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allylikethecat · 6 months

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omg more prompts!! would love to see matty holding hands with george while he’s stressed out about something and then maybe later laying his head in george’s lap🥺

HELLO THERE ANON,

You sent me this WONDERFUL intimacy prompt literally three months ago, BUT I finally did it, I finally filled it! Better late than never? Right? I want to apologize though for taking so long to get to it, and thank you so much for sending it in. I hope that you're still around to see the response! I ended up combining the two- I hope that was okay! Please let me know what you think! Additionally, if anyone else wants to send in any intimacy prompts, the list can be found here. I can't guarantee that it won't take me three months to finish the next one, but I promise that I *will* eventually. I really enjoy working on prompt fills and even if it takes me forever to actually sit down and write them, just know that I am in fact always thinking about them!

Thank you so much for requesting this prompt, your patience since I am the worst and it took me months, for reading, and for your continued support! I look forward to hearing what you think!

❤️Ally

WARNINGS: Reference to past drug abuse

Holding hands during a stressful situation & Resting your head on your partner's lap

Matty hated flying. He hated the drive to the airport. He hated that they were always, inevitably, caught in stop and go traffic that made his already nervous belly churn, nausea burning the back of his throat. He hated leaving his bag with the airline agent, the worry that it would get lost, that it would get stolen, that it wouldn’t make it to his final destination even as he obsessively tracked its air tagged location on his phone. He hated going through security and border control. He hated taking off his jacket, and shoving his backpack into the plastic bin. He hated the scrutiny of the security agents as they took in his tattoos and the scars on his arms. He was always, without fail, pulled for random, additional screening. He always tried to smile good naturedly, anxiety bubbling in his gut, even if he knew he wasn’t truly chosen at random, drug dogs sniffing his ankles as they swabbed his hands for explosives. At least he got to carry his own passport now, it was no longer in Jamie’s clutches as if he was going to run off to score the second he was left unattended. (He never had even considered fleeing an airport to score, however, he had considered fleeing an airport to run back to the flat he shared with George and hide under the covers of their bed.)

He hated making his way through the crowded terminal, people rushing around him, knocking into him, suffocating him as he tried to remember how to breathe. The straps of his backpack digging into his shoulder. He knew there would be a red mark on the skin when he sat it down, there always was. He loved their fans, he loved them more than anything, but he hated that he could feel their eyes on him as he moved through the airport, taking pictures of him with his eyes downcast, the brim of his baseball hat pulled low as if it would be able to fully hide his mop of curls. Only for the pictures to end up on Twitter moments later, which led to more eyes seeking his location. The braver ones would approach him and ask for a picture with him rather than just of him from a distance. He would force a smile, his arm stiffly around their shoulders as he tried to focus on his breathing, his palms sweating as every fiber of his being screamed danger and run. He hated that they always seemed to be assigned the gate furthest away from the main artery of the terminal. He hated that his anxiety meant he needed to lay eyes on the gate, that he needed to verify that it was real before he could wait with the rest of their group in the lounge.

He hated that once he had dropped off his bag, and made it through security, and checked on his gate, that it was time to wait. Matty was not a patient person, he was even less patient when he was stressed, wanting things the way he wanted them right this instant. Demanding, George had called him one time with an amused smile and love shining in his eyes.

At this particular instant, he was both stressed and demanding, gripping George’s hand as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth as he dragged him through the crowded corridor towards their gate. He was more stressed than even his usual airport levels of airport anxiety. He hadn’t slept the night before, tossing and turning, worrying about the ten hour flight from LA to London they would be embarking on the next morning, popping piece after piece of nicotine gum as they inched towards departures in their rental van. They had played the last show of the tour the night before, and Matty was burnt out and ready to go home. Once at the airport, he had been, as usual, pulled for additional screening, the man that patted him down rough and inconsiderate. He had been stopped by a duo of fans less than five minutes later, forcing a smile as he tried to swallow down anxious tears threatening to spill. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his blood rushing in his ears as a man speaking loudly on the phone bumped into him, splashing him with iced coffee.

“You’re okay,” George soothed, giving Matty’s sweaty hand a comforting squeeze of his own, as the man turned away from them, glaring, as if they were the ones not watching where they were going. He swiped his thumb reassuringly against the back of Matty’s hand.

“The gate is just up ahead,” George said, pointing with his free hand to B37. “We still have an hour ‘til boarding.”

Matty nodded, wishing that seeing the gate with his own eyes would have loosened some of the tension in his chest, the way it usually did. George gave his hand another squeeze and Matty swallowed hard. George had calluses on his fingers and across his palm from years of playing the drums professionally, Matty loved that they slotted perfectly against his own guitarists calluses. Matty loved that George’s hands were so much bigger than his own, dwarfing his hand, his fingers wrapping fully around his own, engulfing them, protecting them from the outside world. He loved that even when he was shaking, even when his palms were disgustingly damp and sweaty, George never let go. He might have been the one clinging to George, but really, George was the one holding onto him. He closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the feel, on the weight of George’s hand, intertwined with his own. He could still feel his heart beating in his ears, but he no longer felt like he was going to drift away, like he was going to be pulled out to sea by the current and lost forever.

George pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Matty’s head. “Let's head up to the lounge, I would kill for a cup of coffee.”

Matty let himself be led through the crowd, their hands connected as if George was the tugboat guiding Matty’s ship to shore. George showed their passes to the hostess and they were granted access, the rest of their group already sprawled out on the couches, bags at their feet, coffee in hand. Matty swallowed a yawn, he was exhausted, and knew that coffee would help, but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach the acidic liquid at the moment.

Matty sat down on an open two seater. Matty hated that he had to let go of George’s hand as he made his way over to the coffee bar, pleased that they were reunited a moment later, a steaming paper cup in George’s hand. He dropped into the seat next to him and without thinking Matty found himself leaning over, not caring that technically they were in public, to rest his head in George’s lap.

“I just want to go home,” Matty said softly as George tugged Matty’s hat off to run his fingers through the messy squashed curls.

“Soon love,” said George, “we’ll be home soon.”

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urghblergh · 2 months

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Doodles. 😌🌌🌈

@kibbitzer-blog

@mcspirkevents

reference pics

@mellon_soup (no Tumblr :( ?)

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sensitiveheartless · 1 year

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For the intimacy prompts how about "feeling your partner's pulse" with SKK from your fic This is how it feels to take a fall

I love to suffer 🥲

#*victory jumps* I managed to finish this one without irritating my hands further I think! :D #luckily I had already done most of the lineart lol #the fill tool is my friend #anyway thank you anon I was so excited to get this prompt alskdjfjfj #an excuse to revisit the dazai goes feral universe! yes!!#but yeah Dazai absolutely has nightmares about it for a loooong time #intimacy prompts #bsd #my art #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #soukoku #skk #blood tw #blood cw #death cw #death tw

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shrinkthisviolet · 9 months

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"Thank god you're okay!" for Narumitsu!!!

Somehow this is the first thing I’ve written for them 😂 thank you for this!

Phoenix was used to worrying. It was why he'd become a defense attorney—fighting to save the innocent meant that a lot of the time...he worried. Especially about Maya, with how often she was falsely accused of murder.

What he wasn't used to, though, was having the favor returned.

"Wright!" He turned in his hospital bed to see Edgeworth in the doorway, panting, but his eyes—uncharacteristically wide and frantic—fixed on him. "Thank God you're alright."

"Yeah?" Phoenix frowned. "I just came down with a little cold, Edgeworth."

"A c—?" Now it was Edgeworth's turn to frown. "I was under the impression that—that is, Larry said—"

"Oh." Phoenix laughed. “That explains it. You might remember he has a tendency to—"

"—exaggerate." Edgeworth sighed. "Then I take it you didn't fall off a burning bridge into a freezing river?"

Phoenix winced. "Well..."

"Phoenix Wright!"

"Oh come on, Edgeworth, I'm fine! See?" He stood up...and immediately gripped onto his bedpost as his knees buckled, and he managed a gasping, "Fit as a fiddle."

"So I see," Edgeworth replied dryly. "Well, in any case...you're not fit to go anywhere in this state."

"Someone has to!" Phoenix protested. "Iris, she...she needs a defense! She won't—" and then, an idea occurred to him. A crazy, half-baked idea... "Wait. Is there any law that says a prosecutor can't stand in for a defense attorney?"

Edgeworth's eyes widened. "You can't be—Wright—Phoenix, what you're saying, it's—"

"Please, Edgeworth. Miles,” Phoenix implored. “I need you."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Edgeworth sighed, looking away. "You're lucky I love you, you know."

Phoenix beamed.

prompt list!

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #narumitsu #wrightworth #the inherent intimacy of the rare first-name usage 🥰#lavi’s prompt fills

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tennessoui · 2 years

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“You always this quiet?” 🙈

ah bless, ok !!! this is set in the couples counseling au, which is post-rots where obi-wan and anakin accidentally sign up for couples counseling, thinking they're going to like. counseling for teams. for people closer than brothers, etc etc. they end up falling in love (of course this IS me). this takes place right after they realize that the counselor thinks they're in love, about a month and a half after they start the counseling.

(again this is obikin, anakin is just both still married to padme for right now and very oblivious)

(1.4k)

Anakin isn’t sure he can look at Obi-Wan right now. He’s had the same dilemma on and off for a number of years, but never because of something this mortifying. And they’d been doing so much better as well. They’d really been getting along so well, cutting their twice-a-week counseling sessions to once a week ones with the approval of their counselor. They’d been making real progress.

And then they’d realized last night that their counselor thought they were…involved. Romantically involved.

It can’t be further from the truth, of course. Anakin has been and always will be in love with Padmé, and the way he loves doesn’t leave room in his heart for anyone else. And besides, his master is just—so perfect. The perfect Jedi, the perfect man. He’d never want Anakin that way. He could probably have anyone in Coruscant he wanted, a thought that fills Anakin’s chest with a weird mixture of pride and distaste. No one deserved his master. He’s always known that to be true, but it’s especially obvious now that they’re a month and a half into their counseling.

Anakin had been horrified to learn how many people in the past had hurt his master, betrayed his trust and tried to break him. He’d been even more horrified that he had been so close to being one of those people, that the war could have ended so incredibly, painfully differently had their time aboard the Invisible Hand gone a little worse.

But it hadn’t. They’d won, and everything had come to light. Palpatine’s manipulations, Anakin’s own crimes, Anakin’s own betrayal of the Code. Obi-Wan knew everything now.

It’s still surprising to Anakin, the fact that Obi-Wan hadn’t just…left. It speaks of serious attachment on Obi-Wan’s part, attachment to Anakin. It means something that his master had not been able to let him go, that he had been angry and wounded and betrayed but he hadn’t cut ties. He’d agreed almost immediately to Anakin’s half-drunken idea to go to counseling together, talk through their issues and hurts with an unbiased, professionally trained third party.

His agreement had meant the galaxy to Anakin at the time, because it had meant Obi-Wan wanted to work on them. That he loved Anakin. That he wanted them to stay the way they’d grown together: the Team, closer than best friends, closer than brothers.

But too bad for everyone involved that Anakin had accidentally signed them up for couples’ counseling.

Which—in hindsight—makes a lot of things make a lot more sense.

(Just the memory of Counselor Sheari asking them probing questions about the frequency of their intimacy brings a flush to Anakin’s cheeks. Oh. That’s what she’d meant. He’d thought she’d been talking about casual touching, like hugs.

He’d said not enough, and by the Force, she’d written that down. She’d asked Obi-Wan how comfortable he felt with their level of intimacy, and Obi-Wan had said he’d never been as demonstrative as he was with Anakin, but that it was hard for him, and it was hard to face the fact that his padawan had needs that he’s been failing to meet for years now.

And in the bedroom? Sheari had asked, scribbling furiously on the flimsi in front of her. Is it easier to be affectionate and intimate when you know no one but your partner will be able to see you?

