#holding her gently forever and ever and always

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

SHAPE HELLO IT IS ME!!!! CALLI CUBITOZINC!!!!!!! So erm. gonna be honest dude i fought with myself in my head so hard on what i wanted to send for this especially cause i didn't want it to be silly or stupid but you know what. Who give a shit. and i have been there when it comes to having to fight for writing motivation... boy have i ever. SO!! feel free to run with this prompt if you get any ideas from it but absolutely no pressure :]

"Jaiden spent uncountable moments these days thinking about what kinds of things she could've done in the past."

HI CALLI HII BELOVED MUTUAL CALLIIII . i have never written a jaidn before but for you.... i will try.

Jaiden spent uncountable moments these days thinking about what kinds of things she could've done in the past.

Or- maybe they weren't uncountable? They were probably countable, if she'd cared enough to count, but it hadn't occurred to her to count them when she started, and so she'd lost count of them from the beginning, so. Uncountable.

...There's something almost sad about that. Losing track of things since the beginning, no hope of catching up to the present. No chance to right the now because of the wrongs of the past. It makes her heart ache in her chest to think about, but she can't- she can't stop thinking about it. She keeps poking at it, like a bruise, but a sideways bruise. Look at these flowers, they look just like the ones in Bobby Fields. Drink this tea, it's just like the tea Cucurucho gives her. Look at Roier, smiling at Cellbit, and then quietly leave them to be happy. It's...

One thing that's different, from the then to the now, is how many houses she has. One for each piece of her heart, all of them missing something. Does the party house count as one of hers, too? What about the room she stayed in while helping the Cucuruchos? She wants to say yes. It hurts to think yes. If she said yes, if she went there to call for him, would he still leave her waiting?

...She knows the answer. Part of her wishes that she didn't. More of her knows that it's better that she does. It's like playing pretend, and you need to know when you're playing pretend. She knows how often she plays pretend, and how often she pretends that she isn't, and she remembers the time that she didn't have to and she wants that back so badly that it hurts.

Like a bruise. Poke, poke, poke. She knows she's being manipulated, and still she leans into it. Is it helping? Who is she helping? If Cucurucho is hurting, can she really help him? Can she free him? Is it worth it? Is it about worth, or is it about waste? Is it about anything?

Jaiden groans and throws her arm over her face. Maybe it's about laying in the warm pink sand on Hot Girl Beach while Mouse and Foolish chatter behind her. Maybe it's about leaving her empty houses and keeping her hair dyed Miku-blue and doing what she can, because she can. Maybe it's about tailing along with Foolish whenever he gets more silly Cucurucho tasks. Maybe it's about- whatever else is fun. Whatever else keeps her occupied, and out of bed, and waving goodnight to the sun.

There, is that another one of her uncountable moments? No, probably not, she hadn't done much thinking about the past. She could do that. She could think about Bobby and his raccoons, and Bobby and flowers, and Bobby and the very first painting he made for her.

Like a bruise. Poke, poke, poke. She's almost afraid of finding out what will happen if she lets it heal.

...That's enough angst for the day. The sun will be setting soon, and she wants to say goodnight to Bobby with a genuine smile. She pulls her arm off her face and sits up to turn to her friends, join in on their fun.

Her houses are empty, but she knows how to pretend that she has a home.

[beloveds-embrace]

can we get Duchess reader yearning for a baby of her own 🥺 imagine there was a Ball in the neighboring kingdom and Duchess!Reader and Duke!Price was invited, celebrating the birth of the Kingdom’s new heir, a baby boy on her fellow Duchess’s arms.

And reader coos at the baby while masking the deep ache in her heart thinking that it’ll be so impossible to have a baby with her husband due to him and his lovers 😢

cue to Duchess!Reader having a heavy heart through out the entire event and even the days after that, until one of our boys asks her what wrong.

(And John having to hold Johnny back bc that nasty dog has been waiting to get his paws on her since forever)

Oh my god yes??? Anon i could smooch your brain right now yes??? This is so good i love it. Sorry for the abrupt ending though, had no idea how to finish it off 😔

Original Post

“Such an adorable little one,” you coo softly, the newborn held delicately and carefully in your arms, swaddled in the baby blue blankets you and John had bought among your other gifts for your fellow Duke and Duchess. “He looks so much like you, I’m in awe.”

Your friend laughs lightly, sipping on her drink. With a soft sigh, she leans closer towards you. The party is in full swing, so many other nobles mingling and networking, but thankfully you and your friend have your own little corner for now and everyone has already congratulated her and her husband.

“So,” she begins, her eyes flickering towards where both of you two’s husbands are speaking. The smiles on their faces are clearly happy, though you aren’t surprised; John had mentioned that he’s already friends with the Duke during the carriage ride. “So. What about you and Duke Price, hm? Any surprises we should prepare for?”

Ah. You had been dreading this.

You sigh, shaking your head. Though the smile returns as you gaze at the napping baby, so small and precious in your arms. With you friend’s permission, you gently kiss his tiny little fists. “Not at all. We are happy as we are.”

And it’s not as if you are lying by any means, oh no. You are happy. Life as Duchess was far, far much better than you had expected it’d be, a lot less restrictive than you had prepared for it to be.

But…

You can’t lie to yourself. You’ve been feeling a sense of discontent from the very second you stepped into the gala venue. Perhaps for even longer, though it hadn’t been especially felt until this moment. Not until you held this baby in your arms.

You want a baby, too, you had realized. Motherhood. A child all yours, calling you momma and toddling into your arms. You had been unable to stop yourself from feeling the little bud of jealousy towards your friend, because you knew you’d likely never experience such a thing due to your unique situation.

John has his own partners whom he loves. You weren’t among that list, and you didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of having sex with another man with the potential risk of your parents, or anyone else, asking for a paternity test because you know someone would ask. Your mother, probably; she was always warning you not to whore yourself out, and your father didn’t even need to say anything-

“My dear?”

John’s concerned voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hand gentle on your elbow, and it’s only then you realize you had been staring down at the baby with such sadness, so not befitting of such a beautiful gala. So you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, and turn to him and your friend's husband.

When the baby squirms, you coo softly and hand him back to your friends, gentle and careful. That's when you turn to John, giving him a simple smile. "Yes, Your Grace?"

The worry remains on his face, less visible however, and his eyes look over you carefully. Your friends are too busy with their son and showing him off to care about what you two are saying in the corner he’s led you to. "Are you alright?”

As if you’d ever tell him what the issue is. You don’t want to make John feel pressured into this, of all things. You’d rather be divorced than do so, and that should speak volumes on its own.

It’s a silly want, anyways. You have everything you could possible need right now, married and stable. You aren’t about to ruin it with your own two hands.

So you nod your head, and brush away all thoughts of a little baby cradled in your arms. “Yes, I am. I was just lost in thought. Shall we return to the party?”

John observes you for a few seconds more, and then he sighs and nods. “Very well. Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear Duchess?”

Between the dazzling lights and John’s arms, you can almost forget the lingering desire.

But over the next few days after the gala, it becomes clear to John- to all your the men that something is terribly bothering you. There is a lingering sadness around you so profound even your maids have sensed it, wondering if perhaps you and the Duke have finally had your first fight… but he looks even more more worried and confused than them. You weren’t mad at anyone, that much he could tell, but he didn’t understand the heartache plaguing you.

“…are you sick, my lady?” Kyle asks you one day, placing down a tray of fresh desserts. Your favorites, all made by Johnny himself, yet you barely flick a look towards it.

“Not at all. Thank you, Kyle, but I’m afraid I can’t eat anything at the moment.” Your reply is soft, patient, as it always is, but the furrow in your brows remain and your frown deepens. Kyle hates it. He hates it so, so much. You’ve even stopped taking your usual break-walks, staying inside your room and asking for nothing in particular.

“My lady,” he presses on, voice softer. Comes to stand close to you, and holds his elbow out. “Maybe a walk, then? You look tired. Some sun might do you good- or a picnic? I can pack the desserts and-”

You avoid his eyes and look away, shaking your head. “Thank you, but my answer’s the same, Kyle. I’d just… like to be left alone, please. Could I trouble you to also inform John I won’t be joining him for dinner tonight?”

You are simply glad you managed to hide the little paper you’d been writing on before he came in. Baby names, for the babies you’d never have. It certainly didn’t help make your mood better, but you couldn’t help yourself. Looking at John, or any of them, also made you feel guilty anew.

“…not a problem, my lady. I’ll leave the desserts here for you just in case.”

Several days later, it’s Johnny who comes to you. You are alone in the conservatory, trying hard to get over this stupid, lingering feeling. It’s silly, you know it is, but… ugh.

Johnny says nothing even when you call his name out with a questioning tone, and much to your shock, he kneels down to take your hands in his. It’s so wholly inappropriate, and you look around in fear of anyone seeing.

“No one’s around, m’lady,” Johnny shakes his head, not letting your hands go yet.

“Johnny-“

“No one’s around.” He repeats, firmly, and his eyes gaze at you. “M’lady. Have we made ye angry? Has anyone made you upset? Is my food not to your liking?”

“Johnny…” you sigh, shaking your head. Inwardly, you scold yourself for bothering everyone like this. This should have been your issue alone to solve and hide. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just need some time alone, in general.”

“But why-“

“No particular reason.” You quickly cut him off, gently pulling your hands away. “Please, Johnny. I’ll get better soon, promise. But I just… need time.”

