well. He keeps grunting and sprewling dirty shits in your ear. 

“I knew you would be a dirty slut the moment my eyes landed on you.” He says between the harsh thrusts. 

“Oh-fuc-junkoo-”

“Look at you, going dumb over your friend’s boyfriend’s dick, huh? Such a dirty cocksleeve!” his derogatory words bring out the best possible orgasm you have ever had. And you cum on his cock. 

“F-fuck! You cummed so much, you whore.” Jungkook groans cumming inside the condom himself. 

When you are done coming down from your high, shame comes crawling inside your mind. 

You just slept with your childhood friend’s boyfriend. You should just go and jump off a bridge or something. 

“This… This was completely wrong. We should have not. I - I am just fucking terrible.” You grab your hair out of shame lying naked in your friend’s bed. 

“Don’t worry. I was about to end things with her anyway.” He speaks casually, as if it’s no big deal to commit infidelity. 

Tossing the condom in the trash can (like he wants Nayeon to find out what he did) he says, “Shall we continue? Your place or mine?” 

You know you have fucked up a big time. 

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts x you #jungkook x you #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts #bts oneshot

[sickeninglyshoujo]

a/n: i saw the renders (you know the ones) and became feral with need for dad!ghost, other cod dads coming soon, sorry to my friends for being forced to read me word vomit this in chat over four hours. ao3 link coming soon warnings: pregnancy talk word count: 1.8k

Simon doesn’t like when the baby wears the skulls but you do because it reminds you of him

When he grew up he equated the skull mask to terror, the baby only has positive thoughts about it and gets excited seeing it yelling out “daddy!” if she sees the motif in public, mortifying Simon and delighting you. Onlookers growing even more concerned when you coo back, “Yes, that is daddy!” pointing to the Halloween display of a grim reaper statue.

I can tell you that Simon is a master at baby rearing

Simon would absolutely carry the baby under his arm like a football once her neck is strong enough even if you don’t like it because it’s more comfortable like that

It’s second nature to him somehow

Even when you’re stressed about the baby and can’t get her to stop crying somehow Simon just comes over and says the one thing you haven’t tried because he can differentiate between her cries

You were afraid about introducing the baby to Riley, but Simon wasn’t. “They live in the same flipping house, he has t’ get used to her!”

“But not when she’s newborn! Let her get a little bigger first!”

“No better time than now! She’ll never be afraid of him then and he’ll protect her!”

“They call them malingators for a reason!”

“Riley is a well-trained retired soldier. He’s not going to hurt the baby.”

The first meeting had Simon holding the baby in his arms and stooping down to Riley’s level, Riley nosing at the baby’s sock-covered feet hanging from Simon’s arms, sniffing excitedly. You stood above Simon, wringing your hands together, ready to jump in between the two at a moment's notice.

“This is your baby sister, Riley,” Simon instructed the dog whose ears moved, listening to his master’s voice, “She’s your new assignment, boy.”

“Bloodthirsty, isn’ he?” Simon asked you with a grin as the dog yawned and stayed calmly seated, beginning to lick at the baby's booties.

“Shut it, Si.”

Riley is the baby’s shadow. If she so much as sniffles he’s darting across the house trying to find out what’s wrong. It’s like Simon’s watching over her even when on missions 

Simon hates that the dog is named Riley because he thinks it’s stupid and is constantly begging to rename the dog. You refuse because you like the constant reminder of your husband. It doesn't matter that he shares the family name.

When you first bring the baby home from the hospital Simon is in constant awe at how tiny she is. Like a little doll he keeps telling you to the point he sounds like a broken record

Simon constantly worried about baby being cold 2k24 and always has a blankie in the diaper bag or draped over the baby carrier.

After missions he would look for you first when he came home before stripping off the dirt and grime of missions and now it’s the baby. He used to think you were his reason to keep trying to save the world and now it’s her. It only stings a little but that is soothed when you see the awe in his face when she coos at him from her crib

It isn’t long before Simon is trying to get you to agree to try for another “Jus’ one more love,” he'll mutter into your neck after the baby is put down for the night and you two have retired to your bedroom only to be batted away weakly

“Oh no, Si! No more babies and no more sex! Not if you’re going to talk like that!”

“But yer such a good mum. We should have a houseful.”

Simon would petition you to quit your job because it’s bad enough the baby has to deal with him being gone on missions they shouldn’t have their mum gone too

“I make more ‘an enough for you to stay home with her!”

“The money isn’t the point, Si,” You coo at the baby on your lap, “I don’t need to be a housewife and I like working!”

You giggle whenever the other 141 men are over because they will carry the diaper bag slung over their shoulder and completely at odds with their uniforms.

It heats your cheeks to watch your burley husband in full military uniform when you greet him on base, bouncing your baby on his hips, playfully pulling her hands away when she gets too close to a switch or something she shouldn't touch, particularly when other women notice him too

It would swell your chest with pride when you and Si were out with the baby and he’d get longing looks from women when he was doing dadly things like pushing the stroller or rifling through the diaper bag for her bottle or burp cloth. 

“You have to have seen the way women look at you when you’re carrying the baby.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You’re practically tormenting them, Si! And me too! You’re all big and tough! You’re in uniform or in a compression shirt and then you’re holding onto her in just your arm while she can’t even wrap a hand around one of your fingers!”

Simon doesn’t understand your point, “I’m tormenting you?”

Heat flushes your cheeks, “I like watching you be a dad to our daughter.”

The baby has essentially four dads as all of 141 takes care of the baby when they come to visit on leave

You worry about them spoiling her, “She’ll get too used to being held Si!”

“Then damn well let ‘er!”

“What about when they leave!”

“You think they’re leaving?! Soaps brought a bloody duffel!”

Because when you have the baby Captain Price, Soap, and Gaz are all going to visit. Moving into your cramped guest room for easily the first month after the baby’s born, Gaz and Soap fighting over who gets the futon and who has to share the bed with the Captain.

They need to see the baby!

They never thought Si would settle down but that was before you and your endless patience with the grumpy military man set in his ways.

You didn’t miss when Price clapped him on the shoulder after Simon showed off the baby for the first time, “You did well, Son.”

“Thank god she got the missus’ looks!” Soap crowed, “I was worried she’d get L.t.’s ugly mug!”

“I was hoping she would Johnny,” you peer down at the baby in Simon’s arms and trace a finger down her cheek, “She did get his eyes though. You know those were the first thing I noticed when we started talking, Si? How sad your eyes were.”

“Don’ have “sad eyes”.”

“I thought you did. And you were wearing that silly skull balaclava too, so I couldn’t very well fall in love with your chiseled jaw or the cute scar on your lip,” Soap and Gaz howled in laughter, missing the dirty looks from Ghost (You did too, eyes entirely on your daughter swaddled in a soft terry blanket in her father’s arms)

“Hey L.t. let me give you a few more scars for the missus to kiss!” Gaz ribbed

You never minded patching Simon up after missions. It gave you an excuse to ogle your husband in detail. Even before you were married, he’d tried to wave you off when you’d dab at the blood encrusted cuts and then flush when after taking care of the ones on his arms, much less when he stretched and took off his shirt for you to do the ones on his chest too. Thankfully he didn’t notice your brain shorting as you forgot how to breathe when you saw how heavily muscled and tattooed he was, culminating in an audible gasp as your eyes took in his happy trail and Adonis belt. 

“You ok?”

“Y-yeah just banged my foot on the tub.”

He’d later recount this to Soap who nearly banged his head on the wall at how dense Ghost was being

“An’ you wen’ home after that!”

“Yes Johnny, I had PT the next morning and had to ship out that night.”

He let out a string of curses, “The lass likes you and probably was hoping you’d stay the night wi’ her!”

“MacTavish,” Simon warned.

“She let you take off your clothes in her bathroom and then cleaned you up! Lasses don’t do that for cheeky cunts they don’ like!”

You miss him when he’s on missions of course, but it’s easier once you have Riley and then the baby. It’s like you have piece’s of him with you

Si is a beige mom but instead of beige it’s gray. You try and explain the importance of the bright colors in developing the baby’s eyesight but Si just mutters something about no baby of his is going to look like a muppet

Riley used to sleep at the foot of your bed but now he sleeps by the crib. You don’t know when he learned how to work door knobs but it happened somewhere between the third trimester and birth. Now you have to coax him into your room if you miss Si and want to cuddle Riley

You’ve given up on trying to keep Riley out of the nursery and instead just tut when you find dog hairs on the baby. 

Riley is the ever-patient soldier with the baby, letting her pull on his tail and ears, tugging on (and sometimes removing) his fur, all while happily wagging his tail at being used as a jungle gym

When the baby starts toddling and skins her knees, Si can’t help but scoop her up before the first tear leaves her eye “Si you’re spoiling her!” “She hurt herself, I can’ just let her cry” “She hadn't even cried yet!” “She was abou’ to”

Simon is an over attentive dad because he doesn’t want his baby to suffer the same way he did 

Si rolls his eyes whenever you  tell him not to throw the baby in the air because he’ll drop her but he knows his reflexes are superhuman and he’d catch her

SI doesn’t baby talk and will discuss the finer parts of gun mechanics and maintenance with your infant as she gums on a teether.

When she’s older, Si buys her a pellet gun for Christmas and hides it from you until unwrapped on Christmas morning

By the time it’s in her hands you know you’ve lost

He ignores your dirty glance that says “We’ll talk about this later”

As she grows up she starts talking about joining the SAS like her daddy and you’re filled with fear while Si encourages it. Starts taking her training with him much to your horror, first on short jogs around the neighborhood, then to the gym proper to teach her how to throw a punch. She quickly becomes the star of the base, with all the men calling her “Recruit”

“Nothing dangerous yet Si I mean it!”

“She asks for it!”

“She is a child and you are her father! You’re supposed to be the voice of reason!”

“The voice of reason says she might as well be trained right if she wants it!”

a/n: likes/reblogs/comments appreciated please talk to me about dad!ghost i cant contain myself

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #grave writes

[squirmhoney]

Bully! Ex-bestfriend Rafe Cameron (Drabble)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warning: Smut. Dark. Non-Con. Dub-con. Slight Violence Fingering. Pet names. Possessive! Rafe 18+ MDNI

A/N: I might post another part to this but here is just a small drabble. Support me through my Ko-Fi linked here.

Rafe was your bully. Your tormentor.

But first he had been your best friend.  

Years before you would have been surprised to have yourself in this situation. Draped over Rafe Cameron’s lap, with your skirt hiked up and panties wrapped around your ankles. 

