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grimmweepers · 2 months ago

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— ★ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when being assigned a joint research project with a very attractive haravatat student proves to be more distracting than you ever anticipated

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: akademiya!student alhaitham x akademiya!student reader, afab!reader, established relationship (early stages), secret relationship, sex in the desert, flirting, playful banter, casual nudity, no preparation, rough fucking, multiple positions, creampie, not proofread. obv they are adults. 2.1k wc MDNI. 18+ ONLY. | masterlist

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The heat had already taken hold of you this morning.

Even before you opened your eyes, the desert sun had crept into the makeshift tent, meandered across your skin, and clung to the bedding beneath you. Outside, you could hear the wind humming in a lulling rhythm but the air inside was still heavy—scented faintly of canvas, sand, and Alhaitham.

Officially, this trip was sanctioned by the Akademiya to catalog ruins and decipher inscriptions long buried in the dunes. Your joint project culminated in months of preparation but between your academic pursuits, you and Alhaitham fell into the trap of proximity, lured by the temptation of wandering eyes and coy smiles exchanged over the rim of coffee cups.

Long nights spent under oil lamps became less about studying and more about the rush it gave you when your knees brushed beneath low tables. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on reading when Alhaitham sat so close that his scent clouded you entirely.

Wandering eyes turned to coy smiles turned to lingering touches turned to… well.

Such distractions would be frowned upon by the Akademiya, yes, but how could you resist when Alhaitham treated you like you were the most fascinating discovery he had ever encountered? You both agreed on discretion to save yourself from the mortification of other scholars and seniors. They didn’t need to know about his sweet confession and the many other things you both got up to when nothing but the stars could witness you.

So unofficially—this trip was the perfect excuse to stay tangled together despite the sweltering heat.

You blinked against the wedge of sunlight, rolling over to a very bare Alhaitham sprawled beside you, one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other resting just centimetres from your waist.

“Morning,” his voice was thick with sleep but when your eyes met, you saw that his expression was immensely not.

“What’s got you so focused?” you said groggily, propping yourself on your elbow as you faced him. “Already thinking about all the hard work waiting for us today?”

Your clothes were still discarded from the night before, sitting in a crumpled heap near the corner of your bedroll. Perhaps the events of last night were why he was looking at you with that slanted smile.

“Do you always think about work the moment you open your eyes?” he replied, tracing small circles on you.

“Someone has to keep us on task,” you shot back, raising a brow.

“I didn’t realise I was sharing a tent with a Matra.”

Of the 20 languages he knew, the same mouth rendered him incapable of completing this project in a timely manner—what should have been done two days ago was instead spent with his tongue on your skin.

Not that you had many complaints.

“Mm,” he added. “And here I thought mornings were for recharging, not nagging.”

“For someone who implores efficiency in all things,” you said, poking his nose, “You spend a suspicious amount of time lying around. Observing me isn’t going to help your thesis.”

“Observing you is a worthwhile distraction actually,” his hand began to slip onto the bare curve of your hip, “In fact, I think you’re my most compelling subject.”

“I would pay you sacks of mora to include that in your report,” you retorted, clicking your tongue with false annoyance, but you were too focused on something else to actually care.

“I’ll pass,” he tipped his chin at you, “Instead of mora, another thorough exploration should suffice.”

“You’re avoiding work.”

“I prefer to think of it as redefining priorities.”

“Oh? And what’s at the top of that list now, Mr. Alhaitham?” You felt wrapped in warmth but you weren’t sure if it was from the desert or his fingers settling between your thighs.

“Must you know?” He pressed his body against you, “It seems to me you don’t think we can afford to delay.”

Suddenly, the tent felt smaller, and something familiar coiled low in your belly. You let out a soft sigh, shifting closer to him, “Enough.”

The word felt hollow, even to your own ears.

He not only decided he wanted a repeat of last night (and the night before) but also the right to brag about passing with flying colours even when he was buried inside you during the most crucial part of the research.

It became a cycle—he apologised for keeping you distracted and you forgave him by moaning his name.

Never one to be so sexually inclined but now he understood why men sculpted monuments to their obsessions, why poets spilled ink in worship of carnal desires. Lust was not a sin because it was tempted, but because it was consumed. However, the way Alhaitham consumed you was completely intentional.

You were no different from his books. He spread you open, studied you, and read every inch of you all the same.

“I personally think we have plenty of time,” he leaned forward, slowly grazing his lips across your neck before kissing your pulse point. “Trust me.”

And trust him you did.

The world outside was quickly forgotten after he turned you on your back. Your words died in your throat as he hovered above you, capturing you in a careful kiss that tasted of salt and skin.

There was plenty of time in the way his fingers coveted pleasure out of you.

There was plenty of time in the way he mapped your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone with love bites. Like you were something so desirable to him.

Beads of sweat rolled down your temple as the tip of his cock shallowly pressed your entrance. Your mouth fell open—the friction was maddening, and every inch of you clung to him. Even when his lips ghosted the swell of your chest, he was lucky your skin was there to swallow his quiet grunts each time his hips moved against your tight hole.

“Patience,” he said when you instinctively arched your back, though his own breathing was uneven. Already, his hair was tousled and damp from the heat of your bodies mingling and you felt his length throbbing on your thigh. He was so hard, you couldn’t help but wonder if the one who actually needed patience was him.

You couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Speak for yourself,” you said, swiveling your hip upwards. A groan left his lips so quickly you saw a blush spread across his cheeks. “You’re barely holding it together.”

He grumbled in response. “You find joy in others’ misery.”

“Not at all.”

Although, your teasing wasn’t for naught. Alhaitham wasn’t exactly famous for bedding women so seeing you stripped of everything that made you prim and proper left him craving you that much more. “You should take it as a compliment that I—”

“So I’m the problem?” you laughed under him to mask the flutter in your stomach.

“Precisely.” You were glad he remained obstinate even when he so lewdly towered over you. “You’re in such a hurry this morning. If you want to be reckless, I won’t be blamed for the consequences.”

Then a strategic purse of lips followed suit, “I thought you enjoyed my patience.”

Patience. That damned word again.

Screw patience. Whatever consequence he was referring to was burning away any semblance of patience you might have had left. Thus far, he had taken his time with you but he had only taken his time with you. If he could be more crude, you wanted to see it—feel it.

“Alhaitham,” his entire name rolled off your tongue. Quick and demanding. Your tone only fueled the fire in his seafoam eyes. “Stop talking.”

The end of your words dissolved into a gasp as he thrust into you, hard and sudden, stretching you with a fervor you hadn’t felt before.

His muscles flexed while you dragged your nails down his spine, closing your legs around him for even an ounce of stability. The rhythm he set was already so relentless that his hands gripped your thighs, pulling them higher around his waist to drive himself deeper, and the change in angle made all sound catch in your throat.

“Haitham—!” a cry rippled from how hips were snapping against yours with a pace that was anything but patient. He had accepted your unspoken challenge so quickly, that nothing would have prepared you.

Your head swam.

The wet, sloppy slaps of skin meeting skin filled the tent, blending in with your jagged moans and his lower grunts. No part of his brain wasn’t thinking about how soaked you already were, how you welcomed him so easily before he slipped—no—pushed it in.

His hair clung to his forehead, every movement felt tight and addictive. When he leaned down, his lips brushed the shell of your ear, “Is this fast enough for you?”

You could only whimper in response, feeling your toes curl as his hoarse voice and your own pleasure consumed you.

He shifted, pulling you onto your side and hooking your leg over his shoulder. The new position sent another shockwave through you, and your priceless whines filled the small space as he drove into you over and over again.

The heat of the tent seemed endless, but so did the hunger between you. Alhaitham’s pace never truly slowed—each time your whines softened, each time you thought the storm of his touch subsided, he just tossed you into a new position, kindling the fire all over again.

“I want to hear you,” he growled while his chest was flushed against your back. Reaching to lift your leg so his heavy cock could invade you deeper, you tried to muffle your moans into the bedding. But he grabbed your chin, tilting you to look at him, “Head up.” He half-chuckled, “You were so mouthy before. What happened to that?”

Before you could answer—or think—he shifted again, this time unsteadily pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dug into the bedding but at that point, holding yourself upright proved difficult. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you to ride him as his mouth leisurely latched onto the peak of your breast. The combination left you shuddering, clinging to his shoulders as his fingers pressed bruises into your hips.

“Did you know,” he slurred against your skin, “that you’re terrible and incredible?” His praise made your cheeks burn but terrible? Terrible was the way he fucking you so hard you could barely roll your hips.

“Y-You might want to refresh yourself,” you chewed your bottom lip from yet another hard thrust, “On the meaning of ‘terrible.’” You could feel the remnants of your previous orgasms dripping down on him, “Because that’s you.”

Time blurred. You lost count of the positions, of the way he had you on all fours only to have you back in his arms moments later, of how many times you greedily begged for more. Every touch was electric; if only you could clutch him closer. The noises were shameless and the scent of filthy sex and sweat was nothing shy of erotic.

When he pinned you beneath him again, you felt him stiffen. Every inch that sunk into you felt more desperate and even the way he called your name sounded huskier. You could have sworn the tent walls were ruffling in sync from his losing control.

Your lips parted in a silent scream and with a final throb around his cock and a deep drawn-out groan in your ear, he released inside you for the first time. Your body drew out his pleasure as his forehead pressed against your shoulder. His laboured breathing told you everything about the ecstasy he was experiencing, like his body and brain were struggling to stay connected. Finally, he pulled out, trembling and sensitive, and collapsed beside you who was still panting.

Ultimately you got what you wanted: unfiltered crude sex with your insufferably hot research partner. Your pulse ran wild.

A hazy silence settled, broken only by his stroking your hand to check if you were okay. Part of him wondered if he went a bit too far which you wordlessly answered by rubbing him back. He held you, and like last night (and the night before), you lay glistening and tangled together in the aftermath.

It was a perfect system, a hopeless, delirious cycle.

“Well,” he said as he returned to tracing circles on you, “I think that concludes this morning’s exploration.”

You rolled your eyes, still dizzy and breathless, “Do you think the Akademiya will accept that as your final thesis?”

His lips quirked into a rare, little grin. “Hard to say. Who knows which of the sages might secretly be perverts?”

“Alhaitham,” you groaned, swatting weakly at his chest.

But then his arms tightened around you. And you didn’t mind. You didn’t protest. You believed you might have even loved being clad in nothing, lying in a cramped, too-warm tent that reeked in the musk of what transpired.

There was, as he said, plenty of time to finish the project. And if this was part of the process, you weren’t in any hurry.

a/n: idk if i love or hate this but it’s so hot where i am rn and the only thing i can do to distract myself from perishing from the heat is to pretend i’m here!!!

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

#☾ grimmweepers #house of solis occasum #nereids' realm #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham smut #genshin smut #al haitham smut #gi smut #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #al haitham x you #genshin x y/n

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elizaleclerc · 9 months ago

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intertwined, sewn together 🌊

lando norris x reader

summary: fem reader & lando share a sweet day w friends on a yacht <3

song: not a lot, just forever by adrianne lenker

author’s note: love this sm my heart ugh!! fluff & cute summer vibes. kinda grumpy x sunshine ; allusions to a bad childhood <\3

word count: 1.8k

You reclined on the plush deck of the yacht, basking in the warm rays of the sun as they caressed your stomach. The smell of sunscreen and tanning oil lingered in the air, leaving a sticky sheen on your skin. You relished these lazy days on the yacht, surrounded by your friends Lily and Carmen who chatted animatedly next to you.

