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bunnis-monsters · 1 month ago

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Baby bees’ first Halloween

Male!Bee Hybrids x Fem!Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 10th

Oct9

Oct11

summary: when your baby bees want to experience the Halloween traditions of the human world, you do everything in your power to make the night special for them.

warning: mostly fluff, short sex scene at the end, breeding, oviposition, more than two p in one v

Although honey and sweet things were things all bee hybrids were experts on, not a single one of them was aware of the Halloween holiday.

That was, until one of your baby bees looked up from your lap at the movie you were watching. In it, the characters were talking about Halloween as they walked home from school.

The baby bee’s eyes lit up, and he held onto your shirt with his tiny fists as he watched the movie with you. His siblings were already fast asleep in cuddle piles all along the bed and floor, so he took the opportunity to get some extra cuddle time with his precious mama!

The next day, you woke up to your sons buzzing around, their clumsy bodies pumping into walls and each other as they babbled and squealed with delight.

“Really?”

“A special day where you get candy?”

“A-and you get to dress up!”

“Mama!”

Their attention turned to you the second they noticed you were awake. You were tackled by your sons, the sound of buzzing, purring, and multiple voices trying to speak at once filled the room.

“Mama, hungry!”

“I wanna trick or treat!”

“Mama, mama!”

You laughed, holding them close to you. “Shh, shh… one at a time.”

As you began to feed your little ones, they told you their plans.

“We’re gonna trick or treat!”

You blinked, patting the back of one of your little ones after he was done feeding. “Truck or treating? And where do you plan on doing that, boys? You know little ones aren’t allowed to leave the hive.”

Whines and huffs could be heard as they all poured and stomped their little feet. “I wanna eat candy!”

“Costumes sound fun!”

“Mama, please!”

So like any other mother would, you decided that you’d need to plan something for your little ones to do for Halloween.

The week leading up to that special day was busy. Decorations were being put up, lights hung, and candy delivered. Before long the entire hive was buzzing with excitement for the special day!

“My queen, we’ve prepared the costumes.”

You glance at one of the worker bees as he brought in a rack of custom made costumes for your little ones. So far, you had only birthed 3 batches of baby bees, so you currently only had 15 of your own children in the hive.

“Good. Have the children try them on and make sure they’re to their liking.”

You sighed softly, sitting next to the bed of one of the young bees that had recently been taken into the hive. He was just a baby, but so sickly and small. It hurt your heart to know other hives didn’t care as much as you did.

“Mama…”

His little voice made your heart clench in your chest. You weren’t his mother, but you reached out and held his tiny hand regardless. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I wanna… dress up too…”

So another costume was ordered, the little one requested to dress up as a flower.

When the time finally came for Halloween, you were awoken by a swarm of your little ones all jumping onto your bed and squealing with delight.

“Mama!”

“Halloween, it’s Halloween!”

“Candy!”

You groaned a bit, sitting up and rubbing your tired eyes. “I told you, my little love bugs, we can’t trick or treat until later tonight.”

They were restless through the day, but thankfully you anticipated this and had a small fall fest planned. They all played with hay, bobbed for apples, and got their faces painted by the talented artists of the hive.

“I’ve never seen a baby bee so happy before, my queen,” one of your attendants purred into your ear, nibbling on your neck. “You are certainly the most attentive, amazing-“

When his hand dipped between your thighs, you gave his arm a playful smack. “Tsk, tsk… it’s their night, you aren’t getting any until all my little ones are asleep.”

You attendants all pouted, determined to cling and whine to you about how needy they were. For the most part you didn’t mind, but they were such jealous things!

Settling down with your little ones, you let them nap as you chatted with the worker bees. It wa stole for them to get in place for trick or treating.

When your little ones began to wake, you helped the sleepy baby bees get their costumes on before walking with them through the hive.

Every work station had been converted into a mini house, and the baby bees squealed with delight as they ran and flew to knock on the doors and receive their special treats.

You giggled, watching them bump into each other and toddle around, eating candy and buzzing well into the night.

After going to every house, they were exhausted, toddling after you as you got them all back to bed.

“Was Halloween fun?” you asked in a soft voice, tucking them in.

“Yeah…”

“Mmm… mama…”

“Fun…”

Once they were all asleep, you were guided out of the nursery and to your bedroom. YOURE attendants were pouting, a line of bee hybrids waiting outside for their reward.

“We all worked very hard…” one of them murmured while kissing your fat thighs and tummy. Your panties were already gone, your bee hybrid lovers much too eager to keep them on for long.

Being stuffed with one cock then two, feeling your belly stretch and expand as egg after egg was pushed inside of your womb.

You had promised them all some loving in return for working so hard for your little ones, and they were all so desperate for a turn that they were jumping your leg and pushing more than one cock into your fat cunt.

It was a long night full of cum, love making, and lots of eggs. But by the end of it, they were all satisfied and purring as they curled up with you in a cuddle pile.

Babies and adults were similar in that way. Just like the babies loved to spend time with their mother, the adults yearned to be in the presence of their queen.

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NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

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yeyinde · 3 months ago

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(sighs dreamily) i loooove the way you write fucked up and gross simon. the size kink and somno drabbles have been living rent free in my mind for almost two weeks now. the recent stalker piece was also so deliciously terrifying, i actually had a dream/nightmare today that was a mixture of stalker!ghost and not-dog!soap 😭

are you planning on writing any more for either of those?

ahhh thank you!!!! this had me wondering how i could maybe blend the two and this happened.

stalking. HEAVILY implied noncon somno. size difference.

Simon decides your dog, your baby, needs a man in the house. and since you like to call yourself his 'mama,’ then it’s only right that he becomes the daddy both of you need.

Your dog does not like strangers.

He's a rescue and the sort of life he lived until now, until you, is mostly a mystery. You found him on a rainy day, panting under your awning - a gnarled mess of matted fur glued to bone. Too skinny to survive another winter. You took him in right away and gained his trust. His love. But whatever he had left to spare (lots, it seems) is strictly reserved for you. Everyone else is a threat, a worry. Even the vets he's known since you found him all those years ago still get the same wary glances, the same growls then they lean in too close to whisper something in your ear.

He's just—special. The sweetest thing ever when it's just you. Your baby. People joke—slightly nervous—that he treats you like his mother. Following you closely with his big, glossy eyes tilted up to stare at you. Loving. Cuddly. Rests his big head on your lap at night with a great, big sigh. Tired from a long, hard day of protecting his house from squirrels and the stray delivery driver.

But when it comes to others—anyone, really—he’s aggressive. Territorial. All the vets and trainers say that it's his breed. That he just needs to be trained. Exposure therapy. Behavioural. And it works for all of two weeks before he's back to his stubborn self. Snapping at anyone who gets too close to you.

You post warnings on your fence. Your front door. Take precautions when you walk him. Warn anyone who gets close that he doesn't like anyone. Full stop. No exceptions. And it works. Helps ease the stress. He still goes to therapy. To training lessons. But he's smart enough to trick them into thinking he's learning.

And it's fine. People can't get too close to you. To his house. His territory.

Or so you thought.

But he's been acting strange lately.

You caught him barking at something through the fence a few months ago; spittle flying from his muzzle as his lips peeled back, snarling and vicious. If the fence wasn't reinforced, you think he would have broken it down to get at whatever was behind it.

It continued like this for a few days. Each time you went to check and see what was there, all you find is littered cigarettes. The teenage son of your neighbour, you think. He likes to hide in the dense woods so his parents can't find him. You'll talk to him about it later. Ask if he can do it a little further away from the fence so he isn’t disturbing Baby.

As the days grow, his growls and snarls diminish before stopping outright. In the interim, your unease grows.

It's small—at first.

