#this is months old i just kept sitting on it but i DO want to post it for archival purposes if nothing else | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skitskatdacat63 · 1 year ago

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Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead.

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this.

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs. Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair.

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?"

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs.

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles.

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him.

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That.

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to.

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly.

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor.

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step.

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's.

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before.

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray.

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further.

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs, "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of!

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons.

#i love how i kept saying to people: no no i shant write any fic for this. only art.#me like two weeks later: hey guys :)#this is just: i was sitting in class and had a drawing idea but then im obv not drawing *this* in class so my brain went into narrative mod #not exactly 'baby's first ficlet!!!' but moreso ive not written in a while so i hope its alright???#but aaahhh this was actually pretty fun!! idk i think it was bcs i was also being brainrotted by the image of seb kneeling....#maybe ill draw it. but it felt like something that needed the context of narrative and not just oo here is a drawing!#anyways you can always ask me for a directors cut-(PLEASE PLEAE BEGGING PLEASE)#see this is why im not cut out for writing fic #its not like i dont think it can speak for itself. more that im just an overly reflective person who wants to explain all my thoughts #if i wrote fic itd really be just: chapter 1. chapter 1.5 chapter 2. chapter 2.5 #anyways i think its pretty obvious but this is before their wedding and just like peak bitterness.#well not peak. peak would be the first year- first few months of their marriage #but this is fernando who is only just realizing how naive all his expectations of seb were and getting a glimpse of his future #but mostly: mindgames and power play and: whos actually really winning?#also my god jense is literally the best chara in this au. he is vibing and basically just witnessing ye olde reality tv #mark and fernando are always in a weird powerplay with seb(even if seb isnt even consiously doing so) and jense is just free from it all #hmm now how does one go about tagging fic #vettonso #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #martian #sebmark #also idk why im always so concerned abt tagging when im basically just writing this for my little boy king following i have somehow formed #hahaha! it is art to me!:#catie.art.#boy king au

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mockiatoh · 1 year ago

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My biggest frustration with the left has always been the inability/unwillingness to work on making progress inside of the system while advocating for greater change.

I remember the first time I came to this realization.

I was nineteen, pregnant. We couldn’t afford to heat the house because we couldn’t afford the deposit to turn the gas on. It was miserably cold. The duplex we were renting was old and rickety and drafty. The window frames were messed up and there were cracks you could stick your finger through that were open to the elements.

Just, like, to give you an idea where we were financially. And this was better than we’d been doing before!

Anyway, I had recently started going to DSA meetings. And that month, they were talking about how a moderate democrat had successfully gotten a small increase in WIC benefits monthly. It came out to, like, $10 a month.

The members talking—mostly male, almost all doing decent—were scornful. The democrat should have pushed harder and gotten more, refused to accept anything until everyone else caved to their demands. I remember sitting there, quietly drinking the latte in the smallest size they had that I had bought with scrounged quarters, listening. Wishing it wasn’t held in an indie coffee shop because it was a luxury I really couldn’t afford, but it would be rude not to. Enjoying the coffee anyway.

I was one of the lucky ones who was getting that additional $10 a month through WIC. Even more exciting, we were now getting a voucher for the farmers’ market. I casually mentioned that WIC recipients would now be getting farmers’ market vouchers, too.

The guy who organized the meetings was a hard worker, passionate guy. Did something in tech.

He was like, “That’s the thing! These people don’t want farmers market vouchers. They want—” and he went on to describe a bunch of pie in the sky desires. That, yeah, sounded good.

But one. I was one of those people! A lot if the tamiles were super excited about it, myself included.

I had never been to a farmers’ market before. I tried arugula for the first time, a piece pulled from a bunch by the grower as he explained the flavor difference. I hadn’t known before then that different lettuce greens had different flavors, that it was more than just the texture and shape. I tried pesto, which delighted me. Goat cheese. I got three full pounds of strawberries for two dollars, since they were closing soon and the old man selling the berries got a kick out of me.

Anyway. It was like, you have a decent life. Not great but decent! The things that are life changing for me, for us… you already have.

The ten dollars at the grocery store made the difference between a meal of broken-noodles-with-some-half-horrible-pantry-scraps and a meal. It kept me full and healthy! And the additional farmers’ market voucher was world changing for me.

The democrat who worked for those things barely got them through. And it was means tested to hell and back. They weren’t able to get everything they wanted. But what they got made such a huge difference for me, for people like me.

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obsesssedblerd · 3 months ago

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“Oh, Nanaminnnn!”

At the familiar, cheery voice, Kento looks up to see no one other than Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorframe of his office with his usual grin. “Saw with my Six Eyes that you came to fill out those reports here instead of doing it from home. Been so long since you showed your face here and—” He cuts himself off with an excited gasp, then walks closer as his smile grows wider. “You brought my little mochi!”

In Kento’s left arm, his daughter—who had woken up from her nap about ten minutes ago—coos excitedly when Satoru enters her vision, reaching her hands towards him. “Well, hello there, sweetheart! I was wondering when I’d see you again!” He slides his hands under her plush arms, then picks her up, skillfully—and safely, Kento notes—holding her in his arms. Tiny hands brush against Satoru’s blindfold, and he lifts it so his niece can see his blue eyes. They immediately soften when the baby girl laughs when he gently tickles her tummy.

It’s so cute that Kento can’t stop the corner of his mouth from lifting.

“Wait—Did I hear that right?! Nanamin’s here?!”

“Itadori, wait for us!”

“Kugisaki, you dropped your bag—Oh, come on, guys, slow down!”

Rapid footsteps approach, then the three first years appear at the door, gasping in unison.

“Oh, my gosh!” Yuuji, the pink-haired teenager shouts as he points at the baby in Satoru’s arms. “Nanamin, when did you have a baby?!”

Nobara’s question comes a split-second after Yuuji’s is finished. “Is that why [Y/L/N]-sensei quit a while ago?!”

Megumi walks to stand beside Satoru to analyze the little bundle in his teacher’s arms. “She’s… adorable.” He mumbles, gently smiling when she wraps her hand around his finger. “Very adorable. She has [Y/L/N]-sensei’s laugh.”

“Isn’t she just so precious?” Satoru asks, proudly showing her off to the first years. “So sweet and friendly, just like her Uncle Gojo.”

“Hopefully she won’t be as reckless as you,” Kento says as he holds his hands out, and Satoru returns his daughter to him. “[Y/N] and I already believe that she’ll be the exact opposite of me.”

Yuuji sits beside Kento to get a closer look at her. “She’s so cute. How old is she, Nanamin?”

“Four months as of yesterday.”

Nobara crosses her arms and pouts. “How come only he knew?” She asks, gesturing to Satoru.

“Well, when I had to go away on a long mission, she was only a month old,” Kento explains. “He kept an eye on her and [Y/N] for me; made sure that they were both safe. I’m very grateful. We had plans to tell you about our daughter soon.”

“Where is she now?” Megumi asks.

“At home. I wanted her to have the morning and most of the afternoon to herself. I’ll be heading back shortly.”

Satoru and the students share similar looks with each other, and Kento knows what they want to ask. He pulls out his phone and dials your number. “Hi, baby,” you greet when the line connects, “how’s our girl?”

“Hi, love. She’s amazing, as always,” he says as he looks down, playfully poking the little one’s nose. “I’m with Gojo and our students. They want to know if it’s alright to come and see you.”

“We’ll cook dinner if you’re too tired!” Nobara chimes in hopefully.

“Actually, better yet, I can just order something for everyone,” Satoru suggests.

“And we’ll clean up,” Yuuji and Megumi say at the same time.

You laugh, then answer Kento, “That’s more than alright. Bring them here.”

“Thought you’d say that. See you in a bit.”

“Yes!” Yuuji cheers. “Alright, I’m gonna ride with Nanamin so I can sit next to the baby!”

Nobara glares at him. “Not if I get to the car first!!”

When they sprint out the door, Megumi groans before rushing after them. “Didn’t I just tell you guys to slow down? We’re going to the same place!”

Satoru laughs, then waits for Kento to finish up so they can walk out together.

—

there was an ask in my inbox requesting a cute drabble for dad! nanami ft. gojo (as a trusted friend of his) and the first years, but it disappeared. hope u like it, anon <3

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ozzgin · 5 months ago

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I just finished playing Firewatch and the cozy, lonely vibes gave me another monster idea! You got a summer job as a fire watch for the closest National Park. All you have to do is to sit in your tower, and...watch. For fires. Sounds boring? Worry not, your supervisor is there to keep you company over the radio. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior, suggestive ending

"And? What are you running away from?"

"Excuse me?"

You raise your eyebrows at the unexpected question coming from the radio. The deep voice belongs to your supervisor, the man who'll guide you throughout your stay at the National Park.

"No one picks up an isolated job in the mountains out of sheer desire. Especially someone as young as you." He chuckles briefly, then resumes in a more professional tone: "My apologies. You don't have to answer that."

What a strange way to begin the conversation, you think to yourself. Yet this nonchalance and casualty is all you have for the following months. The other watchtowers don't talk much, if at all. You're entirely alone in the wilderness, save for the mysterious man on the radio.

Slowly, you begin to warm up to his chatty nature. He likes to ask a lot of questions. A terribly curious individual, though you can understand his reasoning: he's been working for the Park for over a decade. How does one survive without another human being?

He never leaves his tower, and thus you've never seen his face. He's content, you're indifferent. Occasionally, he'll mention sketching you to pass the time.

"How would you describe your eyes, (Y/N)?" he'll ask between his pencil scribbles. "I see. I'm sure they're beautiful. Why are you suddenly quiet? Have you forgotten how to take a compliment? I'm just messing with you, kiddo."

You haven't witnessed a single fire since coming here, despite the torrid summer heat. Your days are spent hiking without aim and talking to your supervisor.

One morning, you wake up to the grating beep of the radio instead of your alarm. You pick up the small device with an irritated grunt.

"Would you like to meet?"

You need a moment to process the words. Are you finally going to greet the one man who's kept you distant company for weeks? Intriguing. You mumble your agreement, still half-asleep.

As you make your way down the hill, you notice a supply station covered in moss and overgrown vegetation. You check your map, just to be sure. There shouldn't be anything here. What a peculiar thing to stumble upon. You approach the old wooden box and lift the lid carefully.

The musty inside is filled with rows of newspapers and some scattered notes. You pluck one newspaper out, and rest your eyes on the first headline.

"National Park is saying goodbye to its employees. The area will be permanently closed after the devastating fire."

You gawk at the title, then at the photographed location.

It's your watchtower.

You scramble to read the rest of the paragraphs, words slipping behind in your frantic search. This forest has been sealed off for years. You recognize the name of your supervisor in the report: a father of three, loved by everyone, died tragically before a rescue team could reach him.

"Found anything interesting, kiddo?"

You turn around with mild hesitation. Whoever this impersonating maniac is, or what he wants, is rather irrelevant at this point. You're trapped alone with him.

Across from you stands a creature, resembling a chimera more than a human being. Long, grotesque limbs ending in black claws, hollow eyes, and mangled rows of razor-sharp teeth put together in a grin. Monstrous.

You're out of breath.

"That looks great", the creature remarks cheerfully.

"Don't use my voice to talk. It's embarrassing to hear myself like that", you lecture it as you spread out the food onto the picnic blanket.

It switches back to the supervisor's soft, masculine tone.

"Sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

The monster extends one bony hand over your head, fanning out the fingers and dragging them across your hair in gentle strokes. What a precious little human you are.

You did not run away. A terrifying thought: losing you after all the time spent together. It didn't want to chase you down and make it even worse for you. But you stayed, you truly did.

"By the way", you say as you bite into your sandwich, stretching out your legs. "Is it you who prevents the fires? Usually it's a common occurrence here, especially in summer."

You recall the scorching flames from the newspaper.

"Yes. To keep you safe, you understand."

"Not only did you lie to me about the job, but you kept me out of work, too", you whine. "I got bored to death! Days on end!"

You're suddenly pushed down into the blanket, and you stare into the spiraling, empty sockets, confused.

"I can entertain you to your heart's desire, (Y/N)."

Its snout widens in a flirty smile, releasing a bizarre succession of clicks. Is it laughing in its natural voice?

You blush.

"I suppose there are some ways..." you suggest cheekily, unbuttoning your shirt.