But the desire, the longing, still remains. You can’t even confide in anyone, so you also feel painfully lonely on top of everything else. John is still searching, still trying to find what or who’s made you like this, but not even your closest maids are of help.

Still, while you wished to wallow your misery away in your rooms and office, you didn’t have much choice when you’d received an invitation to the opera troupe funded by the Price duchy; making an appearance was a must, and unfortunately John had a very important meeting that day so Simon is the one to accompany you.

“You’ve been sad lately.” Simon doesn’t beat around the bush, all the lights focused on the stage so you are both draped in shadows, hidden from sight.

You turn to him, a refusal on your lips already-

“No.” He shakes his head. “You aren’t just tired, Duchess. You are sad. Everyone can see it, and it’s making us worried. All of us.” He adds, not letting you latch onto your usual excuse. Performance ignored, his entire attention is on you.

And you are just- too tired. Ashamed of yourself, you sigh.

“It’s awful of me…” your whisper, bottom lip quivering. “I-… I want a baby, Simon.” You admit, so softly and quietly you don’t look at his reaction to see if he’d even heard you in the first place. You shouldn’t be telling him of all people your issues, but- you can’t help yourself. “A child. I want to experience motherhood, but- I don’t, I refuse to put such a burden on John, or get in the way between all of you again-“

You ramble on, not meeting his eyes. Your hands are tembling around the mask you’d taken off, holding it in your lap.

Simon?

Simon can’t take his eyes off your stomach. You. You, pregnant; swollen and glowing with a child. Maybe children, even. Their children. His. He can’t believe this is what has had you so upset for so long; did you think they- John- would say no to you?

“Darling, ” The nickname slips out; he couldn’t help himself. He is glad the no one is paying attention to them, in the higher rows. Simon laces your pinkies together, raising your hand to kiss your knuckles, silencing your worried rambling. “Darling. Let us return home. Staying here isn’t doing you any good. Tonight, I want you to let Kyle spoil you with a warm bath, and for you to eat and then sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll speak. I’ll inform the troupe leader you weren’t feeling too well.”

“I- I… speak about what? What?”

Simon simply ushers you out, to the awaiting carriage. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, even when you pout and the it makes your lipstick glisten to prettily, though if you can feel that his hands are inappropriately tight around your waist, you simply blame it on your tightened corset.

At home, you are still confused. Simon is acting off, staring at you with a look that makes you all flustered, but you don’t protest when Kyle gently leads you away.

You’ll get your answers tomorrow, you are sure. But in the meantime…

“She wants a baby, John,” Simon groans, repeating the words again. His jacket is thrown off to the side, sleeves rolled up his elbows. Even from here, he can see how John eyes them appreciatively. “A baby, John. Seeing her pregnant-“

Another groan, but the one comes from between John’s thighs. Johnny, hands tied behind his back with Simon’s belt because the second he found out what the issue he was so, so ready to go and beg you to let him fix it. A bairn is what you want, a bairn is what he’ll give you- chunky, adorable, and hopefully looking like you.

John had to hold him back, though. He wants nothing more than to do the same, kiss you breathless and promise he’ll give you as many as you want, but he also knows you need a clear, rested head before he speaks with you.

The thought of seeing your pregnant, though, has his fist tightening in Johnny’s hair.

“I know. Fuck, I know, Si. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to her.”

[eddies-ashtray]

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island. 

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down. 

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat. 

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes. 

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up. 

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour. 

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.” 

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt. 

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.  

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive. 

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven. 

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop. 

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven. 

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.” 

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass. 

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. 

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say. 

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms. 

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest. 

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.” 

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache. 

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach. 

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended. 

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently. 

The word lingers in the air between you. 

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage. 

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?” 

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them. 

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows. 

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. 

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.” 

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is. 

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back. 

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze. 

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.  

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support. 

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it. 

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity. 

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis. 

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound. 

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild. 

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.” 

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room. 

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh. 

“Hey!” He barks. 

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.” 

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat. 

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions. 

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you? 

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man. 

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology. 

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.” 

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly. 

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.  

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey. 

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk. 

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over. 

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him. 

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat. 

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs. 

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant. 

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him. 

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin. 

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair. 

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it. 

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin. 

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days. 

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder. 

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger. 

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash. 

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad. 

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter. 

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically. 

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan. 

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over. 

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat. 

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure. 

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over. 

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white. 

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax. 

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh. 

“You know…For an old man, that was-” 

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin. 

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.  

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity. 

Finally, he finds your eyes. 

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh. 

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn. 

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape. 

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly. 

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.” 

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly. 

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing. 

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer. 

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now. 

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth. 

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck. 

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin. 

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside. 

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple. 

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand. 

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair. 

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin. 

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate. 

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.” 

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free. 

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’. 

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements. 

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder. 

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves. 

“Open.” 

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips. 

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is. 

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut. 

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.” 

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive. 

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat. 

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder. 

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body. 

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect. 

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.  

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice. 

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily. 

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs. 

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind. 

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit. 

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him. 

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly. 

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot. 

More. You need more of him. 

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair. 

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary. 

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides. 

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him. 

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin. 

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight. 

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse. 

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him. 

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble. 

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it. 

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are. 

 Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you. 

He shudders with his release. 

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening. 

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing. 

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close. 

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound. 

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves. 

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs. 

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead. 

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now. 

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too. 

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily. 

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear. 

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed. 

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again. 

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt. 

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

[mediocre-writing]

A chance | LN4

Summary: Lando has been in love with the same person since he was 18. The problem? She doesn't think it will work out because he's younger.

Pairing: Lando Norris X Actress!Reader

English is not my first language, maybe I will do a part two 👀

"Why don't you want to be with me?" Lando says close to Y/n's ear so she can hear.

They were at a party, Lando was P1, and that night was all about him.

"Lando, why don't you enjoy your night?" She says pushing him a little and he kisses her cheek.

"I'm trying to do this, but the prettiest girl at the party is turning me down once again."

Y/n rolls her eyes but smiles, fixing Lando's hair with her hands.

"I already told you-"

"I know, I know, I'm younger than you, but you need to understand that 18-year-old Lando already dreamed of Y/n 22 and now 25-year-old Lando dreams of Y/n 29 and 85-year-old Lando will dream of Y/n... How old will you be?" He says, thinking a little.

"Fuck you're so drunk." She says laughing and he smiles when he sees her smile.

"Fuck you're so beautiful." Lando leans in to kiss her, but Y/n turns her face away.

"Lando, no." Y/n says, gently pinching Lando's belly, making him pull away with a grimace.

"Come on, give me a chance, just one kiss and I promise to stop bothering you." She thinks for a bit.

"I know you won't stop."

"Please, I promise I'll stop." He says, dropping the glass he was holding anywhere, and takes Y/n's face with both hands. "Can I?" He asks inches from her mouth.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" Lando crushes his lips to hers, and my God, it was so worth it to almost beg her on his knees.

Lando asks for passage with his tongue and when he gives in, he just wants to stay there forever.

The kiss gets hotter and Y/n pulls away a little to be able to breathe.

"What a delicious mouth." He says, pulling her lower lip with his teeth and giving her three little pecks.

"Have you gotten your kiss yet, satisfied?"

"I wanted your heart, but I'll hold back with a kiss."

"You don't give up, do you?" She says, putting her arms around her shoulders.

"Never, 18 year old Lando wouldn't believe the girl in my arms right now." Lando always speaks close to her ear so she can understand everything.

"Congratulations, P1." Y/n says kissing Lando's cheek and he feels that this kiss practically sobered him up again.

"Will I get a kiss like this every time I get P1?"

"Don't force it, Cat." She says, walking away and Lando takes her hand again.

"Nooo, you can't do this." Lando says whimpering.

"You promised Lando."

"I promised?" Lando says pulling her by the waist, and kissing her lips again, this time more slowly, more passionate, it was as if they weren't in a crowded place, and God, Y/n is praying that no one took any pictures of this.

But they took it away.

A few hours later the news was all over social media.

F1news Things are heating up! 👀 Lando Norris and Y/n are seen kissing at the party celebrating Lando's P1, some people who were on the way back confirmed that they spent practically the whole night close to each other, could a relationship be on the way?

—

User1 What the fuck is this?

User2 Wow, isn't she much older than him?

— User3 It's only four years girl 🙄

User4 Why is everyone so surprised?

— User5 Yes, Lando had already said that she has been his celebrity crush since he was 18.

User6 I think I'm jealous of Lando.

— user7 I think I'm jealous of both of them.

User8 Well, he never hid the fact that he was interested in her.

User9 Have you ever imagined the beautiful child that would be born?

— User 10 She's much older than him...

User 11 Damn, stop treating her like her age is wrong or something.

——

Y/n wakes up with her phone vibrating like crazy.

"Where the fuck is this?" She gropes blindly on the bed until she finds the device, reading the following messages:

Lando: Please don't be mad at me.

Lando: Are you mad at me? 😟

She sits on the bed, a little confused, why would she be mad at him? But soon she also sees some messages from Carlos.

Carlos: Please don't be mad at Lando.

Carlos: He swears he didn't want to cause a scandal for you.

Carlos: Yes, he forced me to send this, block this bastard now.

And to top it off, she sees a message from her best friend.