Lost in the pages of your book, you barely registered their conversation as you lay with one elbow propped on the ground and the other hand holding the book, using it as a shield against the bright sun. However, your peaceful reading was interrupted by the rowdy boys behind you. Alex, George, Charles, and Lando were engaged in a game of cornhole, their shouts and cheers growing louder with each round. Their competitive banter blended with the sound of the cornhole sacks hitting the wooden board, making it difficult for you to concentrate on your book.

With a deep sigh of frustration, you carefully placed the book down and turned to your friend Lily, who was sitting next to you on the deck of the yacht. The sound of raucous laughter and shouting from the boys had grown increasingly louder, making it difficult for anyone else to carry on a conversation.

"Could they be any louder?" Carmen asked, her voice barely audible over the noise.

You nodded in agreement, “I know right, it’s like they are the only ones on the damn yacht.” You turned over, and, now laying on your stomach, you propped yourself up on your elbows and watched the boys play.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to Lando, his intense focus on the game evident in the way his brow furrowed and his arms swung the sandbag with ease. You couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he moved, his muscles flexing with each throw. His fingers ran through his messy summer curls, adding to his charming and carefree appearance. He was perfect in every way, and just knowing he was yours made your heart soar with happiness.

Lily and Carmen resumed their conversation, still reclining on their backs. You found yourself growing quiet, a natural state for you. Your introverted nature preferred observing to actively participating in conversations.

As a child, this led to struggles in making friends. Some labeled you as mean, but the truth was that you simply had little patience for most individuals. Your shyness was often viewed as a weakness and your silence as threatening, but slowly you emerged from your shell. Childhood experiences had left you with deep scars, ones that most people could never imagine. For a long time, you kept these memories buried deep within, trying to forget they were real. But then Lando came into your life, and he helped unravel all the pieces of you that had been hidden away. He didn't run away or judge you; instead, he loved every part of you as if you were made just for him. And because of him, you met others who saw and appreciated the real you as well.

That’s why you loved these people on the yacht. Not just Lando, who you’ve been dating for three years now, but even his friends and their girlfriends. They were lively at times, but they could be calm and relaxing too, having real and deep conversations. When you started dating Lando, they welcomed you with open arms, and the group quickly felt like a newfound family, one that you desperately needed.

Lando was sunshine personified. His deep, rich laugh was infectious, bringing out the same pure happiness in everyone around him, including you. You couldn't help but notice how his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he laughed so hard that tears formed in his eyes. And with his perfectly tanned skin and light brown hair, he looked as if he had been sent down from the Sun itself just for you to love and for him to love you back even more fiercely. His genuine empathy and understanding towards your struggles made it feel like he could see right into your soul, and his persistent effort to get to know you only further solidified your growing feelings for him.

The two of you truly seemed like opposites, but everyone around you saw how much love was between you and Lando. As you watched him play cornhole, a small smile spread on your lips. It was inevitable, Lando seemed to just have that effect on you.

“Lando, looks like you’ve got an admirer,” Charles shouted to him as he must have caught you staring. Your face flushed, even more so with the sun beating down. Lando caught your eye, shooting you a wink.

“Good, I’m on fire! Best game I’ve played yet.” Lando proudly proclaimed, which made you grin even more.

Carmen turned on her stomach now to watch along with you. “George, baby, how are you doing?” She asked him.

Lando was the one to respond though, “Oh, he’s playing like shit. You better take his place.” Everyone bursted out into laughs, everyone except George, who always got slightly offended at jokes made at his expense.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” George sighed with a wave of his hand. “Let’s play another game, I’ll beat you this time.”

“That’s what you said five games ago,” Alex laughed, which caused the guys to break into another fit of chuckles.

You were enjoying watching them play, but as the sun beat down on your skin and sweat began to form on your brow, you knew it was time to take a break. Walking over to the cooler, you grabbed a cold bottle of water and some freshly cut strawberries. The icy liquid provided instant relief as it cascaded down your throat, while the juicy sweetness of the strawberries left a refreshing aftertaste.

Feeling rejuvenated, you made your way to the edge of the yacht and settled into the welcoming shade. As you gazed out at the vast expanse of ocean before you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of tranquility wash over you. The rhythmic lapping of waves against the boat and the gentle breeze caressing your skin were soothing in a way that only being on the ocean could provide.

Lost in your thoughts, you reached for your book and lost yourself in its pages. The sound of laughter and splashing from your friends faded into the background as you immersed yourself in the fictional world within. Time seemed to pass quickly as you turned one page after another, until you noticed the sky beginning to change color. A soft orange glow now painted the horizon, signaling that sunset was near.

You moved from your spot on the yacht and went back out to see what everyone else was doing. Lando was laying out on a large sunbed, clearly exhausted from his hours of playing cornhole. As you looked around, all of the boys were laying out too. You couldn’t find Carmen or Lily, but you assumed they were still trying to soak up the last bit of sun they could for the day.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Lando smiled as you approached him. You stood beside his sunbed as he kissed the top of your hand. “Where did you run off to?”

“I went to read for a bit. It was kinda distracting earlier when you and the guys were playing.” You explained. He motioned for you to cuddle up next to him on the bed. As you tucked yourself by his side, he smirked.

“Distracting because I was so good looking?” He bantered and you rolled your eyes.

“No, because you guys were being so loud.” You joked and he faked a frown. You smiled, “But you’re also very good looking.”

He tilted your chin up so he could kiss you softly, taking in every bit of you and the strawberry taste still on your lips. As you laid your head back on his chest, he ran his fingers through your hair, playing with it lazily. “I love you a lot you know”

You traced your fingers along his torso and grinned to yourself, “Yeah, I know.”

“Good. Just making sure you don’t forget it.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his warm breath mingling with the soft breeze. As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, you both sat on the sunbed, watching the stunning display of colors in the sky. The vibrant oranges and deep blues blended together like a masterpiece, filling you with a sense of awe and wonder. Despite all the pain and suffering in the world, moments like this reminded you of the beauty and magic that still existed. You could feel the warmth of the cooling sun on your skin, leaving a subtle tan as it slowly made its way towards the horizon. The peacefulness of the moment was enough to lull you into a blissful sleep.

Charles propped himself up on his cushioned chair, and saw you asleep on Lando’s chest. “She knocked out, huh?” He smiled at Lando.

“Yeah, guess so. The sun makes her tired sometimes.” Lando replied in a low voice to try and not to wake you up.

“You know, I never heard her say she loved you back earlier.” George remarked from the other side of Lando.

“She doesn’t have to, I know she does.” Lando replied, which confused the guys. He saw their perplexed expressions. “You know it took her a long time to say it in the first place but…I’ve known her long enough to where I know it without her having to say it.”

“I still don’t understand.” Alex piped up next to George.

“I mean, cmon, what’s so hard to understand? You saw the way she watched me earlier. Her eyes said it all. And the other day when she peeled oranges for me without me asking? And yesterday, when we got home, she rambled to me about the book she was reading. You could just see the light and love in her eyes. She never used to be that way, not when I first met her.” Lando knew the other guys still might not get the full picture, but he remembered how you were before you guys started dating. He remembered how you would shut out the world and not let anyone in. He knew that you used to not express how much you liked things or even smile when you ate your favorite foods.

He knew you loved him, he knew it went without saying. You were his everything, and simply being nestled next to him, feeling the gentle rhythm of your breath against his side, was enough to make his heart swell with love. No amount of conversation could match the pure joy of watching you smile or hearing the sweet melody of your voice. The two of you were intertwined, sewn together as the perfect pair.

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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morose-melodies · 5 months ago

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HII, welcome back!! I hope you’re doing good! Can you please please please write yan!Dottore and yan!Pantalone (maybe even Yan!Capitano) with a reader who is compliant and too scared to do any rebellious acts? Like basically, reader knows about their rank in the Fatui and is way too intimidated to do anything about their situation- Thank you !!

fear stills the mind | various! yandere! fatui harbingers x reader

DOTTORE

dottore left the front door open intentionally, he wondered if you'd run.

a cold draft entered the manor and you shivered, looking up from the couch at the front door that was hanging open.

you gripped at the blanket over your lap - you weren't at all accustomed to the cold snezhnayan weather. it was nothing like the weather in sumeru.

"close the front door if you're so cold, (y/n)."

you flinched at the sound of his voice, unaware he had been watching from the kitchen, or, at least it looked like he was watching you.

"oh, okay," you replied, hesitantly standing from the couch and tugging the blanket over your shoulders.

it was a test, was it not? he was still watching, you could feel his eyes boring through his mask, staring as you inched closer and closer to the front door.

you wouldn't run, dottore was almost one hundred percent sure of it - you were obedient before anything else.

"I'm getting quite cold over here," dottore sighed, resting his elbows against the kitchen counter as he watched you, "please close the door, (y/n)."

so, you sped up and approached the door. you looked outside and the snowy landscape and felt a dull ache in your chest - it would be nice to leave, huh?

pushing the large door shut, you locked it also.

dottore watched with a small grin - you were such an interesting little thing, always doing what he expected, never acting out and yet you always looked so sad, so scared.

"it took you a moment," dottore commented, sitting up from the counter and approaching you. Tugging you closely, he didn't doubt you for a second. "You are so predictable, oh, it's amazing."

PANTALONE

pantalone only ever wanted the best for it.

though it was hard to tell what you liked and what you didn't like when all you ever did was nervously smile at him and nod.

he could buy you the ugliest clothing known to man and ask if you liked it, and you would nod.

dinner was horrible, damn the lousy chief that made this meal but you were sitting across from him, eating it.

you didn't seem to enjoy it all, perhaps you were afraid of displeasing pantalone? oh, you were just the cutest.

pantalone sat up, looking at you, "how's the meal? is it to your liking?" he knew the answer but he loved speaking to you.

"g-good," you nodded at him.

"i think it's quite horrible. the chief that made it should be fired immediately," pantalone grinned at you, "but, if you'd like, please, continue to enjoy it."

you looked down at the food and then at him, before nudging the bowl away, "i... don't like it. sorry."

you were so sure he had made the meal, so sure he had put his all into it and you would've hated to offend a fatui harbinger.

"that's fine also. hm," pantalone bit on his bottom lip, as he thought to himself, what would the two of you eat now? "take a trip to town, (y/n), how about you buy whatever you'd like to eat? I'd love to go with you, but, I'm quite exhausted."

he trusted you, there was not a single doubt in his mind about your trustworthiness.

so, he handed you a sack of mora, dressed you in a thick coat, and guided you out of the manor.

to keep it brief, you hadn't even considered running on the shopping trip - you had gotten an instant meal and came back immediately, afraid he'd come looking for you if you took too long again.

when you walked through the front door, pantalone was there, hugging you before you had a second to breathe.

"there you are, (y/n)," he cuddled you, rubbing your back, trying to warm you, "you are so cold, i was inconsiderate to send you to town. well, let's postpone dinner and warm you up."