But this was just how things were now. 

“Rafe,” you let out in a strangled whimper, fighting to keep your emotions at bay. “What are you-“ 

You felt your words catch in your throat as he slapped his hand against your bare ass cheek, squealing at the feel of his cold rings bruising your skin. 

This made him chuckle and he did it again, laughing at the sound you made at the impact. 

“Don’t be a baby,” he mocked, smoothing his hand across the sensitive skin. “See, isn't that nice?” 

You were trembling on his lap, still struggling with how you found yourself in this position. But you guess it was easy for Rafe, everyone was so willing to turn a blind eye as he yanked you into an empty room at the party. 

“I said-“ He grabbed a handful of your hair, twisting your head backwards so you could look at him. His grip was tight, causing a stinging pain in your skull and you thought if he pulled any tighter he might actually snap your neck. “-isn’t that nice?” 

You nodded, agreeing with him. 

“Words, Princess.” 

“Yes, that feels nice, Rafe.” 

He was satisfied then, letting go of your hair and reaching back down between your thighs. 

You knew it was wrong but when he touched your folds, you were wet. It had been impossible not to have been, Rafe had cornered you an hour before practically rubbing his thigh against you for anyone to see. 

“Already soaked for me,” he sighed, spreading your wetness around your pussy. “Just how you should always be.” 

It was then he slipped a finger inside your spongy walls, curling it inside of you until you let out a lewd whimper. You bit down on your lip to cover up any other noises, embarrassed by the way he had you feeling.

“Nuh uh, princess,” he told you, using his free hand to spank you again. This time it was harsher, a warning. “I want to hear those pretty noises you make.” 

“I’m sorry,” you turned to look back at him, with watery eyes. 

“That’s okay. Just do as I say and everything will be fine,” he reassured you. 

But as Rafe thrusted another finger inside you, making you gasp, you didn’t feel reassured. You felt hopeless, succumbing to him even after months of trying to steer clear from him. 

However, you had known Rafe since diapers and when he wanted something, he got it. 

And right now that thing was you. 

“You still a virgin?” Rafe wondered, slipping a third finger inside you. 

Your walls clenched around his fingers and you were unsure if it was because of the comment or the extra finger he had managed to squeeze inside your sopping pussy. 

“With how tight you are, there’s no way you’re not,” he chuckled. “Of course, I also made sure no one else would set foot in a mile radius of you.” 

“What?” 

You wanted to think about what he just said, but with each push of his fingers you felt your head spinning. And there was only one thing you could really focus on. 

“I’m going to- Rafe.” 

“It’s okay, baby,” Rafe hushed you, feeling his cock twitch in his pants at the way your fingers gripped his walls. 

“Rafe,” you let out in the lewdest moan, feeling yourself gushing around him. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, rolling you over to where you could properly see him. 

He was grinning a wide toothy grin at you, satisfied with your fucked out expression. 

“What did you mean?” You asked him between harsh breaths. “When you said about no man stepping within a mile radius of me?” 

He was sucking at his fingers, drinking all your juices left there. 

“Rafe?”

Your glassy eyes stared back up at him, starting to realise you were more trapped than ever. But maybe you always had been, you had just been too naive to realise. 

He chuckled again, tapping his fingers against your head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You know I don’t let people touch my property,” Rafe cupped your cheek, tapping it light enough for it not to sting but hard enough to know how serious he was being. “And you’ve always been mine, Y/N. From that moment you made that pinky promise with me when we were kids.”

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron smut #dark rafe cameron

[teamblck]

the 141 as dads

captain john price-

• this man is would be such a good dad

• we all know for a fact this man has a breeding kink so i see him having like 3/4 kids

• waking up early in the morning and eating bowls of cereal watching old cartoon re runs with them

• would start smoking outside or exclusively in his office because he doesn’t want that around them

• type of dad in his retirement to coach his kids football/soccer team

• the best for laying the child on his chest, humming as they fall asleep

• would be super interested in what his children’s interest are (this goes for all of them but i’m putting it here)

• takes his kids on camping and fishings trips

• loves to play hide-n-seek with his kids

• his kids would mock his actions and stand in front of the tv with his hands behind his back, and when they are napping on the couch his kid would also start snoring cause we all know this man snores LOUDLY

• type of dad whenever his kids mention they like eating something once he buys like 5 boxes of it

• would cry they say their first word no matter what is is

• loves taking them to the park

kyle ‘gaz’ garrick-

• okay literally the best dad ever

• i could see him with like 2 or 3 kids

• MATCHING OUTFITS

• if he had girls he would 1000% learn all kind of cute braid styles for them

• when he found out his spouse was pregnant he would be shocked but happy and would immediately buy 100 what to expect when you’re expecting books

• would hate when he kids got into trouble cause he would hate laying the law down but would sit them down and talk every calm but firm

• then would go into another room and be like 🥺

• would NEVER get angry with his kids

• all the mothers would flirt with him in the pickup line at school and he just ignores it

• he thinks his children deserve the entire world

• his kids call Price grandpa

• will blow raspberries on their stomachs until they they can’t stop giggling

• takes 1000 photos of his kids doing anything and then spam sends them to his spouse

• got so nauseous the first time he changed a diaper

• family halloween outfits

john ‘soap’ mactavish-

• such a fun dad

•pillow forts

• ice cream for breakfast

• if he had a son/sons he would cut their hair in the mohawk style as well

• would want so many children omg

• he comes from a big family so i think he would want one as well

• but if his spouse didn’t want a big family he would be okay with it

• if you’ve watched modern family he would be like phil dunphy

• would put his kids on those kid leashes whenever they go anywhere

• i feel like one thing he would struggle with is saying no to his children

• would always help them with their math and science homework

• type of dad to do push ups while his kids are sitting in his back and they are all giggling

• the proudest dad ever! is at every dance recital or sports game or talent show and if he can’t be (because of his job) he would ask all about it when he got home and even if they did poorly he would still tell them how proud of them he is and go her ice cream

•TICKLE FIGHTS

• it would also tear him up if couldn’t be there during a special event for his children

• i also feel like he would cry at major life milestones

• if his children/kid are into sports all you can hear at games is him yelling across the field

simon ‘ghost’ riley-

• GIRL DAD SIMON GIRL DAD SIMON GIRL DAD SIMON

• just imagine him with a pink baby holder strapped to his chest

• he would be such a good father omg

• with his past with his father he would be super scared at first but then as he’s holding this tiny infant he would get angry (not at child obviously) cause how could anyone treat their child the way his father treated him?

• would be super protective of his children (i mean all of them would tbh)

• as cute as it is for the baby to wear little skull head clothing, i don’t think he would want his children knowing ‘Ghost’.

• i think one thing he would struggle with is when his kids throw tantrums when it’s over something ridiculous like he wouldn’t let them pull their siblings hair or eat something gross off the floor and he doesn’t know how to deal with them. he doesn’t want to get to firm and scare them and he doesn’t want to give into such ridiculous things so he would kinda back away and look at you for help

• his kids would 1000% get his accent

• loves to lift them up with his arms, whooshing them around like they are a super hero

• has tea parties with his kids and their stuffed animals on a regular basis

• such a big softie for his children/child are you kidding me

• his children/kid use him as like a jungle gym and are usually hanging off his arms

• would never tell them what he does for work and when they ask he would just say ‘work’

i would give any of these men children or all of them

let me know if you have any feedback!!

#call of duty hc #call of duty mwii #gaz call of duty #call of duty mw3 #soap call of duty #john soap mactavish hc #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price headcanons #captain price x reader #captain price #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon ghost riley #john price #johnny mactavish

[vivianthepigeon]

Incorrect Trolls Quotes

John Dory: “I have a vivid memory of you walking into my room-”

Branch: “don’t you dare”

John Dory: “-As a toddler

Branch: “don’t you dare!”

John Dory: “in only a diaper. And picking a marble up off my floor and holding it out like the skull of Yorick, In Hamlet and putting it as far down your throat as possible, and me reaching my whole entire arm into your esophagus to pull the marble out and save your life.”

Branch laughing: “Save my life?!”

#excuse my grammar #source: tiktok #trolls band together #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #trolls #trolls movie #trolls headcanon #incorrect trolls quotes #trolls band together incorrect quotes #trolls au #trolls fanfic #trolls hc #branch trolls #john dory trolls #brozone hc #brozone trolls #clay trolls #bruce trolls #floyd trolls #brozone #brozone au #trolls fandom #trolls meme #trolls 3 trolls band together #poppy trolls #viva trolls #brozone headcanons #brozone fanfic #source: Billie and Fineas

[lethalchiralium]

Drag Me Under | Happiness Series

a/n: ITS THE LAST POST BEFORE THE NEW YEARS!

warnings: mentions of drugging

summary: One moment, you’re home - the next? You’re somewhere you don’t recognize with people you don’t recognize either, holding one of your most precious valuables.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

There’s Simon, the cuddly man who adores being a girl dad and being a good husband. He’s quiet, he smiles, he loves holding either of his daughters for long periods of time - you’d be surprised if Mellie even learns to walk. He loves to kiss your head, loves to hold you, loves to be near you.

He plays dolls, he does tea parties, begrudgingly dresses up when asked by Winnie, but he still does it all with a smile on his face. He brushes little teeth in the morning and night, he changes diapers before you could ever try to, he hates tying his daughter’s shoes since she cries about leaving home and her toys. He kisses skinned knees, fingers bitten by Mellie, and stubbed toes.

That’s your Simon.

So when you come home crying from what was supposed to be a “day off” to go shopping and a spa day, Simon is there. He took one look at you when you came in the front door, four hours too early, he knew something was wrong. He put the baby in her bouncer, gently patted Winnie’s head, and made his way to you.

His hands touched your elbows, your hands were up shielding your face. His hands slid up, pulling yours away to look at your tear-stained face. You told him what happened, that a man harassed you at the coffee shop you went to right before you were meant to go to the spa. You quietly repeated what he said through tears and soft sobs, not wanting to describe how the man touched your back, but still detailing how he followed you - how you remembered what Simon said, wove through back streets until you found a tram and made your way home.

It’s not the first time you’ve been harassed, but it was one of the scariest. You wrapped around arms around your husband’s neck, expecting him to mold right to your body but he didn’t. His hands settled on your cheek and hip, a chaste kiss on your ear before he said he needed to go out for a pack of cigarettes.

