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i23kazu · 7 months

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GENSHIN MEN & THEM BEING GIRL DADS .

characters. zhongli diluc kaeya childe neuvillette alhaitham kaveh x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. augh dad | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

zhongli

tries to introduce your daughter to the concept of a tea ceremony with the assistance of madame ping – zhongli absolutely cannot keep a straight face when your daughter spits out the bitter liquid and instead opts for formula. at least she tried it, he laughs, and sits her tucked on his lap after she turns to him and asks for a 抱抱 (bào bào; to hug).

diluc

takes your daughter on a walk around the ragnvindr manor. visits from uncle kaeya are a regular sight, and the two brothers take one hand of your daughter's each before setting off. you trail behind them, smiling and taking photographs for memories. halfway through the walk, your daughter makes grabby hands for diluc.

kaeya

wants to play games with his daughter all day, but cannot – instead, he sneaks her into his office to play while he finishes his paperwork. when the little girl whines to be put on his lap, kaeya puts down everything he's doing to make sure that his little angel is comfortable in his arms. brings her home right after work as well. how cute!

childe

willingly plays dress up with your daughter!!! it's so so so cute. he'll come home, slumped on a couch and snoring – when your daughter climbs all over him like a human jungle gym. unfortunately, she got into your makeup stash, and it's evidence by her little masterpiece all over childe's face. he has to take pictures after, because the little artist said so.

neuvillette

his relationship with the melusines really just screams girl dad, doesn't it? but when the two of you have a biological daughter, his love for her cannot compare to anything else. he gently weaves his fingers through her hair, replicating his own hairstyle, with added braids in it. the little girl squeals with delight, because she looks like daddy.

alhaitham

alhaitham has taken up the duty of having daddy storytime, right before bed. your little girl curls up in his lap, clinging on to the same storybook he has read to her for the past... 40? 45? nights, in a row. alhaitham doesn't even need the storybook at this point, and even ends up creating new characters for the story. your girl loves it.

kaveh

is the primary source of entertainment for your daughter. she loves how her daddy can be so silly yet so... smart, at the same time. she probably doesn't even know what smart is – she just sees the huge books and papers that daddy brings home every day. but she loves him, because he plays with her and feeds her her favourite snacks.

taglist: @tiredsleep @loptido @raincxtter @chichikoi @ladyadii @soulsanta @sheiiths @genshinparty @eowinthetraveler @moonbyunniee @legitnoi @lemontum @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @starz222 @ilyuu @cherry-colored-petals @mondaymelon @tartaglia-apologist @soleillunne @m1shapanda @aimynx @smokipoki @adeptuscharm @diorlumx (send ask to be added to taglist)

reblogs w/ tags & comments help me lots !!! if you liked this, consider dropping me a follow as well :-)

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exocean · 1 year

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its been forever since i last talked about this but seokmin is theeeeeee vocalist omfg

#having a moment right before bed you know how it goes #storytime with mo

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captainfern · 10 months

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May i request your majesty 🐈..

Cosy! Sfw (or if you find a way to make it NSFW then go wild) headcanon/ imagine of fem! Reader, reading to the boys every night or after a mission?? Like.. so mother ?? Bc they mostly fight and train and wrestle so, they have a lil calm, story time moment with the reader ??

Ugh I’m reading a book rn and thinking I just wanna mother these boys and read them a story!! Babies !!!

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"This Is Not A Book Club"

141 x gn!reader [platonic!]

[Imagines 1]

[SFW]

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• summary - what the request says :) • rating - sfw • wordcount - 1.8k • warnings - ik the request is for fem!reader but no specific pronouns/gendered language are used in this, pet name "love" is used once tho, strong language, no smut sorry fellow whores ✋

this idea is so fucking cute i just had to write it omfg. also i love that gif soap and ghost's interactions are just too adorable *pat pat*

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You didn't mean for it to become a habit.

It began on a whim.

After a strenuous mission, you relaxed in your respective room, curled up in your bed, reading a book. The main light was off, and you relied on the soft glow of the lamp on your bedside table. It was a relatively new book— you were only a chapter or so in— when a light knock at your door made you jump.

You hadn't been expecting it. It was pretty late, too.

You were surprised when Gaz poked his head in, apologising for interrupting. He figured he could unwind in your room, since the rest of the 141 were doing their own thing, and he needed some company.

You accepted, of course— how could you not when he looked at you with those deep brown eyes?

He settled on the bed next to you, sprawling himself across it near your feet. You laughed as he sighed, face buried in your duvet. He lifted his head, peering at you quizzically.

"What are you reading?" He asked.

You held the book up. "I... honestly don't know. It's pretty good, so far though."

He hummed, intrigued, as he scooted closer to you, head now resting parallel to your thighs.

"Read to me?" He asked, long eyelashes casting shadows across his cheekbones beneath the lamplight.

You smiled. "I'm two chapters in."