CAPITANO

the captain would take you to town whenever he arrived home from a mission.

it was always on his mind upon arriving home - the maids were getting you dressed and he was ready to see you.

you would come down the stairs with your head hung low.

without a doubt, his favorite part of you was your eyes, those beautiful sad eyes of yours. when you approached him, standing in front of him he would tip your head up to look at him, his head tilted.

"I've missed you," he breathed, his hands dropping to your sides as he pulled you into a gentle hug, "are you not feeling well?"

"I'm alright," you replied, weakly hugging him back, your cheek pressed to his armored chest.

"I'm pleased to hear that, (y/n)," you were lying, the captain knew that you were not alright - you were lying just to please him.

because you were afraid of him.

he tried everything in his power to make himself come off as harmless to you but no matter what he did, you were still tense around him.

you were still afraid of him.

the captain shifted back, removing his mask, and looked down at you, "Let us stay home today; we have the whole week to visit the town."

he kissed your forehead and pulled you to his chest once more.

perhaps if things were different; if he weren't a harbinger, would you have fearlessly loved him?

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere scenarios #capitano #capitano x reader #yandere capitano #dottore #yandere capitano x reader #dottore x reader #yandere dottore x reader #pantalone #yandere pantalone #yandere pantalone x reader

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a-leg-without-fear · 6 months ago

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Flooded Red (pt.1)🩸🌧️

some lore for the reader character!! this takes place during the raid on the mansion in X2: X-Men United. please enjoy some Gore and some BAMF reader :)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 4.7k

Warnings: gore, violence, Carrie-levels of blood, mentions of child abuse/abandonment, child endangerment, mentions of experimentation, depressive thoughts, drugging, choking, mentions of serious illness

Series: Flooded Red

You were no stranger to nightmares. Whether they were your own, making you toss and turn and wake up feeling exhausted, or Logan’s, leaving him shaking and panting. Yours were more infrequent than his. Every other night or so, your dreams were edged with that toxic darkness compared to his nightly torment. Anxiety-fuelled imagery that made your heart pump and your skin sweaty.

Tonight, it seemed, was your turn on the nightmare-express. Flashes of your life before joining Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters pierced your mind like a hot poker. Your father dying of polio, your mother abandoning you when your mutation showed itself, you begging for food on the side of the road for twenty years.

In particular, one evening in the ‘50s decided to plague you.

You, a 54-year old who appeared to still be twelve, were hunkered down in the abandoned building you called home. It was raining, humid summer air leaking in through the boarded up windows. Mildew spots covered the aged wallpaper. A distinct, old-house smell permeated the aged floorboards.

You sat on your collection of moth-eaten blankets. An array of warm reds and cool blues created a cushy, makeshift bed that you spent your nights in. Pale orange filtered in from the streetlamps outside the abandoned house. You had tried your best to block out light by sticking newspapers to what windows weren’t covered by pine boards.

A group of men stood in front of you. Varying heights and weights. One had darker skin and cropped black hair, another had a neck tattoo and a cleft lip. Those two stood at the front of the pack of five. All wearing dark clothes and brandishing various household items as weapons. Steel pipes, wrenches, tire irons.

“You guys really don’t want to do this,” you squeaked out. You silently cursed your prepubescent voice. The man with the tattoo scoffed, squinted eyes peering around where you sat.

“And what’re you gonna do, pipsqueak?” he sneered. He smacked his palm with the pipe in his hands. The others moved to form a line next to him, blocking you from any exits.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you muttered under your breath. The man on the far right, blonde-haired and green-eyed, chuckled at you.

“You are the least threatening girl I-”

His words were cut short, breath caught in his throat. Your head was tilted as you focused. Dark eyes flooded red, blood overtaking the white, as your left arm raised toward the group.

Rough gurgles echoed from each man’s chest. Eyes wide with fear, skin flushing, lungs filled with liquid. Your lips spread into a knowing grin.

With one flick of your fingers, you made the men’s blood reach its boiling point. Explosions of crimson ichor burst from the five men. Skin split and flowered around large wounds. Bones cracked, limbs twitching and flailing.

One by one, each man fell to the ground. Bodies turned to sacks of flesh and organs. Blood seeped from the empty carcasses into the wooden floorboards.

Your smile remained stretched across your face. You hadn’t moved from your pile of blankets. Left arm covered to the elbow in blood, rest of your body clean, eyes returning to their normal ruby shade.

A piercing, world-shattering scream broke you from the shackles of your nightmare. You darted up, chest heaving, hands covering your ears to shield yourself from the noise. Glancing briefly at your own body, you were met with your adult self. Your wide eyes looked up and darted around your room.

The left side of your bed was empty. Sheets bunched up by your knees, pillow ruffled. Results of Logan sharing your bed. Yet the grouch was nowhere to be seen. You looked up to the door hoping to see him standing there.

Instead, your eyes landed on three heavily armed men. Covered in kevlar, bullet-proof vests, thick helmets. Each one having several guns attached at various points on their bodies. They were hunched over, hands over their ears, occasional grunts coming from beneath black, cloth masks.

Ignoring the scream that jabbed your eardrums when you lowered your hands, you scrambled out of bed. Your socked feet slid slightly on the hardwood floors as you dashed to the doorway.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming stopped. You shook your head and blinked a few times. You took the chance you saw before you while the armed men reoriented.

A sharp jab to the front man’s jaw, his head ricocheting back, and a swift kick to his stomach sent him careening back between the other two. You couldn’t stop to check if he was out yet. You swiveled on your backfoot to the man on the right. Grabbing the sides of his helmet, you yanked his head down and connected his eye socket with your knee. You punched him in the temple for good measure as he fell to the floor.

The last man raised his machine gun to your torso. You paused briefly, eyeing the man up and down, then dropped to your knees as gunshots ringed over your head. You lunged forward at the man’s legs and knocked him to the ground. A strong kick to the face and he was out.

Breathing heavily, you clambered to your feet. Your gaze landed on the wooden door behind you. You expected to see bullet holes and splintered shrapnel. Instead, three small, white darts were embedded in the wood grain. You plucked one from the door to inspect it.

Right when the dart was lifted to your face, thick arms wrapped around your neck. Kevlar vest met your t-shirt clad back as the man who you’d failed to check choked you. Your breath came out ragged and strained. You tried to stomp back on the man’s feet, but he just stepped out of the way. Your vision was growing blurry around the edges.

“Stupid fucking mutant,” the man huffed in your ear, every word laced with malice and hate.

In a last ditch attempt, you took the dart still clutched in your fingers and stabbed it into the man’s arm. A string of pained curses left the man’s mouth as he released you. You stumbled forward, chest heaving to recover lost air, as you pivoted to face your attacker.

The man blindly grabbed at the dart in his forearm. He stumbled back, body connecting with the wall behind him, then started sinking to the floor. His head lolled to the side.

Huh, tranquilizers, you thought.

You hardly had time to assess your situation as you heard scuffling down the hall. Dozens of thick boots stepping quietly across the hardwood floor. When you listened closer, you heard the clatter of guns in gloved hands.

An involuntary growl left your chest. These men were here for the kids. Your kids. The kids you’ve helped teach and care for and raise. Flashes of fiery anger licked up your chest. You knelt and tore one of the machine guns filled with darts away from the unconscious men.

You kept low to the ground as you peered out of your bedroom doorway. A larger group of kevlar-clad men, about eight strong, were walking away from your room and toward the edge of the mansion. You nestled the stock in your shoulder and aimed at the group.

Muffled, quick shots echoed from the rifle as you shot at the men, each bundle of three darts connecting with a limb. Helmets clattered on the floor as the men collapsed. They had no time to register where the shots were coming from before they laid in an unconscious heap on the floor.

You threw the empty gun to the floor as you stood. You hated guns. Hated what they represented, the violence they caused, the people who wielded them. It was a very rare circumstance that placed a gun in your hands.

A chorus of children’s screams came from the hallway behind you. Terrified, heart-wrenching, utterly fearful. Pure, unbridled rage tugged at your chest. You could feel red coat the edges of your eyes. Blood seeping into the whites to make you look like some kind of demon.

You turned and walked briskly down the hall. Hands clenched in fists at your sides, pulse beating rapidly beneath your skin, eyes clouded in a flaming scarlet.

When you approached the next group of men, this group being six strong and standing outside Ryan and Addie’s room, your mind seemed to click off. All you could see was red, all you could hear was your own pulse in your ears, all you could taste was fresh blood coating your tongue.

Your body wasn’t your own. Fingers twisted and manipulated the pumping blood beneath the men’s skin. Bubbling and boiling the flowing ichor until each man froze where they stood. Twitching and shaking, eyes crying scarlet and mouths leaking red. Another flick of your fingers and they exploded into clouds of steamed blood. Crimson coated your entire body, leaving you drenched in the men’s remains.

Six men. Turned into empty skins and abandoned organs. Blood seeping into the hardwood floor. Dead.

Your vision came back to you. Gasping breaths left your throat in short bursts. Warm liquid beaded on the sides of your face and dripped down your skin. Your clothes were utterly drenched, your hair plastered to your scalp, feet submerged in a puddle of red.

It had been so long since you’d lashed out like that. Mind going blank and fingers acting of their own accord. Since that night in the abandoned house, you’d kept your wits about you. Always resorting to hand-to-hand or to weapons if the need presented itself. You never used your mutation if you could help it.

You felt ashamed. These six men were just doing as they were told. They were only following orders. No one, not even the worst humans, deserved to die like that.

Before the panic could grip you in a chokehold, another group of booted footsteps came from down the hall. A small voice echoed in the back of your mind. The kids. Protect the kids. Whatever it takes. How could you refuse, when the children were your life? Your reason for being?

You splashed through the puddles of blood as you moved down the hall. Eyes flooded red, fingers twitching at your sides, anger gripping your chest in a vice. You weren’t yourself anymore. You weren’t the art teacher the children loved, the friend that the X-Men laughed with, or the lover Logan had grown to know.

All you were was a burning, churning whirlpool of fiery hate. Flames licked at your lungs, filling each breath with fire. Swirling images of corpses at your feet filled your stomach to the brim.

“There’s another one! Wait… holy shit!” yelled out from in front of you. You cocked your head as you observed this new group of men.

Ten strong, all clad in kevlar and vests, all pointing their rifles loaded with tranquilizer darts at you. You could see a shake in their hands as they took in the sight of you. Eyes flooded red, blood seeping through your hair and into your clothes, feet tracking crimson in their wake. If there was a physical embodiment of Carrie, you fit the bill.

“D-Don’t move!” called the trembling voice again. Guns clicked in gloved hands as the safeties were switched off. You could see every hand had a finger resting on a trigger.

Your right hand twitched, fingers curling, as a manic grin overtook your stoney expression. These men, these infiltrators, were giving you commands? Were demanding you stand down as they took your children away? These puny, insignificant men were instructing someone with the power to kill them in a single motion? The thought made you laugh under your breath.

“Or what?” you said back. Red dots centered on your chest as every man aimed at you. Another chuckle flitted through your lips, “Good luck with that.”