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that you found a fresh pack on the kitchen counter, just out of reach of the girls. His wallet, his keys, both on the tile far out of reach - two things were missing from his “pile”. His knife, which has your first date with Simon etched on the side, and a balaclava with a skull painted onto its face.

The man who left your house wasn’t Simon, you knew that for sure when hours after you had put the girls to bed, there was a soft knock on the front door. Three, pause, one, pause, two. The man you opened the door to had bloody knuckles, a ripped shirt, and prideful eyes.

You moved aside, closing the front door and watching the anomaly as it observed you, brown eyes detailing your face. The man who stood in your front hallway, coated in blood on his stomach and arms was called Ghost.

You were always weary of Ghost. Simon disappears under his armor to be someone else, something else - a machine. Well oiled, maintained, and reliable. No feelings, they only get in the way. Ghost was the monster your husband was made to be, but Simon was the man you made into a husband. So when you pulled off the balaclava to a smile full of red, blood beginning to drip from his teeth - your heart sank. Like a dog, he shows you his injuries so you can take pride in them. But you don’t.

“What did you do?”

“I-“

“No.” You shook like a leaf, you weren’t scared that he was going to hurt you - you were scared he had killed someone. For you. “Why did you do that?”

“He touched you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t tell you that.”

“Your body did.”

You fought tears then.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What did you do to him?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that you were scared. And it doesn’t take much to see how the armor began to be broken, that Simon was slowly peeking through.

“I didn’t kill him.” He said, hand gently resting on your arm. “He’ll be spending a couple days in hospital, he learned his lesson.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “But no one gets away with making you cry.”

•••

“She’s pretty.”

A cold hand touched your chin, you could barely move a muscle in your body. Your chest clenched with anxiety. Where were you? Who was talking? It sounded nothing like König’s Austrian accent, or anyone else you knew. Not any of the 141, no man you’ve ever heard.

“Did you get that baby to sleep?”

You felt sick at that exact second. Where was Mellie? Why couldn’t you open your eyes? You were holding her before… Oh god. Someone had gotten into the house, you were dragged out with Mellie - right past a bleeding out König. Nausea settled into your stomach like heavy ink, coating everything.

“Out like a light. Nothing a little morphine doesn’t fix.”

You could’ve thrown up at that second if it wasn’t for your body responding to any attempt to move, the air you took in to breathe was little. What did they give me? Why did they take Mellie? Is Winnie okay? Oh god, König. Laswell. Roach. Please have my daughter. Please save this one too.

“Boss said to leave them down here, right?”

“Yep. She should be waking up soon anyway.” There a slight chuckle. “Shame he won’t let us have our way like he usually does.”

“Apparently this one’s special, or whatever.”

“Sure. She’s married to a special forces operator. Boss knows which one, hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“The guy MI6?”

There’s a creak, a door slamming above you.

“Shit, he’s back already.”

“Let’s go. They’re fine.”

Creaking, more movement until a door opened, slammed shut, and there was a sharp metal thud - it sounded like a deadbolt. You could barely feel your fingers as you listened to the conversation upstairs, it seemed the floor was incredibly thin.

“Are they asleep?”

Lloyd.

Your thoughts were instantly engulfed in flames even though you were freezing cold; the ink turned to oil, your nausea turning into anger. Lloyd fucking Riley. Your father in law was behind this. Then it clicked. He was casing the house when he knocked. Laswell appearing must have thrown him off. He must have wanted to kidnap you himself.

It took all of your might, but your eyes sluggishly opened - your sight blurry, but you could see for the most part. The room you were in was dark, the only light seeping through was from the ceiling - in between rotting floorboards. You could see exactly where the men were standing; all right above you. You couldn’t tell feel much else, but at least you could see and hear. What did they drug you with? Hopefully the morphine they gave Mellie wasn’t enough to hurt her.

“Good.” A laugh. “She’s a darling little thing.”

“What, the baby?”

“Yes. And she’s beautiful too.”

“She is. Not sure why you’re not letting us-“

A step forward, four feet take a step back. “Touch her and I’ll slit your throats.” Silence for just a beat, boot snapped against a shin. “She is my plaything.” He then snapped in Russian, which you couldn’t understand a thing.

You tried not to be an angry person. You were committed to showing your girls that anger isn’t the answer. But it festered like a fever, slowly yet throughly seeping through your muscles. If anything happened to your daughter, you had no idea what you would do. Anything short of murder - you couldn’t even think of taking someone else’s life. That was Simon’s job.

Simon. Oh God, Simon.

There was hushed talking above you, you struggled to look around the room, trying to find your baby. Cardboard boxes, filled to the brim bins, a bookshelf with a broken shelf.

Find what you can use as a weapon. Nothing is off limits. If it can be used to stun or incapacitate your enemy, use it. Don’t let it go unless you have to. You could hear Simon speaking to you. He’d be here if he knew. You’d be out of here if he knew.

It’s okay. Stay calm. Find Melody.

You forced your legs to move, one by one and over the edge of the bed, you clenched your fists as best you could to gain more feeling in your arms. They definitely drugged you more intensely than they could have Mellie, it made you nauseous. You were able to sit up, your head spun and you fought to keep yourself from throwing up. You forced yourself to stand, you took a glance around. The closest things to you were a cardboard box, a broken laundry basket, and a ripped towel. You peered into the large cardboard box pushed against the wall and your shoulders dropped, anxiety flushed out of your chest as you instantly reached down to your sleeping daughter. “Oh Mellie baby.” Your weak arms scooped your sleeping baby, you kept her firmly against your chest as you moved back to the bed. You checked her over, making note that she wasn’t hurt - only a needle mark in her arm. It made you sick.

You kept her there in your arms for an hour, listening to hushed voices with fear in your heart. She barely woke up, forehead still warm - her fever having not broken yet. She was clammy. You were more terrified of your baby dying than you could ever be of the situation you were in.

You put Mellie on your bed for a few minutes after the first hour of being awake so you could scavenge the room for something, anything that they may have brought for you or Mellie. All you found was one of your old diaper bags with a handful of diapers, one bottle, half a bag of wipes and no medicine. You dumped it out into the raggedy quilt on the bed, pulling out all of the pockets with tears of worry in your eyes. You had nothing for her. You put what you had away, then returned to your spot - Mellie in your arms as she quietly slept.

The footsteps grew louder after a few minutes, then a door was opened - it sounded like the one at the top of the stairs. You held your baby even closer to your chest, pulling your legs up and trying to make her seem invisible. You watched as the figure you dreaded appeared - a distinctly harsher looking Lloyd Riley. He had cleaned himself up to case your house, now he was dressed in thick flannels, dark pants, and tattered boots. Clearly bundled up to fight the cold while you were left in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, your daughter in a thin onesie.

He reached the bottom of the steps, a sick smirk tugged at his lips before he spoke. “You lied to me.”

You didn’t say a word.

“You are married to my son. You’re my daughter-in-law.” He smiled. “You’re a Riley.”

Your baby moved her arm, you didn’t look down.

“That baby of yours looks so much like my Tommy when he was that small. Can I hold her?”

“No.”

“She speaks.”

“I need medicine.”

Lloyd’s arms crossed, you felt your chest grow tight with fear. “What for?”

“My baby is sick.” Your voice was quieter than before, anxiety settled in heavy increments in your body. “I almost broke the fever but then you fucking took us from our home.”

Lloyd took a step back, nodding slightly. “Fine. That’s the only thing you get to ask for.”

“I don’t care if I don’t get to ask for anything else. She needs medicine.”

He doesn’t say a thing, only turning and walking back up the steps. You heard the door slam, the deadbolt click, and the creaking footsteps. You would’ve used your energy to keep listening to him, but your daughter began to stir in your arms. You looked down at her, silent tears ran down your face.

Simon, please hurry.

•••

“Hey darling, you didn’t answer my calls yesterday or today. I know I’m probably reading too much into it and being paranoid, I’m just worried.

“I um- I’ll be going dark for a few days, and I’d like to hear your voice before then. So call me back when you can, yeah?

“I love you. Kiss the girls for me.”

Simon ended the voicemail, pulling the phone from his ear before slipping it into his pocket. The cigarette between his fingers felt heavy as he pulled it up to his lips, taking a long drag before flicking it onto the ground. He ground the cigarette butt into the tarmac before he pulled his balaclava back down, his hands gripped the rifle attached to his front.

He normally would keep his phone in his locker, but now he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He walked towards the overhang, where Soap stood with a concerned look.

“No answer?”

Simon fished the phone out from his pocket, handing it to his sergeant. “No. She’s busy with the baby.” His friend gave him a look, one Simon knew wouldn’t go away until he investigated further. But Simon was confident in the security of three operators in his home. “She’s fine. Laswell would call me and tell me if she wasn’t.”

“I gotta bad feelin’, LT.”

“Your bad feelings have been wrong before.” He stared at Soap, annoyed. He wasn’t more anxious than he already was about leaving them, why is everyone making such a big deal about it? “Soap-“

“Hurry up, Soap, put that phone in your locker.” Price barked as he marched in between Simon and the sergeant, Soap gave him one last look before disappearing back into the barracks. Price was quickly followed by Gaz, who waved for Simon to follow as well.

“Shit.” He muttered, knowing he was late. “What happened?”

“Spotted one of the goons near Piccadilly Circus.” Gaz answered, Simon began to jog towards them. “Overwatch thinks they have eyes on their hideout.”

“Let’s go get ‘em, then.”

taglist:

@idkwtftitbh

@blingblong55

@local-spidey

@sanfransolomitatm

@frazie99

@Awilan

@cosmoscoffeee

@khadeejarh

@babygirl-riley

@emi-flaces

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Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

#happiness series #happiness #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon riley x f!reader

[callsignvenomcod]

a soft life

Prompt: Retired! Simon Riley. A slow life in a Manchester farm.

warning: mentions of PTSD, mentions of cartel related violence, mentions of violence, MDNI.

PS: Opening line is from the book "Jarhead" (2001) by Anthony Swofford.

______________________________________________________________

A story.

A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterwards he returns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he's finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son's diaper; his hands remember the rifle.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

For a long time, it was hard to convince himself he deserved to grow old. It might have been a given fact to some other people but not for those in the military, not for Ghost, at least; not after Tommy and Beth, or Las Almas or Johnny. It took him a lot of time to be grateful to be almost 40. For several reasons, he never saw himself living past 20.

And now he was opening up the crates of the chickens he kept in his very own farm, a piece of land he actually owned, without a mask on, very far away from the bullet sounds and a barrack, from the mud and the camo, away from everything and everyone, not sound in the horizon but the chickens and Riley, the border collie dog he got, barking at a three somewhere in the distance.