[More Monsters] | [More Original Works]

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere monster #monster x reader #monster x human #forest monster #yandere imagines #monster imagine #monster romance #monster boyfriend #terato #teratophillia #monster fucker

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lux-astrorum · 1 year ago

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update, the zit on my chin is back YET AGAIN so I get to try out the new extra strength microdart patches from zitsticka. in slightly better news, finally figured out what was causing my hip flexor pain from running and it was the FUCKING SHOES so I went out and got new ones which will be hopefully better for me

#catchup for those just joining us: back in college I ran a handful of distance races (10 mi and half marathons)#its been 5 years since my last one - I wanted to do one in 2020 but obviously that didn't work out #so here we are and i am almost 2 months into training with a 10 mi race in 1 month and a half marathon in 2 months #and when i started this training i was at nearly the heaviest body weight ive ever had and also the least in shape ive ever been #and i didn't have any running gear so i had to make do with old clothes etc until i could get new ones #including shoes #so when i started training i was using these skechers walking shoes ive had for a couple years #and then about a month in i ordered some new running shoes. didn't pay too much attention when i bought them #they just looked similar to shoes ive used in the past so i thought theyd be fine #first thing I noticed when i put them on was the heel was a little higher than what im used to but didn't really think anything of it #within like a day of wearing them i started developing this hip flexor pain #and i was like huh that's weird i must have been too aggressive with my hip stretches #i'll ice it and change up my stretching routine and it'll be fine #well it was not fine #it just kept slowly getting worse #i tried running outside instead of treadmill / icing / stretching different. nothing worked #meanwhile trying to think what the HECK is causing this bc ive never had this issue with running or dancing or taekwondo #is it my heavier bodyweight? is it the fact that i sit all day at work now?? those were my best guesses #finally the other night i was in a panic bc i didn't know what else to do other than take a break from running for a few days #and maybe do elliptical instead to still get cardio but take a break from the impact of running #but that's STILL a setback i really didn't want to take #so im going crazy trying to decide what to do and if ANYTHING else could be causing this and it hits me: the shoes.#i wasn't having issues until the new shoes and then it was a very rapid onset #so for shits and grins i ran 4 miles in my walking shoes on friday. felt a million times better #and i text my dad like you'll never believe this but i think the raised heel in my shoes might have been giving me hip pain #and hes like oh yeah you probably need a shoe with lower heel drop #and im like. excuse u. what the FUCK is a heel drop. so i googled it #turns out running shoes with lower heel-toe differential put the force of impact on your ankles and calves #and shoes with higher heel-toe differential put it on your knees AND YOUR FUCKING HIPS #how was I supposed to know this???!?!?!?

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pathologicalreid · 1 month ago

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here with me | s.r.

four times Spencer feels out of place in your house after being released from prison, and one time it's like he never left

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: mom!reader, dad!spencer, post prison, crying, stephen walker's death, non-specified illness, baking, kissing word count: 3.58k a/n: i love this fic format i have been wanting to do it for ages. and here we are. as always-tell me how you feeeeeeeel

“I wanna stay home,” your daughter whined from her place at the kitchen table. She periodically reached to her sister’s high chair so that she could steal blueberries from her plate.

You hummed, pouring the egg mixture into the preheated skillet, “We played hooky yesterday, bub. We’ve gotta go back to school today.” Using a silicone spatula, you started to scramble the eggs.

She grumbled unintelligibly, dramatically sliding down the chair, “Livvy gets to stay home.”

Turning down the heat on the stove, you went around the counter and crouched in front of your five-year-old, “Well, Livvy’s two, and before you ask, Finn’s not going to school either.”

“Finn’s a baby, mom. He can’t go to school,” she told you proudly.

You frowned at your daughter, “It’s hard to be the oldest, honey. We can’t keep staying home.” Ruffling her hair affectionately, you get up from the floor and go back to the stove, you continue scrambling the eggs.

To your eldest, going back to kindergarten was a fate worse than death. It wasn’t strictly that she didn’t want to go to school, it was that she didn’t want to leave home. The sniffle from the table lets you know that this morning was going to be harder than you initially anticipated. “I wanna stay with daddy,” she cried, kicking her legs at the table.

Turning off the heat, you set the pan on a trivet before going back to the table, “I know,” you responded. Every time you thought you had run out of tears, new ones managed to find their way out.

Of your three kids, Eleanor was old enough to really feel Spencer’s absence. To your dismay, she ended up bearing some of the burden of her father being gone for three months. After staying with your parents for a few days, she was finally reunited with her dad yesterday morning, and they had been nearly inseparable since.

“Oh, Nell,” you sighed, cupping her cheeks in your hands, “I don’t know if daddy has plans today. He has a lot of stuff that needs to be done.

Pulling away from your touch, she frantically wiped the tears from her eyes, “I can do stuff too,” she whimpered.

She unwound your resolve like a ball of yarn, “I know you can, honey. I just…” you faltered. You had let her miss so much school over the last three months that the school had sent letters home, “We’ll just have to see.”

You sighed helplessly, standing back up and smiling softly at Olivia, who had successfully gotten blueberry juice everywhere. Returning to the kitchen, you put some scrambled eggs on Eleanor’s plate and put more in a bowl for Olivia, setting it aside to cool more before you give it to your toddler.

Putting the pan in the sink, you flipped on the tap before starting to clean it. While you kept a watchful eye on the baby monitor, you didn’t notice Spencer come downstairs and walk into the kitchen. In fact, you were completely unaware of his presence until he spoke, “Can I help with anything?”

You lost your grip on the pan, sending soapy water flying all over the kitchen as you frantically tried to catch the handle. Eleanor either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Olivia thought it was hilarious. “Oh,” you breathed as Spencer reached over and turned off the water, “You scared me.”

The two of you shared a timid glance, his hand ghosting over your waist as he walked past you to where the girls were sitting.

Biting the dead skin off of your lips, you finished rinsing the pan before setting it on a drying mat. You were wiping down the countertop when Finn finally woke up, and you dropped everything to go get him from his crib, almost like you were running on autopilot.

Unzip the sleep sack. Change the diaper. Get dressed. Cuddle him. Every morning. In that order.

Resting the groggy baby on your hip, you made your way back downstairs and into the kitchen, starting the bottle warmer and listening to the conversation between Spencer and Nellie.

“What if you go to school today, but on Friday we can both take the day off? We could go out for lunch,” he offered, crouching down so he was at her level.

She looked pointedly over at Olivia, who was happily eating the eggs that you assumed Spencer had given her, now thoroughly doused in ketchup, “Just us?”

Spencer nodded reassuringly, “If it’s okay with mommy, we can have a daddy and Nellie day.” He reached out tentatively and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, everything about him seemed so timid.

You looped around the kitchen table, ruffling Olivia’s hair before doing the same to Eleanor’s and even Spencer’s, which made Olivia giggle.

“Can I?” Spencer asked, nodding his head to the bottle that you had just grabbed from the warmer.

Blinking absently for a moment, you eventually nodded, handing Finn over to his dad along with the bottle, watching as Spencer cradled him, walking him around the kitchen while his bottle was clamped between his tiny hands. “Hey, girls, time to get dressed,” you said, forcing yourself to peel your eyes off of your husband.

Eleanor groaned but got up anyway, trudging up the steps while you followed with Olivia in your arms, feeling like you were missing something without Finn also in tow.

Nell made her way back down first, sitting on the couch and watching her dad, keeping an eye on him like she was afraid he was going to disappear before her very eyes. “Daddy?” She whispered, her voice barely audible from your place at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?” He asked, you heard the sound of him setting the bottle in the sink.

She’s quiet for a moment before responding, “I missed you.”

Spencer’s footsteps stopped abruptly, “I missed you too, lovebug.”

You started to make your way down the stairs, letting Olivia go down on her own now that she wasn’t covered in blueberry. Eleanor looked at you with big eyes before helping her sister climb up on the couch. “Finny, Finny, Finny,” Olivia echoed.

Zipping up Eleanor’s school lunch in her bag, you sighed, hoping you were doing the right thing by sending her to school. “Hey, Nell,” you said, checking a new message on your phone, “Mrs. Jareau is here.”

JJ’s carpools had saved you multiple times while Spencer was in prison, you were just grateful she was willing to continue them.

Normally, she’d run out the door at the prospect of being able to talk to Henry, but this time she lingered by the front door, holding her backpack straps in her hands and staring at her dad, “Will you be here when I get home?”

He looked at you, a thousand emotions flashing in his brown eyes, and he squatted in front of her, “I’ll be here,” he said, holding out his pinky finger to interlock with her much smaller one. “I promise,” he said, kissing her forehead before standing up.

Once you knew she was off to school, you made sure Olivia was settled in on the couch and Finn was in his bouncer before going back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. You were placing dishes in the dishwasher when Spencer came back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning against the countertop and handing you a bowl to put on the top rack.

Taking the bowl, you didn’t look at him as you placed it in the dishwasher before putting a tablet in and pressing the start button, “I wish you’d stop apologizing.”

He stepped slightly closer to you, “I know. It’s just… watching you handle all three of them in the morning. It’s incredible,” he praised you. “I left you alone,” he said mournfully.

You shrugged, having never really thought of it that way, “You didn’t leave me alone. I had them,” you said, nodding in the direction of the living room, where Finn and Olivia were having a conversation that only the two of them could understand.

You sighed in relief as the shower water washed over you, an early afternoon shower just before Eleanor got home from school, the little ones were down for their naps, and you had to race against time before one of them woke up. It didn’t give you a lot of time to just sit under the running water, but you’d have enough time to wash your hair before you needed to pause the shower.

You had narrowly avoided disaster this morning when the girls’ breakfasts had been mixed up. Thankfully, you navigated a toddler meltdown that was triggered by the appearance of ham in her eggs. Poor Spencer was still confused even after you explained to him that she wouldn’t eat ham because it’s pink and pink is her favorite color.

It wasn’t something that made a lot of sense to you either, but the only person that it needed to make sense to was your two-year-old.

Rinsing your hair, you remembered how happy Spencer had been when he got Finn down last night. He’d spent the day talking about how babies don’t start to really recognize faces until they’re around four months old, and that was about how old he was when Spencer left.

Finn knew his dad. He’d even started reaching out for him when he wanted to be held but feeling comfortable enough to be put down for the night by him—it felt like a milestone.

The crying started right after you finished rinsing your hair, you quickly shut off the water and grabbed your towel off of the hook. Wrapping it around yourself, you dried off your feet before opening the bathroom. Sometimes when Finn cried while you were in the shower, you’d just bring him in with you to finish, but when you opened the door, his tears were already waning.

Spencer had gotten to him first, scooping him out of the crib in your room and holding him to his chest, “Hey, buddy,” he cooed softly, “What’s wrong?”

The baby chattered in response, gripping the cotton of Spencer’s t-shirt in his tiny fists and wiping his tears away.

“You’re alright,” Spencer whispered, placing him on your bed to undo his sleep sack, smiling at his son when he kicked his legs once freed. “You just wanted to be held, huh? Your sister was the same way when she was a baby,” he said.

Nell. He was remembering Nell as a baby, who slept best when she was being held and would cry if you were out of her line of sight.

Spencer turned around, stopping in his tracks when he saw you in the doorway, “Did you finish?”

You’d been caught, “Oh. Could you get a new soap from the hall closet? We’re out,” you fibbed, mindful of the way your hair was still dripping wet.

He frowned, “I just put a new one in this morning. Did you look on the caddy?”

Blinking, you shook your head, “No, my bad.”

You had already started closing the door when he called for you, “Honey?”

Pausing, you peeked out the door to look at him, “Yeah?”

“I’m here,” he told you, something urgent in his tone.

Your face warmed, the reminder of his presence making your heart race, “I—” you faltered, “I know.”

You had managed to get Nell out the door without a fight this morning with the promise of her father-daughter date tomorrow. Olivia was settled with her toys in your line of sight and Finn was in a sling. The baby hadn’t slept well last night, and you were fairly certain that he had a new tooth poking through. He seemed fine now, catching up on sleep while you wiped down the kitchen.

Spencer was across from you, filling out some required papers for his reinstatement hearing. He hadn’t fully committed to seeking reinstatement until you brought it up. Frankly, you were horrified by the fact that Spencer was under the impression that you would ask him to leave the BAU for any reason.

“What do you have planned today?” Spencer asked you, still focusing on the papers while making gentle conversation with you.

You raised your eyebrows briefly, “Really awesome exciting stuff.” You took a sip of your coffee before adjusting Finn’s sling. Very slowly, you were beginning to find a new routine with Spencer and the kids in the morning. Spencer was learning about everything that had changed, and you were learning how to give him more responsibilities around the house.

You needed to let go of the notion that you were still alone. Spencer hummed in response, laughing at your blatant oversell, “Like what?”