Dozens of gunshots ringed out through the hallway as dart after dart embedded in your chest. Clusters of white needles protruded from your blood stained shirt. You glanced down at the intrusions to your bloodstream. A tired edge overtook your mind as the tranquilizers pumped their chemicals into you.

You gripped the darts and ripped them from your chest. A cacophony of clatters bounced back to the men as the darts fell to the floor. You shook your head to rid yourself of the chemicals threatening to knock you out.

“Wanna try that again?” you asked, every word dripping in sarcastic confidence.

Before the men could reload and obey your request, you raised your left hand to the group. Your senses focused on the blood pumping through their scared little hearts. Cortisol coursed through each man’s veins. Pathetic.

A twitch of your fingers made their hearts careen to a stop. Blood froze in their veins, oxygen being deprived from their lungs, eyes widening and limp hands clutching at their throats. It only took a few moments for them to collapse to the floor.

You breathed a humorless laugh at the mess of corpses in front of you. Who did they think they were, to challenge you like that? Especially after they saw that their darts didn’t work. You tilted your head side to side as you stretched out your neck.

“Vampire?” a small voice said from behind you. You turned to the source, fingers twitching in preparation. Whoever this new threat was, you’d deal with it quickly.

Regret filled your stomach like a lead ball when your eyes landed on Addie and Ryan. They stood, hand in shaking hand, feet soaking in the puddles of blood, wide eyes looking up at you. Your breath left your lungs in one sharp gust.

“Are you okay?” Addie asked, being the one who’d said your nickname before. She tucked a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. You sank to your knees before the siblings.

“I… Yeah, I’m okay,” you sighed. You squeezed your eyes shut, clearing your head of the hatred it was filled with. When you opened them again, Ryan stood before you. His blue eyes looked you over with a deep concern crinkling in the corners.

“You sure? You’re pretty bloody,” he said. You wiped at the blood covering your face. It was no use, your hands being equally drenched.

“Is it your blood?” Addie questioned from behind her brother. You shook your head.

“No. No, it’s not. Are you guys okay?” you asked, desperate to shift the attention from yourself. Both children nodded. You gave them both a once over. Their hair was ruffled from sleep, hems of their pajamas and white socks soaked in the blood covering the floor, wide eyes looking to you for reassurance. You cleared your throat, “Did those guys hit you with anything?”

Both siblings shook their heads. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright. Let’s get you to the passageway on this floor. Ryan, You’ll be right behind me. Protect your sister,” you instructed. The kids nodded their heads again. You stood before them, giving yourself a look up and down.

You looked horrifying. Once white t-shirt and green shorts were drenched in thick blood. Your hair clung to the sides of your head. Rivulets of crimson leaked down your bare legs and arms.

Yet, when your gaze met the kids’, they looked at you with nothing but adoration. How could they look up to someone as terrifying as you? Someone who just killed sixteen fucking people? What would that teach them?

You squared your shoulders, pushing your insecurities down as far as they could go, and started leading the kids back down the hall. Your knees were bent as you kept low to the floor. You would pause every few moments to listen to the mansion around you. More gunshots from the floor below you, screams of terrified children, grunts and yells from the men in kevlar. You kept your mind from wandering to that rage and continued to lead Addie and Ryan to safety.

Relief flooded your lungs when you saw a group of children, led by Piotr, standing by this floor’s escape passageway. You straightened your posture. Addie and Ryan ran ahead of you to reconnect with their classmates.

“How many do you have?” you called over the swarm of scared children. Piotr, an older student whose skin could turn to metal, looked up at you from directing kids through the narrow doorway. His eyes widened at the state of you.

“Uh… Twelve, I think,” he replied. He ushered Addie and Ryan through the door, then turned to you, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth. Your shoulders seized when you heard heavy boots across the hall from you. Piotr looked over his shoulder, having also heard the approach.

Logan turned the corner. White tank top bunched around his midriff, jeans torn around his thighs, dark hair mussed from its two points. He held a knocked-out Jones, a young brunet who could manipulate electrical frequencies, in his arms. His hazel eyes glanced at you then fixed on Piotr.

“Hey, take him. He’s stunned,” Logan said, handing Jones over to Piotr. The larger boy held Jones tight against his chest.

Just as Logan was turning to you, Piotr called out, “I can help you!” Logan looked back at Piotr. He pointed down the passageway, then said, “Help them.”

Piotr nodded at Logan, ducking into the doorway and sealing the passageway behind him. Logan suddenly grabbed your shoulders in both of his hands. You met his frantic eyes, narrowed lids shadowed by his furrowed brow.

“What the hell happened to you? Why are you covered in blood?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Lo. It’s not my blood,” you said, shrugging his hands off your shoulders. His indignant reply was cut off when you both heard movement around the corner.

Logan shoved you behind him as you both approached the corner. He pushed on your shoulder so you could squat next to him. His sturdy arm held you against the wall at your backs.

“Stay here,” he breathed into your ear. You nodded once in acknowledgement. Logan nodded back, then turned his attention back to the approaching group.

You focused on lifting the blood from your shirt. Beads of crimson drifted away from your body and floated in the air before you. Your fingers twitched and the beads crashed into each other. Blood cell on top of blood cell, stacking together and forming a sharp lance the length of your forearm. One last flick of your wrist and the iron in the blood hardened the lance. A solid, red, metal weapon fell out of the air and into your open palm. At least you were significantly less bloody now.

Logan watched you out of the corners of his eyes. An air of admiration crossed his face.

The brief moment was interrupted as a combat boot landed by Logan’s knees. Logan’s chest rumbled a deep growl, his claws shinking out of his knuckles, as he lunged forward and stabbed his right claws through the toe of the boot. A pained cry fell from the kevlar wearing man. Logan leapt to his feet as he plunged his left hand into the man’s stomach, shoving them both around the corner and out of your sight.

You remained crouched, back leaning against the wooden wall. Loud pops of gunfire echoed around you. Real guns, loaded with bullets instead of darts. Sharp cracks pierced the air as bullets flew in rapid succession toward Logan. A few bullet casings landed, smoking, by your feet.

Light beamed from the dropped flashlight that rolled into view. Spurts of blood coated the tool in red jets. You spun the lance a few times in your hands, waiting.

“Clear,” Logan called. You pushed yourself upright and rounded the corner. About a dozen men, all clad in the same dark kevlar, lay dead at Logan’s feet. His chest was heaving, eyes darting to and from each man’s face, fists still clenched with claws poking out between his knuckles.

“All good, Lo?” you asked. His claws fully retracted as he met your gaze. He gave you a sharp nod then turned on his heel. You picked your way through the bodies, accidentally kicking a few limbs here and there, as you followed after him.

“You never answered my question,” Logan said. You caught up with him and met his fast pace down the hallway. The two of you jogged while you tried to ignore his question. A few moments passed, the clipping of Logan’s boots on the floor being the only noise between you.

“I snapped,” was your quiet response. Short, simple, to the point. And it was all Logan needed. He threw you another quick nod while you two approached the balcony overlooking the mansion’s foyer.

Bright lights shone on Rogue, Bobby, and John as they stood below the balcony. All in their sleep clothes, all looking absolutely terrified. A guttural yell came from Logan as he leapt over the railing and dived into the four men aiming rifles at the older students.

You were about to follow when the back of your head was grabbed, a rough hand shoving your face into the railing and knocking your forehead on the wood. Spiked pain shot through your head, your knees crumpling beneath you. The hand tangled in your hair remained.

“Got the bloody one,” the man gripping you called behind him. You scratched at his hand as you tried to free yourself.

Slicing claws through flesh and pained yells soared over the balcony from the floor below. Your dazed mind tried to comprehend what was happening around you.

Some of the kevlar-clad men stood around you. Five, or was it seven, surrounded you with the muzzles of their guns aimed at your woozy form. Your head was utterly spinning. Nausea flooded your stomach and sent you reeling. If it weren’t for the gloved hand in your hair, you’d be sprawled out on the floor.

“Vampire!” Bobby called. You could just barely see his face through the bars of the railing. Wide, blue eyes glanced between you and the men surrounding you. He threw a hand up in your direction, “Duck!”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You yanked your head away from the man above you and dove to the floor. Just as your hands covered the back of your head, a biting chill filled the air above you. Wave after wave of flowing ice coursed over the balcony. You shivered from where you laid on the floor.

“C’mon!” John yelled up at you. You peered at the men who held you captive. All of them were coated in a thick layer of ice, skin turned pale and blue, joints frozen in place. Living ice sculptures.

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the sway in your motion, as you prepared to vault over the railing. Just as you had swung your leg over the wood banister the front door burst open, streams of LED lights illuminating the four mutants below you.

Logan motioned for you to stay where you were, looking you up and down, then ushered Rogue, Bobby, and John further into the mansion. Dozens of men followed in their wake.

You, not being one to listen to instructions very often, crept along the banister until you reached the stairs. Lucky for you, your socked and soaked feet wouldn’t make much noise on the hardwood. You snuck down the stairs while listening to the kevlar-clad men flood through the front door. When you reached the bottom you paused. Squatted, lance clutched in both hands, waiting for the last of the men to pass.

Once you saw a break in the stream of soldiers, you dashed between shadows while trailing after Logan. Keeping out of sight, ducking beneath flashlight beams, sneaking around corners.

“You want to shoot me? Shoot me!” you heard Logan yell down the hall from where you were. You picked up the pace. Soaked feet slapping against the wood floors, clubbing soldiers on the head as you passed with the blunt end of your lance to knock them out, racing to try and prevent Logan and the others from getting hurt.

“Don’t shoot him!” a male voice yelled. You slid around the last corner and found a cluster of kevlar-clad men. All with their rifles and flashlights pointed at Logan down the hall. You froze in place, breath held. One of the men stepped forward, a flashlight held aloft in his gunless hands. He moved to stand in the middle of the rest of the men, “Not yet.”

You slipped behind one of the giant vases scattered throughout this hallway. Tucking yourself into the long shadows thrown by the large piece of pottery, your head just barely poked out to watch the scene unfold.

“Wolverine? Well, I must admit, this is certainly the last place I’d expect to find you,” the unarmed man said. He took a few more steps forward. Logan watched his approach, confusion written in his knitted brows. The lone man chuckled, “How long has it been? 15 years? You haven’t changed one bit. Me, on the other hand…” the man trailed off. He stopped a few feet in front of Logan and gestured to his own face, “...nature.”

You didn’t like this. The man in front of Logan gave you a bad feeling. Like shocks of anxiety pricking over your hypersensitive skin. You gripped your lance tighter in your hands.

Logan’s claws retracted back between his knuckles. Narrowed, hazel eyes analyzed the man standing in front of him.

“I didn’t realize Xavier was taking in animals,” the man said with a laugh. He adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his wide nose, “Even animals as unique as you.”

“Who are you?” Logan asked. His hands remained clenched at his sides.

The man laughed again, “Don’t you remember?”

Logan stared at the man, mouth agape. He took a few steps forward.

You’d had enough. This man, whoever he was, wasn’t going to talk Logan into… whatever it is this guy was trying to do.