He retired the summer he turned 40, there was a ceremony and everything, with Laswell and Price and he got more chest candy that would eventually end up in a wooden chest, never to be seen again, under the bed. There wasn't a reason, he just had to. He was in his prime, physically, but his mind was made of glass lately, everything rubbed him the wrong way, couldn't even train recruits without snapping too hard at them, making them quit, yell at them too much, scare them too much, beat them up to a pulp too much.

Every man in the military had a story. A life before, a life after. And in the middle, sand, or mud, or just camo. A war that last years, a mission that lasts hours. Silence and nosie.

He, like other recruits, like other Sergeants, Lieutenants, Colonels, had shadows over them. It took months for him to stop looking over his shoulder while doing the big shop on a sunday, started going to those overnight groceries store to shop alone instead. The butcher's reminded him both of his adolescence and the carnage he had caused, flinched whenever he saw a mohawk kid walking down the street, looked twice sometimes only to find a stranger.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets, aye.

He turned in his paperwork and retired silently with lots of medals under his name, lots of dead men and probably women under his knife, missing friends, missing nerves and too scarred to be a model now. Ha.

Oh, and Y/N's wanted to get away at some point anyway.

Y/N. The last drink he never should have had, the cut that made him hide his face, and the party that made him feel his age. Pulp's words, not his. All it took was a few nights shopping at the Tesco she was working in as a cashier, late night shift, for them to become acquainted.

A year of mutual pinning, a single night in which Y/N placed the bourbon bottle and the batteries inside of the paper bag and looked up at Simon, change in hand (because he paid in cash always, no traces behind) and smiled at him. COVID had made it easier to transition from the skull balaclava to a medical mask and then to a bare face, so Simon looked at her behind the black medical mask and stared at her while she opened her mouth.

-Why do bees have sticky hair?

Simon blinked, looking down at her. -Pardon?

No line behind him. It was the first time the cashier talked to him other than "Goodnight" and "Drive safe", or "It will be 5.66, please". There was a faraway sound of some sort of 80's American pop music, something to pass time by. Simon had noticed her since the first time he came into this very same Tesco a few months ago, had noticed how she sang along whatever music was on, how her Tesco blue uniform looked too big on her, making her look insanely small and slinky. He noticed how she was always almost without a medical mask and whenever she used it, it was laced around her chin; he noticed short, clean nails, and a heart necklace over her chest, a pair of dazzling dove eyes, full hips, a belly.

He really noticed the full hips.

The girl fucking giggled and repeated. She must had a bit of Irish in her judging by the sound of her accent. Simon felt as awkward as a teenage boy in front of any girl ever -Why do bees have sticky hair?

The man shook his head, still confused, a quid in his hand.

-Because they use a honeycomb.

Ah, a woman after his own heart. Such a lame joke.

He snorted out a laugh.

It simply slipped and he memorized the name tag before grabbing his shopping bag and shaking his head, hearing her giggle behind him as he exited the store, and he came back two days later after convincing himself he needed two jars of red bean jam instead of the usual one.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

And now she sleeps here; and Simon had stared at her sleeping form wondering how much time it would take for her to start hating his way of loving, of being, how many times he would go silent on the phone, a bad texter, a worst caller, how he hated crowded places and loud noises and most of their dates happened in her flat, when her roommate was out, staring silently at a film on TV, her friends thinking she's getting her brains fucked out by an experienced, older, lust thirst Vet when in reality, Ghost was gathering up the courage to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

And now she sleeps here.

In the crook of his neck, his thigh over his hip, wild hair all over the bed, sometimes inside his mouth because he stopped using a mask a while ago.

In the mornings, tangled in their bed, warm sheets, the soft breeze of Riley sleeping under the bed, her sweet sweat and vanilla scented skin under his, it took Simon a few seconds to realize he was sleeping in the company of someone; in the arms of a woman and in his own bed, a king size bed with soft white sheets that were washed and changed every 5 days, not a twin bed in a barrack, that his years of active service were over, not forgotten, as if, but that he could allow himself to become whatever he might end up becoming if the 141 didn't happened.

-Come here, boy. Come here, Riley. Yeah, yeah...- said Simon scrunching down to caress right behind Riley's ear, the dog sticking out his long tongue and barking of joy mixed with the hyper sense of his breed, the soldier being careful not to break the eggs he held in a small basket. Simon had found him a puppy a few months ago, seemed like years really, in a litter box with 6 of his brothers and sisters, a beat-up cardboard sign reading "For adoption." And Simon picked up the only one with a lazy ear. He knew deep down that Y/N would appreciate that and simply put him in the passenger seat of the black Bronco truck he owned and drove all the way back home. -You're up early, eh? You having breakkie with us?

He had fallen into a comfortable routine now. He would wake up, crawl over Y/N's sleeping figure, careful not to wake her with the crack of dawn, 5AM with the BBC on his headphones, a 6'2 shadow jogging through the hills of the outskirts of Manchester, for an hour only the dark of the road, the eventual baby blue of the sky, the warmth of the sun. Sometimes Riley was up for it, sometimes he stood behind cuddled up in their room. And upon his return he would work out in their driveway for another hour, noticing the growing presence of what the media now called a "Dad Bod" (Y/N's words, not him) and eventually hearing soft barefoot steps coming from the room.

There was tea for two before he had to head out, get some tasks done, and a soft kiss hanging from Y/NS plush lips, and he would always try to push it, try his luck. He would smile against it, whispering "Good morning..." with a lazy voice, hands on Y/N's full hips, kneading them, in need of them, and Simon would press up with hard on against her stomach, while deepening the kiss.

It never failed to make her wet. It never failed to make her forget the kettle on the fire for a minute and simply give into his kiss, his embrace; him, overall. Simon would pick her up, easily, laid her on the counter, and her robe would open for him, with or without his help, and she was always so wet for him, so ready to do it.

-Simon...- she will say. - Breakfast...

And he wasted no time into twisting her words, dropping to his knees as if he was in the presence of a saint, of a virgin, of the end of the world, staring at her glistening cunt first thing in the morning, looking up with the adoration she deserved; she would gulp and argue it was not what she meant but she would recoil and whimper when Simon stuck his tongue inside his cunt anyway, overlapping her folds, blissfully eating her out before the sun was completely out.

The dog kept barking all the way down to the house, past the barn and the driveway, the small stable with the one horse they had, the pen he was building to eventually own sheep, and Simon felt the cold breeze of the early morning seeping through his black knit sweater and his jean jacket, as he walked all the way across the grass fields and into his porch, the swinging chair Y/N liked to read in, in a need of a reparation.

-Right...- he whispered to himself seeing the hammer he left outside to remind himself to fix the damn chair, bloody hell. Riley's nose peeked through the front door, opening it with ease and technique allowing themselves in, and the cold of the outside world was quickly gone.

Simon stepped into a cozy home, with a color palette he would have never picked, all warm yellows and oranges, pinks and whites, and soft cushions, warm blankets, a picknick turntable in the coffee table; and music, soft music he didn't recognize coming from it, a spinning record on it with yellow and pink lyrics, a girl signing about a loved one, and another voice, a present one, horribly trying to sing along.

He snorted out a laugh when Riley started barking and the voice was interrupted abruptly.

-Simon?...- Radio silence. -Babe?

Oh, the sound of his name in her mouth.

He crossed his living room, stepping into the kitchen, holding four eggs in a small bowl, one from each hen they owned, and he stood in the door frame, just a tad taller than him, admiring the view. He had endured white missions in the Russian winter, literal months of the gruesome torture and gory tasks and they all suddenly made sense because there was a girl.

Ah, there was a girl, alright.

Today was English breakfast. No peas for him, no sausages for her. It was stereotypical but easy to make and no one was around to judge them anyway. Next house was a few miles down the road, and even the road was far away, the town was a 30-minute ride. It was their little bit of heaven. The man stepped in, handing her the basket like every other day and kissed her temple, as she grilled some tomatoes slice ups leaning back against him. His hands would find her hips again and she would yawn with intimacy, hair still a mess, thighs still sticky. -Teas on the table, love. It's gone get cold.

-Ah, it's alright...- he said, hugging her tightly, as she kept leaning on him. -Slow morning today, eh...

She had been there and stuck around whenever the PTSD started acting up. She was the one that loved him when he started going fucking mental; and stuck around when she found her burning up SAS gear, a lost look in his eyes as he did so. He would throw in a Ghost mask and watch it burn for a moment, before murmuring a shocked sob and reaching out into the flames to retrieve it. She stuck around while he drank too much bourbon sitting on the porch, skull mask on, his dogs' tags held so tightly his knuckles will go white with force. Y/N even stuck around when the nightmares came, and she would wake up to Ghost whimpering on his side of the bed, breaking a cold sweat, his jaw tight and her brows furrowed, screaming out "Johnny! Johnny!" before waking up in tears, in raged hot tears down his cheeks, short of breath, his head a full of bullet noises and sirens wailings, pictures of his team and the blood and the grease paint. A mess. A shaking shadow.

Every October 11, she will make sure to hold him a little tighter, kiss him a little softer, love him, if it was possible, a little louder.

And she was here now, cooking breakfast, no peas for him; now he was living a soft life, with tea every morning, and a dog named Riley, with soft hands that wondered around his chest whenever he thought about Soap too much, about Gaz and that helo. But she was here now, and she had no sausages today, as they sat down on their small chair in their small kitchen in their small farm. He was living a soft life, and he didn't think of himself as worthy of it, but he must have been done something good to have her cooking breakfast and sleeping in their bed and caressing their dog under the table.

Tomorrow, Ghost would ask her to come out to the porch to find her reading swing fixed and a wedding ring.

She's going to say yes.

He didn't heard the bullets anymore.

_____________________________________________________________

Hello! Venom here.

Thank you so much to anyone that's been liking my story.

Happy 2024!