I… Obi-Wan had stuttered, flushed all over. Anakin had thought the dull red of his cheeks had contrasted so beautifully with his hair, lit almost gold from the dying of the Coruscant daylight. I will hold him sometimes, if we sleep together. He had averted his eyes, as if he couldn’t feel Anakin pressing their Force signatures as close together as he could in reward and support. I have nightmares. We have nightmares.

Master Kenobi, Sheari had said, I find it interesting that you seem to take comfort in touch and intimacy, but only in the cover of darkness where only your partner can see you. It’s understandable but curious, given that you say you struggle to be demonstrative in public. Anakin, how does that make you feel?

Wanting, he’d admitted, if only to feel the way Obi-Wan’s Force signature twine with his in return.)

“You always this quiet?” Sheari asks, looking up from her notes to gaze at the pair of them. “I’m kidding,” she clarifies after a second. “After the third shouting match, I’ve marked you down as my loudest clients.”

Right, Anakin thinks dully. Because her clients are married people on the edge of getting a divorce. It’s a category she must think they fit into as well.

“Did something happen last night or in the past week?” she asks, folding her hands neatly on the desk in front of her.

Obi-Wan coughs from next to him. “Oh—no, nothing particularly revelatory.”

Anakin snorts and crosses his arms. It’s just that we realized you think we’re a couple, but Obi-Wan likes you and I don’t want to have to start all over again with some new person, so we talked about it and we’re going to try and pretend that we’re in love. Please don’t tell my wife.

“Hm,” Sheari appraises them. “Actually, I want to try something different today after looking over my notes from the past few sessions. I believe—perhaps from your past, your shared traumas, a sense of propriety and duty, and even a belief in trying to protect the other from the worst parts of yourselves, there is…a wall that you’ve built between yourselves.”

Anakin wrinkles his nose. If there’s a wall, it’s made up of Obi-Wan’s shields. Anakin has been doing nothing for years but throwing himself at them, trying to make them break, a one-man siege warfare.

But—perhaps Sheari has a point. Anakin’s secretkeeping, it had been from fear, yes, but not just of being found out and punished for his mistakes. He’d been afraid of disappointing Obi-Wan, of the man seeing his worst and most ugly parts, his rage and his greed. So he’d pulled away too. He’d built the wall too.

“Alright,” he admits slowly. “Yes. How do we break it?”

There’s a fond curl of amusement from Obi-Wan’s side of the bond, and Anakin sends out a loose question.

Spoken like a true war general, Obi-Wan’s mind whispers back, brusing against his own.

“Thank you for asking,” Sheari says. “I’d like you to climb into Obi-Wan’s lap and remain there for the rest of the session.”

“What?” The both of them squawk, but the counselor remains firm.

“I feel that getting both of you used to casual intimacy—around other people—will be good for you. You want to hold and be held by the other, otherwise you wouldn’t have submitted yourself to this counseling, especially for as long as we’ve been meeting. Now, come on. It’s only for thirty more minutes.”

Thirty minutes? Of—of sitting on his master’s lap as if he were a youngling?

Anakin, his master whispers over the bond, we don’t have to. We can tell her no. I will not do anything you are not comfortable with.

The words draw Anakin to a mental halt. Because that’s—that’s Obi-Wan implying that he’s comfortable with holding Anakin. That he’s worried about Anakin.

Well, if his master is fine with it, Anakin certainly is.

He tries to not appear too enthusiastic as he scrambles over the couch and into Obi-Wan’s lap, straddling his hips and wrapping his arms around his neck. It takes a little adjustment, Obi-Wan’s hands guiding him with one on his hip and the other on the small of his back, before they’re comfortable. Obi-Wan even goes as far as to ghost a hand up and down Anakin’s spine, and Anakin relaxes into the pressure, his master’s scent surrounding him and calming him. He smells like he always has, the spice of his tea and a bit like the sun. So warm and full of Light.

“Perfect,” the counselor applauds. “How does that feel for you, Anakin?”

Anakin’s eyes catch with Obi-Wan’s. The older man smiles slightly, and his eyes crinkle with his joy. “Perfect,” Anakin tells her, fascinated with trying to count his master’s crow’s feet before they disappear.

“And you, Obi-Wan?”

“Perfect,” Obi-Wan echoes, and Anakin has to fight the confusing urge to squirm in place from the heavy word of praise.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #their homework is to sit in each other's laps all the time #they absolutely switch #and start spooning on the couch #they become very good very quickly at casual intimacy in the privacy of their own quarters #couples counseling au

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coldshrugs · 1 year

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24. “Sorry, were you sleeping?” for io and estinien? but make it soft? ;--;

thank you owen!! hopefully this fits the bill 💗

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: ~800 rating: mature; language, smooching. [part 2 - mature]

It would be easier to ask for a session for healing. Camp Broken Glass has many proficient healers, after all, but therein lies the problem: Alphinaud and Alisaie are among their number. Why should Io worry them over a few bruises when ice is such a plentiful resource in this land?

She presses a chunk wrapped in cloth to a purple-tinged welt on her thigh, hissing at the cold contact. Thank the gods her room’s once barely-functioning ceruleum heater has been fully repaired, and pleasant warmth fills the space.

The settlement is looking better by the day, no doubt thanks to the hard work of her friends. The once abandoned, frigid buildings are now clean and cozy, complete with the trappings found in any roadside inn in Eorzea. In this room, the cot has been replaced by a single bed loaded with knit blankets. A few hooks line the wall, waiting for clothes. There’s a table and washbasin by the window, laden with a small bucket of ice, and two stools stacked on top of one another in the corner.

As relief spreads through the aching muscle, an insistent knock pounds against the door. “It’s me.”

She can’t get to the door fast enough.

She wrenches it open and Estinien waits on the other side, arms crossed in the middle of the corridor, and stern expression quickly giving way to fondness.

"What brings you here at this hour?" Io beams at him. This is a welcome surprise.

His gray eyes flick over her, taking in her pajamas. “Apologies, were you sleeping? I thought to give you something, but don’t mean to disturb you.”

“No, I was–” she waves the ice where he can see. Estinien steps into the room, and Io leans against the door as it falls closed. “It’s just a bruise. Our excursion today left a mark or two.”

He takes her free hand and leads her to the table, his hand warm in hers. He is so free with physical contact, especially when they are alone–something that still surprises Io. “Let me see.”

“Really, I’m fine–”

“Then show me.”

Io rolls her eyes; he won’t drop this until he sees the damage, small as it is. She ignores the stacked stools, choosing to sit on the table instead, an easy feat at her height. “Here,” she says, lifting the edge of her nightshirt to expose the dark purple sore on her thigh. Then she turns away from him, holding her hair away from her right shoulder and pulling her collar down. “And here. See? Nothing serious–ah!”

No warning, no wrapping, just the sting of ice against her skin. Io jolts away, dropping her own piece of ice, and Estinien’s low, rumbled laughter sounds behind her.

“Hold still.” The soft command stifles Io’s urge to spring across the room and bundle up in the warmth of her bed. Estinien sweeps her hair over her shoulder, out of his way, fingers gliding over the fabric of her shirt. He’s not trying, but Io melts at the touch. She struggles not to lean into him when his hand drifts down and settles at her waist to keep her in place. “Shall we try again?”

She nods. Expected or not, the ice is bitterly cold on her aching shoulder. Its bite is far easier to bear with Estinien lingering so close she can feel his breath rolling over her skin, warming the rivulets of icy water dripping from his hand. Soon, the dull pain fades to numbness.

“Thank you,” Io sighs in relief and rolls her neck from side to side. “That feels much better. Now, if I may, why did you come in the first place?”

“Sleep escaped me. I had you on my mind.” He drops the ice chunk into the bucket with a resounding clang. Io doesn’t budge when his hand, freezing and damp, falls to her other hip. “I needed to give you this.”

The sting of ice has nothing on the heat of his mouth, open and greedy, on her shoulder. Io’s skin burns under his kiss, under his hands as his fingertips dig into her waist. His lips move from her shoulder to her neck, slowly, savoring each inch of skin they pass. He reaches her jaw, and Io tilts her head back, caught between wanting to let him continue and needing to kiss him with the same intensity.

But Estinien stops.

Io feels only the puff of his laughter against her cheek, then a chaste kiss. “Well, that concludes my business here. You should rest, lest you end up in even worse shape tomorrow.”

He steps back, smoldering at the affronted state in which he leaves her. Io can do naught but scoff, wondering one thing: how fucking dare?

#azia writes #prompt fill #io laithe #io/estinien #okay the more estinio kisses/intimacy i write the more fun they become #i may pull a page from anna's book and make a part two for this #no spoilers here!! just fun hurt/comfort and the beginnings of spice

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ghostandsoap · 6 months

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Feeling You

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader Tags: Light smut. Cockwarming. Ghost being a softie. Word Count: 1.0k "Just happy you're here."

⋆˙⟡ ♡⋆˙⟡

In the quiet sanctuary of your shared solitude, you and Ghost sat chest to chest, your hearts beating in a rhythm that echoed the symphony of your love.

The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourselves in each other's presence, your souls whispering secrets that only you could understand.

The warmth of his body seeped into yours, blurring the lines between where one ended and the other began. Your breaths intermingled, a testament to the intimacy that you shared. Each inhale was a silent promise, each exhale was a sigh of contentment.

The only sounds were your breathing, heartbeats, and the occasional whimper from you when Ghost shifted his hips underneath you.

Ghost's cock was nestled far inside of you, his tip pushed against a sensitive spot that you didn't even know existed until just now. He stretched your walls so perfectly and sat so comfortably inside of you that Ghost felt high off of it.

You had soaked his thighs and lower stomach, your arousal leaking on and around him. You weren't much better, because your inner thighs were dripping.

The two of you were spending the week together, not a single plan or obligation to be had. Ghost had every intention of staying in and keeping you as close as possible. It wasn't often that he had this opportunity, and he would be a fool to let it pass him by. The week consisted of movies, snacks, cuddles, and just about anything else that didn't require either of you to leave.

The two of you had been lounging on your living room sofa, just watching some cheesy documentary that you both agreed to watch. It was more for filler noise than anything, because the two of you had managed to chat with one another through the entirety of it.

When the film was over, you turned off the TV and your side table lamp to prepare to close your flat up for the night -- however, Ghost wanted just a few more minutes.

This was about an hour ago when Ghost had set you up on his lap. Mainly just because he liked having the chance to look up at you and he loved watching you sit on his thick, muscular thighs.

Frankly though, he hadn't anticipated this.

Somewhere along the way, your cotton sleep shorts and T-shirt were discarded, along with his sweats. Your clothes were tossed aside to be retrieved in the morning.

The two of you had shared some sweet kisses, and all the shifting around prompted Ghost to slide his cock into you slowly when you were wet and ready.

However, Ghost held you still when you tried to bounce on him, which caused you to raise a brow. Ghost was sitting up straight against the back of the couch, holding onto you in his lap like you were his lifeline. It took you a few moments to settle into this arrangement that he was making.

Eventually, the two of you morphed around one another like you were the most perfect fit. Like two pieces of the most beautiful picture.

It was inevitable for you to start squirming though. After all, it was hard to resist him when he was literally right under you.

Ghost groaned and huffed when you rolled your hips forward, one of his hands coming to your hip to restrain you.

"Sit still," He said, kissing your forehead. "I just want to feel you for a bit."

"Sorry," You sighed, head still resting on his shoulder. "Just getting comfortable."

"It's alright, doll..." He chuckled. "Just happy you're here."

Ghost's fingers traced paths of affection on your skin, each touch igniting sparks that danced beneath the surface. The silence returned, filled with the unspoken words of love that hung heavy in the air.

In this moment, you were not just two bodies sitting chest to chest; you were two souls intertwined in an eternal dance of love. Your connection was palpable, a force that defied logic and reason.

As the two of you sat there, Ghost realized that he was living a life he never thought he would ever have. He was experiencing a love that was uniquely his. A kind of love that he once thought he was far too damaged and broken for.

"You're so beautiful," He almost whispered. "My pretty girl..."