Smiling, you dried your hands on a tea towel before standing next to him, distracting him from his paperwork with the cuteness of a sleeping baby. “There is so much dirty laundry in this house,” you told him, “I’m surprised anyone has any clean clothes.”

“Anything else?” Spencer asked, placing one hand gently on your hip and pressing a tentative kiss to your lips.

You hesitated, “Uh, cooking?”

He looked at you curiously, “Cooking for what?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you looked over at Olivia, making sure she was preoccupied before answering, “Monica and the kids.”

Realization dawned over Spencer’s face, “Oh,” he breathed. It didn’t surprise you that Spencer had conflicting feelings about Stephen’s death, given that he hadn’t known him that well prior to his arrest, but he and his family had grown close to you in your husband’s absence.

You nodded, “There’s a meal train thing going on for them, so I was going to make some stuff and drop it there later.” Tentatively, you smoothed Spencer’s hair back, needing something to do with your hands, “Maya used to babysit a lot when I needed extra hands. I just want to feel like I’m returning the favor.”

“Can I come with you?” Spencer asked, tilting his head back to look up at you.

Smiling softly at him, you answered, “Of course.” You sniffled, “If we time it right, we could pick Nell up from school at the end of the day.”

He squeezed your hip comfortingly, “I love you.”

You leaned down and kissed him again, “I love you too.”

The chattering woke you up, Finn in his crib talking to himself as you glared at the alarm clock. It was just past three in the morning, and the second thing you noticed was that you were alone in your bed.

You sat up in a panic, worried you had dreamt the past few weeks until your eyes found Spencer’s watch sitting on his nightstand. Rubbing your eyes, you dragged yourself out of bed before getting Finn from his crib, taking his sleep sack off to make him easier to hold, “Hey,” you whispered, “Let’s go find daddy.”

It didn’t take you long, Spencer was sitting on the floor in the hallway, his knees bent to his chest as he looked into Nell’s room, her space nightlight providing a soft glow into the hallway.

“If you move to the left about a foot, you can see both of them at the same time,” you informed him.

He listened, shifting over so that he could see Eleanor and Olivia at the same time, both of them sleeping peacefully in their beds. Spencer looked up at you, “Why do you know that?”

You slid down the wall, taking a seat next to him and settling Finn lengthwise along your thighs, “At the beginning of March, Nell brought home a virus from school and gave it to Liv, and then one of them gave it to Finn. So, I’d sit out here in the hallway and watch the girls with Finny in my lap,” you told him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Just so I’d be nearby if any of them needed anything,” you kept your voice at a whisper, rocking your legs in hopes that it would soothe Finn back to sleep.

Spencer didn’t respond for a moment, thinking through what you had said before finally speaking up, “No one told me they’d been sick.”

Humming, you smoothed the baby’s hair back, keeping it out of his face, “I didn’t tell anyone.” To this day, no one else knew that you had juggled three sick kids at once, “I lied to JJ and told her that I was keeping Nell home for a few days, and she didn’t push for more information.” No one had pushed you for anything in the past three months.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” Spencer asked, leaning his head on yours and resting a hand on your knee.

You didn’t want to, quite honestly. You hadn’t wanted to have to call your mom or anyone from the BAU when you needed help because it felt like an admission of sorts. Admitting that Spencer was gone long-term and that you were a solo parent. “I don’t know,” you lied, “I felt like I had something to prove to the world.”

Spencer swallowed thickly next to you, “Did it work?”

Shaking your head, you sighed a breath of relief at his presence, “No.”

He was quiet for a while, likely wallowing in a pit of guilt that he had been constructing for weeks, “We should get him back to bed.”

“Spence?” You whispered, closing your eyes and listening to the sounds of your quiet house, “Can we just stay like this for a little while?”

Humming a confirmation, Spencer placed a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, leaving his hand resting on your knee while the two of you remained in the hallway, enjoying each other’s company.

“We should’ve done cupcakes,” you said mournfully, turning on the oven light to see that there was something very off about the cake you’d put in the oven.

Spencer hummed, looking at the recipe again to see if there was something you had missed, “Why didn’t we do cupcakes?”

You huffed, “The Pinterest photo I found was of a cake.” It was a perfect cake, complete with a purple graduation cap made out of fondant that you could put on the top. The only problem was you had severely overestimated your baking abilities.

“So,” Spencer started, “It’s your fault.”

Scoffing, you tapped his chest with a silicone spatula, “It’s the fault of whoever posted the original photo!”

Spencer smiled at you, a dopey look in his eyes despite it being one in the morning. “We should’ve asked Penelope to do the cake,” he told you, flipping over the recipe you had printed out.

“We can make a cake,” you retorted, you were throwing a very small party for Nell’s last day of kindergarten—the first time you’ve invited a group over since Spencer was arrested. “You have three PhDs and you don’t think you can bake a cake?”

He raised his eyebrows at you, “This might come as a surprise to you, but none of my coursework ever involved baking.”

You grinned at him, “That does surprise me, it’s basically chemistry,” you challenged.

Spencer rolled his eyes, “Okay, come here,” he said, pulling you into his arms by the fabric of your t-shirt.

Realization fell over you as you scrambled to get away, “No! You’re gonna put frosting on my nose again.” It would be his second offense of the evening.

He followed you into the living room where you tripped over a toy truck, causing you to fall to the ground. When he offered a hand to help you up, you tugged him to the floor, causing one of the balloons that you had previously blown up to pop.

You covered your mouth to muffle your giggles, waiting to see if the noise had woken any of the kids up.

The kids were all so happy to have Spencer back, but your stomach twisted at the realization that this was the first night you’d really felt like you had Spencer back. You loved the kids, but you haven’t had a moment without them since February.

“Hey,” you said to Spencer, rolling over and flinging a balloon at him for good measure.

Carefully, you rested your chin on his chest, staring at him while he tried to calm his own laughter, “Hi,” he said back, ruffling your hair affectionately.

You took a deep breath before speaking up again, “I missed you.”

You hadn’t said it yet. You’d developed some misconstrued fear of making him feel guilty if you’d told him just how much you missed him, but it was the truth. You missed him. He smiled softly down at you, almost as if he had been waiting for you to say the words. “I missed you too,” he whispered.

Slowly, you lifted yourself up and pressed your lips to his, kissing him. It was more than any of the quick pecks you’d shared in the last few weeks, it was real. His hands dug into your waist as if he was afraid you were going to disappear, but you stayed there. You stayed with him, and you always would.

Up until the timer for the cake went off, your phone buzzing in your pocket when you finally pulled away. Breathing heavily, Spencer asked, “Is it too late to ask Penelope to do the cake?”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #spencer reid dilf agenda

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grabattheseballsss · 9 months ago

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141 and their captain’s assistant

- it all started with a comment made by Laswell, she mentioned to John how tired he seems, how his eye bags are growing heavier each day passing

- she recommended him to get an assistant, John declined the offer and tried to get back to work, but laswell already made the call, she knew how annoying John can be when it comes to getting help

- then enters a pretty little thing, your hair in a messy bun, glasses neatly resting on your pretty face, short pencil skirt hugging your curves perfectly

- John couldn’t help himself from staring, gawking at you like some horny teenager

- the boys began seeing you scurrying around the base more often, the first to approach you was Johnny of course

- his deep voice partnered with his thick Scottish accent made you subconsciously bite your lip, staring up at him with your big doe eyes, you don’t even mean to, it’s just that more than half of the people in here were 6feet+

- Johnny’s flirtatious nature made you giggle, lightened up your day, but not your boss’

- every time the Scott decided to drop by your desk to accompany you, he’d get scolded by his captain

- “don’t need you distracting her from her job”

- “it’s her break, cap, plus, she’ a good lass, I’m sure she’s on top of…all her work” the scott would throw you a wink before his captain orders him to run laps around the base

- next came gaz, since he’s always visiting his captain’s office for reports, he saw you at the new desk in the captain’s office, the aura around you not matching anything in the dim, old and boring office, you gave him a slight smile before returning to your paperwork

- but gaz wasn’t going to let that be the end of your interactions no no

- he’d walk up to you in the mess hall, as you’re loading your plate up, striking a conversation with you, making last long enough for him to lead you to a table with his other teammates

- you shyly but politely sit down and introduce yourself to the masked man who sat opposite of you, his brown eyes staring into yours as his arms stayed locked, he just nodded and replied “ghost”

- you figured he’s not a social one, the Scot and the Brit both kept asking you questions, some may have been a bit intrusive but maybe they’re just being friendly !

- “so why ar’ ye here?”

“Kate laswell requested that I work for John price for a few months to ease the paperwork load on him”

- “I’m sure there’s a different kind of load he’s trying to get you to ease off of him”

- the three of your heads snap to the silent man, his brown eyes seemed to be crinkled, suggesting he was grinning or smirking underneath that mask

- “OI! LT’s got jokes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it” Johnny tried to reassure you, glaring at Simon as you looked down at your food

- you excused yourself as you made your way back to price’s office, you saw him still there, no signs of him moving at all “captain ? Did you eat today?” You asked sweetly

- oh what this man wouldn’t give to have the honours of eating you for every meal of the day, to have you sprawled on his desk, papers sticking to your sweaty skin, your chest rising and falling as you try to quiet yourself so nobody hears what your captain is doing to you

- “captain” fuck he’d love to hear you moan his rank, begging him to be gentle, but he knows deep down you’re a dirty girl and you want your “captain ?!”

- John snapped out of his daydream, he looked up at you, you were leaning to the side trying to check on him “have you eaten today?” You asked again, a worried look in your eyes

- John nods, not looking you in the eyes “yeah yeah” he cleared his throat as he tried to get back to work, but your soft, smaller hand stopped him from grabbing his pen, his brown eyes looked up, ab eyebrow raised as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

- “I’m sorry, captain but I can’t allow you to get back to work if you haven’t had food” you stated, your body trembling as you stood your ground

- truthfully, price can easily launch you across the room with one arm, he knows his limits, and you’re nowhere near it, but you were right, he does need to eat, and although he wishes he could order you to spread your pretty thighs for him and let him have his fun, he doesn’t want to lose such a pretty sight so fast

- he let go of the pen, leaning back on his office chair “I haven’t brought any food”

“The mess hall still have some food there”

- “I don’t eat that rubbish”

“Well too bad, you need to eat”

- ooh… I guess his little kitty got claws now

#call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #captain price #ghost #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader

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yoditopascal · 4 months ago

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Sweetest Pie

summary: The Worst Logan isn’t so bad after all. (logan/wolverine x fem black reader)

content warning: Wade is your best friend that’s a warning all on its own, some angst (like literally the tiniest bit) cussing, mutual pining, making out, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, dirty talking? (I’m so bad at writing it lmaoo), creampie, actual pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it fellas), dacryphilia, post DP&W, breaking the bed, scent kink, overstimulation, he technically sniffs your underwear??, Deadpool being Deadpool, MINORS DNI

a/n: The Sweetest Pie by Megan the Stallion is playing in the background while y’all fuck, that’s all.

tag list: @allmyn1ghts @figsnpassionfruits @dragonqueen89 @shebby-the-webby

Ducking down out of the way, Wade just barely makes it out of the line of fire as a glass mug hits the wall behind him, shattering on impact.

“You wanna run that by me again bub?”

“That was my favorite mug!”

“Repeat what you fucking said!” He snarls, hand balled into tight fists, it’s taking everything in his power not to maul the idiot with his claws….again

“All I said was you're more pent up than a nun doing squats in a cucumber field!” Wade said looking back at the wall, there was already a dent forming, one of many that had been popping up since the older mutant had decided to move in with him.

It's been 3 months since Logan started living with Wade and Blind Al and he’s about fucking had it. Laura had moved out after the first month, needing her own space, but she still frequently visited, he honestly was tempted to join her but figured she wouldn’t want her old man around all the time cramping her style.

Logan could feel a headache coming on as he pinched the bridge of his nose as Wade spoke again.

“You, my little honey badger, are lacking in the hanky panky department and no amount of self loving in the bathroom mirror at midnight is gonna fix that.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He asked, sometimes he felt like instead of forming actual sentences Wade just put a bunch of random shit together so he could hear himself speak.

“Oh my gooood you’re so old, I’m talking about sex grandpa, you know, fucking? The horizontal hula? Bumping uglies? Filling the cream donut?”

“Stop.” Logan said with a look of disgust.

“I can smell your sexual frustration from here.” Wade groaned. “You need to spend a little less time brooding around the house like you're a DC character, and maybe spend a little more time doing hot yoga.” He was as he holds up a finger and boops Logan on the nose.