#simon riley #cod headcanons #cod mw2 x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #cod x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost cod #modern warfare #mw2

[peniswizard69]

Drawfee gods

(the Drawfaic pantheon)

Todd (from Mario)

Possum

Wears a diaper and a mushroom hat

Unknowable expression

Summons copyright strikes

Porfo

"The Devourer"

Former boy band member

Ends live streams

Celebrated in his annual holiday Porfmas, where you give people gifts and they must consume them before the end of Porfmas or Porfo will devour them

The Deep One

Has a skull head and a ribbon body and a cool eel

God of the sea and space

Doesn't have a name

Middle school principal

Not great with spice

Mole God

Mole

Won't attend your wedding, unless you forget to invite him in which case he will and be very angry

Her

Looks like Biblically accurate worm

Sounds like Hatsune Miku

Has a catchphrase: "stop the violence"

If you don't stop the violence she fucking annihilates you

#original broth #drawfee

[mikaelsongifs]

Rebekah, you all right? You mean besides harboring an ancient malignant spirit that continues to rattle around inside my skull? That will subside... when you leave the city, once you're on your own. Then I better not dally. You know, I spent eight glorious months covered in spit-up, changing dirty diapers and reading bedtime stories to that sweet girl. Please give this to her. And tell her that her Auntie Bex loves her.

THE ORIGINALS, S04E13 The Feast of All Sinners

#toedit #theoriginalsedit #the originals #userbbelcher #cinemapix #chewieblog #filmtv #tvedit #tvcentric #dailytvfilmgifs #tvandfilm #tvfilmsource #cinematv #dailytvwomen #freya mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #* #by lanie

[nowwhosapunkymonkey]

#mmpr #power rangers #mighty morphin power rangers #bulk and skull #jacob anderson #babysitting #diaper change

[angelmichelangelo]

the dad diaries for @turrondeluxe ❤️

if anybody doesn’t know, the peepaw and babies au has TOTALLY taken over my brain like. in the best way possible so of course i just had to write a lil fic for it <3 i hope u like this, amigo! i have other little ideas floating around in my head if you’d ever want more fic version of your au :) anyway enough rambling ENJOY!! everybody go check out the au i’m fairly certain everything is archived on @peepawronin for your enjoyment :-)

His coffee, as strong as it may, didn’t deter the headache that was blossoming behind his tired, weary eyes from expanding; creeping across the front of his skull with each steady pulse of his heartbeat.

He takes another sip, steels himself to see if perhaps the magic he knows does not truly exist has worked and…

“Papa!”

There’s the sound of his youngest, voice thick with babyish chub still, carrying across the lair with determination, tallying around inside his squeezing head like a brash drum cymbal.

Before he can push himself up off his stool, it goes off again, shrill and impatient,

“Papa! Papa! I’m telling!”

That was nothing new for Michelangelo these days, that familiar old phrase, minced with saccharine dramatics, he’s blinking his eyes hard to starve off the rest of the headache that threatens him; the kind that travels down the back of his skull and towards his shell and over his spine and makes him feel about a million years old.

He heaves a sigh. He already feels a million years old these days, what with the trophies of his days gone by evident across his aging body, like his trick knee and the ache he gets in his elbow when it perhaps rains a little too hard. It’s one thing to feel it physically, but the added bonus of it being emotional as well weighs just a touch too heavy for his liking.

He comes to a stop in the pit where the sounds are louder and more pitchier, and there’s two little turtles to accompany them, faces all pinched into varying degrees of annoyance.

It’s Odyn who reaches him first, as it often is, he’s a daddy’s boy at heart, little tiny legs carrying him the small distance that separates them, he goes barrelling into the larger, older turtle, face first into his pant leg. He’s gripping the edges of the fabric with three little fingers, giving it a sharp tug when he says with a rush of air,

“Papa, Uno is being mean again!” He whines, pressing his snout into Mikey’s leg. “He keeps calling me names!”

Uno has since joined their fray now, chest heaving with each stuttered breath as if the idea of being accused of such a thing is stunting each draw of air into his lungs.

“No I didn’t!” He retorts, voice all pitchy and nasally. Michelangelo groans softly to himself. “He’s just being a baby! Like he always is!”

Such a spiteful word directed towards their youngest is enough to erupt a hurtful sob from the smaller turtle. He buries his face further into his fathers leg, his voice warbled and muffled from both the tears the the mouth full of pant he has right now, but Mikey is able to carefully decipher it of something along the lines of, (in true irony),

“See! He keeps calling me a baby!”

He pries his son’s iron grip off from his leg, forcing him to look upwards with a tap of his finger beneath his damp chin. Fat tears roll down his cheeks, framing his face almost perfectly, he looks at his child sternly.

“You know not to take it to heart, hm? Do you eat baby food and wear diapers?”

Odyn sniffles, bringing a fist up to scrub away at the snot collected beneath his snout.

“No?”

Mikey hums. “And do you chew on furniture and need papa’s help to feed yourself?”

Odyn shakes his head. “No, papa.”

Michelangelo grins softly. “Then you’re not a baby. You know that, I know that.” He looks pointedly at his other son who is unmovable under his gaze. “Uno knows that. He only says it to get a rise out of you, right?”

Odyn’s bottom lip wobbles dangerously. “Yes,” he says in a rush, “but—”

Michelangelo is swift to cut in. “But I will deal with your brother. Okay?”

Odyn doesn’t seem entirely swayed; Michelangelo thinks that maybe he wanted some sort of permission to perhaps say a bad word directed at his brother, or maybe to have it out in a short scrap and there as kind of emotional compensation that only siblings would believe to be a reliable source of insurance against name calling.

But the smaller turtle eventually heaves a heavy, wet sigh, and nods his head solemnly.

“Good. Go play with your sisters,” Michelangelo instructs him, tapping him gently against the ridge of his shell. “I think they’re coloring. Will you make me something pretty?”

That gets his spirits up, the smile beaming across his face so bright, it might as well evaporate his previous tears left behind on his cheeks.

“Okay!” He calls out with delight as he toddles off to join his other, much quieter siblings on the far side of the room. Mikey watches them as they scoot aside and make space for him, offering up a fresh slice of paper, he’s already making grabby hands for the brightest crayons they own.

“He’s always getting me into trouble.”

That’s Uno’s low, forbidding voice, all full of that way too early angst that he recognises from himself and his brothers in their adolescent years, and when Mikey turns to face him, he’s sullen.

He doesn’t wait to hear whatever wisdom his father might be able to offer, instead, his bottom lip is trembling like it’s heavy with the weight of all the words he wishes to say; all the woes and the hurt that comes with having little brothers, and suddenly, with his face drawn in such an expression and his eyes narrowed and his mouth tight, Michelangelo sees a glimpse of Raphael in this child.

“You know, I was the youngest of my brothers,” Michelangelo explains to him. He motions for him to follow as they leave the pit, letting the soft voices of the other children behind them as they walk back towards the kitchen from which he came. “I pulled the same tricks he pulls from time to time.”

Uno pauses his end of conversation to clamber on top of the barstool that wobbles slightly under his swaying weight. Michelangelo steadies it with a hand until his son is fully situated, and once he is, he’s swiveling around to face the older turtle, still sporting the same, sour expression across his younger face.

“Then why’d you let him get away with it?” He says, words barbed, like this was somehow his fault now. “It’s not fair, papa.”

And Michelangelo chuckles softly. There are the glimpses of Donatello that shine through, like bright sunshine filtering through curtains in the early morning in hues of gold – that sharp intellect that constantly comes with its millions of almost unanswerable questions.

“Because I also know what my older brothers were capable of,” he tells him gently. “They did all they could to push my buttons, to get me in trouble. They knew how to play the game without getting themselves a foul.”

Uno heaves a loaded sigh, his plastron rising and falling, his hardened glare seems to melt away a little as he allows his father’s words to soak in.

“I just hate him,” he says suddenly, words dark and low. “He’s so annoying.”

Michelangelo stiffens at that. And at his father’s physical reaction, Uno shrinks a little, aware of what he’d just said; how loaded his words were.

“You don’t hate him.” Michelangelo tells him, Uno’s gaze gingerly lifts to meet his. “You are annoyed by him, yes, but hate is such a strong word, musko-san.”

Uno’s dark eyes flicker across the room with nerves, caught out, he wrings his hands together, as if trying to rid himself of the nervous energy that this conversation was building within him.

“I’m sorry chichi,” he says in a small voice. “That was mean. I don’t hate Uno.”

Michelangelo hums. “I know.” Then, “You know how I know?”

Uno shakes his head.

“The time you taught him kanji,” he begins to list. “Or when he lost a tooth and you soothed him because he was hurt.” He watches with pride as a small smile ghosts across his child’s face. “Or whenever you read to him before bed, even when it’s the stories you have already heard before.”

Uno rubs tiredly at his eyes; all of these emotions are a lot to bear for such a small boy.

“I know you love your brother, Uno,” Michelangelo tells him, tapping a green finger beneath his chin to gather his focus. “I know because I see so much of your oji in your soul.” He smiles warmly at his son. “Each one of them,” he adds, moving his finger down from his face to rest across his plastron, right over where his heart lies. “Right here, hm?”

Uno shifts in his seat, the old, worn barstool groans under his growing weight, he pitches himself as far forward as he can go without toppling off, looking up at his father with big, round curious eyes.

“Really?” He says, voice clinging to an awed whisper.

“Really.” Mikey tells him with a stern nod. “Now go play,” he says quickly, flapping him away with a dismissive hand.

“Papa hasn’t had enough coffee this morning,” he mutters, pinching his eyes narrowly to try and avoid the impending headache that’s crawling back across his skull. “Try not to have anymore arguments until at least late afternoon, yes?”

Uno hops off his seat, almost tripping in the process, he stands tall when he tells him,

“That’s okay!” He’s smiling now. A sight Mikey is sure he’ll never truly tire of, no matter how many headaches life brings. “Maybe I can ask the others if I can draw too, and we’ll make you something nice to make you feel better, hm?”

Michelangelo reaches across the countertops for his discarded beverage from earlier. Curling his fingers around the mug, he finds with welcomed surprise that it’s still warm. “You better,” he tells him with an entirely serious tone surrounding his words, raising one brow ridge for emphasis. “I didn’t spend hours scavenging those crayons for nothing.”

And with that, Uno is padding off in the direction of where his other children are gathered; straining an ear he can hear their excitable chatter and babble as they continue to work together.

And when their eldest sibling joins in, there doesn’t seem to be any lasting animosity; Odyn shows off what he’s already made, pride and excitement swelling over whatever leftover hurt from their spat, and Michelangelo chuckles to himself as he listens to Uno’s gentle encouragement that floats through front the other room.

He brings the coffee mug to his lips, steam curls itself around his snout, and a smile touches at his face, the slightest of turns. He awards himself with another mouthful, and whilst it doesn’t do much to quell his migraine, it does feel deserved.