Bestf: Seriously Lando? And you still swore to me that you didn't want to get him 😏

She closes her eyes and lies down on the bed again, she already knows exactly what happened.

Fuck.

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard. 

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back. 

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.” 

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?” 

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed. 

Through it all, you stayed. 

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living. 

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers. 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You’ll have to.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.” 

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct. 

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him. 

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him. 

In your dreams, he was alive. 

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura. 

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura. 

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on. 

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan. 

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about. 

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about. 

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret. 

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm. 

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it. 

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you. 

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms. 

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself. 

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right. 

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.” 

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally. 

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears. 

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again. 

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate. 

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head. 

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky. 

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl. 

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly. 

“From my universe,” Logan answers. 

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?” 

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?” 

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. 

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.” 

My Logan. 

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him. 

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?” 

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.” 

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles. 

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.” 

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers. 

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.” 

[nereidprinc3ss]

i keep you clean; you surrounded me

in which husband!spencer reid spirals after realizing he can't be your daughter's hero forever.

angst, fluff warnings/tags: this fic is about spencer's past addiction, and how he's afraid it will impact his relationship with his daughter, conversation about alcohol, this is a fix-it fic for my life, ends on a hopeful/positive note, lots of self-loathing from Spencer, uses the phrase "shooting up", PLEASE do not read if this is going to upset you!! PLEASE!! fem!reader a/n: this felt healing in a way for me but that might not be your experience reading if you also have issues with a parent with addiction so please tread lightly and make the right choices for you. CHOOSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH OVER MY DUMB FANFIC I CAN'T STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! and ily

“Daddy?”

Ada’s not asking for you, but you look to her anyway. She’s squeezed between you and Spencer on Rossi’s swing, and her cheeks are still feverish—remnants of a recent and rather hysterical fit of giggles. She has a glass of lemonade between her little hands (you’re trusting her with a big girl cup, if only because it’s not your glass or your house) and she peers into it intently. Her little grass-stained feet kick. Spencer pushes the swing back ever so slightly, for her entertainment. 

“Huh?”

She holds her glass up for him. 

“Our drinks are the same color.”

“They are,” he nods. “Do you like yellow?”

Ada shrugs. It’s exaggerated—one of her favorite moves as of late. “It’s okay.”

Spencer glances at you like he always does when he sees glimpses of you in your child, eyes sparkling as if her opinionated and bluntly honest nature is in any way reminiscent of you. 

“Yeah, I agree. Yellow is just okay.”

She leans against him and he’s quick to accommodate her, affectionately brushing his knuckles over your bare shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the swing. 

“Daddy?”

“What, lovebug?”

You smile, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The sun is warm on your face. 

“Mommy’s drink is red.”

Nothing gets past her. Rossi had pushed the drink into your hand almost the second you stepped through the door, insisting it would go well with lunch. It sits otherwise untouched on the glass table. 

Spencer hums. The swing rocks gently. 

“That’s because she’s not having lemonade like us. She’s having a grownup drink.”

“Oh.”

You think that’s the end of it, that she’s satisfied with the answer, until another moment passes, and her voice, sweet as the tinkle of little fairy bells, is posing a very loaded question. 

“Why don’t you ever have grownup drinks? Me and you always have the same.”

Spencer’s already looking at you, brows drawn as you sit up. Your eyes, open now, go wide, and you shake your head slightly to signal you have no idea how he’s supposed to respond either. 

His hand goes to Ada’s hair, gently scratching her scalp as his eyes dart over your face. You can see the gears turning in his head. This is one of very few things he clearly didn’t read about in any of the literature on raising kids when you were pregnant. 

“I… some people don’t like grownup drinks.”

It’s an inadequate answer, especially coming from Spencer—just this morning he explained to Ada why the sky is blue. Rayleigh scattering. Blue light scatters more than any other kind of light. Which then led to an impromptu lesson on oxygen molecules and other basic chemistry in the car on the way here. 

So there are standards. 

“Why not?”

You interrupt, unable to watch Spencer flounder any longer. “Ada, why don’t you go see what Henry and JJ and Uncle Dave are doing? That looks fun, right?”

You gesture down the yard to where JJ and Rossi are teaching Henry to play cornhole. 

She looks at you with big brown eyes—the set of them, the color—those are all Spencer.

“Can you and daddy come?”

You straighten out her dress and take the half-full glass from her little hands, setting it next to your own on the table. 

“In a minute. Go ahead.”

Spencer’s hand slips from her hair as she pushes off the swing and bounds down the yard. You make sure she arrives to her destination without incident, before scooting closer to your husband and taking his vacant hand. 

“Spence?” You ask quietly, leaning in to try and insert yourself into his eye line. He doesn’t look away from Ada. 

“That was bad.”

“It wasn’t. She doesn’t understand. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t—”

He looks down, lips pressed together, and your heart twists and drops like overripe fruit from the vine as you realize his eyes have glossed over. 

“Baby,” you whisper, relinquishing his hand only so you can rub his back. Your other finds his knee, drawing as close as you possibly can. “It’s okay.”

“How am I supposed to explain it to her?”

A tear falls, making a dark splotch on the fabric of his pants. 

“You don’t have to. She’s only five. I guarantee she’s already forgotten all about it.”

“I will. I’ll have to tell her one day. She thinks I’m perfect, how am I supposed to—”

He stops himself, voice tightening to a halt. You watch him hold back a cry like you haven’t seen in years. It’s an old, familiar ache for you. You can’t imagine how it feels for him. 

“Spencer,” you coo. “She adores you. She loves you so much. That’s never going to change.”

His nose twitches. 

“I’m going to disappoint her.”

“How? How are you going to disappoint her?”

“I think it’s pretty disappointing to find out your dad is a junkie.”

His tone isn’t particularly harsh but the words are like a slap anyway. 

“Spencer…” For a moment you don’t know what else to say. It’s not a secret that he’s ashamed of that chapter in his life, but you had no idea he was contending with this much self-loathing over it, even after all this time. It seems like such a distant point in the rearview mirror that the two of you almost never need to talk about it anymore. “You are not a junkie. It’s been, what—a decade?”

“I don’t want to have to tell her what drugs are, let alone that I... she thinks I’m the smartest guy in the world, and one day I’ll have to tell her that drugs are extremely dangerous, and I was shooting up for four months anyway. No matter how I try to explain it to her the ultimate takeaway is going to be that I’m weak and I wasn’t smart enough and she’s never, ever going to forget that. How am I supposed to—I can’t be a role model for her. I fucked up so badly.”

Your chest aches, somewhere deep and hollow, as he leans forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, only for a moment—before Ada shrieks and his head snaps back up. Henry is chasing her with a worm. Spencer watches on, tears still leaking from his eyes and expression otherwise neutral. It’s bittersweet to hear him express such deep insecurity about the thing he’s best at in the world, even as those parental instincts kick in and he’s setting aside his own feelings to keep an eye on her. He’s never trusted himself. He’s never seen himself the way you do. 

“Baby, you are her dad and she loves you. Her love for you is not contingent on your past. You are so, so good to her. That’s all she knows, okay? She doesn’t care what you were doing when you were 25. She cares about whether you’ll be home for dinner, and if you’ll play dolls with her, and if you’ll tuck her in. That’s all she needs to love you.”

JJ wrangles the kids and after a moment Spencer looks down again, brow furrowed deeply as drops like rain dot his lap, but he hardly makes a sound. You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “And until she’s old enough for the whole story, which involves a lot more violence than I am comfortable with her being subjected to right now, you don’t need to explain it to her. You have time.”

“She wants to know now.”

“She also wants icecream for every meal. But I can’t make her understand why that’s a bad idea. What she wants and what she needs and what she is capable of understanding are all different categories. I know you love answering all her questions, and you’re a really good teacher, but you can’t make her understand something as complex as addiction.”

Spencer sniffs. 

“Developmentally she’s only really capable of understanding the world as it exists in relation to herself.”

“Exactly. So give her some time, and give yourself some time.”

“What if she asks again?”

“Then��� you say you don’t like how it makes you feel. And tell her to clean up her toys. Condition her to stop asking.”

Spencer stumbles over a teary laugh he hadn’t been expecting. You sit up straight, holding his face between your hands and encouraging him to look at you. His cheeks shine with tears, but you wipe them away tenderly. 

“You’re perfect to her,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to one cheek, “and you’re perfect to me.” He cups your elbow as you kiss the other and looks at you with so much sheer adoration you could get all choked up, too.

“Wow,” he sniffles, and takes a deep breath, pulling you into him, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as he presses three kisses to the curve of your neck where he’s buried his face. 

“I could be canonized as a saint and not deserve you.”

Sainthood. You ponder that. 

Saints have to live virtuously. They also have to be dead. 

You hold him a little tighter. You like him exactly how he is: technically imperfect. Probably not getting into heaven. Still venerable. Very much heroic. Alive, and with you.

“I’m really glad you’re not a saint.”

He chuckles. His hand slides up your back, and then side to side—a path it’s made time and time again which has only ever led you to wonderful, perfect places.

“Me too.”

[syluslnd]

Imagine request please. Sylus is frustrated that someone he's fond of always looks away from him. But one day, she turns away and is facing a window/mirror; he catches her reflection and discovers she only does that because she's trying to hide her blush from them. What happens next?

sylus imagine with blushing reader

Sylus paced the room, his frustration barely concealed behind a mask of indifference. You sat across from him, nervously fidgeting with your hands. It wasn’t the first time he noticed this—the way you always avoided looking directly at him. It grated on him more than it should, a sting of rejection he couldn't shake.