He wants to be outside more. Always whining at the back door, scratching at it with his paw. When you let him out, he runs right to that spot by the fence. Sits down, and just stares. When you go out to look, there's nothing there. Just a dark, sprawling coppice. Cigarettes on the ground. But something catches his attention. Keeps it. Holds it.

He leads you to that spot sometimes, too. Nudges you with his big, furry head to your thighs. Shepherding you to the fence, and then sits back, clearly preening. Proud.

"You're mama’s silly boy, aren't you?" you coo, scratching his ears. It must be the neighbour. Maybe a stray deer wandered by. You catch a flash through the tree line. Twin puddles of black peering through the tangled weeds. Your dog perks up, looking towards it. A deer, you think. A stray buck. You huff, patting his head. "Made a new friend, huh?"

But you can't shake the feeling that something else is out there. That something is staring at you.

Nothing, you tell yourself, fighting off a shiver. It's fine. Fine. He sneaks off at night sometimes. You hear him playing in the hallway. Wandering around the house. The tack-tack-tack of his nails against the hardwood as he walks back to your bedroom lulls you back to sleep. You feel the bed dip. Something warm against your back. You sigh, melting into the sheets—

There's nothing to worry about.

He'll protect you.

But the next morning, you find him locked outside. The patio door shut. The deck is dried from the sun, but his fur is wet. It rained last night. You drifted in and out to the patter of it on your window. The soothing weight of his body curling around you—

He must have gotten out in the morning. Rolled around in the grass. But when you put him in the tub later to scrub the rainwater off of his cost, his belly is dry.

It's nothing. He was in bed with you last night. It's fine. Fine. Everything is easy to explain away as coincidence. Nothing usual. The feeling of being watched. The missing food from your fridge. The creaks of the old house at night. Things shifting around—keys missing only to turn up somewhere else. Rodents chewing through your landline.

The panties you shed, tossing into a corner before getting into the shower going missing—

They’re just—lost in the wash. You must have thrown the leftover food away when you cleaned earlier and forgot. The lingering scent of cigarettes. Smoke in your bed. The cloying scent of loam, humus. Fresh dirt. The stains on your bed. The strange smear in the gusset of your panties when you peel them apart.

Something thick, firm between your thighs—

Fine. You tell yourself. Everything is fine. At best, it's a gas leak. At worst—well.

Baby will protect you.

Always.

But the next day, he brings his favourite toy to the back door, asking to be let out, and this isn't—

It's not normal.

He's possessive over his toys. Keeps them on his daybed and refuses to let anyone touch them. Only you. He doesn't bring the. Outside, either.

But when you peer outside a few minutes later, the toy is lying by that spot near the fence. He's sitting down, tail wagging. Happy. Excited. It continues like this for the next few days. He brings his toys to the fence, coming in later, licking his lips. When you brush his teeth at night, you smell something gamey on his breath. Meaty.

Getting out of bed a few hours later and playing in the hallway. Going to sleep with you at night, but somehow getting out in the early hours of the morning, waiting for you on the patio when you remember the huff of his breath over your neck less than an hour ago—

No. You're just—

Getting the time wrong. It's fine. He'll protect you. He doesn't like anyone but you.

You hear footsteps in the hallway at night next to the click-clack of his nails. When you jump out of bed to check, it's just him. Sitting by the back door, head craned over his shoulder when he heard you coming. His favourite toy is sitting on the ground in front of him. You fight a shiver. The feeling of eyes burning into you churns your stomach.

"I'm going crazy, sweetheart," you coo, but feel the threads of your sanity begin to snap one by one. "But you'll keep me safe, right?"

His tail wags. You pretend not to notice the gap in the patio door. Opened just a crack. You shut it, forcibly telling yourself to remember to close it next time and fight the memories of locking it before settling on the couch to watch old re-runs. You drag him back to bed, burrowing your head into his fur, listening to the thud-thud-thud of his heart in your ear.

When you dream that night, it's of a big, scarred hand making its way between your thighs. A rasping, masculine voice in your ear commanding you to be good—

You wake up with your thighs sticky, wet. Your cunt pulsing. There's an ache there; a sting. It twinges when you move, tapering into a sore throb as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, woken up by the strange dream—fingers between your thighs, a head resting on your belly, calling you a good girl—and a noise.

A low murmur comes from the living room. You wince with the first several steps, forcing yourself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. The wetness that drips down your leg, some of it already dried, sticking to your skin. It’s fine. You just had a—

A wet dream.

—everything is fine. Fine. Your heart lurches. Lodges in your throat. Each beat feels like a fist against your tissue trying to break down the prison of your flesh to flee.

You slowly inch toward the hallway, the sound, making excuses for the fear that curdles in your belly. The itch in the back of your head that calls you stupid. Demands you go back to bed. To sleep. You’ll wake up in the morning to Baby slobbering over your chest, drooling as the time ticks away in a slow crawl towards his usual breakfast.

It’s tempting. The sleep congealing in the corners of your eyes, weighing heavy—molasses-thick—over your sense of awareness: cobwebbed in that strange, uncanny realm of sleep and wakefulness; hypnagogia turning shadows on the walls into human shapes. The whisper of wind into the brassy drawl of a voice.

Through it all, the prickle rears. Says something isn't right. Hasn't been right for a while now. It's fine. Everything is—

It doesn't make sense at first. Your brain tries to wrap around the images your eyes feed it. Untangling the dizzying sense of confusion that runs along your hindbrain like a jagged knife; grazing tissue, scraping over nerves. The picture comes together quickly. There's no misinterpreting the shapes.

A man is lounging on your couch. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The remote is held in one hand as he lazily flicks through the channels on your television screen. The picture of ease. So relaxed, so comfortable in your space, that you begin to feel a little bit like an intruder. A voyeur peering between the curtains.

This feeling is reinforced when you peel your eyes away from the horrifying mask on the man's face—a black balaclava—and find your dog lounging beside him. Resting with his head over this stranger's thick thighs. His head perks up when you approach, tail wagging, but he doesn't get up from his spot. Content to bask in the half-hearted attention the man doles, a hand buried in his fur. Dragging over his ears. Down his back. Monotonous flicks of his thick wrist, nearly the same width as the barrel of a baseball bat.

And that just trembles down your spine in the worst way.

He's the same height as you are sitting down. Takes up two cushions on the couch with his absurd bulk. Massive, you think. And then it all rushes through you. The knife slips into your cognisance.

There's a man in your house. Petting your dog,

your dog who tries to bite the same vet he's had for years. Who trusts, who likes, no one but you—

You make a noise. Something strangled in the back of your throat. Muffed, unable to escape through the clot of your heart getting there first. It tangles around your pericardium and is too late to take back. To swallow down.

It doesn’t matter, though.

The man has been watching from the beginning.

Dark eyes (a dark, black flash between the leaves—) drill into you. Staring. That familiar, unease feeling is back again, creeping up your spine. It's been him the whole time, you know. The thing behind the fence. Must be. The same brand of cigarettes you found on the opposite side is sitting on your coffee table, right beside his feet.

His chest expands with his inhale. You smell stale smoke. Something wild. The scent of the forest after a summer's rain shower.

"Finally up, are you? Thought you were gonna sleep all day." His voice is deep. Brassy. The growling roll of an approaching thundercloud. You shiver. Jerk back, but—

Baby growls.

He's never done that before. Never barked. Never snarled. Never nipped.

But right now, his teeth peel back, muzzle wrinkling as he lifts his lips. And you know it's playful. Seen this look on his face when you throw the ball across the yard. It's just him being his silly self. He won't attack you. Won't maul you.

The man lifts his hand and your dog limbers up. Shakes. He jumps off the couch and trots toward you. Nothing is threatening in the way he moves. It's the same lumbering gait, the same happy wag to his tail, but he moves himself around you. Stands between you and the only escape.