You darted out from behind the vase, lance brandished in your hands. Your head cocked as you sent the weapon soaring through the air. One of the kevlar-wearing men to your right gasped as the lance speared through his back and exited from the center of his chest. You focused on the lance as it flew from one man to the next. Sailing through the air until it pierced the men’s abdomens and sent them careening to the floor.

Every gun pointed in your direction. Some men holding rifles containing darts, others aiming real guns straight at you. You paused mid-step.

Your gaze met Logan’s. Recognition flashed in his widened eyes. He took another step forward, this time toward you.

Ice crackled on the walls of the hallway. Large snowflakes linked together as they stretched the width of the hallway and formed a wall. The ice solidified, creating a transparent, blue blockade between you and Logan.

“No, no!” Logan yelled from his side of the wall. He pounded desperately on the ice.

The unarmed man turned to face you. He was older, hair graying and beard wiry. Black glasses framed his squinted, blue eyes. You shifted your weight between your feet.

“Hello, my dear. You must be the one called ‘Bleeder,’” he said. Your posture stiffened at the name. You felt your jaw clench.

“I haven’t been called that in a long time,” you replied. God, if it weren’t for the guns pointed at you, you’d have skewered this man ages ago.

“And yet it was your moniker all the same,” the man said. His boots clicked against the hardwood as he approached you. Thick coat covering his torso, gloved hands clutched behind his back. He stopped a few paces in front of you. His hooded eyes passed over your blood-covered form, “I believe I have use of you. Take her.”

The familiar pop of the dart-filled guns rang out as you were peppered with white needles. Dozens and dozens of pinpricks filled your chest. You gasped, falling to one knee. The edges of your mind began to cloud with a foggy haze.

“Vampire!” you distantly heard Logan yell. You felt the floor sway beneath your feet. Your hands planted on the hardwood when you fell forward.

“That’s it. Off to sleep, Bleeder,” the man said above you. You threw him one last hate-filled glare, then collapsed as the tranquilizers overtook your senses.

some looooooooooore for reader!!! hope y'all enjoyed. and what a cliffhanger, huh?

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#logan howlett #wolverine #hugh jackman #xmen #x2 xmen united #logan howlett fanfic #wolverine fanfic #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #mutant!f!reader #trying my hand at writing combat!! what do we think?

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rynfiles · 1 year ago

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mommy kissing santa claus ? oh goodness !

✎ᝰ — your adorable children catches you and your husband sneaking kisses from one another, except that they see santa claus and not your actual husband

★ — gojo, toji, geto x fem!reader

★ — genre + warnings: fluff & very suggestive + allusion to sex from previous night in geto’s (nothing explained/nothing in detail)

★ — a/n: thank you to my pookie kai for your help (@strawhatkia) and dedicated to my tia baeeee <3 (@tiathecreator)

꒰ SATORU GOJO ꒱

°❆ christmas day lingers quicker and quicker and midnight is close to striking, but of course, you and your husband are wrapping gifts very last minute. there would be a great explanation to this but there isn’t, both of your work schedules and the children's school schedules, made it barely possible to wrap gifts. which leads to the two of you rapidly, and terribly, wrapping gifts as your twin children sleep.

but, to make the night slightly more festive, gojo decided to dress up as santa claus. he bought two sets, one as pajamas and one for the morning as everyone unwrapped their gifts. he thought it would excite the children for the festive holiday. you laughed at his frivolous idea and immediately he pulled out a mrs. claus outfit….oh gosh. you laughed at the suit, you rejected the outfit and continued wrapping, ignoring his pleas as it got worse and worse.

gojo dressed up with the beard and santa hat, trying to convince you that dressing up is a wonderful idea and the kids would love it. though in your mind, you’re thinking of wondering how to tell this white-haired man that he looks like a creep and not santa claus, but you wouldn’t hurt his precious little heart like that. instead, you continued to wrap the remaining gifts, until you felt a sudden heaviness on your chest. heaviness that could be described as your brawny, whiny, six-foot-four husband still pleading with you to dress up with him. his usual gleeful blue eyes become doe-y, now giving away the desperation that gojo is never ashamed of.

you laugh at his desperation and ask him to get off but of course, he refuses. he hugs you and traps you in a tight space, you trying to squirm out of his hold and him hovering you. it also doesn’t make it better that his doe-y look turned into a sense of mischief, you raised your eyebrow at his look, and he simply shrugged at it. you two stared at each other until gojo’s lips formed a smirk and placed a sensual kiss on you. you opened your mouth to object to the kiss but instead, he placed another one and another…and another. he continued to kiss you until you kissed back, light noises made as both of your hands traveled. the kiss continued and distracted both of you from the gift wrapping and the fact that the twins had woken up from their sleep.

your bedroom door opens widely, but of course, you and gojo hadn’t noticed, and both of them yelled, “santa?!”. your child’s voice startled both of you and gojo immediately fell off of you and almost until the gifts. you elbowed him to get the gifts out of their sight, he grabbed the nearest blanket and threw it on top of their gifts. you asked your children why they couldn’t sleep and they answered back why you were kissing thee santa claus, the big dude with a sack of gifts. why is santa kissing their mom and not their dad? this is nuts, insane, crazy to even think about!

while the kids were trying to lecture you on how much dad loves you and how you’re such a bad person to dad, you looked to gojo and gojo burst into laughter, you followed along and laughed as well. both kids looked at each other with confusion and hurt on their faces. gojo patted the space between the two of you and told them to sit there as he explained a (terribly) exaggerated story on how their dad is the real santa claus, that’s why he’s extra busy during the month of december. he even took off the beard and hat to prove that’s it their giddy father and not the man in red with a bunch of elves. both children were confused and continued to ask questions, one of them didn’t believe him and still pointed to you as a cheater. you shook your head and added fictional events to gojo’s story, no matter how exaggerated it sounded aloud.

꒰ SUGURU GETO ꒱

°❆ christmas springs upon the morning, and you only know this because both of the young girls, nanako and mimiko, are banging at the door. you and geto groan and try to ignore it, if only the girls didn’t start fiddling with the door, and that startled the both of you. particularly ‘cause the aftermath of last night was still present, since the both of you weren’t clothed.

thankfully, yet oddly, you were reminded to tell geto about the santa suit to wear for the morning. now was it a silly idea? most definitely! was for nanako and mimiko? mostly yes, and you needed some type of memory of christmas morning on your phone. you walk over to your closet and shuffle around the boxes of presents until you spotted the big red suit and hat to match. you smiled ever so cunningly to yourself, geto noticed but shrugged his shoulders and went about to brush his teeth. you pulled the suit from behind the presents and showed it geto, proposing to him to wear it for this merry morning. geto being geto, he immediately rejected but that no didn’t stop you from convincing him to wear. did it take a lot of convincing? oh definitely. did it take a lot of “are you guys done yet?” from your two girls? yes…sadly yes.

the only thing that convinced him was that it would bring a lot of glee to his girls and he can’t disappoint his girls, he just can’t. even if it means sucking up his pride and dressing up as santa claus and pretending to bring the gifts from the north pole. it also helps, not geto though, that you bought a sack similar to santa’s so he could truly be in character.

after some time of getting ready for the morning, as in fussing with geto about the suit and carefully placing the presents into sack, you entered the living room with a smile that is hiding something, but the girls are too focused on their stocking stuffers to notice. they bounce with gleefulness as they open small gifts such as doll clothes, hair accessories, some candy, and other minuscule things they asked for. they continued to bounce around the tree as they tried to peek at what their gifts could be but were forced not to open them until their surprise arrived.

the girls grew tired after some minutes and frequently asked when is their surprise is coming. nanako tried to sneakily open one of her gifts under the tree until the iconic, “ho! ho! ho!”, made it’s way into your home and the girls jumped up from their spot to see santa claus in their home. their jaws dropped and their eyes grew from the sudden appearance of santa claus, the true (fake) santa in their home! you giggled at their amusement and you noticed geto’s mouth growing from annoyed to relaxed as he small childish smiles on his girl’s faces. maybe dressing up as santa wasn’t too bad of an idea for geto, but who is he to tell you that you’re right?

the girls eagerly asked questions as santa geto sat down to give their gifts, he tried to answer to the best of his abilities or at least give believable answers for them. mimiko questioned him on why santa’s hair looked similar to their father’s and he immediately answered with hair dye and extensions. you smiled to yourself at the beautiful, and playful, sight of the girls enjoying geto as santa claus, you took many pictures on your phone while they weren’t looking.

though, geto caught you mid-click and pulled you onto his lap. he peppered kisses all over your face and gave you “your gift”, an enduring and sweet kiss to say “I love you”. though, maybe nanako and mimiko shouldn’t have been present to witness that cause immediate yelling came from the both of them. they mostly yelled at geto and asked him why he kissed their mother, he’s supposed to be married to mrs. claus! he shouldn’t have his lips on their mother and their mom shouldn’t like that, their father would be furious!

you and geto smiled at their lecture, you giggled to yourself and geto pulled off his costume, reavealing to them that he is santa claus. mimiko tried to say that she always knew from the hair but the both of you knew that was a lie.

꒰ TOJI FUSHIGURO ꒱

°❆ a clink goes and laughter fills the living room, just as much as it is with red and white, and the typical splatter of different colors from megumi and tsumiki, love and peace decorate it as well. two bottles of wine sat at the dresser, one already halfway done as you and toji chatted (and drank) away for christmas eve. but as the wine bottle becomes empty, the space between you two becomes closer. then again, he has been gone for a whole month and a half, it’s only right to feel this way with him.

it’s only right to feel this way of yearning from his absence, which explains why his arm slyly brings your lower body closer to him. it explains why his fingers drag themselves along your thigh, lightly dragging around your stretch marks. it explains why toji brought himself closer to your face, only a mere inch away from your lips interlocking. but instead he brings the idea of dressing as santa claus and mrs. claus for the night? sounds odd, trust it is and the way your head is titled, he knew that it sounded odd to you.

he explains himself further and says that it's only right that you dress up for the holiday season. plus, he’s one hundred percent sure that mrs. claus misses her dead old husband. you still had a look of confusion on your face, toji sighed and went into the closet to change into the costume he had prepared. except when he came out, it was barely anything like the classic look of santa; it was a red thermal top with fur cuffs, barely cropped but can still show a peek of his abs, the top had a bell at the collar, quite small and quite annoying. red thermal pants to match as well and a santa hat (something to keep it classic).

you burst into laughter as you saw the awful outfit he claimed to be dressed as “santa claus”. when in actuality, he looks like an elf on the shelf and you told him that, crying in laughter as toji huffs in embarrassment. he grumbled to himself, saying it was the last time he tried to be “in the merry spirit”. he continued to grumble to himself and you continued to laugh at him, still not over the ridiculous outfit, you gave props for trying, but couldn’t get over it.

granted, his muscle build made it look somewhat attractive but the amount of red on him just threw you in for a loop. it also doesn’t help that the bell jingles every time he moves. his embarrassment grew into frustration, making him throw off the top and your laugh dialed down. the both of you forgot how bashful you can get when toji is topless, due to his absence.

toji noticed, finding amusement at how your laughter was taken back as soon as he removed his shirt. which made him want to tease you just a slight bit; he moved back to the bed and grabbed your hand, moving it to place on his hips. then drags it along his waist, he lets out a small groan when you press your nails onto it.