And later that night, when he has all four of his children growing heavy in his arms, fighting a battle against fatigue that they are bound to lose against, as it is most nights, he watches his as Uno shuffles in closer to his brother, his pudgy little arm draped across the slope of his shell, and Odyn, his jaw slack, drool dried across his chin, his soft snores only just about disturbing the silence that falls across the room, he seems to curl into his brother’s offered warmth and Michelangelo smiles softly to himself.

Here in his lap are his children – the little turtles that call him papa and rush to him to settle disputes and disagreements, and to kiss scraped knees and to devote each of their wobbly crayon drawings to him that end up covering the fridge and the kitchen walls in a decoration of color and love and he knows that even with coffee, even with the best coffee in the world, all of this is worth a thousand bad headaches. Tomorrow might bring peace and tranquility and ease, or perhaps it shall be Yi and Moja that decide to scrap and fight or maybe all four will fall out of love momentarily, as siblings often do.

Michelangelo should know, he’s been one his entire life, even if his brothers are no longer here to push his buttons or fight him or argue over petty, useless things, he knows with great ease, that despite it all, they always found their way back together, whether it was over something big or small – that was the love between brothers and family.

He presses his sleeping turtles closer to him, curling his arms around them, they melt around his warmth and he knows that much like his group of siblings, these four here, were no exception to the same rules.

He closes his eyes and basks in the moment, acutely aware in the moment of quiet, of the headache that has finally shrunk itself away.

#tmnt idw #tmnt last ronin #tmnt the lost years #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic #tmnt fic #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt au

[natalievoncatte]

Another piercing wail cut through Lena’s skull and almost sent her reeling to the floor. Her teeth ached from grinding and her hands stung from the process of boiling bottles. Yet, she steadfastly refused to hand off this duty to someone else. When she and Kara decided to try for a child, Lena began grooming Sam to take her place as CEO and created a researcher emeritus position for her in the advanced projects department. That was taken care of.

What she hadn’t anticipated was the weeks without sleep. Little Jeremiah had a set of lungs on him, and the slightest provocation set him wailing. Kara had offered to leave CatCo and take care of him full time, but Lena insisted they care for their son equally, no matter how chivalrous and selfless Kara wanted to be.

It was more than that. Lena was never going to be a stay at home mom, but she would be damned if she was going to be an absentee mother. She’d be there for every school concert, every field trip, every precious moment and she’d bury him in love.

She just had to get through this first.

He didn’t need a fresh diaper. He’d been fed and burped. He didn’t seem to be tired. He just kept wailing. Lena was at her wit’s end, tears welling in her eyes. She was about to call Alex and beg for help when she heard the door close and Kara calling her name.

“You’re supposed to be at work,” Lena protested, as Kara stormed into the kitchen.

Her wife was on a mission. Kara didn’t ask any patronizing questions- she knew Lena was doing her damndest to be the world’s greatest mom. She simply swept behind the kitchen island and wrapped mother and son in a gentle hug, surrounding their son in the presence of his parents.

Kara closed her eyes, gently rested her chin on the top of Lena’s head, and tucked them both into a hug. Lena knew what was coming next and let it sweep over her. The low rumble in Kara’s chest quivered in her bones as her wife began to purr.

The effect was instantaneous. Jeremiah’s cries softened and turned into soft gurgling sounds as he squirmed in Lena’s arms slightly and relaxed, the tension easing out of his tiny muscles.

“Hold onto him.”

Kara scooped them both up with ease, cradling Lena on her arms as she had so many times before, and she was once again reminded that being held by Kara Danvers was like being held by a castle. Kara bore them both gently into the bedroom and lowered Lena to the bed, then kicked off her shoes and joined them, the deep vibrations still emanating from her chest.

“You’re supposed to be at work for another two hours.”

“Not until you’ve had a nap,” said Kara. “I’ll take him and then I can go back when you wake up. I can tell you’re exhausted, zhao.”

“Can we just stay like this a little longer?” Lena whispered.

Kara pressed a soft kiss to Lena’s forehead and smiled against her skin.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #waff #warm and fuzzy #fluff #so much fluff #it’ll rot your teeth #a teensy hint of angst is like a touch of salt in a dessert #Kryptonians can purr

[yawnderu]

Hmmm. Going off the latest ask lol. I want to know what would happen if bimbo!reader or any reader that you have wrote forced Simon to was his mask? Would he get pissed or something like that?

-your local dumbass 🐺

From this ask!

Nah he wouldn't get pissed or annoyed at all HJFEHJBFEJHB

I believe he maybe does handwash his masks every once in a while but is not consistent about it due to the materials and paint he uses, but I also believe he simply has a stash of balaclavas that don't have complex designs based on the ones they used in mw2 to get Alejandro's base back and kill Graves. This man was READY with over 10 masks😭😭

His regular balaclavas with plain/simple designs on are def thrown in the laundry, but I believe that the ones with the skull mask/messy stitches aren't washed often.

Also looked up ''stinky'' as a GIF and saw many gifs of girls in diapers wtf lmfaoooo

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #stray answers #ghost mw2 #simon riley #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #mw2 ghost #ghost mw3

[neuvistar]

more thoughts abt the papas! pure pure fluffy

papa blade who would struggle to get his daughter in a clean diaper at first when she was still very young skull emoji, his daughter would kick him and have a huge grin on her face, yelling out “dada! dadaaaa!” ITS SO CUTETTTEE. she would probably be snuggling against his arm, or even gentle tugging and playing with his hair, giggling as it tickled her skin whenever he would lean closer to her, ITS ACC SO ADORABLE.

“come on princess, stay still. i’m trying to—“ he leaned towards his daughter even more, receiving a kick from her 😭 he felt all the air from his chest leave his body as he grumbled

“awh.. look at her. she’s just like you.”

“i don’t remember myself being like this— hey, princess don’t do that!” he finally managed to put her in a clean little diaper, sighing as he picked her up and walked over to you.

“i meant she’s a fighter just like you, babe. same attitude too, do you see her facial expressions? almost identical to you.”

“.. she is my child afterall. she has a kind and gentle nature just like my pretty wife.”

“oh? do i know her?”

a smirk crept up his face, leaning towards your face as he handed his daughter over to you. “you know her pretty well.”

#ᖭི༏ᖫྀ rysetalks (꒰ঌ ๑•́ •̀)໒꒱ #blade fluff #blade x reader #hsr : papas ! ♡ #hsr papas : blade ! ♡ #hsr papas talk with maryse #give me hsr papas ideas plz spam my inbox #NO BCCCC. BLADE’S DAUGHTER NUZZLING AGAINST HIS ARM #blade has a daughter blade has a daughter blade has a daughterrr! #blade is also another girl dad definitely

[dadsbongos]

the iron giant - f.toji

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection … warnings - you are actually not in this very much (you are megumi's mom tho), i've never written toji before but i love him so just... please lmao, one use of the s-word (smirk), non-curse au where toji was still a contract killer word count - 2.7 K / rating - PG

Toji breathes in deeply, eyes closed despite the blanketing darkness of the laundry room. The plastic floral scent of detergent invades his senses. Much different than the tangy iron he’d been used to before. Iron and earthy dirt. Now the only “earthy tones” he smells are from his cologne - one you’d gifted him years ago; now it’s the only brand he’ll buy. Even so, you’re the one to say it has earthy tones, Toji can’t pick them up. To him, his cologne has the same polite chemical scent that wafts off every other man in the street.

He likes it, though, he swears. He is not fond of dirt and grime or the clinging stench of blood, and he isn’t sure how he could stomach it before.

Megumi continues to cry in the kitchen. Diaper clean. No fever. Fed. Burped. Held. Rocked. Napped. Megumi can only cry, and Toji can only guess as to why.

But Toji has run out of guesses.

He sucks in another breath, letting the oxygen fill his chest until his lungs feel like popping. He is not very patient when it comes to personal annoyances. Slow walkers and stubborn stains, for example. Yet this is even worse.

This is him burdened with ear-shredding shrieks. This is his son in some agony he cannot communicate. This is letting you down.

Much slower than Toji would like to admit, he finally unlatches the laundry door hatch and returns to the kitchen.

Megumi has a trail of tears down each cheek, hands balled into chunky fists, as he keeps crying.

His large hands that’ve popped skulls now very slowly, very carefully lift Megumi from his chair. Mentally rerunning his checklist. Clean diaper. No fever. Fed. Burped.

Held?

And this time, there’s change. Megumi quiets, only a little, when he’s cradled to his father’s chest. So Toji keeps him there. He swathes his son in both arms and tenderly rocks the infant. Megumi tattles off into whimpers before eventually: the house is quiet.

Oh, how Toji wants to groan. Grumble, even, about how he had already done that and how Megumi was being picky and stubborn and a handful, but he refrains. Not because those things are untrue, but because some paranoid part of him worries that maybe by the universe’s terrible whim, Megumi will somehow remember those words.

So, instead, he settles on, “You’re such a fussy one, huh?” he clicks his tongue when Megumi’s big eyes flutter and he yawns, “Another nap?” Toji laughs, already turning to his son’s nursery, “Just woke up crying to go back to bed, huh?”

Megumi got that from his father.

On chilly, buzzing midnights, Toji will shoot up from your shared sheets with sweat slicking down his hair and a burning sensation in his chest. He’ll jump up from bed to check every lock and watch Megumi’s chest rise and fall as the baby sleeps soundly in his crib. Toji then wanders back to the master bedroom and does the same with you. Sometimes he takes so long staring that the sun will already be painting the sky when he settles under the duvet once again.

However, there will be no relief because he knows, God does he know, that he will do the routine all over again.

Toji lays Megumi into his crib and the boy sleepily reaches up for his father, yawning again before finally giving into his exhaustion.

Toji struggles with the repetition and the cooing and the hours of thankless preening, but he likes to imagine that his son is better off with a father.

Megumi sighs and drools in his sleep, rounded tummy moving in time with each fluid breath. His little hands are curled up by his head; messy tendrils of dark hair flying about in every direction. Megumi is more precious to Toji than he knows how to say - the mere thought of it chokes him, a lump forming in his throat and his chest tightening.

So, naturally, Toji wonders if he’d still be able to walk away for good, as he’d done with the Zen’ins.

“Do you like your mom or your dad more?”

“Hm…” Megumi holds the red block between both hands, no longer interested in building his tower with Yuuji, “I dunno…”

“I like my oldest brother more,” Yuuji continues, “He’s nicer than ‘kuna.”

“I like my dad,” Megumi copies defiantly, “but I like my mom, too. They’re both nice.”