Logan swats his hand away but Wade continues paying no mind to his attitude as he points toward the front door.

“It just so happens that I know a great friend o’ mine who’d have absolutely no problems taming the beast for you bub and oh look at that, she happens to live right across the hall.” He said with a wink

“Don’t bring her into this.” Logan said, waving him off as he went to sit on the couch. Unfortunately Wade knew exactly how he felt about you, having figured it out during their whole ordeal with his variants, Paradox and Cassandra and the bastard had yet to let him live it down.

“Come on Wolvie you can cut the sexual tension you two have with a knife, it’s so thick!” He groans again, throwing himself on the couch beside him dramatically. “It might even be thicker than ours!” Wade said as he leans on Logan’s shoulder fluttering his scarred eyes at him. He shrugs him off, turning the tv on hoping the sound of whatever was on would drown him out but Wade just kept going.

“Stop being a pussy and talk to her!”

“Oh like how you talked to Vanessa?” He snapped back, his anger reaching its limit.

“First of all, we’re a working progress right now and second of all, ouch! Who hurt you?”

Growing tired of Wade and his endless jabbering Logan stood going to grab his jacket from the closet so he could leave.

“Where are you huffing and puffing off too big bad wolf?”

“Anywhere but here.” He said slamming the door shut behind him.

After a few drinks at Sister Margaret's and time to cool his head, Logan returns home to get some chores out of the way. He was far over due to wash his stuff and his hero costume was really starting to fuck with his nose, so, shoving a few handfuls of quarters from Al’s disco dust fund jar into his pockets,he loaded up his hamper and heads down to the laundry room in the basement.

Upon entering he almost immediately bumps into you. You were kicking the dryer when he found you, pissed because it ate your quarters, not paying attention to your surroundings at all.

Digging around in his pockets he bumps his shoulder to yours to get your attention. Startled you nearly jumped out of your skin as he held a hand up in surrender, not meaning to scare you.

“Sorry, just thought I’d offer up some of mine.” He said, pulling a handful of change from his back pocket.

“Oh. that’s ok, I’m-” you start but are stopped when he grabs your hands with one of his and unceremoniously dumps the change into your palms.

“I wasn’t suggesting, take 'em I got more than enough.”

With a silent nod you thank him as he shrugs you off with a “Don’t mention it.”

Logan starts to load up his laundry into the washer next to yours, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you toss your wet clothes into the dryer. You don’t notice as a piece of yellow fabric falls to the floor between you, Logan turns his head to say something, at first not realizing what it was, until it dawns on him that, holy shit, it's a pair of your underwear…and they had Wolverine on them.

They were boxer briefs, nothing inherently sexy about them, but the scent they gave off, clean laundry soap mixed with the smell of your core had Logan reeling.

A small smirk crawled across his face as he started to imagine you wearing them around your house, nothing else adorning your body except for an oversized tee shirt that looked eerily like one of his own, he thought it was cute. Turning his head back to finish his task he kept loading his clothes not showing interest in the underwear to keep from making things awkward. One thing he couldn't deny was your scent. The scent of your core that lingered on the fabric was making his head swim, it was utterly intoxicating, this definitely didn't help with growing his frustration.

After he loaded the washer he pulled a flask from his pocket taking a shot of liquor inside to compose himself as he realized you still hadn’t noticed you dropped them. “You uh dropped something sweetheart.” he nodded towards them. Horrified, you snatch them up and throw them in the dryer.

“Oh god I-I’m sorry! I-“ you start to stutter, at a complete loss for words you slam the dryer lid close and grab your basket ready to leave and hide away in your apartment for the rest of your life until Logan stops you with a strong hand that engulfs your wrist.

“No I-uh I get it. He was your hero right?”

“Yeah he was… but so are you!” You started but quickly press a fist to your forehead in frustration.

“Sorry I don’t want you to feel like you're obligated to live up to him or anything, you’re your own person! I just-“ you were interrupted by Logan closing the distance between you. In your frustration a few of your locs had slipped from your ponytail and were hanging in your face. Logan reached towards you moving one from your face tucking it behind your ear, his bright hazel eyes scanning you carefully taking in your features with a smirk.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He said, your scent was sending his sensing into overdrive, he could smell your sweat mixed with the soap you used with the spicy aroma of your arousal starting to peek through.

You look down to the ground still slightly embarrassed but mostly warm from the close proximity before you feel a finger lift your chin causing your gaze to meet Logan’s once more. “S-sorry I ramble when I’m nervous.” It came out almost as a whisper, causing Logan to chuckle. It was an annoying habit you had picked up from your best friend Wade over the years he noticed. The intensity of his stare was starting to send your stomach into knots but not in a bad way.

The sound of the laundry room door opening and closing as another tenant enters quickly separates them. Silently the pair looked away from each other as the tenant loaded up his belongings in the open washer. He quickly spared a passing glance between the two of you who awkwardly tried to stare at anything but each other before shrugging his shoulders and leaving.

An awkward silence blanket over the two of you as you shuffle your feet before you scooped up your basket again.

“Listen Logan-“

“Darlin I-“

You both started at the same time. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest causing your cheeks to feel warm. You smiled down at your feet and tucked another stray loc behind your ear before Logan spoke again.

“You first.”

“I was just gonna ask, did you maybe wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

Logan thought of a million different reasons why he shouldn’t. As if you could see the hesitation across his face you spoke up again.

“Before you say no, I got booze. Something a bit stronger than what I normally drink but it’s right up your alley. It was a gift from Wade.”

Of course it was from Wade.

“I’m also making pie.”

Well shit.

He let out a small sigh, looking down at your big pleading doe eyes before he shrugged; “Sure,why not.” Afterall how could he say no to you when you looked like that?

He could almost imagine Wade fist pumping the air in excitement at the aspect of the two spending alone time together, the blubbering idiot.

You flashed Logan another bright smile before heading to leave, you paused in the doorway for millisecond, before asking “See you at 7?”

“It’s a date doll.”

Seven o’clock rolled around much too quickly for either of them. Logan was busy fussing with his hair in the mirror trying to get the tufts of hair that usually stick up to lay down when Wade walked into the bathroom unceremoniously.

“Don’t you look positively ravishing tonight, got a hot date peanut?”

“Fuck off.” He growls, giving up with his hair and going to throw on a flannel over his wife beater.

“Wait, you do! Holy dick cheese Batman it’s finally happening!” Wade squealed excitedly

“What the hell are you even doing in here?” Logan asked in the doorway of the bathroom observing Wade, he was dressed in a tee shirt and a pair of hello kitty pajama pants and slippers, Logan rolled his eyes before heading to the kitchen to grab a beer.

“Had to take a shit, thanks for asking, but don’t change the subject!” Wade said following him into the kitchen “Who’s the lucky gal?” He asked leaning on the island, his head propped dreamily on his fist. “Or guy we don’t judge here. Wait wait wait! It's not who I think it is, is it?”

Logan didn’t say anything as he guzzled down his drink pre-gaming for the night, turning to grab another from the fridge before plopping down on the couch behind him.

At his silence Wade kicked his feet and clapped his hands excitedly, swinging around in his seat to look at Logan. Mary Puppins barked from her spot on the couch beside him.

“Fuck the Bachelorette and Love Island! The producers are going to make a killing outta this!” He paced excitedly flopping down beside him struggling to keep his composure. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?! We are gonna make millions, no fuck that billions off your sex tape alone! I mean you two love birds are going to blossom in internal passion as the stars align with the future of the virgin Mary!” He said hugging Logan from the side.

Confused as fuck he shrugs Wade off him with a frown as he stands to his feet looking at his roommate with a raised brow. Downing the last of his beer he puts the empty bottle on the counter and heads for the door not wanting to be late.

“Oooh don’t forget to wear a condom, peanut! Remember wrap it before you tap it, before you attack her wrap your whacker! And if you’re not gonna sack it, come home and-!“

Logan slams the door shut before Wade could finish anymore of his bullshit.

He raised his hand to knock at your door but hesitated for a moment. Memories of the you from his timeline flooded his brain for a brief moment and he lowered his hand. He had really fucked you over royally in his own timeline and then you had died before he had a chance to fix that. Was he even worth your time in this one?

He shook the thoughts from his head and squared his shoulders, this was his second chance, a chance to fix all the shit he messed up before and he’d be damned if he was gonna waste this opportunity.

Just as he raised his hand to knock again you tore the door open with wide eyes.

“Logan hi!”

“Hey- you ok kid? You look outta breathe.” He questioned looking you up and down in concern while also unabashedly checking you out.

“Y-yeah I’m sorry I was about to come over and ask Wade if I could borrow something but I-it’s fine come on in!” you said ushering him in before the door behind you both.

The inside of your apartment is cute. The layout is much the same as his own place that he shares with Wade and Blind Al but yours just felt a little more homey to him.

Movie posters and works of art decorated your walls, there was a bookcase in the living room full of all kinds of books and knick knacks that you had collected over the years. On a table by the tv was a record player with a decent sized stack of vinyls. The whole place just screamed you.

“Dinner’s just about ready!” You said drawing his attention back to you. You had changed clothes since he last saw you in the laundry room, your outfit hugging your soft curves in all the right places.

“I was comin’ over to see if Wade had some ice cream for the pie, but I guess we could go without it.” You said leading him into the dining room with a smile, you’re always smiling at him, he noticed. “I hope you like blueberry!”

Logan never thought he'd see the day where someone would cook a nice meal for him let alone the variant of someone he treated so callously before.

He winced internally trying not to think about that. He was here now, not in his old shitty universe where you were gone, but in a new one, one where he had friends, a daughter, a family. It was a chance to start over.

“Sounds great darlin, I’m starving.”

Once you sit down for dinner Logan immediately tucks in, he could smell what you were cooking hours ago from across the hall and damn if it wasn’t the best thing he ever put in his stomach.

The two of you made light conversation as you ate, you poured yourself a glass of wine while Logan had the hard stuff, single malt scotch on the rocks. It had been a gift from Wade after one of his missions, an expensive one at that, and Logan savored every drop of it.

After a few more drinks the pair cleared their empty plates, wrapping up the leftovers of their meal up in portions so Logan could take some home with him. You were pulling the pie from the oven when you heard the telltale sound of running water, looking over you see Logan, rolling up his sleeves with a dish towel draped over his shoulder as he started to do the dishes.

You bite your lip to physically keep from moaning and embarrassing yourself on the spot, domesticity looked damn good on him.

His nose twitched as he smelled your arousal spike for a second, thinking it better to keep that to himself he shifted on his feet as he dried a dish and put it on the rack.

“You don’t have to-“ You started pulling off your oven mitts. They were Star Wars themed, nerdy like the rest of your apartment.

God you were such a geek! You thought flustered, while shoving them onto the counter behind you.

“Nah you cooked, it’s the least I could do.” He said not moving from his spot at the sink

“Logan.” You said firmly placing a hand on your hip. “You’re a guest.”

“And you cooked.” He reiterated,cocking an eyebrow your way. “I’m not budging on this darlin.”

You sigh defeatedly as you grab the towel from his shoulder. “Fine, at least let me help.”

The two of you do the dishes in silence, him washing and you drying, your fingers brushing against each other every so often.

“Dinner was great.” Logan said awkwardly trying to break the stifling silence that enveloped you.

“Good I’m glad you liked it.” You smiled down at your hands timidly, refusing to let him see you cheesing as hard as you were.

“Sorry for not being better company, I know you’re more used to people talkin’ your ear off.”

Wade begrudgingly crosses his mind.

"I'm just uh not so good with people. Makes me anxious.” He admitted, it took a lot for him to come out and say it but he was comfortable with you, he trusted you.

“I get it, I’m the same way that’s why I’m always around Wade. He usually does all the talking for me.” You say fondly thinking back to all the times Wade had been your emotional support extrovert.

Logan honestly had no idea how you put up with him.

“Besides I think your company’s just fine Logan, I like having you around.”

I like being around you too, he wanted to say but he couldn’t get it out. Instead he settled for brushing his shoulder against yours, a small smile dancing across his features as you smiled back up at him.

Flicking the water from your hand as you both finished up, you dry your hands on another rag before offer it up to Logan, his fingers brushing against yours for the umpteenth time that night.

When you look up he’s staring at you, his eyes taking in your features again, flickering between your face and your mouth. You can’t quite place what the emotion is behind his eyes but it makes your belly feel warm and your chest flutters.