Why did you always look away?

“Sweetie” Sylus’s voice cut through the tension, low and commanding. “Why do you always turn away from me?”

You stiffened at the question, the heat rising to your face. You kept your eyes on the window, the glass reflecting both the stormy cityscape outside and the quiet intensity of Sylus’s gaze. His question hung in the air, demanding an answer but your heart raced too fast for you to respond.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.” Sylus’s tone had that teasing edge he always used to rattle you. He approached slowly, a predator in control of the space, the moment. “You do this every time. I talk and you look away. Tell me…” He paused, leaning against the table behind you, his voice dipping lower “Why do you act like you’re afraid of me?”

Your breath hitched but before you could muster a reply, Sylus’s eyes flicked to the glass of the window where your reflection was faintly visible and there it was—your blush, unmistakable, painting your cheeks a soft pink. His eyes narrowed slightly, a slow realization dawning.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“Well, well…” he muttered, pushing off the table and moving closer until he stood directly behind you. “You’re not afraid at all, are you, kitten?” His hand gently slid to your waist, fingers brushing your side. You stiffened at his touch, feeling the heat rise to your face even more. “You’re just trying to hide that blush from me.”

You froze, caught in the moment, the warmth of his body so close that you could feel his breath on your neck. Sylus’s lips hovered near your ear, his voice a soft tease. “Isn’t that right?”

You tried to stammer out a denial, but words failed you. Sylus, however, wasn’t going to let you off that easily. He turned you around, forcing you to face him.

“Let me see that cute little blush you’ve been hiding” he whispered, his tone both mocking and playful. He tilted your chin up so you couldn’t escape his gaze. “You thought I wouldn’t notice? You’re adorable.”

Your eyes met his for just a moment before you instinctively tried to turn away again, but this time he wasn’t having it. He caught your chin between his fingers, holding your face firmly in place, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“There it is” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly as he took in your flustered expression. “You look so sweet when you’re embarrassed. Did you think you could hide that from me forever?”

Your heart pounded in your chest and the intensity of his gaze made it hard to breathe. You wanted to look away again but Sylus wasn’t letting go. His thumb brushed over your lower lip and the touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been trying to avoid me, huh?” he murmured, his voice lowering to that dangerously soft tone he used when he was completely in control. “But now I know. You’re not scared—you’re just flustered. How cute.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as your face grew even warmer. Sylus leaned in closer, his lips just a breath away from yours, his hand still resting on your waist. The teasing glint in his eyes only deepened.

“You’re adorable when you blush like this, sweetie” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “But don’t hide from me. I like seeing you flustered.”

His fingers traced a line down your neck, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The touch was almost gentle, but there was an underlying intensity to it that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Maybe I’ll have to tease you more often if this is the reaction I get” he continued, his smirk widening as he watched you squirm under his gaze. “You look so pretty when you’re like this.”

You couldn’t form a coherent response, not with the way he was looking at you, the heat in his eyes and the teasing lilt in his voice making your mind go blank. Sylus seemed to sense this, and his amusement only grew. He leaned in even closer, his lips barely brushing against yours.

“Tell me, kitten” he whispered, his voice like velvet, “why hide from me when you look so cute being all flustered?”

Before you could respond, his lips met yours in a brief but heated kiss. It was soft at first, teasing, like he was savoring the moment of catching you off guard. But then, the kiss deepened, his hand tightening on your waist as he pulled you closer, his lips demanding and firm against yours.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart racing, your cheeks burning even brighter than before. Sylus chuckled, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he whispered “There it is again. That blush. You can’t hide from me, sweetie.”

His thumb gently brushed your cheek, the touch almost tender, though the playful smirk never left his face. “You’re mine” he murmured, his voice soft but possessive. “And I’m not going to let you forget that.”

Still flustered and speechless, you could only look at him, your heart pounding in your chest. Sylus gave you a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with how thoroughly he’d unraveled you.

“I think I’ll keep you blushing like this” he teased, his voice low and promising as he pulled you closer again. “I like the way you look when you’re all flustered for me.”

[starkeynation]

Is it casual now?

Content : angst, a bit similar to the scene where Sofia overheard Rafe saying she’s not his girlfriend, inspired by the song Casual by Chappell Roan (may or may not be accurate)

a/n : sorry in advanced i know Chappell is for the girlies also idk if im proud of this but your likes and reblogs will always be appreciated🤍

Part 2

── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ──

It has been exactly 4 months since you met Rafe Cameron, the kook king you never knew you would fall so deeply for. The first time you met him, you were nothing but a blur in his world. A passing figure and a random pogue that was at his party. But Rafe, you saw something in him the moment you met his sparkling blue eyes. You couldn’t exactly tell what it was. Maybe it’s the fact that he looks so handsome even under bad lights, or the way you could listen to him forever every time he speaks. At that moment, you were ready to risk it all.

You made your move that night. The way you charmed him may have made him realize you both were something more than strangers passing through each other’s lives and ever since then, you were both inseparable. Although he said “No attachment,” the first time you both hooked up, you still went along with it, hoping it could be real one day.

Sometimes when you’re hanging out with your friends outside, you would hear some rumors saying you’re just a girl that Rafe bangs on his couch. The pogues call you a loser for still hanging around him but you ignore them and the rumors because most of the time he treats you as if you were someone he couldn’t lose. Just two weeks after knowing each other, he invites you to dinner with his whole family. The way he fucks you in the bathroom while his parents are still at the table, the way he brings you to the country club and shows you off, the way he’s eating you out in the passenger seat, and mostly the way he talks to you, so gently and sweet that got you thinking maybe this isn’t just some dumb love.

You’re at the pub where you agreed to meet Rafe. The sky on the way there was already turning a heavy blue slate, signaling that rain was on the way. You enter the pub and recognize Rafe’s back immediately standing on the other end accompanied by Topper and his foul girlfriend Ruthie. As you are about to approach them, you hear his voice, “She’s not my girlfriend okay, it’s just…casual. No strings attached.”

You freeze. The words land like ice in your chest, sharp and cold. If that isn’t enough you then hear Ruthie say, “You sure about that Rafe? How do your parents feel that you’re living with a pogue,” she smirks, her eyes gleaming with sarcasm.

“I’m not fucking living with a pogue okay,” he says annoyingly.

You have to steady yourself. You could feel your stomach churn as you’re processing what you’re hearing. You can’t believe it. You both never had a “talk” about being exclusive, but you thought you were starting to matter to him and close to making it official.

You hide behind a column in the middle of the pub, trying to decide what to do. Part of you wants to walk away, leave without saying a word, and let him figure out what he’d lost. But you couldn’t just let it go. So you make your way to the table, keeping a neutral face, and try to hold back your tears.

“Hey, there you are,” Rafe smiles, as you approach him.

“Hey,” you say, your voice steady, though it takes everything you have to keep it from shaking. “We need to talk.” Before he could say anything, you grab his hand taking him outside the pub. As you stand outside, it’s already drizzling.

“Whoa, what’s wrong? Can't we talk inside? It’s raining,” he asks, his voice full of confusion.

You let go of his hand and go silent for a moment. He looks at your face that is now about to cry, “Baby what’s wrong?” he says.

“Don’t call me that if you don’t mean it Rafe,” you mutter.

He blinks. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you,” your voice loud now. “Telling them we’re not dating? No strings attached? Seriously Rafe? After these past few months? Is it casual now?”

Rafe’s face shifts, the unease creeping into his features. He clears his throat, trying to smooth over the tension. “Look, I thought we’re on the same page here-“

“Same page? What same page are we talking about?” You cut him off. “I thought you were starting to look at me differently now Rafe.” You fluster. “Oh and not to mention calling me a pogue? I thought we’re WAY past that..”

He sighs, scratching the back of his head. “Ok about that I'm sorry kay’. I didn’t mean to call you a pogue just, you know…Topper and Ruthie, they caught me off guard. And you never really talked about anything more serious, so I figured we’re just not together.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest. “I never talked about it? Oh so now I’m the one to blame? Are you serious?” Your eyes narrow.

He pauses, trying to find the right thing to say. “I just…I’m happy with the way we are right now. I’m not-“

“Not what? Not ready to be in a relationship? That’s bullshit.” You cut him off again, not wanting to hear any excuses. “How can you stand there and say you’re okay with this? After all the plans we made, the endless nights we spent?” you continue, meeting his gaze that looks unbothered. “You know what…I can’t…yes, I tried to be the chill girl who holds her tongue and gives you space but not anymore. No, I’m done,” you say, trying to walk away.

The rain is getting heavier now, and both of you are soaking wet. “Wait,” he calls out your name. “Just wait okay…I’m sorry I hurt you, yes I would be lying if I said this doesn’t mean something but just give me time okay, I just…I can't do relationships right now,” he says, grabbing your wrist trying to stop you.

“No Rafe,” you shake your head, a tear runs down to your cheek. “I’m done waiting. It’s hard Rafe…It’s hard being casual when my favourite bra lives in your dresser and it’s definitely not casual when I’m always on the phone talking to Wheezie like I’m her sister,” you swallow, biting your inner cheek trying to keep your emotion in check.

He gives a small dismissive wave, like I’m overthinking things. “Well I did warn you no attachment, y/n,” he says, with such cold detachment, as if his words are nothing more than a simple fact, devoid of any emotion.