"Baby—?"

"Taught 'im a few tricks," the man drawls conversationally—like he wasn't a stranger in your house. "Got a good boy on your 'ands. Jus' needed a bit o'trainin'—”

He snaps his fingers and Baby moves. Bumps his head into the back of your thighs. Pushing you. Nudging you toward the man. It’s so horrifying familiar that you find yourself moving without a thought. Following along.

"He jus' needed a man in the house, didn't he? A father figure—"

You're going to be sick. Think you would have been already if your heart wasn't lodged tight in your throat, keeping everything down.

The man lifts his hand. Curls his fingers.

"C'mon, mommy," he taunts, voice a derisive roll. "Come sit on Daddy's lap. It's movie night tonight."

Baby pushes you forward happily, tail wagging, wagging—

Happier than you’ve ever seen him as this stranger reaches out, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You think about fighting immediately, struggling to get out of his hold, but he moves back and the unmistakable, blunt press of a gun sends shivers rolling down your spine. You still instantly. Back drawing tight. Fear is a wet, hot pulse behind your ribs.

“Don’t fight it, birdie—” You feel the warm, damp press of his mask against the shell of your ear. The ridges of his lips move beneath the fabric as he speaks.

You hear him inhale, drawing in the scent of your shampoo—your fear: an oily thick miasma pooling behind your ears, against your nape—and feel tears pool against your lashline when a surge of familiarity wells up at the solid, firm weight of his chest against your spine. His thigh slips between yours, spreading them wide over the arch of his muscle. Limp, dizzy, you fall back into his chest when he pulls you in, slotting a burly arm over your ribcage. Locked in tight. A shackle.

“Ain’t go’ nothin’ t’worry about,” he continues, hips shifting. Moving. And—

It’s a not gun. You know it isn’t. When you whimper, it throbs—

There’s the echo of a groan in his voice when he huffs, lips pursing into a kiss. “Nothin’ at all. C’mon, Baby—”

And Baby obeys eagerly, jumping up on the couch beside him. His snout is warm, wet, when he presses it to your arm, sniffing. Please, you think, staring into his eyes as tears swell, pooling down your cheeks. Please—

But the man lifts his arm, and Baby circles the cushion before falling against his side with a deep, content sigh. Hope is snuffed out of your chest in an instant. The man’s hand falls to his head, rubbing his skull affectionately.

“Good boy.” Baby perks. His happiness is a palpable thing that swells around you as he melts, eyes slipping closed. “Gonna be a good boy while mum an’ dad spend some time together, ain't you, boy?”

His arm tightens around your waist. Chin notches over your shoulder as he shifts back, legs kicking out to spread your thighs further apart.

"Now," he drawls, hand sliding down to the mess between your thighs. You shiver against him, toying with the idea of running, fleeing—but he must know. Senses it, maybe. He lifts his hips, pressing the gun into your spine. A threat. A warning. But with the way he swallows you up—broad chest closing in on you, trapping you on all sides—you know it's futile.

He has you.

Your submission makes him purr.

"Baby's sleepin', so now let daddy take care'o mommy—"

#he’s not a stepdad #he’s a dad who stepped up 🥹#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley/reader

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ssaltlicker · 1 year ago

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Were you actually held to unrealistic and unattainable standards as a child or did people just encourage you for doing menial things because you were a child and now people dont do that for you anymore

#of whom said tasks are expected to be known #like yeah we cheer a baby for saying one word #no one is cheering for you anymore im sorry #doing regular things is great as a kid bc its your first time and its a reward to encourage you to keep learning #like giving a dog a treat so it learns the trick #you dont get a treat every time you sit down now.#i just get very eye rolly when EVERYONE bitches about being a gifted kid #girl thats literally just growing up. you are not different

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oceantornadoo · 3 months ago

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“captain john price. surely you’ve heard of him?” the secretary blinks at you, faking a smile. “oh, that john! and who are you?” you want to rip her lashes off one by one. “his wife.”

that gets her to stop blinking, to actually look at your ID. “your last name isn’t price.” the gall. “it’s the twenty first century, sweetheart. now check the list and let me through.” she diligently checks the list, nodding at the match. seemingly gone mute, she gestures at you to follow her as she walks down the base hallway, passing countless doors and plaques. she stops outside of his door, doe eyes locked on the name plaque. one knock, then two. “sir, there’s someone here for you. your wife.” a pause and then. “send ‘er in.”

she opens the door and gestures you in. you can’t help the smile that grows on your face as you take in the sight of your surly man, a cigar in hand as he overlooks paperwork. he looks up at the click clack of your heels with a smirk matching your own. dropping your bag on the nearby couch, you round the very large wooden desk to stand in between his legs, john already having turned to welcome you in. there’s just one thing missing. “you can go now.” you turn your head owl-like to meet the secretary’s eyes, noting the shock on her face. she closes her gaping mouth abruptly, then shuts the door with no further ceremony.

“wasn’t aware we got married.” you turn your attention back to john, whose hands are already trailing down your calves to take off your heels as you stand on his comfy office rug. you hum as he removes them one at a time, callused hands brushing the frail bone of your ankle, the arch of your foot. once that’s done, your hands slide into his beard on instinct, settling yourself in his wide lap and thanking the ikea gods he has a humongous chair. “your secretary is pushy.” he snorts, leaning a weathered cheek into your touch. “she’s new.” you cut him off with a kiss, lips brushing his like you’ve been wanting to for days. missing the feel of his skin, the scent of cedar and cigars, lonely and pining for him in bed.

“you haven’t been home in three days, johnathon.” the full name comes out when you’re mad or playing at it, a sly trick to make sure he doesn’t know which is which. unfortunately he can read you too well and ignores your schemes anyways. “mission’s movin’ fast, lovie. been only sleepin’ a couple hours here and there.” you steady yourself on his lap, pushing closer and closer until your pelvises meet. “where?” his eyes flick to the office couch and you hum.

“i’ve missed you.” it rushes out like a wave, too intimate to take back. you shouldn’t be showing your cards so soon but he smiles anyways, blue eyes gleaming. “that why you’re terrorizing the office staff?” you nod against him, too choked up for a proper answer. can’t describe how cold and desolate you are without him to warm you up, inside and out. “i’ve missed y’ too, sweetheart. your feelings aren’t too big f’ me, don’t worry.” he always gets you, unfortunately. you lay your head down on his heartbeat, purring as his hands caress your ass and thighs. “i’ve missed my big strong man taking me to bed.” you emphasize it with a hip roll, grinning at his groan.

“ yeah, baby? missed daddy treating you righ’?” you groan at his embarrassing words. “johnnn, you can’t just say shit like that.” he laughs again, beard brushing the top of your head. “can if it’s true.” you sigh, planting a kiss on his collarbone. “hav’ to get used to that talk if you want the wife excuse to be real one day.” you freeze at his words. surely not. but…maybe? you have to check. “your wife?” the hands that have been exploring pinch your ass, sending you further into his arms. “tha’ alright?” you contemplate it. mrs. price. nice ring to it. “yeah,” you nod, and that’s that.

—

slight misogynistic undertones at the bitchy secretary but it’s fiction oops

#price is right #mrs price #tornadothoughts #john price #price imagine #price call of duty #cod price #captain john price #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain price #john price x reader #price #captain johnathan price #john price x f!reader #john price x y/n #john price x you #john price x

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lovingloversstuff · 14 days ago

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Baby fever with Nanami

Cw and tags: Short text. AFAB reader and use of female pronouns. Smut. MDNI

Masterlist

You always get too excited in Halloween, decorating the house and buying candies for the kids. You put some facial painting and wait, excited to give some candy. Nanami has always found cute his little wife moving around, but this year, something was different.

The way you knelt to talk with the little kids, giving them candy and talking excited as you praise their costumes, changed something inside of him. The idea of having a little mix of you and himself, taking your kid to trick or treat, seeing you share your excitement with a small proof of your love... makes him go mad. He suddenly needs to make you the mother of HIS child, to see you all round and soft because of him.

And you did notice this. In the way he rolls his hips deep inside your cunt touching all the right places, how he doesn't stop even when you've cum a couple times. He's usually so talkative during sex, but now he's buryed in your neck, groaning and whispering things as "mine" or "gotta breed my wife" from time to time. Your nails dig into his back, leaving marks, and nothing coherent goes out of your lips at this point.

But nothing could prepare you for when he came, filling your insides as deep as he ever has before. He rolls his hips back again. Fater, desperately and messier than the first time. He's moaning so needy, probably overstimulating himself.

"Kento!" You gasp, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. "I'm sorry darling, I can't stop," he says, breathing heavily, pressing a kiss on your forehead as a light sweat layer covers his body "I have to fill you more and more, I have to cum so deep inside you to make sure you end carrying my baby by the end of this night"

And, oh, he does. Hearing him say that, seeing your usually dominant husband acting so needy did something to you, your cunt squeezing him so right that he just cum again. You hug him as he lays over you, trying to catch your breath. But that was only a round of a looong night. Nanami is a persevering man, after all. If he wants to get his wife pregnant, trust me, he will.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #nanami smut #nanami x y/n #kento nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #kento x y/n #jjk kento #kento x reader #kento smut

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woso-dreamzzz · 14 days ago

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Bug's Halloween

Leah Williamson x Child!Reader

Summary: The tenth of my Halloween-centric fics

"Sorry, Bug," Leah says, switching off her phone," But Bear's having an early night. She's already asleep."

You pout as you stand on the stairs. "But you said Bear could come with!"

"I know, Bug," Leah says, tying the laces of your boots," But you know Bear can't help it when she falls asleep."

"Auntie Keira said they have to go to doctor's soon."

"That's right, to look at Bear's sleep. So we have to make adjustments sometimes. I know you wanted to go trick or treating with Bear but Auntie Lucy is keeping Bear in tonight. She doesn't have the energy to go out so it's just going to be us."

"But it's Halloween! I dressed up just for her!"

Leah breaths out some soft laughter. "I thought you dressed up for Mummy."

"Her too."

You're wearing your special Nobbs Arsenal shirt and shorts today. You'd known you wanted to dress as a footballer for Halloween for ages and ages, you just didn't know which one.

Your first thought was Thierry Henry but Leah's old Henry shirt from when she was little didn't fit you properly so you couldn't wear it. Your next thought was Sarina but you couldn't find an outfit for when she was a player.

That's when Leah reminded you that your old Nobbs kit still fit you and you decided to go out as Mummy instead.

You were meant to be going out with Bear. Last year, Bear and her mummies dressed as the three bears from Goldilocks and you're pretty sure Bear was going to remain baby bear for this year too but now she's sleeping and you know better than to wake Bear when she's sleeping.

You're sad that she can't come with but that means you can work doubly hard to get enough sweeties for the both of you.

"You ready?" Leah asks and you nod, jumping down the last two steps.

"Ready!"

"Right, up against the wall please. I want to send a picture to Mummy."

You pose for a few pictures before you grab your ghost bucket and nearly bolt down the street.

Leah grabs your hand first though, keeping you close to her side before you can get too far away.

"Let's go!" You whine when Leah starts walking slowly.

"We've got plenty of time, Bug. We can take it slow."

You huff but stop pulling, letting Leah dictate the pace and which houses to go to.

"Remember," She says, straightening out your jersey and handing you your bucket," Smile. Nice and big. They'll think you're cute."

"But I am cute. Mummy calls me cute all the time."

Leah laughs, giving you a little push. "Go on."

The couple at the door coo and fawn over you as you give them your biggest and best smile.

"Can I take one for my friend? She's sick and couldn't come out today."

"Oh, you go right ahead, sweetheart."

You frown at that. "I'm not sweetheart. I'm Bug."

The couple coo again as you take Bear's share and you run back to Leah to show her your haul.

"You can't keep telling people Bear is sick," She says as you both walk to the next house.

"But she is," You say," Auntie Lucy and Auntie Keira are taking her to the doctor's. You don't go to the doctor's if you're not stick. Mummy had to take me when I had my sore throat. I was sick then."

"Doctors do more than just sick people," Leah complains," They look after hurt people and-"

"Bear's hurt?! Like when she fell and hurt her arm?!"

"Bear's not hurt," Leah says," But sleeping as much as her is worrying for Keira and Lucy. They just want to make sure that there's nothing in Bear's body that isn't working properly. That's why they're taking her to the doctor."

You guess that kind of makes sense.

Doctor trips are kind of scary in a weird way. Not a Halloween-scary way but just in a generic scary way. Like the scary kind of feeling you got when you saw Leah tear her ACL.

You imagine a trip to the doctor will be doubly scary for Bear so you make sure to take a bigger handful of sweets for her at every house.

"When can we see Bear next?" You ask as Leah unlocks the door," Because I've got sweeties for her. I want her to have them before her doctor's meeting. Sweeties always makes things better."

Leah smiles softly at you, hand running over your head as you look up at her.

"You're a good friend, Bug. I'm sure Bear would love some sweets before her appointment."

You nod. "Good because I collected a lot for her."

"Alright, Bug," Leah says," That's enough excitement for tonight. Let's get you ready for bed."

"And Halloween movies in your bed? Mum, you promised."

Leah sighs. "Fine, yes, but then you have to promise to go to sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

You grin. "Promise!"

#woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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livelaughlovesubs · 2 months ago

Note

For the prompt event just one more from me- Writer's choice Freebee for any character and prompt(s) you want

As a treat

I WANNA WRITE LICKING BOOTS OR HEELS i dont really care which character

Dom!Rich!reader x sub!Broke!male!character

Warning: sadistic reader & masochistic character, sugar baby character, boots/ shoes licking (the soles too), dirt eating, power play, mention of vomit (didn’t happen), stepping, cumming untouched, degration

Anniversary event

He was just so pathetic you couldn’t help it. Really, it made your senses get disoriented whenever you pretty begs you with his tail between his legs, asking for money with an ashamed look across his face. Your sweet little sugar baby was insatiable, wasnt he? The audacity he had, to ask for more when he was already getting a lot— and he knew very well how ungrateful that must sound. That’s why the least he could do is get on his knee while hesitantly pleading with you, not even daring to look you in the eyes.

Gently, you tapped his clothed thighs with the tip of your shoe, staring down at him all amused. He didn’t know, since he wasn’t looking at you, but you enjoyed seeing him embarrass himself whenever he just acts so damn disgraceful. Slowly, you moved your leg upwards. First along his thighs, to his pelvis, ignoring his bulge— then tracing the outlines of his bellybutton, up to his chest and lastly— right below his chin and tilting his face upwards.

“What is it this time?” You questioned coldly, betraying your true emotions. “…I erm, god, c-could I get a little more ca-,,, pocket money?” His words were bitter, he felt uncomfortable muttering such things, be it due to shame or other reasons. “Didn’t you just got it last week?” He was dead silent, so quiet even, that he could hear the tapping of your finger on your knee. “I know- I just, I need it. Just a little bit, it’s not much to you anyway right?” How you adored that little tremble in his voice, he truly was tailored to fit your taste.

You sighed, acting all begrudgingly, “can’t you at least tell me why you need the cash?” Instead of answering, he just pleaded, “please, just a little more, I only need like 2k—!” You interrupted him by tapping his cheek with your shoe, chuckling in disbelief, “hah! A little? Sweetie, you think I’m a tree that grows money?” He was sweating a little, skin glistening under the low-saturated light of the lamp. “It means a lot to me, please… master?”

Would you look at that, now he’s using every trick in the book to try to win you over.

“That’s not enough to convince me~” you ended your sentence with a higher pitch, exposing yourself, giving him hints on what he should do. This was not the first time you’ve played this game with him, so luckily he still remembers your teachings. “I’ll do my best to persuade you then…” he whispered meekly, hands bawled into fists as he rests them on the ground, turning his face around a little to push your shoes to his lips.

With lingering skepticism, he stuck his tongue out, licking a long trail over the front of your footwear. The material was shining with his spit now, all clean and rid of any dust. The male grimaced silently, before swallowing the lump in his throat. You watched with preying eyes and a sadistic smirk, enjoying the show he was putting on for you. Next, he used the tip of his tongue to lick over the sides, trying hard to ignore the straight up awful taste of dirt. He didn’t even want to think about what exactly he was eating, squeezing his eyes shut, doing it with his intuition.

You helped him a little as well, moving your foot up and down to grant him easier access. A pool of arousal building in your stomach as you restrained your desire to be even more mean, to step and to kick him, to make him do even more nasty stuff— all that can wait. For now, you’ll focused on the appetiser.

Once he was done with polishing your shoes with his hot and wet muscle, he gulped down all the filth, pondering over whether or not this was enough. He didn’t need to think a lot, because you answered his confusions for him by pressing soles of your footgear against his face. “You aren’t done yet, pretty boy.” Shivers ran down his spine at the horrors and humiliation, though it turned into perverted lust in the matter of seconds. He had to take a few seconds to prepare himself mentally, but then he stuck his tongue out again.

He brought it across your soles once, licking all across the place. The taste of sand and was seems to be glass plagued his taste buds, and he gaged. Nonetheless, he managed to swallow it, at the price of feeling something coming up as he did. His cheeks darkened into a blush, droplets of sweat rolling down the sides of his forehead. You didn’t say much as you watched him with intense eyes. Even though he wasn’t looking up at you, he could still feel your gaze, and he shook slightly at the thought of that.

Many minutes passed, and the longer this went on, the more he became erect. Was it because of your watching gaze, piercing through his soul? Or was it due to his perverted nature, because he enjoyed the pain and humiliation? It was a question he didn’t want to answer, out of consideration for his remaining pride. The feeling of vomiting was tattering inside him, he felt a little nauseous as well, but he succeeded in pushing through it all, cleaning your shoes with great precision.

Soon, it was as clean as new.

At that point his tongue felt sore, and the sand was crunching between his teeth. Some tears were collecting in the corners of his eyes, all due to the overwhelmingly terrible taste. Finally, you talked again, he was starting to miss your voice, he desperately needed you to guide him through it all, to make him feel better. “Good job, you did so good, good boy.” You reached out to pat his head, stroking through his hair a little.

This gentleness was such a stark contrast to what happened only minuets before, that his entire body was shaken with pleasure. He couldn’t help but whine pathetically, bucking his hard on up against nothing. You didn’t even notice how he got hard, and how his pre was soaking through his pants already. Smiling all content, you pressed down on the tent with your now almost sparkling shoe, commenting, “such a dirty masochist, you enjoyed choking on the filthy that clung to my shoes? I guess that suits mutt like you.”

Again, he whined, bending forwards with his upper body, hands twitching to grab your ankle but he knew better than to act on his impulses. “Hnng.. y-yes.. I’m just a dirty mutt.” God, just look at how big your grin grew. “Well, but I can’t deny you did a great job. Fine I’ll give you 1K.” You then applied more pressure to his bulge, making him arch his back and moan out in blissful, ecstatic pain, “ahh-nHGHHh..!!??”

His eyes rolled to the back of his scull, drool running down his chin. This defiles form of his was more than depraved, it was sinful and degenerate. “To get to 2k… you’ll have to clean it again.” You stated, pressing down even more, causing him to cum into his pants. “HaaAaNNGghh…! Y/nnnNghh ♥︎♡～” He was already so worked up from before, and so sensitive due to your degration, please don’t blame him for cumming so fast…♡

Instead of being mad, you laughed, and brought your now in cum covered shoe to his lips again, tapping his flush lips. “So, get to work, pretty boy.”

He really needed the money after all, so he had no choice but to oblige, right? And it was surely sorely for the money ♥︎

(Edit: don’t ask why I wrote this with Toji in mind, also with the reader being younger [to add more shame], but that’s for you to decide)

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uno-san · 3 months ago

Text

Bill Cipher Vs. Self-Hatred

Howdy y'all! Today I just wanted to go over some thoughts I had over everybody's favorite triangle that may or may not have occurred to some of you already. Naturally this will contain Book of Bill Spoilers.

To start off our little essay I thought it would be important to first sum up my thoughts on one of Bill's more complicated relationships: Stanford

Now we've all seen his dynamic with Stanford plenty of times in the show but with recent information coming from both the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com more light has been shed on the subject from both Bill's perspective and Ford's.

There's more than meets the eye when it comes to dissecting Bill's interactions and thoughts on Stanford, with the ever enlightening "EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES" making theorists scratch their heads. Within the Book of Bill are these codes and their meanings: hbh grfwru ri d gliihuhqw nlqg/ zkr zdqw wr pdnh klv sdwlhqw eolqg

eye doctor of a different kind/ who wants to make his patient blind

Qeb alzqlo pxvp/ qeobb pfmp x axv/ tfii jxhb qeb sfpflkp/ dl xtxv

The doctor says/ three sips a day/ will make the visions/ go away

Ixvvb hdwhu/ edeb eloob/ zrxogq'w gulqn/ xqohvv lwv vloob

Fussy eater/ baby billy/ wouldn't drink/ unless its silly

As well as:

Finding out that both Stanford and Bill have a genetic mutation that made them Black Sheep suggests the possibility that Bill saw a kinship within Stanford. After all, he did make the offer for Stanford to join him. No doubt being able to sympathize with Stanford's situation yet misreading his motivations, causing the rift in their once savable relationship once Bill's lies were uncovered.

Now I'll admit it was others who came up with this theory in particular, especially when drawing comparisons of how Stanford was treated and how Bill allegedly was for having a strange eye. Stanford, in some form of other, might represent how Bill was before he saw the destruction of his world by his hands. A mere outcast looking for his place in the world. To be believed rather than ridiculed or "fixed".

Self-Hatred

And now we get to the Bill we all know today:

The chaos loving and nightmare inducing three-sided maniac, who may be hiding more insecurities than he ever let on in the show, thanks to the Theraprism.

Someone far more traumatized

Who's had to convince himself to fully be the bastard he is today

But if the theory that Bill had a type of kinship with Stanford thanks to their mutations was true, then wouldn't it be possible that his relationship with someone else might represent the inner struggle with himself?

For you see, the original title of this post was...

Bill Cipher Vs. Stanley Pines

As my own theory is that Stanley Pines is what Bill decided to project his self-hatred on. Nobody can doubt that the two have similar qualities, yet as I read the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsitedotcom I couldn't help but notice the absolute malice that Bill has for Stanley whenever he's mentioned.

There have been many opponents before that have strived to take Bill down. Whether that was the Shaman, the Anti-Cipher Society, or Time Baby, none of his interactions with them have appeared as vitriol as compared to Stanley.

Not even Stanford has this same reaction, who, by really no contest, was the closest to ever defeating Cipher by himself. Both with the gun that he near successfully killed Bill with and the secret of the barrier of Gravity Falls he refused to give up. Bill didn't even have a real interaction with Stanley until the last episode.

Yet it isn't Stanford that causes Bill to break while he's in the Theraprism. It's Stanley.

"-A resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past-denying overgrown child protected from failure only by a force field of DENIAL AND shamelessness!"

"Self-pitying"

"Stupid"

"Smug"

"Hack Jokes"

"UNWORTHY"

Now it could be just me, but those are a lot of specific insults to fling somebody's way that you've barely interacted with. Especially if Bill credits the Twin Swap to Stanford entirely as opposed to allowing Stanley the credit.

"STEP RIGHT UP, it's time to play my FAVORITE GAME!! BOOTLEG SIXER over HERE spent a LIFETIME trying to hide his humiliations, BUT I'VE BEEN INSIDE HIS MIND, so NOW they’re ALL YOURS for the low low price of BEING MY NEW PAL! ITS SHOWTIME FOLKS, AND THE ONLY WAY TO LOSE IS TO BE NAMED STANLEY PINES!"

“SHAME:TM - IT'S THE ONE FRIEND WHO NEVER LEAVES!”

This out-of-character hatred doesn't come from the fact that Bill thought Stanley wasn't worthy, it comes from the fact that Bill sees himself in Stan. Who by all means is a lying and conniving screw up. Somebody who let his family down.

This could possibly be proven by the poem Bill had wrote about Stanley:

The whole poem suits my point but I decided to highlight the sections that caught my eye specifically. That when you put into consideration Bill's clear trauma and regret about the Euclidian Massacre, his own words can clearly be flipped back on him.

That he sees himself as a curse and a mistake. A self-made monster. Someone who's left the past behind when the loss of his home is still on his mind.

And what truly gets under Bill's skin about Stanley Pines?

"He got his life and family back.

His big break, it finally came,

Redemption from a life of shame"

Stanley got back what Bill can't.

#Gravity Falls #Book of Bill #book of bill spoilers #Stanley pines #Stanford pines #Bill cipher #Gravity Falls theory #theory #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #gf stan #gf ford #I refuse to proof read this #the book of bill

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pseudowho · 10 months ago

Text

Grandpapamin

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

When Nanami Kento becomes a grandfather...

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Kento thought the happiest day of his life was when he became a father...but then, his baby had a baby.

It was like love...squared.

He and you dutifully took care of your daughter's house while she was in labour. Kento pruned the plants, and baked, and paced, and paced, and paced.

While Kento knew in his heart his daughter was being well cared-for, he felt stunningly unable to protect her while she went through the biggest day of her life.

In the night, you woke, and your hand brushed out across the sheets for Kento...only to find him not there.

You creep through the house, and find him sat in the armchair by lamplight, his eyes glistening with tears as he goes through an old box, full of photographs of his baby, little onesies, a handprint in clay, a decoration she made at school, her first drawings and handwriting.

You sit with him, in front of the fire, warm and reminiscent, of those long-short years when your babies were babies.

"...she'll be alright?" He worries aloud.

"She'll be more than alright. She'll be amazing," you reassure, kissing his greying temples, stroking crow's feet.

You lead him back to bed, his hand dry, like soft warm leather, and you hold each other with the earnest familiarity of an aged love.

When Kento's phone rings at 7:37 in the morning, a time he never forgets, he is out of bed with a lithe hop, answering, desperate for news.

A sweet, swooping joy, an excited wake-up, an embrace and relief; his grandchild is born, and everyone is safe.

Kento has a grandson; his daughter is resplendent, pink-cheeked, exhausted and proud. Kento holds her close, shedding tears into her hair as she cradles his new grandson; "I'm so proud of you, darling. I always have been. You deserve him."

He drives his daughter and her partner home, knowing they are exhausted.

Kento and you never overstay your welcome; you ensure the new family is comfortable, give kisses and hasty reassurances that you are both just a phone call away, and go home.

Kento cannot stop jiggling his leg in delight on the way home. He is imagining all the wonderful things he wants to do with his new grandson.

Kento calls everyone-- Gojo, Yuuji, Ino, Higuruma. Everyone is delighted. Everyone secretly wants him to be their grandfather.

It is only when Kento and you have gone, that your partner opens the freezer-- "Oh my god!" They exclaim, laughing, "I think your dad has cooked enough to last us a month!" Kento has, obviously. He believes in being organised.

Kento spends the next few years of his life being a thoroughly naughty responsible grandfather.

Visiting Grandpapamin? Oh, only the finest will do.

While Kento always plans wonderful meals with you, his daughter turns her back for just one minute, and returns to find her son with a treat in his hand.

Kento pleads ignorance as he slides the biscuit tin back into the cupboard, a glint in his eye.

Wickedly good at hide and seek. Teaches his grandson all the tricks.

Takes his grandson down to the river, Kento in some waders, his grandson in shorts and rubber boots up to his knees, with little nets, glass jars on strings.

Kento has a reference book for everything; birds, fish, flowers, trees...he and his grandson catch minnows, his grandson splashing, holding his little round cheeks in joy.

Kento thinks his heart might burst, retaliating playfully when his grandson splashes him, giggling.

Kento's grandson is well-versed on the flora and fauna by the little river, by the time he is a grown man. All he wanted to inherit from his grandfather was the old reference books they pored over together.

His grandson inherits Kento's Cursed-sight too, a truth which Kento feels deeply responsible for, as he did when it passed down to his daughter. He fears for his grandson and the terrifying visions he will see in the world.

One day, you catch Kento teaching himself little magic tricks. He curses as he gets tangled in long colourful handkerchiefs; you laugh and blush as he pulls garish flowers out of his sleeve for you. He shows them to his grandson like he has known how to do magic his whole life.

After long sunny days in the garden and by the river, you often find Kento asleep with his snoozing grandson drooling on his chest. You take a photo, every single time, put a blanket over them and leave them in peace.

Kento, who tucks you under his arm on the sofa when they've all gone home, your evenings as intimate as they have always been.

Kento would rather his daughter didn't spend all of her hard-earned money on daycare. Instead, Grandpapamin arrives at her house at 7:30am sharp, ready to babysit ahead of the workday.

The days are silly, wholesome. Tears and tantrums are swiftly, calmly de-escalated. Kento can and will persuade and bribe at mealtimes.

Kento who is just disappointed when his grandson behaves badly-- and that is so much worse than angry.

Kento who takes such good care of his and your health, determined to spend as many healthy years with his family as possible. His old scars ache and creak though; he longs for the sun and sea.

The next year, his grandson is big enough to carry Kento's birthday cake to him, and Kento grumbles, pink-eared as he mulishly accepts a chorus of "Happy birthday". There is an envelope with the cake.

"What's this?" He grumbles again, shooting his daughter a chastising look, "I told you you didn't have to get me anything." She smiles at him, lovely brown eyes twinkling. Kento looks inside-- tickets. Flight tickets. He looks up in surprise, eyebrows raised.

"Kuantan?" He presses, excited despite his earlier chastisement.

"I thought we could all go. Together."

Though his blade hangs up on the wall, proud and displayed, at your insistence, Kento feels like he has been bestowed with the luck of the gods, to have dodged every bullet to get here.

His old scarred burns tingle and prickle, his eyepatch is old and worn, but his grandchildren never feared him; he is just Grandpapamin. He bakes. He takes them to the river. He teaches them how to whittle. He gives the best advice. He wears the softest cardigans.

Kento, who spends the golden years of his life with you, his world, the one who hung the stars.

#jjk #kento nanami #jjk nanami #kento nanami x you #nanami fluff #kento nanami x y/n #jujustu kaisen #kento nanami x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami x you

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sevsdollette · 5 months ago

Text

thinking about domestic! sevika taking a day off work, but it’s your day to clean and she can’t stop staring at you.

contains: staring, sevika being needy, grinding, thigh riding, talks of breeding

nsfw, MDNI and men get away

you had to clean the master bedroom, scrub the bathroom, and take care of the dishes. your day was full. that morning you had to drag yourself out of bed, escaping the heavy, sleepy arm of your wife that was wrapped around you.

she was a brute in the best way, but she slept like a brick. when she snored, she shook the house. when she dreamt, she muttered. it was an adventure every time you had to pry yourself from the jaws of her grasp to go to the bathroom or get ready for the day.

anyway, you got up. it was a rare day of relaxation for sevika, so you thought getting the chores out of the way without her worrying would be best. she would have a nice day of you taking care of her. a tidy house was the first step.

the bedroom was filthy. laundry was the first task you had to hassle. with such busy schedules, the two of you gained a habit of tossing your clothes anywhere and everywhere. perhaps most of it was in a fleeting moment of hornyness, but nevertheless, it was a mess.

as you cleaned you realized just how much you had to do, and even the clothes on your back were from yesterday. you searched your dresser for something clean to wear, but the only viable option was a pair of tiny pajama shorts.

so there you were, tidying up your bedroom with no shirt, no bra, and only those shorts. you just had to clean everything and have a fresh reset.

it only took a few minutes of this cleaning when you heard rustling in the bed. you took it as Sevika tossing in a dream or sleepily readjusting her pillow.

a minute later, the springs groaned and she sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes to get the image right. “why are you—what—?”

you spun around, a pair of her boxers in one hand and a shoe in the other. “this is the only piece of clothing i own that is clean. i am seriously overdue for laundry.”

her eyes trailed down your chest. “so… there nothing else?”

“nothing else?” you furrowed your brow.

“nothing underneath?”

you scoffed. “sevika, hush.”

after that, everywhere you went Sevika wasn’t far behind. your body was her alarm clock. She was standing against the counter as you brought dishes to the kitchen. Her steady gaze followed your ass as it peaked it from under your shorts.

She liked it when you leaned over to pull the clothes out of the washing machine and shove them into the dryer. (she almost wished you’d get stuck ;) )

when you went to the bathroom to scrub out the tub, she almost felt herself salivate as you bent over the edge. As you leaned to clean the far side, she could see just under the hem of your shorts to the soft flesh of your ass. your lips were purses in concentration; your brow was knit with thought. just one chance of scenery and you’d be pinching your eyes shut for another reason.

once the tub was sparkling, you wiped the sweat off your forehead and stood up. as you got to your feet, your frame fit into sevika’s muscular front. Her hands slid up your stomach and cupped your bare breasts. she hummed and dipped her face into the crook of your neck. she kissed the skin under your ear softly.

“babe, please. i’m cleaning.”

“hmm. why don’t you take a break, baby? i’ll have you sweating in a different way.”

“sevika you’re supposed to be relaxing not worrying about my chores.”

“well, i am worried. you know i like it better when you do things dirty.”

“shut up.”

“though, as a matter of fact. i think the sheets on our bed need scrubbing. why don’t you come with me and help me take a look.”

her tricks didn’t work on you and you pushed her off of you to keep up your cleaning spree. all that was left was the dishes. so you sat her down on the couch (which had a clear view of the kitchen sink) and told her to be patient.

it was amusing to see such a headstrong woman sit so still. you gave her a treat of swaying your hips as you walked away to the kitchen.

as much as you wanted to keep your authority, you couldn’t help but hurry through the dishes. you might have left some dry corners as you wiped the counter. perhaps you stacked more dishes to dry on their own than could safely sit on the mat. but, hey, if your wife wanted to fuck you, how were you supposed to keep her away for so long?

with the last dish put away and the rag wrung out, you turned around to look at Sevika. you set your hands on your hips, meeting her eyes that had been glued to you the whole time. “cleaning’s done,” you mused.

it was almost scary how quickly she was on top of you.

she grabbed your waist, pressing you against the counter and capturing your mouth in a kiss. her rough, greedy hands we’re feeling over every part of your body she had been watching for hours. she groped and massaged your breast, rolling your hardened nipples between her fingers. she smoothed her hands down your thighs and up under your shorts to grab your ass.

you moaned against her lips and kissed her deeper. her tongue slid against yours, tasting your eagerness as she teased your cunt through your shorts. she definitely hadn’t forgotten how little clothing you were wearing.

“you’ve been such a good girl this morning,” she cooed, “cleaning my house and all. now it’s time for you to relax, baby.”

you nodded, whining as she pressed on your clit over the fabric of your clothes.

her kisses carried down to your neck and she was quickly sucking over your skin. just the taste of your flesh was making her moan in your ear. your head tilted back to give her more room, mind feeling dizzy.

while she had you distracted, her hands came up to the crotch of your shorts and ripped them. soon the clothing was falling off your hips and hitting your ankles.

“Sevika! now i actually have nothing to wear.”

she grunted, picking you up to set her thigh between your legs. “good.”

you had no more control over the situation. her hands gripped your hips with a deadly strength as she rolled you over her muscle. you moaned. head falling back as your clit rubbed over her skin.

she had you gasping already. her teeth dragged over the bruises on your neck as she whispered nasty things in your ear. “take it, baby. i love you, sweetheart. fuck, you’ve got me so crazy for you and this cunt.”

a blush heated your face as your growing slick made nasty noises on her thigh. you were married for god sake, but every time she had you flustered.

“Sev—“

“cum on me, baby. i’ll fill you up—i’ll breed my pretty housewife.”

a guttural moan broke your pursed lips and another wave of arousal hit your core. she knew exactly what to say to make you finish. you could feel your climax approaching and you rocked your hips faster.

her hard thigh muscle made a perfect surface to stimulate yourself. she helped you through your faster pace, praising you with how well you were doing, how you were her good, gorgeous wife. too good for her.

you came with a stuttering, muffled plea. she kissed over your sore neck and guided you down from your high. her thumbs rubbed circled over your hip bones as she let you sit gently on her leg. your legs were still shaking.

through hazy, blurry eyes, you looked up at her. she kissed you slowly, sliding her tongue over your bottom lip and then biting it hard.

she picked you up, slinging you over her shoulder and walking to the bedroom.

note: tried a new format, tried no caps. tell me if it's more aesthetically pleasing. this fic is all I want to be for someone. let me be a butch or masc's pretty house wife. gonna get me a mrs degree.

#fanfic #arcane #arcane league of legends #fanfiction #sevika #smut #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika fanfic #sevika arcane #lesbian #wlw

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vaaaaaiolet · 4 months ago

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Why choose between riding a cowboy, a stallion, or an Italian when you can have all three? In which you find competition for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the American West.

mdni holy shit. f / m, shameless smut just like pure filth. p in v, wild west au, TONS of christian imagery via metaphor??, mild praise + size kink, leon's a tease as usual

word count: 1.69k <3 // read on ao3

a/n: re6 leon turns my brain into illiterate mush and this is the proof. i wrote this 1 word an hour. i couldn't cope. ignore the half assed banner, half assed writing, half assed everything. listen to nessa barrett's song from the title. god bless you all.

God makes no mistakes: you’re on your knees in the back of an Arizona saloon, but you’re not exactly praying thanks. God is a vision in dirty blond as far as you’re concerned. How’d you end up here?

Enter Leon Kennedy: outlaw on the run.

He hadn’t gotten the memo when angels started coming down to Earth and wanted to give you the warm welcome you deserve.

“Seriously?” You laugh; swirl your watered-down whiskey.

“I’ve always wanted to try that one out,” Leon grins. Cocky and magnetic, he takes your hand in his own calloused one and guides you to the dance floor. “But you haven’t seen my real trick yet.”

“And what’s that?”

“This.”

Every other beat of your heart finds you in a dizzying dip over the floor as Leon leads you in a dance akin to gunfights in Tombstone, except Leon is more than O.K. at what he does. He’s got you in a trance with his hands spanning your waist.

Sucking in dust and his woodsmoke cologne, you gasp, “Where’d you learn how to dance like that?”

“You’ve never been danced properly before?” Leon laughs. He spins you like you’re the moon.

“Not like this!”

“Oh darlin’, you don’t learn by talkin’ about it. Keep dancing and you’ll figure it out.”

Figure out a two-step you might not have, but you can figure just fine what Leon means when his hand slips up the hem of your blouse. A hungry thumb soon lines your brassiere right under the nose of the barkeep.

“You’re crass, Leon,” you whisper.

“Is that a no? I’ll treat you right if you let me.”

God expects his servants to give and take, and you’ve done a lot of taking so far, no? You’ve been a little down on your luck lately. Can’t afford to tempt fate that way. So you pull Leon down by the collar, whisper back with your lips lined in devil red, “Make it my treat?”

His smirk glimmers in the dark. “Lead the way, doll.”

Quickly, quickly. Miracles disappear in the blink of an eye and Leon needs to take you before you can disappear into the night. Rope-toughened fingertips fly down your lined blouse, slip the silk off to unveil your sun-freckled shoulders behind the barkeep’s storage door. You’ve spirited Leon away for twenty minutes at best before the saloon closes and the workers come barging in. You’ve got to pay penance for this, haven’t you?

You sink to your knees.

Leon hooks his hands under your thighs and sits you right back up on a crate, and gets down on his knees.

What.

You’re running on borrowed time, you can’t afford tweaks to this arrangement. “I thought we had a deal?” you scowl.

But you forget God makes no mistakes. Leon is his creation, so causation, correlation, you do the math. Your anger dissipates at the first swipe of his thumb over your clothed slit. Wetness blooms at his touch, and Leon chuckles as your breath shudders. Genesis.

“Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to let a lady do all the work.” He kisses the spot between your legs, looks up at you with eyes of oasis blue. “You know I take the lead.”

Your chest heaves. “I do.”

“I’m good at it.”

“...You are.”

"And I know this isn't your style. All I ask is that you let me earn my keep.”

Well, that goes without saying. And so Leon flips the script.

He starts lining burning kisses down your thigh, entices you with an “Open for me”, sighs dreamily when your legs part of their own accord. A previously bothersome, soaked scrap of lace falls at Leon’s feet.

“Oh, baby, you should’ve asked next time. Look at this mess. Wouldn’t’ve needed to be so quick, then.”

Try and look down, but Leon’s already latched his warm mouth onto your clit, sucking like it’s a Tootsie pop. You throw your head back in ecstasy.

Waves of feel-good wash over you in all the colors of a pinkening sunset, gold at the edges and red hot at the center, your own overflowing with slick as Leon dips his tongue inside – oh, oh, oh, swirling the colors with each revolution around your sensitive pearl. Your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps you pliant, capping your knees with rough palms.

“Leon…” you can’t help but whine.

“Just workin’ ya a bit. Think you’ve had enough?” you hear him groan from underneath.

You’re barely breathing. “Need…need more.”

“Don’t seem that way to me from here. God, you’re gorgeous.” Leon croons, sucking a tender bite a little ways from where you need him most, over the softest part of your inner thigh. A landmark so he can hope to find his way back. He taps your knee. “Time?”

The dusty clock on the barkeep’s desk reads ten minutes to twelve; you relay this with difficulty as Leon does his damnedest to render you incapable of speech. He hums, considering. The vibration shoots right up your core.

“I’ve been in tighter spots,” he eventually decides, shooting you a lopsided grin as he hefts you higher on the crate you’ve practically melted off the side of, “No offense, doll.”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so close. “Low-hanging fruit, Leon.”

“You taste sweeter nohow.”

Missing his mouth already, you pull him back into a kiss. His leather belt clinks in time with the glasses back inside the bar as he unbuckles it, and you take the time to appreciate how you’re level with him even perched atop a crate. Leon’s got height on you.

Inches where it matters, too. His cock bucks in his hand when it finally springs free, and you bat your lashes up at him ‘cause it seems Leon’s been keeping secrets. He’s thick, ruddy and leaking, got a halo over the head of his dick in the light that creeps in from under the door, and you make a prayer to put your mouth on him if you cross paths once more. Your fingers barely go all the way around.

“Make a deal with me, cowboy,” you breathe. “I let you have your fun. Now, you let me.”

Leon cocks a brow. He’s antsy, understandably so. “What’s that entail?”

Plywood burns the back of your jean skirt as you slide off the crate, Leon watching as you shuck off the denim, pool it underneath your feet. You reel him in by the collar just to shove him onto the barkeep’s high-backed chair. Leon’s eyes widen when your thighs bracket his and everything suddenly makes sense as you center your cunt tantalizingly over his painfully erect length.

He’s rasping, needy. “This what you had in mind?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“You sure?”

You scoff haughtily, dragging a smile from him that’s all lynx. “Your wish is my command, miss.��

Palms start gliding up your torso, thumbs rub circles on the undersides of your breasts. Leon’s collarbones collect moonlight streaming in from the open window and you want to lap it all up like milk, but you’re getting distracted. The clock is counting closer to midnight. Adrenaline makes you heady. Maybe you should tell Leon to get a good handle on your hips when you sink down on his dick – point blank.

All the way to the hilt.

He takes it in stride as best as he can. “Tight, doll, ah,” he hisses, head bobbing, “so tight. Gonna send me to heaven.”

You shift your hips experimentally, whimpering at the stretch. You’re a lousy judge of character but an apparently worse judge of size because you have no idea how you’re going to do this. Leon’s thumb reroutes to your navel, North Star that it is, and travels down to wait over your clit. Technically, you’ve still got the lead. Everything’s still. So so still. You’re about to break.

The minute hand ticks.

“Leon, please,” you whimper.

“What’s that, doll?”

You paw uselessly at his chest. “Need help.”

Leon clicks his tongue in sympathy. It’s hard to get mad at a thing like you no matter how tough you sell yourself. Smart mouth and pretty eyes, bubblegum sweet underneath, something he’s gotta help. Leon’s always been a sucker for the damsel in distress type.

So he calls down a miracle. “I gotcha, sweetheart.”

You cry out in relief at the lifting sensation of his hands around your hips. This is another dance you’ve yet to learn, it seems.

“I gotcha.” Leon’s voice is a psalm over the burn of his cock inside you. A familiar thumb sneaks in between where you and he meet; whiskey and mint on his breath intoxicates you when he murmurs, ”Did so good for me, darlin’. Doesn’t feel too great right now, does it?”

You sniffle. “Mm-mm.”

“Gonna let me make it better?”

“Please.”

Leon indulges you. Taking advantage of the slick velvet he’s wrapped in, he glides you up just the tiniest bit, revealing the inch of his length you’ve covered in your arousal. You watch transfixed as he lifts your hips up and down. Baby steps. Stomach flips. You leave him coated in stardust like you’re made of it.

Leon’s in awe. “See that?”

But you’re too far gone to take notice of anything but the embers in your stomach, seconds away from crumpling onto his chest. You were once sitting proudly upright. The extent of your desire hits like a revelation once your insides finally mold around him, like it was all prophesized, and you can’t tell up from down when Leon starts to piston you on his lap.

Five minutes 'til it’s all over: You’re tender and boneless and about to explode. Leon is relentless. Sweat drips from his brow like holy water. He kicks the barkeep’s chair to barricade the door because you were right, there’s no way you’re making it out here alive.

Your thighs ache with exertion, steering you on their own.

Four minutes: “Can’t take it, Leon!” You’re going under. The flood is no myth.

“Tell me where,” he grits, desperate.

Three.

You want him to pull up the ladder.

Two.

“Where, doll, where?!”

One.

“Inside.”

And God, you burn brighter than the sun.

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