Maybe it’s the alcohol you both had, though you know for a fact it takes a whole hell of a lot more than what you had to get you both drunk, but you could have sworn he was getting closer to you.

You start to back up just as he moves to close the distance between you. Chest to chest, or more like chest to sternum as he was almost a whole foot taller than you, Logan starts to lean down sniffing you as your back hits the counter behind you.

“Your heart’s racing.” He says

You had almost completely forgotten about his heightened senses. You were so nervous this whole evening, hoping that everything would go right, could he hear you this whole time? Oh god could he smell you?

“You smell good too.” He says moving to stroke your face with the back of his hand, confirming your fears. You clench your legs together tightly, hoping to at least dampen the smell of how wet you were becoming, causing him to chuckle.

“No use hiding it doll, I can smell you from a mile away.” He said leaning down so that his face is closer to yours.

“Logan…” you whisper. His eyes never leaving your mouth.

“Hm?”

“T-the pie…” You stuttered nervously as your own eyes drifted down to his mouth. You worked so hard on the pie you didn’t know if you’d hate it more if it went to waste or if he moved away from you at that moment.

You wanted more than anything for him to stay where he was, caging you in at the counter like a frightened little mouse.

“It can wait sweetheart.” He said, finally claiming your lips as his own.

He pulls back for a moment to look at you, dipping to place a gentle peck on your lips, as if he’s asking if this is ok.

You wrap your arms around him, dragging his mouth back down to yours, he moves his hands to the back of your thighs hoisting you up onto the counter behind you, grinding himself into you as the kiss deepens.

Logan hesitates in the kiss for a moment, pulling himself away from you as if he realizes something. When you try to lean back in and kiss him again he stops you, holding you at arm’s length searching your eyes for something, anything he could use to make you hate him in this timeline like you undoubtedly did in his old one but he found nothing but adoration.

“You-“ he starts to speak, his voice a little shaky “You don’t want this sweetheart, I’m not a good man.”

I’m not your hero, he meant to say.

You place a hand on his cheek rubbing softly at his mutton chops with your thumb.

“Please stop telling me what I fucking want.” You say leaning back in to peck at his lips. “I want you, not a hero, or this timeline’s Logan, or any other Logan out there, just you. You’re not the Worst Logan, you're just you and I want all of you.” You finish while leaning up into him, waiting for his response.

Raising an eyebrow and at a complete loss for words, having rarely heard you cuss, Logan smirks before leaning back down to meet you the rest of the way recapturing your lips with a “Yes ma’am.”

His right hand comes up to cup your jaw, gently running the pad of his thumb over the skin before running his hand up to weave his finger through your locs.

You hop off the counter, grabbing him by his flannel your mouth reconnects with his as you lead him into your bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind him.

You start to kiss down his jaw before Logan stops you with a growl. He picks you up and tosses you onto the bed before his lips reconnect with yours.

His hands find their way under your clothes to paw at you, as you free him from the confines of his flannel. Tossing it behind him, it hits your iPod dock causing music to start playing but neither of you care, too enraptured in each other to even notice. Logan pulls away from your mouth only long enough to pull your shirt over your head, his hands trailing down to pull down your pants and underwear next.

He grabs you by your hips dragging you to the edge of the bed, as he kneels down in front of you, eye level with your hot core.

You throw your head back with a moan at the first drag of his tongue. Your legs finding their way around his shoulders as he drags his nose and tongue up and down teasing you.

He presses his mouth against your clit, sucking on it before pulling away and flicking it with his tongue, drawing circles and nipping at it with his teeth.

Watching you through dark lashes, he drags his hand down your body bringing it to his mouth, he licks his finger, bringing it to your wet cunt as he slowly begins to move it in and out of you, curling it against your gummy walls searching until he finds the right spot. You let out a strangled half-sob as he leans back down pressing his mouth against your clit again, sucking and flicking at the hard nub.

“Shit,” you rasp out, reaching out for him. He knew you were getting close, he could tell from the way you pulsed around him as he added another finger.

Tears brimmed your eyes as you felt your orgasm building. “Please, right there!” You choked, eyes closing as you threw your head back.

“So fucking wet for me already and I barely touched you.” Logan chuckles. You stifled a noise as your impending orgasm builds in your gut.

“I-I’m gonna-!” You start to cry out but are cut off by a sob.

“I gotcha darlin, I’m right here.” He mumbles into your pussy as he reaches his free hand out to hold your hips open for him, your hands frantically bury themselves in his hair, desperate for something to hang on to. He carries on lapping at you as you squirm talking you through your orgasm as he rubbed his nose to your clit, drawing it out of you as his fingers continue to fuck in and out of you.

“That’s it sweetheart.” He sighs as he keeps fucking you on his fingers, his intensity increasing as he latches himself back onto your clit devouring you like a man starved, you come almost instantly. It’s when he looks up at you, hazel eyes dark and hungry, that you finally lose it, your second orgasm of the night ripping through like a freight train.

Standing back to his feet Logan licks your residue from his lips and fingers, chin glistening with your slick.

You sit up immediately grabbing at his belt, fingers rushed and fumbling with the buckle, he replaces your hands quickly unbuckling it before pulling the hem of his shirt up over his head.

Reaching behind you, you free your chest from your bra, just as he kicks his pants off. Logan pushes you backwards, your back hitting the soft mattress beneath you as he stalks over towards you on his hands and knees.

He inhales deeply through his nose taking in your scent, the aroma of you mixed with your arousal is intoxicating and is driving him absolutely feral, with a wet kiss he bites down hard where your neck and shoulder meet, where your scent’s the strongest, nearly drawing blood, before he’s back on you, covering your mouth with his own kissing you viciously as if you’d fade away from existence if he let you go.

He laps at the spot he had previously bitten you as he slowly pulls away, soothing the skin there. The mark was already gone, thanks to your healing factor, but god you could still feel it and you secretly ached that he’d do it again.

You soon feel the head of his cock running along your folds, it’s thick, and hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick hole. Then without warning he’s pushing into you, sheathing himself inside of you with a single thrust.

Logan threw his head back with a loud groan. He promised himself he’d go slow with you, take his take opening you up for him but fuck if this didn’t feel right, good it felt oh so good.

“Fuck” he grunts out into your mouth as he drops his head down to drag you into a hard smoldering kiss swallowing your moans as he sinks in fully.

He lets you adjust for a few moments before he pulls back and thrusts into you instinctively, repeating the harsh action as he begins to slowly pick up his pace. If you had been completely human, the force of his thrusts would’ve surely shattered your pelvis or at least threw them out of alignment.

Reaching up to grab onto the headboard of your bed to anchor himself Logan locks in fully, gripping the wood bar in a death grip as he pushes into you. You reach up too, grabbing a handful of sheets by your head with one hand and his hips with the other, desperate for something to anchor yourself with as Logan’s brutal pace has you reeling.

“L-Logan!” you cry out, body shaking from the force of his thrusts. His cock sinking deeper and deeper as he angles your legs over his shoulders, hitting that sweet spot inside of you repeatedly making your legs tremble in unadulterated pleasure.

An audible crack is heard from where Logan is still holding onto your headboard but you both could careless, your heads completely clouded over with lust.

Just when you were starting to think it was all too much, his thumb finds your clit again and starts to rub fierce quick little circles.

“Gimme one more darlin.” His voice is strained and rough, as he leans down to your neck inhaling your scent again as he licks up to your neck nipping at your jaw and neck as he pulls away.

You scrambled to get away, pushing at his chest as the over sensitivity was proving to be too much.

Logan lets go of the headboard and grabs both your hands with his much larger one, locking them firmly to his chest right over his rapidly beating heart.

“Don’t try and run from me kid, you wanted this remember?” He chuckled darkly, picking up his pace even more if that were possible.

Tears stream steadily down your cheeks as your barreling toward your next orgasm, it’s here, with your hair fanned out around your head, cheeks puffy and tear stained while you pant desperately trying to get away and keep up with him at the same time , that he thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you.

“Come on my dick, baby.”

Your body completely locks up at his words, your back arching off the bed as you scream, your orgasm wrecking through you as you clench around him like a vice. Logan drops your legs, yanking you up into a messy kiss as he takes you through it.

“Good fucking girl.” He grunts against your lips, he gives you a few moments to come down from your high, burying his face into your neck before he resumes his punishing pace.

You think you’re at your limit as fat tears fall from your eyes, never have you ever felt this good, this full before, it’s far too much for you.

Just as you were about to tap out, he grunts into your neck, his hands move to grip your ass bringing it up to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck, tell me where?” He growls out. He wraps an arm around your back bringing you chest to chest as he fucks you on his lap, the new angle making him hit that sweet spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

At first you don’t quite understand what he’s asking, your brain too foggy to comprehend much of anything right now, but as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, nearly drawing blood again, you finally understood, he was close and so were you again.

“Inside, please I wanna feel you.” You whimpered as he pounds into you. He groans at your request and picks up the pace rutting up into you desperately like an animal. His hammering is deep and unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it feels too good to make him stop, you’ll definitely have a hard time walking in the morning.

With one last harsh flick of his thumb to your clit you’re coming hard on his dick, clenching around him as your body quivers uncontrollably, almost blacking out for a moment.

He growls as his hips stutter against your own, as he cums into you, the force of his final thrust knocking you both bad down onto the mattress. Logan thrusts a few more times, pumping his load as deep inside of you as he could, claiming your mouth once again in a deep searing kiss.

You run your hands through his hair as he nearly drops himself on you, his forearms supporting the weight of his adamantium skeleton. He’s still buried inside you as you're peppering his face and neck with light kisses.

It’s quiet for a moment before he lifts himself up, pulling himself from inside you with a grunt. He pushes stray locs from your face as he kisses your forehead and flops over onto the other side of the bed dragging you with him.

At the weight of his adamantium bones dropping down onto the already crack and barely hanging on frame your bed frame finally gives out dropping your mattress to the floor with a loud thud, startling the both of you.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You panted too shocked and tired to move from your spot on his chest.

“Sorry baby, I’ll get you a new one.” Logan laughs lightly as he pulls you to his chest.

A comfortable silence fills the room as the two of you lay on the floor, your breathing starting to return to normal. Leaning down to inhale your scent again Logan’s met with the pleasant tang of you covered in him and pulls you tighter snuggling you into him.

“You still with me?” The rough edge of his voice brings you back to your senses.

You smiled up at him from his chest with a big dopey smile, eyes completely dazed as you answered with an “mm-hm.” Too fucked out to fully speak properly. You laid back down on his chest, eyes closed as you shiver, he runs a hand up and down your spine as you start to drift off.

He chuckles at your response or lack thereof and pulls your sheets over the both of you. The temperature in the room had started to come down dramatically as your sweat covered bodies cooled in the night.

Just as Logan was about to close his eyes and join you in what was hopefully a peaceful night’s rest for the first time in years, your bedroom door bursts open revealing Wade, still clad in his hello kitty pajamas helping himself to a piece of the pie you had left out.

“Jesus Wade!” You yell eyes practically bulging out of your head as you scramble to grip the sheets to your chest.

“What the fuck asshole?!” Logan growled trying his best to shield you from view with his arms. His hazel eyes were seething with anger.

“My sweet virgin eyes!” Wade said, covering his eyes but still peeking through them through a gap in his fingers with a smirk as he chewed loudly. “You two sounded like an indoor jungle gym but instead of a shit ton of kids it's just you two.” He laughs shoving the rest of the slice into his mouth as he moves to sit on the edge of the broken bed on the floor, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You, young lady, have some pipes on you. Could hear you practically singing about the Wolverine.~” he teases with a tsk.

“And you sir!” He points to Logan who growls at him as he swats his hand outta his face. “Where do I even begin?” He tsked again as he shook his head “You really had some pent up frustration didn’t you, you slut? Did you break her? I know she has a healing factor too but good god man have some restraint!” he leans back on her broken bed as he spreads himself out on the end.

“And her poor bed! I hope you're planning on replacing it, bee tee dubs.” Wade rolls over onto his side propping himself up on his elbow at the couple’s feet. “Did he even use a condom?” He whispered to you loudly before adding “Nice tits by the way.” as he winked at Logan. “I don’t think creampie was the type of pie she had in mind when she invited you over for dinner, old man.”

“Who knew Wolverine was a cuddler?”

You roll your eyes at Wade’s antics completely used to him over the years of knowing him but Logan on the other hand had clearly had enough. Ripping the sheets from himself you watch as Logan comically chases Wade out of the room, buck ass naked.

Slamming your bedroom door shut Logan turns the lock with a grunt, finally returning to your side he pulls you back to his chest and flings the sheets over you.