You look at him with disappointment crawling up to your throat. He isn’t even trying to make it work, not even pretending to care about how you feel. You hate the fact what he said is true, he did warn you not to get attached and you hate yourself even more for dragging this on for so long. You stare at him for a moment longer, “Fuck you, Rafe,” then you turn and walk away to your car. There is no use in arguing with someone who has no intention of changing their mind. If this is how Rafe sees you, then he is not the guy you think he is.

Maybe he is okay with keeping things casual but you deserve more than that. Rafe Cameron can go to hell.

[missarchive]

ok ok ok!! what about spencer getting head from reader for the first time, and it's her first time doing it, so she's nervous and he teaches her and he has to try sooo hard not to cum immediately because he is just GONE for the innocence with which she does it/tries things out 🤭 you choose what season spence!!

Decided to do one more for tonight!! (I’m feeling generous)

thank you for the request!! im always writing munch!spencer but it's nice to write things the other way round for once

cw; +18 minors dni, inexperienced!reader, tiny bit of dom!spencer if you squint, oral (m. receiving), cum swallowing

When you first kneel before him, his breath catches in his throat, and he’s certain he might lose himself right then and there. The sight of you—so eager, so nervous—renders him utterly helpless. Your hands reach for his belt with a mixture of determination and trepidation, your cheeks flushed a rosy hue that makes you look impossibly innocent yet utterly intoxicating. His jaw slackens as he watches you, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum.

Your wide eyes flicker up to meet his, glinting with excitement and a touch of uncertainty. He’s been dreaming of this moment for what feels like forever, and now that it’s unfolding, every muscle in his body tenses, locked in an unbearable anticipation.

Your fingers fumble with his belt, the clumsy motions endearing rather than frustrating. He doesn’t mind the delay; in fact, it only heightens his awareness of you—of how genuine, how completely you this moment is. He knows this is your first time. Not just with him, but ever. You’d told him, shyly, how you’d researched, how you’d prepared for this, even asking friends for advice. Still, the vulnerability of trying it now, with him, makes his chest tighten.

His hands find their way to your hair, almost of their own volition. The silky strands slip through his fingers like water, grounding him. You haven’t protested, haven’t pulled back, and the faint smile on your lips reassures him that you’re okay with this—more than okay. You glance up at him again, brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and the sight makes his heart stutter.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice rough with emotion. He needs you to be comfortable, to know that he’ll stop the moment you ask.

You pause, your hands stilling, and you smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips that speaks volumes. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

Finally, you manage to undo his pants, your small hand brushing against his erection as you pull down the zipper. He groans at the brief contact, the sound guttural and raw. When your fingers wrap hesitantly around him, his breath hitches, and he can’t stop the way his hips shift forward, seeking more of your touch.

“God,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Your touch is tentative, exploratory, and it sends jolts of pleasure straight to his core.

You look up at him, startled by the intensity of his reaction. “Is that... okay?” you ask, your voice laced with innocence and curiosity.

“It’s more than okay,” he rasps, his hands moving to your shoulders, needing something to hold onto, to anchor himself. “You’re perfect.”

Encouraged, you start to stroke him, your hand sliding up and down his shaft in slow, deliberate movements. He watches you, his gaze locked on the way your small hand moves over him. The sight alone is almost too much.

When your tongue darts out to wet your lips, he groans deeply, his head falling back for a moment as he imagines that mouth on him. The vividness of the fantasy sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through him.

“Baby,” he says, his voice strained, “I’m not going to last much longer like this.”

Your eyes widen slightly, disbelief flickering across your features. He chuckles softly despite himself, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he confesses, his voice heavy with sincerity.

“I just... I’ve never done this before,” you admit shyly, your cheeks flushing deeper. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Baby, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he assures you, his hands moving to cradle your face. The warmth of your skin beneath his palms soothes and excites him all at once. “Can I show you?”

You nod, your expression curious, and he takes a steadying breath, his restraint hanging by a thread. Gently, he guides your hand away, needing a moment to compose himself before he completely unravels.

“Like this?” you ask, your voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. The innocent question makes his chest tighten with affection and desire.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Just like that. Only with your mouth.”

His hand moves to the back of your head, not to push or force but to guide. He’s desperate for this but careful, wanting you to feel safe, to enjoy it as much as he knows he will.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he urges, his voice gentle but firm.

“Okay,” you reply, nodding.

When your lips part and touch the tip of his cock, he shudders violently, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth surrounds him, and it’s so much better than he ever imagined.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his head falling back as you take him deeper, your tongue flicking against him experimentally. His hands clutch the sheets, desperate for something to hold as his hips jerk involuntarily.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “You’re incredible.”

Bolstered by his praise, you take him in again, this time with more confidence. Your mouth moves over him slowly, tentatively, and the sensation is almost overwhelming.

“God,” he groans, his voice ragged. “I’m going to come.”

His hand returns to your hair, fingers threading through it as he fights the urge to thrust deeper into your mouth. He doesn’t want to push too far, to take too much.

When he finally lets go, the release is overwhelming, a rush of pleasure so intense it leaves him trembling. You stay with him through it, warm spurts of cum painting the back of your throat.

As you pull back, you wipe your mouth with a shy smile, and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his heart still racing as he holds you close.

“Was it... good?” you ask, your voice small and uncertain.

“It was amazing,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You were amazing.”

Your giggle lights up the room, and his chest swells with affection. “I thought I did it wrong at first,” you admit, laughing softly.

“You were perfect,” he assures you, kissing you again. “Better than I ever imagined.”

[pathologicalreid]

wrapped around your finger | s.r.

in which you come home to find spencer in peak girl dad form

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: mom!reader, girldad!spencer, nail polish, this is technically the family from cryptic, but you don't need to read cryptic to know what's going on word count: 578 a/n: this is for the anon who asked for dad!spencer! i always have some dad!spencer on retainer for when the people are in need! it's nothing crazy, but i was cleaning up my desk and found a sticky note that said spencer would definitely let his daughter paint his nails.

A little voice carries itself from down the hallway, and you follow the sound of it. The carefully chosen words of your four-year-old daughter make you wonder who she could possibly be speaking to. Slowly, you walk down the hallway, trying not to alert anyone to your presence.

On your way, you peek into the nursery, your younger daughter sleeping soundly in her crib as you pass her, finally ending up at the doorway of Eleanor’s room, “Do you like the color?” She asks gently, holding her father’s hand in hers and inspecting his fingers.

“I love the color, thank you,” Spencer says politely, “You know, purple is my favorite color.”

The smile that blooms on her face is so bright, it makes you wish you’d never left the house in the first place. “Mommy told me!”

Nothing in all of the parenting books you’ve read prepared you for your firstborn to stop calling you mama. The switch had caught you off-guard, and you found yourself mourning the little girl she had been while simultaneously prideful of the personality that she was developing.

You’d have to keep better track of it with Olivia, though you and Spencer hadn’t come to a consensus on whether or not you were done after two kids. The sight in front of you might just be enough to convince you to go for a third.

Her princess tiara slides forward on her head as she focuses on painting Spencer’s nails, your husband sitting in a chair that’s comically small for him as her small hands deftly apply the lacquer.

Catching sight of you in his periphery, Spencer gives a soft smile in greeting, not wanting to alarm Eleanor of your appearance. “You’re really good at painting nails,” he observes, reaching his free hand up to adjust her crown.

“I wanna do it forever and ever,” she responds giddily, putting the brush back into the bottle. You notice the way Spencer reached over to seal the nail polish bottle, preventing a tragedy before it strikes.

Spencer hums in response, “If that’s what you want, lovebug.”

She smiles, spinning around in her PJs until she sees you, “Mommy!” She squeaks excitedly, running over to you and giggling when you pick her up.

“Hello, Princess Nellie,” you greet her, hugging her tightly before setting her back down. Listening to see if the ruckus woke up the baby, you walk further into the bedroom when you hear no stirring from the room next door.

She smiles, pointing at Spencer with a proud look on her face, “I painted daddy’s nails.”

“I see that,” you took in the sight before you, Spencer’s nails had indeed been painted, along with all of the skin surrounding them. “They look great honey,” you tell her, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

Nellie looks up at you expectantly, “Daddy said I can’t paint Livvy’s nails.”

You smile slightly at the pout on her face, “That’s right, she’s too little to have her nails painted.” Though you have to admit, you’ve been imagining mini spa nights with your daughters from the moment you found out you were having another girl.

Her eyes go wide as saucers, “Oh! Then it’s a good thing I have daddy.” She beams over at her father, and he looks at her with an equal amount of adoration in his eyes.

Grinning over at Spencer, you nod in agreement with her, “Yeah, it is a good thing.”

[megumismyhusband]

rin itoshi wasn’t the type to watch silly little rom-coms, but here he was, sitting on the couch all alone while you were out. the movie on the screen showcased a disgustingly rich man who adored his wife and showed it by spoiling her with everything money could buy—designer clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry, you name it. the woman looked happy, beaming at her husband like he’d hung the stars for her.

rin couldn’t focus on the rest of the movie. his mind snagged on that one thought: she looked happy because of all those things.

rin knew you deserved the best. no question about that. and sure, he worked hard, brought in more than enough money, but had he ever gone out of his way to spoil you like that? could you ever feel that kind of happiness with him if he didn’t? the idea gnawed at him, quiet but insistent.

the next day, he started. subtle, at first—a new designer coat left on your chair when you woke up. when you tried to ask, rin just mumbled something about how “you needed a good coat for the winter.”

then, the gifts piled up. shoes. jewelry. bags. a random cartier box sitting on the counter one morning. an envelope stuffed with tickets to an exclusive spa retreat the next. by the weekend, your closet looked like the flagship store of every luxury brand in existence.