as both of your hands roamed over each other, the space between your bodies constricted, leaning closer and closer until your lips ghosted over. you both chuckled before kissing one another, a kiss that could be described as loving, enduring, and passionate. but could you blame each other?

well, the only thing to blame is that door wasn’t completely closed and tsumiki happened to pass by. she glanced and continued to the kitchen, but then backtracked to your room. she spotted the red hat and thought to herself, “santa? there’s no way, why is santa in mommy’s room?”. she tip-toed closer to the small crack that your door left and viewed the kiss shared between you and toji. her jaw dropped and she immediately ran, quietly ran, to megumi’s room to wake him up. megumi grumbled to her to let him sleep, yet tsumiki insisted that she saw her mom kissing santa claus. she saw it with her own two eyes!

megumi didn’t believe her and tried to ignore her but he knew that wouldn’t work, therefore getting up from his bed and treading towards your bedroom. he didn’t even bother knocking and opening the door, immediately wishing he didn’t from the way his parents were on each other. thankfully, you both were clothed and didn’t do anything…yet.

toji scolded megumi for not knocking on the door and megumi rolled his eyes. megumi turned over to tsumiki and pointed out to her that santa claus was just their dad in a santa hat, it wasn’t the actual santa eating their mom’s mouth. tsumiki felt naive for falling for something so obvious but she can admit that she was a bit spooked that santa looked much too similar to toji. she even commented on how toji’s back looks sharp like rocks while santa’s doesn’t, that only made toji confused and you and megumi laughing at the comment.

toji came closer to tsumiki and started to chase her around the house, yelling how she’s gonna coal for christmas for peeking into her parent’s bedroom. you and megumi shook your heads but was amused at this family’s dynamic.

★ I tried so hard not to make toji’s include smut, yall please- like it’s so hard not making this whore when it’s literally canon that he is

★ would yall believe me if i said toji’s was the longest 🧍🏽‍♀️…?

★ lemme know which one was yall fav <3

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bitterrfruit · 4 months ago

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Wild Cherries

John Price x f!Reader tags/cw: modern western AU, cowboys, mean!John Price, chasing, spanking, light sadomasochism, age gap (ish), brat taming, dubcon if you squint, smut wc: 4.9k 18+ mdni

Jonathan Price owns the ranch that neighbours your family's. You've got a bad habit of hopping the fence between them, snooping and stealing, leaving little traces of your misbehaviour behind. What happens when you poke the bear?

✼ Read the full chapter on Ao3 ✼

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.”

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin.

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change.

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay.

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose.

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him.

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers.

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Lawrence made me come and say hi.”

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance.

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.”

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment.

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?”

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it.

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise.

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.”

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.”

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?”

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you.

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.”

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath.

“I bet you are.”

an: hey y'all, as some may recognise, this is the extendo version of my old drabble 'cowboy price'. Not yet the part 3 that many of you were asking for (i'm sorry), but there will be many more parts to come, and I hope they will sate our collective hunger for horny western Price!!

Above is only a snippet, the rest is on my Ao3. love youuuu <3

#punish me #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price #john price x f!reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #cowboy price #bitterfruit fics #bitten fruit

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ameliathornromance · 11 months ago

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“What happened to you?!”

Your Orc Boyfriend sat by the tribe healer. Gashes that started at his forehead and go across his face. Blood dripped down and onto his chest, which was bruised and transitioning into a purple hue in certain areas.

You went to rush over, to cup his face, examine him from head to toe, but the healer held a hand out to you. “I know it looks serious,” he said, “but they’re surface level.”

As you opened your mouth to protest, your Orc Boyfriend grunted, “I’ll be fine, love.” He gave you a pained smile. Even as his face oozed with blood, he still tried to reassure you. “I’ll come see you in a minute.”

He loved this about you. Everything was so different now that you were around. Before you and your Orc got together, when Orcs returned injured, they were told to endure it from their others. No sympathy given. Healers would provide Orcs with a pack of ice in a leather sack and send them on their way.

It started when one day, your Orc came back to camp with a bloody nose. You had instantly run over, "Oh my God, are you okay?!" Everyone had stared, startled by your reaction. But when you started tending to your partner's wounds, the camp seemed to follow your lead.

Orcs were now afforded more luxuries than before, being fed soup if they were immobilised temporarily or being washed by someone they were close to when they couldn't reach certain areas.

But your Orc Boyfriend, always did his best to come back intact. Despite the sweetness of your concern, he couldn't bear witnessing your distress over his injuries.

This time, he was too careless.

At that sight of your reluctant scowl, your Orc Boyfriend’s heart ached. He wished he had been more careful.

But you turned away and went back to your shared tent.

He came in later, his face lined with stitches and his chest wrapped up with cloth. Your Orc groaned as he laid in bed beside you, scrunching his face up in pain.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you looked him over. “What happened?” Your voice was muted, small.

“Highway men.” He said.

They had jumped him while he was trying to find his hunting party. Your Orc had got separated when he’d tried to go after a stag. He emerged out onto a popular path taken by humans, looking around for his prey.

But a second was all it took for the humans to attack him.

The men were more vicious that most humans he’d fought, with weapons imbued with some kind of magical properties. One human delivered such a powerful blow to his chest that he thought his ribs had broken.

Your Orc got out by the skin of his tusks, and that was only thanks to another Orc finding him and helping him beat the snot out of the Highwaymen.

You bit your lip at that and cast a look down at his chest. It had turned black now.

“It’ll heal.” He assured you. “It’ll take more than a few humans to kill me. Don’t worry.” Your Orc shifted and pulled something out from his belt pocket. “Here, for you.”

You gasped. Clutched between your Orc’s meaty green fingers was a small, golden band. A red ruby sat on top of the gold, catching in the dim candlelight. “We took their plunders, this was among it… And I thought of you.”

At your hesitation, your Orc offered it, “I promise I’ll be more careful when I go out in the next few weeks. See this as a pledge of that.”

Biting your lip, you sighed. Your eyes traced the stitches on his face. You wanted to run your fingers across them, hoping that your touch could heal them.

Taking the ring, you kissed the ruby. “You promise?” holding the ring to his lips.

Your Orc smiled and kissed it. “I swear on my life.”

#orc fiction #orc x reader #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster x you #monster x human #monster x female #monster lover #orc romance #monster x reader #mdni

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Note

Okay, hear me out...

Sy as a mafia boss and reader who owns the coffee shop.

The Olde Bakery

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: mob!Syverson, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Burly is most appropriate to describe the man. Tall, thick, looming. The door shuts behind him without a care as his eyes skim the small shop. In a town as isolated as Springfort everything is smaller; simpler. You can tell at a glance that this man is neither.

His eyes pass over the specials board and fall on you. More virulent than desolation in a small town is gossip. You’ve heard about the man already, though his appearance still surprises you. A man like him would go to the lawyer’s office and throw his weight around or trash the liquor store, but what business does he have in a cafe. Your cafe.

For as much as you’ve heard about the mysterious and mercurial newcomer, you know better than to ask that. Instead, you recite the usual. The boring daily routines are what make Springfort safe. Or did.

“Hello, what can I get you today?” You ask as he nears the counter. You move to face him over the small till.

There’s not much to the space; enough for you to work. Espresso machine, frother, blender, toaster oven, percolator... the basics and a little more. There’s the display case of your hand-crafted baked goods and not much else. It’s the only place in town beside the diner for locals to sit down, though there are only four tables inside.

The man doesn’t answer. He stares back at you. You can’t read his expressions. His blues fall to your hands as you place them on either side of the till.

He wears a quarter-zip with the tab pulled down. The collar folds over as chest hair peaks out unabashedly. His black cargo pants have a military cut to them and his fingerless gloves are a final peculiar accessory. He sports a thick beard but a shaved scalp, and his blunt brows give him a naturally angry affect.

“Sir? We have a new butterscotch mocha as today’s special,” you suggest.

“You.” He speaks at last.

You blink and hold your calm smile. You try to process his question. You point to your name tag an introduce yourself.

“No, you asked me what you can get me.”

You nod but don’t understand.

“I can help you, sir. Sure. What would you like?”

He looks you up and down and plants his hands on the counter. As he does that, you pull yours offer and fold them over your apron. He leans in and licks his lips.

“I would like...” he gives a crooked grin, “you.”

“I...” You open your mouth dumbly. “I don’t...” your voice is brittle. Your throat tightens and you choke on a disbelieving laugh.

“You laughing at me?” He challenges.

You gulp and snap your mouth shut, “no, sir. Sorry, I’m just... confused.”

“What’s confusing?” He bends until he’s leaning on his elbows and twines his fingers together. His knuckles bulge and whiten. You lean back on your heel, resisting the urge to flee.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. The look in his eyes fills you with icy fear.

“So, I put my order in...” he drawls.

“Um. I can’t... I... this is my...” you sputter and recall Sonia’s recount of Osborne and Meyers sacking. The older law partner ended up in emerge though his exact malady varied according the source. “I own the cafe so--”

“You go on and lock that door,” he says. “Since you’re the boss, you can take a break, can’t ya?” You sway on your feet and stare back at him. He untangles his fingers and brings a hand up to pull at a tuft of his beard. “I don’t know, I was told the service here was speedy.” He sucks his teeth. “But you’re here dragging your feet, wasting my time.”

You wince and take a cautious step back. He watches you, unmoving, though you brace yourself for him to lunge. You slowly come out around the counter and cross to the door. You twist the lock and flip the sign.

His footsteps scuff as he grunts into a long groan. You face him reluctantly as he drags one of the chairs from the table and puts it in front of the counter. His attention hangs on the seat as he considers it. You stand where you are, frightened.

“Come here,” he beckons with two fingers, his other hand on the back of the chair.

You approach and stop a foot away. He tilts his head to look at you. The gleam in his irises swells over you like frigid water. He lets go of the chair and turns to you fully. He steps closer and you wince as he reaches for you.

He loops his arms around you and tugs at the knot of the apron. It slackens and he brings his hands up to unhook the strap from around your neck. He pulls it away and drops it on the floor.

“Sir, I... what did I do?”

“Chh, chh, chh,” he tuts between his teeth.

You seal your lips and peer up at him. Your eyes meet again. He brings his large hands to cradle your face and tilts your head. He gives you an appraising look over.

“You just worry about what you need to do, sweetheart,” he growls.

His hands drift down to the top of your blouse. You shiver as he plucks open the buttons one at a time. As he does, gritty noises rise in his throat. He pushes the fabric away from your shoulders and down your arms. The blouse falls to your feet.

You turn your head away as he tugs at the knotted belt of your high-waisted pants. He unties it and stretches the elastic waistband, guiding it past your hips. You sniff as you focus on staying upright. Your pants pool at your feet, heaping over your round-toed flats.

You gasp as he cups your chest with his large hands. Your nipples harden and poke him through your bra. He purrs and gropes you harder. You shudder and waver with his force. He lifts your tits, jiggling them, and pushes them together.

“I was told you sell sweets,” he says, “but I wasn’t expecting these.”