“Your dad’s scary,” Nobara pipes up, plucking off a dented, yellow cardboard block from the tower, quickly replacing it with a smoother blue one, “I bet he’s scarier when he’s mad.”

“No,” Megumi shakes his head, shoving his red block into Yuuji’s hands, “He calls me nicely all the time. Like this!” he scrunches his brows to mimic his father’s resting scowl, voice digging deeper, but still singing out gently, “‘Megumi’ - or! Or ‘Megs’.”

“I thought he’d be loud,” Nobara wriggles her nose at the thought.

“And mean,” Yuuji nods wisely, eyes closed.

“Well, he’s not,” Megumi’s cheeks flush, his fingernails biting into his palms tightly, “My dad isn’t mean!”

“Megs!”

The boy turns swiftly, scrambling up from his spot between Yuuji and their blocks, abandoning his tower to charge into his father’s legs. His small forehead bangs off Toji’s shin, and he rubs over the sore area as the man signs the timesheet in Ms. Utahime’s hands.

“‘gumi’s dad!” Yuuji runs over (defying rule one of the classroom) with Nobara charging after. The two toddlers crash around Megumi, latching onto the soft material of Toji’s sweatpants as well.

“Hey, ‘rats,” Toji settles a hand in his son’s hair, ruffling the untamed tresses further, “Where’re your wards, huh? Thought we were going out!”

He grins watching Yuuji and Nobara get riled up, the pair jumping and clawing at his pants with rapid nods. Repeatedly, they echo ‘yeah!’s and ‘where are they?’s amongst each other that have Utahime shaking her head and sighing.

Megumi stretches his arms up and Toji complies, lifting Megumi into his arms as if the preschooler weighed no more than a loaf of bread. Immediately, Yuuji and Nobara are jealous.

“I wanna be tall, too!” Yuuji shouts.

“Me first!” Nobara grunts, arms wide and expecting to be lifted.

More preschoolers waiting for their guardians holler a small collection of “no fair!” and “me too!” signaling the gaggle’s arrival. Children clamber over each other, hoping to climb atop Toji’s broad frame.

“Oh, my friends! We should ask before touching!” Utahime tries settling the kids, and to her credit, all excited Yuuji and Nobara fall back from the man’s personal space, “Megumi’s father doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

But the man himself shrugs, calmly approaching the rainbow circle time carpet and shadowing over the forgotten tower of blocks. Before he can fully settle into the new seat, children are clinging to his shoulders and jamming footholds over his legs.

“Eh, I don’t mind,” Toji snags Yuuji and Nobara, each in one hand, and lifts them above the other children’s heads, “‘m already waiting for Higuruma to take Yuuji and Megs with Nobara. Might as well let the germ-bots play.”

Fun and delight were not Toji’s original intention for toiling away for his muscles, but he allows it now. Though, even he cannot deny: it feels like a bastardization of innocence, to use bloodied skin for the gleeful entertainment of kids.

But radiant stars light up Megumi’s seafoam eyes, a cherub’s rosy glow stretching over his cheeks, awkwardly gapped teeth on display from his grin, and the jingle of his giggles overtaking the room. So Toji ignores the bubbling feeling.

“Heard you’re a father now,” Shiu and Toji don’t meet often anymore. When they do, it’s unpleasant.

“Mhm.”

“A real father,” Shiu muses, remembering the times he would have to care for Megumi in Toji’s bumbling, clueless stead, “Still not accepting any jobs, then?”

“Nah,” Toji looks around for the nearest clock and finds none. The humor is not lost on him; that a heart familiar with gunfire and gore, now frets over whether or not he’s late to go with you to pick up Megumi from school.

“Your offers just keep plummeting, you know?”

Toji’s blank stare tells Shiu all he needs to know. All that he’s already known.

“Alright,” Shiu waves Toji away before teasing lightheartedly, “See you in a year when someone remembers you exist.”

Toji merely rolls his eyes.

“Where’re you goin’?” Toji watches his son pace from the living room to the kitchen like a madman for five full cycles before speaking up.

“Out,” Megumi’s voice echoes through the short hall as he storms in from the kitchen. His eyes scramble from the base of the front door to the short shelf stuffed full of the little family’s various shoes, “Do you know where my dress shoes are?”

Toji snickers, hands folded back behind his head, pale skin illuminated by the television, “Where is your ass going that you need dress shoes?”

Megumi groans, cutting a quick glare to his father, “A date.” he watches the older man raise a brow at him, “Yuuji’s older brother - the goth one - his girlfriend is in town so the apartment is free…” he shrugs, “It’s a date. Do you know where my shoes are?”

“Dress shoes for a date? A night-in date?”

“I want to look nice,” Megumi pauses, “You wouldn’t care if I was going on a louzy date?”

“You know the rules,” Toji shrugs, “Don’t add or subtract from the population. Don’t go to jail,” he snickers suddenly, his son fidgets at the sound, “Not that you or your boy can add to the population.”

Megumi sighs, the urge to call out for his mother’s help is bubbling up from his chest, but he feels a more pressing concern rise faster, “Will Mom care? I know it’s… late.”

Almost-ten-at-night late.

Toji stares at his boy, unsure how he’ll be able to adjust once his son moves out. It was hard enough to mourn that gaping, useless feeling in his chest when he realized Megumi was now older, and therefore more independent.

But he’s been staring too long and doesn’t know how to say that in simple terms, “Nah, she knows you’re too lame to do anything fun.”

Megumi’s expression falls flat, then shifting into a full grimace, “You’re awful,” he turns back towards the kitchen, where the upstairs staircase awaits. His voice echoes through the short hallway as he calls, “Mom! Have you seen my nice shoes?!”

Toji was a shithead kid. He smoked and drank and snuck out and sucked up attention from girls.

Could it be called sneaking out when nobody cared enough to make sure he was in his room past lights out?

He is glad Megumi isn’t like him in either regard.

“Okay,” Megumi waltzes into the living room, one hand splayed at his side and the other clutching the heels of his shiniest leather shoes. He stops at the front door, back slumping into the connected wall as he squeezes on the pair, “I’ll be back before two.”

“‘kay,” Toji watches his son flick the front door open, “Tell your lil’ boyfriend I say hi.”

“Don’t,” Megumi glares again, “Don’t say it like that.”

“What? You two break up or something?” he returns his son’s narrowed gaze, “This some closure bullshit?”

Toji laughs at how Megumi visibly stiffens, hands flexing as if he wants to threaten something nasty. A white-knuckled fist. A middle finger. But he holds himself back, he’s more respectful than Toji is even now, as a grown adult man.

“No, I just hate when you say he’s my ‘little boyfriend’,” the boy sighs, shoulders tense, “And we got in a disagreement. We’re fine. It’s fine,” Toji must make a face because his son sighs louder, “Stop being a dick.”

Toji barks a laugh at his son’s crude language, “You’re so fussy,” he waves away the insult, “I’ll be up, so call me if you need a ride home.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You know, ‘cuz I don’t want you getting driven around by a stranger. Or a Yuuji that missed his bedtime.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That’s how people die.”

“Yeah, got it,” Megumi grunts, then sighs once more, “Thanks, Dad,” he suddenly sucks in a sharp breath, shoulders going lax before he waves the white flag, “Well, before I go…”

“Is it about your tiff with the boyfriend?”

“Stop, or I won’t ask you,” Megumi threatens, arms folding across his chest, “So, I don’t- we’re not breaking up. But I’ve been thinking.”

“Mhm.”

“About our,” he cringes before spitting out the most applicable word, “sustainability?”

“Mhm.”

“We’re different, and sometimes we’re both talking about stupid shit and we just…” Megumi swallows thickly, “We fight about it sometimes. Like with Nobara’s new boyfriend. I think he’s terrible and Yuuji just wants to see the good parts, and we couldn’t agree. I know that’s nothing crazy, but what if it becomes a pattern?”

Toji mulls over the question, weeding through the inane example to pinpoint his son’s real struggle, “So, you think you two won’t be able to work out a ‘disagreement’ one day?”

Megumi switches the weight on his feet, eyes darting down to his fanciest shoes. Yuuji will be in old, coffee-stained, hand-me-down blue slippers. Megumi knows he’ll find it charming, “He’s just really positive. And nice. I feel like I just bring him down.”

“What? With your shitty attitude?” Toji laughs despite his son’s blank stare, “Quit pouting. It was the same thing with me and your mom. You’ll be fine.”

“Good advice.”

“Not done: Don’t get paranoid about it. Just be the you that Yuuji asked out in high school. The kid liked you, and still likes you, knowing you’re a bit of a priss. Your mom loves me even though I can be the same way, and even if her positivity can sometimes feel… overbearing,” he pauses, grasping for what he’s sure started his son’s concern, “Naive, even, to things I think are trouble; I love her,” he can see Megumi smother down a smile at his father’s admission, “I love your mother so much it feels like my entire body wants to convulse until I can’t breathe or talk. And if you feel like that with Yuuji, and him with you, you’ll be fine. Just remember not to be a prick, and you’ll be okay.”

The boy nods slowly, “Okay,” then he smirks, “You’re sappy, by the way.”

“What? Gonna put me in jail for loving my wife? Weird ass kid,” Toji huffs, brushing off the jab before calling out, “Seriously, call me if you need a ride! And don’t die!”

“I got it already!”

Shiu watches the horses silently.

When Megumi was born, Toji’s acceptance of contracts took a devastating plummet. Once Megumi turned two, they ceased completely, and by the time Megumi was ten - offers for Toji had dwindled so significantly that most speculated the man had died.

Despite their rocky acquaintanceship, Shiu is happy for Toji. Content that somewhere, anywhere in Tokyo, Toji is with his wife and son rather than stinking of sweat and iron and bleeding out in an alleyway.

Out of respect, Shiu watches Toji’s lucky number seven finish in a tragic last before leaving just as alone as he’d arrived.

Toji yawns, eyes heavy and stinging, as he stands in his son’s doorway. The room has changed massively over the course of twenty years, with a twenty-first fast on the way. And Toji continues to stumble over to his son’s room after nightmares like no time has passed since his son was a baby.

Toji wasn’t sure he’d been meant for fatherhood, especially when Megumi was only able to wail and shriek over his displeasure, but he did it. He did it, and he doesn’t regret it.

Toji wonders again if he’d be able to walk away from you and Megumi as he did with his birth family, but the internal response is an instant, resounding: No.

He could not walk away then, and he cannot do it now. Nor does he want to.