"That's okay," he muttered. "Just fill me in on what's happening."

You did, explaining the last couple of chapters in as much detail as possible. You then told him what the book was about, reading the little summary on the back. By this stage, his head was now resting on your lap atop the blanket, hand cupping your slightly bent knee.

"Right, okay," he said. "Now you can read from where you were reading."

You chuckled at his enthusiasm for you to hurry up and begin. So, you obliged, reading a couple of chapters before his breathing slowed. You looked away from your book, realising that he had fallen asleep, head still resting in your lap. You smiled, gently patting his head.

He mumbled incoherently.

"Gaz, come on, you fell asleep," you giggled, nudging him. "You need to go to bed."

He yawned, forcing himself to sit up. His eyes drooped, bleary with drowse as he stumbled off of your bed.

"Fine, but I'll be back for the next chapter tomorrow." He muttered, leaving with his eyes barely open.

The next evening, at roughly the same time, Gaz found his way into your room again. This time, with Soap in tow.

"Soap?" You greeted skeptically.

"Gaz said you're reading to him. I like a good storytime, too." He smiled, sprawling himself out on the rug beside your bed. He didn't give you any room for argument as Gaz resumed his place resting against your lap.

"Oh...kay... do you want me to fill you in?" You asked as you grabbed your book from your bedside table.

Soap shook his head. "No, no, don't worry. Gaz filled me in on the way here."

You laughed. "Of course he did."

So that's how you began reading to both Gaz and Soap. That night, Soap did much the same as Gaz did previously by falling asleep— face to the ceiling, stretched out on your plush rug. His soft snores prompted your eyes away from the pages. Gaz, too, was drifting in and out of consciousness.

You closed the book gently. "Okay, you two, time for bed."

Gaz got up without much of a fuss, but he had to shake Soap to get the man to cooperate. Soap grumbled and complained the entire time Gaz hoisted him to his feet. Then, still muttering grumpily under his breath, he let Gaz lead him out of the room.

The next day really confused you.

Both Gaz and Soap turned up, and once they were comfortable in their usual positions, a soft knock echoed through your room. Soap opened the door for Price, much to your astonishment.

"You too?" You questioned as your captain took up position in your desk chair, near the foot of your bed.

He relaxed in the chair, legs spread and arms folded across his chest.

"Got nothing else to do, love." He said simply, imploring you to pick up the book with a nod of his head.

You were in slight disbelief, but nevertheless, you continued with the book. While Gaz and Soap relaxed, listening to the peaceful lull of your voice, Price asked the occasional question. You stopped patiently and replied, ignoring the frustrated groans from Soap on your floor.

"Just shut up and listen, Price."

"Watch it, MacTavish."

Not long later, you managed to finish the chapter before Soap fell asleep. You waved them all goodbye as they filed out of your room, and you forced yourself not to laugh as they did.

Now, if you were confused before, the next day threw you completely.

Once again, Gaz lay sprawled out on your bed beside you, Soap on the floor with his arms behind his head. Price returned, too, taking his place in your chair. Then, just one word into the newest chapter, the door creaked open.

Ghost slipped in, almost silently, and you couldn't help but gape at your lieutenant as he lumbered into the room, cozy black hoodie on and hands jammed into the front pocket.

"L.T, I knew you couldn't resist," Soap beamed from the floor. "You want in on the book club?"

You scoffed, smiling. "This is not a book club."

Ghost just shrugged at Soap. "Lonely outside when I can't hear you lot making a racket."

He stepped over Soap and sunk himself onto the end of your bed, leaning himself up against the wall. He stretched his legs out, brushing your and Gaz's feet, knees cracking as he settled down.

You stared at everyone, slightly dumbfounded. Then, you turned to Ghost.

"You're... here willingly?" You asked him.

"Mhm."

"You... willingly want to listen to me read my book?"

"Mhm."

You took a deep breath. "Right, okay, cool. Um, do you need—?"

"Johnny's given me a rundown." He mumbled.

Of course he had.

And that's how it started, just over two weeks ago. Every night, especially after a particularly rough mission, the boys seemed to gravitate to your bedroom. They'd curl up and listen to your soft voice as you read to them; reading them to sleep on many occasions.

Despite Ghost and Price's lack of enthusiasm compared to Soap and Gaz, you could tell they enjoyed it just as much as the younger two did. It made you smile, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside knowing you could bring these hardened military boys some peace and comfort.

"Okay, so you're telling me, the kid didn't even know he was a wizard?" Price asked, leaning forward in his chair.

You laughed. "No, he didn't. Well, now he does."

"Ridiculous." Price muttered, shaking his head.

Ghost scoffed. "It's unrealistic."

Soap rolled his eyes. "Obviously, Ghost, it's a fucking fictional book about wizards an' shite."

"No, I mean, some big cunt with a beard turned up with a fucking ugly cake and told the kid he's a wizard, and the kid just believed him?" Ghost grumbled. His attitude had definitely shifted since the first time he joined their little, as Soap called it, book club.

"Yeah, basically." You smiled.

You had just introduced them to the Harry Potter series. You weren't even halfway through the first book yet.

"Ridiculous." Ghost said, echoing Price.

"Well, what would you have done, eh?" Soap questioned, sitting up, now cross-legged on the fluffy rug.

"What, if a big cunt called Hagrid turned up on my eleventh birthday and told me I'm a wizard?" Ghost mused. "Woulda knifed him, Johnny."

"Whatever." Soap scoffed.

When they weren't arguing about the book you were reading them, the night's with the boys were really peaceful. Relaxing, too.

A balm for their tortured souls, and a salve for the wounds they had earned during battle.

Dusk would fall, and they would limp into the comfort of your bedroom, warm and smelling sweetly of you. Waves of exhaustion would pin them in place while they clung to the presence of you for stability. Some days, all four would find themselves curled up on your bed— Gaz laying next to you, head on your lap; Soap on the floor, but his head resting on the edge of your bed, a hand resting in the crook of your arm as you held the book; Ghost with his back to the wall, your legs propped up over his, his gloved hands stroking circles on your shins; Price settled next to Ghost, shoulder to shoulder, his legs beneath yours as well, a hand resting warmly around your ankle.

They listened carefully, silently, as you read to them, basking in the comforting warmth of you. Battered, bruised, and bleeding from the cuts of battle, they rested tranquilly at your side. Their ears were no longer ringing with echoes of explosions, nostrils no longer filled with the acrid stench of gunpowder and death. They could hear only you, voice silken with each word you spoke. They could smell only you, the candles that burned and permeated the air, rich and sweet and a consoling sense of familiarity.

Towards the end of a chapter, you could sense a shift in the room. Some time ago, Soap had wiggled in beside you, head in the bend of your arm and shoulder. He breathed deeply, slowly, eyes closed and hair dishevelled against the sleeve of your shirt. Gaz, too, breathed slowly as sleep had overtaken him, hand still heavy on your knee.

Ghost had slumped to the side, somehow managing to tuck his hulking frame between Gaz and the wall. Mask still on, you could see his eyes, closed and smeared with black. Price, too, had fallen asleep; still, impressively, sitting upright. His head tilted forward, hat low over his forehead, snoring softly.

You sighed to yourself, closing the book and carefully putting it back on your nightstand, mindful not to disrupt Soap curled into your side like a cat. You nestled back into your bed, snuggled up with your task force, a sight you had never thought you'd see. As you wiggled to get comfortable, Soap stirred, groaning as he looked up at you, still resting his head near your chest.

"S'all right, go back to sleep." You whispered, angling your arm so it draped securely over top of him.

He didn't reply verbally, just burrowed deeper into your side, reaching a hand around to physically tighten your arm around him. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, before he fell back asleep.

Your other hand found Gaz's head, delicately skimming his hairline, smoothing along the soft skin of his forehead and cheek. You heard him sigh contentedly, still deep asleep.

Eventually, the warmth of the room and powerful bodies around you carried you to sleep.

And it was the best sleep you ever had.

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idk if this was good or not lmao but thank you my darling anon <3 this was nice to write mwah mwah xx

#captain'simagines #captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #call of duty imagine #cod fluff #cod mw2 #captain fern not writing smut?? damn #task force 141 #gender neutral reader

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nariism · 5 months

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a place to call home — k. shinsuke

one bed + childhood rivals/friends to lovers

synopsis. "be kind, shinsuke." that's what yumie always told her grandson. and he would live by those words—even if it meant sleeping on the floor every weekend.

wc. ~2k

— for @mastering-procrastinating & an anon bff! 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️

The day after Kita Shinsuke turns six years old, the vacant house across the street suddenly springs to life with occupants.

His life spirals from being humble and quiet to chaotic in 24 hours. Suddenly, he's responsible for taking care of the bratty kid next door even though they're his age. His bedtime gets thrown out the window because he needs to chase them down to get them to brush their teeth, and his dinner always has some suspiciously missing elements that he never finds.

You become the centerpiece of his entire existence—a floating memory in every crevice of his mind.

Kita hears your laughter in the songs of his childhood; feels your hands roughly pushing him and dragging him around by the wrist; smells the minty toothpaste he forcefully shoved into your mouth after finally catching up to you.

It seems as though you and him were born to be polar opposites. Where he climbs you stumble. Where he sits quietly at the dinner table, you have a never-ending stream of anecdotes to tell Granny (even though half of them are greatly exaggerated—he was literally there to witness it). Where he behaves like a normal child, you can't even sit still during storytime in class.

However, your differences do little to remove you from his life. Where he goes, you go.

It's a consequence of growing up thirty meters from your front door and having you over when your parents suddenly uproot to go on week-long business trips.

And he wouldn't care so much, really, if it weren't for the fact that Granny had equal amounts of love to go around. That, and he would have to sleep on the floor whenever you came around.

For someone so disciplined and grounded, Kita Shinsuke was an envious child. He hated having you in his home, because it meant that his beloved Granny had to split her attention between the two of you. Because she would always tuck you in before him. Because you were louder, more needy, more everything. Because he often woke up with back pains at the ripe age of six years old.

When Kita turns eight, he finally bubbles over.

You're on the swings behind one of your friends, standing on the back of the seat and clinging to the chains. You're being careless, and he would be remiss if you were to hurt yourself.

"Get down from there," he scolds, standing in front of the swing set to stop you from continuing.

"Make me!" You exclaim back, childishly sticking out your tongue and rocking the swing back and forth, gesturing to your friend to keep going.

"Stop."

He comes up behind you and tugs at your shirt, making you wobble.

"Quit it, Shin!"

"You'll hurt yourself!"

He convinces himself that he only cares so much because Granny would have to spend more time with you to patch you up if you fell, and not because he would hate to see your snotty, crying face.

No, it doesn't make his heart squeeze. Not even a little.

Eventually, you end up face first in the wood chips anyway, with Kita hovering over you looking guilty as ever. He hadn't meant to pull you off so roughly, nor had he meant for you to land on the ground like that.

Oh. Why does it hurt him so much?

That night, you don't sleep in his room.

You end up tucked into Granny's bed instead, down the hall. He misses your presence—he even ends up on the floor though the bed is empty for him to take.

He blinks up at the space where you should be and feels bitterness swelling in his throat.

"Shin." His Granny calls softly when she eventually comes into his room. She doesn't sound the least bit angry, but he still aches with nothing but guilt.

"M'sorry." He knows the apology should be for you, but you couldn’t even look him in the eye over dinner.

His Granny only sighs, kneeling down beside his futon with a tired huff. A reminder of her age. He only feels worse.

"Be kind, Shinsuke."

"I'm tryin'," he argues weakly.

She's silent for a pause before she carefully tucks the silver hair from his eyes.

"You'd be lonely too if I were gone all the time, eh?"

"..."

Kita pulls the covers closer to his chin. Yes, he was aware there was a reason you were always here. There was a reason your house was devoid of life despite being filled with furniture. There was a reason you wanted Granny to love you so much, cementing in the gaps where your parents were always absent.

Did you ever want him to love you like that, too?

The next night, he sits you down on the edge of the tub with no complaints. And he's surprised that you accept the toothbrush into your mouth so easily, no resistance and no qualms like you usually have.

He sees the tired defeat in your eyes, feels the awkward tension in the bathroom, and guides your hand to the end of the brush so you can do it yourself.

"I'm sorry," he tells you without elaborating. You never need him to. (When you reminisce about this day, you sometimes laugh to yourself. You always did love how straightforward he was.)

His words are followed by a tense hug, his hands holding your head against his tummy. The brush stops moving in your mouth as you hug him back.

It dawns on him then: he's just as much of a kid as you are—feeling something as petty as jealousy when all you needed was a hug.

One day, he swears, he'll make it up to you. And he'll be nicer, too. It's the least he can do if he's all the company you have until your parents return.

Be kind, Shinsuke. That's what Yumie always told her grandson. And he would live by those words—even if it meant sleeping on the floor every weekend.

The day after Kita Shinsuke turns twenty-two years old, your apartment floods.

Of course he's the first one there, helping you move what you could salvage from the apartment into suitcases and onto the back of his truck. Of course he's the one to offer a place to stay, because if not him, then who else? And of course he's the one who holds you when you're stressing about what to do and where to go, hand firmly on your back as he lets you snot on his shirt like you've done since you were six.

For a brief moment, it feels as though he's just a little kid again with you making a mess of the home he grew up in.

Well, mess is a stretch—you've infinitely matured since starting food wars with him over dinner, but the point stands when he ends up helping you with an assignment. It had been pushed to the backburner with everything going on, whilst you were moving essentially everything you owned into his house as if you paid rent there.

He should have known that some things never change.

"I can't believe you kicked me out onto the floor."

Kita shuffles in the comfort of his duvet, resting atop his mattress. He stares at you with honey brown eyes swimming in conflict from the bed.

You curl tighter into a ball on the futon. And he knows this ploy—knows that you're trying to guilt trip him into swapping places with you. You've always been manipulative when it came to him, and god-forbid he be anything but an angel to you. (Because his Granny told him to, not for any other reason at all.)

"M'not the one who made a bet they couldn't win."

Words straight and cutting as ever, like a blade through your heart. You pout childishly, rolling over so that your back is turned to him.

It was your idea to challenge him when he said you were on your phone too much while working. It was your idea to be a brat and defiantly say that you could finish your assignment by midnight. It was your idea to bet this all on the most beloved yet war-inducing place in the entire house: Kita's bed.

It's hardly his fault that you got distracted with YouTube.

"I hate you, Shin."

"No y’don't."

"I do."

"No. You don't."

"Okay fine, I don't, but can we please swap now? It's freezin’ down here."

He can practically hear the pout still engraved into your face right now. And it takes every ounce of fight in him not to give into you with the snap of a finger. To argue back and list a million reasons why he should be allowed in his own bed.

Yet here he is, slipping out of the sheets almost instantly and crouching down beside the futon. He shakes your shoulder.

"Fine. Get goin' before I change my mind."

Any resolve left in his body melts away when you shoot upright with a bright smile, victorious as ever.

Sometimes you made it hard for him to imagine why he cared about you at all. You were too sly for your own good. How could he ever deny such a smile? It's not fair.

You scurry into his bed instantly, making yourself comfortable where you have hundreds of times before. "You should make sure I'm comfy. I am a guest in your house, y’know?"

Yes, Kita knows this all too well. You're trying to provoke him, to see how far you can push him until he breaks. Stubborn and obedient, he reaches down to slowly pull the blanket over your body.

There's a pause from you as he drapes you in warmth, blinking up at him dumbly as if you weren’t expecting him to do so without complaint.

"I'm..." You seem to choke on your own words, silently contemplating whether or not you should push further. "My face is still cold."

His hands hold your face instantly, warming your cheeks skin-to-skin. You stare at him with wide eyes, looking so surprised that he wonders if what he's doing is a mistake. But then your hands gently cover his, and you tug him closer until his knee is sinking down on the mattress beside you.

"M'super cold."

"It's twenty-two degrees in here," he informs you flatly.

You make a face, nose slightly scrunched in thought and brows pinched. It's such a troubled expression that he can't help but scoot a little closer.

He's being kind, that's all. He's just making sure you're okay as a friend. No, not even a friend—an obligatory companion. The lifelong thorn in his side. The reason why his back still aches some days.

Be kind, Shinsuke.

When did being kind turn into this? Into moving involuntarily, into having a second nature response to you? Into a stubborn body only movable by one soul, one voice, one pair of hands?

"Keep me warm, Shin."

He gives in to your whims without reason, without logic or hesitation. You are the sole person able to break down any semblance of routine that's been methodically coded into his muscles.

He doesn't get you, perhaps he never would. He would never completely understand your wishes, or how your cheeks were so cold yet burning hot at the same time, or why he was submitting to you so easily.

The only thing he knows is that you are still somehow the centerpiece of his life, dancing in the middle of it all like a black hole sucking in everything else; the whirlpool swirling in the center of calm waters; the supernova of his galaxy.

"...'Kay."

Maybe he doesn't need a reason to care about you. Maybe your very existence is reason enough. And he’s okay with that for once in his life. He had never been the type to go with the flow, but your hands are dragging up his neck and pulling his body onto the mattress.

That night, you both fall asleep in the bed.

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y3ager · 5 months

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STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!

— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’

eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.

my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭

YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.

but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.

you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.

for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.

you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.

until today.

“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”

“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”

“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.

“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”

“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”

“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”

“they are your bosses, without them-”

“they need me way more than i need them-!”

“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”

“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.

your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.

“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”

the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.

“i hate you, eren.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”

“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”

there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.

eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”

oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.

“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”

“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”

you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.

eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.

your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.

with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.

“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”

you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”

“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.

you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.

eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”

his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.

“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”

the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”

“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”

“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”

#eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x black reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x reader #eren x black reader #🏙.aotmodern #❤️‍🔥.aotsmut #kishibyesredditcollab

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heich0e · 1 year

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Kiyoomi is a man committed to his routines.

His morning routine. His exercise routine. His skincare routine. His training routine. His household chore routine. His nighttime routine. Even his grocery shopping routine. He has rigid procedures and regimens for everything, and sticks to these processes each and every day–a fastidious creature of habit.

But then the baby comes.

Babies don't like routines. You come to understand this inarguable truth very, very quickly once your son is born. Or, perhaps they do, according to the countless baby books and articles Kiyoomi has insisted you read on the subject, but the fact of the matter is that their tiny little brains and basic instincts as they acclimatize to the great wide world sometimes make it difficult for them to stick to them. This is especially true in those first few months, where they're coming to terms with living and you (as the parent) are learning the ropes of keeping them alive.

But Kiyoomi perseveres with his routines. He adapts them to fit the tiny, squishy, screaming boy who has now become a part of all of them, and establishes new ones just for him too.

The bedtime routine is always the same, ironed out now to an exact science thanks to Kiyoomi's unending diligence. It starts with bath time. Then comes a fresh diaper and a little set of soft footie pyjamas. Then there are some cuddles, and maybe a story book if baby's eyes have not already begun to droop closed. Then a feed. And finally, bed.

Kiyoomi, most days, is getting home from training just in time for baby to begin his bedtime routine. So initially, this was a routine whose responsibility the two of you shared as new parents.

Kiyoomi would bathe him. You would change and dress him. Kiyoomi and you generally split the cuddles and storytime, if not participate together. Half of the time you would feed him, the other half Kiyoomi would warm a bottle and feed him on his own.

But slowly, you found that Kiyoomi began taking on more and more responsibilities at bedtime.

It was a subtle change: Kiyoomi was already bathing the baby, so he told you he'll just dress him too. You'd come in once baby was freshly washed and in his jammies, have your snuggles with him and your husband, and then Kiyoomi would insist on being the one to feed him so that you can go and take some time for yourself.

The shift is so subtle that it takes a while before you really notice it. And so, by the time you realize you've grown used to slumping down onto the sofa around the same time every day, the sound of your husband's gentle voice murmuring to your son down the hall and the splish-splash of bathwater reaching you, Kiyoomi has already completely assumed bedtime duties.

You stand from the sofa once you process this realization, standing there in shock for a moment before tiptoeing down the hallway towards the bathroom with guilt gnawing at you. You hesitate just beside the doorframe, listening to the scene inside.

"Oh, that's a big yawn,"–splash, gurgle, splash–"are you tired?"–another pleased rumbling little gurgle, that sounds decidedly affirmative in response–"then you must have had a fun day playing with mama."

Your heart, tucked safely in the warmth of your chest, swells at the sound of your husband and your child chattering away just around the corner.

"There you go," Kiyoomi murmurs, and the baby makes an unhappy little sound, but is quickly appeased as Papa shhh shhh shhh-s him gently. The sound of water sliding down the drain tells you bathtime is likely over, and you peek around the corner to make yourself known.

"All done?" you ask, and Kiyoomi's head pops up to look at where you're lingering in the doorway. The steam from the (precisely measured temperature) bathwater has given his skin a healthy, rosy glow.

Baby is laying on his back on the floor, atop a bathmat and a fluffy hooded baby towel that Kiyoomi is in the process of swaddling him in.

"Mhmm," Kiyoomi hums, wiping at a drop of water still clinging to your son's chubby cheek with a dry edge of the towel. He scoops him up into his arms, holding him to his bare chest, and rises up to his feet to bring the baby over to you.

"Oh, hi handsome," you coo, kissing baby's cheek gently as he peeks at you over his papa's broad shoulder. "You smell so nice and clean."

"That's because he is," Kiyoomi points out, and you laugh a little. Your husband peers at you curiously. "What's wrong, why aren't you resting?"

Kiyoomi has his curls pinned back from his face with a hairband, leaving his entire expression in clear view. You appreciate your husband's good looks for a moment; his soft, fair skin, his dark eyes and long lashes, the beauty marks above the arch of his brow. You find yourself endlessly greatful that your son inherited so many of his features from his father.

"I just wanted to see if you need any help," you say softly, resting a hand overtop of Kiyoomi's own, supporting baby's back. Your matching wedding bands glint in the light of the washroom.

Kiyoomi's brows draw together curiously. "No, I'm okay. You go relax for a little while, you must have had a long day."

You pout a little. "Didn't you?"

Kiyoomi huffs, and baby lets out an impatient little sound, wigging in the confines of his towel. Both you and your husband's eyes flutter down to your son when he makes his presence known once more.

"He's going to bite me if I delay the schedule any longer," Kiyoomi remarks pointedly.

"He barely even has any teeth yet," you sniff, but are quietly smug that at least your son inherited some traits from you.

Kiyoomi dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Go relax, I'll be done soon."

He turns his body so baby is facing you–two big dark brown eyes staring at you under his mop of wet baby curls.

"Say goodnight to mama," Kiyoomi says to the baby.

Your son gurgles happily as you kiss him on the nose.

"Goodnight sweetheart," you whisper to him, and the Kiyoomi steps past you and makes his way towards the nursery down the hall.

You sit on the couch a little sulkily while your husband completes the rest of the bedtime routine down the hall. You watch much of it through the baby monitor connected to your son's crib, listening to the parts that happen out of sight from the camera: the changing, the story (one about a baby bird that your son, and you suspect your husband, is partial to), and then the bottle feed.

Finally, baby is placed gently into the cot, arms splayed wide and his eyes closed in slumber. Kiyoomi lingers for a moment by the crib, only his sweatpants and his hands visible through the video feed. You listen as he murmurs a gentle goodnight, his big hand resting gently on baby's tummy in his sleep.

Your heart squeezes as you listen to Kiyoomi tell him that he loves him, and he'll see him in the morning.

You set the baby monitor aside.

Kiyoomi comes padding out into the living room not long after, and finds you curled up on the sofa with your knees pulled to your chest.

"Why are you pouting?" he asks, scratching at the skin of his stomach near his navel. There's a beauty mark there you've pressed your lips to countless times, but today for some reason it makes your chest pang to look at for too long.

"I'm not," you murmur, avoiding his gaze.

Kiyoomi treads closer.

"You are."

He bends at the waist, dipping down towards you and placing one hand on the back of the sofa over your shoulder to peer at your face. At this distance, you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Did he go down easy?" you ask him quietly.

Your husband hums, and you watch as he traces the lines of your face with his gaze. "Same as usual."

Your lip threatens to wobble, but you try your best to keep it together.

"But you know that, don't you?"–Kiyoomi reaches out with his other hand and brushes his thumb against your cheek–"You listened to the monitor the whole time."

It's not altogether surprising he could hear the audio from the baby monitor down the hall, given how quiet your home is, but it still makes you feel like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't have been.

Your nose scrunches up, and you feel an uncomfortable prickle behind your eyes. Kiyoomi falters when he sees the precursors to tears.

"Hey," he breathes, taking your face in both of his soft, warm hands. "What's gotten into you?"

"I feel like a bad mom," you admit quietly, and Kiyoomi looks astounded. Horrified, even.

"What on earth makes you say that?"

You want to turn your face away, to avert your eyes so you don't have to stare the living breathing proof of your failings right in the eye. But Kiyoomi's hold doesn't falter, he keeps your gaze on him.

"You always do everything at bedtime," you say. "We were supposed to split that. You're gone all day, and then the minute you get home you take on the entire–"

"Stop."

Kiyoomi's voice is so firm you have no choice but to heed to his request.

His brown eyes look pained as he appraises you. Guilty.

"I'm gone all day long, every day," he says. "You take care–incredible care–of our son day in and day out all by yourself because I'm not here."

You want to argue with him, to somehow deny what Kiyoomi is saying, but find that you can't given how ardently he's expressing himself.

"The least that I can do when I get home is this. You deserve to rest."

Your lips part, and Kiyoomi's eyes flicker down to them for just a moment.

"And it's the only time I get to spend with him most days. It's important to me. I don't want our son growing up with no memories of me. I don't want him to ever question how much I love him."

Your heart is aching, and now those tears of doubt that you felt welling in your chest have changed to something else.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and Kiyoomi sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Why? There's nothing you need to apologize for."

You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him.

"You're a good dad," you tell him, and you mean it so, so much.

"I know," Kiyoomi agrees, and you almost want to laugh at how he says it. Like he's sure of it. As confident in that truth as he is in his routines. He pulls back from your embrace so he can look at you again. "And you're a great mom."

You smile, though it's still a little watery. You crane up and press a kiss to the corner of your husband's mouth, then another more centred on his lips. Kiyoomi reciprocates in turn, leaning closer until your head is tilted back to grant him easier access to you. He kisses you slow, and sure, and sweetly, eventually easing you back until you're splayed across the sofa for him to crawl atop you.

He pulls away, and you're left staring up at him breathlessly. The overhead light casts a glow around his frame, catching on the dips and valleys of his well-muscled shoulders and in the delicate ringlets of his curls.

"I'm faster at getting him to sleep too, you know," Kiyoomi murmurs as he stares down at you, his eyes watching as his hands trace along the curves of your body until his fingertips dip underneath your top. You're not sure what he means by that until he looks at you again, his gaze hungrier now than it had been just a moment prior. "And that means we have more time for this."

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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kitkio · 10 months

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Caregiver Tips : BedTime ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Create a Schedule!!

Schedules can be very helpful for little ones to get into and say in the groove of bedtime. It can also be helpful if you find yourself not know what to do most night.

Creating an actual Bed-time for bedtime is something I consider important. It doesn’t have to be strict nor does it have to be required though setting a structured though flexible time for your little to head to bed is a good idea !

I don’t suggest any times past 11:00pm though that’s up for you and your little to decide.

A few ideas for Bedtime,

Bath Before Bed ! Not only do baths help to stay clean but it can also be a fun, calming time for little ones

Bed Time Snack. In my personal experience bedtime snacks can be very helpful. Nothing too big because you don’t want the little one to have an upset stomach ! ( You can also treat the snack like a little reward before bed )

StoryTime. You can pick up a nice child friendly book to read your little one to sleep. It’s a safe, calming, and enjoyable activity before bed.

Situational Advice !

Nightmares

Your little woke up from a nightmare ? That can be quite scary for them.

Don’t get upset with your little for being awake. This should be obvious but getting upset with a little for something like this isn’t okay and will only make the situation harder for both of you.

If they’re feeling up to it take a moment to talk about the nightmare with them, get some water, overall show them that they’re safe with you.

Pouty Little having a tantrum at bedtime

Check in to see if there’s any specific reason for it. Wether it’s about being hungry, hurt, or just not wanting to go to bed the reason can be very helpful.

Ease the little to bed. Maybe put on some calming music or a show you think your little could relax while watching.

Explain to them why sleep is important, that you care about them and why you want them to go to sleep in a way they’ll understand.

Different things work for different people and that works the same with littles. If this stuff doesn’t work or you feel they’re better ways to do it for your situation than go ahead !

DNI: NSFW, NonSfw Agere, DDLG, Ageplay, Anti-Agere, Anti-Petre.

#caregiver #agere caregiver #safe agere #sfw little stuff #agere tips #pet regression #handler #safe space #bedtime #agere advice #caregiver advice #kitagerehelp

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lolahasmoxie · 3 months

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Dad!Eddie Headcannon (e.m.)

(that is not Eddie, but OMG how fucking cute!)

Picture Eddie Munson doing pickup after school.

His kid comes flying out of the school and straight into Eddie's arms.

He's quick to swoop them up, hugging them tight and laying on lots of kisses that cause lots of giggles.

Eddie puts them back down and takes their backpack, flinging it over his shoulder.

Walking hand in hand to his car while his kid talks at 100 MPH, telling him about their day.

Eddie's child will 100% inherit his love language of physical touch.

Evenings will be spent demanding cuddles with their father or you.

Eddie is 100% going to oblige. What is he, a monster?

Eddie going over the top for storytime.

Costumes? Check. Multiple voices? Check.

Will also have a spray bottle on the dresser labeled "MONSTER PROTECTANT SPRAY" that he sprays before he leaves so that his kid is protected.

Eddie loves to sleep, LOVES IT.

You know better than to rouse him from precious sleep, yet he never complains when he hears the patter of tiny feet creeping into his bedroom on an early Saturday morning.

The sun is barely up, and he tries to hide the smile on his face as his kid tries to climb into bed.

Sleepy cuddles in bed with his child's small, warm body pressed into his side.

Eddie and his kid belting out songs in the car.

Even if it isn't metal, your kid picks up Eddie's panache for stage theatrics.

Please take a look at the above GIF. Eddie packing his tiny child into his leather jacket and playing peek-a-boo.

Right before bed, Eddie looking at his partner and child cuddled next to him. Wondering what he had done to get everything he wanted as a child.

Just. Eddie being the father he needed as a child. Loving every minute with this tiny human that he helped to create.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #dad!eddie munson #eddie munson headcanons

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 1 year

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Imagine…Dean Getting You Hurt On A Hunt

Pairing: Dean x reader

_______

You tried to get comfortable in the passenger seat, squirming under the wool blanket. Dean was silent as he drove, the radio not even on low like was normal at night when he was on a long drive.

Your left side was killing you. The werewolf slash still burned and felt fresh. You were stitched up and had a wad of bandages stuck to your side but the pain lingered and pulsed.

You didn’t want to have to stop but you needed to move or at least check into a motel room soon. You held off as long as you could bare but Dean was already pulling off the highway and into a motel parking lot. He didn’t speak as he got out, heading into the front office, exiting a moment later with a key.

“Dean,” you said when he opened your door. He picked you up and carried you into the motel room silently, resting you on one of the beds. “Dean.”

He went back to the car, dropping a duffel bag in the room and locking up. You tried to sit up but groaned, laying back with a wince.

“Dean come here,” you said. He sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Your stitches come loose?” he asked.

“No. Just want you to sit with me.” You lay on your good side, the ache easing momentarily. He had his back to you, shifting away when you reached out for him. “We should go home.”

“You’re in too much pain.” He stood and dug around in the duffel, finding some old painkillers. He held them out to you and you rolled onto your back, Dean sighing. “Y/N. Take them. They still mostly work.”

“Not unless you lay down with me and realize it’s not your fault.”

“Take them,” he growled, shoving them in your face. You grumbled but took them, swallowing them down. He wiped a hand over his face, sitting on the other bed. He must have found the floor particularly interesting for how long he stared at it in silence.

“You going to ignore me all night?” He snapped his head up, eyes scanning for any sign of pain, any trouble. “I got hurt. I’ll survive. Let it go.”

“Easy to say when I said the room was clear when it wasn’t. You could have been killed.”

“I’m not a rookie and that werewolf came out of nowhere.”

“Don’t say you’re not hurt because of me. I’m the reason you’re laying there like that.”

“Fine. It’s your fault. It could have happened to either one of us though so drop it. I feel crappy and I want you to lay down and make me feel better. Please.”

He nodded, kicking off his boots before he swung his legs up on the bed, letting you lean your good side against him.

“Thank you,” you said. He hummed and peeled back your shirt, checking the bandages. “Dean. Distract me while I try to sleep.”

“Distract you with what?” he asked quietly, toying with a piece of your hair.

“Tell me about your favorite day ever.” You looked up through your lashes, Dean smiling softly.

“Day I met you.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m guessing you’re gonna want to know more than that though.” You hummed, curling an arm over his waist. “I am sorry.”

“Sh. Storytime.”

“Okay okay. Storytime it is.”

______

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn

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