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #sand castle #drabble

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hanasnx · 3 months ago

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MINORS DNI 18+

shoving JAKE SULLY’s warm face into your chest and he feels so big in your arms. soft hair brushing against the insides of your elbows, his chin poking low into your diaphragm, and he’s swiping side to side massaging himself with your tits. the friction of his oily skin against the sensitivity of your pebbled nipples make you shudder, and a wave of his breath washes over your stomach, shivering it. he rears his neck enough to rise, the curious tip of his tongue stretching out to lick a stripe against your salty sweat, more and more it hangs out and flattens until your nip feeds into his mouth. his big tongue feels heavy against you, enveloping the entire sack of your flesh into his hot mouth, lapping at your little bud with a content sigh through his nose. you lean into it, pressing yourself into him as his palms slide up the length of your figure, spanning the whole of your back. there’s so much passion in his actions, that you forget he’s using you for your little body. human pussies are so tight when he’s ten feet tall.

#cw size kink #ch: jake s.#jake sully thought #jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #jake sully x fem reader #jake sully x you #jake sully x y/n #jake sully imagine #jake sully fanfic #reader insert

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estellan0vella · 8 months ago

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Nut Sack? No. Nut SMACK! ❀ includes: Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna, & Toji (Requested) Combined drabble and SMAU 2 Requests combined

You and Satoru are playfully sparring in the living room, laughter echoing off the walls. His brilliant blue eyes twinkle with mischief as he pretends to lunge at you, and you dodge just in time, your reflexes quick but not quite quick enough. In a flurry of movement, your knee comes up a bit too fast and a bit too high.

Satoru’s eyes widen, and he doubles over, a groan escaping his lips. You freeze, horror dawning as you realize what you’ve done. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry!" you squeak, backing away. But the damage is done, and his pained expression makes it clear he needs a moment.

Panic sets in. Without thinking, you turn and bolt out of the living room, your heart pounding in your chest. Behind you, you hear Satoru groan and mutter something, but you don’t dare look back. You sprint down the hallway, your feet barely touching the ground as you make a beeline for the bedroom. Slamming the door behind you, you dive under the bed, hoping the sheets will hide you from his impending wrath.

You’re in the kitchen, playfully teasing Kento Nanami as he finishes preparing dinner. He chuckles, setting the knife down and turning to face you, eyes twinkling with amusement. You decide to be a bit mischievous, lightly tapping his knee with your foot. But your aim goes astray, and you accidentally kick him in the groin.

Kento’s face twists in surprise and pain as he lets out a low groan, doubling over slightly. Your eyes widen in horror, a mix of guilt and panic washing over you.

"Oh my god, Kento, I’m so sorry!" you gasp, your voice high-pitched with shock.

Without thinking, you dart out of the kitchen, sprinting down the hallway. You can hear him calling your name, a mix of exasperation and amusement lacing his tone, but you don’t stop. You dash into the bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind you and diving under the covers of the bed.

You lay there, heart pounding, ears straining to catch any sound of him following. The bedroom door creaks open, and you hold your breath, hoping the blankets conceal you enough.

Kento’s footsteps are soft but deliberate as he approaches. “Hiding, are we?” he murmurs, his voice gentle and teasing. You feel the bed dip as he sits down on the edge, his hand gently pulling the covers away from your face.

You peek up at him, biting your lip. Despite the lingering pain, he’s smiling softly, eyes warm. “You know,” he says, a hint of a laugh in his voice, “I can’t exactly stay mad at you.”

Relief floods through you, and you reach out, grabbing his hand. “I really am sorry,” you whisper.

He squeezes your hand reassuringly. “I know,” he replies, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Just... maybe aim better next time?”

You both laugh, the tension dissipating as he pulls you into a gentle hug.

As you and Sukuna are playfully wrestling on the couch, a sudden movement catches you off guard. In an unfortunate twist, your elbow connects with a sensitive area. Sukuna gasps sharply, his hand instinctively clutching the spot. "Ouch!" he groans, his voice strained. You freeze, horrified by your accidental blow.

Apologies rush from your lips as you retreat, cheeks flushing crimson. "I'm so sorry, Sukuna! I didn't mean to—"

But Sukuna's grimace morphs into a mischievous smirk. "You'll pay for that," he warns playfully, eyes glinting with amusement.

With a nervous laugh, you bolt from the living room, seeking refuge in the safety of the bedroom. Your heart races as you hide behind the door, waiting for Sukuna's inevitable retaliation.

You're playfully tossing a pillow across the room, aiming for the couch where your boyfriend Toji Fushiguro lounges. But the throw goes awry, and the pillow smacks him right in the groin. Toji lets out a pained groan, doubling over, clutching his sensitive area.

You gasp, your eyes widening in horror as you realize what you've done. "Toji, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

He grunts in response, still trying to recover from the unexpected blow. But before he can retaliate, you bolt from the room, fleeing to the safety of the bedroom. Your heart races with a mix of guilt and amusement, knowing you've inadvertently unleashed Toji's wrath.

From the other room, you hear Toji's voice, low and menacing. "You better start running, sweetheart. Revenge is coming for you."

You dive under the covers, stifling giggles as you await his inevitable pursuit.

#jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x you #gojo x reader #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #jjk smau

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paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles · 2 months ago

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Blobby

I love when a woman has big blubbery thighs…solid, squishy barrels of lard. I love when those massive slabs of meat balloon out over her knees a bit too, and she has immense, powerful calves. Something to hold up her hefty, hanging, blobby gut. Her overfilled, overinflated, ballooned out sagging sack of a belly. Right in the middle is a gaping, deepening hole that almost beckons like a pouting, open mouth.

Then there is her sides; thickly layered, soft and pillowy rolls sitting on malleable, bouncy, jiggly hips. All this is rounded out by big, fucking fat, wobbly ass cheeks larger than anything else on her little overfed frame. A gigantic backside that squishes, crushes, bounces, and claps as she moves about her day, or as I try to use its immense meaty rounds. Ass cheeks that are so overinflated with fat that they ripple and push her around as I smack them, and crush the weak legs of our furniture. Her back too is totally layered in soft excess, and from the side you can see her deep, plunging cleavages of overhang, hip, and ballooned out roll.

She has a rounded out face with a soft double chin that covers her pretty throat, and flabby, saggy, hanging, flapping arms. Real meaty sacks of lard that droop over her elbows. Then her simply decadently thick forearms end in a fat, chubby wrist that has little soft hands perfect for lifting food to her mouth.

her figure is indulgent. So overladen in heavy, soft blubber. I love these ones.

the good ones. the overfed ones. the blob ones.

I love the blobby ones.

#me #mewrite #feedee weight gain #ssbbw feedee #gaining encouragement #wg encouragement #weight gain encouragement #feedee encouragement #fatty getting fatter #glorify obesity #gaining weight on purpose #feeding kink #female wg #extreme feederism #gaining girl #getting fat on purpose

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luverine · 1 month ago

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Orc (Leif) Blacksmith x fem! Hunter! Reader /P.4

MDNI // 3.1k words // smuttt // meet mom and get boned in the woods?? // 18+ // Leif is a sweetheart // no proof read // Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3

It is cold.

Winter came like a ravenous beast, its icy breath cutting through the air. Winds howled with relentless fury, and flurries of snow whipped around, making travel arduous and blinding. For you, it was a challenge to keep moving, for you-

Leif, massive and impervious to the cold, seemed hardly affected. Wrapped in nothing more than a loincloth and a fur-lined cape, he was sweating, of all things. Yet, his complaints filled the frosty air.

“My legs are killing me,” he groaned, trudging along with a scowl.

You shot him a look of disbelief, bundled head to toe in thick furs and linens. In your current state, you probably looked more like a beast. Crossing your arms, you raised an incredulous brow at him.

“Really?” you grunted. “We’re barely halfway through, and you’re whining about your legs?”

Leif pouted, his broad olive shoulders sagging. “It’s not my fault! I didn’t know we’d be walking this much.”

You rolled your eyes as his grumbling continued, though the sight of an inn up ahead brought relief. Warm light spilled from its windows, accompanied by the muffled cacophony of voices and music. Inside, the place was alive- rowdy patrons danced and sang, while others brawled or swayed drunkenly with half-empty mugs. A chaotic but welcome reprieve from the storm.

Leif hesitated, his hulking frame shifting uneasily. “Uh… we could keep going,” he muttered, his amber eyes darting toward the boisterous crowd.

“Not a chance,” you said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m exhausted, and a drink sounds like exactly what I need.”

Before he could protest, you slipped into the throng, navigating the chaos toward the bar. Leif, meanwhile, hugged the wall near the entrance, his size drawing curious glances. You spotted him there, his brows knitted, his jaw tight as he scanned the room.

“What’s wrong?” you asked when you finally rejoined him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I just want to get to the room,” he said, his voice low and strained. His eyes, usually steady, flitted nervously over the crowd before settling on yours. “I don’t… like this.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine. I just need to sleep,” he murmured, already moving toward the back of the inn where the check-in desk sat.

You followed, stepping up to a small troll who was engrossed in a tattered book. He barely glanced up before breaking into a toothy grin.

“Room for two?” you asked.

“Good timing,” the troll said, snapping the book shut. “All I’ve got left are twins.”

You and Leif exchanged a sigh before handing over three coins. With a jingle of keys, the troll waved you off toward the stairs.

The room was cramped, with two tiny beds that seemed more like oversized cushions. You dropped your sack and bow onto one of them, laughing as you tested its size. “If I can barely fit on this, you might as well call it a pillow.”

Leif scowled, his shoulders brushing the doorframe as he stepped inside. “It’s… small,” he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation.

“Small’s an understatement.” You kicked off your boots and flopped onto the bed, ignoring its protests under your weight. “But it’s warm, and it’s better than freezing out there.”

Leif sat on the edge of his bed, his broad frame making it creak ominously. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. The tension hadn’t left his face.

“You sure you’re okay?” you asked, softer this time.

He nodded, though his voice wavered. “I’m good. Just… tired.”

Sleep was elusive. The beds were too small, the room felt suffocating, and the creeping cold made it worse. You shifted uncomfortably, letting out a frustrated groan before sitting up.

“Leif, get up,” you muttered, nudging him. “I’m pushing the beds together.”

He grunted, barely awake, but propped himself up to help. Together, you managed to slide the beds closer, the narrow gap between them disappearing.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. You shrugged and lay back down. “Alright, let’s try this again. Sweet dreams, yeah?”

Leif paused for a moment, his voice soft and low. “You too, měsíční svit.”

The words lingered in the air, his hand hesitantly reaching for yours.

Without thinking, you took it.

A faint blush bloomed across his cheeks, his expression warm yet flustered. Little did you know, in his traditions, this simple gesture meant far more. To him, you were already something more than friends- closer to love, he could feel it.

As slumber finally took over the both of you dreams of your tender touch against his hard muscled skin played in his head.

•••

The morning was brisk, the air sharp as you hurriedly snatched a few small loaves of bread before stepping out into the cold desert of winter. The snow had grown deeper overnight, soft drifts crunching underfoot. It barely reached the calf of the towering orc beside you, yet for you, it climbed nearly to your knees, each step a small struggle.

Huffing against the biting chill, you glanced up at him- his imposing frame cloaked in the muted tones of the season. His olive-green skin darkened faintly as your eyes met, a hint of bashfulness betraying the admiration he’d been trying to play off.