“rin,” you called one evening, holding up a glittering necklace you swore you’d seen on a celebrity once. “what’s all this for?”

rin didn’t look up from where he was pretending to focus on his phone. “you deserve it.”

“i mean, thanks, but why?”

he seemed to hesitate, his fingers twitching at the edge of the phone. “i just… want you to be happy,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

you tilted your head, a puzzled expression crossing your face. “you’re already making me happy, rin. i don’t need all of this stuff.”

he cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes avoiding yours. “i thought… i thought maybe you’d want it. or, i don’t know, i thought i might’ve been… i don’t know, not enough?” his voice faltered, something like worry creeping in.

you blinked at him in confusion before your lips curled into a soft, reassuring smile. “rin, you’re more than enough. i’m not going anywhere, okay?” you stepped closer, gently cupping his face with your hands. “i don’t care about the gifts, the bags, or any of that stuff. i just want you. and you’re all i need.”

he didn’t respond right away, his eyes softening as he processed your words. and then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed, his usual tense expression giving way to something far more vulnerable. the tension in his chest loosened, replaced by a warmth that made his heart flutter.

“you sure?” he asked quietly, his hands slowly finding their way to yours.

“i’m sure,” you said, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “you’ve always been enough, rin.”

your smile was so genuine, so full of love, and rin realized then that he would do anything to keep that smile on your face forever.

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

I wonder if Solas meant to be in Lavellan’s dreams. Like sometimes, sure. But the first time? I doubt it.

Their souls are crying out to each other so loudly that they find each other in the Fade. Solas refuses to get to close but he also doesn’t immediately leave. He stays long enough for her to see him. He stays long enough to allow himself to be acknowledged, to allow himself to be seen. As much as he needs to see her, he wants her to see him too.

Then I think about the way they look at each other in the reunion. Solas literally has to move his head to get himself to look anywhere else. He can’t take his eyes off her. And she is ever gently, carefully getting closer. Gently, carefully touches just his hands, while Solas is taking her hands so eagerly into his. The timid but no less loving greetings these people give to one another. Holding hands, to assure and to accept.

And then Solas looking at them like he can’t believe he’s holding Lavellan’s hands. Why is she doing this? Doesn’t she know how wretched and awful he is? Doesn’t she know what kind of place she’s volunteering to abandon her entire life for? And then they kiss and Solas gives just the barest little dip of his head, nuzzles her cheek with the tip of his nose. There’s an almost “wait I’m not quite done” pause for a moment, but Lavellan pulls back because she doesn’t want to overwhelm an already overwhelmed man, and he pulls back too because he doesn’t want to make her do anything she doesn’t seem entirely committed to.

And then the shoulder touch she gives him. And if you’ve seen the fly cam stills, the “is she coming?” side eye that Solas lets himself have. He doesn’t turn his head. Too expectant. Demanding. But then her hand comes to his shoulder and I have to think he gave a little sigh. She meant what she said. But then, she always did.

And then all the yearning, the being pulled together by the Fade, gets to be brought together within it. Forever.

[hsnlv]

together | p.js

pairing: husband!jay x fem!reader

synopsis: after months of sleepless nights with your fussy five-month-old, you finally break down, overwhelmed by exhaustion and guilt. jay, your ever-attentive husband, steps in with gentle words, warm hugs, and playful humor, reminding you you’re the best mom and wife. he promises to give you the rest you deserve, proving he’s always your safe haven.

warnings/others: mention of miscarriage, usage of nickname (angel, baby), jay is sickeningly sweet and gentle :(

wc: 946

a/n: hehe my first jay fic is here😋 i hope you enjoy this as much as i do!! reblogs and comments are highly appreciated💗 here’s my masterlist!

“jjongie…” you sigh as you step into the bedroom, your voice soft but so heavy with exhaustion it pulls jay’s attention immediately. he glances up from his spot against the headboard, closing his laptop and placing it on the bedside table without hesitation. his eyes scan your face, already concerned.

“yes, angel?” his voice is gentle as he beckons you closer. “is little princess asleep?”

you nod, your lips curling slightly at the nickname. lia, your five-month-old daughter, has been nothing short of a miracle in your lives—a beacon of light after the darkness of your miscarriage. but tonight, even the thought of her sweet little face can’t ease the ache in your body.

“yeah,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes. “but it took forever. she’s so fussy lately.”

jay notices the tiredness in your voice, the way your shoulders droop as if you’re carrying the weight of the world. “come here,” he says softly, patting the space next to him. but instead of joining him, you stop in the middle of the room, your voice trembling.

“i’m tired, jay.”

he blinks, momentarily confused. “then you should go to sleep, angel.”

it’s clear he doesn’t quite understand what you mean, and those simple words—well-meaning as they are—are enough to tip you over the edge. you sink to the floor as your body gives in, and before you know it, tears are streaming down your face. you try to hold it back, but the sobs come anyway, shaking your small frame.

“angel!” jay’s voice is alarmed, and in an instant, he’s off the bed and kneeling in front of you. his strong arms wrap around you, lifting you effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. he settles you on the bed, cradling you in his lap like you’re something fragile and precious.

“what’s wrong, mama?” his voice is soft, his hand gently stroking your hair. “talk to me. is it lia?”

the mention of your daughter makes your tears fall harder, guilt and exhaustion crashing down on you all at once. you manage a small nod, burying your face in his chest as he holds you tighter.

“she’s just so fussy,” you choke out between sobs. “she cries if i put her down, she doesn’t want to sleep, she needs me constantly. and—and i can’t get anything done. the house is a mess, the laundry is piling up, and i just… i feel like i’m failing her. like i’m failing you.”

jay’s heart aches as he listens, guilt washing over him for not noticing just how overwhelmed you’ve been. he cups your face gently, tilting your chin so you’re looking at him. his thumbs wipe away your tears as his warm eyes meet yours.

“don’t you ever say that again,” he says firmly, his voice steady but kind. “you are not failing anyone, least of all me or lia. you’re the most amazing mom and the most amazing woman. i mean it, angel. lia is so lucky to have you, and so am i.”

“but you do so much too,” you whisper, sniffling. “you help with her, with the house, with everything. i should be able to handle this.”

jay shakes his head, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “baby, we’re a team. it’s not your job to ‘handle’ everything by yourself. and if it feels like i’ve let you down, i’m so sorry. i’ve been so caught up in work, but that’s no excuse. i should’ve noticed how hard it’s been for you.”

he kisses your temple next, then your damp cheeks, his lips lingering as if trying to kiss away all your worries. “from now on, we’re doing this together, okay? every late-night feeding, every diaper blowout, every fussy day. you’re not alone in this, angel.”

“but what if i can’t?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

jay smiles softly, his forehead pressing against yours. “you can. and when you feel like you can’t, i’ll be here to remind you that you can. we’ll figure it out together.”

before you can protest further, jay scoops you up bridal style, making you squeak in surprise. “jay! what are you doing?”

“taking care of my angel,” he replies, grinning as he carries you to the bed. “you take care of everyone else—it’s my turn.”

he lays you down gently, tucking the blanket snugly around you. then he slides in beside you, pulling you into his arms. “tomorrow, i’m taking lia to my parents’ house,” he announces as though it’s already set in stone.

your eyes widen. “what? jay, you don’t have to—”

“shh, no arguments,” he interrupts, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “you deserve a break. you’re spending the entire day doing whatever you want—sleeping, eating, watching trashy reality shows. and if you don’t, i’ll personally bribe you with massages and… maybe a shopping spree.”

you let out a watery laugh, and jay’s grin grows. “there she is,” he says, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “there’s my pretty wife.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you mumble, though your cheeks warm at his words.

“and you love me for it,” he counters, smirking. “seriously, angel, let me spoil you tomorrow. you’ve earned it. you deserve it.”

his arms tighten around you, his warmth and steady heartbeat already easing your nerves. “you’re the strongest, most beautiful person i know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair. “and i’m so, so grateful for you.”

you close your eyes, the exhaustion finally giving way to peace. as you drift off, you hear jay whisper one last thing, his voice soft and full of love.

“you’ll always be my number one, angel. now and forever.”

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2025

[suksatoru]

010. CARNATIONS

It was all a blur.

Desperate arms wrapped around his frame the moment he stepped into sight. Touya shed more tears than he had in years today, the faces in the back of his mind that were beginning to fade away became crystal clear in an instant. Twin diamonds shine and leave a salty trail down his cheeks when his mother finally hugs him.

She cradled Touya's face in her palms as her fingers rubbed gently against his skin—telling Touya she was so proud of him, telling Touya he looked so healthy—telling Touya she was so happy to see him. Touya smiles when he's sad, and it was truly a sight to behold. His eyes had shards of gold glittering in them as they caught the afternoon sun's rays, and his smile was so handsome and authentic, it looked like the Gods themselves had carved it into his face.

Natsuo wasn't as 'tough' as Touya remembered him. Because the moment Touya cursed his brother out for getting taller than him while he was gone, Natsuo weeped like a newborn. Maybe he was mourning all those years growing up without having his older brother by his side—the years he spent as a teenager thinking he was getting older than his Touya-nii ever got to be.