You pulled your head back to look at him, your eyes sleepy and cheeks glowing. He loved you so much he could barely even understand it.

"I love you." You remarked, rotating your hips in a way that was more involuntary than anything else.

Ghost couldn't help but let out a low laugh when your grinding down against him was returned with a slow, yet firm snap of his pelvis into you. He knew that this charade wouldn't last long, because one of you was going to crack sooner or later.

"I love you." He returned, his lips meeting yours in a meaningful kiss.

He didn't stop you this time when you started to rock your hips against his cock, the feeling of moving inside of you causing a flutter of his eyes.

He couldn't deny you any longer. He had to let you have your way with him. Truth be told, it was starting to drive him a bit mad anyways.

Your movements along with Ghost's were slow and careful...sensual. He wanted to feel you for as long as he possibly could. He would do this forever and ever if he could.

His cock felt insane inside of you as you fucked him at such a glacial pace. It was insanity because Ghost couldn't believe that he could ever deserve something as good as this...someone as good as you.

The slow rise and fall of your body onto his made both of your hearts begin to beat faster. The two of you craving the other like you were the only source of life.

And in the sound of your shared heartbeat, you found a melody that only your hearts could compose.

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pierregazly · 14 days

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shampoo suds ꨄ oscar piastri

oscar piastri x f!reader

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, mention of reader having hair, bathing together [934 words]

request: can I request oscar with the gentle prompt "let me wash your hair." 💗💗

note: literally saw this and had to finish it immediately, oops :) this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!

It was a different type of intimacy, having Oscar’s chest against your back while the water sloshed around you. His head was tilted and pressed against the wall behind him, while his one arm wrapped around your front as you nuzzled back into him.

The water filled to the bathtub brim surrounding the two of you was warm and comforting. An almost ideal end to an already too-long of a week. Too-long of a month, really. Oscar had been flying all around the world, leaving you to your own work and responsibilities.

You knew he had been sore after the race in Shanghai, the jolt to his body from the accident causing a persistent, irritating pain to radiate through his body. The Australian had complained more than once about how sore his back was, which made it even easier to convince him a hot bath was necessary almost the moment he got through the door Monday evening.

Pulled out of your thoughts by the feeling of Oscar’s thumb gently tracing circles against your ribcage, you turned your neck to look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“This is nice. Feel like we haven’t done this in a long time. We should do this more,” he murmured, subsequently pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

Nodding your head in agreement, your own hand gently traced the age-old scars on his arm as he continued to gently pepper your shoulder and head with kisses.

Oscar was always more affectionate after a long time apart, eager to show you how much he missed you, loved you, and wished you were with him every second. You never complained about it, always grateful to receive all the affectionate gestures he provided. Even if it meant pruning up in a bathtub after laying in it for an hour.

“Osc, we gotta get out soon. I have to wash my hair before we go to sleep,” you said.

You felt the groan before you heard it, the sound bubbling up and out of Oscar’s chest.

“Let’s just stay in the bath. Let me wash your hair,” he emphasized his words by dribbling a bit of bath water over your head, a laugh falling from your lips at his actions.

Patting his knee, you shook your head, the droplets of water hitting Oscar in the face. “The bath water’s too dirty to wash my hair in, it won’t take me long to shower.”

Oscar was pressing down on the drain plug before you had a moment to react, the water beginning to drain out of the tub as you looked back at him in confusion.

“I guess we’re showering together, too. So needy today, baby.”

Scoffing at his words, you playfully slapped at his chest before he gestured for you to stand up, following your movements just a second later. The cold air hit your skin, causing a shiver to run through your body. Oscar was quick to turn the shower knob to ‘on’.

The warm water hit your back a second later, a sigh leaving your lips at the contact against your skin. Tipping your head back, you let the water trickle down your hair and skin.

Pressing his hands into your scalp, Oscar begin to soothingly run his hands through your hair, making sure the water had dampened all the strands.

“Osc, you really don’t have to. You’re still sore, go lay down. This won’t take me long,” you said. The man in question shushed you, before continuing his ministrations.

Grabbing the bottle of shampoo from around you, Oscar poured an excessive amount into his hands, a sheepish smile adorning his face as you looked at him in exasperation. He began to gently layer it into your hair, suds begin to form as his fingertips massaged your scalp.

You couldn’t contain the soft sighs that were leaving your lips. The feeling of Oscar running his hands through your hair, scratching at the roots, and massaging your head causing shivers to wrack through your body.

He tilted your head back again, allowing the spray of the shower to wash away the suds of shampoo. Oscar ran his fingers tenderly through the strands, scrubbing gently at your scalp again to try and get all the soap out.

Oscar’s face was right in front of you, his eyes scrunched and lips pursued as he focused on his task at hand.

Before you could stop yourself, you were inching forward to press your lips against his. Reciprocating, Oscar used his hands that were already in your hair to pull you closer to him, your bodies pressing against one another’s.

A soft sigh fell from your lips as your own hands glided up his muscled back, pressing the tips of your fingers into spots he had mentioned were aching earlier in the day. It prompted a groan to fall from his lips, his body pushing back into your hands.

Pulling away from him, you grinned as you moved your hand up and down his back.

“Let me just condition my hair, and then I’ll give you a full back massage. How does that sound, hm?”

Eagerly nodding his head, Oscar went to grab the conditioner from around you, which you easily snatched out of his hand while shaking your head at him.

“Absolutely not. This is like gold, I love you… but I don’t trust you to not pour half the bottle on my head.”

All the Australian did was laugh at your reaction, his eyes practically sparkling as he smiled at you; the adoration so prominent on his face.

i hope y’all loved this!! i had such a blast writing it 🫶🏻 i’m thinking of creating a taglist (again), so if you’re interested let me know!!

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 #oscar piastri blurb #follower celebration #pierregazly’s 1.5k celebration #f1

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allylikethecat · 6 months

Note

ugh like picture it.. sitting on your partners lap & falling asleep to their heart beat full of angst/hurt/comfort w matty & george.. dare i’d say you’d win a noble peace prize

Remember when I said this morning I was going to write something from the Sleep Prompts list next? Apparently that was a lie 😂

Also, I apologize that this has taken me literal months to finish! Anon I hope that you're still here and that this was worth at least some of the overly long wait.

I think I was missing working on the A&E fic a little bit... because we have a sick Fictional!Matty in this one... I hope you like it! Thank you so much for sending this prompt in, in the first place! I'm sorry again it took me so long to finish!

This is from the physical intimacy prompts list which can be found here. I am always taking more prompt requests even if it apparently takes me months to finish them - I promise I WILL finish all of them eventually though!! I have a spread sheet!

❤️Ally

Sitting in your partner's lap & Falling asleep to your partner's heartbeat

George was angry. He was angry at Jamie and the rest of their team for scheduling so many back to back tour stops. He was angry at Matty for hiding how sick he was. But most of all, he was angry at himself for not noticing. He was angry that he hadn’t noticed the way Matty had been turning away from him in bed, desperate to hide his fever and wheezing breath. He was angry that he hadn’t noticed Matty’s shaking hands, and that he was swallowing ibuprofen and tylenol like they were tic-tacs, alternating every three hours. That he hadn’t noticed that Matty wasn’t drinking, that his cough wasn’t the ever present smoker’s rattle from a pack a day, a pack he hadn’t touched in a week, but rather infection settling into his lungs, filling with fluid to drown him on land.

Matty had stumbled down the hallway as soon as they exited the B stage, the roar of the crowd still echoing in their ears. He had grabbed at his chest, gasping and choking on phlegm, coughing so hard he couldn’t even hope to catch his already short breath, dropping to his knees as his shoulders shook. There was a medic on him instantly, getting him upright, pressing an oxygen mask to his face. George watched in horror, frozen in place, his sweaty shirt clinging to his back, still clutching his drumsticks as Hann nudged him forward, reminding him he should go with Matty as the medic whisked him away. George wondered if they were supposed to tell someone they were leaving as he followed Matty into the back of the ambulance.

George was afraid, curled in on himself, trying to seem smaller and stay out of the way as the medics worked on Matty, listening to his heart, wincing at the crackling in his lungs. He’s not having a heart attack, don’t worry, one of the medics had tried to assure him kindly. George wasn’t sure how that was supposed to help when Matty still couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure when they became old enough for a heart attack to be a valid concern. George squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach flipping as they sped out of the venue and down the congested city streets. The perks of playing in arenas designed for ice hockey, he thought, squeezing Matty’s hand, the ambulance was parked inside the tunnel.

George ran his hand down Matty’s back, fingers brushing each bump as his spin curved through the opening of his hospital gown. He had lost weight over the course of his illness and George hated that he was just now noticing, not realizing Matty was belting his pants a hole tighter, moving his food around his plate without eating it, nausea churning in his belly.

Matty had been agitated, shivering with fever and fatigue clinging to George as if he was the only thing tethering him to this earth. The doctor that examined him was shocked that he had made it through a two hour concert with his fever, with his low oxygen levels, with his lungs hitching on every breath, catching against the infected fluid. Not only that he had been able to perform, able to sing, but that it wasn’t the first two hour show he had performed that week.

The doctor ordered a chest x-ray that led to a pneumonia diagnosis. Matty had coughed, rasping that he wasn’t some sickly Victorian child despite what Twitter might think, that he was going to be fine. George didn’t comment on the fear in his glassy eyes.

He was started on IV antibiotics and fluids, an oxygen mask fitted over his face to help him breathe easier, even if Matty kept taking it off to cough wetly into his elbow. He spat thick green mucus into a tissue, his nose wrinkling in disgust each time he would weakly toss the tissue into the bin they had placed next to his bed. After a while George started taking the tissues from him, Matty too weak to even lift his head and toss them himself.

Matty tried to argue that George didn’t have to stay, even though it was clear to George, clear to anyone with eyes, that Matty didn’t want him to leave (not that George would ever leave.) He insisted that he was fine, even as he looked anything but, his cheeks pale and his eyes sunken, his breath shallow as he coughed. He told George to go back to the hotel, told him to go shower and rest. But even as he spoke he kept his fingers tangled in the fabric of Geroge’s stage button down. Even after all these years, Matty didn’t like to let himself need others, he didn’t like to be what he thought of as a burden even though he was anything but. George had just climbed into the hospital bed with him, and pulled him into his lap, assuring him that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Matty had his cheek pressed to George’s chest, the steady beat of his heart, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled, lulling him to sleep like a toddler on a car ride, their legs tangled together on the rough sheets. Matty had fought at first to keep his eyes open, grumbling that he wasn’t tired. But the antibiotics made him woozy as his adrenaline crashed, his body no longer in a desperate survival mode. He started to relax, realizing he was safe now, wrapped in George’s embrace, getting the treatment he needed. George could feel him trembling in his arms, trying to time his own breaths to the beat of George’s heart.

“Rest Matty,” said George, pressing a kiss to the top of Matty’s head, his sweat damp curls tickling George’s nose, as his breathing slowly evened out. He didn’t get a response, Matty growing heavier in his arms as he finally fell asleep.

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #fanfiction #keep it kind #matty fic #gatty #prompt fill #prompt fills #physical intimacy prompts #physical intimacy prompt #intimacy prompt #intimacy prompts #i hope this was what you were looking for!#and also i hope you're still around im sorry this took so long #thank you for requesting and thank you for reading!

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diejager · 1 month

Note

Okay so I have kinda a prompt...and I was wondering if you could work your magic and like make it a story.. please :)

Okay so like, *reader* was at a restaurant waiting for ghost, the first date had gone so well, you were thinking of dating him seriously. However, 20 minutes had gone by and he hadn't shown up, nor was he replying to your texts. You glanced down at your phone trying to call him once more when suddenly a familiar skull mask was placed on the table. So you look up with a smile, expecting it to be ghost but it turns out to be könig, and he sits beside you and places a hand on your thigh before whispering, "I think you should be seeing someone else" or something...

Cw: DARKFIC, stalking, implied murder, implied death, obsession, possessive behaviour, tell me if I missed any.

You’d been doing so well, leaving behind the man who’d broken you, who took and took until all that was left was a dried carcass of what you used to be, a fragile version of who you once were. You cut ties with him, left him in the rubble of a shattered relationship and picked up whatever was left of your as you moved away, another city, another province and another country, as far away as you could from the monster.

And here, you met a gentle man, as scarred and broken as you, only his were physically present, people would gawk and stare at him when yours were hidden, buried beneath your skin and sinew, chained in a spiraling mind of terror and nightmares, but you understood him and he understood you. It was a mutual understanding that you built on, stacking every moment of sorrow and agony, tearful calls and sobbing voice, making it into a tower of affection that you worked beautifully on.

You called him Simon, and he called you love.

It was perfect, the first shards of friendship that soon became love, an intimacy you were both afraid to commit, but were willing to try, to dip your toes in shark infested waters and test your luck. It started out with subtle touches, his fingertips brushing against yours in fleeting signs of affection; then the gentle pull of his voice, calling your name whenever you were near; and the small tokens of servitude he gave away to you, spoiling you rotten with the money he has.

It was perfect, the miracle you had always dreamed of, the beautiful thing that filled our bleak world with vibrant coloursand liveliness. You shared a kiss, your soft ones pressed against his dried ones, feeling the coarseness and curve of his lips when they moved against yours. It was a passionate one, filled with worship and love that you were both tempted with. That led to a date, lost in each other’s eyes while you swooned at him, doe-eyed and hopeful for more than what you were unafraid to give, sipping on tea and coffee for any kind of distraction for falling further into the throes of love and devotion.

You left feeling happy, a smile shining brightly on your face until you got home and screamed out to your heart’s content, confessing to your plants and the ghosts that lived in your walls. You’d been giddy, excited for the second date, seeing the first one went so well, planning the dates and places the second day, organised half a month in advance because you were high on the pleasure. You were ecstatic, jumping to and from the walls and ceiling, like a puppy promised treats.

And when the day arrived, you dressed up, dolled yourself up for a man your heart came to love and got to the restaurant early —too early. Seated at the reserved table and encouraging yourself with a quick monologue, unaware of the time, the ticking minutes passing in a blink until you realised Simon was twenty minutes late. You knew he wouldn’t stand you up, he was too soft with you for that, he emphasised too much with you to let you go so abruptly, but he hadn’t sent anything, no message or call. You were left wondering and worried, lost in your thoughts with no one but the screen that showed Simon’s number. You might have to-

Something was rudely dropped before you, a black fabric placed in the middle of the your table, it was familiar, but many things were black. You turned, frowning and brows pinched, ready to question the person who’d trashed your table.

“What-” you choked back a whimper, eyes cloudy as you stared up at cold eyes, a chilling blue that would have frozen seas, “You-”

Your throat closed on itself, breath stuck at the back of it as you stammered, unable to utter a single word towards the giant in your nightmares. You could see the glee in his eyes, the squinted lids that screamed of a cruel grin, malicious yet jovial.

“It’s time to come back home, Spotzi,” his tone was low, a deep monotone that portrayed nothing, not even a single crumb for you to decipher how he truly felt, “You’ve had your fun with him, nh?” [Sparrow]

Him? You didn’t understand what he meant. Had he meant Simon? König couldn’t be serious, you’d finally found someone who felt the same and emphasised with you, and König wanted to take it all away like he did with your life? You stared down, away from his piercing blues, the chill that ripped through you whenever you gaze at it, wandering down to his bloodied palm- They were bloody, bruised and battered. It couldn’t be, no, you couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t dare —he would, he’d always whispered promises about beating other men to a pulp if they got in the way of his affection - obsession - for you.

Your eyes fearfully strayed from his towering form, glancing at the familiar cloth, catching the faded white of a skull dirtied with streaks of red, spotty and ripped. You recognised it, being so, so familiar with the mask as you were with the man who wore it, the soft browns and fluffy blond, the heavy bags and scars. It was Simon’s mask. A tear rolled down your cheek, falling from the fluttering of your lashes, only to be brushed away by the rough thumb of your captor.

“Do not cry, it’d eventually happen,” his attempts of soothing you were flawed, it only made you cry more, lips shaky and breathlessly choking and whimpering, “If not now, then later.”

He crouched to meet your eyes, head tilted up by your chin for König to admire you, roving over your dolled up face and the clothes you decided to wear for a man that was probably dead in an alley.

“Come, Spotzi. I have your things packed.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

#tw: dark content #dark content #dead dove do not eat #x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #konig x reader #konig mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #Stalker!könig #Kidnapper!könig #konig cod #könig x reader #könig mw2 #tw: kidnapping

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azrielhours · 22 days

Note

Hey rags! I was thinking about the fact that Azriel isn’t unhappy but he is lonely, i would love to read something written by you were Azriel is just extremely happy when he finds his mate and they’re both laying naked on bed and he is just thinking about how lonely he was and he didn’t even notice until now. Maybe he kept having lovers to try and fill that loneliness inside him but it didn’t work, it’s just with his mate he feels loved

Love Letter

wc: 500

Laying with Azriel was one of the best parts of being with him.

Sex aside, passion and loud loving, explicit testimonies—

The quiet peace of being with him was unparalleled. You sighed, snuggling closer, breathing him in deeply. Relishing his naked glory pressing heat into your skin. Pressing safety onto it. In it, as you so often felt strumming down the bond.

He stroked your back. This was routine after lovemaking, and it was just as good as the erotic high.

You open your body to him, your heart, and now the bond.

A sensation of bittersweetness flowing through it had you cracking an eye open.

He continued to stroke your back, gazing absently, still at the ceiling.

The feeling persisted. A tang of ancient ache hummed through your chest cavity.

You frowned. “Az?”

He looked down at you.

“You okay?”

His brows rose slightly. “Yes, my love. Why?”

You bit your lip. The feeling had halted, but whatever had prompted it…

“I—uh, could feel—” This was new, the transmission of soul, and yet—“Um, the bond, baby,” you finished quietly. “Is… everything okay?” Had you done something wrong?

“Oh,” he breathed. He searched your eyes as you waited apprehensively. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was just, uh—” he broke your gaze, seeking courage beyond the vulnerability in your eyes that threatened his resolve greater than even an open mating bond did his honesty.

A deep breath. “I was just… remembering,” he spoke softly. Swallowing. “How it felt before all this. Before I got to have you.”

Oh. “How did it feel?”

Azriel met your gaze again. “I’d been so lost. Just… existing. Waiting.” Seeking. He didn’t want to think about how he sought it with his whole being—a mate. How he drained himself onto females, old and new lovers, strangers, chasing physical intimacy like empty promises, trying to fill the soul-deep void. Failing over and over. He took another steadying breath. “I’ve always known I craved a mate, but having you now, I guess I—just never truly understood how alone I’d been.” Save for now, with the abundance of you filling him, utterly overflowing. Waking him up.

Your heart broke. He felt that too, resuming stroking your back, pulling you tighter. Reassuring you in the wake of his confession.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

He huffed a laugh. “What for?”

You shrugged. “For… I don’t know. Taking this long to find you.”

He laughed again, kissing you. “Finding you in the end is worth all of it.”

Your throat closed with emotion. Another silently conveyed love letter sent to his sternum. He wrapped his other arm around you. You buried your face in his neck, knowing no words would sufficiently convey what your heart was already whispering to his. I love you. I’m here to stay. I would take all the pain away if I could. You’re mine and I am yours. Azriel. Azriel. Azriel.

His heart sang in answer, filling you with such ferocious love it soothed any pain on his behalf. He exhaled, this time in contentment, declaring again, “You’re worth it all, my love.”

#azriel x reader #azriel

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janaispunk · 25 days

Text

glitch

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: ~1k

summary: Prequel to nights are so starry, blood moonlit. How you and Javi became neighbors with benefits.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), smoking, alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, a hint of dom!Javi, unprotected p in v, kinda rough sex, ass slaps, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Javi is a menace, a hint of angst and feelings because of who i am as a person

a/n: written for @iamasaddie’s writing challenge 2.0 with the prompt "never knew you were such a freak", and since my first story about these two was also part of one of aly's writing challenges, it just made sense to revisit them :)

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates!

It had started out with fleeting glances in the hallway, quick greetings when your apartment doors opened at the same time, then short conversations on your adjoining balconies, late night talks with your feet propped up on the railing and his back leaning against it, sometimes exchanging a cigarette or a light, or occasionally a bottle of beer when one of you had run out.

Of course you noticed the ridiculously tight jeans that really shouldn't look that good on him, the way his broad shoulders strained against his clothes, and the way his shirts always revealed a little too much of his golden-skinned chest. You couldn't deny the fact that your neighbor was incredibly attractive, and that he knew it.

You probably should have said no when late one evening, after Javi had found you on your balcony, smoking and watching the glistening city lights, he invited you to share a glass of bourbon. Together. At his place.

He had been flirting with you, which you suspected he did with every woman he met, and you had tried not to pay it any mind, but you were well aware of how this evening would end if you accepted.

You should have said no, and a stronger, less lonely version of you might have, but you craved human contact, craved to be touched by someone else than yourself, and if the sounds that traveled through the thin walls from his bedroom to yours frequently enough were any indication, Javi knew what he was doing.

You should have said no, because it became clear to you very quickly that Javier Peña would ruin you for all other men.

He was more gentle, more caring than you had expected him to be and he prioritized your pleasure in a way that you had never experienced from any man before. He took you to heights that you hadn’t thought possible before, and it was addicting.

You should have said no, but you hadn’t, and now you keep coming back for more.

You keep coming back for the way his skin tastes under your tongue, for the way his lips press against yours, swallowing moans and whimpers, for the way his fingers and his cock reach so deep inside of you that you still feel him hours later, when you have said your good nights and crawled under the covers of your own bed. Never his, never crossing the line to a different kind of intimacy.

It’s another one of those nights, a soft knock on a door, a mutual understanding passing between you, gentle touches that burned under your skin until they got more demanding, until you both gave in to that pull that kept you coming back.

He’s already made you come on his tongue twice, until you were dripping onto his sheets, his name the only word in your mind and on your lips. You’re on your hands and knees, limbs shaking, trying to accommodate his length and the harsh rhythm that he’s setting.

“Taking me so fucking well,” he pants, running his hands down your back and over your ass. You chase his touch, goosebumps forming in its wake, your moans filling the air as he keeps hitting impossibly deep inside of you.

His palm connects with your skin, nothing more than a playful swat, but the sensation sears through you, lighting your nerve endings on fire as you all but scream your pleasure into the softly lit bedroom.

“Oh?” His voice is low, rough in his throat. You don’t need to turn your head and look behind you to know that he’s smirking down at you right now. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod eagerly, too far gone to be ashamed of the way your hips are bucking back against him, working desperately to feel him deeper inside of you.

He slaps you again, harder this time, and you feel yourself clenching around him, feel the way a new wave of slick is coating his cock. His fingers dig into your shoulder and he pulls you up, until your torso is pressed against his, his mouth moving against the delicate skin of your neck.

“Never knew you were such a freak, baby,” he whispers, his lips curling into a grin, teeth nipping at you.

“Shut up.” You try to hold your voice steady, ignore the throbbing need between your thighs, but he just chuckles and presses another kiss against the side of your throat before he loosens his hold and pushes you back towards the mattress.

His hands grab your hips instead, pulling you into his thrusts, filling you so deeply that you see stars behind your eyelids.

“You want me to do it again?” You hate how smug he sounds, would love to deny him the satisfaction, but god, you do want him to.

“Fuck– please, Javi.” You’re breathless, reduced to a mess of trembling thighs and desperate whimpers, and you wish that you could stay like this forever.

He slaps your ass twice in quick succession and deepens his thrusts at the same time, punching all air from your lungs. His hand snakes down to graze your clit and you’re overwhelmed with sensations, pure pleasure coursing through your veins so suddenly that it’s almost disorienting. You collapse onto the sheets, your pussy pulsing around him as your body shakes through its third orgasm of the night and you’re whimpering his name as he buries himself deep inside of you and comes with a groan, painting your insides with his release.

After more kisses, more touches, and a shared cigarette, you get dressed and eventually, his apartment door clicks shut behind you. You lean your back against the wall, closing your eyes and breathing deeply for a moment before you enter your own place.

Again, you know that you’ll be coming back for more. And that no matter how many times you come back, it will never be enough.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#writing challenge 2.0 #janas fics #fic: glitch #javier peña #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories

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finalgirllx · 2 months

Text

bartender mattheo riddle

i'm a slut for AUs and this one quickly shot up to being one of my favorites for mattheo.

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge, the prompt i went off of was 'firewhiskey/butterbeer'

As you tread the once-familiar cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, the rhythmic click of your shoes provides a temporary distraction from the storm swelling inside your thoughts. For such a lively village, the action around you feels distant, too far in the past to offer any respite similar to the steady cadence beneath your feet.

To outside viewers, you appear as any young person donning a modest party dress and looking for a casual spot to unwind for the evening. They wouldn't know this was your first visit to Hogsmeade in over five years since you finished your schooling at Hogwarts. You had left the highlands, your small hamlet, for bigger, better things—or so you had thought.

Reality didn't guarantee such promises you had dreamed of in those few years. Currently barely making ends meet and running on a general sense of uncertainty, you decided it was as good a time as any to revisit your hometown and the magical communities surrounding it, including this cheerful wizarding town you had frequented throughout your adolescence.

You first tried your luck with the Three Broomsticks, but the bustling atmosphere proved too overwhelming for the discreet return you aimed for. With the decision between the rundown Hog's Head inn and a newer, more upscale establishment called 'Celestial Sips,' you opted to see what this new 'fancy-schmancy' spot was all about.

You stealthily step through the polished entry doors to scan the venue, which is dimly lit beside faint golden lights. It is adorned with oddly shaped furniture more suited for artistic expression rather than usability. It appears far more modernized than the traditional charm most common with Hogsmeade’s businesses, young wizarding folk undoubtedly curated it with heavy inspiration coming from muggle cocktail lounges.

The existence of the bar itself in a place such as Hogsmeade wasn't the most earth-shattering part of this night out. It was when your eyes met with the lead bartender, and a flood of memories filled your senses as you realized it was none other than Mattheo Riddle.

His dark curls were unruly as ever but fell in such a way that made him irresistible. His piercing dark gaze caught yours, sparking with recognition. The scar across the bridge of his nose was just as prominent as it was six years ago, as vivid as the day you had dragged him to the hospital wing to get his split nose mended after a particularly grueling fistfight.

That memory also reminds you just how close you and him once were. While you had never officially dated, you did everything a couple would and then some. You shared countless fun late nights, as well as having been there for each other during the more trying ones. And although sexual intimacy didn't come until after graduation, the passion of those post-school days also remains etched in your memory. It was your decision to pursue "bigger things" that had cut that short, leaving you with a lingering sense of what might have been.

Despite the distance between you as you reeled from the shock of encountering him here, you couldn't help but notice the changes in Mattheo over the past five years. Mattheo exuded a confidence far from the troubled boy you once knew at school. He had grown taller, broader, and even more handsome than before. He was also now littered with tattoos that only added to his allure, tempting you to bridge the distance separating you further.

Your knee-jerk reaction would have been to flee the scene, but since you had already met eyes and he was actively beckoning you forward to the bar as you battled with your thoughts, you had no choice but to participate in the unexpected reunion.

You sat at a bar stool, and Mattheo quickly welcomed you with a warm but distinctively husky tone. It was clear that Mattheo was struggling to mask his excitement over seeing you as he tried to maintain some professionalism while behind the bar.

"The greatest stroke of luck I've encountered since taking the job at this fancy joint," Mattheo started with genuine delight, "I can't believe it's you. You look fantastic," his quick work of sweet-talking you did the trick as your cheeks flushed, though still totally sober. Mattheo was also swift in amending that, sliding a vodka cranberry before you with a nod, "On the house. Let me know if you want something more 'refined' for the setting; I just went with an old favorite."

You let out a soft giggle, drawing the straw to your lips to sip the drink. The sweetness of the juice masks the burn, perfectly balanced to not overwhelm from either end.

With Mattheo's excellent job of putting you at ease, you finally replied. "Indeed, you always teased me for not being a whiskey drinker. Old habits die hard," you quipped, taking another sip before continuing. "But, look at you! A bartender? Mattheo, I must say, I'm thrilled to see you here and not, well.." your words lingered away at the implication, realizing it might not sound as encouraging as intended. There were all sorts of rumors of him headed to a life of dark wizardry, so seeing him here was a relief. But he didn't have to hear about any of that, not now. Quickly shifting your approach, you perked up to suggest, "And at this luxurious place? While I appreciate the old favorite, I would love to see what magic you could conjure up in a cocktail glass."

Mattheo laughed and shook his head momentarily before piping up again. "Seems your confidence has skyrocketed. I'm glad to see that, princess," he teased with a cheeky smirk, earning an eye roll from you that only amused him further. You again feel a little heated at the nickname, opting not to question it. You could see that the mischievous glint in his eyes was alive and well as he began meticulously combining various expensive-looking drinks and mixers just for you. Simultaneously, Mattheo tended to other existing patrons, expertly traversing the sprawling bar to ensure everyone's needs were met and drinks stayed filled.

Observing how Mattheo carried himself with such assuredness only heightened your attraction. Each movement he made to speak with patrons and craft drinks allowed you to appreciate his muscled physique. You were no better than a groupie ogling his toned, tattooed arms, his hands still bearing faint scars from his past. The sight of his veins flexing with every motion ignited a fire in your stomach that you hoped wouldn't consume you entirely.

His broad shoulders and slim waist were accentuated by his dark button-up dress shirt. That caught your attention, as did when your gaze moved downward and drifted over his perfectly sculpted behind. You were abruptly snapped from your desirous stupor when the object of your admiration set a much fancier cocktail before you.

"Like what you see?" Mattheo asked with a smug, teasing tone, causing you to want to disappear into the ground beneath your stool. You must have been less-than-subtle about checking him out, but he didn't seem to mind as he continued without further ribbing. "Try that. It's the Mattheo special," he said, watching you intently to see how you reacted to the first sip.

You smirked at the oh-so-creative name and then inspected the drink itself. It was rather extravagant, a lavender purple hue with swirls of gold shimmering with every swish of the glass.

Without hesitation, you lifted the glass and took a small sip. A delightful combination of blueberry and lemon overtook your tastebuds, almost completely shielding the strength of the alcohol in the drink. Hell, you were prepared to question if it was mixed at all had you not watched him pour at least a shot's worth of vodka into it.

You gave him a smile of approval, to which Mattheo grinned widely, clearly pleased to see you liked it. With the other patrons momentarily tended to, Mattheo rested his elbows on the counter, surprising you with his sudden proximity as he leaned forward, suggesting he had something enticing to say.

"I hope this isn't too forward, but I'd really like to catch up," Mattheo spoke in a hushed tone. It sounded innocent enough, but the question, paired with his gaze lingering on your figure, told you he meant anything but. "Would you consider sticking around till close?"

Yes, yes, yes! Your internal monologue screamed. On the outside, you locked eyes with him and smirked, your expression conveying you understood his intentions well. "I don't have anywhere else I want to go; I can stick around."

-----------------------

You were cautious with your drinking to avoid getting too intoxicated for your later plans with Mattheo. As the closing time for Celestial Sips approached, you remained near the counter, bantering with other patrons. Mattheo delegated cleaning duties to other employees while he called for final rounds and closed tabs. Each time your eyes met, a shared twinge of excitement passed between you.

After another hour or so, Mattheo finally shut down the lit 'open' sign, leaving you two together alone. While this is what you wanted, your nerves welled up upon the realization that it was just the two of you here. A hint of insecurity came over you. He had grown to be such an attractive, confident man, and you could only hope he found you equally appealing. That line of thought was interrupted when Mattheo began approaching you. His expression, filled with hunger, was directed at you. His captivating eyes combined with the deep-brown locks drooping over his forehead implored you to swoon from where you sat.

"Merlin, princess, you have no idea how much I've missed you," Mattheo murmured, his voice brimming with seduction as he closed the distance, his hands finding their place on the curve of your waist. “Please let me know if you want me to slow down at any time." His words echoed in your ears, bringing you comfort even though you felt wholly prepared to surrender to all of his desires.

Mattheo advanced until your back pressed against the front of the counter. His lips found the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with a trail of wet kisses in their wake. A moan escaped your lips as his actions ignited your longing for more; everything you had wished his hands on you would feel like coming true. However, the heat was cut short far too soon when Mattheo suddenly took a pause from all of the heavy petting.

"You seem tense," Mattheo remarked with a hint of concern. You promptly reassured him with affectionate pecks to his cheek before admitting, "I just hope I'm good for you." His eyes briefly darkened as if displeased by your hesitancy. Suddenly, both of his hands moved to cup your cheeks, and he gazed deeply into your eyes.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on. I meant every word when I said I fantasized about a moment like this with you for years," he confessed. The sincerity in his voice compelled you to trust him, leaving you with no doubt about whether he wanted this.

Seeing you take his words to heart, Mattheo's expression then lit up, clearly having a lightbulb moment. "If you're ready, this place is chock full of drinks to help us both loosen up a bit," As soon as he mentioned it, you felt almost silly having overlooked the idea, realizing that some liquid confidence was the answer to easing your nerves. You nodded, and Mattheo took his hand in yours and gently guided you behind the bar counter.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, and you instantly replied, "I do."

In one swift motion, one hand made its way to the back of your head and the other to the small of your back so he could pull you into a passionate kiss. Your tongues found each other in a dance, his dominant side quickly winning over as his tongue protruded into your mouth. When you briefly pulled away to catch your breath, your cheeky side showed itself when you gently tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. He moaned slightly, to your satisfaction, and you took advantage of the moment to run your hand over his chest, feeling the muscles underneath that dress shirt. You finally had Mattheo Riddle all to yourself, and you wanted all of him.

Without warning, he grabbed you by the hips, pulled you close, and spun you around to bend you over the counter. One hand curled around your hair to create a makeshift ponytail, the other wasting no time grabbing a bottle of fire whiskey within arm's reach and placing it beside you.

"I'm sorry, doll. I know you love vodka, but whiskey is perfect for tonight."

You looked up at him with doe-like pleading eyes as he gripped your hair, nodding as much as you could though restricted by his hold. He grinned wickedly over your enthusiastic consent before looming over you with a dominating presence. "Open up that mouth, princess."

Your lips slightly parted as Mattheo brought the open bottle of whiskey to your mouth. He poured a shot's worth down your throat, the intense heat burning on your tongue without anything to chase it down. Yet, as Mattheo force-fed you the drink and whispered praises in your ear about how you 'take it so well,' the burn of the whiskey transformed into a divine sensation, exhilarating in the best way. The bar counter was the only thing stopping you from melting to the floor as you became weak in the knees, your aroused state especially susceptible to his praise.

Mattheo lifted the bottle away from you to take a swig, holding you to the counter with a heavy palm against your back. He sighed, satisfied by the burn.

After a moment, he turned his attention back on you and pulled your hair to the side, hastily marking your neck with suctioned kisses and nibbles. At the same time, Mattheo's fingers ghosted down your back, caressing your ass and jolting you with a swift spank, finally reaching underneath your dress to stroke your cunt through your slick panties.

"Merlin, princess, after seeing the way your lips wrapped around that bottle, I wanted to fuck that pretty mouth so bad. But feeling how goddamn wet you are for me, I'm not sure either of us can wait for my cock to be inside your perfect, tight pussy."

His long fingers moved away from your aching core, reaching up and now brushing against your lips. "Will you wet my fingers a little more for me?" he asked in a voice too enticing for such an indecent request. You immediately allowed him to intrude your mouth, his fingers already covered in your taste though he had just barely begun to touch you. "We have to prepare that pussy don't we?" he groaned into your ear. You were distracted as his hardened cock ground into your ass between the fabric of your dress and his trousers.

You could tell he was beginning to lose himself as he seemed enamored by the way your mouth slipped over his fingers, swirling your tongue around them in a show of desperation to please.

Once content with your wetting of his fingers, he pulled them from your mouth and went back to exploring your panties, pushing them aside to tease your folds before slipping the first of his fingers in. It was seamless, not surprising for you, having lusted over him the entire night.

"Fuck, you're still so tight, doll. I have to stretch you out, so this feels as good for you as it will for me."

After a few moments, he introduced a second finger to your soaked cunt. He didn't move at first but gradually began pumping them inside. He could have cum on the spot witnessing your frenetic response to just two fingers.

"Careful, princess. If you want to come on my fingers, you need to beg for it." The words sent a shudder of desperation through your entire body, legs threatening to give out from underneath you as the artful use of his fingers in tandem with his dirty talk brought you toward your first orgasm, unable to resist it even if you tried. Mattheo kept his movements steady as your eyes rolled back and your walls clenched around him, a deep voice leaving the back of his throat to growl, "that's it, ride my fingers, you little slut," His tone this time was demanding, you knew he was displeased by your disobedience. His untamed, hungry expression evolved into something more conniving as he contemplated how to punish you for cumming without permission.

"You like that, huh? A slut who couldn't wait to beg? I should put my cock inside you and make you cum until you can't stand it anymore, then, hm? Do you want that? Cry for it, princess, or you're not getting it."

You quickly fulfill this command with desperate pleas, "Please, Mattheo, please, fill me with your cock."

"Fucking hell, princess--if I wasn't about to bust, I'd have you begging more. Desperation sounds fucking delicious rolling off your tongue," Mattheo growled against your ear as one of his hands haphazardly moved back to his trousers, hastily unbuttoning them to allow his needy length to spring free and press against you. The relief of finally freeing himself caused a deep groan to slip past his lips which only seemed to increase his urgency as his hands quickly found their place on your body again, yanking your dress up over your ass and delivering a forceful slap to your exposed flesh. You yelped and squirmed reflexively from the sting, much to his delight. "That's my fucking ass, don't forget it," he groaned with a certain smugness at the sight of his handprint forming on your skin.

"Please, Matty, please fuck me," you pleaded with a nearly pathetic level of desire. With that, Mattheo decided not to waste another second before indulging you. He took hold of your hips, guiding his cock to your slick folds, and slowly started to ease himself inside of you.

You gasped at the intrusion, reveling in the stretch, but Mattheo cooed praises to relax you enough so there was little discomfort as you adjusted to his size. "Fuck, you fit around me so well. perfect pussy, perfect girl." he groaned as he could feel your wet warmth surround him. “is this okay?"

"Yes, please keep going."

Mattheo used the makeshift ponytail of your hair to lift your head and press his full weight against you onto the counter. His hips began to move, thrusting slowly to start until he was absolutely sure you could take him. With you now sandwiched between his body and the cold surface, he worked up to fucking you at a relentless pace, the base of his cock clashing against your ass as he bottomed out inside of your cunt. The hand steadying you by the hip reached up to wrap around your throat, squeezing at the sides enough for you to feel his strength but not enough to cause pain. It seemed almost to be a reminder for himself not to completely lose to the animalistic urges as he continued to increase the intensity. Your pelvis clanging against the bar didn't matter; you always like it rough, and he knew it.

"Princess, oh gods, I don't know if I'll last." He moaned into your ear paired with short, hot breaths. "You feel so fucking good; I wanted this for so..fucking...long." he sang his praises between each punctuated thrust that hit just the right spot inside of you again and again. The repeated stimulation triggers your second orgasm, your walls clenching around his cock as a choked moan barely escapes your lips- the sound being caught by his firm hold on your neck.

"We're fucking meant for each other, babe," Mattheo grunted as you rode through your wave of pleasure. All you could do in your cockdrunk state was mewl in response, which fueled his ego. "Perfect dumb slut for me, you love taking my cock, don't you? Tell me how much you love my cock," his dirty talk turned more degrading as your most depraved desires inched closer to showing themselves on the surface.

"Love your cock Matty.. mhm so good..."

"Good slut. Now, say you're mine," he commanded, completely frenzied with his pacing.

"I'm yours." you babbled with complete devotion. Mattheo groaned as you so willingly gave into his possessiveness, the very idea of owning every part of you being the tipping point to let his release out inside of you. His rutting became erratic and slowed as he rode through his orgasm, the last few pumps matching your third orgasm in stride.

He then laid limp on top of you, letting out heaving exhales to regain his composure. For the moment, he left his cock to twitch inside of you, relishing in the warm feeling. Once convinced he could get up properly, he pulled out, leaving your pussy dripping with his cum as his entire body lurched over you.

"That was perfect, you were perfect. Best stroke of luck in ages," he mused with a throaty chuckle, recalling his first words when you locked eyes at the beginning of the night. "Can you walk?" he asked, mostly teasingly because the shaking of your legs answered that question without a doubt.

"No," you spoke softly, the giggles you had at the beginning of the night starting to return even if your mind wasn't still fully there from the back-to-back stimulation.

With this, Mattheo decided to hold you for a while longer. You had a lot of catching up to do and piecing together both of your stories to find out how, after so many years, you still ended up right here. But for now, the shared presence was enough.

------------------ huge thankies to @slytherinslut0 for coaching me through this. i was very spooked to share. love y'all <3

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle au #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin #slytherin boys #hogmarch challenge

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tripleyeeet · 8 months

Text

I CARE FOR YOU (6)

SUMMARY: After an unexpected moment of intimacy, you admit your growing feelings for Astarion.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,768

WARNINGS: Fluff, cheesy gross rotten fluff filled with more realized feelings.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I can't tell whether or not I hate this chapter so uh, please be nice to me. I'm very tired and just :')

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

You’ve been drinking for a while now. Sharing a bottle of ale Astarion had nicked off a merchant outside the myconid colony. While speaking to her about the issue of her missing husband, he somehow managed to snag it unseen, along with a couple of potions and some coins that he shared with you.

At first, you were surprised. Sure, you and Astarion had become increasingly close over the last few days, spending practically all hours conversating or plotting —overall just enjoying each other’s company. But he’d always been firm about earning your keep. Typically for him, what you earned was solely yours alone and vice versa but when you asked him about the merchant theft he just smiled and pinched your cheek, thanking you for the distraction.

It made you blush —uncontrollably so. The feeling of his fingers taught against your skin before their disappearance. As you moved alongside him, making your way back to camp, you had to compose the need to squeal, feeling your stomach flip while your heart wreaked havoc against your chest.

Now that you were drunk such feelings had subdued. Lost to the clouded headspace of inebriation that has you lazily staring at the fire, a small grin plastered across your face as you continue to drink.

Against your tongue, it feels warm and bitter, forcing you to smack your lips in slight disgust every time you swallow it down. “Gods, this is rancid,” you say, and Astarion nods, reaching for the bottle.

He tips his head back to let it cascade down, cringing ever so slightly. “I swear I haven’t had a decent drink in months,” he complains, passing it back —letting the tips of his fingers brush against the base of your knuckles in the process.

You roll your eyes, feeling that nervous jump of nerves hit your stomach before shaking your head. “That tends to happen when you’re camping beneath the surface.”

“It was shit before then too, I’m afraid,” he sighs. “Even at that grove party they were basically serving up bottled piss.”

“At least it was free.”

He shrugs knowingly, agreeing as he watches you take another sip; scrunching up your face in disgust. It’s not good by any means but it’s the first drink you’ve had in days —and again it’s free— so you try not to complain too much.

“I miss wine.” Snatching the bottle back, he takes another sip and groans, immediately giving it back. “Good wine.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had good wine.”

Immediately, he looks at you like you’ve just slain his mother. His eyes are wide and full of pain before they narrow to a point, prompting him to lean in close, peeling the bottle from your hands. “I’m sorry, what do you mean you’ve never had good wine?”

You shrug, reaching for the bottle only to have him raise it into the air, gripping the neck tightly. “Hey!”

“You grew up in Baldur’s, did you not?”

Ignoring his question, you roll onto your knees, placing a hand on his shoulder as you reach for the drink, groaning when he raises it out of reach again.

“What’s the best wine you’ve had?”

You grumpily move in closer, maneuvering one of your knees to rest between his outstretched legs, feeling his arm snake around your waist when you inevitably stumble from the alcohol. Audibly you gasp and look down at him, watching his lips twitch into a smirk.

“Give the bottle back, you ass!”

His fingers fan across the fabric of your shirt, applying a bit of extra pressure that has you fighting. Resisting the urge to give in as he pouts at your words.

“Ass? And here I thought you and I were starting to become friends.”

That feeling from earlier returns. The one where your stomach tangles up and your chest begins to ache, longing for something you know you shouldn’t even think to entertain. “We are friends.”

His brow shoots up. “Are we?”

Despite the constant attention you’ve been offering one another, you realize then that you’ve never actually discussed what the two of you are. How he makes you feel happy and loved and, above all else, safe. On more than one occasion you’ve thought about letting it slip. During the night when you wake up from your nightmares only to find him already lying next to you, you’ve thought about opening up.

It’d be hard. Seeing as neither of you is the type to fully express how you feel, the idea of verbally admitting that you care for him far more than you should could be detrimental. The kind of conversation that could potentially ruin everything you have going, knowing that he’s…

Well, he’s him. He’s guarded and cautious and deceptive. A man so unwilling to trust that even the simplest of gestures have you questioning his intentions. Wondering whether or not the side of him you get to see is truly real or not.

You assume in some cases it is. Mostly because no one else has offered you that kind of courtesy. The others are nice. They care for you in their own little ways but something about Astarion’s kindness is different. More developed. It isn’t surface level in the way that Shadowheart heals you after a tough battle or how Lae’zel offers to help you cut vegetables at dinner. There’s something else that lingers. Something warm and tender that makes your ever-growing feelings fight through the ongoing suppression of your mind.

A suppression that dwindles the longer you look at him —the longer you kneel, half straddling his thigh while your hands sit awkwardly in the air, begging to be touched.

“I mean, acquaintances don’t do the things we do for each other.”

You see his throat bob as he swallows. “And what sort of things do we do for each other, hm?”

His voice, despite sounding as confident as it usually does, feels different. Instead of teasing, there’s a genuine curiosity that forms, hanging onto every breath that filters through your lungs.

“Nice things.”

He scoffs. “Care to provide some examples, my dear?”

Instead of responding, you let your hands fall to his shoulders, feeling the sudden tenseness underneath your fingertips as you slide them up toward his neck and move forward. After that, there are still no words that are spoken. Only breaths that catch in your respective throats as Astarion’s thigh shifts towards the innermost parts of yours, pushing against you gently.

Pressing your lips together, you ignore the feeling that presents itself when he does that, focusing on his face. On the way, his mouth opens up with bated breath —the way his eyes soften and his other hand drops the ale and moves throughout your vision to place an even softer touch against your cheek.

Without even thinking you return his gesture from the other night, letting your lips press against his thumb as you close your eyes, realizing you want this. Whatever it is that he’s willing to offer. Whether it’s strictly friendship or more or even something in between. At this point, he could offer you the dirt beneath his feet and you’d take it. Bottle it up as a reminder of all that he’s done for you. All the words he’s said to make you laugh. All the hands he’s held to calm you down during your most anxious moments.

He could take and take and give absolutely nothing in return and you’d accept it with open arms if it meant you could stay like this. If it meant you could feel the brush of his thumb gliding back to cup your head and pull you down.

“I know you’re not the most articulate friend I have but I’d still appreciate a bit more effort.”

The sudden presence of his breath makes you open your eyes. Your foreheads are practically touching and by now your arms have fully tightened around his neck, further supporting your hold.

“I don’t know. I, uh, I suppose you care.”

“Do I now?”

“I think so.”

He hums. “What makes you say that?”

You purse lips, trying to wrap your head around the closeness of it all. The intimate touches mixed with the potential confession rising up your throat. “You do things that the others don’t.”

The hand that rests against the back of your head runs through the roots of your hair, gripping them slightly as he laughs. “You really are bad at elaborating, aren’t you, darling?”

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes, fighting back a grin; not surprised that even in moments like this he still manages to withstand his arrogance. “I just mean that it feels like you actually care about me as a person rather than just another helping sword in a war.”

When he doesn’t respond right away you’re worried you’ve lost him. That you’ve scared him off somehow. Sometimes that happens when you’re in the middle of a conversation. Everything will be normal and somehow you’ll manage to fuck it up by asking something too personal, causing his retreat.

It hasn’t happened in a while. Not since that night, he held you in your tent but you still assume it’s coming based on the way his gaze shifts, moving from place to place —completely avoiding your eyes. Usually, that’s the first step when he separates. Either he’ll look away or his eyes will go out of focus, leaving you by yourself to wonder how to fix it.

Reluctantly you slip from his grasp, releasing his neck with shaky hands, feeling the way he tightens up but makes no effort to stop you.

“Sorry, I, uh, I know you’ve got your own… stuff going on.” You clear your throat, relaxing your hips against his thigh before you remember that you’re trying to give him space, prompting you to sit back up again. “Wouldn’t want to complicate that or anything.”

After that, there’s a nervous laugh that escapes your lips when you attempt to crawl off of him. One that grows the second the hand he still has on your back moves to grip your hip, pulling you back down with a rough tug. It forces the breath right out of you. Ripping through your lungs, it feels like instead of blood, Astarion’s taking your air, forcing your mouth to open in such a desperate way you almost whine out loud.

“I do care —for what it’s worth. Despite the complications.”

He says it so quietly you barely hear it against the crackling of the ongoing fire and the echoes of the Underdark. As it hits your ears, it sounds like the faintest whisper ever uttered. A quiet secret so safely tucked away that even the mention of its mere existence has you reaching for his face, cupping his cheeks with careful hands that wish to make sure he’s okay.

“You make me feel…” He trails off, letting out a frustrated sigh while closing his eyes.

You can tell then that he’s fighting the barrier. Allowing its presence to overthrow his thoughts, fearing what might happen if he’s honest. There’s a part of you that wants to tell him it’s okay —that anything he says will be cherished not exploited. Appreciated to the highest degree possible. But then there’s the other part. The one that knows that what you say doesn’t matter. That in the grand scheme of things, words are merely facades we tell each other to hide the truth.

You want to tell him the truth. More than anything you want to utter every hidden admiration over and over again until he believes you. Until he’s forced to hear the cadence in your voice breaking at the realization he believes that he’s untouchable.

“I care for you, Astarion.”

The words come out more broken than you intend. As it exits your lips, it’s coarse against your ears, making you internally cringe and close your eyes, taking a moment to breathe because you finally did it. You finally said something.

All you receive from it is a hum of acknowledgement. One that fails to give you any sort of relief.

At first, it shakes you. Makes you regret even thinking you could earn anything other than a snide remark. But then you open your eyes. And you see him. The way he’s staring at you with confused eyes and open lips, begging you for more.

“I don’t know what it all means yet. I just —I just wanted you to know that your friendship means more to me than you know.” You glide both thumbs across his cheeks, feeling the coolness of his skin wrap around the warmth of your own. “I know I don’t know a lot about your past. I don’t know how or what level it’s affected how you perceive your self-worth but I know you now. And I know that regardless of the shit you went through whether it was of your will or otherwise, that you deserve to be cared for.”

That you deserve to be loved.

By the time you’re done, you’re weightless. A feather of freedom dancing in the wind as it awaits its downfall.

Glancing between Astarion and the space behind him, you find there’s no regret in what you’ve just said. No fear of rejection. No shame for admittance. All that’s left is the feeling of relief. One that grows once you hear him clear his throat and pull you close, moving his forehead to yours.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says, but that doesn’t stop the smile that pulls at your cheeks.

“It’s okay. Neither do I.”

“I don’t know how to be what you want.”

You inhale heavily, looking down to see the worry grace his face. “Do you even know what I want?”

He opens his mouth but quickly stops, making you laugh.

“I want you, Astarion. That’s it. Whether it’s you at your best or you at your worst, I just want you.”

“Me.” He repeats it as a statement. As an affirmation that makes your stomach flip.

“I know you’re difficult to deal with. You’re stubborn and unforgiving and crass but I’m also incredibly patient.” You squeeze his cheeks, uttering patient through clenched teeth that make him snort.

“I’d argue that most of the time you’re not but—“

You shush him, earning yourself an eye roll. “I’ll wait for you. With you. If that’s what you want.”

And you do. Pressing yourself further into him, you breathe and wait, letting him piece together all the words you’ve just displayed. Letting him sit and process the weight of them all in the form of nervous fingers that tap your hips before they slowly begin to slide.

By the time they hit the centre of your back, he’s releasing his hold with one and snaking it beneath your outstretched arm to grab your face.

“Can I share something? With you?”

You nod your head and feel him pull you down, immediately slotting his lips over yours in a way you’ve never felt before.

Somehow it’s soft while still remaining hungry. Deep beneath the careful movements he inflicts, there’s a desperation that has both of you moving your arms to further wrap around the other, forcing your chests flush. Against your mouth, he breathes new life into your soul —ripping the old away as he nibbles the edge of your bottom lip, eliciting a moan that makes him grin.

“You taste better than I remember.”

Silencing him with another kiss, you move your hands to his hair, running your fingers along his scalp, feeling the way he shudders beneath your touch before pulling away.

Both of you are gasping for air then. Staring at one another with blown-out pupils that make you look away in embarrassment.

You’re not sure how to feel now. Before it was easy to pine —to think about the potentials and long for something more because it wasn’t real. It was merely a desire fuelled by curiosity so now that you have it, you have no idea what happens next.

“We should probably talk, right? About things?”

You can’t help but brush his curls from his face as he nods, giving you a knowing look that has you feeling worried he still might backtrack. “Things, as in?”

“The past. Both of ours. When you’re ready.”

Despite the reluctance you feel radiating off of him, there’s also a sliver of acceptance. An inkling of something new and warm that filters through as he nods his head, uttering a thank you before pulling you back in again.

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan @bluestuesday @bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon @sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama @venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes @ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer @girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03

(if you'd like to be added to the taglist fill out this form, also if your name isn't on here and it should be i couldn't tag you so message me and i'll try again next time!)

#i care for you #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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springtyme · 3 months

Note

Hi Sage, congrats on the milestone, honey!

I would love to request number 10 from the fluff prompt with Spencer ✨

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐃𝐨𝐜 ♡

Thank you so much, dear! This was so lovely to write ♡

Spencer Reid x reader || Main masterlist || Spencer playlist

10: “I just want to lay here all day” for the 1k follower celebration. Waking up next to you is Spencer's favorite thing in the world.

word count: 1k

As the warm sunlight filters through the curtains, bathing the room in a gentle glow, you slowly open your eyes. Slowly stirring from your slumber, you let out a contented sigh, stretching your arms before turning to find Spencer, lying peacefully beside you. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you admire his soft features and tousled hair. It’s so rare that you wake up before him, but you love when you do.

You carefully prop yourself up on your elbow, gently tracing the contours of his face with your eyes. His relaxed expression fills your heart with warmth, reminding you just how lucky you are to have him by your side. Gently, you reach out to brush a wavy strand of hair away from his forehead, reveling in the softness of his touch against your fingertips.

As you bask in the tranquility of the moment, fond memories of your journey together begin to flood your mind. From the first time you met, you knew there was something special about Spencer Reid. It was a fateful day at a small bookstore three years ago. You were both reaching for the same book and your hands accidentally brushed against each other. The spark of connection was instant, and from that moment on, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards each other.

As you reminisce, you can’t help but remember the nervous excitement of your first date. Spencer had taken you to a small café, where the two of you spent hours engrossed in deep conversations about your shared love for literature, psychology, and everything in between. It was clear that you had found someone who understood you on a level no one else had before.

Each day with Spencer is a new discovery, and waking up beside him feels like unwrapping a precious gift.

You trace the outline of his lips, recalling the tender kisses shared in this very room, sealing promises of love and devotion. The way his eyes light up when he catches a glimpse of you, the way his voice intertwines with yours in whispered conversations late into the night – these are the cherished moments that make your heart dance with joy.

Lost in your reflections, you slowly lean down, pressing your lips against his forehead in a gentle, loving kiss. His warm breath brushes against your skin, a sign that he is beginning to wake, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. A sleepy smile graces his lips, mirroring the way you felt only moments ago.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you whisper, leaning in to press a tender kiss on Spencer’s forehead.

“Mmm, morning,” he mumbles, his voice still laced with sleep. He shifts closer, instinctively seeking your warmth, and sneaks his arms around you.

“Did you sleep well?” you whisper, your voice filled with tenderness.

Spencer’s eyes widen with delight, his voice layered with affection as he replies, “With you by my side, how could I not?”

You feel your heart swell at his response, a warm feeling spreading through you. The love you share with Spencer is something truly special, and these little moments of intimacy and connection reaffirm that bond.

As you lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you relish in the comfort and safety of being with someone who truly understands you. With Spencer, you feel seen, heard, and valued in a way you’ve never experienced before. His presence in your life has brought a depth of joy and meaning that you never knew was possible.

“I just want to lay here all day,” Spencer murmurs, his voice filled with contentment. You nestle closer to him, a grin spreading across your face.

“That does sound good,” you reply, your voice filled with equal parts longing and satisfaction. Time seems to lose its meaning as you both lie there, embracing the beauty of the present moment. “Let’s stay like this for a little longer,” you suggest with a chuckle, wrapping your arms tighter around Spencer’s form. The two of you entwine in a blissful embrace, savoring the intimate comfort found in each other’s arms.

The room is filled with a sense of peace and serenity, as if the world outside ceases to exist. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to fully immerse in the moment, feeling the rise and fall of Spencer’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a state of tranquility.

As you lay there, you can’t help but think about how happy you are to have met Spencer. His intelligence, compassion, and unwavering support have been constant sources of strength and inspiration in your life.

With a soft smile, you lean up to press a tender kiss against Spencer’s cheek, a silent expression of gratitude for the love and happiness he brings into your life. He responds by turning his head, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss that speaks volumes of the love you both share.

As you pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling, and you whisper, “As tempting as lazing around for the rest of the morning is, I’m kind of starving. How about I make us some breakfast?”

“How about we make it together?” Spencer suggest.

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, running your fingers lazily through Spencer’s soft waves. A smile spreading across your face, feeling a surge of excitement at the idea of embarking on this simple task together.

“But you know the rule. I’m in charge of coffee,” Spencer says.

You grin playfully, planting a quick kiss on Spencer’s nose. “Sure.”

You both slowly untangle yourselves from each other's embrace, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the bed. As you make your way to the kitchen, a sense of domestic bliss fills the air.

While he brews the coffee, you gather ingredients for a hearty breakfast. The sound of sizzling bacon fills the room as you simultaneously crack eggs into a bowl, your gazes occasionally meeting and exchanging a knowing smile. It’s moments like these that make life feel so simple yet so beautiful.

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j3llyd0nut · 5 months

Text

Look at You

ೀ Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Tags: 18+ (mdni), comfort fic, hurt/comfort, small age gap, mirror sex, pet names (sweetheart, my love, angel, princess), nipple play, fingering, double orgasm (reader), oral (m receiving), piv, unprotected sex, soft dom!Leon, playful banter.

W/C: 2.5k

A/N: can be read as a continuation of Look at Me or standalone (thinking about di & re6 leon while writing this but any ver of him works!)

Amidst the twilight's gentle embrace, Leon fills the tub with warm water for the both of you to cleanse away the grime and stains of the day. The bathroom is filled with the calming scent of lavender bath salts as they dissolve into the warm water, transforming the space into a fragrant haven.

As he waits for the tub to fill with water, he slowly rises from his kneeling position, his joints creaking as he straightens. He leans lightly on the sides of the tub for support, a soft grunt escaping his lips as he eases the strain from his tired muscles.

“Sweetheart?”

He calls out for you, yet you remain unaware as you stand in front of the mirror. Negative thoughts swirl through your mind like a relentless storm. Your gaze fixes on your reflection, but your eyes hold a vacant, unfocused stare.

Approaching you with a silent, practiced grace, he calls out your name once more, his years of training unintentionally guiding his steps deliberately and silently. Too lost in the labyrinth of your own thoughts, a startled gasp escapes your lips as he extends a gentle, reassuring hand to rest on your shoulder.

“You scared me,” you admit, placing a hand over your racing heart after his sudden appearance. Nervously, you begin to fumble with the necklace adorning your neck—a cherished gift from him, a heart-shaped locket engraved with both your initials and his.

“Sorry, my love; a force of habit.” Leon offers you a warm smile and tenderly envelops you in his muscular arms. With a soft and affectionate sigh, he nestles his face into the delicate curve of your neck. “Thoughts too loud tonight?” He murmurs against the nape of it, the soft sensation of your skin beneath his lips prompting a gentle nibble.

“Hmm," you respond, and your gaze rises to meet the reflection in the mirror, where his figure seems to envelop you completely. A warm smile spread across your face as you felt the depth of his affection and presence. The weight of your thoughts begins to lift, and a glimmer of solace breaks through the clouds of your troubled mind.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he whispers gently as his lips leave a trail of soft kisses along the nape of your neck, each one a sweet declaration of affection. His calloused hands slide down under your shirt, touching your hips in a way that is both tender and seductive. The sensation is a mix of relaxation and intimacy, as he moves his fingers in soothing, circular motions, melting away any lingering tensions.

God, he is perfect.

“This is enough,” you say, shaking your head as you settle back into his embrace, your fingers tenderly tracing patterns over his hands.

“But you’re still tense. Let me help that for you,” he whispers. In truth, you weren’t tense at all; he simply craved a reason to be closer to you after the long day. You release a sigh of surrender. There's no use in resisting him; he's one stubborn man. "Alright, old man," you concede.

“Old man? I’m just a few years older than you,” he chuckles.

“Still old; I heard your knees crack earlier,” you remark, rolling your eyes with a smile.

“Oh, you heard it alright, but when I called your name, you ignored me,” he teases, giving your cheek a playful pinch.

Your smile falters, guilt washing over you. “I didn’t mean to... I just zoned out,” you admit. He observes the not-so-subtle shift in your expression through the mirror and gently guides you to face him. Sensing your uneasiness, he cups your face, prompting you to look up at him. “I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to worry about it,” he reassures, sealing his words with a soft peck on your forehead.

His warm breath is fanning your lips as he comes in closer. “Can I kiss you?” His eyes remain fixed on yours, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. You nod, giving him your consent, and feel the tender touch of his lips meeting yours.

His lips mould with yours, and he scoops you off your feet with effortless strength tinged with tenderness. Swiftly, he places you down on the sink countertop, allowing your ass to perch on the smooth surface.

“You truly are a beauty.”

His eyes are filled with adoration as he gazes at you, utterly captivated by your beauty bathed in the soft, amber glow emanating from the mirror. This gentle radiance delicately highlights your features, creating a luminous aura surrounding you, making you even more captivating in his eyes.

“Really?” Your smile wavers, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as his compliment reaches your ears.

“Angel,” his voice holds a firm tone as he locks eyes with you. “I’ve seen the way guys look at you. Makes me a lucky man to be your boyfriend.” He gently cups your face and playfully squishes your cheeks together.

“Me? No way.” You protest and chuckle softly, feeling your cheeks puff under his gentle hold. Despite the affectionate gesture, another subtle tug of uncertainty lingers within you. You fidget slightly, caught between a desire to embrace his words and your own inner struggle with self-doubt.

“I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.” With a mischievous smirk, he starts planting a trail of kisses along your neck; each kiss ignites a trail of goosebumps along your skin. His rough hands, filled with urgency, slip underneath the fabric of your shirt, eagerly exploring the warmth of your skin. He skillfully unclips your bra, allowing it to fall away as he gradually removes your shirt and necklace from the fabric without causing any twisting of the chain—ensuring you can keep wearing that precious piece of jewellery.

“So soft.”

Leon leans closer to your chest, his lips grazing against the sensitive skin of your breasts. His tongue flicks out and teasingly traces circles around your nipple, causing it to harden from his ministrations and the cold air from the bathroom.

“Leon, off.” You give a subtle tug on his shirt, urging him to remove it.

“Anything for you, princess.” He chuckles softly and proceeds to remove his shirt, loosening his belt with a single smooth motion. “You’re so demanding sometimes, but that’s what I love about you.” He takes your nipple into his mouth again, sucking and nibbling on it while he pinches and teases the other with his fingers. The sensation made you arch your back, a soft moan escaping your lips.

A smug smirk plays on Leon’s lips, clearly pleased with the impact he's making on you. His hands roam your body, tracing the curves of your sides before settling on the waistband of your pants. With a smooth motion, he slides them off along with both your pants and underwear, cascading them down to the floor.

His fingers graze your sensitive folds, moving them up and down. Your breath hitch in your throat at his touch. “Leon,” you whine, your tone carrying a hint of playful warning. “Be patient, okay? I’ll give you what you want soon.” He tenderly places a gentle kiss on your forehead and continues to tease you.

“Let me make you feel good first.” Leon runs his fingertips along your slick entrance, feeling the heat and wetness pool around them. He then delves his fingers deep, exploring every inch of your velvety walls. He knows where your sensitive spot is, like the back of his hand, increasing his pace as your body responds to his touch eagerly.

Your uncontrollable moan echoes loudly, hands clenching the countertop as waves of pleasure wash over you. Leon watches you intently; his eyes fill with a hunger that matches your own. He knows you are close, so he adds a third finger in you while his thumb circles around your clit, applying the right amount of pressure and speed.

He finally pushes you over the edge with a few more well-placed strokes. You cry out his name as your body convulses, pleasure radiating from your core and spreading throughout your body. While you’re coming down from your high, Leon draws his fingers out and licks off your juices from his fingers.

"You okay?" he whispers, his lips gently brushing against your forehead, his voice carrying a tender concern as he enfolds you into his embrace. “Yeah, just need a moment,” you murmur against his bare chest as you cosy up closer to him. “Take all the time you need,” he chuckles softly, running his fingers through your hair in a soothing gesture.

“Can I return the favour?” you ask, your eyes lifting to meet his with hopeful anticipation. “Sweetheart, you can do anything you want to me,” he smiles warmly as his eyes lock with yours. Without wasting any more time, you drop down to your knees, using your discarded pants as a cushion from the cold and hard tiles.

Your hands reach for his loosened belt and undo it with a sense of urgency. Pulling his jeans down to his ankle, you release his hardened cock from its confines. You wrap your hand around him and stroke him slowly at first, locking eyes with him. Leon watches you intently and nods encouragingly for you to keep going.

His breath catches in his throat as you lean forward, your tongue darting out to lick the pre-cum off his tip. A low groan escapes him as your lips wrap tightly around his cock, and you begin to suck and bob your head, eager to please him.

“Fuck, angel. Your mouth feels so good.” He growls and sets his hand on your hair.

You let out a moan from his praise, and the vibrations from it sending shivers of pleasure through him. You begin to play with his balls as your tongue swirls around his cock, adding an extra layer of pleasure. His hips also begin to move, meeting the rhythm of your bobbing head, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

The wetness and warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue works like magic—Leon knows he’s not going to last long as he can feel the familiar tightening in his lower abdomen signalling his impending release. “Sweetheart, stop. I’m gonna cum,” he hisses, his voice filled with tenderness but also authority. However, that does not stop you as you continue to bob your head up and down.

He calls out your name with a warning tone and bites his lower lip. “I’m serious; I want to come in you.” Your long nails grip tightly on his firm thighs in response; the taste of him and the way he’s filling your mouth only fuel your desires. He growls from the sharp pain of your fingernails and gently tugs you off him by the hair, denying you the satisfaction of completing your task. “I told you to stop, didn’t I?” He smirks at you when he sees your eyes filled with lust and frustration.

He lifts you to your feet and gently spins you around to face the mirror, your hand resting against the cold surface for support, and you can feel his throbbing cock pressing against your inner thigh. “Now, be a good girl and let me do all the work.” A deep, throaty chuckle escapes him as he leans closer, his lips grazing against your ear in a whispered breath.

You nod faintly and let out a sharp gasp as he thrusts into you. As you arch your back against him, he firmly grasps your hips, tightening his hold. His pace is relentless as he drives into you again and again. “Look at you. So pretty just for me,” he smirks, gently guiding your face upward to meet your own reflection in the mirror.

You glance up, noticing your lips slightly swollen from sucking his cock, your eyelids drooping in blissful pleasure. You moan loudly at the sight of him thrusting from behind, the rhythmic motion causing your necklace to sway against your chest with each movement he makes. Leon relishes the sight through the mirror too; with each thrust, he can feel your walls tightening around him—you are close.

You arch your body over the cool surface, which quivers in response to your trembling waves of ecstasy. “No, no, no, sweetheart. I want you to watch yourself while I fuck you,” he carefully guides your jaw back up, his voice husky with desire. You whimper softly, parting your eyes behind your lowered lids. The sound of skin slapping against skin mingles with the heady scents of sweat, sex, and the lingering lavender bath salts, heightening the intensity in the air.

As the climax draws near, a final thrust of his cock and your fervent grinding against him brings you to a powerful release. Your body shudders with ecstasy as you come. Sensing your release, he can't contain himself any longer, his own euphoria crashing over him as he cums in you.

Leon’s chest rises and falls with exertion as he pulls out of you, his cock glistening with a mixture of your cum and his. He watches as you lean against the cool surface, your breaths ragged and heavy from the aftermath. “Just breathe in and out slowly. I’m right here,” he whispers, trailing tender kisses along your exposed back.

You chuckle softly, finding amusement in how delicately he’s caring for you after fucking your guts like an animal in heat. Pausing his kisses upon hearing your chuckle, he questions, “What is so funny?” Propping yourself up on one elbow, hand cradling your head, you tease, “Oh, nothing, old man,” playfully rolling your eyes at him.

“Call me 'old man' again, and I might just toss you into that icy bath," he quips with a playful threat in his tone.

“Old man,” you retort, a wide grin lighting up your face.

“Ah, you’re in for it now,” a mischievous grin spreads across his face as he swiftly lifts you. Caught off guard, you squeal at his sudden movement as he carefully tosses you into the cold water. “Leon!” you pout, pushing your wet hair away from your face in mock annoyance.

Leon laughs so intensely that he doubles over, clutching his stomach, unable to contain the joy bubbling out of him. His laughter echoes the bathroom, shoulders shaking with each joyous outburst, as he finds himself hunched over, thoroughly amused by your expression.

Growing a tad annoyed by his laughter, you grab him and pull him into the large bathtub. His laughter abruptly stops, replaced by a stunned expression on his face. "Payback," you say, flashing him a smug smile.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, princess. You win," he chuckles, offering your lips a light peck as a peace offering.

“You’re lucky; you’re cute,” you respond, returning the kiss.

“Hmph, so now I’m cute,” he snorts, breaking away from the kiss.

"Get up, let's hop into a warm shower together. Can’t risk my girl catching a cold," he says, playfully rolling his eyes while still smiling. He rises to his feet and extends his hand towards you.

You gaze at him, your eyes twinkling mischievously. "Carry me," you request with a playful pout, gesturing towards your slightly sore backside because of him. "Alright," he chuckles, effortlessly scooping you up and heading towards the shower, well aware that he'll need to indulge your eagerness later to scrub him with the cherry blossom body scrub you've been so excited to use on him for days.

#✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #resident evil #death island leon #resident evil 6 leon

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