Toji much prefers to have struggled those years as a father than having excelled at being some other schmuck’s gun.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #jjk movie marathon event

[noroi1000]

could a request of the i don't love him but i want him be accepted ? where reader is basically kidnapped by a powerful ( yet weaker ) rival of the gojo family,so we get to see overprotective gojo(he's always protective of her not in that insecure guy way though lol) for that while where he does anything to rescue n protect his wife ? ( badass n feral doing anything for love gojo ? hell yea )

I don't love him but I want to be with him 5

warnings: guns wounds, death

words: 2.1k

"Er… What's your name?"

"…I'm your cousin, Satoru!"

"Yeah… But… Again, how have you been?"

You felt the gun at your temple pressed tighter against your skull.

You didn't mind that you might die soon.

You only feel sorry for your children who are sitting at home with Toge, Yuji and Nobara unaware of anything. To protect them.

You want to see them, so you'll never forgive Satoru if you die now.

You'll never forgive him after you die.

You will not leave your children voluntarily.

They are the most important thing to you. Your family is the most important thing to you.

"I can't remember your name… Is your surname Gojo?" Satoru asked, looking at him.

"I am your father's sister's son!" He shouted, gripping your body in anger.

"Have we ever met?"

"We are Family!"

Satoru was stalling…

Your husband always has a plan for everything…

"Here. Way to go! You won!" Satoru said as he played Monopoly with his sons.

Who would have thought that a mafia boss who sees such sums of money on a daily basis as in this game loses to small children.

He was the first to go bankrupt.

You guessed it was because every time one of your sons stopped in a field he bought, he didn't even tell them to pay him.

Plus, when they wanted to buy something, he paid for it.

You wondered if he even knew the rules of this game well…

But well, he often spoiled his children with gifts. So he also spent in-game money for them.

It was nice for you to watch them play.

The laughter of your children and your husband.

Their smiles.

You were sitting next to him on the couch, staring at the board. And how Satoru had less and less money until he finally lost.

"So what do you want to play now?" he asked as he picked up pieces from the board.

"Hide and Seek!" one of your sons said.

"Sorry, Yuko, but let's pick something from board games, shall we?" said the white-haired one.

He was good with children…

Which of course surprised you a bit because he is young. He's not even 30 years old. But he does a good job as a father.

Even though at the very beginning, when Yuko and Yasuo were babies, he was very insecure and afraid to take them in his arms.

They were so tiny, and he felt insecure about picking them up.

His hands had never held a tiny baby.

He held the gun, he held the bloody blade, he held the collar of a beaten man. He even held a corpse.

But he never held a new life.

There had never been anything so delicate and tiny in his hands before.

He's never seen something he created with someone else.

He had never seen the little baby he had created with another person.

It was the first time he had touched a baby.

And that first time made him able to hold small children.

He helped you feed them, change their diapers, even bathe them.

You can't say otherwise because he also helped you hold them while you were still breastfeeding them.

So what if that pervert's plan was to stare at your tits with impunity.

He could hold the baby and watch…

But you didn't blame him.

He always helped you.

So now when you look at him spending time with his kids, you don't regret anything.

You know that the ruthless mafia boss, who had blood on his hands more than once, found happiness in his family.

You know he hasn't changed as a mob boss. But others may think otherwise.

He just changed as an individual.

Even though he was always good and kind.

Probably he found his inner happiness and love.

He loved his family.

All this made others think that he had become weak…

That he has weaknesses he shouldn't have.

That he is no longer ruthless. That he can't do what he used to do.

That's not true.

He's the same boss he's always been. However, he is husband for you.

  

You knew something would happen someday.

That someday your happiness will suffer.

And your happiness is your family.

Sitting on the floor with your hands tied behind your back, you just wondered why the man standing in front of you had white hair and was tall.

However, his eyes were a different color. They weren't as beautiful as your husband's eyes.

And his hair was different too. They weren't snow white. His hair was a very light brown tint. It made his hair a cream color.

And his eyes were brown. Completely different from your Satoru…

"Who are you?" You grunted looking at him.

Even though your head hurt, you could still glare at him with fury.

"Come on. We're family." He said and turned to you. "It's good you're awake. I didn't want you to faint for long. But you know, it's dangerous to walk around the city alone knowing you're married to the head of the most powerful mafia in Japan."

He crouched next to you.

"I don't know you…" you growled.

"Satoru probably didn't tell you about having another cousin, did he?"

"You–."

"Don't talk much. It has that thing that makes you weak when you wake up." He laughed.

"What do you want?"

"Just take it all for good. My cousin has become weak. All because he has a family now… You weaken him, his children protect him. Don't you think he's not the same boss he was before? His power has diminished. All because he wanted to be a good husband and father…"

"Fuck off…"

"Same as Satoru… I just want to make sure that my family's mafia doesn't fall down in rank because of this asshole. So either he gives me the boss or you and his kids die."

Suddenly you saw him pull out your phone and dial your husband's number.

"(y/n)? Where are you, the boys started to cry that you're not home for a long time."

You heard his voice coming from the phone.

"Satoru…" You grunted but were silenced.

"(y/n)?"

"Let's start politely, and I'll tell you everything right away. Give me the leadership of the entire family mafia and nothing will happen to your family."

"Who are you?"

"Don't you recognize my voice, Satoru?"

"Not very."

"You little…"

"Let's talk differently. Let my wife out and your ass won't hurt that much."

"Oh? Can you threaten? And could you say the same to your family?" he laughed. "Come on. Just admit that you couldn't hurt or sacrifice anyone in your family… Admit that you've gone soft. That you have become weak."

Suddenly he disconnected.

"If I find you, you'll regret it. If I find my wife, you will feel the pain."

You heard screams, noises and bangs all over the building while you were sitting on the floor that same day and your hands were tied.

This position has already started to tire you because your wrists are already sore from the rope.

"Oh? Something wrong? Did I tie it too tight?"

You looked over at the man. You wanted so badly to spit in his face. Let him know his place.

As a trash…

"Hang on a little longer. I think he'll be here soon-"

Suddenly the door burst open with a bang.

You saw the smile of the man as he reached for the collar of your clothes and pulled you closer to him.

"Shut up bitch." he said as he pulled a gun from his waistband.

You saw people come in and you recognized them all immediately.

Your friends.

Each of them had a gun ready to fire.

He, your husband, came out between them.

In a white shirt. The gun visible in the waistband of his pants.

The thin black glasses on his nose were lowered as he studied you and the guy behind you.

You felt no fear from him. He wasn't afraid of anything.

"(y/n)?" He grunted at you.

It was a question of are you okay.

"Satoru–" you groaned, but you were interrupted by the gun that was pressed against your head.

"We finally see each other. After all these years… I knew you were doing well. However…"

Satoru interrupted him.

"However, have I become weak and soft? Don't make me laugh." He snorted with obvious dignity and superiority.

"Just give me control of our family mafia. You can no longer rule. Your father made a mistake giving it to you instead of me. And as his nephew, I always had the right to…" he snapped. "Give it to me and I'll let your wife go. Resist, and she, like you and your children, will die."

"Do you have any other people? As far as I know, we've already killed everyone who was in the building."

"I will always be in a winning position. You would never hurt someone you love…"

"Er…what's your name?" he asked suddenly.

"…I'm your cousin, Satoru!"

"Yeah… But… Again, how have you been?"

You felt the gun at your temple pressed tighter against your skull.

You didn't mind that you might die soon.

You only feel sorry for your children who are sitting at home with Toge, Yuji and Nobara unaware of anything. To protect them.

You want to see them, so you'll never forgive Satoru if you die now.

You'll never forgive him after you die.

You will not leave your children voluntarily.

They are the most important thing to you. Your family is the most important thing to you.

"I can't remember your name… Is your surname Gojo?" Satoru asked, looking at him.

"I am your father's sister's son!" He shouted, gripping your body in anger.

"Have we ever met?"

"We are Family!"

Satoru was stalling…

Your husband always has a plan for everything…

"We may be family, but I don't remember you…"

During their conversation, you saw Megumi's lips move.

And suddenly you heard a loud shot behind you.

This caused the gun to fall out of your kidnapper's hand.

"Just shoot, Dad…" Megumi murmured softly into the small earpiece in his ear.

"I'm not supposed to kill, am I?" Toji replied.

"Don't do it yet."

"Megumi, but you know I would love to kill someone from the Gojo family. If that white-haired jerk didn't pay me to murder, I'd gladly kill him too."

"Don't wait and don't talk. Do it now…"

Drops of blood fell to the floor from the wound in his arm.

You pulled away quickly and ran over to Satoru, standing up.

His hands were placed on your cheeks as he looked all over you. Defining your condition.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he took the knife from Geto and cut the rope around your wrists.

You nodded your head and hugged him quickly.

"I told you…" said his relative weaker. He had his hand on the bullet-pierced shoulder. "You are weak and soft. You only care about your family… And you should care about your power and image… You've become–."

Bang

You heard it very loud next to your head.

As you turned around, you saw the man's eyes widened as the bullet pierced his thigh.

Then another shot. Second leg pierced.

You looked at your husband's hand holding the gun.

He gently pushed you away, standing in front of you.

When he saw him trying to grab his gun, Gojo fired another bullet. Fitting perfectly in the middle of his hand. Making him cry out in pain.

Satoru was known for that when he was holding a gun, he never missed. He always hit the target. His perfect eyesight made it possible.

He did everything as fast as few people. He noticed everything even faster. Hence his nickname as a member of the Mafia. "six eyes".

"Say something else…" he said stepping closer.

He pulled the trigger again. Shooting the other arm of the man.

He kicked his chest, and placed his boot on his sternum, pressing down.

"Say something else. So that I can put a few more bullets into you with even more pleasure."

"You fucking bastard…"

"I'm only nice to my family. If I don't consider you a member of this, you're just shit getting in my way. If it was me, you'd get one bullet in the head. But you took her. You wanted to take my children from me. Hols in the body for my one son. Second ones for second. And a bullet in your head, for my wife. I guess that's fair, isn't it?"

"You –"

"Oh yeah…" he smiled suddenly. "I am a ruthless madman. I don't care about your life."

The gun was aimed at his head.

The mad smile widened.

"And whoever threatens my family that I love will never see anything but darkness again."

Bang

"My family is what I care most about… I would never forgive myself if I lost them. I will not lose my closest and dearest people. I won't let anyone take that happiness away from us."

#jujustu kaisen #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo angst #satoru gojo #gojo x you #mafia au