Fuyumi was strong—she was able to hold Touya up all on her own when he crumped against her, pressing his cheek into the crown of her head as he thanked her for staying shorter than him. Her laughter is wet with tears, but it was just as sweet as he remembered. Natsuo's was too—just seeing them smiling at him felt like they'd ripped past skin and fleshed and pierced Touya's heart with a dagger carved with love.

Shoto's eyes flittered between his siblings and mother—watching them all stand around Touya as he swayed on his feet, unable to hold himself up as they all murmur quietly to each other—there weren't many words spoken, just the occasional sniffling and hiccuping sobs as they fussed over him

Shoto doesn't know when you intertwined your fingers with his to hold his hand, but he'll be forever grateful you did because his chest is so tight he doesn't think he can breathe right. His eyes move fast, rapidly blinking as he watches the scene in front of him unfold from afar

He's never felt more like an outsider than he did right now. He was watching his family show more emotion in this moment than he's ever seen in years. He looks to you for a moment, almost hesitating to step towards them all as his eyes are clouded with an unmistakable mist. You squeeze Shoto's hand encouragingly, and soon enough, he's slipping out of your grasp and gravitating towards Touya.

He's facing Touya's back right now, watching his older brother lean into their mother's palm as she kisses his hands before Shoto clears his throat—an attempt to catch their attention. He can see the muscles in Touya's back physically tense before he turns around. Touya's eyes catch yours first—before they slowly move to Shoto.

Shoto isn't a very good hugger. He's not really sure how to wrap his arms around Touya without it being awkward. Unfortunately—Touya also wasn't a good hugger. He stills when Shoto slowly wraps his arms around him, the younger boy's eyes closing as his face bumps against Touya's chest. Touya's words are stuck in his throat as his mouth goes dry, a strange feeling spreading in his chest as he looks down to see Shoto's ivory and ruby strands pressed against him.

Touya always thought Shoto had grown up to be a carbon copy of their father. He didn't know why, but he never really assumed Shoto may have grown to be a good kid until the war.

So, Touya tries his best. Wrapping his arms around the younger boy and letting out a shaky breath as his eyes squeeze close.

Rei went overboard with dinner. The table was covered with all the classics—rice, grilled fish, miso soup, pickled vegetables—everything and anything you could imagine. Rei was so proud when she saw the look on Touya's face, her heart soaring as her son muttered something along the lines of how good the food looked.

You were Touya's support through the entire dinner as he spoke. Most of the questions he got asked consisted of how he was feeling and adjusting. He answered all of them remarkably well, his voice even and smile calm as he ate his dinner

You sat in between Shoto and Touya, and you almost wish you weren't sitting between them when you watch Shoto lean over the table to look at Touya every time he spoke. It was like he was in a trance as he watched his older brother speak—if Touya noticed Shoto's lingering stare, he didn't say anything.

Shoto wanted to hear every word that came out of Touya's mouth. And luckily, everyone stayed at the dinner table well after dinner was finished. The conversation was nostalgic and calm. It was sad and maybe sometimes Touya would have to blink back tears, but God, he loved it all so much.

Rei was quiet for most of the dinner, save for soft smiles as she listened to Touya talk. Even when he was a kid, Touya talked a lot. She wants to ask Touya if he knows how he subconsciously leans towards you during the entire dinner, whispering things in your ear that have you fighting a smile

It was stupid little jokes he made whenever someone wasn't speaking to him—he'd jump so fast whenever he noticed the attention wasn't on him anymore as his eyes found yours. Unfortunately, Touya didn't notice how his mother's eyes never left him.

She saw it all. The way your eyes crinkled with a smile whenever Touya said something stupid, how Touya offers to fill your glass and how you and him get into a quiet argument on who gets the bigger piece of fish, both of you insisting the other gets the larger half. You two end up sharing, smiling with silent laughter whenever his fork clinks against yours

Rei knows Touya's kindness isn't because of her parenting. It can't be. Touya was an angry and mean child, one who lashed out often and couldn't get along with others.

She had trouble dealing with Touya, and Enji did nothing but worsen his condition. Her own inner turmoil had her mind falling apart, and she had been struggling with the man who was supposed to protect them just as much as Touya was.

You made Touya like this—calming the storm in his heart Rei thought would rage on forever.

When he was Dabi, Touya was even worse. She had seen the news, she knew her first born was alive and wreaking absolute havoc. Years ago, his supposed death had been her breaking point. And, oh, what she would have given to save him from his inevitable fate.

She failed Touya. She and Enji, they had both failed him. Not intentionally—she never meant to fail him the way she did.

But you had not failed Touya, and Rei was going to treasure you forever for unknowingly saving her family.

Rei hadn't experienced real love before. But the way Touya just looks at you lets her know that even if she didn't get the privilege of being able to know what it was like, her son did. And that alone is enough to make her happy.

"Mom?"

Rei is startled, turning to look at Natsuo when he places a hand on her shoulder, dishes in hand. Everyone's dispersed by now, and she realizes she's the only one still at the table.

"You spaced out again." Natsuo says, a sad smile on his face as he gently rubs his mother's shoulder. Rei's lips part as she makes a little 'o' with her mouth, before smiling softly

"Touya's in love."

Natsuo blinks once, twice, before his lip twitches upward. He slides into the spot beside his mother, leaning in closer as he takes a quick glance at you and Touya—who was marveling over the endless channels on the big screen TV that was placed in the center of the living room, your laughter flowing through the air at his excited commentary—he was pointing out all of his favorite movies as a kid.

"I know. Just...try not to say anything to them, okay? It's definitely not something either of them can pursue yet. Bringing it up in front of them isn't the best idea right now." He mutters quietly as Rei nods slowly, the gears in her mind shifting as she stays quiet in thought. Fuyumi calls Natsuo from the kitchen, asking him to bring the remaining dishes as he quickly stands up, following her voice.

Shoto pretends he wasn't able to hear Natsuo as he keeps his head low, piling the remaining dishes into his arms before strolling after his older brother. Of course, you had offered to help clean up like a good guest earlier—but Fuyumi had shooed you and Touya away before either of you got the chance, telling you to get comfortable in the living room.

Rei tilts her head to try and get a better look at you. Maybe she's getting ahead of herself, but Rei's thinking of the silver wedding band laying on the edge of her vanity. It was a ring that meant nothing, never had when it was slipped onto her finger

But it was a beautiful ring.

She wished it had been spent on a truer love. On something real and tangible, something as beautiful as the delicate diamonds encrusted into it. She zeroes in on your fingers, watching the way they curl around the TV's remote as you dangle it out of Touya's reach. He growls and grunts in an attempt to snatch it back from you, his laughter peaking through his facade easily as your squeals sound through the air

Yes, your fingers look like they'd fit her ring. She didn't ever think about passing her wedding ring down to one of her children, never even considered the thought. But...

For the first time in so many years, it was laughter that bounced between the walls of this house. It was beginning to feel like a home again.

You and Touya are dancing around such a fine line so carelessly.

Touya doesn't even know he's in love with you. He knows he cares for you, knows you've become the most important person in his life—he knows he loves you in some sense, but it took him a lot longer than he'd like to admit to realize he was in love with you.

He can see the cartoon's reflection in your eyes as you watch the TV right beside him. His body, simply put, was drawn to yours. You're pressed against his side, and he can smell you. You smell sweet, and he resists the urge to sniff you.

The thought is odd. He pauses, blinking at the TV screen but not even absorbing what's going on as his eyes slowly drag towards you. Did he almost sniff you, just now?

Okay. Touya was weird, he already knew that. But when has he ever wanted to sniff someone? That was just fucking weird. Suddenly, he starts thinking—and it feels like he's been carelessly missing the ON button in the back of his mind, and it had finally been switched on my some miracle.

He's had these type of thoughts before. Actually—he's had a lot of these thoughts before. He had just...ignored them. Too engrossed in any moment with you to truly acknowledge them.

Yeah, he wants to sniff you. He wants to know what shampoo you use, he wants to know your favorite meal—you know his, when does he find out yours? He wants to know if you have siblings like him, he wants to know if you take cold showers or hot showers, he wants to know if you like his family, he wants to know if you like him the way he likes you.

The realization dawns on him slowly, and Touya realizes he has never been more clueless in his life.

He likes you.

No, not like a patient liked their doctor. And not like how a victim liked their savior—it wasn't like that.

He liked you like he'd die without you, like his heart would cease its beating and he would genuinely be unable to feel any semblance of happiness again if you slipped away

He suddenly realizes you can't like someone that much. It was another feeling, and he was in deep.

"Aw, fuck."

You peer up at him through your lashes, a confused hum leaving your lips as you tilt your head towards him in concern

Touya looks down at you, a small smile splayed on his lips. He thinks, no—he knows he'll never love someone this much.

"You know, I forgot this sucker died at the end." He mumbles quietly, taking your chin between his fingers and tilting it towards the TV as a whine escapes your lips

"Touya! You spoiled it!" You pout, looking at the cartoon and huffing—what kind of kid's movie has anyone dying in it?!

"I'm kidding." He murmurs with a quiet laugh, watching relief flood your features moments later as you tuck yourself back into his side

"Good. I like that little guy."

"The cat?" He muses, leaning further into you as his breath fans your neck

He's so warm. So welcoming and gentle—and you can't even try and stop yourself from leaning further into him.