“He’s not so bad, y'know when you get used to him.” You shrug with your eyes closed as you snuggle into his chest. Adrenaline, now dying down, sleep had started to wrap you in its dreamy embrace and it was hard to keep your eyes open.

“That little cockroach is gonna be the death of me.”

You laugh at him one last time before finally drifting off. Your soft snores were the last thing Logan heard as he too snuggled into your warmth and drifted off.

Who knew the Wolverine was such a cuddler.

#logan howlett x black reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut #wolverine x black reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #hugh jackman #SoundCloud

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suguann · 4 months ago

Text

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside.

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in.

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink.

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake.

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day.

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp.

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago.

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth.

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t.

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies.

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand.

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both.

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer.

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all.

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put.

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments.

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on.

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach.

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play.

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water.

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times.

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here.

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

#.things i write #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod smut #cod fic #cod x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #cod

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yandere-daydreams · 5 months ago

Text

Title: Without Parole.

Pairing: Yandere!Neuvillette x Reader x Yandere!Wriothesley (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.8k.

TW: Implied Non/Con, Prolonged Imprisonment, Wrongful Imprisonment, Unhealthy Relationships, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood, Possessive Behavior, and Gratuitous Old Man Yaoi.

“You reek of mortal blood.”

Neuvillette watched through half-lidded eyes as Wriothesley glanced over his shoulder, a careless grin already tugging at the corner of his lips. He paused, letting the shirt he’d only just started to button hang limp over his chest, and turned to face Neuvillette properly – albeit, never removing himself from the edge of the mattress. “I wonder why,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, playful. “It’s not like I’ve been carrying six liters of the stuff around or anything.”

Neuvillette softened, as he always seemed to when gifted with Wriothesley’s full attention, but didn’t relent. “It’s not yours. You’ve never been so—” He couldn’t stop himself, grimacing. “—sweet.”

Such a simple description didn’t do justice to the extent of the wrongness currently laid over Wriothesley’s pointed, metallic scent. It was almost sickeningly saccharine; overripe fruit and overused perfume and sugar boiled to the point of caramelization. It was a haze more than anything, the type of numbing agent used to dull the senses and hide something more vile, more cutting. Neuvillette didn’t care for it, but then again, Neuvillette didn’t care for most things that placed himself between him and Wriothesley.

“…I don’t like it,” he admitted, nearly under his breath. He let his eyes fall shut and, as if in response, felt Wriothesley’s hand cupped his cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb tracing over his jaw. “Someone’s been putting their hands on you. If it’s one of your guards, I’ll have them transferred to—”

“Careful, love.” At least Wriothesley was delicate with his interruption. “You’re starting to sound a little jealous.”

Neuvillette stiffened, more out of reflex than anything. Despite his best attempts at self-restraint, possessiveness was simply in a dragon’s nature. No part of him wanted to treat Wriothesley like a precious object to be locked away without sympathy or softness, and even if he had any desire to be so domineering, it would’ve been impossible; he had his duties to Fontaine, and Wriothesley had his to the fortress that lied under its seas. Taking him away from his station would be irresponsible, if not cruel. Wriothesley was not a man who could live under the heel of another.

And yet, while the humanity within him knew Wriothesley could only ever be a lover (a distant one, at that), his draconic nature howled for something soft and pliable and able to be captured and kept, something he could dig his fangs into and never release. For a mate, as primal and primitive as the idea seemed.

He forced himself to relax, to exhale, to open his eyes and pull himself into a more respectable position. One hand found Wriothesley’s where it was laid over his cheek while the other found a thigh – his pointed nails burrowing into well-scared skin. Kissing Wriothesley came naturally, as unfamiliar as he’d once been with such human gestures of affection, and his lover posed no resistance, even as the defined points of Neuvillette’s teeth dragged across his bottom lip and the iron tinge of fresh blood joined the taste of Wriothesley’s mouth. Neuvillette couldn’t stop himself, letting out a raspy groan, pushing himself against Wriothesley with all the tenderness and all the misery of a wild animal, desperate not to tear apart what it loved most.

And, for the most part, Wriothesley was kind enough to pretend he felt the same.

He met you a month later, tucked within the iron walls of Wriothesley’s underworld.

You were already in his office, sitting at an ancient player piano he would’ve sworn hadn’t been there the last time he’d visited the fortress. He’d mistaken it for one of Wriothesley’s records, at first – your playing paced and melodic, hesitant in a way that could be regarded as pleasant if your listener happened to be rather patient. You only paused as he crested the staircase leading to Wriothesley’s loft, snapping towards Neuvillette with an expression only comparable to that of a small, frightened animal. You recognized him quickly enough, relaxing somewhat when you did, but not before he recognized you.

Or, rather, the sweetness you absolutely reeked of.

It was more overpowering than it had been, when he’d only been taking in the residuals of it left on Wriothesley. Rotting fruit abruptly seemed like an inaccurate comparison, too simple, too blatantly vitriolic. If your scent could be linked to anything, it would’ve had to be caramel – sugary and fresh and cloying in its inescapability. It took more self-control than it should’ve not to bare his teeth, not to let his anger rise to the point of visibility. It grew easier to control himself as your eyes fell back to the keys in front of you, as you shrunk into yourself – his presence not so great of a relief as to completely undo your meekness. “Monsieur Ludex,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. He had attempted not to think of Wriothesley’s hypothetical lover, but if he had, he might’ve pictured someone more brazen. “I… I’m not sure where His Grace is, at the moment. I know he’ll be returning eventually, but if you’re in a rush, you might be able to find him in—.”

“I can wait.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded regardless, never looking away from your instrument. It wasn’t until he fell into the seat slotted against the opposing wall that your hands found the keys and you spared him a quick, almost skittish glance over your shoulder. He caught your gaze and held it, and although he’d never confess it aloud, his more primal aspects relished in the way you seemed to wither under the weight of his gaze. “Please, don’t let my company disturb you.”

You didn’t need much more incentive than that. Admittedly, your playing was far from insufferable; not quite as polished as the musicians of the Opera Epiclese, but far from that of an amateur. It would’ve been impossible to guess how long he listened to you for; one song seeped into another without pause, forming a medley that you’d either memorized long ago or, more fantastically, made up as you went along. You seemed used to your instrument, too. Wriothesley must’ve had you play for him often.

It was also, admittedly, difficult to reconcile the image of you in front of him with that of the conniving, sugar-sweet seductor he had pictured upon first noticing the new tinge to Wriothesley’s scent. The bland, standard-issue clothing of a prisoner hung loose on your form, clearly a size too large by the most generous of measurements, and no aspect of your posture nor your expression communicated that you found any amount of comfort within the walls of Wriothesley’s office. When he thought to look, he could make out discoloration encircling your wrists, painted over your knuckles, but minor injuries were common in the fortress. It would’ve been unwise to make assumptions based only on a handful of bruises.

Your medley only faltered upon Wriothesley’s arrival – unpredictably abrupt and endearingly violent, you and Neuvillette given only a moment to acknowledge that the door to his office had opened before he showed himself. His attention fell to you, first, as did his affection. You bit back a grimace as he pulled you into a crushing embrace, his mouth brushing over your temple, then falling to the corner of your jaw, as if he intended there to be something more intimate than a fleeting kiss. Before he could make contact, though, his gaze darted to Neuvillette. There was an unpolished grin, a teasing glint in his eyes, and then he was drawing back from you, muttering something as he pulled away. Neuvillette forced himself not to want to hear it.

And yet, he watched intently as Wriothesley separated from you and came to him, instead. A single knee was propped against the worn velveteen cushions of the loveseat, two bandaged hands clasped over the bronze gilding of the backrest – Wriothesley once again choosing to put himself in the position of the cager, rather than the caged. Neuvillette allowed himself to be guided into a shallow kiss, but when Wriothesley pulled away, he didn’t chase after him. It was pathetic as far as shows of discontent went, but Wriothesley let out an airy, knowing chuckle regardless. “Do I owe this visit to business or pleasure, monsieur?”

“Business.”

Wriothesley’s grin quirked into a defined pout, but he didn’t protest. Neuvillette feigned disinterest as he collapsed into the chair behind his desk, and you fell back into your song as if you’d never missed a note. The conversation ranged from middlingly polite to stiflingly bureaucratic; Neuvillette careful not to broach any topic more personal than the number of prisoners the fortress should expect in the following six months. It was only as their discussion neared its end that you seemed to shift, your music drifting in and out of audibility as you pushed yourself to your feet and, after gathering the sheet music you hadn’t bothered to touch, started towards the staircase leading—

“(Y/n).”

Whatever Wriothesley might’ve been saying was immediately forgotten with a snap of his fingers, a vague beckoning gesture. You stiffened, but complied, leaving your burden on the corner of his desk as you shambled to your warden’s side. Your routine seemed practiced, albeit still rough around the edges. An arm lashed out as soon as you were close enough, catching you by the waist and dragging you into his lap, keeping you there with a forearm bared over your midriff.

It’s almost impressive, just how blank you manage to keep your impression – the pinnacle of passivity. Wriothesley was not so aloof.

“Monsieur Neuvillette’s been asking about you,” he started, his hand finding your wrist. You tried to pull away – an automatic response, Neuvillette guessed – but Wriothesley’s hold was tight, unyielding. “I’m sure you can find it within yourself to thank him for all the time he’s spent thinking about you, now, can’t you, dear?”

Your eyes flicker to the ground. “…thank you, sir.”

“And for keeping you company while I was away. I know how much you hate being alone.”

Your fist balled around the hem of Wriothesley’s coat. Neither of you seemed to notice. “Thank you, sir.”

“See what I have to deal with? I promise, they’re normally more well-behaved. It just takes them a few minutes to come out of their shell.” Wriothesley’s head bowed low as he guided your hand to his mouth. You didn’t resist, this time, only flinching into yourself as his pointed canines burrowed into the tender apex of your wrist. You held onto that shut-eyed, furrowed expression as the flat of Wriothesley’s tongue ran over the twin pair of puncture wounds and then, with no particular ceremony, held your wrist out for Neuvillette’s careful evaluation. “For your trouble, monsieur.”

Wriothesley’s intention was clear, as was Neuvillette’s refusal – signaled with little more than a quick shake of his head, a steeper arch to his frown.

He had no need to taste you. Not when his senses were so sharp compared to Wriothesley’s, so refined.

Not when he could already feel his twin cocks hardening against his thigh.

“No gratitude is needed.” He stood abruptly, eager to be on his feet. For whatever reason, Wriothesley’s office suddenly seemed several times smaller than it had, before. He could feel saliva pooling underneath his tongue, his vision growing sharp and predatory, and he fled with no further commentary; only nodding curtly to the fortress guards as he escaped from Wriothesley’s office altogether and started for the elevator, the only way back to the surface and all of its wonderous open air. It was an abuse of power, of position. Failing that, he could be tried for inappropriate conduct, or public indecency – something defined and sterile that Neuvillette could put a name to and assign an appropriate sentence. He needed to—

“Monsieur Ludex!”

He felt a smaller hand catch his sleeve and bit back the temptation to claw, to snap, to bite. Instead, he turned slowly, eyes flickering downward to find you standing behind him, glancing from side to side as you held the frill of his sleeve in a pale-knuckled grip. He could see a flush dusted over your cheeks, making out the slight, shallow panting you were attempting in vain to suppress. You must’ve been chasing after him for quite some time.

“It was—” You paused, swallowed, bowed your head. You cupped his hand between both of yours, clenching your eyes shut entirely. “It was an honor to meet you.”

He waited for you to release him, which after a stilted beat, you did hastily. “Likewise.”

You said nothing else, only nodding stiffly as he turned away from you. It wasn’t until he boarded the fortress’ elevator that he noticed the scrap of paper tucked into his glove; clearly torn from the corner of some yellowed sheet of music, if the measured bars and dotted notes were any indication. Two words had been messily scrawled across the yellowed parchment, almost endearing in their predictability. Despite himself, Neuvillette found himself smiling as he read over them.

‘Help me.’

It wasn’t difficult to find your file. It wasn’t kept in his office, but a smaller wing of the Palais Mermonia, one meant for trails that never made it to the Opera Epiclese. He opted to retrieve the file in the dead of night, so as not to disturb his dedicated staff, and review its contents in the privacy of his personal chambers.

No detail was particularly interesting, but he read over each page with a meticulous sort of care, careful not to let any word or figure go without loving appreciation. You were born to a small farming village north of the city, orphaned at the age of ten and released into your brother’s custody at twelve, after he served a minor stint in the very fortress you were currently resigned to. At eighteen, you enrolled into one of Fontaine’s premier preforming art academies on scholarship and withdrew at twenty due to familial difficulties, resigning from your position among the Opera Epiclese’s in-house orchestra in the same year. Your crime was equally unremarkable; petty theft, only a single count to which you plead guilty. Neuvillette wasn’t surprised. Theft was not an uncommon crime, especially for those unused to the overwhelming splendor of Fontaine’s courts, although it rarely resulted in a criminal change. He would have to look into the details of your case later on.

No, it wasn’t the crime itself that surprised him, but the sentencing information scrawled underneath it – the assigned length of your sentence, followed immediately by time served. The former was four weeks, the recommended length for first-time, non-violent offenses.

The latter, updated as of three days prior, was seventeen months.

Neuvillette rarely found the time for sleep, and when he did rest, he rarely dreamt. That night, he plagues with visions of Wriothesley kissing his neck, honey and caramel dripping from his lips and drowning them both.

The next morning, he penned a letter to Wriothesley – not as one lover to another, but the Ludex of Fontaine to the Duke of Meropide. The contents were blunt, polite, consisting of little more than a request as to the documentation behind your extended sentence. The letter he received back, delivered by one of Wriothesley’s couriers, contained no written response, but a tattered scrap of pure ivory silk, stained with scarlet blood and still damp with a transparent, viscous, saccharine substance.

He spent the remainder of the day with the cloth pressed against the lower half of his mouth, his fist moving over his cocks as he pictured you bound in silver at the bottom of the sea.

The arrangements were made as quickly as could be expected. Neuvillette took care to lend your plight his personal attention, muttering your name aloud for the first and only time when he had Wriothesley pinned to his desk, both cocks hilted entirely inside of his lover. His lover and yours, he supposed. He found that the thought no longer revolted him the way it once had.

Wriothesley, for his part, was agreeable. Where his enthusiasm failed, his dedication to maintaining peace within his fortress saw the matter through. Paperwork was drawn up and signed, guards were given their orders, and soon enough, he was standing at the entrance to the Fortress of Meropide, watching on as you blearily stumbled out of the rustic elevator – one of Wriothesley’s more trusted officers to either of your sides. He waved them off quickly. This was a joyous occasion, but a private one. He wanted no more witnesses than there absolutely had to be.

You were a doe-eyed thing; standing in daylight for the first time in more than a year. He’d chosen for an accommodating time of day, opted to schedule your release for the soften hours of a post-sunset twilight, but it seemed any amount of natural light would’ve been enough to render you senseless. It took a long moment for you to find your footing on solid land, another to remember to blink, and yet another for you to notice him. Instantly, he knew any amount of preparation he might’ve done was useless – his scheduling, especially.

Your smile was enough to rival the sun at its brightest.

“Monsieur Ludex!” Still unsteady, you wandered towards him, taking both of his hands into your own. You were tactile, despite your meekness. It wasn’t often Neuvillette was touched so casually. “I—I really can’t thank you enough, and I’m—I’m sorry for the hassle, but the warden, he wouldn’t let me go, and I didn’t know if you had any jurisdiction over the fortress, but Wriothesley wrote to you so often, and—”

“I ought to be the one apologizing.” He kept his tone gentle, even, only a touch warmer than the stunted greetings he’d exchanged with you weeks ago. Despite this, you melted as if addressed by your oldest, closest friend; your shoulders dropping and your eyes glimmering with all the radiance of a rising tide. “The inflation of your sentence was a grave and unforgivable foresight. If you wished to leave Fontaine altogether, I would understand.”

“I… I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” You released his hands, clasping them in front of your waist. Reluctantly, he allowed you to. “Honestly, sir, I’d really just like to go home.”

He couldn’t help but mirror your smile back, albeit not quite as shining. “If that’s so, then the necessary accommodations have already been made.”

With your arm tucked in his, you allowed him to escort you to a waiting carriage (secured as to avoid forcing to travel by sea so quickly after escaping your imprisonment underneath it). The first leg of your journey passed in comfortable silence, your attention rarely leaving the glass-paned window. As you passed through the countryside outside of the Court of Fontaine, you glanced toward him and beamed. “My village isn’t far from here. I don’t suppose you’ve contacted my brother?”

His response was a curt nod, a contemplative hum. “We’ll be arriving shortly.”

As you passed through the city’s gates, your smile dimmed some, taking on a strained undertone. “Is there anything in the city we have to do? I’m afraid I never got the chance to ask the other prisoners about release protocols.”

Once again, his response was brief. “You shouldn’t worry yourself with unnecessary specifics.”

As your carriage came to an ambling stop in front the Palais Mermonia, your smile fell away entirely. “Monsieur Ludex,” you tried once more, your voice now shaking so delectably, it nearly rivaled the sweetness of your scent. “I… I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s going on.”

This time, he made no attempt to answer you sincerely. “Please, call me Neuvillette.” And then, as he stepped out of the carriage and signaled for you to do the same, “Come with me.”

You shrunk into your seat, but even the most skittish creatures knew when to attempt submission rather than escape. Given another second’s worth of patience, you followed him up the palace’s steps and through its vacant halls, its usual attendants sent home in anticipation of your arrival. No part of him expected you to run, but there was a small, paranoid faction of his mind that had anticipated an attempt to distance yourself from him – a passing glance towards possible exits, a widening gap between you and him as you proceeded. Your eyes remained fixed on the floor in front of you, though, and you were never more than an arm’s length from his side. However Wriothesley had treated you, it had apparently not been with much leniency.

Finally, you reached his personal chambers. You paused for the first time as he ushered you through a pair of tall, wooden doors, but the hint of a scowl had you scurrying inside before he could think to flash his teeth. Still, you only made it a step or so into the room before coming to a halt yet again. Neuvillette didn’t have to imagine why. He was unable to dampen his grin as he followed your gaze to the far wall, or rather, to the four-poster bed slotted against it. He’d done the utmost to ensure your comfort, but rationally, he knew it wasn’t the Liyuan silk sheet or the down-stuffed comforter that had you so transfixed, nor the antique grand piano that stood some paces to the left.

No, as far he could tell, your eyes were solely locked onto the sleek, velvet-lined collar sitting on the center of the mattress, connected to the headboard by a thin, silver chain. He couldn’t be surprised that you were in such a state of shock.

Wriothesley had always preferred bronze.

“I suggest you get on the bed,” he started, a hand already moving towards the stiff collar of his suit. “You may undress if you wish, but I won’t force you to. Your cooperation is appreciated, but unnecessary.”

For a moment, you stayed where you were; motionless and quiet, trembling ever so slightly. For a moment, you didn’t do anything at all.

Then, with a quick nod and a sniffle of a sob, you moved towards the bed, as unhappy as you were obedient. It should’ve broken his heart to see you in such a state of distress, but for now, he could tolerate your misery, your scorn. It was only proper that a lover should be kept happy, but a mate’s discomfort could be tolerated.

And Neuvillette already knew you would make a wonderful mate.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

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lev1hei1chou · 4 months ago

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When their child wants a sibling

Dad!Gojo x reader, Dad!Nanami x reader Genre: Fluff Masterlist Requests open!

GOJO SATORU

"Mommy, can I have a sibling?" your five-year-old daughter, Hikari, asked as she plopped down next to you on the couch, her eyes wide and hopeful. You were in the middle of reading a book, and the sudden question caught you off guard.

Gojo, who was lounging on the other end of the couch, immediately perked up. "A sibling, huh?" he mused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "That sounds like a great idea."

You shot him a look. "Satoru, we need to talk about this first."

"But Mommy," Hikari interrupted, "all my friends at kindergarten have siblings. I'm the only one who doesn't."

You sighed, closing your book and putting it aside. "It's not that simple, sweetheart. Having a sibling is a big responsibility."

Satoru scooted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "She's right, Hikari. It means sharing your toys, your room, and your parents' attention. Are you ready for that?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yes! I promise I'll be the best big sister ever. I can even help take care of the baby!"

You looked at Gojo, who was trying to not laugh. "Well, I suppose we can think about it."

"Yay!" Hikari cheered, jumping off the couch and running around the living room in excitement.

Gojo leaned in and whispered in your ear, "Looks like we're in for some fun times ahead."

Later that evening, after Hikari had been put to bed, you and Gojo sat in the kitchen, sipping tea. "Do you really think we can handle another kid?" you asked, looking over at him.

"Of course we can," he replied confidently. "We're a great team, and besides, Hikari will make an awesome big sister."

You smiled, feeling reassured by his words. "I guess we could start trying."

Gojo's grin widened. "That's the spirit! And, you know, the trying part is the most fun."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help laughing. "You're impossible, Satoru."

A few weeks later, you found yourself in the same spot on the couch, Hikari sitting on your lap this time, telling you all about her day at kindergarten. Your husband was, as usual, lounging next to you, pretending to be deeply interested in a magazine.

"Mommy, did you and Daddy think about what we talked about?" Hikari asked suddenly, looking up at you with her big, innocent eyes.

You exchanged a glance with Gojo, who gave you a slight nod. "Yes, we did," you said. "And we decided that we're going to try to give you a sibling."

Her face lit up with joy. "Really? When?"

"Well," Gojo began, putting down his magazine, "it might take some time. Making a baby is a little complicated."

Hikari frowned, clearly not understanding. "But you can do it, right?"

Gojo chuckled. "Yes, we can do it. You just have to be patient, okay?"

"Okay!" she agreed, and then ran off to play with her toys.

You turned to Gojo, who was trying to suppress his laughter. "You're enjoying this way too much," you said.

"I can't help it," he replied. "It's just so cute seeing her so excited."

Days passed, and Hikari kept asking every now and then about her future sibling. Every time, her dad would give her some humorous yet evasive answer, like "We're working on it," or "These things take time."

One day, you and Gojo sat Hikari down for a serious talk. "Baby, we have some news for you," you began, holding her small hands in yours.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Mommy is going to have a baby," you announced, watching her reaction closely.

She gasped, her face lighting up with excitement. "Really? I'm going to be a big sister?"

"Yes, you are," Gojo confirmed, ruffling her hair. "But remember, it means you'll have to be very patient and very helpful."

"I will! I promise!" Hikari declared, hugging both of you tightly.

As the months went by, she was true to her word. She helped pick out baby clothes, decorated the nursery, and even tried to learn how to change diapers on her dolls. Gojo, ever the doting husband and father, made sure you were comfortable and happy, always ready with a joke or a warm hug.

One evening, as you all sat together in the nursery, she looked up at you and Gojo and said, "Thank you, Mommy and Daddy, for giving me a sibling. I can't wait to meet them."

You smiled, tears of joy in your eyes, and pulled her close. "You're going to be the best big sister ever, Hikari."

Gojo wrapped his arms around both of you, his voice soft and full of love. "And we're going to be the best family ever."

NANAMI KENTO

The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room where Nanami and you lay snuggled in bed on a lazy Sunday morning. The peace was interrupted by a small figure bouncing into the room with unmatched enthusiasm.

"Mama! Papa! Wake up!" Your energetic four-year-old, Haruto, exclaimed, jumping onto the bed.

Nanami groaned playfully, his arm draped over his eyes. "Haruto, it's too early for this much energy."

You chuckled, sitting up and ruffling Haruto's messy bedhead. "Good morning, champ! What's got you so excited?"

Haruto grinned widely, his eyes sparkling. "I want a little brother or sister!"

Nanami lifted his arm and squinted at Haruto. "What?"

Haruto nodded enthusiastically, his hands gesturing wildly. "Yeah! I want someone to play with!"

You exchanged a surprised glance with Nanami before bursting into laughter. "Oh, sweetheart, where did that come from?"

Nanami sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Haruto, having a sibling is a big responsibility. Are you sure about this?"

Haruto nodded again, his determination unwavering. "Yes! Like in the storybooks!"

Nanami looked at you, a mix of amusement and disbelief on his face. "Well, I suppose we should consider it."

You smiled at Nanami, silently agreeing that it was a discussion worth having later. "How about we start with breakfast, and then we can talk more about it, okay?"

Haruto nodded eagerly, already bouncing off the bed and heading towards the kitchen, his request seemingly forgotten in the excitement of pancakes.

As you all gathered around the table, Haruto dug into his pancakes with fervor, occasionally pausing to chatter about his favorite cartoon or his adventures with his friends at preschool. Nanami sipped his coffee, occasionally interjecting with a question or a gentle reminder to eat properly and slowly.

After breakfast, while Nanami tidied up the kitchen, you took Haruto to the living room where his toys were scattered about. Sitting down among the stuffed animals and building blocks, you leaned in closer to Haruto.

"Hey, buddy, about what you said earlier..."

Haruto looked up from his toys, eyes wide with anticipation. "Yes, Mama?"

You smiled warmly, trying to find the right words. "Having a brother or sister is a big decision for us grown-ups too. It's something we need to think about carefully."

Haruto nodded seriously, his brows furrowed in thought. "But Mama, Papa, I promise I'll be a good big brother! I'll share my toys and teach them everything!"

Your heart melted at his earnestness. "I'm sure you would be, sweetheart. We'll talk more about it, okay? Papa and I will figure out what's best for our family."

Haruto nodded again, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and resumed playing with his toys. You watched him for a moment, marveling at how quickly he was growing up. Glancing over at Nanami, who had finished cleaning and was now watching the two of you with a soft smile, you knew you were on the same page.

Later when Haruto was napping after lunch, you and Nanami spoke about what your son had started.

"I never thought we'd be having this conversation so soon," Nanami mused, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your knee.

You chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. "Kids have a way of surprising you, don't they?"

Nanami nodded, his gaze warm and fond as he looked at you. "I think Haruto would make a wonderful big brother."

You smiled, feeling a swell of love for both your husband and your son. "He really would."

One day, after putting your child to bed, you found yourselves lingering at the kitchen table, a stack of pamphlets and notes scattered between cups of cooling tea. Nanami glanced up from a particularly detailed chart of baby essentials, his expression thoughtful.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked quietly, his eyes meeting yours over the rim of his glasses.

You nodded, reaching across to take his hand. "I think so. Our little one is growing up so fast. It feels like we have so much love to give."

He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin. "I agree. And he's already so excited about the idea of a sibling."

You smiled, thinking back to the countless times your child had brought up the topic, from drawing pictures of a baby with their older sibling to asking if you could name the new addition after their favorite cartoon character.

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coldfanbou · 5 months ago

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Stepmom's Uniform

Naughty Step Mom Nayeon tries to please her stepson in this fic. A little rough sex and stepcest that Nayeon just can't resist.

Length 2.1K

Nayeon X Mreader

Your relationship with your stepmom was odd, to say the least. With your father having to spend so many late nights at the office and barely being able to spend a couple of hours at home each day, you were left alone with your stepmother, Nayeon. It was only natural that you got closer to her over the months. Sleeping with her was something else, though. Usually, during the day, you spend time with her outdoors. Today, you were strolling through the city with Nayeon; you passed by your old high school. She points to it, “I remember when I had to wear a school uniform. I looked so nerdy back then. Maybe I’ll wear it for you one day.” You continue your walk, stopping at a nearby cafe to sit down. You and Nayeon chat for some time before you change the topic.

You bring the topic back to the school uniform, “Do you still have your old school uniform?”

Nayeon looks at you, a little surprised you brought that up. She fixes her hair behind her ears and nods, “Yeah, if you really want to, I could wear it for you.” She gives you a nervous smile. “I didn’t think you’d actually want to.”

You place your hand over hers. “I want to see you in it.” You run your fingers up Nayeon’s arms and get closer to her. “I could be your teacher, and you’re my submissive little student.” Nayeon felt chills run down her spine. Her smile grew more prominent, and she nodded. The idea excited her, and she imagined herself being taken by you. The two of you quickly got up and walked back home, discussing the idea. You got home, and Nayeon instantly rushed to her and your father’s bedroom. She searched for her old uniform, knowing she kept it in a suitcase filled with old clothes. She looked through it all, finding her old uniform at the bottom of the suitcase. She headed to the connecting bathroom, stripping out of her clothes and underwear. She wore the uniform, staring in the mirror as she lifted her skirt. The lack of panties turned her on. Nayeon also knew you’d be able to tell once she sat on your lap. She left the bathroom, grabbed her glasses to complete the look, and returned to the living room.

“Wow, you look amazing.” You tell her, grabbing her waist and pulling her in close. “You’re so cute.”

“Stop it. Do I really?” Nayeon asks, her cheeks turning red.

“Yeah, it’s pretty hot too.” You kiss Nayeon’s neck before whispering, “You know, considering I know what your body looks like under it.”

Nayeon wraps her arms loosely around your neck, “You’re such a bad boy, getting off on your step-mom wearing her old uniform.”

“You’re a bad step-mom, tempting me with it.” You say as you move your hands lower and grab her ass, noticing the lack of panties. “Oh, you’re so bad, Mommy,” Nayeon smirks at you and inches forward, pressing her lips against yours. You move your hands a little lower and lift Nayeon; you press her against the walls, snaking your tongue into her mouth. Nayeon moans into the kiss as she feels your bulge rub against her slit.

“You’re so hard, baby.”

“Hard for you, Mommy.” You reply, knowing that was what got her off. The taboo of fucking her stepson was her turn-on. After the first time, she struggled to keep her hands off you, and every time you called her mommy, it only fueled her lust. Nayeon held your head in her hands as she continued the kiss, your tongues rubbing against each other until you ran out of breath. “You’re a naughty student and a naughty mommy.” You whisper into her ear before leaving a trail of kisses along her neck. “I want you to suck me off.”

“Of course, baby. Just put me down.” Nayeon said in her sultry voice. You lower Nayeon, letting her get onto her feet and watching as she kneels before you. Her eyes follow yours as she expertly unbuckles your belt and gets your pants out of the way. Nayeon grabs your cock, freeing it from its confines, and runs her tongue around her lips. She stroked the base of your cock slowly, continuing to look at you as she moved closer and pressed her lips against the tip of your cock. She traced her lips with it slowly, “You taste so good, baby.” Nayeon says as she kisses the tip again.

Her teasing turns you on, and you see the lust in her eyes. Placing your hand on her head, Nayeon knows you want more from her. “Slow down, baby. Let Mommy take care of you at her own pace.” She smiles at you, knowing you won’t refuse. Your stepmother sticks her tongue out, running it along the underside. The lewd act, combined with her nerdy appearance, adds to the experience. Your cock twitches from excitement in her hands, making her giggle. “You’re so needy, baby.”

“For you, Mommy.”

“I’ll make sure you get to let out everything you have,” Nayeon says, stroking your shaft a little faster. She runs her tongue along the tip, swirling around it before finally swallowing the head. You groan from the feeling of her warm wet mouth finally taking in your cock. Nayeon feels happy with herself after hearing that and bobs her head slowly, making sure her tongue rubs against every part of your head. She snakes a hand under her skirt, rubbing herself and moaning in the blowjob. Nayeon lets out a short laugh as she pops you out of her mouth, “Do you like Mommy’s mouth? I’ve gotten better, haven’t I?”

You place your hand on Nayeon’s head and force your cock back into her mouth, “Yes, Mommy. You’re a lot better now.” You groan, feeling her tongue move side to side along your cock. You reach down, groping her modest chest through her shirt and making Nayeon moan more.

Nayeon pulls you out of her mouth with a pop, “I want you, baby,” She moans. Nayeon rises to her feet, stroking your cock and turning around. She spreads her legs and bends over slightly, shaking her ass as she waits for you. You flip her skirt and rub your cock against her folds, groaning as you feel how wet she is. “Mmm, that feels good, but I want more baby. Come fuck my tight little pussy.” Nayeon moans, pressing her ass against you. You hold her waist with one hand and press the tip against her entrance, pushing it in. You hear Nayeon gasp as you begin to split her in two. You feel the tightness of her stretched cunt as you push further in.

Nayeon bites her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as she holds back her moan. “You’re so big, baby.” She groans, feeling you slide deeper into her. You hold Nayeon’s waist tightly and slam the rest of your length inside. She lets her voice fill the room, screaming as you hit her cervix. “Oh god, baby, fuck me.” She moans, looking at the floor as you begin thrusting. Nayeon can feel your cock sliding in and out of her stretching her cunt as you move deeper.

“I bet you were a naughty girl in school, weren’t you?”

“Don’t say that,” Nayeon grunted in response.

“Were you the school slut?” You ask her, almost immediately feeling her tighten around you. “I think your body is answering for you.”

“I wasn’t,” she whines, struggling as your cock moves inside her. “I’m just your slut.” She moans, leaning her body back against you. You push Nayeon forward, having her between the wall and you. You snake your hands between her and the wall, rubbing her clit with your fingers, moving in small circles. “Ahh! I’m your slut, baby. Don’t stop,” Nayeon cried out. She stood on her toes, her pussy being shaped into the form of your cock.

“Did you have sex in school? You ask her as you continue thrusting; you hear her whimper something and repeat your question. She says something quietly. Not satisfied with how she answered, you grabbed Nayeon’s arms and pushed her onto the couch, laying her on her back. You fold Nayeon in half, her legs by her head, and ram your cock deep into her cunt before asking one more time.

“YES!” Nayeon screams as she feels you smash into her cervix. “I DID!” Nayeon continues. She grabs your shirt, tugging on it as you thrust. “They weren’t as good as you, baby. Keeping fucking your mother.” Nayeon pleads, feeling her orgasm coming. “I’m gonna cum,” She whines, her grip on your shirt becoming stronger. You were far off your orgasm and continued thrusting; you cum together. Nayeon throws her head back as she feels your cum rush into her, filling her cunt. You keep yourself buried inside, letting Nayeon’s walls milk you before slowly pulling out.

You stand beside Nayeon, staring at the blissful expression on her face. You lean down, kissing Nayeon passionately. “I bet Mommy was the school’s fleshlight.” You whisper into her ear.

“I’m only yours, baby.” She groans, “Mommy wants more; carry me to the bedroom.” You pick Nayeon up, carry her to her bedroom, and lay her down. Nayeon tosses her glasses on the bed. She grabs the hem of her vest and pulls it over herself, following that with her button-up shirt. Nayeon was left in her skirt and a tie. You remove the rest of your clothes and pull Nayeon’s tie, getting her close enough for a kiss. Nayeon wraps her arms around you, “This time, I want you to cum on my face.” You smile at her and spread her legs, watching as your cum from the earlier runs between her legs.

You align yourself with Nayeon’s entrance and ram your length inside, sliding in with ease, “I’ll take a picture, another one for the collection.” Nayeon arches her back and moans as you stuff her cunt again. You hold her sides as you begin thrusting; moving through her, you notice a bulge where your cock is. “Mommy, take a look at what I’m doing to you.”

Nayeon looks down, seeing your cock make a visible bulge. She smiles. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it, but it turned her on every time. Nayeon kisses you again, “Mommy’s pussy is made just for you, baby.” She moans, smiling as you fuck her roughly.

“Mommy’s all mine.” You moan as you cup one of her tits, squeezing it.

“That’s right, Mommy’s all yours. No one, not even your dad, can touch me.” She groans, shutting her eyes as she enjoys herself. You feel her walls tighten around you slowly and begin thrusting quicker. Her walls barely have time to come together when you rip through her again. Nayeon grips the bedsheets, feeling her second orgasm coming. “You’re going to make me cum again. Remember to pull out; mommy wants you to paint her face.”

“Of course, Mommy.” You moan, thrusting into her. Every thrust brings you both closer to your climax. You reach down, flicking Nayeon’s clit and making her cum first. You feel her walls clamp down on your cock, trying to milk you for more of your baby batter. You continued thrusting until you were on the edge of cumming. You pull out and quickly move beside Nayeon. She grabs her glasses, puts them back on, and opens her mouth as she waits for your cum. You jerk yourself off quickly, your cum spurts on her face, coating her glasses with a few drops landing on her tongue. You move down, letting the last bit paint her chest. You slow down your strokes and take a look at how you did.

Nayeon smiles at you, satisfied with the facial. “Take a picture of your school slut, baby.” You grab your phone and snap a few pictures of Nayeon, adding them to the collection you kept. You lay down beside Nayeon; she reaches for your cock, stroking it gently as you look through the photos you have. You look through them all, each one from a time you had sex with Nayeon. Eventually, you reach the first picture, “Aww, look at me. That was the day you made me yours.” Nayeon glances at you, “You know, baby, your father put cameras in here.”

“I know; I helped set them up.” You respond. “He doesn’t know how to access them, though. So, for now, they’re our little sex tape. We can watch them whenever you want.”

“You naughty boy,” Nayeon says, squeezing your cock. She rolls onto you, straddling you. “Next time, we’ll do our roleplay. I’ll be the naughty teacher’s pet, and you’ll be my teacher. That will be a great video.”

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