“Feeling alright, big guy?” you teased, your breath fogging in the frosty air.

He chuckled, a deep and rumbling sound that warmed the cold around you. “Better than alright,” he said, his tusked grin widening. “I can’t wait to introduce you to my mother- she’ll adore you.”

His excitement was contagious as he embarked into tales of his childhood, his voice animated as he shared silly misadventures and endearing memories from years past. The frigid morning seemed to fade as his laughter echoed across the snow.

•••

As the journey drew to a close, you found yourself approaching a village called Solheimar. The crisp winter air carried the faint crackle of fire and the hum of celebration. People draped in thick furs and adorned with intricately braided hair bustled about, their laughter and shouts mingling with the melodies of a barmaid’s song. Flames leapt skyward from bonfires, casting flickering light over axe-bearing men and women who drank and danced in the frosty night.

“Vikings,” you murmured, glancing at Leif for confirmation. But his gaze was already fixed on you, a proud gleam in his eyes. He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the scene.

“This is my homeland!” he declared, his voice warm with emotion. “Isn’t it breathtaking? I missed the traditions here- there’s always something to celebrate.”

Looking around, you take in the tall wooden structures, their walls adorned with intricately carved designs that weave together like the threads of an old story.

“Your home is truly a sight,” you say, turning to Leif. “Why would you ever leave a place like this for the quiet little village we claimed?”

A sigh escaped his lips, a cloud of breath misting in the icy air. “I never really belonged,” he admitted, his voice heavy with a quiet ache. “Even with my mother, I was always… different, never truly kin to the others.”

His words settled over you like a familiar weight, stirring something deep within. You knew that feeling all too well- the ache of being out of place in your own land. But unlike him, you had refused to leave. Your home was yours, no matter how it tried to push you away.

Your gaze softened as you studied him. His face, his lips- dangerous and alluring with those tusk-like teeth. His skin, dark olive and rich, framed his features like a masterpiece. And those lips, full and plump- oh.

You tore your eyes away, but not before catching the faint sparkle in his, a flicker of something tender as he laid bare his memories and old wounds.

“Leif…”

His bourbon eyes pounce upon yours, “You belong anywhere you go you seem to make it better.” You look away, unable to hold contact to such an intense feeling.

A smile crosses his face, no trace of melancholy anymore. “Thank you můj měsíčku.” Tears glaze over his sight but are blinked away before they fall.

•••

The night was filled with rambling stories and bursts of laughter, ale loosening tongues as they learned more about each other.

“So, let me get this straight- you ate rocks as a child?”

“No, no! It wasn’t the rocks, it was the salt on them! They were salty!”

“Uh-huh,” you snorted, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re telling me you licked salty rocks for fun?”

“Not for fun- okay, maybe a little for fun.”

The both of you erupted in laughter again before the second leaned back smugly.

“Well, I used to hunt with my bare hands.”

“…You make me nervous.”

•••

You were woken by the warm sun creeping over the horizon and the murmur of townsfolk already busy with morning chores. Turning to your right, you spotted Leif sprawled on the cobblestones outside the pub, snoring softly.

“Damn it, Leif, get up. We’ve got to move,” you muttered, giving the brutish orc a firm tug on his arm.

With a low groan, he stirred, blinking groggily at his surroundings. It all came rushing back- the pub, the ale, and how thoroughly you both got swilled.

Leif sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as a grin crept across his face. Matka. His heart swelled at the thought. Soon, you’d meet her soon, you’d be family, if she approved… which she would.

“We should not have drank so much my head feels like it’s gonna pop-“

Leif laughed off your complaint and patted your head, “I forgot small humans can’t dunk as much- I’m surprised you kept up.”

You groan and pick yourself off the graveled ground.

…

The walk to Leif’s family home was quiet, the frost-laden village waking in slow ripples as sunlight kissed the rooftops. Leif carried himself with unusual tension, his broad shoulders straight, his stride purposeful. You could tell he was nervous, though he tried to mask it.

“So,” you began, breaking the silence. “What’s she like?”

“Matka?” Leif’s amber eyes softened, and a soft smile touched his lips. “She’s… strong. Wise. And terrifying when she wants to be.” He chuckled, but there’s a trace of pride in his voice was clear. “But she’s also kind. She’ll like you.”

“I hope you're right,” you murmured, the weight of his words settling over you. The idea of meeting the woman who had raised someone like Leif made your stomach twist with nervous anticipation.

As you approached the outskirts of the village, a sturdy longhouse came into view, its walls adorned with intricate carvings of wargs, moons, and fierce warriors. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the scent of roasting meat mingled with the crisp winter air.

The door swung open before you even reached it, revealing a tall Vakyriecwoman with streaks of silver in her brown hair. Her eyes, a piercing shade of amber like Leif’s, locked onto you with an assessing gaze. Despite the lines of age on her face, her presence was commanding, her posture regal.

“Matka,” Leif greeted, his voice warm but measured.

The woman’s gaze shifted to her son, softening immediately. “Leif,” she said, her voice rich and melodic. She stepped forward, pulling him into a firm embrace before holding him at arm’s length. “You’ve grown even more, my boy. And you’ve brought a guest.”

You offered a polite smile, bowing your head slightly. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

Her eyes flicked over you once more, sharp but not unkind. “You must have a name.”

You introduced yourself, and her expression softened further, recalling his letters. “Welcome to our home. Come inside- both of you.”

The interior of the longhouse was warm and inviting, the hearth crackling with life. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting battles, celebrations, and family lineage. A table was already set with bread, meat, and mugs of steaming broth.

Over the meal, Matka asked you endless questions- about your journey, your skills, and your family. Her gaze never wavered, and her attention felt both flattering and slightly unnerving.

Leif, however, watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and quiet approval. When his mother finally leaned back, a satisfied smile spread across her face.

“You’re strong,” she declared. “And clever. You’ll need both to handle my son.”

Leif sputtered, his face flushing as you laughed softly.

Matka’s smile turned sly. “I like you.”

Leif felt as if his heart would burst, to him you became a part of the family- it couldn’t make him more content.

As the night went on with story’s of his childhood and tales of battles, Bodil- Leif’s Matka called it for the night and insisted on residing in the orcs old bedroom.

Unable to deny the offer, you and Leif agree but before you head to the bedroom to finally get a good night's rest.

“Come with me?” He asks looking fondly into your eyes, holding a hand out.

You let out a tired huff and take a hold on his larger olive hand, rough from his hard work.

The snow had stopped, leaving the world blanketed in a pristine sheet of white. You and Leif ventured out to explore the nearby woods. The quiet was soothing, the crunch of snow underfoot the only sound as you walked side by side.

Leif seemed more at ease now, the earlier tension replaced by a quiet contentment. “She likes you,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You smirk at what he obviously stated. “I noticed.”

“She’s never liked anyone I’ve brought home before,” he added, glancing at you.

You stopped, turning to face him. “How many people have you brought home?”

Leif hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Not… many,” he admitted. “But none of them ever were like you...”

His words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking in. Your cheeks warmed, and you found yourself averting your gaze.

“Leif-”

He stepped closer, his broad hand gently tilting your chin so your eyes met his. The vulnerability in his expression was unexpected, his usual confidence replaced by something softer.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his voice rough but earnest. “You’ve changed everything for me.”

Before you could respond, his lips brushed against yours- tentative at first, then deepening as his hands settled on your waist. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and filled with unspoken promises.

When you finally broke apart, tusks brushing against lips, our breaths mingling in the cold air, you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, if your mother approves…”

Leif laughed, the sound rich and warm. “You’re impossible,” he said, his forehead resting against yours.

“Would you have it any other way?”

No, I like you just as you are,” Leif whispers against your cheek, his breath warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold surrounding you.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.” His hands cradle your face, rough but gentle. “You drive me mad.”

Leif leans closer, his whiskey-colored eyes locked with yours, the intensity leaving you breathless. Your voice is soft, trembling with vulnerability. “If you’ll have me… let me have you.”

Your smaller hand rests atop his, your touch like a promise. “Yes,” he whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Please.”

Tears glisten in his amber eyes, the sight tugging at your heart. “Leif, what’s-” Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours in a kiss so eager that you stumble backward, landing softly in the snow.

Leif follows, his powerful frame kneeling over you, his arms caging you in a desperate embrace. The world disappears as he holds you close, his warmth chasing away the chill. His grip is unyielding, as if letting go would shatter the moment.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice deep with emotion. His gaze burns with admiration, a deep blush spreading across his sharp features.

You relax into his hold, a soft smile playing on your lips. “I trust you with my life, Leif,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. Your fingers weave into his dark, dreaded hair, tugging gently.

A strained whine escapes him as he deepens the kiss, pulling you onto his lap. His large hands settle on your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against him, the friction igniting a fire between you.

“I need you,” he rasps, his voice breaking. His hands fumble with the buttons of your pants, trembling with urgency. The cold air bites at your exposed skin, but the heat between you burns hotter.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, his fingers slipping into your slick folds. His touch sends shocks of pleasure coursing through you. “Oh, goddess, you feel… incredible.”

You shudder, your breaths ragged as he pushes a thick finger inside you. His touch is careful, reverent, but it drives you wild. Your moans spill freely, your body arching into his.

“Leif,” you cry out, trembling as the pressure builds. “I’m going to- I need you, please-”

You come undone around his fingers, your climax washing over you in waves. The intensity leaves you reeling, your body quaking as you clutch onto him. He looks at you with awe, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed.

“I’m ready for you, my sunshine,” you whisper, your voice breathy but firm. Your hands wander beneath his shirt, caressing the hard planes of his chest, your fingers teasing his sensitive skin.

Leif whimpers, his resolve faltering. With shaking hands, he unbuttons his own pants, freeing his thick, blushed, aching length. “I’ll go slow,” he promises, his voice husky as he gazes down at you.

You nod, pulling him close and pressing butterfly kisses along his neck. His broad shoulders tremble as he lines himself up, sliding into you inch by inch. The stretch is exquisite, and the wet sounds of your joining make heat bloom across your skin.

“You’re so tight,” he groans, his movements slow and deliberate. “I… I won’t last.”

His moans only spur you on, your bodies moving in perfect rhythm. Each thrust brings you closer, your cries mingling in the cold night air. The world fades, leaving only the two of you, your passion raw and all-consuming.

As you both reach the edge, your release crashes over you together, the tension snapping into a wave of pure ecstasy. Leif buries his face in your neck, tusks brushing against skin, his breaths ragged, his body trembling against yours.

When the night grows quieter, Leif tenderly dresses your spent body, his touches filled with care. He lifts you into his arms, carrying you through the snow toward the safety of home.

There, by the crackling fire, he holds you close, his hulking frame a fortress of warmth and love. As sleep claims him, a soft smile graces his lips, contentment etched into his features.

Leif knows he has won your heart, and hold you love, just like him.

You’re his měsíční svit.

A/N: Take this as an apology for not posting in over two weeks ‹𝟹 writers blog kicked my ass. Happy New Year!!

Likes, reblogs, comments appreciated ‹𝟹 ˳ ׄ ⟡ .

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