"Yeah. He reminds me of you."

The cat in question, was a grumpy little thing that spends most of the movie snacking on sweet treats—its belly round and happy from being loved so well. It was a silly little side character, but in an odd way, it reminded you of Touya's little mannerisms. The way it pouted and huffed and cracked the most absurd jokes the entire movie had you smiling ear to ear.

His fingers find your sides quickly, and you try to pry his hands off as he tickles your side mercilessly—adorable huffs of "Touya, everyone's sleeping!" escaping your lips as you try and muffle your laughter, covering your mouth as he pulls your hand away from your lips—saying he wants to hear you squeal and laugh for him.

You get him back, of course. But he doesn't even try to be quiet as you tickle his belly. He laughs loudly, straight from his gut and filled with so much joy that you can't bring yourself to stop

Touya has a really nice laugh, you think, watching him grin so wide—you think it must hurt to be smiling so much. He suddenly hooks a leg over yours, and the both of you roll off of the couch and onto the ground in your fits of laughter—and not once, not ever, has Touya felt more loved.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; something is cominggggg 👀!

tags!

@kawaiidemoneart @porusuniverse @starrmage @lilbeatlebear @bokukenmakuroo

@summercreolefanfictioner @dija200 @phtmmsqrde @sunaraii

@c-lunette @gh0stgirl333 @skullkittens @gurl-pls-evn-the-sharks-fear-me

@hawkwithsocks @suresnips @sugurusmoon @matchablossomsss @moonlitmorganite

@redr0sewrites @muimuiwisteria @sukunaspillow @starsryi

@eidolonwriter @dabislittlemouse @rueclfer @kelin-is-writing

@shugs1801 @imaginationmess

@lasa27 @sophiathefrog @etaerealboy @kooromin @sourbbyxo

@hvnares @ephmeraloblivion @lost-seraphiim @quokka-ina @jesuschrist2006

@stoned-anime-babe @qatiee @shadowsingers-redhood @alycat171

@21-princess

@xileonaaaa @rylerboi @blurryperrtymoonlight @mrcleans4headwrinkle @accidentpronedork

@exquisitenesss @miniatureempathknightpony @afterlife11

[pastryfication]

oscar taking care of his girlfriend who’s suffering with nausea and dizziness. like he helps her around the house, brings her food, turns into her personal blanket… i am a sucker for sweet bf oscar piastri

i’ll always take care of you

pairing: oscar piastri x reader note: haven’t proofread this so i apologise for any mistakes!! hope you like it <33

oscar had always been attentive—the most observant and caring boyfriend you’ve ever had—but today he seemed to have turned his attentiveness into a whole new art form.

you’d been feeling unwell since the morning—waves of nausea and dizziness that left you unsteady on your feet and far too tired to do much more than rest on the couch. he noticed the moment he saw you, a concerned frown creasing his brow as he knelt beside you.

“hey, you okay?” he asked softly, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead.

you managed a small smile, though it was weak. “just feeling a bit off. dizzy and nauseous. i think i might need to rest.”

oscar’s frown deepened as he nodded immediately. “okay, you stay right there,” he said firmly, standing up. “i’ll get you some water and maybe something light to eat, just in case.”

he moved around the kitchen with a quiet efficiency, fetching a glass of cold water and preparing a small plate of plain toast. when he returned, he set everything down on the coffee table beside you and sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your face.

“here,” he murmured, holding the glass to your lips. “just sip a little, don’t force it.”

you did as he said, taking small sips of water, grateful for his patience. oscar watched you with that focused expression he usually reserved for the track, like nothing else mattered but making sure you were okay. after a few sips, you leaned back, closing your eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over you.

“this feeling sucks,” you muttered, frustrated with how your body seemed to betray you. “i can’t even stand up without feeling like i’m going to fall over.”

oscar shook his head and slid an arm around your shoulders, gently guiding your body to rest against him. “you’re just not feeling well, love, and that’s okay. i’m here to help, alright?”

you sighed, leaning into his warmth, your head resting on his shoulder. “don’t you have something better to do?”

oscar’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. “you’re not a burden if that’s what you think.” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “i want to take care of you. it’s what i’m here for.”

he rubbed your back soothingly, his touch light and comforting. he held you like that for a while, his body warm against yours, his steady breathing helping to calm the spinning sensation in your head. you felt a little better, enough to open your eyes and look up at him.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice soft. “you’re too good to me.”

he smiled, his hand moving to gently stroke your hair. “you deserve it,” he replied. “and besides, i kind of like holding you like this.”

you laughed softly, the sound weak but genuine. “oh, yeah? planning to keep me warm and cozy forever?”

oscar’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with affection. “that’s the plan,” he said. “but first, let’s get you to the bedroom so you can lie down properly.”

he stood up slowly, snaking his arms around your body to lift you bridal style. his touch was gentle, as if you were made of glass, and when you held onto his bicep for safety when he started moving, he smiled softly down at you.

when you finally reached the bed, he helped you sit down and then guided you to lie back, adjusting the pillows behind you. he pulled the blanket up over you and tucked it around your sides, his hands smoothing the fabric with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“do you want anything else?” he asked softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “more water? a different snack? i can get you whatever you need.”

you shook your head. “just . . . stay with me?”

oscar’s expression softened, and he nodded immediately. “of course,” he said, climbing into the bed beside you. he shifted closer, wrapping his arms around you, letting you rest your head on his chest.

his warmth seeped into you, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm beneath your ear. he held you like that, like you were something precious and fragile, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm. every so often, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring softly about nothing in particular—little stories, jokes, anything to distract you from the discomfort.

you felt yourself relaxing more, the dizziness fading slightly with the comfort of his touch and his presence. you closed your eyes, breathing in his scent, and felt a small smile form on your lips. “i’m so lucky to have you,” you murmured sleepily.

oscar’s arms tightened around you just a little bit more, his lips brushing against your hair. “no,” he whispered back, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “i’m the lucky one.”

[redeemingvillains]

─ .✦ overprotective & possessive boyfriend mattheo

Mattheo genuinely never wanted anything as badly as he wanted you, and he put in the work to make you his.

(Let's be honest, you fell for him almost immediately).

But he knew never to get complacent with you, he couldn't, not with the way that you drew the attention of nearly everyone around you; you were stunningly beautiful with a pure heart and a kind soul.

And he's the Dark Lord's son, and a willing death eater, he knows how much danger that puts you in; his devotion to his father, and his overwhelming adoration of you constantly in conflict.

But you're determined to see the good in him no matter what.

And he's determined to do everything in his power to keep you, to protect you.

He loves you fiercely, hungrily, unceasingly. And you adore him for it.

He can be scarily intense, and you're just heart eyes for him no matter what.

Frankly, if looks could kill, there would be a path of bodies in his wake.

He always has to be close enough to touch you, a hand on your thigh, on your lower back, in the back pocket of your jeans, it's his way of reminding himself that you're with him, that you're safe.

He grasps you tightly in large crowds, tugging you into him.

"Hold my hand" (It's a demand, not a request).

You're always on his lap, your arms around his broad shoulders and he loves it just as much for himself as to let everyone else around him know what's what.

King of excessive PDA™️

If he sees another guy looking at you, he'll pull you into him and kiss you full on, no matter where you are.

You love the attention and the way he kisses you, completely oblivious to the way he shoots daggers over your head, the way he's essentially marking his territory.

He loves anything that marks you as his. He buys you a 14k gold "M" necklace, and a forever bracelet with his initials, enamored with the idea that you can never take it off.

His friends adore you and love having you around because he's noticeably chiller and happier with you there

They are also extremely protective over you, sometimes it feels like you have five boyfriends.

Behind closed doors, Mattheo is a mush.

He loves to lay his head on your lap and wrap his arms around your waist, to feel your fingers card through his curls, he swears it's heaven.

He has to physically restrain himself with you, unaware sometimes of his own strength, leaving strong fingerprint bruises on your hips and thighs that he'll feel awful about and will spend the night kissing.

The only exception is hickies which he'll unapologetically adorn your neck with at every opportunity.

Has a mouth on him and no filter whatsoever.

A guy comes up to you while you're sitting next to him? "Fuck off mate" without even looking at him.

You're at the Three Broomsticks and he thinks someone's getting a little too close to you? "Back the fuck off of her before I make you."

Once you're shopping and he catches a guy checking you out. You're completely unaware until you feel him leave your side, and suddenly he's grabbing the guy by the front of his shirt, pinning him to the wall. "That's my fucking wife and you don't fuckin' look at my wife like that or she'll be the last thing you ever see."

You are low-key high-key so embarrassed and confused?!? Like? You’re not married???

"I'm sorry, wife?!" you ask as he's pulling you out of the store with him.

His dark eyes shoot to you and his lip twitches, fighting the rage pulsing through him and the look on your face, your flushed cheeks.

"I don't see a ring!" you say, flashing your hand at him.

He stops. "You want a ring? I'll get you a ring." And he's dead serious.

Now you're just standing there with your mouth slightly agape, not expecting this in the slightest.

He closes the distance between you taking the same hands that were just cutting off that guy's air supply to gently cup your face. "No part of that should be a surprise, gorgeous. You're mine, and you're always going to be mine."

Without fail, he has a Riddle family signet ring made for you, the cool metal of which he'll love feeling as he twines his fingers in yours, biding time to give you the 4k diamond and emerald ring he's had since your first date.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites