Eddie Munson's Girlfriend

𝜗𝜚: satoru, suguru, nanami, choso, hiromi, ino, toji

note: they let you know you have a hickey ! previously an archived set.

warnings: suggestive, hickies, cursing, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

ʚɞ: levi, eren, armin, jean, porco

note: you catch them calling you their wife ! i h8 that i accidentally made porco’s so long

warnings: slight angst in Levi’s if you squint, cursing, suggestive, crack, marriage, f!reader

I BLOCK MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS

husband leon kennedy x fem reader (no y/n)

warnings: some suggestiveness/references to sex, but thats it

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my stuff lately <3 i appreciate it so damn much so heres a little fluff gift for you all

A gentle storm rumbles outside, rain pattering the windows in a pleasant, low beat. You’re curled up on the couch, sucked into a book, with a hot cup of tea on the coffee table that you had been slowly nursing. It’s peaceful. The only thing missing is your husband, but you expect he’ll be home soon enough.

Like clockwork, you hear boots outside the door, a key in the lock. You look up to see your husband push through, dripping water like he’d just been swimming fully clothed. You just watch as he begins unlacing his shoes, grumbling under his breath.

“Is it raining?” Leon pauses at your voice, looking up at you slowly. You sip your mug, looking at him over the edge like the most nonchalant thing in the world. He drops his remaining boot and shakes his hair like a dog.

“You’re gonna regret that, smart ass.” He threatens, not a hint of aggression in his voice. You just watch him, expecting to enjoy the show of Leon undressing, but he shrugs off only his jacket before he’s coming towards you at a speed you can’t avoid. He lands on top of you with a dramatic oof.

“You’re gonna get the couch all wet,” you whine, and immediately regret it because you can predict his response before it leaves his mouth.

“You didn’t complain the last time you got the couch all wet.”

“Shut up.”

“So mean,” he scoffs and adjusts, getting comfortable on top of you. You’d like to say that even a waterlogged Leon is cozy to snuggle with, but it’s just not true. Instead of the warm radiator usually on top of you, his skin is cold. The raindrops still clinging to him dampen your pajamas.

“Leon.” He doesn’t respond to you, now all settled on top of you. His head is pillowed on your chest, and you can feel his breath deepening as he relaxes. His arms loop underneath you, hugging your waist with a pleasant, protective pressure. You comb his damp hair back from his forehead with your fingers.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“Aren’t I?” He opens one eye to peek up at you. You tuck his shaggy hair behind his ears. He’s overdue for a trim, sporting something that was toeing dangerously close to a mullet. It’s really unfair that despite it, he’s handsome as ever, smiling at you with sugary sweet eyes.

At that point, you just let him rest on top of you and decompress from his work day. It’s not the most ideal cuddling session, but you always enjoy seeing him become a little more at peace with you in his grasp, in the home the two of you had made together.

After a while, his voice buzzes against your chest.

“Need to shower.” It’s a complaint, something like a whine in the back of the words.

“Yeah, you should,” you agree. You rub into his upper back, just where his neck meets his shoulders. He lets out a low, deep groan, when your knuckles press harder. “Feel good?”

“So good,” he sighs. Squeezes you a little tighter. You continue for a few minutes, before reminding him.

“You should shower, babe.”

“Yeah,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “In a minute.”

A minute passes. He doesn’t move.

“Leon.”

He sighs, and he finally begins to move. You’re thinking about what dry clothes you should change into when you feel yourself begin to move, too, and his arms still haven’t left you.

“Taking you with me,” he says, matter-of-fact. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the bathroom counter. He flips the water on and throws a steamer on the floor. The room floods with a pleasant, fresh eucalyptus scent. He comes back to you while the water warms, pulling you by the legs so your butt is on the very edge of the counter, and he can stand between your parted knees. He hooks a finger under the collar of your wet shirt. “Oh no, I got you wet. I guess… you have to take this off.”

“Oh no.” You reply just as flatly. You toss your shirt to the side unceremoniously and Leon drinks in your topless form greedily. He presses his hips against the counter, and his hands cradle your face. You hook your leg around his and urge him, somehow, even closer. “Hi.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” his eyes are flickering around your features, taking you in as much as he can. He presses a gentle, sweet kiss to the apple of your cheek. His stubble scratches against your skin in a way that you love. You take the opportunity to rub your palm over it, humming.

“Handsome.” You murmur. Leon chuckles. Your irises are practically heart-shaped.

“You’re a real charmer,” he presses a kiss to your mouth this time. It’s warm. Slow. You can’t help but sigh against him. His hand spreads across your bare shoulders, rough fingertips with gentle movements. “Mmh,” he groans the slightest bit. “Water’s gonna get cold if you keep distracting me, baby.”

“You like it.”

“Like you. Very much,” he kisses you again, this time pulling down your panties as he does so. In turn, you tug at the hem of his shirt and he obeys in a smooth motion, revealing his wide expanse of bare chest. His biceps flex a little as he does so, and you’re openly ogling him. Privileges of marriage. He comes back for more, on your jaw, your cheek. "In fact," he draws out the pause with a long, deep kiss that makes your stomach flip. "I'd say I love you."

"Hmm, that's interesting," you muse. Your teeth are at his neck and he sighs. His grip digs a little harder into your hips. You hum and look back up at him, now unbuckling his belt. His lids grow heavy, sinking til they're nearly closed with desire. You slide it from its loops, and it lands on the floor with a soft clink. “Take off your pants, Kennedy.”

I have this in my mind with AIRWIY!Steve, ‘cause I know he’s so soft during sex and you do it in missionary or you ride him, but then you ask him if he will take you from behind (feel free to change) and be a little rough🥹

Hi angel! thank you for your request 💗 I hope you enjoy. This is a request is from my All I Really Want Is You series but can be read as a stand alone.

older!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ established relationship, smut, dirty talk, cream pie, age gap.

wc: 1.3k

authors note: for those that read the series this takes place during the gap between chapter ten and the epilogue. the relationship is still new and they are trying new things 🧡

Something felt different about tonight.

You think it might’ve been the fancy cocktails that were stronger than normal, and the dim lighting of The Violet Hour that danced across Steve’s sharp features. Or his big hand that stayed high on your thigh through the entirety of dinner. Salt and pepper scruff tickling your cheek every time he leaned in to whisper low in your ear. 

Just a little blurb about playing with a stressed out baseball cap wearing Steve’s hair in the back of a broken down WSQK van.

warnings:my blog is 18+, friends to lovers, a little hint of touch starved steve, season five moody steve.

Steve sighs when you slip the baseball cap off his head, readjusting where he lays on your lap in the back of the WSQK van. The dark chestnut of his hair is even messier than usual, and a little damp from the sweat that had collected inside the worn in nylon. Your fingers slide through the thick silk of it, pushing his signature swoop back, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along his scalp. He groans at the feeling, the deep stress lines that had made a permanent home on his forehead softening, smoothing out so you can see the secret freckles that kiss his sunkissed skin.

One big hand wraps lazily around your leg, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your calf. The other lays across his stomach where his camo shirt rides up, revealing an even darker happy trail that leads to a full thatch of hair on his chest you’ve only seen a few times and tried desperately not to stare. Lately though, it’s felt an awful lot like he wants you to. You weave your fingers through the thick of it, twisting them just a little bit before tugging lightly.

”Jesus Christ that feels good.” He grumbles, his eyebrows marrying in the middle, jaw going slack when you do it again.

“It’s supposed to feel like I’m pulling it out.” You whisper quietly, doing your best to help him get rid of the headache that turned into a migraine stranded on the side of the road.

You scratch along the side of his head, running your fingers through the baby hairs that curl around his ear, making him hum like you’ve hit a sensitive spot. He turns his head to the side in a silent plea to do it again, the tip of his nose pressing into your tummy. You wonder if he can feel the butterflies there. Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth you oblige him, the grip he has on your calf tightening just a little bit. A loud breath escapes through his nose, before it nuzzles deeper into you. The windowless back of the van blocks his sensitive eyes from the sun outside, leaving just a small warm beam that shines against the signal tracker. The tiny fuzz of the shag lining dancing inside the light of it.

”How much longer till Henderson said they’d be here again?” He mumbles, scooting his body closer, his hand sliding further up your leg until he's holding your thigh.

“Like an hour.” You sigh, the tips of your fingers smoothing out the annoyed wrinkle that forms on his forehead at the news, daring them to slide down the slight stubble that lines his jaw.

He doesn’t respond, instead he just angles his face up in a way that encourages your wandering hands to keep going, a low appreciative hum slipping from between his lips when they do. You trace down the slope of his nose, lashes tickling at the tops of your cheeks feeling the heat of his breath against your skin.

”Maybe uh - “ He clears his throat a little, turning his head to look up at you with pretty hazel eyes despite the lavender bags underneath them. “Maybe tonight we could sneak away and watch some of the movies we snagged from Family Video before they locked it down.”

Your fingers pause on their path along his favorite spot around his ear, trying to figure out if Steve Harrington was asking you out during the end of the world.

”I mean only if you want to you know, like no pressure, it’s totally coo-“

”Only if I get to pick the movie.” You interrupt with a poor attempt at being coy, but it seems to work with the way red starts to paint his cheeks.

"You do not seem fine."

Decades together, and you only get with child now? What had it been that led to the child's conception?

He spends the next few years figuring it out.

After naming the newborn babe Tomura, Sukuna does try to be a good father, even if he has no clue what he's doing. As an infant, his son can't do anything.

Watching Tomura crawl around, Sukuna rests his cheek on a fist, sitting with you.

"Is this all there is to it?" He asks, watching the baby plop on his face and– yep, he's crying. Reaching over, Sukuna grabs his son and claps loud in his face. It startles the baby enough he forgets he was crying and within moments, Tomura is back to crawling around the room.

Sukuna just sighs.

Thankfully, the years pass by fast enough and things get interesting. And by the time Tomura is five, you're already round with your second child.

"Papa, why is mama fat?" Tomura asks him one day as he shows the boy how to use a tiny bow.

"We told you, your mother is carrying a baby in her belly. It's growing in her." Sukuna explains patiently, ruffling his son's pink hair as the boy clings to his kimono.

"How'd the baby get there?" Tomura asks, and Sukuna thinks: Ah, the talk.

Considering how best to explain it to one so young, Sukuna takes a seat, propping his son into his knee.

"When people grow older, they gain the ability to couple. And when a man and woman who love one another couple, a child may come of it." He explains as innocently as he can.

Tomura plays with his silken belt. "Are you and mama going to have lots of babies?" He asks, and Sukuna smiles.

"Oh, yes. If your mother agrees to it, I plan to give you many playmates." He says, pressing a light kiss to the boy's brow. "Would you like that, Tomura?"

The boy thinks for a bit, before nodding.

"Yeah." He says simply, then jumps off his father's lap and walks away to do his own thing.

For your second pregnancy, Sukuna is much more attentive. Not that you were neglected before! You had the servants and Uraume to care for you, and even though Sukuna had his doubts about your pregnancy, he'd still kept close, curious by your changing body.

This time Sukuna is always by your side. He carries you around when your ankles swell and reaches under your large belly to hold it up for you during the later months. During the middle of the night he'll get up himself to get you whatever you're craving.

As you lay in bed one night, you ask him what he'd like it to be.

"It matters not." Sukuna says, one hand always cupping your baby bump, feeling it move within. "Son or daughter, so long as they're powerful."

You give him an amused look. "Y'know, most would say 'so long as they're healthy', but at least you're not sexist." You pat his wrist, making him huff.

"Please, as if any child of ours could be anything but the epitome of health." He mutters, lips twitching when he feels the babe kick.

When the child is born, Sukuna doesn't even blink as you crush his hand, holding you up in a squat so the baby comes out easier. Uraume is the one to catch it, to wash it clean and cut the umbilical cord once the placenta is emptied of blood.

And then he's in your arms.

"Another boy." You say, tired beyond belief, yet Sukuna heals you and Uraume cools you with their technique, washing away the sweat and blood. You smile at your son, taking in his features.

This one has the normal amount of eyes, though even as a newborn they're red, just like his father's.

"He has your hair." Sukuna observes, leaning close. He sniffs his son, the scent of a baby one he'd grown to enjoy. He lightly touches the little tuft of hair before stroking down towards his son's cheek.

"Do you have a name in mind?" Sukuna asks, not particularly caring to name the child. So long as it wasn't something ridiculous, that was the mother's right in his opinion.

"Hm, I was thinking... Ares?"

He blinks, mulling it over. "After a Greek god? Hmm..." His gaze turns to his newest son, and he can't help but think it fits.

Yes, a name of a false god given to one real, for if Sukuna could rise so high, then surely his children would follow too.

"Ares it is." He nods, already planning when he'll be able to teach his boys how to fight. Might as well have them live up to their names, right?

I imagine he's actually really good at parenting simply because he never panics

Like the baby is crying? He distracts them from what made them cry or he doesn't react. Sometimes babies cry for attention and, while he will give his offspring attention, he'll only do so after he's made them stop crying. No rewarding that kind of behavior in his house.

Also his arms are perfect for cradling a baby. Just that.

Also Sukuna doesn't seem like the type to lose his temper easily? Like especially with you or his kids.

I think he'd only snap at his child (when they're little-little) if they're genuinely being a nuisance, like they're getting moody and over-tired but not going down for a nap, and you're clearly at your wits end, tired and frustrated, so Sukuna puts his foot down.

"I may have been too harsh." He mutters after forcing Tomura into bed. The boy had whimpered as Sukuna grabbed him, forcing the boy to look at your tired expression as Sukuna berated him for putting his mother, his mama through so much stress.

Tomura had been near tears as Sukuna took him to bed in the next room, but Sukuna had done little more than tuck him in and tell him to sleep, that he loved him, but he was being bad.

Now, lying in bed with you, Sukuna wonders if he'd been too harsh... or not harsh enough? He scowled at the ceiling.

"Nah," you cuddle up to him, tired. "Sometimes you need to just... put your foot down. It'll only become more necessary in the coming years." You yawn. "He'll be calmer after he sleeps. And we'll have clearer heads when we do as well."

Sukuna grunts, holding you close.

“what the fuck is kinktober?” his tone is flat, suspicious, like the word itself is plotting something against him.

you pause mid-typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “it’s… uh. like an october writing challenge. every day you write about a different kink.”

he blinks at you. then, slowly, his head tilts so he can glance at your screen. you don’t even notice until his eyes start narrowing.

“handcuffs,” he reads aloud, “breathplay. breeding. corruption. size kink—” his voice cuts off, and when he looks at you again, it’s with the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen.

“you’re a virgin,” he says, like it’s a death sentence. “how the hell do you even know what half of these words mean?”

you slam the laptop halfway shut, heat rising in your face. “don’t ask me that.”

“nah, i’m asking.” he looks way too entertained now, smug grin tugging at his lips. “what is this, research? field notes?”

“i said don’t ask me that.”

“writing smut like you’ve got a phd in dick. you can’t even make eye contact with a condom more than three seconds in a convenience store.”

“oh my god.” you groan, shoving at his arm, but he doesn’t budge.

suguru just laughs, low and amused, leaning back against your desk like he’s not going anywhere. “nah, i’m serious. you’re over here writing about being bent in half when i literally had to open a jar of pickles for you yesterday.”

“get out of my room.”

“make me.”

he’s still grinning when you throw a pillow at his face, and he catches it like it’s nothing.

“don’t worry,” he says, tossing it back at you, smug as ever. “i won’t tell anyone your dirty little blog secrets. but i’m never letting you live this down.”

“you’re the worst best friend alive.”

“and yet, i’m the only one willing to put up with your kink diary.” he stretches lazily, like he’s done you a favor. “you should be thanking me.”

you throw the pillow at his face again. this time, you don’t miss.

taglist: @junkuna @sweethearticism @bistrocatxx @ethezreal @kalihrts @satorupi @jaynto @violetpurplez @amane1271 @whorishminds @jesmightjumptmr @starlostlaiba @gktdh @therealtifalockhart @lee-doesnt-knoww @thaddeusthebee @lostgeto @heliumshorns @smugglingtherain @coveredinratz @ur-fav-eater

STOP. you are a genius honestly. the bestfriend energy turning into fucking?? i’m so damn bad for this…. And bucky would be also so confident about himself in bed like UGH i just know HE knows how good he is… squeezing my thighs at the thought.

You’re walking side by side, milkshakes in hand, the way you always do after a long week. your hands occasionally brushing. It’s easy — it always is with him. Talking about everything and nothing — something stupid. First dates. Red flags. Sex that was just… meh.

And then, casually, like it’s no big deal, you say it.

“I’ve faked it, like, every time.”

He slows mid-step. “Wait. Every time?”

You shrug like it’s nothing. “I mean, yeah. Guys always think they’re doing a good job if you moan a little and say their name once or twice.”

Dad Gojo :>

Gojo Satoru, many years before, said that if he were to ever have a child, he wanted it to be a boy.

"Don't you like girls or something?" You asked, sitting to a chair next to him as Suguru and Shoko smoke a cigarette not too far.

"Hell nah. I hate all that cute bullshit." He spat, face morphing with anger and disgust.

"C'mon it's not that bad." Suguru spoke, glancing at his way.

"It's annoying. I can't stand the thought of dealing with make-up, princesses, pink everywhere, ribbons, a million stickers, glitter.. Eugh."

But life is a funny thing, and here he is with his 5 year old daughter, laying in the floor on top of the pink carpet of her pink room, two ribbons in his white hair, a sticker on his left cheekbone and terrible make-up on his face while drawing a princess with her.

You watched them silently until you let a giggle.

Satoru turned his head and looked at you. "What's up?" He asked with genuine curiosity, passing a marker to his daughter while holdin glitter to his other hand.

"Nothing, just...what was that again about not wanting a daughter?" You teased.

"Ha ha." He stared at you unimpressed and went back to spending time with his little princess who he loved more than anything in this world, shamelessly embarrassing his younger self who was stupid enough to say that he didn't want a girl. How dare he? That fucker...

"Dad! I need the glitter."

"Of course sweetheart, here you go."

“you know,” yaga started slowly, side-eyeing the sea of alumini surrounding him. covered in wounds and scratches alike. yet all eyes fix to the scene only a few metres away.

the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, bent and observing every inch of your being. you, his wife. his large hands cupping your face once he's assured no fatal harm has come onto you.

some eyes soften as you're dragged into satoru's strong arms. some hitch their breaths at the look of softness in bright blue eyes that boasted utmost feralness but a moment ago. when your life was on the line. when the sea of opponents thought it a grand idea to target you — the honoured one's beloved.

“if anything happens to that woman," yaga continued, blank, despite the small throat clear.

“we're all done for.”

one that you can't seem to remember as he rolls his hips against yours harder and harder, like hes purposefully trying to lapse your memory, fuck you so stupid you wonder why you broke up with him in the first place.

he was only supposed to come over to grab some of his things he had left at yours. his toothbrush and a few pairs of clothes were tossed into a box and then discarded in favour of winning you back.

is it working? maybe. the eyes he gave you were so wide and wistful and needy that you couldn’t help but let him carry you to the bedroom and eat you out for an hour before letting him fuck you

“you’ll take me back, won’t you baby?” he asks, fucking you deep into the plush mattress that finally doesn’t dip where he used to sleep at night. “your pretty pussy misses me so much, she’s squeezing me so tight…”

“gojo—”

he thrusts hard, kinda mean. “toru, baby. you call me toru, remember? say it right.”

“toru, you’re so fucking—“